#thought it would be fun to make him literally squeeze into the canvas

[valkyrieoath]

Had a power outage and time to make a physical drawing of Shadow to hang up, so of course I had to do the biolozard au from @smallpwbbles

I have it hanging over my bed now :)

Progress pictures under the cut

[rispwr]

The beginning was fun - YOONKOOK - FF -

Pairings : hyyh! jk x hyyh! yg

genre : fluff, angst

warning/contents : arson, alcoholism, domestic violence, mint haired yoongi, yoonkook is a literal warning, arson, car crash, namjoon driving, death,

context : yoongi's alcoholism never bothered jeongguk as long as he was responsibly drinking and with him. breaking jeongguks trust leads him unfortunate events

author note : i really love fics involving yoongi and jungkook sm. they're my biases. the bold letters are flashbacks or memories

The night air was crisp and filled with the laughter of friends gathered around the campfire. The flames danced and crackled, casting a warm glow on their faces. Jungkook and Yoongi, sitting close to each other, were wrapped up in the jovial atmosphere. Their hands were intertwined, a silent testament to their close bond as they laughed and teased each other with ease.

“Did you see the way Taehyung tried to roast that marshmallow?” Jungkook said, his voice full of mirth. “It was like he was waging a battle with it.”

Yoongi snickered, leaning closer. “And Namjoon’s reaction when he realized he’d burnt it to a crisp was priceless.”

Namjoon, overhearing them, shot them a mock glare. “Hey, I heard that! At least I didn’t turn my marshmallow into a black hole.”

Taehyung, holding up his charred marshmallow, added with a grin, “I’m just creating abstract art here!”

Jungkook chuckled, enjoying the lively banter. He felt Yoongi’s fingers squeeze his hand gently, and looked over to find Yoongi’s eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Want to escape this for a bit?” Yoongi asked, his voice low and inviting.

Jungkook’s curiosity piqued. “Escape? Where to?”

Yoongi stood, tugging Jungkook’s hand. “Follow me.”

They made their way away from the warmth of the fire and the laughter of their friends, heading towards a secluded corner of the campsite. There, hidden away from the light of the fire, stood an old, weathered wall.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “What’s this about?”

Yoongi grinned and pulled out a couple of spray paint cans and markers from his bag. “I thought it’d be fun to make our mark on this old wall. What do you say?”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “That sounds like a blast. Let’s do it.”

Yoongi handed Jungkook a spray can and took one for himself. As they began to work, their movements became a dance of color and creativity. The wall started to come alive with vibrant splashes and intricate designs. Jungkook’s laughter mixed with Yoongi’s as they worked side by side, their hands occasionally brushing against each other.

“This is really fun,” Jungkook said, his voice full of genuine joy. “I haven’t done something like this in ages.”

Yoongi chuckled. “It’s nice to get away from the usual and just be spontaneous.”

Jungkook paused, considering their work. “How about we add a message? Something like jungkook and yoongi’?”

Yoongi’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Cheesy, but I like it. Let’s do it.”

They carefully painted the message, adding doodles and symbols around it. The wall became a canvas for the both of them. They laughed and exchanged playful jabs as they worked, the world outside their little corner fading away.

As they stepped back to admire their handiwork, Jungkook felt a sense of contentment. The wall was covered in bright, joyful colors and personal touches, a piece of art that would always remind them of this night.

The room was silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. Yoongi stared at the lighter, lost in thought, his face partially illuminated by its tiny flame whenever he flicked it on. The call continued to ring, and Yoongi's silence stretched on.

On the other end of the line, Jungkook’s voice was tinged with concern. “Hyung? Where are you??”

Yoongi remained silent, the weight of his thoughts making his voice feel heavy and distant. He didn’t respond, and the quiet stretched on, amplifying the tension between them.

The night was cool as the car sped down the highway, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. Inside the car, the other members were engaged in lighthearted conversation, but in the back of the trunk, Jungkook and Yoongi were experiencing their own little escape from the world.

Yoongi sat with his back against the car’s edge, his expression distant as the wind whipped around him. He seemed lost in his thoughts, his usually lively demeanor subdued. Jungkook, on the other hand, was full of excitement, his face illuminated by the occasional flash of streetlights.

As the car approached the entrance of a tunnel, the city lights faded, and the world around them was bathed in a soft, artificial glow. The tunnel’s entrance loomed ahead, and Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“This is going to be so cool!” Jungkook exclaimed, his voice full of enthusiasm. “Look at how the lights change!”

Yoongi glanced at him, his eyes cool and indifferent. “Yeah, it’s just a tunnel."

Jungkook’s worry turned into urgency. “Yoongi hyung?! I’m coming over there.” His voice was filled with a mixture of anxiety and determination.

Yoongi finally flicked the lighter off and put it aside, the soft click of the mechanism breaking the silence. He took a deep breath and spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Kookie, don’t come. It’s... it’s complicated.”

Jungkook grinned, undeterred by Yoongi’s lack of enthusiasm. “It’s more than that. It’s like we’re in a different world for a moment.”

Yoongi shrugged slightly, remaining silent as the car entered the tunnel. The roar of the wind and the hum of the engine created a cacophony of sound, and the air felt colder as it rushed past them.

Jungkook leaned back, letting the wind tousle his hair. “This is so relaxing, Namjoon hyung!” he called out, his voice carrying through the wind.

Namjoon, glancing back with a smile, gave them a thumbs-up. “Enjoy it, guys! Just hang on tight.”

Jungkook turned to Yoongi, his excitement unabated. “Isn’t this great? It feels like we’re flying!”

Yoongi’s gaze remained distant as he looked at Jungkook. “It’s okay. It’s just a moment.”

Jungkook’s grin faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, determined to make the most of the experience. “Come on, hyung. Lighten up a little. It’s moments like these that make everything worth it.”

Jungkook’s voice cracked with a sense of urgency. “Hyung, I don’t care what’s going on. I need to see you. Where are you?”

Yoongi hesitated, glancing around the room as if seeking the right words. “I’m at the old motel on 5th Street. Room 12.”

“Stay there. I’m on my way,” Jungkook said firmly, determination evident in his tone.

Yoongi’s response was a mere nod, his demeanor still cool and detached. He didn’t share Jungkook’s enthusiasm, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment for him.

As the car emerged from the tunnel and the familiar cityscape reappeared, the wind began to die down. Jungkook continued to soak in the experience, while Yoongi remained quiet, his thoughts turning inward.

Jungkook looked over at Yoongi one last time, a hopeful smile on his face. “Thanks for sharing this with me, even if you’re not as excited.”

As Yoongi hung up, he placed the phone beside him and stared at the lighter once more. The soft flame danced in the darkness, reflecting his inner turmoil. The motel room, with its worn carpet and peeling wallpaper, seemed to close in around him. He waited, hoping Jungkook’s arrival would bring some semblance of clarity and comfort.

Yoongi gave a slight, almost imperceptible smile. “Yeah, sure.”

The car slowed as they approached their destination, and Jungkook hopped down from the trunk with a sense of satisfaction. Yoongi followed, his expression still reserved.

Outside, Jungkook hung up the call, his mind racing as he headed out the door. 

Jungkook’s face flushed with anger and sadness. “This isn’t the way, hyung. You’re hurting yourself.”

Yoongi’s response was a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I’m just a mess.”

Jungkook moved closer, his worry turning to frustration as Yoongi began throwing objects against the wall, glass shattering and debris scattering. The room erupted into chaos.

As he approached the intersection, he glanced both ways and saw the road was clear. With a sense of urgency, he darted across the street, his eyes locked on the distant motel sign glowing in the night.

 He was almost halfway across when a car came speeding around the corner. The vehicle’s headlights were blinding, and the driver, unable to stop in time, slammed on the brakes. The screech of tires was the only warning Jungkook had before the impact.

The collision sent Jungkook sprawling through the air. 

Time seemed to slow as he felt his body being hurled backward. He landed heavily on the asphalt, the force of the impact jolting through him. Pain exploded in his side, and his vision blurred. The car screeched to a halt, the driver rushing out in panic, but Jungkook’s senses were already fading.

“Stop it!” Jungkook pleaded, trying to grab Yoongi’s shoulders, but Yoongi pushed him away, his actions becoming more frantic.

“Call an ambulance!” the driver’s frantic voice cut through the haze, but Jungkook’s world was collapsing into darkness. He could barely make out the concerned faces hovering above him as his consciousness slipped away.

Jungkook, heart aching, wrapped his arms around Yoongi from behind, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m here for you, Yoongi. Please stop this. You’re hurting yourself and me.”

Unable to sit still any longer, Yoongi made his way to the bed. He picked up the blanket, feeling its weight in his hands. His eyes were distant, and his mind was clouded with a mix of despair and frustration. He lit a match, the tiny flame flickering in the darkness. With a sense of resignation, he touched the flame to the blanket. The fire caught quickly, spreading across the fabric in a rapidly growing blaze.

Yoongi struggled against the hug, his body shaking with the weight of his emotions. “I’m scared, Kookie. I don’t want to hurt you... but I already have.”

Jungkook held on, whispering softly into Yoongi’s ear. “I know you’re scared. But pushing me away won’t help. Let me help you.”

Yoongi watched in a trance as the flames consumed the blanket, the fire spreading to other parts of the room. The light from the fire danced across the walls, casting eerie, flickering shadows. The heat from the flames grew intense, and the smoke began to fill the room, swirling around Yoongi like a choking veil.

Gradually, Yoongi’s resistance waned, and he slumped into Jungkook’s arms, the weight of his actions settling over him. The room fell silent except for their heavy breathing and the occasional crunch of broken glass underfoot.

As the fire continued to rage, the intensity of the heat became unbearable. Yoongi’s consciousness began to fade as the smoke thickened, his body succumbing to the toxic fumes. The flames licked at the edges of the room, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the night. Yoongi’s eyes grew heavy, and the world around him blurred into a haze of red and orange.

i cannot add any tags omg. my tumblr is not working very well

[221bshrlocked]

I finally sat down, with no distractions, airplane mode on so I don't respond to anyone while I'm reading this, and boy oh boy. This was so flipping perfect @prolix-yuy thank you thank you thank you so much for writing for my husband! Pero Tovar will forever be my favorite character of Pedro's and this was a genuine treat. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year dude.

I love that right off the bat, it's screaming enemies to lovers and I am here for it!

The first day he darkened your door, you felt something wildly different than his entrance this evening. He was dark haired, roguish in an unfamiliar way. Simply dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket over a black t-shirt, his frame tugged against mouthwatering places you tried not to stare at. He was polite, wiping his feet at the door and setting his toolbox down gently. His accented voice was deep, sonorous, goddamn sexy. 

Oh this description of him is so goddamn perfect!!!!!!!

“No, they are ugly.”

This actually made me snort out loud because Pero's bedside manner in any conversation is literally this passive aggressive!

He never speaks down to you, or makes you feel inferior because you don’t know something. Most of the time he explains what he’s doing so you can do it yourself, with only a few jabs thrown in for flavor. No contractor has ever treated you as capable before. 

We love a gentleman!!!!!

“I thought this was fun,” he says, voice softening to a rumble that loses its edges in the fire. “The, you know, the back and forth.” He studies his hands, blunt thumbnail dragging along a knuckle.

Oh the stuttering awkwardness is too damn endearing and would unfortunately work on me with so much ease.

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”

Somwhow, the four words are enough to make me pout because Poor guy. Pooooor guy!

“Then I am very interested in seeing you at your worst.” 

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSS!

“I’ll ask again - are you wet right now?”

Hooooooly hell man, I'm nervous!

“I knew you were dripping,” Pero purrs, and words fail as two fingers slide through your folds to press at your entrance. “I want to fuck you on my fingers, is that amenable to the lady?” 

Jessssssssus Christ man I can almost hear him.

“Come sit on my lap,” he implores, reaching out to take your hand. After all the sparring, the gentleness puts you off-kilter, unused to being allowed both. 

I'm salivating right now and I don't know what to do with myself. Oh and the follow up retorts are too funny!

....you take another sweat-damp handful of hair and squeeze. His groans are growing in volume....

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH DUDE WHA and the smut is just ughhhhhhh I am reading this fic again before I go to sleep

“And what must I do to share it with you?”

What a gentleman.

Ah, but it's cold outside

Pairing: Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Summary: If you could throw Pero Tovar out of your bed and breakfast you would, but something more than your constant bickering keeps him darkening your door.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, fingering, PiV sex, consenting unprotected sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), cumming inside, allusions to oral sex (f receiving), Pero Tovar is Uncircumcised, pain kink, exhibitionism, slight degradation kink, enemies to lovers as self-actualization? We love to see it.

Notes: Happy Holidays @221bshrlocked! I am your not-so-Secret Santa for @pedrostories Secret Santa event! I love love LOVED your prompts and had to give you as many as I could possibly jam into one fic. Plus it's been a while since I've written Pero and I need that grumpy man to get his ass handed to him every now and then. I hope you enjoy!

With the wind howling outside and the lights flickering dangerously, the last person you want to see on your front steps is Pero Tovar. But you barely have time to register the dark-haired pain in your ass before he’s pushing past you and into the warm haven of your bed and breakfast.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another week,” you call over your shoulder, closing the door against the freezing air. Even when the latch clicks the force of the gusts still rattles the door. 

“I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome,” he huffs, swatting snow off his wool jacket to puddle on the floor. Rolling your eyes, you stalk into the kitchen for towels. 

“It’s late, what do you want?” you call from the other room, unable to stop yourself from twisting your mouth into a pretty fair imitation of Pero’s scowl. You’d just turned off all the lights, only the twinkling glows of Christmas decorations still lighting the main floor. 

“The road’s snowed out, I can’t see shit. I debated on whether it would be easier on my nerves to keep going or stop here.” He waves at your exasperated face when he catches the towel you toss. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The telltale frustration rises in your throat, and you swallow it down. “I don’t have any rooms, everyone’s hiding out from the storm.” Busying yourself with the late-night tasks you know by heart, Pero thumps along behind you.

“Believe me, I would rather be in my own bed than your ‘charming’ ones, but I am out of options. Anything. A couch. It’s too cold to sleep in the truck.”

There it is again, that seething annoyance climbing up your spine. You take in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before gesturing at the common room.

“The couch is the best I can do.”

Before you’re done speaking he’s striding in, shucking off his jacket to drape over a chair before kneeling by the dying fire. You’re about to scold him for kicking it back to life but if the power does fail the heat will be welcome. 

“I have to finish closing up, yell if you need something,” you add, his dismissive wave meeting your mocking wave back. The scrunch in your shoulders eases partway through the mess of dishes you’re washing, thankful that the silence of late nights is still yours even with the eerie howls and creaks of the storm surrounding you.

Yours and Pero’s relationship was barely that, if anyone asked. When he first came to town you were elated that a carpenter-handyman type was finally local. You had so many projects half-finished or begging to start in your bed and breakfast, a cozy Tudor-style house you bought at the peak of another career crisis. Thankfully this choice was a revelation, even with the tremendous undertaking. The pipes were of indeterminate age and prone to cracks, the noise of the radiators a heart-pounding alarm clock. The unpleasant odors of past smokers and bad cooks hung heavy everywhere you turned, but paint and YouTube videos and determination brought it up to a standard you were proud of. However, you didn’t want to know what electrocution feels like, or be chummy with the scent of carbon monoxide, so after a proper number of niceties and crossed paths you invited Pero over. 

The first day he darkened your door, you felt something wildly different than his entrance this evening. He was dark haired, roguish in an unfamiliar way. Simply dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket over a black t-shirt, his frame tugged against mouthwatering places you tried not to stare at. He was polite, wiping his feet at the door and setting his toolbox down gently. His accented voice was deep, sonorous, goddamn sexy. You had to focus on showing him the finicky electrical box and the concerning gas hookup in the kitchen to stop your mind from wandering to steamy romance novel plots. 

Then he started speaking, and it all went to hell. 

“You should take down the curtains too,” he hummed, the cadence almost masking the disdain before your brain snapped to attention.

“The…curtains? Are they a fire hazard?”

“No, they are ugly.”

Heat flooded your face, your teeth clacking together as you whipped to look at Pero. His face is the picture of disgust, and when he meets your eyes there isn’t a hint of embarrassment in them. “Did they come with the place?”

“No, they fit the aesthetic.”

“This is an aesthetic?”

You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips but he didn’t back down one bit. He kept talking.

“I thought the furniture was from the previous owner. Cheaper, you know. You like it?” He looks around as if someone would back him up, but you just fold your arms.

“People don’t come to a bed and breakfast because it’s modern, they come because it’s quaint and charming and…”

“...cheaper than the Marriott…”

“And how would you do it then? Design the space for me, oh wise one.”

“Not how my grandmother would do it.”

Pero did not get your business that day.

Embarrassingly enough, he did get it three weeks later when your gas line started leaking. He critiqued how many mouse droppings were behind the stove and recommended an exterminator. You almost threw him out.

So if anyone asks, you and Pero do not have a relationship. You have a business agreement, at best. A begrudging one. He comes when you call - not quickly, of course, and it feels like a personal slight even when he insists he has many clients - and you pay him after haggling over the cost of the pipe or how long he actually worked for (he has a tendency to charge for his hour-long lunch breaks). He makes his snide little comments and you spit a retort back, and sometimes you swear you catch him smirking to himself after you deliver something especially sharp. 

As you dry your hands, you dwell maybe a few minutes too long on this. You’d never admit it in earshot of his big head, but there’s something incredibly freeing about talking to Pero. Sure, he criticizes and complains about anything he comes within five feet of, but he’s never cruel to you. He never speaks down to you, or makes you feel inferior because you don’t know something. Most of the time he explains what he’s doing so you can do it yourself, with only a few jabs thrown in for flavor. No contractor has ever treated you as capable before. Most try to talk over your or around the topic, and you have to smile and gently redirect them to understand that yes, you are aware of what an impact driver is and no, you think drywall screws would be overkill to reattach that molding. You’d rather snark at Pero all day then have one of those pillow-scream-worthy conversations again.

Shaking off the retrospection, you take a plate of leftover roast chicken and potatoes into the common room. Pero, as you expected, has stoked the fire into an almost concerning blaze but the warmth is welcome. He’s settling back into the well-worn couch and scrolling on his phone as you plop the plate on his lap. Your knuckles graze the top of his thigh when you withdraw, a nervous tingle dancing through your stomach.

What the hell was that about? It’s Pero, for fuck’s sake.

“Eat,” you order, rounding the couch to drop into the open space. If there’s one order Pero will never argue about it’s to eat, which he does with gusto and a nod in your direction. The crackle of the fire covers the ravenous chewing - even barely hungry he eats like a man starved - as you let your body relax into the cushions. All the guests are tucked away, breakfast is prepped and ready, and the silence is welcome. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived.

“I did not think you would be fully booked. I wouldn’t have bothered stopping by.”

It’s too late and you’re too tired to deal with this bullshit right now. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“And why would you think that Pero? Because somehow I could never run a business this well?”

“That’s not…”

“Or am I not paying you enough? Are we about to have a heart to heart over hourly rates?”

“I am not…”

“Then fucking out with it then! If you hate being here, being around me so much, then just tell me why so I can stop trying to give a shit about it.”

The silence that follows pulls your hands from your eyes, and where you thought Pero would be glaring at you he’s…confused. Which is…also confusing.

“I thought this was fun,” he says, voice softening to a rumble that loses its edges in the fire. “The, you know, the back and forth.” He studies his hands, blunt thumbnail dragging along a knuckle. “Most people defer to me because I’m…” Gesturing at himself, what could be a brag instead is dripping with annoyance. “The men pretend to be in league with me, and the women laugh at everything I say. It’s so…boring.”

You’re frozen in place, brows knit as you let him speak, a tingle rising up the back of your neck and flooding your fingertips.

“Any bullshit that entertains me, I can do with them. But not with you.” He can’t meet your eyes, instead staring into the fire that paints the planes of his face in luscious amber. “You never let me get away with shit. I like that. I thought you liked that too. You always seemed to get…brighter when we were…” His hands come up and make little quibbling mouths, finally looking at you. 

Have you ever seen his gaze so bare before?

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood.”

Inside your body, a mounting wave of understanding and excitement fills your limbs. No one has ever praised your fire, your brightness, only wanting to tamp it down into something manageable and palatable. Now before you is a man who not only revels in it, but encourages it? You’ve never felt this thrum of excitement before, like holding a tuning fork against your sternum. 

“You did,” you say, the strength of your voice surprising. Rising to stand, Pero’s chin tilts, a supplicant before you. “Because if you had given me even an inkling of an idea that this was foreplay, I wouldn’t have held back.”

Much like your own revelation, you can see your words change Pero. His brow smooths before arching in tandem with his growing smirk. Hands coming down to grasp the seat cushion, his veins bulge against the creak of upholstery. He tilts his chin to you with shrinking obedience. 

“Then I am very interested in seeing you at your worst.” 

The words drive you to clench. This is dangerous new territory, but nothing could hold you back from striding headfirst into it. Two swaying steps place you in front of Pero, his knees widening to stand between. The new angle makes him lean back, exposing the tantalizing length of his neck dotted with delicate freckles. 

“I don’t know, Pero, you may not deserve that honor.” A giggle rises in your throat, letting yourself enjoy your new-found freedom. Saying exactly what’s on your mind without the nagging fear of being too much. By Pero’s expression, he’s enjoying it too. You wind up another retort, but his next words steal your breath. 

“Are you wet right now?” he says, tongue slipping out to lick at his lower lip. The crude statement slams heat into your face, and suddenly your hand is in the air and headed for Pero’s stubbly cheek. 

“Ah!” he scolds, catching your wrist firmly before you make contact. Your brain barely has time to register you were going to smack him! when he yanks you closer, catching yourself on the back of the couch.

“I knew you were sharp in many more ways,” he gloats, and you can’t decide if you want to try wiping that smirk off his face with your palm or your mouth. “I’ll ask again - are you wet right now?”

This is the precipice of desire and level thinking, your toes on the edge. Strong voices shout that this is crazy, foolish, ill-advised. You feel too good to pay them mind.

“Why don’t you find out?”

Hunger roars in Pero’s eyes but his movements are slow, steady as he helps you straighten to standing. The fire licks at your back, but his hands finding the waist of your jeans are scorching. Eyes flick up to you as he pops the button loose, thick fingers grasping the small zip to open it tooth by tooth. The challenge is to let him take his time, and you’re up for it. By the generous tenting in his pants he’s affected too. 

“What will I find if I take these off? Pretty little panties? Something lace? Nothing at all?” he husks, toying with the plaquet as he purposefully doesn’t look. 

“I think my previous answer still stands,” you retort, and your boldness earns you a rakish smile while Pero rolls your jeans down. The darkness of night shrouds your form, but anyone stumbling in could find you like this. Something tells you Pero likes it better that way.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and his hot breath ghosting over your mound raises goosebumps. 

“At this rate it’ll be morning before…” you tease, lips forming around a smile, but that morphs into a choked exhale when Pero deftly pulls aside your panties and slides his thumb over your clit. Your hands come to his shoulders, digging in as he traces an experimental circle. 

“I knew you were dripping,” Pero purrs, and words fail as two fingers slide through your folds to press at your entrance. “I want to fuck you on my fingers, is that amenable to the lady?” 

Staccato laughter punctuates your “yes” before he presses in, those hands you’d marveled at fitting into the hot clutch of your cunt just shy of painful. Then he curls them and you can’t stop the high-pitched whine that whistles out. 

“Just needed something to scratch that itch, hm? Needed a little finger fucking to relax?” he says, and even with your body responding beautifully to his slick rhythm you can’t let that go. One hand twists into his hair, wrapping locks around your fingers before squeezing. 

Like an electric shock Pero’s body locks up, mouth falling open and his hips undulating more than you expected. You tut at him, superiority flooding your brain even as your pussy drenches his hand.

“Tattling on yourself, Pero. Let your mouth run just a little and I’ll learn all your secrets.” His fingers redouble their efforts, thumb sliding over your clit as he coaxes your orgasm to the surface, but now his head is in your hands, nails digging into his scalp as he fights against succumbing to the pricks of pain.

“Devil woman,” he hisses with no fire. “Tell me what you want - fuck, you’re so fucking wet - tell me what you want to make you cum.”

Your mind races with possibilities - your slick smeared on Pero’s beard, his hands wrapped around your headboard, what his lips would feel like - but the mounting need in your chest is to be filled. 

“I want to fuck you. Right here.”

Pero curses colorfully, fumbling at his belt. You ease his hand from your pussy, the ache of the loss a yawning chasm but he needs both to yank off his jeans and boxers. Pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, you’re nude and silhouetted by the dying fire. Pero is struggling with his shirt when he glances up at you, stunned into stillness. 

“Mierda,” he whispers. It’s said like a prayer, and at this moment you know why worship is addictive. Pero’s reverent gaze is a stronger aphrodisiac than any oyster could hope to be. He comes back to himself enough to yank the shirt over his head, revealing dark chest hair leading down to a healthy mess of curls surrounding his flushing cock. He fists it, sliding the foreskin down to reveal the deep purpling head slick with precum. Cocking your hip, you fake a loud sigh.

“Fine, I guess you have a big enough dick to act the way you do,” you observe, diffusing the weighty moment enough for Pero to scoff and smile. It’s new on his face, his scowl so everpresent, that you bask in it briefly. 

“Come sit on my lap,” he implores, reaching out to take your hand. After all the sparring, the gentleness puts you off-kilter, unused to being allowed both. 

“What are you, Santa?” you ask, straddling him and settling on his thighs as he rolls his eyes.

“Are you trying to make me lose this? Is it a little too intimidating for all your big talk?” Pero teases, stroking his definitely still very hard cock before tapping the head against your mound. 

“Don’t worry, I know how to get it back if you do,” you quip, dragging your fingernails lightly down his chest before he can retort. He reacts exactly how you’d hoped, muscles clenching and a bead of precum dribbling from his tip. “Do you like it when I make it hurt just a little bit?”

“Yes,” he groans, unashamed, unselfconscious, and your cunt throbs. “You can make it hurt more,” he says, eyes widening suddenly as you see him realize he said that out loud. Sliding closer to hover over his proud cock, you take another sweat-damp handful of hair and squeeze. His groans are growing in volume but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can blame it on the storm in the morning. 

“I’ll let you have anything you want if you’re a good boy for me.”

The whine he’s clearly embarrassed to have let out is cut off by a sudden inhale.

“Wait,” he gasps, hands digging into your hips to hold you above his cock. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control,” you interject, “and I haven’t slept with anyone in…like, eight months.”

Pero’s hands knead into your flesh, eyes searching your face.

“I’ll pull out.”

You don’t even think about it.

“Don’t you dare.”

If what you saw was hunger before, what’s in Pero’s expression now is ravenous. His lips curl back into a snarl, eyes deep and dark. Suddenly his fingers are inside you, scissoring you open roughly as you pant into his ear. 

“Tell me to slow down,” he growls, but you shake your head. “Tell me…when I need to.”

“I need you, Pero, please, now.”

No longer holding you still, Pero’s hands guide you down onto his cock. The moment his head breaches a whole body shiver races through.

“Are you…”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

He fills you until he’s in your guts, your lungs, surrounding you with his arms and his thighs below. The splay of his hands on your back makes you dizzy, head buzzy with hormones and his musk and every place he’s touching you in a symphony of pleasure. Faintly you realize he’s saying something, lips moving against your shoulder.

“Pero?”

“Can I kiss you?”

A few drops of clarity sharpen the mush in your brain.

“You’re inside of me and we forgot to kiss.”

Pero’s chest hitches once, then again, then the both of you are moving out of sync as hiccupy laughter overtakes you. He pants when you clench around him, trying to catch his breath until you both come back to your senses. 

“I was enjoying what you were saying too much,” he admits, leaning back against the couch. His face is shadowed but you catch the glint of his eyes, the wetness of his plush lips. How had you resisted them this long?

Pero beats you to initiate, pulling you down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and chaste, his hands cupping your head as you part. But you beat him to return the kiss, pressing him into the couch with a deeper kiss, barely waiting for him to react before urging his lips open. He hums greedily into your mouth, letting you explore with your tongue before he fills you with his. It’s not long before his mouth is frantic, gripping your hips as he makes an experimental thrust into your cunt that breaks your lips apart.

“Pero, fuck,” you gasp, nails digging into his back as he thrusts up deep and smooth. You meet his pace, rolling your hips to grind your clit against him. Fighting for dominance, you finally push him back and ride him in earnest, lifting up over and over again to slam his cock into your cunt. He’s mesmerized by how your tits bounce, taking one in his palm to knead to tease your nipple as your orgasm creeps up your spine. 

“Fuck, Pero, you feel so good,” you moan, slowing to grind down, the friction of his pubic hair on your clit giving you the edge to pull your climax close. 

“You feel amazing on my cock. Are you close?”

“Yes,” you pant, using every inch of Pero to find that moment of bliss. “Fuck, yes Pero, I want to cum on you. Want to feel you inside.” It’s right there, you’re at the brink of tipping over.

“Fuck, yes, oh fuck, say my name like that. Say it when you’re cumming.”

Your nerves sing and your body pulses to the beat of Pero, Pero, Pero rasping from your lips. He’s growling something you wish you could understand but the blood is pumping too loudly in your ears. The only thing you register is the couch against your back as Pero flips you. He’s pressed long against your body, hips snapping into your cunt even as you’re so tight around him. 

“...beautiful, you’re so beautiful, can’t stop…” you faintly hear as the sensations of Pero’s hands roaming your body, his humid mouth at your neck, and the wet slap of his cock bring you back to your body. His thrusts are becoming erratic, right on the cusp of his own orgasm, when you dig your nails into his back and rake them down his spine. 

Pero’s orgasmic bellow is muffled in your neck as the throb of his cock empties inside you. You offer little scratches up and down his arms and shoulders as he comes down, hips pressing in deeper as he lets out satisfied groans. Finally he slumps, head resting on your chest as he catches his breath. 

The silence is back, the dimming fire combating the dark. This was by far the best fuck you’d had in ages, and in no small part due to the freedom to just be. But when the sun rises - hell, when the post-orgasmic haze lifts - what will this even look like?

Pero sighs and lifts up on his hands, easing his cock out before softly swearing and grabbing his shirt to wipe away the cum dripping out of you. 

“I might recommend getting this couch cleaned,” he muses, sitting up on his knees to look down at your loose-limbed body with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t think we’re the first ones to do that on this particular piece of furniture,” you joke, enjoying the wrinkle of disgust on Pero’s face. 

“Then I definitely recommend a shower. And request a bedsheet.”

The statement is unassuming in a way that you needed. Yes, this is new and strange, but you’ve always embraced both. 

“You know, there is still one bed left in this bed and breakfast.”

Pero’s head perks up.

“The only problem is that it’s mine.”

A roguish smile dimples Pero’s cheek as he hovers over you.

“And what must I do to share it with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

END

"I ought to say, "No, no, no sir" Mind if I move in closer? At least I'm gonna say that I tried What's the sense in hurting my pride? I really can't stay Baby, don't hold out Baby, it's cold outside."

[erin-bo-berin]

hi could i have Steve×reader where they are having a make-out session and Robin ends up walking into the room and everyone is just embarrassed? literally happened to me and my boyfriend and now his parents keep teasing us all the time 😩

Omg are you good? Cause I would DIE of embarrassment. 😭

Robin would definitely be embarrassed but the least embarrassed and just be teasing them because she’d just be like well this is awkward.

But I had the thought that this happens at Family Video and you drop by before his and her shifts starts to see Steve and Robin is gone to get coffees for them down the street and whatever and a little fun happens 😋

Caught In The Act

Steve Harrington x Reader (ft. Robin)

Warnings: Kinda smut? Idk just a heated makeout sesh 😉 (for anyone who isn’t into it)

The bell on the door jangled as you walked into Family Video.

The attractive, dorky, loveable sweetheart that you got to call yours, was already behind the counter, doing something on the computer. When he glanced up, his entire demeanor changed from frustration to happiness.

“Hey, baby,” Steve smiled.

“Well, hello, handsome,” you teased, leaning your arms on the other side of the counter from him, “Where’s Robin?”

“At the coffee shop down the street getting us some coffee. Our shift doesn’t start for fifteen minutes and I’m going to need the caffeine for motivation,” Steve groaned.

“Well, I’ve got some time before I have to head over to my study group. I can keep you company while you wait,” you smiled.

“Get over here then.”

His grin was wicked as you walked around to the entrance behind the counter. He almost immediately pulled your body towards his and kissed you.

Your giggles permeated the kiss and you kept trying to pull away long enough to speak, but Steve kept chasing your lips, pulling you back into the kiss. You finally got a moment to speak when his lips nipped your jaw, then found a place to suck on, on the canvas of your neck.

“Steve,” you chuckled, “Robin will be back at any point.”

“So?” he hummed against your neck, “Plenty of time to enjoy my girl.”

You squealed when he lifted you, setting you on the countertop. Then he connected your lips again.

Your arms wound around his neck, mouth lazily enjoying his before he upped the ante, kissing you as if he hadn’t kissed you for months. His mouth moved briskly against yours, tongues exploring, together.

His palms rested against the tops of your thighs, squeezing them gently before gliding them up and around to grab your ass.

He was positioned between your legs and you were at his level now, by sitting on the counter. He was shamelessly groping your ass and you shamelessly tugged on his lower lip, bringing it gently between your teeth. You always knew it drove him wild.

He groaned in response, kissing you harder. If you weren’t in sight of the entrance, you were sure more explicit actions would be taking place.

You were so lost in him, fingers tangling in his hair at the back of his neck. Neither of you heard the tinkering of the bell on the front door or hear anyone enter. You were too focused on one another and lost to the kisses.

“Well, this is awkward.”

You and Steve sprung apart so fast you’d thought someone had told you both that the other had the Bubonic Plague. You spotted Robin standing in the doorway, holding two coffees in her hands, a smirk on her face.

Your entire body flamed with embarrassment and Steve had the decency to look sheepish, too.

“How about next time, you go get the coffee and I’ll stay out here making out with someone?” Robin was full on smirking and happy to tease the life out of you two.

You would be more than happy if the floor opened up and swallow you whole.

“How long have you been standing there?” Steve asked, trying to straighten his clothes, running a hand through his hair.

“Long enough to hear you moan,” she shuddered, “I might need both of these in hopes the caffeine will erase that memory.”

You dropped your face in your hands, face hot.

“By the way, hi Y/N,” Robin said casually, sliding the takeout cup of coffee across the counter to Steve, “Nice to see you on our counter.”

“Shit,” you mumbled, hopping down, “Sorry, I just came in to say hi—”

“I don’t recall ever getting a welcome like that from you,” she quipped.

Oh she was never letting you two live this down.

“He started it,” you pointed guiltily to Steve.

“Hey! Way to throw me under the bus,” he mumbled, though he grinned sideways at you.

“Remind me to sanitize the counter before we open,” Robin said, taking a sip of of her coffee.

“Okay, that is my cue to leave,” you said, eager to stop dying of embarrassment.

“It’s your fault if I have to work with horny Steve all afternoon!” she hollered after you, “That’s the worst!”

“Dude!” Steve exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“You limp around like an injured pony. It’s pathetic,” she laughed.

“Bye you two,” you laughed, waving behind you as you headed for the door.

“I’m not through with you by the way!” Steve called after you, “We’ll finish this later!”

You had to chuckle at Robin’s parting remark.

“When I’m not around, either!”

[bubblyhoney]

buncha kisses

warnings: mature language, Good music mention, slight suggestive content, lotta name calling!, basically just fluff

tags: sapnap x fem!reader (a continuation of [renamed from “a collection of moments at the beginning of your relationship”] win for me, basically, with college!au)

words: 1447

A/N: a very sweet anon requested a continuation of college!au with sappy and had some great ideas for me! i love when you guys interact and talk with me pls continue to do so! been receiving a lot of really encouraging attention from some of my favorite people (ahem, for example @strawberrymilkgeorge [among others] <3) so i just wanted to say thanks for that :)

-

It’s a sticky day in May.

It’s that kind of hot that irritates under the skin and works its way through the hair on your arms. Makes you want to either rip your skin off or sink into a pool full of ice.

May is a month that Florida doesn’t take very well; it’s either raining like it’s the Great Flood, or hot as a mosquito’s ball sack.

And to make matters worse, it’s the due date of a huge calculus project. Like— weighted heavier than the final kind of huge.

You’d gotten up three hours before your final at 9 just to cram. Your desk was littered with folders, chapter notes, and highlighters dull with use. A half-eaten bagel was off to the side, staling by the second.

That was before your AC broke. Yup. Broke. Ka-put. Just full on died—it was almost audible. Your roommate had stumbled into your room, face creased with sleep, and cursed for thirty seconds straight.

Completely understandable, actually.

But you didn’t have time to fret about the damn temperature. You just took your shirt off, kicked the box fan near your bed into the highest gear, and breathed hot anger down into your notes.

The only relief you would find would be lunch with Sapnap after your final. His apartment had air conditioning, and he was surprisingly deft with a knife and cutting board. Dude didn’t know how to figure the mechanics for emailing his film class project to you that one time last semester but could whip up a Greek salad and broiled chicken like no other. Your own little Gordon Ramsey.

He was yours now, officially. As of last month he was yours. A month full of drive-in movies, failed study dates, and an absurd amount of McFlurry’s.

And that’s what is waiting for you in Sapnap’s cup holder when you swing your way into his car with an exasperated look on your face. You just melt, eyes flicking up to his gratefully and silently taking it.

“How was the final?” He lays a hand on the gear shifter and nudges the AC up one more tick. The door closes behind you and you shuffle your legs apart, leg hair tingling in this heat.

“It was fucking brutal. I think I developed an ulcer just looking at the reference page,” you huff and he just shakes his head, laugh hot on his lips. “Absolutely not worth the studying—think I got a good grade, though.”

“Well, that’s cool. I’m proud of you.” The engine chugs to life when he shifts into drive and starts for the side street.

“Thanks.” Your cheeks blush ever so lightly but you pass it off to the heat. A moment passes. “So.” The straw makes a choking noise as it nudges at the bottom of an empty cup. Jesus, you finished that fast. “What’s on the menu for today?” Brandy’s Sunny Day lilts softly into the blasting air as you settle into a comfortable conversation, schoolwork at the back of your mind.

“Thinking of making banana chocolate chip muffins and pigging on those. Thoughts?” Flicking on his left turn signal with his left hand, the right slides onto your knee.

It’s never too hot for that.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply, voice small in a sudden bout of shyness. He double-takes with a smile, squeezing once at your leg.

Pigging is a perfect term for what you two do the second those muffins are out of the oven; it is too easy to shove three of those in a matter of seconds. Bellies full and in a sugar coma, you two lay under the whirring of his living room’s fan and stare up at the ceiling.

“This feels so good,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded. Reaching a hand out, he pats his way to your hand and takes it, immediately squeezing it. “Wish you were kissing me right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” You taunt and hike a leg up onto his hips, swinging onto his lap and leaning to get your lips near his.

And that’s that.

The night is perfect.

Sapnap ushered you into his car at midnight and within four minutes you were on a US freeway with your head out the window. Like a dog.

A lone bird flies past in the dark air and you watch it swing into a patch of trees. You just close your eyes and breathe.

The stress literally melts. Melts into a puddle and drips out of you, falling onto the black pavement whipping past at a moment’s notice. School is a bitch already, much less an American college education. Grades and tests and professors and GPA’s and all that.

You swear Logan Lerman’s character knew what he was talking about when he said “we were infinite” in The Perks of Being A Wallflower. That’s what this feels like: infinity. Going 70 in a car driven by your hunk of a boyfriend, feeling the wind in your hair and the taste of midnight in between your teeth.

The inside of the car feels sweet when you duck your head back in, smile wide and hair crazy and a content look in your eyes. Sapnap gives you a glance before looking back at the road nonchalantly and lifting to curl and twitch two fingers at you. You instinctively move forward, eyebrows drawn together in curiosity. Three fingers grip your jaw tight, and then his mouth is on yours as the chorus of The King swells through the speakers. You only get two seconds to hum in happiness and slide a hand up his chest before he’s pulling away and has those beautiful eyes back on the road.

“You’re mean to me,” you sigh, and settle back into your seat with a ‘hmph’. He just looks smug. Bastard.

The nights Sapnap plays video games with his friends are—hm. Definitely something. You like to let him have those nights with no distractions most of the time; and you’re categorized as a distraction by the amount of times he “lags” when giving you a kiss or getting you on his lap.

Tonight, he got off work early and on the drive home called and asked if you’d come over and sit with him while he Robloxes with his friends. (“It’s like you can’t go one day without your hands on me,” you’d teased, but he couldn’t say a thing in response. You were right, needless to say.) “You can bring your paints!” he’d even added, knowing you like to watercolor as a hobby. You weren’t necessarily Etsy-worthy but it was fun and a stress-reliever.

And so here you were. Legs crossed, sketch pad in your lap, watching your adult boyfriend yell so loud that his voice cracks and breaks with every change of tone. You really had to remember to apologize to his neighbors…

“Baby—,” Sapnap starts, swinging around in his chair to hit you with a look so pouty his lip was in danger of falling off. “My dear girlfriend. My lovely woman.” His question doesn’t even need to be asked— he wants you to go get him a drink.

“You’re a misogynist. I’m calling NOW on you.” But you’re already heaving yourself off of his mattress and heading into the hallway, faux-annoyed look on your face. It melts into a smile upon seeing that little canvas mounted on the wall next to the door to his bathroom. It was a haphazard portrait of his parent’s dog Bowser that you’d drawn the few days his step-mom forced him to bring you home over spring break.

When you return to his room a few minutes later with a Bang and a couple of snacks for yourself, Sapnap has his headphones off and is swinging his feet in his chair like a child waiting for their parents to pick them up from school. You approach him, apprehensive smile on your face, and hand his drink over.

“Thank you,” he drawls, mid-yawn, and sets it down on the desk. Snaking an arm around your waist, he drags you between his legs and stuffs his face into your shirt. He inhales deeply but pulls away after a pause, hands tight on your abdomen. You press a thumb into his cheek and rub fondly at his facial hair, watching the way his eyes close calmly and relax.

“You’re so cute it causes me physical pain,” is all you get out before leaning and pressing a kiss square on his pink lips. They move against yours like they were meant to, one hand sliding up the material of your shirt and onto your warm skin.

“You smell like Subway,” he murmurs, and then the moment’s over.

Typical.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

My Universe

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Request (from @kreampop1257​​): Hi! Could I request a fic where Bakugou and his fem!s/o go camping? it's ok if not!!

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Warnings: None o.O? Ig y’all get a lil kissy kissy but it’s nothing crazy. Also you eat food

Author’s Note:

Sorry again for the long wait! Have some incredibly soft Bakugou (like literally almost ooc söft). Also this one ended up being gender-neutral (no pronouns) so yeah :D

Enjoy!

-Sugar

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“Where’d you say this thing was?” Your question was directed at the back of Bakugou’s head, his spiky blond hair seemingly flatter from how much he’d been sweating the past few hours.

“It’s not much farther,” he grunted.

You knew how annoying he found complaining to be, so you’d kept quiet on that front for most of your little adventure. But your bags only seemed to be getting heavier, and the sun already hung low in the sky.

Your boyfriend had suggested that he take you camping with him as a sort of romantic getaway. Granted, that wasn’t how he’d put it, but you were inclined to think so. It wasn’t every day you got to spend so much time alone with him. But now you were hot, tired, a little sweaty, and Bakugou had hardly said a word to you on your entire hike up the mountain. Figures.

Following him for a few more minutes, he led you to a small clearing between a circle of trees and unceremoniously dropped his bag. “Here,” he announced, already crouching down to pull out the tent.

You set your own backpack on the ground, taking a look around you. The trees stretched up and up above your head, a thin canopy of leaves just allowing you to see small patches of the darkening blue sky. “This is nice,” you said, twirling to see how large the site was. There was just enough space for your tent and a small fire.

“Don’t just stand there gawking,” Bakugou said. “Help me.”

You walked over to where he’d laid out the canvas of the tent, holding it up so he could put the rods in the support system and keeping it steady as he hammered in the stakes. By the time you were finished, the sky was already streaked with pink and orange hues.

“Clear that spot for the fire,” Bakugou instructed, pointing to a patch of dirt a few feet away from your tent. “I’ll go get some wood.”

And a few minutes later, you had a fire going. You leaned against your boyfriend as you both finally sat and rested on the ground, devouring sandwiches you’d packed earlier.

“Are you having fun?” Katsuki asked you, his eyes averted to his feet as he took another bite from his sandwich.

“Yeah, actually,” you answered, watching the fire dance in front of you. “I like being out here, and the hike up wasn’t too bad.” You laced your free hand with his, turning to face him. “And I like spending time with you. Even if you can be a little bossy.”

“I’m not bossy!” Bakugou said, finally looking at you with an indignant pout.

You giggled, lightly bumping your shoulder against his. “Are too.”

“I just—want things to be perfect for you,” he grumbled, looking away again. “It’s what you deserve.”

You let go of his hand to cup his face in your palm, turning his chin so your noses could brush together. “That’s sweet of you.” You kissed him gently, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he almost seemed to melt into your lips. You went back to your sandwiches a moment later after you’d pulled away, finishing them in silence.

“S’more time!” you announced, pulling the packet of marshmallows out of your bag. You passed it to Bakugou along with a skewer and began roasting them.

The blond hovered his over a glowing ember while you immediately shoved yours into the fire, watching the puffy treat burst into flame.

“You actual fiend,” Bakugou accused disapprovingly with a quirked brow as you raised the blackened flaming marshmallow high enough to blow out.

“The pot and the kettle,” you muttered, flicking off a piece of the scorched skin. “This is the quick way to do it. Besides, now it’s all nice and melty.”

“And burnt,” he quipped, turning his own so you could see the golden brown tone his had taken on.

You shrugged, pulling out a graham cracker and a square of chocolate. “Works for me.”

You tried your best to be neat while you took a bite out of your s’more, but the marshmallow had other plans. It refused to separate from itself, pulling apart in a single gooey string and sticking to your face.

Bakugou watched you out of the corner of his eye with a smirk as he finally pulled his perfectly toasted marshmallow out of the heat of the fire. He took a bite from it plain off the skewer, still amused with watching as you got specks of chocolate and marshmallow around your mouth.

“I’m struggling,” you admitted to him, still trying to figure out the best way to smush down your dessert so it would stay together.

He chuckled at your predicament, waiting until you finished. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“I’m aware.” You pulled a wet wipe out of your bag, grateful that you’d thought to bring one. Once you were finished wiping off your sticky fingers, you moved to swipe it over your face. But Katsuki stopped you before you could, taking your wrist in his hand and sliding closer to you.

Wordlessly, his lips met your face again, pecking away the sweet fragments of your s’more from your skin. You could feel his tongue swiping out, kitten licking at a crumb of chocolate in the corner of your mouth.

“Sweet,” he mumbled lowly in that gruff voice of his, almost making you shiver and causing your cheeks to heat even more than they already were. Finally he moved in even closer, kissing you fully on the lips once more for a long moment. You relaxed into him, fingers settling under his jawline to pull him in. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip as he pushed against you, exhales from his nose mingling with yours. Katsuki finally pulled away, his lips grazing over your cheekbone as he moved to whisper in your ear. “I want to show you something.”

You nodded and he stood, offering you his hand. You took it and straightened, allowing him to lead you off into the woods.

After a few minutes of walking, you noticed the trees begin to thin out. Soon, you were standing in some sort of meadow, wild grass growing up past your ankles.

“Look up there,” Katsuki whispered.

Your eyes flicked to the dark blue canvas of sky and widened as they took in the sight above you. Thousands of stars glittered in the distance, twinkling and bright in the clear atmosphere.

“I’ve never seen so many,” you whispered in awe, entranced by the bejeweled heavens.

“There’s no light pollution up here in the mountains,” Katsuki said, letting go of your hand so he could flop down on the ground. You followed, laying at his side and looking above the treeline, the grass tickling your cheek.

You laid there together in silence for some time; fingers newly entwined, eyes tracing clusters of stars, searching for familiar constellations. You stared up for so long, your eyes began to burn. You let them drift shut, allowing your other senses to take over.

You could hear the steady breaths of Katsuki beside you, accompanying the symphony of insects orchestrating music of their own design. The grass fluttered against every inch of your exposed skin, stirring ever so slightly on every draft of cool night air. You were quick to get lost in the earthly scents surrounding you, each one deeply penetrating your lungs and seeming to spin in your mind.

“Getting tired?”

Bakugou’s rough voice shook you out of your thoughts. You opened your eyes again, focusing on the heavenly view above. “This is so cool,” you mumbled, ignoring your boyfriend’s previous question. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

He tched. “Of course, dummy.” Bakugou squeezed your hand a final time before sitting up, stretching. “Come on, let’s head back before you fall asleep. It’s been a long day.”

Once you were at your campsite again, you pulled out the bedding and your pajamas. Bakugou doused the smoldering remains of your fire before helping you spread out the sleeping bags and blankets inside the tent, your actions lit only by a single lantern. 

Settling in, Bakugou shut off the light, plunging everything around you into a thick darkness. You heard him turn over, and you realized with a hint of frustration that he was facing away from you. You knew your boyfriend wasn’t always interested in cuddling, and you respected that. He wanted his space from time to time, that was all. But did it have to be now? Tonight?

You internally grumbled to yourself, regretting not shoving your sleeping bag even closer to his. Your mind began to wander, but you quickly took notice that you weren’t as sleepy as you should be. Pouting to yourself at your horrendous luck, you turned over, frowning at the feeling of hard earth under your shoulder and hip. You’d literally spent the past several hours physically exerting yourself. The least your body could do for you was allow itself to get the sleep and rest it ached for. But your head was too noisy, the ground too hard, and it was slowly sinking in how cold the woods got at night.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Cringing at the loud shuffling sounds of your sleeping bag, you shimmied your way over to your boyfriend. To your dismay, you could tell by his breaths that he was already some level of asleep. Stealthily, you tried pressing your chest into his back. Already, warmth began to seep into your skin, and you finally sighed in contentment, draping your arm over his side.

And then his breathing changed. Man, he was too easy to wake up.

You heard him chuckle, low and breathy from his still-sleepy state. “You really can’t last long without me, huh?” he said, face invisible to you, still turned away in the dark. “What was that?” he went on. “Five seconds and you already want me again?”

You scowled at the vague outline of his hair, catching onto what he was getting at. “That was so not five seconds!” you protested. “You fell asleep! And besides, it’s cold out here.” Even though he couldn’t see you, you knew he’d be able to hear the pout in your voice.

Still chuckling to himself, he rolled over to face you. “Come ‘ere, Teddy Bear, you know I’m just messin’ with you.”

Your pout remained present on your face, but even so, you found yourself snuggling into his warm chest. It was infinitely softer than where you’d previously been laying, and the way his arms snaked around your body heated you like nothing else.

“How’s this, babe?” His hand smoothed over your back, pulling at your blankets so you could effectively be cocooned against him.

“Perfect,” you whispered, finally relaxing your face and letting your smile creep across your lips. Settling in, you gripped the soft fabric of his shirt between your fingers.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Was this a nice trip?” he asked, abandoning his initial teasing tone for a more vulnerable one.

“Yes,” you answered, and of course it was the truth. “Thanks for showing me the stars.”

“Knew you’d like them,” he snorted, playing with a strand of your hair.

“The world’s so big,” you quietly mused to yourself, lids finally growing heavy. “The sun. The earth. The moon. And all the stars. But you’re my everything, Katsuki.”

His breath suddenly caught in his throat, causing him to freeze for a moment before he looked down again at your dark form snuggled into his chest.

“My universe,” you mumbled, finally drifting off in his arms.

How could you know that he felt the same? How could he express what you did to him every time you laughed? How he wanted to be there for it all? How he wanted to hold you when you were sad and lift you up when you were happy? How could he say that you meant more to him than you’d ever know, that he’d move mountains just for you if he thought for a second that it would make you smile? How could you know that you were his universe too?

“Of course I am,” he muttered to your sleeping self, pressing a final kiss to your forehead. “Always will be.” And with that, his consciousness joined you among darkness and stars.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Taglist: @aahilovetheatre​ @basicaegyo​ @hyunmin-1404​ @iiminibattlehero​ @katsugay​ @nabo39​ @pyrofanatic​​ @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars​ @sendhelpimstupid​ @sxngwoos-ash-box​ @xoxopam4​​

[weavewilled]

THERE’S  A  BRIEF  SMILE  THAT  FLICKERS,  quick.  He  doesn’t  linger,  for  now,  on  the  parts  about  Cazador,  aside  from  to  say,  quietly,  ❝  I  would  listen,  ❞  because  he  would,  and  there’s  a  part  of  him  that  gnaws  at  him  to  press.  But  —  he  also  can  tell  when  someone  doesn’t  want  to  linger  on  something  any  longer,  and  so  he  takes  the  hint  —  and  he  practically  scoffs.  

❝  Oh,  I  can  do  better  than  some  bloody  fireworks.  ❞  Something  fun  —  he  tends  to  not  like  the  use  of  magic  like  some  in  the  cities  use  it.  Those  on  the  streets,  using  bright  flashy  cantrips  and  little  spells  to  cause  enough  of  a  spectacle  to  draw  attention.  He  likes  to  think  of  magic  as  more  of  an  art  form  than  that  —  and  so  it’s  almost  funny  how  swiftly  and  easily  he  agrees.  

His  fingers  are  fine  and  deft,  and  he  gives  the  hand  smoothing  his  fingers  flat  a  reassuring  squeeze.  ❝  How  about  ——  ❞  He  doesn’t  need  to  rise,  but  he  does  sit  up  a  little  ——  and  frees  his  hand  after  a  moment,  because  he  needs  it.  

Finessing  the  Weave,  to  him,  is  not  so  unlike  creating  art.  Taking  the  canvas  that  makes  up  the  world  and  not  so  much  painting  over  it  but  reworking  the  very  fibers  of  it  —  and  he’s  delicate  at  it,  skilled  even  now.  A  few  words  are  uttered,  and  around  them  a  dome  of  sorts  coalesces  and  shimmers  into  place.All  around  them,  the  universe  seems  to  swirl,  coalesce,  form  into  dancing  constellations.  Quite  literally,  too:  they  are  entirely  animated,  and  mixed  with  those  that  would  not  be  visible  together  at  any  time  of  the  year.  They  dance,  they  hunt,  they  chase  —  sometimes  casting  blows  that  erupt  stars  into  beautiful  explosions,  not  so  much  unlike  fireworks.  ❝  I  hope  this  suits  as  fun.  ❞  Briefly,  he  looks  humored,  thoughts  drifting  just  a  little.  ❝  I  used  to  do  this  when  I  grew  tired  of  my  astronomy  lessons.  ❞

"And for what it's worth, I haven't told you half of the things that Cazador has done to me- it would take far too long." a pause. "Besides, who wants to sit there and listen to me recount every gory detail. I couldn't stand the pity." whoever other than cazador himself, anyway. he'd probably revel in it. swell with price and joy in the knowing that none of his tortures were so mundane that they had become forgotten. a sigh left the vampire and he grabbed for the shared bottle of wine between them.

well... meant to be shared. so far, astarion had drank the majority of it. he could already feel it go to his head. spawn weren't really meant to drink anything other than blood, after all. while solid foods made him violently ill, alcohol impeded him much quicker than it should.

"I don't know what I want," astarion shrugged. "For the past two hundred years, everything was chosen for me. What I wore, what I did, what I said, where I was allowed to travel. At first, I was... besides myself with this new found freedom. But I've realized, I don't know how to live without him." there was an intoxicated waved as he stopped staring out at the nights sky, and stared at gale instead. "I just want to have fun- will you show me something fun?" astarion reached out, taking one of gale's hands and turning it over; he tried to flatten his fingers out with his own. "Fireworks or- something. I don't know."

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 7

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 7

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4184

Summary: Life moves toward normalcy for Sam and the reader, regardless of emotional turmoil.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

          A few days later the Kaisers came into the bar for a nightcap and asked you and Sam to come to their house for dinner. You couldn’t think of a reason not to, and honestly thought maybe it would be nice to have something to structure the week around. It had been quiet, just barely beneath solemn while the dust settled and Sam stayed mostly silent while you moved around each other throughout the day. At least at the Kaisers’ Sam would have to talk to you, maybe even sidle up close to you during waking hours to keep up the couples’ charade. A little zap of guilt moved through you as you politely agreed to a time, that the second thought you’d had was about getting closer to Sam under this guise. In any case, the Kaisers were kind, it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice meal with someone else, and if you were going to stay here, it would be a good idea to avoid appearing standoffish. You bought their last drink and were waving after them when Sam came upstairs from changing a keg.

           “We’re going to the Kaisers’ for dinner tomorrow,” you offered, trying to keep your voice even and making a point of not staring at Sam too long. It was a challenge; since Sam had kissed you and even more since he’d divulged that longing was part of the tangle of emotions he was feeling, it was on your mind nearly constantly, adding a murky stripe to the ever-present grief.

           “Oh, uh, okay.” Sam jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he didn’t know what to do with them. “What time?”

           “They said 7:30. Don’t let me forget; I think we should bring a bottle of wine or something, so I can grab one tomorrow.”

           “Yeah, that works.”

           You wanted to drag out the conversation but couldn’t think of any way to that wasn’t cloying or desperate. If this (hopefully temporary) emotional distance was what Sam needed, it was unfair for you to try to take it from him. A quick nod and you returned to washing glasses.

           The rest of the shift passed agonizingly slowly. Sam put on a podcast about Jonestown for the drive home.

           You’d decided to walk over to the Kaisers’ with Sam the next day, bundled up on top of a presentable sweater that you hadn’t worn in a few years. Biting wind sliced through your jeans and seemed to creep into your coat even as you dug your chin inside the collar like a turtle, and when Sam noticed he threw an arm around you. His side blocked a bit of the wind and he rubbed your shoulder to warm it with friction. The impulse to curl up into his ribs was fierce, but you fought it down to wrap your forearms around the bottle of red wine that looked the fanciest of the midrange bottles at the grocery store. Where seconds before you had been wishing the walk were shorter, now you could’ve stayed out in the ice forever if it meant Sam would allow himself to be close to you again without being asleep. You’d made peace with the want, trying hard to decide that feeling crazy on top of your grief wasn’t helping anyone.

           “Ready?” Sam asked with a tentative smile at the doorway. The Kaisers lived in a version of your cabin, in the sense that many of the houses in the area were log-hewn and rustic. However, they were clearly here to stay. Window flowerbeds filled with pinecones for the season and delicately carved shutters framed warm casts of light streaming onto the snow through gauzy ivory curtains, and their door opened to a tiny front porch where yours simply had a small ungraceful cement platform. For a moment, you thought about how comforting it would be to come back here at the end of a shift. It didn’t feel like somewhere as darling as this could have a half-broken boiler that rattled all day or plastic-coated countertops. This was a home and not a hideout.

           You gave Sam what you hoped was a reassuring grin and watched as his long finger pressed an old-fashioned doorbell encased in wrought iron.

           Mike answered the door. He had on a fuzzy pullover that made him look even more like a teddy bear than he normally did, nubbly wool spanning his belly like fur. He had the kind of rosy full-cheeked smile some jolly men combined with their booming voices to seem like the Ghost of Christmas Present, and a well-groomed beard with two starkly delineated streaks of gray-white dropping straight down from the corners of his mouth. From previous neighborly hugs, you knew he smelled like piney aftershave. He was a little taller than average, and built former-linebacker solid. You would’ve bet anything he was the perfect dad to call to help move you into a college apartment or scare an ex-boyfriend, and the thought of it made you cheerful and sad all at once. The hand not holding the doorknob had a pint of dark beer. “Great, you’re here! Babs, they’re here,” he added over his shoulder, gesturing an arm to welcome you into the home.

           Sam waited for you to go first, shuffling his feet along the doormat in tandem with you as Mike closed the door. You followed Mike’s socked initiative and gently toed your boots off while you handed him the bottle of wine somewhat shyly. For all the years you’d been on your own, there was something so decidedly adult about bringing wine over to the dinner party of a middle-aged couple that felt like those first few meetings of your parents’ friends after college, when you’re not sure whether to call them by their first names or resign yourself to a life of Mr This and Mrs That. Mike seemed to pick up on it, thoughtfully appraising the bottle and squeezing your shoulder, humming about how you didn’t have to bring anything. He clapped Sam on the back and asked him how he was doing before teasing gently about how long his hair had gotten, and you took in the house.

           It was bigger than the cabin you were staying in, the staircase to your left suggesting an upstairs that yours didn’t have, but what was far more striking was how warm it felt both in mood and literal temperature. A fire crackled straight through the main room in front of you, surrounded by giant river rock stonework that offset caramelly beige walls. A deep, plush canvas sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by two equally overstuffed armchairs upholstered with burnt sienna stained leather. Quick visual survey gave you a count of 4 throws in the room of various weights and patterns.

           The kitchen was over to the right through the dining room. Barbie was wearing an apron covered in piglets and appeared to be basting something in the oven, turning toward you and absentmindedly wiping her hands. Fluffy, soft-looking hair was held back from her face with a pair of no-nonsense tortoiseshell barrettes. “Oh, perfect! I thought I hadn’t left enough time for the roast, but it looks about done. Can I get you two a drink?”

           Sam’s soft, encouraging smile was enough to make you feel a little weak in the knees. “Sure! It smells great in here.”

           “How about an old fashioned? We’ve been working through a great bottle of bourbon.”

           “Works for me,” Sam agreed, and you nodded as well.

           A few moments of small talk later, Sam offered to help Barbie with the food. She graciously accepted, giving him some job you knew she could’ve easily done herself as a way to make him feel more comfortable. Mike noticed you looking at the variety of pictures on the wall and started talking about their kids, putting names to each cheerful face. They were a good-looking family, the Kaisers, all big beaming smiles and limbs protectively wrapped around each other over the course of different seasons and major events. You’d had to let go of this idea years ago, long before Dean was gone, but it still made you ache in a nondescript way to see a family so happy and so each others’, not only in the way they loved but also in the way they so obviously belonged. Mike and Barbie were good people, and they deserved this. You tried to focus on the affection in Mike’s face as he talked, asking a few clarifying questions as he went. A few moments later, Sam came up behind you.

           “Barbie says we should go sit down.” There was a pinkness to his cheeks and you couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of the kitchen or residual windburn from your walk over.

           The table was one of those single-plank, live-edged ones you’d always coveted and knew were far more expensive than they looked. It fit the elevated rustic feel of the Kaisers’ house and the delicious, rib-sticking meal you were eating off of it. As you fawned over the roast and Barbie did the requisite Midwestern dance of ‘oh it’s nothing I’ll give you the recipe’ it was easy to fantasize about belonging somewhere like this, having parents like this, pictures of your cousins and nieces and nephews lining the walls of your childhood home. Indulgent, clearly, even more so than the rich food and smooth liquor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it.

           “So, have you two always worked in the bar industry? That always seemed so fun to me—but I’m too old to do anything like that now,” Barbie asked.

           “Oh, come on, you’d be a great bartender,” Sam insisted, always coming down on the exact right spot between flattering and politely flirtatious. “But uh, no. This is the first bar I’ve worked in for more than a few weeks, actually.”

           Mike raised his eyebrows in an indication to continue but Sam artfully avoided his gaze. You couldn’t tell what the cue was—how honest was Sam planning on being? An old classic, the technically-true, seemed like the best option. “I worked as a bartender through and a little bit after college.”

           “Silly me, I guess I had always thought that’s how you two had met; you seem like such a good team there! How did you meet, then?”

           You artfully popped an entire fingerling potato in your mouth to force Sam to take over. “Uh, our, ah, families were friends.” In the sense that Bobby had been like an uncle to you both, maybe. A complete non-answer that sort of encompassed the barebones of the situation if you squinted at it right, but neither Mike nor Barbie seemed to recognize the opacity of it.

           “That’s great. I bet your parents were excited then, seeing you get together,” Mike suggested before taking a sip of bourbon. Both you and Sam smiled affirmatively—not together, many of those parents long dead before we had even met—and hoped the moment would pass. “How long has it been, then? Since you got together?”

           That one you couldn’t even guess what the right pretend answer would be and prepared to joke ‘too long’ before Sam said, “About two years. We knew each other for a long time before that, though.” It made sense, as far as answers went. ‘About two years’ since Dean was gone, since your lives changed, but it still ripped through you like an electric shock and sent you reeling. You could have spent an hour looking at that statement from every angle but snapped out of it when Barbie gave you a basket of rolls to pass to Mike.

           “So that explains why she doesn’t have a ring,” Mike winked, playfully knocking Sam’s arm with his fork still in his hand. “Two years isn’t that long.”

           Two years is a lifetime. Sam blushed and looked down at his plate. “Be nice. Kids don’t get married at 20 like they used to,” Barbie teased from across the table, smirking at her husband with so much love behind her eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would’ve looked at Dean like that across some dining room table if things had been different and your mind flashed on the kitchen counter a few nights before, silently clinking rocks glasses together over pie and wanting to hold Sam until the world got more fair.

           The plates were cleared and an amazing, sticky bread pudding was brought out. Mike and Barbie coaxed each other into telling stories that made you genuinely belly laugh until finally you couldn’t suppress a tiny yawn and the final drink was poured with a joke about how it wasn’t like you were driving home, so what was the harm? You all moved to the living room in front of the fire, sitting next to Sam on the couch when Mike and Barbie took what must’ve been their normal spots in each armchair. Old cushions folded up around you comfortingly and rolled you slightly into Sam’s weight next to you, lining up the firm stretch of his thigh along yours. Warmth from the fire and Sam, the pleasant sounds of your hosts’ voices and Sam���s answers to them rumbling through you as vibrations when he spoke were so sweet and heavy under the bourbon, and your eyelids began to droop.

           Sam’s hand gently covered your knee. “Ready to go?” he asked, low with a private smirk.

           You made a conscious effort to sit up straight. “I’m so sorry, I can barely keep my eyes open! Where are my manners?”

           Mike laughed a big belly laugh from his armchair. “Babs, we’re outlasting the bartenders!”

           Everyone chuckled as you all got up from your chairs, Sam accepting a Tupperware of leftovers before the at-the-doorway conversation of people who didn’t want to go and hosts who didn’t want them to either. You’d been so nervous about the dinner and now you didn’t want to leave, honestly hadn’t really wanted to leave the sofa, just doze against Sam in the heat and company like a child. It had seemed before like maybe Mike and Barbie were just asking you for dinner because it was the thing to do, but they had been genuinely welcoming and you realized that these were the first non-hunter or hunting-related relationships you had made in literal years as you zipped your coat up all the way to the top and followed Sam outside into the quiet night.

           “Man, they are really nice,” he remarked, walking closely enough next to you that your sleeves brushed together.

           You could barely see his face when you looked up to him. “Yeah. We should have them over sometime.”

           “Our place looks like a flop house.”

           You giggled, the sound falling softly on the snow around you. “We can fix it up first.”

           “No real point in fixing it up if we’re not staying here for a long time.”

           “Maybe we could stay a while.”

           Sam looked down at you, slowing to a stop even as the icy wind whipped around you. “You want to stay?”

           “I mean, I—yeah, I think I do. Unless you think we should go somewhere else.”

           “No, I just…I guess I hadn’t really considered it here, the whole “roots” thing.”

           “It’s fucking freezing, can we talk at the cabin?”

           Sam’s laugh rang out across the woodsy surroundings as he clapped an arm around you and shuffled you both home.

           That night you tucked your cold toes between Sam’s flannel-clad legs and tried to imagine Dean as an old man.

           If you’d thought December and January were bad, the intense cold snap of February sent you for a loop. Something about the months of darkness and frozen fingers was making you more stir crazy than normal; the idea of coming home to the cabin seeming less and less enticing as the days went on.

           And then the boiler broke.

           Well and truly broke, not just making the horrible clanging sounds it was prone to, but no heat at all. It had only been a couple weeks since going to dinner at the Kaisers’ and the experimental conversation with Sam about investing time into the cabin which had since fizzled out. A lack of heat at the border of the Upper Peninsula in winter was obviously untenable, and it forced the topic again as you grumpily helped carry in the remnants of another dead tree Sam had felled to heat the home with firewood.

           “Is it worth fixing or is this a sign?” you huffed through the tiny clouds of steam coming out of your mouth. “How much would it cost?”

           “I don’t have a ton of experience with boilers, but I’m pretty sure it’s the heat exchanger. And I have no idea how much it would cost to fix, but I can try to do it myself if the parts aren’t too much.” Pragmatic, genius Sam with the patience for machinery that you didn’t have. He snaked a long arm out from the bundle of wood he was carrying to open the door and hold it for you to scurry under his arm before closing it after both of you.

           Generally, you thought a landlord would probably fix this kind of thing but it always felt a little scary asking him for anything, knowing you paid cash every month and the owner had never asked for a background check. It could have been fine, but every potential conflict seemed like it might be an opportunity to be unceremoniously evicted. Better to either leave before it could happen or solve the problem yourselves. You put a hand on Sam’s chest before he could go back for another bundle of wood. “Let’s talk about it for a second.”

           Sam put his hands on his hips and it accentuated the broad span of his shoulders in his thick jacket. “Okay, right. What do you think?”

           “Well, I mean, do you want to stay here? Or do you want to go somewhere else, or start moving again or something? We haven’t even really talked about it.”

           He seemed to be weighing the options before biting his lip. “Here seems as good a place as any in a lot of ways, you know? Off the beaten path, probably not going to get spotted by anyone we know—knew—and the money is honest.”

           You cut him off with a flippant wave of the hand. “Right, but I’m not talking strategically. Do you want to stay here? Do you like it here?”

           A moment of silence fell as you searched his face for clues. “I—yeah, I do. I like being in the woods, I like the bar, I like people like the Kaisers and Steve and Jake. Maybe I’ll feel differently in the summer but right now I do.”

           The grin cracked open your face slowly. “Good. I like it here too. Do you think the hardware store would have the stuff you need to fix it?”

           “Definitely the first place I would check.”

           After getting the rest of the wood inside and leaving it next to the small fire already burning to dry out, you started to follow Sam to the car before he turned around a step before the door. “Where are you going?” he asked as you almost bumped into him.

           “Hardware store, I thought?”

           “Nice try, we can’t both leave with a fire going.”

           “Oh, I get it. So you get to go sit in the warm car and hang out in the warm hardware store while I turn into a popsicle over here.” You were half-joking, but it was genuinely freezing in the cabin, even with the fire going. Sam rolled his eyes over a smirk and strode around you, pushing the couch tight to the fireplace before retrieving the down comforter from the bed and throwing it on top. He grabbed a rinsed plastic bottle from the top of the recycling bin and filled it with water hot from the tap before throwing it in the microwave for a second.

           “Unless you feel like learning a lot about boilers today, then yes.” He gingerly pulled the bottle out of the microwave and tightened the cap back on, deftly shifting it between hands before tossing it under the comforter on the sofa.

           You were having a hard time holding onto your anger as you watched him make a cup of peppermint tea, still wearing his boots and coat as he moved around the tiny kitchen. Reluctantly, you shuffled over to the couch and removed only your boots and gloves before getting under the blankets, tucking your socked feet around the poor man’s hot water bottle and finally smiling only when Sam brought over the steaming mug of tea with more than a touch of affection under the exasperation coloring his face. “Fine?”

           “Fine.”

           When he came back, you were well into a worn paperback and had put two more logs on the fire already. “Do you need help?” you called over your shoulder from within the comforter cocoon.

           “I think I’ve got it, thanks.” His words came into the room on a gust of cold air while he tapped snow off of his boots.

           “Think you know what you’re doing?”

           “Actually, yeah. The woman at the hardware store—you’d recognize her, Diane I think—knew a fair amount about it. I’m pretty sure I have it under control.” He brought a paper bag weighted with supplies over to the utility closet you knew held the boiler and got to work.

           It was nice watching Sam in this element, always had been. As much as Dean had loved doing little projects and fixing things, both Winchesters were far handier than your average bear and Sam’s natural interest in learning lent itself well to tinkering with all kinds of things. Evidently boilers were not an exception. He shucked his coat off to lie flat on his back, looking up  at something you couldn’t see with his hands gently resting on his ribcage before reaching to grab a wrench. The twisting motion raised his elbow and tugged his shirt a bit up his torso to reveal a few inches of Sam’s lower abdomen, the trail of hair tracing to his belt buckle in slightly sharper contrast to the taught skin around it given the consecutive months spent without sun. It made you blush and you quickly looked back to your book, grateful for the heat that the fireplace was bringing to your cheeks as cover.

           About forty minutes later, Sam tapped your shoulder and startled you out of the goofy historical fiction of the paperback. “Wanna see if it works?”

           He had a stripe of oil or something on his cheek but you resisted the impulse to swipe it off, instead nodding and extricating yourself from the heat of the blanket and couch around you. When you turned it on, the boiler clicked loudly twice in a way you thought might be a bad omen before going silent again. You let an extended beat pass and placed a palm on the side. It was already on the edge of being too hot to touch and you momentarily forgot that you and Sam had decidedly not been continuing your new normal level of comforting affection lately before throwing your arms up high around his neck excitedly. He chuckled into your ear and closed the embrace, forearms crossing your ribcage and hoisting you off the ground as he stood up in your hug. You could feel the fingers of one hand splayed out over your back and side through your jacket, the other still holding the wrench tightly.

           “Okay, no promises it’s going to last, but I think that was it,” Sam offered as you released each other.

           “Crank it! I want it to feel like the Caribbean in here.”

           “You say that now, and in 3 hours you’re going to be whining about how hot you are,” Sam grinned, clearly feeling a little proud of himself even if he wouldn’t admit it. He tapped the wrench absentmindedly against his palm for a moment, considering whether he wanted to say something. “When I was at the hardware store she said our landlord might be open to cutting our rent if we offered to fix up the place.”

           “Who’s we?” you teased, holding your frozen fingers close to the boiler like it was a campfire.

           “I thought you might say that. But seriously, I know you don’t like the color of the walls or the shower pressure or whatever, could make it feel a little less…sterile.”

           You tried not to remember that the last time you’d picked out paint was for a bright pink bedroom at age 12. Sam was right, it could be nice. Even more than that, it would be great to have some leftover cash around, and an extra project to kill a few hours of daylight wasn’t a bad idea.

           “I kind of like the sound of that. I’ll talk to him about whether he’d be game.” Sam squeezed your shoulder before massaging your neck, admiring the boiler distractedly when you continued. “And seriously, thank you for fixing it.”

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 8

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[crow-in-a-teapot]

tower of nero spoilers

i have just finished the tower of nero. and before i go searching for other people’s thoughts and art and more of the characters i love so much, i want to write down some of my own thoughts because i know as soon as i delve into that ‘ton spoilers’ hashtag there are going to be complaints and criticisms and so much that i don’t want to hear, or essays that’ll make me upset, or things that’ll change my perception on the book (because on this website people really love to hate the trials of apollo).

i want to start with: i loved it. it didn’t feel earth-shattering or huge and momentous like some of my favourite riordanverse books (house of hades, the blood of olympus, the last olympian and maybe some of the magnus chase books take those pedestals for me) but it was satisfying. and i think it was satisfying because it in no way felt like an ending. whether because eventually rick will write that will-and-nico-go-through-tartarus-and-save-bob novella, or because we (or at least i) will continue writing and imagining and creating for this world i don’t know. he didn’t wrap up the story in a perfect little bow like ‘nineteen years later’, he simply put it on pause. gave us a glimpse of where every character was at at the end.

the only thing that makes me so angry and upset is that i did manage to get some spoilers for moments that i know would have been so good to experience for the first time if i hadn’t been spoiled for them. the moment where rachel mentions penguins in a mansion near her house, nico getting mental health advice from mr d, the fact that will and nico were going to be in the book for so much of the story, but the big thing was literally spoiled for me two days ago, it was the reason i sat down to read it as fast as possible because i was terrified of getting more spoiled and not being able to experience the moments for myself, was that piper had a girlfriend. i know that reading that for the first time would have been so cool and surprising, and the fact that when it came up for a moment in the last couple pages all i felt was disappointment because it was spoiled for me and because it was now tinged with whatever that person was saying about her having a girlfriend.

but i still had some warm fuzzy moments, the two parts where apollo thinks he’s going to die but nico comes up behind him - so good. impeccable. 

Leader Guy spat. ‘Now, I kill you.’

He raised his sword... and froze. His face turned pale. His skin began to shrivel. His beard fell out whisker by whisker like dead pine needles. Finally, his skin crumbled away, along with his clothes and flesh, until Leader Guy was nothing but a bleached-white skeleton, holding a sword in his bony hands. 

Standing behind him, his hand on the skeleton’s shoulder, was Nico di Angelo.

and

Nero raised his hand, ready to give the kill command, when behind me a mighty BOOM! shook the chamber. Half our enemies were thrown off their feet. Cracks sprouted in the windowsand the marble columns. Ceiling tiles broke, raining dust like split bags of flour. 

I turned to see the impenetrable blast doors lying twisted and broken, a strangely emaciated red bull standing in the breach. Behind it stood Nico di Angelo.

gods. poetic brilliance. i can’t believe i’m still a nico di angelo stannie in the year 2021. in five years i have not changed (ever since the tv show announcement last summer i have managed to morph into myself from 2017)

from here i’m not sure where to go next i kind of want to go through everything, except it’ll be more difficult than my tyrant’s tomb reaction because i wasn’t reading on a kindle and thus can’t just do funny little reactions to screenshots of quotes, so i’ll just skim through the book page by page and see what i can comment on (i’m not planning on doing analysis today, no thank you, just enjoying the end of my childhood and trying to squeeze as much out of it as possible)

i have an emotional attachment to mr. snake from the very first chapter, and am very upset that he’ll never get off on his baltimore stop and get to see his wife, lu had no reason to shoot and kill him like that.

that brings me to lu, i liked her, it was interesting to see how rick kind of brought in not only the overarching theme of abuse, but also people who let the abuse happen, i have more i could say on this i’m too lazy to right now, and i promised no analysis - or the fact that Lu had conspired to make the show non-lethal to spare Meg’s feelings rather than - oh, I don’t know - refusing to do Nero’s dirty work in the first place and getting Meg out of that house of horrors. 

And are you any better? taunted a small voice in my brain. How many times have you stood up to Zeus?

Okay, small voice. Fair point. Tyrants are not easy to opppose or walk away from, especially when you depend on them for everything.

the parallels to meg and lester heading to percy’s apartment, and then to camp half blood to the hidden oracle was so cool to read, every callback to the hidden oracle just there to remind us readers exactly how far apollo has come and how he’s changed; the entire chapter with sally, paul and estelle just felt sickly sweet, it just didn’t seem real how wholesome and good that family is, like i get why apollo broke down and just sobbed in that shower.

also rick really saying acab again in toa, i thought he was done after that elf cop chapter in magnus chase (the magnus chase series is a masterpiece) but apparently not, with A ‘good cop’ is still a cop... still a part of the mind game.

the grey sisters, i forgot about them completely but this threw me back into was it the sea of monsters when annabeth summoned them? i’m not sure, it could have been the lightning thief either, they really remind me of the disney hercules movie. the whole ganymede paragraph was gold, i love gods being canonically confirmed lgbt in the riordanverse. i also love the whole eye-tossing part - 

‘He will crush our eye,’ Anger cried, ‘if we don’t recite our verses!’

‘I will not!’

‘We will all die!’ Wasp said. ‘He is crazy!’

‘I AM NOT!’

‘Fine, you win!’ Tempest howled.

also, the explanation for why dionysus chooses to look the way he does was perfect, because it was something i often wondered about and wasn’t expecting to get an explanation for, and i imagine the whole mythological dionysus to look like.. well like a more feminine apollo i guess, beautiful in a gender non-comforming way.

Other Olympians could never comprehend why Dionysus chose this form when he could look like anything he wanted. In ancient times, he’d been famous for his youthful beauty that defied gender.

... 

In retaliation, Dionysus had decided to look and act as ungodly as possible. He was like a child refusing to tuck in his shirt, comb his hair or brush his teeth, just to show his parents how little he cared.

every scene with nico at camp just BREAKS ME, i would throw in screenshots of every damn quote but unfortunately, as said above, cannot and would rather not type every one; we’ll start with, obviously apollo confirming to him that jason is dead. 

He didn’t look angry exactly. He looked as if he’d been hit in the gut not just once but so many times over the course of so many years that he was beginning to lose perspective on what it meant to be in pain. He swayed on his feet. He blinked. Then he flinched, jerking his hands away from Meg’s as if he’d just remembered his own touch was poison.

ugh then will talking about how nico’s doing, confirming that he’s suffering with ptsd, mr d giving him advice, helping him sort though what voices in his head are real and which ones aren’t, then the paragraph that just recounts every horrific thing poor nico has been through, how will has to reassure him that he’s okay and ‘with friends’ when he wakes up after shadow travel

will’s kindness to apollo, buying him clothes, and apollo finding seymour the leopard’s head in his bed, put there by mr d aaaa AAAA A A A A A THE ORDINARY, EVERYDAY CAMP HALF BLOOD THINGS..

i could go on for years and years about how much i appreciate rachel having a big role in this book, and the visit to her apartment, everything, her art, the fact that she got what she wanted, she’s going to PARIS to study ART, she isn’t forced to be someone she’s not by her dad, and gets to be a big part of a demigod mission and not stand on the sidelines for once.

i love that her landscapes are still visions, that she still paints the quests demigods go on - the burning maze, jason’s funeral pyre, caligula’s ships; and how nico ~appreciates art~

‘And, hey, di Angelo -’ she pushed him playfully away from the canvas he’d been ogling - ‘don’t brush against the art! I don’t care about the paintings, but if you get any colour on you, you’ll ruin that whole black-and-white aesthetic you’ve got going.’

i. love. rachel.

WILL GLOWS!! THE HEADCANONS FROM LIKE FIVE YEARS AGO THAT YOU’D SEE FLOATING AROUND ABOUT HIM MANIPULATING LIGHT!! CONFIRMED!! CANON!! AMAZING

I AM  OBSESSED WITH THE TROGS, I LOVE THEM, THEY ARE GREAT, not gonna lie, i was expecting something more dramatic and spooky with how worried will was and how dionysus was going.. visiting the cavern-runners isn’t ♫ good for your mental health  ♫ but the little hat frog gremlins were a good addition. i like them very much and their funky little soup shenanigans. quoting the ghost king himself: trogs good. nice hats. (IM SORRY I KEEP MENTIONING HIM BUT I JUST) also how apollo starts wishing for breadsticks a s ajoke and theY STRAIGHT UP HAVE BREADSTICKS? HUH? WHERE DID THEY GET THE BREADSTICKS FROM??

yeah, i’m also still very much upset by every mention of jason grace, it’s funny how ever since his death in the burning maze i have grown to love him more and more and that’s not fun for me, for that boy to become one of my main comfort character’s and have his death and sacrifice and nobility mentioned every few chapters. i’m pretty sure i cried when he appeared to talk in apollo’s dreams, and this time the tears weren’t from the effort of keeping my eyes open and working for hours straight reading this book (i remember staying up until 2am to finish the sequel to beautiful, broken things, it was very much worth it)

‘All right, Jason. We miss you, though.’

ALSO. THE FACT THAT THIS KID. THIS CHILD. HAD TO THINK ‘BUT IF A HERO ISN’T READY TO LOSE EVERYTHING FOR A GREATER CAUSE, IS THAT PERSON REALLY A HERO?’ A KID ISN’T SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT THAT AND BE READY TO SACRIFICE THEMSELVES FOR THE GREATER GOOD,, i,, ugh,, he’s supposed to be finishing school and designing temples not being the perfect hero and soldier,, spain without the s,,

as @couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name said: ‘thinking about how ghost! Jason didn’t seem to understand why Apollo was so upset about his death because he’s been raised to believe a hero’s sacrifice is noble and his life doesn’t matter in the grand scheme and also if he doesn’t understand why the person who watched him get horrifically killed is so torn up over his death he probably doesn’t even realize his other friends are grieving him..’

IM SO UPSET THE ARROW OF DODONA IS DEAD D: IT WAS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE CHARACTERS ALL THE FUNNIEST MOMENTS WERE BECAUSE OF THAT ARROW AND IT'S DEATH WAS SO SAD WTH LIKE WE FIND OUT HOW USELESS THE ARROW FELT AND HOW THE GROVE OF DODONA ALL THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CRAP AND WOULD FAIL APOLLO AND THEN ONCE WE FEEL BAD FOR IT, IT DIES??

the entire python battle was pretty grim, there is a part of me that's like because this is the last book series i would have loved say the magnus chase and kane chronicles gang in a giant battle with everyone like the battle of manhattan but even more dramatic, but even so, i did appreciate that python battle and the whole almost-falling-into-the-depths-of-tartarus thing.

him talking to artemis was cool, but JESUS: 'I turned and strode out of my room, trying to recall how the god Apollo walked.' like that HURTS. it was such a huge culture shock for apollo to go throught this huge character arc and be so human and understand the pain of others, to be around gods again who are so.. apathetic. also, zeus. 'Interesting how he put that: I had done him proud. I had been useful in making him look good. My heart did not melt. I did not feel that this was a warm-and-fuzzy reconciliation with my father. Let's be honest: some fathers don't deserve that. Some aren't capable of it.'

OKAY OKAY SO THE END?? CHIRON TALKING TO A CAT (BAST) AND A SEVERED HEAD (MIMIR) ABOUT SHARED PROBLEMS WITHIN THE PANTHEONS!! WILL AND NICO RECEIVING A PROPHECY FROM RACHEL TO GO TO TARTARUS AND SAVE BOB!! THE HUNTERS OF ARTEMIS, INCLUDING THALIA AND REYNA BEING BEST FRIENDS (qpr.. qpr..) HUNTING THE TEUMESSIAN FOX!! PERCY, ANNABETH AND GROVER, THE ORIGINAL TRIO, GOING ON A CHAOTIC ROAD TRIP TOGETHER!! - SO MANY STAND-ALONE SET -UPS PFSJSJSJ

okay quick word on the reunions at the end: funny little elephant visitation program with livia and hannibal. love that for them. calypso and leo's relationship seems rocky and complicated, but that's to be expected, i think even if they do get properly back together again it might not last long, because it does pretty much feel like a teenage relationship where the two aren't very compatible, but we'll see. hazel and frank are so funny with their gold plated necklaces. lavinia - tap-dance icon. almost cried at the mention of jason's temple-extension plan again. percy not being sure about what he wants to do in college is accurate and i like that that's left to be up-for-interpretation (rick does THE MOST for the fanfic writers pfsjsj). i am OBSESSED with aeithales, like i hate deserts so the burning maze setting is not my favourite but GOD that HOUSE, the vibes are off-the-charts. i'd love a house made of living trees that's also a greenhouse filled with dryads. meg gets a unicorn. that is so great.

i kind of wish the book hadn't ended with 'Call on me. I will be there for you.' because every time I imagine the friends theme song and i don't think that's the vibe he was going for, BUT i do love him talking to meg, that was genuinely emotional - 'You'll come back?' she asked. 'Always,' I promised. 'The sun always comes back.' ; i really wish it had ended with that, but i guess apollo does tend to break fourth walls and talk to the readers, like a lot of the protagonists of riordanverse books.

[madhyanas]

the sweetest and most important sound

Part [TBD] of the Hospitality series

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13 (Mainly due to verbal teasing and extremely mild language)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: None, really. Some non-sexual intimacy, if you’d like to avoid that.

A/N: this is my first fic that’s staying posted, so feedback is welcome. i do have a series in mind with paz and this specific reader. check it out on ao3, too, if you want to see more detailed tags. title comes from a quote by dale carnegie. 

big inspirations for this were @no-droids​, @vercopaanir​ and @its-alltheway​​. also, i’m very new to tumblr, and @jangofctts​ has been lovely :)

Golden.

That’s what you see, what you feel. Stopped on some backwater, Outer Rim planet, your little travelling party finally has some time to relax. To tread on soft, grassy earth, and breathe in the sweet scent of flowers in the breeze. It’s a welcome change from recycled air and solid, mechanical floors.

The fresh, crisp forest atmosphere. You can taste it on your tongue, feel the chill of it as you inhale. You can detect the fragrance of berries, somewhere far off in the trees, and the earthy, waterlogged scent of silt closer by. A stream, perhaps.

You don’t know the name of the planet; you didn’t bother to ask Mando, excited as you were. You suspect it doesn’t have one; so untouched by war and Imperial rule that it just… remained. Literally, a land that time forgot. Someplace so out of the way that it soothes even Mando’s constant vigilance.

Two suns set over the horizon, and the sky is a dreamy blaze of orange and violet. Insects buzz faintly in the background, and you sigh.

The Hawk IV stands behind you, hatch down, as you rearrange some logs around Mando, who’s preparing firewood. Vosca’s giggles fill the air as she scampers through patches of tall grass. Keeping a close eye on her, you catch flashes of a crimson forehead as she stalks some kind of creature. A frog, you think.

The mild, familiar scent of her is comforting. You rub the white, geometric markings on your cheeks absent-mindedly, and will yourself to relax. She’s close, she’s safe, she’s happy.

It’s a nice thought to have.

“Give me a moment. I’ll be back,” Mando says suddenly, and you blink. The fireplace is lit, you notice, flames crackling. Your sturdy canvas satchel has been moved to sit upon one of the logs, noticeably dusted off. He stands, patiently waiting for you to respond before he goes. Helmet inclined towards you with a respect that manages to warm your cheeks every time.

“Ah, yeah. Of course.” You pause, and joke, “Just don’t run away with the ship, huh?”

There’s a burst of static through the vocoder, and you think it could be a snort, before he steps forward. His gloved hand falls on your shoulder, and you swallow thickly at the closeness. A scant few inches lie between the tip of your nose and his cuirass. “I would never.”

There’s a depth to his low voice that resonates within you. As if he’s taking an oath, kneeling at your altar. It’s… a lot more sincerity than you expect.

“Oh. Well, of course. I think Vosca would throw a fit.” You grin, attempting levity, but he shakes his head firmly. Leaving no room for debate.

“Even then, even if she were with me. I would— I would not leave you. I could not.”

The hand on your shoulder squeezes gently, and his helmet inclines down to your face, like he’s imploring you to understand. Staring up at him, your lips part as his meaning finally reaches you. His broad figure is backlit by the dusky glow around you, casting his silhouette over your smaller frame, and you like to think that behind the helm, those eyes are staring back with just as much wonder.

Your mouth is dry, as if you’ve crossed a desert for years. Only now finding the water to quench your thirst. His hand on your shoulder, as heavy and muscled as you know it to be, does not feel like a weight. It’s pulling you up, rising, and there are no words to describe the lightness in your heart.

He ducks his head then — the movement registers as shy, impossibly — and the palm slides off your shoulder, lingering down your arm, before ultimately leaving you at the hand. The cool kiss of leather on your skin makes your breathing hitch. A modulated sigh, before he repeats softly, “I’ll be back. Faster than you know.” He turns and begins the short walk to the ship.

There’s a bubbling urge to say something. “No need for dramatics,” you call after him, wiggling your toes in your boots. “But best hurry back, Mandalorian.”

He hesitates, a split-second pause that you would have missed, had you known him any less. You almost think you’ve imagined it, because when have you ever known Mando to hesitate? But then he continues without looking back, disappearing into the hull of the ship.

You slump down on a log bonelessly, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. Your cheeks ache, and you realise you’re smiling.

“Ruusaan, Ruusaan!” A whirlwind of scarlet limbs tumbles in front of you. Startled, you blink at the little Zeltron girl. It’s rare that anyone manages to get the jump on you, but by now you know that Mando and his ward are exceptions to almost every rule in your book.

There are leaves and twigs stuck in the two brown braids running down the back of her head. She grins toothily at you, a smear of dirt on one cheek. Really, it’s more a bearing of teeth than anything else, feral thing that Vosca is. Her eyes are bright, shining with the thrill of a successful hunt, and she thrusts her little arms towards you. “Look what I caught!”

In Vosca’s grimy grasp, there’s a blue, particularly fat creature, rather like a toad. Held at the middle, its six limbs dangle loosely at the sides. Your nostrils flare minutely, but can’t pick up any scents of poisons or toxins, and you relax a fraction. It casts an unimpressed gaze over you once, and attempts a croak, but the child’s clutching grip digs in too deep to allow for the swell of its belly. Those lazy, golden eyes widen in panic, and you balk.

“Hey, bug, let’s just put it down for now, yeah?” Hastily, you extract the toad from Vosca’s hands, and she pouts at you. You still, and cradle your palms around the creature’s stomach, fingers resting gently on the front, in a caress rather than a pincer-grip.

“See here,” you explain, leaning in, as if you’re trading secrets. She ducks her head towards you in curiosity, and there’s a burst of tenderness in your chest. “We’ve got sharp, pointy fingers for animals like these. Gotta be careful. Be soft with it.”

Vosca’s eyes widen and she nods her head vigorously. A few dried leaves fall to the ground. A beat, then she asks shyly, “Can I try, please?”

Always so polite. While you don’t know for sure, you suspect it’s Mando’s influence. In any case, you don’t think you could deny her even if she’d demanded it. “Sure, bug.” Gently, you pass the toad back into her dusty, red palms. With a watchful eye, you see how quickly she takes to correction. Now holding the scared little thing with more care, less force. Precariously tilting it onto her chest, she frees one hand to stroke it tenderly across the back. The corner of your mouth ticks up fondly.

Then, carefully, she kneels down, and releases it. The toad immediately hops away into the tall grass with a vengeful ribbit, and your brows raise. Sensing the question on your face, she turns her face up to yours, doe eyes blinking up at you.

“It wasn’t prey,” Vosca says simply. “S’just for fun. Wouldn’t be fair to hurt it.” She shoots you another toothy smile, filling her whole face with innocent joy.

Huh. Always keeping you on your toes, this one. You return her grin as she sits next to you on the log. “Ah, that’s right, bug. Good girl.”

You lift your arm and she snuggles into your side, her scrawny body fitting into yours neatly. Lovingly, you press a kiss into her hair, eyes falling shut. You keep your head resting on hers, and she heaves a sigh as you idly stroke through the loose strands at the nape of her neck.

This is how Mando finds you, later. Half-asleep, curled around each other. Your eyes open at the fuzzy, tingling feeling on the back of your neck, and lo and behold: he’s watching you as he makes his way towards the makeshift campsite. His gait is familiar to you; the broad saunter of a man confident in his abilities, yet not foolish enough to be cocky. As if he couldn’t fill up a room already, his walk only amplifies his presence.

You blink lethargically, trying to focus. The sky is now a deep indigo, the bare beginnings of twinkling stars appearing across the heavens. It’ll be fully dark, soon.

The Mandalorian comes to stand over you. Once, you would have found his constant presence menacing. But now you smile at him, grateful for his company. It’s sweet, you think, how awkward he is. If you know what to look for. Most don’t have the chance to look beyond the beskar, and the assortment of weapons he lugs around.

He seems… duller, somehow. You shake your head lightly, dusting off the lingering fatigue, and you realise it’s true in the most literal sense. He’s not reflecting light as much as you would expect.

Aside from the helmet, he wears no beskar at all. Dressed in a dark, high-necked, shirt and canvas trousers, Mando seems comfortable. Relaxed. It’s a good look for him, you think.

“Did she fall asleep?” he asks you, nodding at Vosca, nuzzled in your arms. Her head emerges from where she’d buried it in your side, yawning blearily.

“I’m not… M’not sleepy,” she whines, squishing a chubby cheek against you. You and Mando both chuckle.

“Of course not, ad’ika.” You think he’ll hold his arms out to hold her, pick her up, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he just takes a seat next to you. The log creaks under his bulk, even without the added steel.

Vosca grumbles something under her breath, and you snort as she wriggles further into your warmth. She slumps bit by bit, falling asleep once more. You glance down at her, and the love you feel is all-encompassing.

Because you do love her. Your girl, just as much as she is Mando’s. You don’t know if she thinks of you as a mother, and the thought stings a little. An aunt, perhaps?

But without a doubt, you know she’s your child.

You’re startled out of your thoughts as a weight settles over your shoulders, and you look at the man next to you. Mando’s draping a cloak over you, tucking it around your frame and over the little girl in your arms. Out of the corner of your eye, you recognise the sturdy, brass-coloured clasp as his own.

“O-oh. You don’t have to…”

“You’ll get cold.”

He shuffles closer to fasten the clasp. As he raises his gloved hands and leans in, you wet your lips nervously.

His helmet shifts, ever so slightly, to follow the motion.

“But what about you?” you ask quietly, heart hammering in your chest. His long fingers meddle with the clasp at your clavicle; the weight of them on your person seems astronomical, for such a small, small thing. In the shining surface of the helmet, you can see the outline of your face, small and vaguely illuminated in the firelight, framed by those bold white strokes. But when you see them in Mando’s helmet, for once, you don’t think of your father’s matching stripes, of what you inherited from him. You think of how close you two are, in this moment.

He’s so close you can hear him breathe, too faint to be picked up by the modulator. There’s a small puff of air, escaping under the lip of his helm. Raw, unfiltered. You cling to it with all your heart.

“I will be fine, Ruusaan,” he rumbles. He’s leaning over Vosca’s snoozing body between you, arching carefully so he doesn’t disturb her. He’s… really quite close now.

Inhaling as subtly as you can, you catch the scent of him. Lingering on the thick wool, a clean blend of soap, blaster residue and freshly cut grass. Something smoky, too. It’s more soothing than you expect. Involuntarily, your nose twitches in delight, and his helmet tilts a fraction in response. You rush to distract him.

“But— But the armour.” Mando stares. “You’re not wearing any. Isn’t it cold? With— Without it, I mean.”

He dodges the question entirely. “Would you like me to put it on?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, sweetening his low baritone, and he quietens to a murmur as he sticks his head forward condescendingly. “I understand if this is too… scandalous."

You stifle an outraged squawk, and remove an arm from holding Vosca to swat his bicep. Your hand bounces harmlessly off corded muscle and you look away from him, cheeks burning. He just laughs at you, muffled for fear of waking the girl at your side.

You huff, resolutely averting your gaze, but it’s for naught. A large palm comes to cradle the side of your face, and your face feels tiny in its hold. He directs your eyes back to the visor with more care you’d ever expect, had you not known him so well. The smooth leather against your cheek is grounding, an anchor amongst the dizzying, overwhelming ocean of his presence. Surely, he can feel your flaming blush through the glove. In your embarrassment, a peculiar strike of courage grabs you by the throat.

With your free hand, you hold the glove cradling your face. Without taking your eyes off him, you lean into the touch, exhaling gently.

Mando stills. You can’t tell who’s predator or prey, here. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Deliberately, you squeeze your fingers around his own and an unfamiliar, choked noise comes out through the modulator.

You stare at him, and realise there’s hardly any distance between you. It’s nothing obscene, never could be with Vosca dozing in your arms, and yet you feel so giddy. There’s a type of intimacy here that you’ve never experienced before, never imagined before.You’re close enough that your breath fogs on the beskar.

“Mando…” you breathe.

Suddenly, the figure between you stretches awake with a yawn. You jump away from Mando as Vosca awakens with a long, languid yawn. The man beside her, a little subtler, leans back with the fluid, practiced grace of a warrior.

“Are you okay, Ruusaan?” she asks sleepily, oblivious to the moment now broken.  She pulls the cloak away from her to face you properly.

“W-what? Of course I am, hun, why…”

“S’just,” she starts, rubbing one eye. “I got woken up. Your heart’s beating really fast.”

Your eyes widen. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. You try to backtrack, “How about you go back to sleep, bug? It’s late.” You can feel Mando’s stare on you. Piercing, even through the steel.

Vosca frowns at you, scrunching her nose up endearingly. “But then you and alor’ad will be without me.”

After a moment of floundering, struggling to come up with an answer, Mando beats you to it. Planting a gentle, reassuring hand on her head from behind, he says simply, “We’ll never be without you, adi’ka. You know this.”

She leans her head completely backwards, and her braids dangle in the air. Arching her neck to look at him upside down, the vibrant red of her skin reflects in his helmet. There’s a flash of hesitation as she considers, and you jump at the opportunity.

“Bedtime, bug,” you say, standing. Mando’s nearly your height, you notice, even as he sits. You stuff the thought down. Later. “Got a big day tomorrow.”

Vosca mutters something under her breath moodily — something about how everyday’s the same — but her eyelids are drooping, and you figure you can let it slide. Just this once.

Maker, you’re impatient.

You sigh. Again. You hate to undo Mando’s work, but… “C’mon, hun. Floor’s more comfortable.” You undo the clasp deftly, and some subconscious level, it occurs to you that Mando is dextrous. More so than anyone you’ve ever met, probably. Fastening the clasp would take seconds.

No reason for him to linger as long as he did.

You smile faintly to yourself, and the ever-present heat burning in your cheeks this evening unfurls through your face.

You bundle the girl in Mando’s cloak as she lays down in the shallow grass. Tugging your canvas bag towards you, and place it beneath her head.

Kneeling down next to her, you stroke her hair once, twice. “G’night, alor’ad, g’night, Ruusaan,” Vosca mumbles, eyes falling shut once more.

“Goodnight, bug.” You lean down to peck her forehead tenderly, and she snuggles into her covering.

“Goodnight,” Mando returns kindly. At last, when you’re convinced she’s really out for the count, you steel your courage and look back to him.

From this angle, he’s glowing. Your lips part in wonder as you marvel at the rolling flames reflecting in the helmet. The flickering bronze and gold and scarlet washing over his bulky frame, defining the hard lines of his arms and chest beneath the shirt like something out of a painting. A relic of another time. Beautiful in its detail. Regal, even when most relaxed.

Silently, he holds a gloved hand out to you. You blink at it for a moment, too overwhelmed by this man you know so little about but oh, would you like to learn.

You take his hand, and suddenly he’s pulling you up with him to stand. Stumbling a little, your other palm comes to steady yourself on his chest. The movement feels so natural, so instinctual, and you worry you’re being presumptuous.

But then Mando’s free hand comes to rest on your waist — “Oh.” — and all other thoughts leave your mind.

“She’s asleep,” he notes, and you can feel his deep voice rumbling. Through the shirt, vulnerable and unprotected, his chest lies beneath your fingers. Solid muscle, yes, but there’s the soft give of flesh just like anyone else. It’s… nice. Pleasant, in the way it reminds you how human he is. How he lets himself be, in these fleeting moments of peace.

You hum. “Finally.” The hand on his chest gradually makes its way up his pectoral, tracing the ridge of his clavicle, before coming to rest on his shoulder. Without the pauldron, you can feel just how taut he holds himself. “Relax, Mando,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb back and forth in an attempt to soothe whatever’s running through his mind.

“Could tell you the same,” he replies smoothly, but you feel the strain in his shoulders lessen slightly under your gentle ministrations. The helmet tilts forward to hover next to your ear; it’s somewhat awkward, with how much he needs to bend down to do it, but that’s alright, you think. “Careful, Ruusaan. Does your heart still beat so quickly?”

Your jaw clenches momentarily, if only out of sheer embarrassment, because you know he’s right. “That’s— that’s not— Come on, Mando.”

The man chuckles, and at this meagre distance, you can feel it in your soul. Straightening just a little, he rests the side of his helm against your head. Not leaning, per se, or applying weight. Just touching. Keeping contact. The cool surface of beskar feels chilling against your molten cheeks.

With the hand joined with his, you curl your fingers, embracing the gaps between his. You both linger like that, for a while. Basking in the haze of firelight and safety; frozen in a half-dance, holding each other contently.

Then you realise. In another, strange instance of boldness, you murmur, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed yours either, smooth talker.” The reassuring thud thud thud beneath your fingertips is steady, as always. But you feel it’s more insistent, more urgent than you’d expect.

He doesn’t stutter or fumble like you do, but there’s a bashful sort of groan through the vocoder. It really shouldn’t be endearing as it is. “Ah, well. Seems I’ve been caught.” He plays along in a plaintive, mournful tone, and you stifle a snort. “Can’t be helped, I suppose.”

You nudge the helmet with your cheek playfully. “Oh? What’s that?”

He breathes a particularly wounded sigh, and you feel rather than hear him sober as he murmurs, “This is what you do to me, Ruusaan.”

Your jaw falls slack. Oh.

Your head is reeling with the implications of it. Him affecting you was one thing, because how could he not? With the way he fills a room and laughs at your stupid jokes and tells Vosca bedtime stories and holds you so carefully it feels like a lover caressing glass, about to shatter any moment—

Kinda how he’s holding you now, actually.

Your hand on his shoulder brings his head up from where it rests to look at you properly, and holds the blue steel in the indent where his cheek would be. You’ve been struggling for words, wondering how to respond to the affections of someone you admire so much. How to do him justice.

“You are so much to me, Mando.”

Timidly, your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and once more, his helmet tilts to follow the movement. You feel a kind of longing in that little shift, an age-old yearning borne of dedication to the Creed, from a man who feels everything so strongly.

The knowledge that you two will always be separated by a layer of beskar is always floating over your head. To say that you’ve made your peace with it would be a bold-faced lie, but—

Well, it’s who he is. To disrespect his Creed would be to disrespect him, and that you cannot allow.

But for the first time, you wonder how he feels about it. If that perennial ache in your chest whenever you glance at the helm resides in his, too.

Mando’s hand, previously resting on the slope of your waist, comes to hold your cheek. As if there’s a mirror between you, paralleling your stance to each other like clockwork. Two halves of a whole, reflecting each other.

Gradually, he tilts your face up to his. Leaning in, he touches the forehead of the helmet to yours, and your eyelids flutter shut, lashes barely grazing the metal. This time, the cold metal against your skin feels like a reprieve, freeing you from the burning sensation.

Like a kiss, you think absently. Is that what this is?

You’ve seen him do this before, with Vosca. Never truly knowing what it meant, what it signified to him, you’d left it alone.

You try to ask him, to make sense of the maelstrom of affection and yearning and want. “Mando—”

But his shoulders tense suddenly. “No.”

You blink. “N-no?”

He draws away, then. His hand is still cradling your face, but the helmet retreats, and you panic. What happened? What did you do? What boundary did you overstep to ruin something so torturously good—

He says your name. The name your mother gave you, not the nickname he and your girl call you in their language. “May I give you something?”

You’re confused, to say the least. The emotional range he’s currently choosing to display could give you whiplash. He’s not a very materialistic man, you know, and what could he possibly be giving you now, in this moment?

“I— I don’t think you could give me anything greater than this.”

He deflates. “Oh, ner kar’ta,” he croaks, stroking his thumb over your flushed cheek. Even through the modulator, the foreign syllables drip from his mouth like liquid gold, tongue rolling over the consonants in a way that makes you shiver. “I would be honoured to try.”

Wordlessly, you nod, still not fully comprehending what he means.

He must sense your bemusement. The grip on your side tightens nervously, and you dig your heels in to swallow a squeak. “My name is not ‘Mando’, cyare.”

And the world collapses beneath your feet.

This is new territory, dangerous territory. This is uncharted land, and you feel like you’re trespassing on the tricky, treacherous land of his very being.

You must look ridiculous. Like a fish, mouth bobbing open and shut. He chuckles, a small, subdued thing, and you immediately think it doesn’t suit him. The urge to fix it, to help him, crawls up your spine and settles in your gut.

You bite down the nerves scrambling up your throat to accept what he’s giving you. To reassure this man in your arms, who you have come to care for so deeply, and for yourself. To satiate the niggling curiosity in that corner of your mind left forcefully ignored for so long.

“If you’re sure.” You pause, and add, “Only if you’re sure. This isn’t… an obligation.” It’s somewhere between a question and a statement. You can both hear the moniker you’re avoiding, the cavernous gap opened up by what he’s offering you.

“I know. This is what I wish to give.” And there’s the Mandalorian you know, steadfast and confident, unwavering in the face of adversity. Willing to cross the gap into the unknown with you.

You remain silent, and step closer to press yourself to him. Feeling his pounding heartbeat against yours. Allowing the words to come from him, at his own pace, the warmth of your combined body heat hopefully calming his nerves.

Just as your eyes drift shut, content to wait as long as he needs, you hear it. Quiet, rasped through the helmet.

“Paz. Paz Vizsla.”

You inhale sharply, and look up. Oh, stars. It feels surreal, having a name to the face. Or lack thereof. To think he’d really trust you with such a core part of his being. You’re not sure if this breaks his Creed, or if there are loopholes, but as of now, you don’t care.

It… suits him. Short, robust. Yet somewhat lyrical on the tongue.

“Can I say it?” you ask meekly. The last thing you need right now to is to overstep, not when you’ve come so far.

“Please,” he breathes.

And the floodgates open. A smile breaks over your face, soft and eager, and you swell with affection. “Paz.”

A beat passes, in which everything you love hangs in the balance, and then he laughs. A true, full-bodied, bark of laughter that would ring in your ears long after it stops, but it doesn’t — it spills out of him like water spluttering through the fissure of a dam, bursting forth with all the weight of its years of confinement. He keeps laughing and laughing and then he’s holding you tightly with both arms, swinging you around. With anyone else, the action would’ve scared you. Would’ve been interpreted as a wild, uncontrolled invasion of space.

But with Mando— No. With Paz, you feel like you’re flying. You’re reminded of your days piloting through hyperspace, and the pride of swimming amongst the stars.

You shriek as your feet leave the ground, but it soon dissolves into giggles as he holds you above him.

(The ease with which he can manhandle you, can wrap both of those large, large hands around your comparatively diminutive hips, brings a blush to your face. But that’s a thought for another time.)

Eventually, he places you back on solid ground, and you beam up at him. He’s panting lightly, though you know lifting you was an easy task for someone of his strength. It’s okay. You feel breathless, too.

“Only with me,” he says. “And Vosca.”

You nod gravely. Maker, you’d never use it with anyone, just for the pleasure of knowing he trusts you. “I give you my word.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the girl in question snoring lightly, still bundled up in Paz’s cloak. Somehow still asleep; you’re immensely grateful.

He returns the nod, and it’s funny how formal it seems compared to the little display you just put on. Paz stares for a moment longer, then huffs. “You sound like a Mandalorian.”

“Is that… good?”

He’s quiet, like he’s trying to find the words. “We may rubbing off on you— I may be rubbing off on you.”

You take a moment to look at him. Beskar gleaming in the moonlight, softly reflecting the fire behind you. He’s bared before you in a way that makes you feel safe. Maybe even loved.

“That might not be too bad.”

And so it goes. You and Paz stand under the stars, flames crackling at your feet, bending towards each other like flowers to the sun.

———

[honeyhan-123]

The Artist ~ III

Summary: When Steve meets the reader at an art class he immediately becomes enticed and maybe, just maybe, she can help heal his wounded heart.

Warnings: none (smut in later chapters)

Word Count: 2.6k

AN: I am so sorry it took my a while to come out with the next part of the series but I hope y’all like it. Also Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to everyone! 

As always a massive thank you to the beautiful @imanuglywombat​ who designed the amazing moodboard. 

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Part One ~ Part Two

Steve had woken up the next morning in a funk. It had started the night before when he had awkwardly walked back to the tower with Bucky. He wanted so badly to say something, to say anything to the other man but everytime he tried, he was just reminded of that night and his heart shuddered in his chest. He had thought they were finally in a good place again but it still hurt. He knew he was being selfish but he couldn’t help it. He had waited so long to finally get Bucky back and to have him so close but not in the way he wanted was torture for Steve.

It was as though the entire tower could feel Steve’s sour mood as hardly anyone bothered him throughout the day. He had spent most of it in the gym, either destroying yet another punching bag or sparing with his teammates as they drifted in and out of the room. The hours that he didn’t spend in the gym were occupied by a small amount of paperwork and mission planning. 

They had recently caught wind of some illegal arm dealing off the coast of Portugal and while it would have normally been left to the authorities, they had reason to suspect they were dealing with alien tech so the team had been brought in. There wasn’t much information circling about it so Steve knew he still had a couple weeks to plan but it still made him slightly ansty being so unprepared.

The hours passed slowly but finally it was six o’clock and Steve felt no guilt as he packed up for the day. There was a slight spring in his step as he left Avengers tower with his sketchbook tucked under his arm and his sour mood from earlier was almost completely forgotten. His legs jiggled as he took the J train out to Brooklyn, equal parts nerves and excitement ransacked their way through his veins. 

To help pass the time as the train rushed through underground tunnels Steve watched those around him. Not like he would on a mission trying to figure out whether or not they were actually civilians but as he imagined an artist would watch them. He tried to figure out how he would draw each and every and every passersby. He tried to memorise the way the old lady’s smile lines deepened as she spoke to who Steve assumed to be her grandson, or the way the little boy looked up to her with complete adoration in his eyes. 

He felt so much more at ease than he had all day as he stepped off the train and began the short walk towards the studio, his mind never once drifting to his brunet best friend. Despite the darkening sky the streets were packed as people bustled around and Steve had to squeeze his way through the throng of people. He smiled as he passed a group of carolers despite it only being late November. The familiar tune of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ floated through his ears and he stooped to donate a hefty sum in their collection tin, earning him a round of ‘thank yous’.  

The studio was only a block away so when he finally dashed up the steps, he could still hear the melodic voices of the group. As he pulled the door open, a warm gush of air washed over him and he couldn’t wait to get inside but he heard someone call out to him that made him pause. 

‘Hey! Hold the door please!’ He turned as you came bustling up the stairs, your face barely visible behind the large canvass you carried. Steve stood back and ushered you in ahead of him and you gave him a small ‘thanks!’ 

Already starting to feel a little too warm in your multiple layers, you set down the canvass just inside the entryway and shrugged out of your heavy winter jacket. ‘It’s bloody cold out there isn’t it? I reckon we’ll get some snow for sure this year.’ Steve nodded his head somewhat absentmindedly, trying to tear his eyes away from you. 

‘I - uh - yeah, I hope so. It used to snow heaps in the city when I was growing up but it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper winter.’ 

‘Oooh that must have been so nice! I’ve always wanted a white Christmas like in all those Hallmark movies but I grew up in Australia so that was never going to happen.’ 

‘You’re from Australia?’ The slight twang of your accent had been one of the first things Steve had noticed about you, but he thought maybe the average person wouldn’t have been able to tell. It definitely sounded like you had been in New York for a while. 

‘Yeah, Melbourne actually. I moved here after university. I have no idea why though. Probably some preconceived notion that to be an artist, you have to struggle in New York for a bit first.’ You laughed as you mocked yourself and Steve smiled, knowing exactly what you meant. ‘What about you? Are you originally from the Big Apple or are you a newbie like me?’ Your eyes locked with his as you asked and Steve felt his smile deepen. 

‘I was born and raised here in Brooklyn actually.’

‘Right of course, you literally said you grew up in the city earlier. Sorry about that.’ Steve shrugged away your apology telling you not to worry about it. The door was pulled open and you tried to move out of the way as a gust of cold air drifted inside following another class member who you smiled in greeting at.

‘We should probably head in, it’s nearly seven.’ Steve said as he checked his watch. ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ He gestured towards the large canvas leaning against the wall.

‘Oh yeah. If you wouldn’t mind? It’s just a bit awkward to carry by myself.’

‘Not at all.’ He easily lifted it into his arms and followed as you led the way down the hallway and into the studio. He had no choice but to follow as you headed towards one of the easels towards the front of the room, where you had sat last week. Even though he didn’t want to be noticed by the rest of the class, Steve couldn’t resist the temptation of sitting down in the empty stool next to yours. 

He watched as you pulled out your oil paint and started setting them on a very used palette and Steve was reminded of last night. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up, as you hadn’t mentioned yet, but he thought maybe you just hadn’t seen him. After all he and Bucky had been towards the back. 

‘I uh, I saw you last night. At Ronan’s bar for the wine and art night.’ He clarified, determined not to seem creepy. ‘I was going to say hi but you seemed a little busy.’

‘Oh, really? I’m so sorry I didn’t even notice you were there! But how good is it!? $25 for unlimited wine plus some art fun. It’s just a shame they only run it during winter.’ You looked slightly remorseful and Steve couldn’t help but agree.

‘I didn’t realise that. I just found the flier over the weekend and decided to give it a try.’ 

‘Well I’m glad you did. If you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden interest in art?’

‘Oh, well I don’t know really. One of my friends, Nat, found my sketchbook that’s basically been abandoned the last few years and wouldn’t stop nagging me to get back into it. She and Tony are always pushing me to have a life beyond work.’

‘Tony as in Tony Stark?’

It only crossed Steve’s mind as he nodded that perhaps not all of Tony’s employees were on a first name basis with him. He needed to be more careful with the words that came out of his mouth. Eager to shift the conversation away from Tony he quickly divulged even more personal information. ‘I uh, I think it might have something to do with my friend, the one I told you about last time.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, growing up he was practically always my muse and we’ve only recently found each other again - he had to go away for a while. Maybe it’s because he’s back again that I’ve found the inspiration…’ He drifted off, unsure of what he was saying. ‘That probably didn’t make any sense.’

‘No, no, it did. I totally get what you mean. I used to have this dog, his name was Bear and growing up I used to draw him all the time. But when he passed away, I just didn’t feel that spark anymore, you know? It took me a while to find it again but when I did everything just made sense again.’ 

Steve was refrained from replying by the entrance of Madame Maxine to the studio as she quickly called the class to order. 

‘Today we have the wonderful Jerry modelling again. Since it is his second week, he will be modelling nude for us today.’ Her attention drifted back to Jerry who was wearing a dark red silken robe. ‘If you could please derobe Jerry and get settled into position B that would be brilliant.’ Jerry nodded and followed her instructions, setting himself down on the stool in front of the class. Steve had to admire his confidence. He knew that even if it was purely for art he could never model nude for anyone, he struggled enough doing promotional shots when he was fully clothed. 

Steve was too aware of you sitting next to him for the next hour. Everytime you shifted on your stool or bent to mix some more paints he noticed and his eyes followed your movements. As a result his own sketch was barely half complete by the time the hour was up and the small bell rang. He would definitely be voting to keep the position. 

Your painting on the other hand was beautiful. Despite the limited time you had not only managed to capture Jerry as he was, but also his essence. Steve was enraptured and stammered his way through a maze of compliments which you humbly shrugged away. 

‘I just have experience with Jerry, he modelled last winter and he works here part time too.’ 

‘He works here?’

‘Yeah Maxine rents out the studios to aspiring artists if they need a large space. I had this massive project over the summer on three canvases that were each four by five meters and my apartment is a shoebox so it never would have worked if it weren’t for Maxine.’

‘Wow, that sounds impressive.’ Steve could hardly imagine working on as big a canvass as you were currently using, never mind one nearly three times the size. ‘How long did it take you to finish?’

You glanced down, slightly avoiding his eyes. ‘It’s not… well it's not technically finished yet. I’m so close to being done with it but I just…’ You trailed off, unsure how to put it into words. 

‘There’s something missing?’ Steve filled in for you and you nodded eagerly.

‘It’s almost right but everytime I think it’s done I realise just how much I hate it and I have to leave the room to stop myself from painting over it again.’ Although Steve had never done something quite on the same wavelength he could relate to the need for perfection. He had lost count of how many pages he had ripped out of his sketchbook and thrown in the trash only to start all over again. 

‘What’s it of?’

‘It’s a collection, mainly of my favourite places in New York and it’s all about the human footprint… or at least, it’s meant to be.’ 

‘If it’s anything like your painting of Jerry I’m sure it’ll be incredible.’ 

Steve didn’t have to be able to see it to know that your cheeks would be flushing with heat at his compliment. He didn’t understand why you doubted yourself so much, it was clear that you were incredibly talented. ‘Thank you, you’re far too sweet.’ 

Maxine clapped her hands once again calling the attention of everyone. ‘It is now that time where we decide if we would like Jerry to stay as he is or if we would like him in a new position. Raise your hands for the same pose.’ Steve eagerly raised his hand along with you and most of the class.

After a quick headcount Maxine nodded firmly. ‘Well that settles it, Jerry, if you would be so kind as to return to position B.’ Once again the silk robe fell to the floor as Jerry repositioned himself on the stool and Steve promised that he wouldn’t let himself get as distracted by you this time around. 

+

By the end of the second hour Steve had a half decent looking sketch that paled in comparison to yours but he had long since resigned himself to its fate. 

‘Your painting is amazing.’ He told you truthfully and you smiled up at him abashed. 

‘Thank you Steve. That really means a lot.’

‘Well, it’s definitely true.’ Once again, Steve’s heart constricted in his chest as you flashed a sweet, bashful smile his way. He really felt a little ridiculous, being so completely enticed by someone he had only just met but being with you, it just all felt different. 

He watched as you packed up your paints and helped you carry the drying canvas over to the corner of the room where Maxine said you could leave it for the night. 

By the time you were by the coat rack you and Steve were the only students left in the studio, everyone else had filed out fairly quickly. Steve shoved his coat on and quickly plucked your own from the hook, holding it out for you. 

He wondered briefly if he was perhaps overstepped but the smile of gratitude you flashed him put him at ease as you daintily slid your arms into the open holes. ‘Thank you.’

‘Anytime.’ He walked with you out of the building and down into the street. 

‘Well, I’m heading this way.’ You pointed in the opposite direction of the train station and Steve felt a brief flash of chagrin. He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye just yet and he got the feeling that you felt the same. 

‘I’m the other way. But uhh…’ The invitation to coffee at a cafe just down the street was on the tip of his tongue as his phone rang. ACDC’s Back in Black rang through the cool night air, breaking any tension that had been building up. 

You flashed what looked like a remorseful smile and raised a hand in farewell. ‘I’ll let you get that, but will you be at Ronan’s next week?’

‘Yeah, yes. I will.’ Steve hadn’t really thought about returning to the little bar but if that’s where you were going to be, that’s where he would be too. 

‘Great! I’ll uh, see you there.’ You flashed him that sweet and bashful smile once more before turning on your heel and getting lost in the crowds of New York. 

Steve watched you go for longer than he really should have and by the time he finally fished his phone out of his pocket Tony had nearly been sent to voicemail. 

‘Tony, what’s going on?’

+

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[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Ch 1

Because I couldn't help myself. This was inspired by a piece of fanart i saw. This is also on AO3

After the events of the last week it felt strange to just go back to school like she hadn’t gone up against Belos and everyone hadn't seen her rescue Eda and escape from the Emperor's coven and petrification. 

It was weird, to say the least, but then again, there was never a day in the Boiling Isles that wasn't weird in some form or fashion if she were honest, she'd gotten pretty used to rolling with the punches in the last month though if she did say so herself. 

This was a little different of course.

Gus and Willow had come by the very next day to check on them and get the rest of the story they’d missed after they’d gone to get Eda.

She could tell that her friends were disappointed that she hadn't come to them or even talked to them about it before throwing herself headlong into danger as she had been want to do as of late, but she had already dragged them into this mess with her once and she’d decided that was to many times, especially now that she had a better idea of what kind of real danger the Emperor posed.

She'd managed to pull one over on him and prove he wasn't invincible, but she also knew he was just messing with her, despite her giving it her all and pulling some rather dangerous stunts to boot.

She couldn’t decide if she was becoming more reckless or if she always had been and the Isles just really brought it out in her what with all the… well, dangerous stuff. 

Eh, unimportant right now.

They decided it was probably better for Eda and Lillith to lay low for a while and stay inside the house for now, not draw any attention to themselves, difficult as that was for Eda. Lilith would help keep her wrangled, and maybe King.

Though he was just as likely to egg her on as anything else.

Since they weren’t leaving the house Eda couldn’t take her to school on Owlbert, so it was just her and her trusty legs walking to school that morning. She was a little nervous at the prospect of facing… well, everyone.

Everyone had seen her and as the only human on the Isles she wasn’t exactly hard to miss on a regular day much less when being broadcast by crystal ball to everyone.  

Her fingers played with the strap of her bag nervously. 

She met up with Willow halfway and some of her fears were temporarily relieved as they walked the rest of the way, chatting animatedly. She almost completely forgot about her worries until the school came into view and she could see all the students moving about outside and on the front steps. 

Her grip on her bag tightened again and her shoulders bunched up around her ears. 

“You ok?” Willow seemed to quickly pick up on her tenseness. 

“Yeah…,” she started slowly, eyes darting around the field out front of the school, no one seemed to even be looking at her, anymore than usual that is, even as they walked right up to the school steps where Gus was waiting for them, waving. “I guess I just thought… I dunno, that after what happened more people would be… talking about me?” She wasn’t really sure what she had been expecting.

“Well, you had your cloak up the entire time and the Emperor did say the titan told him to free Eda, so you’d be included in that.” Gus shrugged. 

"Gus and I recognized you, but we're together all the time too," Willow added.

“Yeah, I guess…” She wouldn’t say she was disappointed by the lack of attention, it was just so, anticlimactic she supposed. Luz didn’t mind being in the spotlight, but she didn’t actively seek it either. 

The bell screamed its first warning toll and all the kids roaming around outside the school began making their way inside.

“See you guys later!” Luz waved as Gus and Willow headed off to their perspective classes, waving to her over their shoulders as they disappeared in the crowd of students.

Tapping a finger against her cheek she had to think for a moment to remember what track classes she had today. There wasn’t enough time in the day for her to take all nine tracks a day so it had to be split over the five weekdays. 

It was Monday, so she had beast keeping and potions. She grinned at the thought. She loved learning about all the tracks, but beast keeping was especially fun.

She never got to practice manticore taming or griffin riding back home after all!

She paused mid-step.

Home

The thought made her frown but she tried to shake off the heavy feeling that had settled over her, there was no point in moping about it right now. She did what she had to do, for the good of everyone… and it was her fault that they had been put in that situation to start with, it was only right that she fix it.

Eda was already looking into it but there were other things going on that needed her attention to, and that was fine! Luz knew what she was doing when she’d done it. 

She guessed these were just the consequences of her actions catching up to her that her mom had always been warning her about. Maybe now she’d start learning to look before she leaped.  

She had started back toward the steps only to be stopped again.

“Luz!?” 

She immediately recognized that voice as she turned around to come face to face with Amity as she jogged up to the steps, her abomination trailing behind her as it carried her books. She stopped a few feet from her. 

“Hey Amity! You're out of your cast!” Luz grinned at the sight of her friend finally out of bed and back at school.

“Huh? Oh, yea, a few days ago.” She seemed to fidget as she tucked a stray strand of mint colored hair behind her ear. “Forget about that though!” she seemed to focus again, looking at Luz with a frown, face set in a stern look. “What happened?!” she demanded.

Luz frowned, fingers twitching over the rough canvas strap of her bag, she didn’t need to ask what Amity was talking about, she could only mean the whole petrification, escape from the emperor’s coven thing that had been broadcast across all of the Boiling Isles, she’d no doubt seen it.

“Ah well, it’s kind of a long story…” she rubbed her arm and laughed nervously. Amity did not look at all impressed by that answer. “If you want to meet at the library after school I can explain it all,” she offered. She felt bad that out of all her friends Amity was the only one completely in the dark since she didn’t even know about Eda’s curse or had gone with them on the trip to the Emperor’s castle.

Amity didn’t look satisfied with the answer but just as she opened her mouth to speak the bell screamed again, it’s last call for students to get to class before they were tardy and if Luz knew anything at all about Amity, it was that she loved Azura and was never late.

“Alright, I’ll meet you there,” she agreed, though she still didn't look happy about it. 

Amity quickly hurried off to class with her abomination, leaving Luz standing there before she smacked herself in the forehead with her palm.

"I'm gonna be late!" She helped before taking off in the direction of beast keeping 101.

~ ~ ~

The day seemed to fly by after she actually made it to class. 

It was nice to have something else to occupy her mind other than impending doom in one form or another. 

Potions always took all her concentration, unless she wanted to accidentally turn a potion for curing mild rashes into a literal bomb.

...It had happened before...

It had only been a small explosion and her teacher had quickly put out the fire though.

Now that she thought about it, that would have been so much more useful last week.

She pondered the merits of magical bombs in convenient, throwable glassware as she walked quickly through the Bonesborough market toward the library.

She'd been a little slow cleaning up after her potions class and had ended up staying a little long. Amity would probably be waiting on her already, she was punctual to a fault.

She skipped up the library steps two at a time and quickly snuck by the librarian at the front counter when he wasn’t looking. 

After the time she had gotten kicked out with the Blight twins, she wasn’t sure she was exactly welcome in the library, so it was better to just not let the librarian see her really. 

She snuck quietly through the halls to the romance section. It was devoid of people as it typically was.

She scanned the shelves before smiling as her eyes settled on a book. ‘The Lone Witch and the Secret Room.’

She pulled the book out and shoved it back in, there was a loud click as the shelf slid away to reveal Amity’s secret room. 

Amity was already waiting inside for her, curled up in the corner on some cushions, a book splayed across her lap as she stepped in, letting the shelf slide back into place behind her.

“Hey” She held up a hand in greeting. “Sorry it took me a little longer than normal. I had to clean up after potions.” 

“It’s alright, Luz.” She closed her book and motioned to the other cushion several feet away. Luz dropped her bag and plopped onto the floor,crossing her legs as she looked up at the youngest Blight and smiled.

Gold eyes flitted away and cheeks took on a rosy hue. Luz wondered if Amity was hot, it wasn’t bad in here but some people ran warmer and colder than others. 

“So…,” Luz started, unsure. 

Amity seemed to jolt as her eyes were once again on the human and her expression morphing into one of serious expectancy. 

"What happened last week?" 

Straight to the point then. Luz nodded as she started with Eda's curse and the field trip to the Emperor's castle.

Amity's face seemed to shift through a myriad of emotions over the course of the story, especially when Luz talked about how Lilith had kidnapped her and tried to kill her.

The horror on her friend's face and those intense gold eyes focussed on her made Luz self conscious and she pulled her knees up to her chest but didn't stop her tale. She squeezed her legs as she got lost in thinking about it. 

Amity wasn't the only one experiencing a lot of emotions right now.

The fear as Eda sucame to her curse and later the rage she felt anytime someone so much as uttered Lilith's name or she saw one of those dumb posters made her whole body shake, and finally the helplessness and sorrow as she'd handed over the portal and then had to burn her world away in a flash of fire. All of it came back to her so easily, still fresh on her mind even as she tried not to think about it too hard. 

"So, you can't go home?" Amity finally asked quietly after a brief silence following Luz’s explanation of everything that had happened. 

She shook her head sadly, eyes downcast and quiet.

Amity hesitated a second before reaching over to set a hand on one of Luz's, resting on her knees and making her look up, brown meeting gold. 

"I'm sorry, Luz…" She squeezed gently.

The small touch and the look on her friend's face caused a comforting flash of heat in Luz's chest.

"Thanks… Eda's working on it so…" She shrugged. 

Eda who was also without magic, which Amity knew now.

“I’ve seen the owl lady do some pretty impressive things, I’m sure she’ll figure something out.”  Amity gave a final squeeze before pulling back, trying to will away the touch of pink on her cheeks, now wasn’t the time for it and she scolded herself for the automatic response.

“Yeah…” Luz nodded to herself, a small smile managing to pull at her lips, which made Amity smile in turn.

“I can’t believe how selfless you are sometimes… destroying the portal to save Eda…,” Amity said, fiddling with her hands now sitting folded in her lap.

“It was my fault she got caught in the first place, I had to fix my mistake…” Luz shrugged, a little flustered by praise she hardly deserved. “She didn’t leave me… I couldn’t leave her.” 

“Most people wouldn’t have done that, even if it was their fault,” the young witch insisted. 

“Maybe…” Luz shrugged again but couldn’t help the widening of her smile.

Amity glanced at the clock on the wall, her smile turned into a grimace, they had been here longer then she had planned. 

“I need to head home…” Amity stood and Luz followed suit as they headed out of the secret room, checking quickly to make sure no one was around to see them as they headed out.

“I have abominations and illusions tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see you in class.” Luz smiled as they stepped outside the library.  

“Of course…” Amity nodded but she seemed distracted as they paused at the top of the library steps. 

“Amity?” Luz called and again she was focussed on her, but the look on her face was one Luz had seen before, she was thinking.

She hesitated a second, looking around the empty area outside the library before closing the two feet of distance between them.

Luz could only blink as Amity's arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace, chin tucked into her neck, mint green filling the latina's vision. 

"I'm so glad you're okay."

It was said so quietly she almost missed it, hardly a whisper, breathed against her neck. 

Warmth immediately flooded her chest at the quiet murmur. 

Before Luz could reach up to return the embrace Amity was already pulling away.

“See you tomorrow, Luz.” she called as she hurried down the library steps, never looking back and leaving Luz standing there, stunned, in her wake. 

“Bye…” she held up a hand in farewell at the retreating witch’s back.

Why was her face so warm?

Shaking it off, Luz adjusted her bag as she hurried back to the owl house before Eda could wonder where she was.

The heat in her face faded quickly but the warmth in her chest lingered all night. 

~ 

The minute Amity set her things down on her desk she caught sight of the Emperor’s coven poster, with Lilith Clawthorne staring back at her with a smug smile. 

With a frown Amity ripped the poster from the wall and stuffed it into the trash can next to her desk.   

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: it all started with glow paint; jeff hardy

Notes:

Did I ever mention to ya’ll that I am legit still in love with Jeff Hardy? No? Oops, sorry. Anyway, this ask came into my main from @xladyxfatex​ and I had to move it to this blog, of course. Couldn’t lose this one. I had fun writing Jeff again. Perhaps I’ll write even more Jeff Hardy in the future? Who knowsss.

Summary:

Iris decides to ditch a girls night out and sneak down to the room Jeff hangs out in whilst he’s painting. Flirting and playing with glow in the dark paint and making out ensues.

Warnings:

uhh.. paint in places not a canvas. mentions of nudity. innuendo. steamy makeout.

Pairing:

Jeff Hardy x OFC, Iris

His taller muscular frame filled the doorway to the dressing rooms and he chuckled quietly to himself. Inside the room, Iris wiggled her hips as she whipped her hair around and giggled quietly. He’d overheard her earlier saying she was getting ready to go out and quote-unquote “Dance her little ass off.”  and just the thought of other men seeing her like she was dressed currently had the North Carolina native up in arms. He nearly shot a foot into the air as he felt a finger tapping the back of his shoulder.

“Being a creeper again, I see?” Lita gave a soft and knowing smirk as Jeff tried to play it off. Trish was quick to speak up and call him out. “ Ya know, if you just actually made a move as opposed to skulking around and taking out pretty much any other guy who shows interest, Jeffro.. You might possibly get somewhere. Something to think about?” Trish mused with a soft laugh as she shut the door in the man’s face, drawing a pout to his lips.

Trish and Lita shared a look and wandered over to the newest hire to the roster, flanking her on either side. “Happy 21st!”

“I know right? I can finally legally drink!” Iris giggled, sitting down the almost neon pink lipstick she’d been about to put on, staring at herself in the mirror. She realized that Lita and Trish were staring at her and then kind of trying to subtly have a muted conversation over her head and she cleared her throat. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on, huh?”

“Well…”

“Here’s the thing, tiny.” Lita took the lead. She knew Matt and Jeff better and she knew that Jeff was literally never going to step up. But he would keep taking on every single guy who even dared look at Iris wrong and earlier tonight, he’d almost bitten off much more than he could chew when all 3 members of the Brood tried ganging up on him. It had taken Matt and one or two others just to break up the insanity at the end.

It had taken Jeff at least two hours to calm down and stop threatening to go and find Edge and kick his fucking head in for whatever thing he’d done or said towards Iris that Jeff wasn’t particularly fond of, too. Lita just hadn’t seen Jeff get that way before, so she knew that whatever he was feeling was real and until he got it out, it was going to keep him from having his head totally in the game.

“Yeah?”

“ Remember how you were telling us you thought a certain Enigma was so hot?” Lita teased gently, laughing to herself at how easy this was potentially going to be as soon as she saw the look on the younger female’s face and saw those big brown eyes getting that dreamy and faraway look she often got whenever Jeff Hardy was concerned.

Iris eyed Lita with a raised brow and a hand on her hip, the other one tangled in long blondish brown waves. “Yeah? And?”

“What if I told you that the Enigma in question might feel the same way?”

Iris started to laugh but her laughter trailed off as soon as she saw the calm serious looks on the two older females faces while they stared at her. She swallowed hard and muttered in a quieter tone, “Okay, you have my attention..”

“But you know how shy he is, Iris.” Lita started, Trish chiming in in a velvet purr, “Sometimes men.. They have to be lead.”

“Lead, huh?”

“Mhm. And maybe, Iris, if you were to go down to the room he always disappears to.. Maybe you’d have a better time tonight than if you were going out drinking with all of us like we planned.” Lita finished, nodding towards the door, giving the other female a gentle push towards. Iris swallowed hard, her hand poised to reach for the handle.

Trish tossed a tee shirt at their friend and called out through laughter, “You might want to actually finish getting dressed first, goofball.”

“Good idea.” Iris tugged the shirt down over her body and opened the door, taking a deep breath. She had to relax. She knew Jeff wasn’t the kind of guy who’d ever really.. approach her first, Lita and Trish were right. If someone was going to do something, it clearly fell to her.

She wandered down to the area Jeff always hung out in to paint or play his guitar and she’d been about to raise her hand to knock, but instead, she quietly pushed the door open.

Jeff stood there shirtless, the shirt he’d been wearing earlier tied around his hips as he stared at a canvas that glowed with several varied shades of pink and purple and orange. He didn’t hear the soft click of the door as she closed it. He didn’t hear her tiptoeing softly across the room either. She pressed against his back and he tensed a little, muttering a quiet “What the fuck?” before turning around.

“Iris? Hey.. What are you doin here, darlin? I thought you were goin out with Lita and Trish.”

… come on mouth, work!… Iris took a few deep breaths and pressed herself against him, staring up, lazily pressing a fingertip against those kissable lips of his. “Well, see.. I got to thinking.. I can go out and drink anytime now.” Iris trailed off, getting distracted by bright and deep jade-colored eyes and Jeff’s breath caught in his throat as he muttered huskily, “Yeah?” and his arms wrapped around her, hands locking across her lower back. Iris grimaced at the cold wet paint that he’d had smeared on his hands that was now on her skin and before she could stop herself, she was whimpering at the lingering touch. It seemed to make something snap in Jeff and he pulled her even closer, leaning down and pulling her up slightly. “So you want to spend your birthday with me, hm? Am I getting that right?”

“Mhm.” Iris practically purred the one-word response and Jeff gripped her more firmly, clearing his throat. When he spoke again, it was with a hint of a smirk. “Sweet.” as his hand squeezed her ass, grinding her against him in the process. Iris hissed at the feel of more cold and wet paint on her body. With a giggle, she reached out, grabbing a paintbrush covered in pink. “Ya know, this is my favorite color…” she drawled, painting an arrow pointing down his abdomen. Jeff swallowed hard and chuckled quietly, “Really now, Darlin? I hadn’t noticed.” he pretended to be totally shocked and as he was staring down at her intently, his hand reached back, grabbing for the paintbrush he’d discarded when she snuck up on him. He dipped the brush into the pink paint and gave a low, dark chuckle as he slid the brush down the front of her shirt similar to the way she’d done to him.

Iris reached up, the paintbrush clattering to the floor quietly and taking his face in her hands, she pulled his mouth against her own as deep as she could manage and somehow, he managed to further deepen the kiss to a point where Jeff Hardy honestly couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He was picking her up, sitting her on the edge of a table nearby. His hands slipped down, fingertips toying with the hem of a tee shirt.

One of his merch shirts, to be exact. He started to tug it upward and Iris gave a shaky gasp, her hands moving over his chest, dragging through wet paint as her legs circled his waist. The more his tongue tangled and dominated her own and the more light-headed she became, the further she wanted to push it. Her shirt settled on the floor and the shirt tied around his waist did the same. Purple glowing paint-covered hands roamed back up her body, gripping her breasts and squeezing them together as he bucked into her and growled against her neck at the way her quiet whimpers and soft pleas filled the quiet between them. Her white bra was now glowing purple on either side and as his hands gripped her thighs and squeezed, purple handprints lingered on soft skin, making her nip at his bare chest and making him whimper almost helplessly as she started to nip and bite her way down.

He stopped her, shaking his head, leaning her back on the table, leaning down into her. “Oh no, birthday girl. No. Tonight, I’m gonna take care of you..” he drawled as his lips ghosted over her abdomen and he fixed lust filled jade-colored eyes on her intently, his tongue slowly dragging over his lips….

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House Part 4.1

Sorry to leave you in suspense yesterday, here’s the next bit! Pure smut all the way through, and building to tomorrow’s grand finale. CW: consensual Dom/sub BDSM, painful impact play

Previous scene

“Spread your legs wider for me.”

You move slower than you want to, mindful of the water swirling at the surface of the cup, held in only by surface tension as you slide your left foot to the side, then your right. The warm hands running up your inner thighs, then playing along the line of your panties, are a bittersweet reward as you must focus on keeping your body rigid and still.

And that was just the prelude. When he cannot disturb your posture with caresses alone, Ivar pinches your bottom – one, two, three quick jabs at increasing intensity. The pain is mild, but meaningful. It spreads a new kind of warmth along your flesh, heightening the sensitivity in your whole lower half. When he resumes his tickles and caresses, it’s even harder to stay standing. “You are doing very well, pet,” he croons. “I see you need a greater challenge.”

From the corner of your eye you can see him reaching for something on the table, but you dare not turn your head. You hear ice cubes clink inside the pitcher.

When Ivar lifts your skirt again you expect to feel cold, based on that sound, but the next sensation is warm, and wet. Ivar lays his mouth against the back of your thigh and sucks softly, swiping his tongue in a lazy circle. Then the ice cube comes, erasing his touch, sliding up to the crease beneath your buttock and then inward along that line.

You make some kind of gasping, protesting sound, but he only laughs. The ice cube is so cold it hurts; you don’t know how you’ve found the willpower not to move. He doesn’t stop at the edge of your panties, slipping it right underneath, to run it up and down your outer labia. You squeal, and try to recoil, but only with a careful twist. You want to pass the test. You don’t let the water spill.

The ice cube moves toward the front of your body, and Ivar increases the pressure just enough to make sure it sinks between your lips and makes contact with your clit. You hiss air in between your teeth and arch your back. Your arms stay rigid.

He chuckles softly and removes the ice. Everything is tingling now, and cold water is seeping through your folds. Your face is flushed, your breath almost a pant. Ivar’s head appears beside your shoulder; he’s checking the water on the tray.

“Still no spills.” He sounds almost disappointed.

“Do you want me to fail?” you ask. Your voice sounds embarrassingly breathy.

He hums in consideration, letting his cheek brush against your arm. “There would certainly be amusement in that. For me.” He nips at your skin with sharp teeth. “Then I would be able to punish you.”

You ponder that one as a fresh thrill runs through your body. Would the punishment be fun? Would it be worth failing the test just to experience it? But your pride, your obedience, won’t let you.

His hands appear at your elbows. “Lift the tray higher.”

He guides you until it comes up past your face. You shift your grip just a little, so the heels of your hands are under the tray, supporting it further. But now you can’t see if you spill. And Ivar’s hands slide down your lifted arms and close over your breasts. He’s just given himself access to new places to torture you.

His fingertips slide up and down the soft skin above the ribboned neckline of the maid costume. Just once. After that his patience seems to break; he curls his fingers around the layers of satin and pulls them down sharply, exposing you all at once. Rough hands cup your breasts, pinching fingers finding your nipples and wasting no time coaxing them to harden.

You moan, and try not to let your arms wobble. It’s scarier not to be able to see the cup. You wish you could just lay back into Ivar’s lap and succumb to the hot, bright pleasure of his massaging grip, but that’s not what Ivar wants from you. Ivar wants you to pass this test. You are going to do your damnedest to give him what he wants.

He works the pinch of his fingers up slowly, stimulating your nipples just to the point of pain, listening to every change in your gasping breaths. You vocalize your sighs into breathy squeals when his tweaks start to hurt, and he slows but does not stop. “Am I hurting you, thrall?”

You whimper. “Only a little.”

He squeezes again. “Do you like it?”

Your body flares. “Yes.”

“Can you take a little more? For me?”

You moan your assent. For him, yes, you will. He pulls, and the pain becomes stronger. There’s pleasure with it, something that makes you feel like you’re floating, and when Ivar lets out a pleased sigh you float higher.

“So good for me. Keep holding that tray.”

With one final caress over your tingling peaks, Ivar’s hands move down to your hips, lifting your skirt one more time. Your cunt is just aching for contact now, every tug on your nipples having caused an answering bloom between your thighs.

You feel his lips brush across the outside of your hip. Kisses turn open-mouth, then he’s biting and sucking all across your flesh, hands groping places his mouth can’t reach. Happy little growls are rumbling out of his throat, and his teeth press harder. This is wilder than his earlier cold, teasing control. Now he seems eager to literally devour you.

“Ivar!” you squeal, once he’s reached the point where you wonder if he’s drawing blood. You haven’t been able to stop the tray from wobbling as your body tried to escape that onslaught, but you’ve at least managed to keep it up above your head, and keep your feet in place, forcing your body to stay inside his cruel reach.

He laughs after removing his teeth from your flesh. “Show me the tray.”

You lower it down below your eyes, arm muscles screaming in relief. There is definitely a pool of water spreading from the base of the cup. You take a deep breath, whole body trembling, as you turn to present your failure to him.

He clucks his tongue, shaking his head in a teasing, mocking disappointment as he examines the spill. His own composure seems to have fully returned, only a slight reddening in the skin around his mouth to hint at his earlier passion. “I thought I told you to stay still.”

It only takes a little playacting to get a remorseful whimper to come out of your throat. “I tried.”

“You did. But I still have to punish you now. Set the tray down.” His voice is cold steel.

You twist to the table and do so, leaning over so as not to step too far away from Ivar. He takes advantage of your imbalance as soon as you put it down, wrapping strong arms around your waist and throwing you face-down on the bed beside him.

His weight is a welcome crush as he lays his body over yours. He’s made you so desperate for contact; without thinking you arch your back and grind your ass up into the curve of his hip.

“So eager to present yourself to me,” he murmurs in your ear. One hand slides up your side, finds your bare breast that he had left hanging out of the costume, and pinches your nipple hard. “Be careful what you wish for.”

He rolls off your body, but when you try and turn with him he holds you down, pressing your chest back into the mattress.

“Don’t think you can seduce me into letting you out of your punishment.” He strokes the back of your thigh and pushes your fluffy skirt up high.

You let your body relax, sinking into Ivar’s bed. Finally you can enjoy his touch without being distracted by anything else. He caresses both cheeks of your ass, and tugs your panties up, forcing more of the fabric snugly into the cleft between. He turns them into a thong silhouette as he bares as much flesh as he can.

He would have your permission to take them off, but you don’t say that to him. The pressure of the extra fabric stuffed between your cheeks feels more erotic, and probably looks amazing.

His nails graze across your flesh, making it tingle. His fingers come to one of the straps of the garter belt that frame your cheeks, and he snaps it sharply. “Do you have any idea how good you look right now.”

You mumble a little affirmative noise.

“How much better you’ll look when this is all red and purple,” he continues, and then he strikes your tender flesh with an open hand.

You squeak in surprise, but try to get your noises under control when Ivar delivers a few more blows in succession. Nerve endings bloom in protest, but the sensation only enhances the tingling need burning in the space between his strikes.

Ivar smooths his hand over the angry flesh, leaning closer to your face. “Can you take more for me? I want to give you more.”

“Yes,” you groan. The mix of pleasure and pain is amazing, and you want to please him so desperately. To be his good girl.

He strikes again, harder. You whimper, curling your fingers into the blanket beneath you, and force yourself to lie still. His strikes start to fall into a rhythm, which makes it easier for you to breathe in between the soft cries he’s pulling from your lips as each successive slap becomes more intense than the last. He’s distributing his blows across the whole canvas of your ass, but the center of your right cheek starts to go more sore and sensitive anyway. You sob raggedly the next time his hand lands there.

Ivar covers the spot with his warm palm, soothing the sting for a moment. He leans close to your ear. “You know, Ubbe is probably listening to you sing.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. “I didn’t see him outside.”

“Not in the hallway.” Ivar’s hand travels wider, bringing a flood of relief to every abused nerve ending. “He knows where he can best hear from. Your room used to be his, remember?”

Is Ubbe fucking Lothbrok sitting on your bed right now, listening to you whimper and scream? The thought of it sends a new rush of heat through your core. You wonder if he’s got his hand down his pants, or has just whipped his cock out right there next to Mr. Wiggles.

“Be as loud as you want,” Ivar says, and then starts another round of spanking, cruel and fast.

You let yourself yelp, but after only a minute or two, you lose track of the idea of who might be listening. There is nothing in your mind but Ivar and the pain, your desire to impress him, the buzz of endorphins that have you flying, and the grounding impacts of his flesh against yours. Each breath feels precious, and each groan or scream is a blessed release.

You come to a point where you start to think each impact is the last one you can take, the pain growing too red and immediate, and yet you continue to lie still and take just one more. Just one more. You wonder if you should use your safeword. You wonder if you’re supposed to, if he will just keep going until you stop him, if that’s what he’s waiting for. Or is he just not sated yet, and he’ll stop when he is? You don’t want to let him down before he’s done.

He hits that oversensitive right cheek again and you feel yourself twist away from him, a harsher squeal escaping your lips. Your body has taken over where your mind could not decide. Ivar hums a soothing sound and ceases his onslaught, changing to nice touches, smoothing out the prickling, sore sensations left in his wake.

You don’t want to move. Lying prostrate across his bed, face turned to one side, it’s the best you can do to open your eyes slowly as you feel Ivar lie down beside you. One hot hand remains on your ass; proprietary, satisfied. He sets his face just a few inches away from yours, and gazes into your eyes.

You’re exhausted, and fuzzy. You’re flying high on a cocktail of neurotransmitters you’ve never quite experienced before, and all you want to do is bask in it. He did this to you. He made you feel this delicious sort of way. Your eyes pore over Ivar’s fallen-angel face; he seems content to do the same to you. You can’t even feel self-conscious as you just stare at each other, reveling in what just happened, loathe to say anything more about what it might mean for anything past this moment, right now.

* * * 

Finish the scene here

Taglist is open: @walkxthexmoon​   @swagmonstertoes @hanhanxx @perfectus-in-morte​ @xxdearlybeloved​@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg​ @rekdreams247​ @inforapound​ @creepshowzombae​ @tomarisela​ @vladsgirl@youbloodymadgenius​ @walkxthexmoon​@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch​ @justlovelifeblog​ @earl-aive​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​ @equalstrashflavoredtrash​ @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen @ceridwenofwales​ @grungyblonde​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​ @hvittysmutanon​ @honestsycrets​ @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ @writingfromasgard​ @tootie-fruity​ @tgrrose​ @amy8220 @laketaj24​

[kutemouse]

You are such an amazing writer!! Need pt 2 with jimin :(

Well, well, what a coincidence! You are an amazing person, kutie. Wish granted!! 😘

Apparently Necessary Disclaimer: I don’t own Netflix, but wbk. Also, the above gif was made and edited by me, kutemouse. That is why I’ve posted this under the tag #btsgif. Feel free to use it however you want, just give me credit for the edit. Thanks 💜

Age Recommendation: 16+

Warnings: Swears, a bit o’ angst, mostly glorious fluffiness, Jimin badly procrastinating, kissing, brief (hella light) mentions of the frick frack. Nothing more than you’d hear about in a PG-13 movie. This was so fun to write, I hope you like 😘

Word Count: 2,281

Summary: You reflect back on your summer you’ve spent with vampire Jimin, getting closer and closer as you continued painting his portrait. But now summer’s over and you have to go back to university. How will Jimin react?

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Summer Portraits (Jimin one-shot, Fluff, Vampire) Part Two

You sat in your bay window, staring at the way the wind whipped through the trees and wound through the grass, creating swirls of hypnotizing green. You were leaving Jimin’s mansion tomorrow and going back to Seoul where, in only three days, another term at your university would begin. Feelings of unease and doubt crept through you. You knew this was the way things had to go, things had to end… but what if you didn’t want them to? After all, this summer had been one of the most interesting ones you’d ever had.

After Jimin confessed to you that he and Soobin were vampires, you were extremely apprehensive around them. The only time you felt relaxed was when you were painting, allowing the mixtures of color to settle your nerves. As time wore on, you realized their intentions probably weren’t malicious, and you found yourself enjoying the company of the eccentric vamp and his brooding butler.

“I love it,” Jimin said, coming up behind you and examining your work one sunny afternoon. He sighed. “Am I really that handsome?”

You rolled your eyes and leaned closer to the canvas, trying to detail his full lips with one of your smaller brushes. Jimin suddenly chuckled, causing you to lean away and toss him a glare. “Sorry,” he said, seeing your look. “It’s just… the last time I saw what my face looked like was thirty years ago. You would think things would’ve changed, but…”

He trailed off, giving you a small smile before continuing. “I’m a vampire. My face has never, and will never, change.”

“That is true,” I murmured, catching the trace of sadness in his gorgeous tawny eyes.

“No matter. Good work, Y/n,” he said, patting your shoulder and turning to leave. You were shocked to feel tingles shooting down your nerves from the place where he touched you.

Shaking your head roughly, you brought yourself back to reality with a harsh thought. “Never in a million years.”

A couple weeks later, Jimin announced at dinner that he was going to head out on a business trip and would be gone for the next few days. “Soobin will be here to attend to your needs,” he said. You shrugged in response, a strange feeling of disappointment settling over you. Were you going to… miss him? You supposed you were. The hallways would feel empty without Jimin’s laughter and his bright-yet-tasteful outfits.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he murmured, tracing his finger over the rim of a glass filled with dark red liquid. You had felt strange, eating full meals while Jimin and Soobin didn’t eat anything. As long as Soobin put it in a glass, you could just pretend they were drinking wine instead of blood and it didn’t make you squirm nearly as much.

Forty-eight hours later, you realized you were definitely missing him. Soobin was fine to have around, but he was so… so… professional. Always “Yes Miss L/n,” or “No Miss L/n.” He refused to call you by your first name, and except for the occasional game of chess, he didn’t have much talent in the way of entertainment.

Bored of browsing Netflix, you got up and went into your studio. A blank canvas sat on your easel just waiting to be turned into a beautiful work of art. You absentmindedly picked up a brush and squirted some paint onto your palette, swirling the bristles lazily in the color and brushing it onto the canvas. By now, you’d memorized the perfect, pale tone of his unblemished skin, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the soft curve of his lips that met in a barely-there cupid’s bow… every detail was yours to paint. You painted for hours, not even noticing when the room started to darken.

“Miss L/n?”

You jumped, the brush stroking across the canvas as your hand spasmed out of control. You turned to see Soobin looking at you in horror. “Oh my, I’m so sorry,” he said, pressing his hands to his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it,” you sighed, setting the brush down. You’d been using a dark brown color for the eyes, and now it was streaked across the portrait’s cheek. Whatever. This painting was kind of just for fun anyway.

“Is anyone here?” a voice called out.

Your heart soared at the sound of his melodic voice before falling and crashing in a fiery explosion. The painting. You couldn’t let him see it. Couldn’t let him see how you truly felt.

You hurried to take the canvas off the easel, placing it just inside the door between your studio and your room before closing it hurriedly. Soobin shot you a look of confusion and you shook your head at him just as Jimin entered the room. “Hey there,” he said, taking you in with a smile.

You smiled back, placing your paint-covered hands behind your back. “Hey. You’re back.”

“I am.”

“How was it?”

His tawny eyes bored into you as his smile turned into a small smirk. “Productive.”

The next day found you painting Jimin in his study. He dressed in just a normal black suit and tie today, claiming he wanted to see how he looked. His dark locks were swept backwards from his forehead, making him look more refined, and he chose to pose with his hands in his pockets, leaning against his large oak desk.

His sultry gaze seemed to pierce right through you as you did your best to capture it. “Can you do something for me?” he asked. You looked up and nodded.

Jimin smirked and you gasped as his eyes flooded a deep red. “Can you paint me like this?”

You took a step back, suddenly nervous, before regaining control of your emotions and nodding. Jimin leaned back against his desk once more, and you picked up a bottle of red paint, adding it to your palette before brushing the color onto the portrait’s eyes.

“Y/n,” Jimin said. You looked up once more. He beckoned you over with a long, pale finger.

You put down your brush and stepped towards him. Jimin’s mouth parted slightly open, and you caught a glimpse of pointed fangs. “Do I make you nervous when I look like this?” he asked. You hesitated before shaking your head.

“Why not?”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

You swallowed hard. “Because you told me you wouldn’t… and I trust you.”

“You do?”

You nodded then let out a little shriek as Jimin grabbed you by the waist and tugged you close. Your face was only inches away from his as he looked down at you, an amused smile dancing across his lips. You watched in amazement as his eyes faded from red back to that tawny brown. “How about now?” he murmured.

You clutched the collar of his suit jacket and glanced down, a heated flush rising to your cheeks. He chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “Tell me, Y/n… did you miss me while I was gone?”

Your eyes widened. He knew. He knew how you felt. How you saw his face even when your eyes were closed. How you fantasized what it would be like to be with him.

Jimin impatiently squeezed your hips, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me.”

“I-I-” you stuttered.

He closed his eyes and rolled his neck, opening them only to give you a quizzical look. “Well? Did you?”

“Yes,” you finally admitted.

Jimin smiled. “You know, I haven’t let myself get close to anyone in years. Soobin and I have just stayed out here, away from everyone and everything… You’re the first person I’ve ever let in here, and I half-expected you to run the first chance you got.”

“I almost did,” you confessed.

“What stopped you?”

You smiled. “You.”

“Me?”

You stared up into his tawny eyes. “Yes, you. I couldn’t… I mean, initially I was just curious and wanted to know more, but as you and I got to know each other, and as I continued painting your portrait, I…”

Your voice cracked and you stopped talking, afraid you’d already said too much.

“I feel the same way,” Jimin murmured, gently grasping your chin and bringing your lips to his. They were as soft as you’d imagined they’d be. He drew back, but you wanted more, wrapping your fingers through the belt loops of his trousers and yanking him back in. You kissed him with all of the pent-up feelings you’d had since the day you met him, hoping that one action could convey them all.

Jimin didn’t hold back either, angling his jaw to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips, tasting you, desiring you, adoring you. You drew back for breath for only a second before diving back into him, drowning in the exhilaration that covered you from head to toe. He was finally yours.

Until he wasn’t.

The next few weeks were filled with nothing but heat, passion, and dreams coming true. You spent your days tangled up with Jimin in between the sheets, painting him, going on long moonlit walks with him, and fully indulging your nearly-perfect summer.

The only shadow looming over all these serendipitous events was your leaving. In the week leading up to now, you’d kept waiting for Jimin to say something. Anything. Would he come back to Seoul with you? Would he visit? Were you two even official enough to expect that kind of thing? Or was this all just meant to be a memory, eventually forgotten?

You sighed and stood up, dragging your suitcase from out of your closet and throwing things haphazardly into it. He hadn’t said anything, just acted like you two would go on forever. Maybe that was literally possible for him, but for you, it was not realistic in the slightest. You would just have to move on. Throw yourself into schoolwork. Maybe find someone else.

Who are you kidding? There is no one else. Even if you searched the entire planet, no one else would compare to Jimin.

You continued packing, trying to distract yourself with the repetitive task of folding and placing. “This is such bullshit,” you muttered.

“Yeah. It is.”

You looked up to see Jimin leaning in your doorway, looking down at your partially-packed suitcase with an apprehensive look on his face. “What are you doing?” he asked.

You placed your hands on your thighs and squeezed. “Packing.

“Why?”

“My term at University starts in four days, Jimin,” you muttered, grabbing another blouse and folding it up.

“You’re leaving?”

You looked up to see Jimin biting his lip, his brow furrowed. “That was always the plan. I stay here for a summer, get paid, then go back to finish my degree.”

Jimin stepped close then slipped down to his knees, kneeling on the ground next to you. “Is that what you want?”

You didn’t answer. Jimin suddenly placed his palms on the ground and leaned forward, getting so close he caused heat to rise to your cheeks. Even after weeks of being together, he still gave you butterflies. “Tell me, Yn,” he murmured, tilting his head. “What do you want?”

“D-Depends on what you want,” you stuttered.

Jimin let out a scoff, yet a smile still lingered over his full lips. “I thought that was obvious,” he said. “I want you.”

He leaned forward even more and pressed his lips to yours, softly engulfing you in the sweetest kiss. Your lips separated and Jimin smirked, his face still hovering close to yours. “I’m coming with you, you know.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You are?”

His smirk widened. “Of course. I got a nice apartment close to your university. Close to you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“You dork,” you said before wrapping him in your arms.

He laughed and kissed the top of your head, his nose nuzzling into your hair. “I know nothing I do could match this summer, but I can try.”

“You’re already succeeding,” you murmured, holding him tighter.

You felt Jimin tense up. “What’s that?�� he asked.

You turned to see where he was pointing and felt embarrassment rush through your body. “That? Oh, that’s nothing, just-”

Jimin pulled out the portrait you had painted of him while he was on his business trip. “I don’t remember you painting this.”

“I-I, well, I painted it while you were… while you were…” You seemed to have trouble getting the words out.

Jimin tossed you an amused grin. “You painted this… from memory?”

You nodded, clasping your hands behind your back

“Y/n, that’s… this is… I mean, this is amazing,” Jimin said.

You pointed to the dark streak that marred the portrait’s complexion. “Soobin made me jump,” you explained.

“That’s alright. I know you can fix it. In fact, I’ll pay you to fix it. Out of all of the portraits you’ve painted of me this summer, I think this one is my favorite.”

“Okay, but you don’t have to pay me with money,” you said, taking the painting from him and propping it against the wall. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Just promise me I’ll get the real you.”

“You already have me,” Jimini murmured, leaning down and kissing you.

You sighed into the kiss, a feeling of contentment working its way through you. Everything would be alright. This summer wouldn’t be just a flash of a memory, left unfinished and marred by regret. It was the start of a painting detailing the rest of your life. Despite the unknown future plaguing you, you knew one thing for certain. You and Jimin would finish that painting… together.

[hvlfwygod]

muddy | koda&patrick

summary: a chance encounter in the middle of the night. koda changes her hair. patrick gets paint on his hands.

The heavy keyring jingled in her hand as Koda locked up the bar for the night - or rather for the early morning. She called a goodbye to one of her coworkers as she double checked to make sure she had returned her server's apron and clipped the keyring to one of her belt loops.  The time on her phone read 3:17 a.m. Not bad for a closing shift, she thought, slowly making her way down the lamp-lit streets. It had been a busy night at the bar, with last call being a mad dash to serve more drinks, but despite the fact that she couldn't remember the last time she had sat down, Ko was still in high spirits.

She was about halfway through her walk to the townhouse when she spotted a familiar figure bathed in the lamplight. Koda hopped off the sidewalk, far more pep in her step than you would expect someone to have after such a long shift, and made her way towards the figure. She stopped just outside the circle of light and gave a tentative wave, not wanting to startle her brother if he hadn't seen her approach. "Hey, couldn't sleep?"

Patrick's head was entirely inside his painting. Not literally, but it that if he looked around, the world would be in the stark, textured darkness of the scene he was constructing. He hadn't lifted his eyes from the canvas in what felt like hours (but was realistically only a few minutes) and the brushstrokes had turn into a rhythm. The streetlights weren't ideal, but the feeling of the quiet town, and the drugs giving him bright visions, had compelled him out of his bed in the middle of the night.

He was so engrossed that he barely noticed Koda, and even thought he was hearing things when his sister spoke. It was only after several quiet seconds that he finally tore his eyes off the layers of the painting and checked over his shoulder. "Oh," he said. She was actually there. Patrick blinked and waved with the hand that wasn't holding the brush. "Sup."

In the moments it took Patrick to tear himself from his focus, Koda let her eyes skim over his painting; an extension of darkness he sat swathed in as he painted. At his greeting, she smiled brightly and gestured to the keys at her hip that clinked together as she moved. "Closing shift. Just got off work." She took another step closer. "A little late night painting?"

"I don't remember asking," he said, but his voice lacked any bite or nastiness. In fact, he looked almost amused— at himself, or the joke, or the sight of his sister in such a dark dress code, maybe. He placed his brush down with extreme care, as if he might drop it to the pavement. "What time is it?"

Koda shrugged off her brother's jibe, watching how gentle he was in the act of setting down his paintbrush. She was reminded once more just how much his art meant to him and couldn't help but smile. Quickly checking the time on her phone, she flashed the screen in his direction. "Three-thirty," she answered helpfully, resisting the urge to tell him to see for himself. "How long have you been painting in the dark?"

Patrick looked puzzled, staring up at the sky. "I thought it was way closer to dawn," he announced. "Hm." Then, he turned to fully look at his sister. "I think I've been out here for an hour? I was waiting for all the drunks to go home so it'd be empty out here. Normally I'd just take pictures and recreate it during the day but..." Patrick wondered if he should mention that he was on drugs, the decided against it. "Inspiration struck."

"Not just yet, you've got a few hours still," Koda countered, cheerful as ever. She could only smile as Patrick explained what had lead to him painting out in the pitch dark, illuminated only by streetlamps. "Inspiration struck," she exhaled a laugh. "It's nice to see you, even if it is in the middle of town in the wee hours of night." She looked around, subconsciously shifting her hair to match the color of some paint on his palette, and watched the way shadows moved in the dark, fascinated. "What inspired you exactly?

Only after she said it was nice to see him, did Patrick realize that they hadn't crossed paths in weeks. There were a string of unanswered texts from her sitting on his phone. He watched her hair change color and his mind trailed off from answering her question. Impulsively, Patrick approached her and pinched a piece of her hair. "That's like," he looked back to the canvas and pointed to the upper corner, where the dark clouds glowed a little gray from the painted on moonlight.

As Patrick lifted a few strands of her hair off her shoulder to inspect with wide eyes, Koda exhaled a small laugh. Her eyes followed his pointed finger to the corner of his painting, admiring the way he had blended the colors of clouds in the moonlit canvas. "Ooh, yes!" She nodded excitedly, only a little surprised by Patrick's closeness, a bit buzzed from her Saturday night shift to notice right away that he wasn't sober. Koda lifted her hand: a small cluster of clouds and a Mist-y moon hovered above her palm, matching Patrick's painting. "Like this too!"

Patrick blinked rapidly, rearing his head back slightly as a small celestial body materialized into thin air. "Woah." He almost asked if Koda was seeing this too, but she spoke before he could and he just nodded. "Weird," he said, drifting his fingers over the glowing orb, then placed his hand right above hers, imagining that he was holding up the tiny moon instead of his sister. "Your powers are so freaky. Why are you here? Wait." He lowered his hand and lightly grabbed hers. "Closing shift."

A few more clouds of Mist materialized around them, whether intentional or not, it was hard to tell. Her powers often had a mind of their own once substances factored in. One little cloud settled right on Koda's shoulder as Patrick layered their hands. She peered up at him, an amused smile on her face. "My powers are the freaky ones?" When he grabbed her hand, she let out another surprised laugh. "Yes! Closing shift. Big Saturday night fun! Maybe a little too much fun for three in the morning," she giggled, holding the thumb and forefinger  of her free hand together  to illustrate just how much. A loose tendril of Mist curled around Patrick's hand and trailed up his wrist as she gave his hand a squeeze, redirecting his attention to the painting a few feet away. "Will you be out here much longer?"

"I think I'm almost done," Patrick said. He frowned at his wrist and the Mist circling it, as if just noticing that they were holding hands. He glanced back at the canvas, his urge to keep painting suddenly gone. Patrick dropped his hand back to his side, then walked back to the picture, squinting at it. "If I keep going..." He paused, frowning again, then shook his head. "I'm gonna let it dry."

The Mist dissipated when Patrick dropped her hand and Koda took a step after him, moving closer to his painting. Her hair returned to a bright aquamarine as she studied his brushstrokes and composition, further admiring his work. "You should submit it," she looked over at her brother. "To that art show. I don't know if that's your thing, but it could be cool." She summoned a bit of Mist to fidget with, rolling the tendrils through her fingers before speaking again, trying not to sound hopeful. "Do you want to come back to the townhouse? We could catch up?"

Patrick's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed as Koda looked back at him over her shoulder. He was quiet for a while, not acknowledging her question about going to the townhouse. "I'm submitting something else," he said, and though he shrugged nonchalantly there was a small challenge in his voice. "Since you decided I'm too radioactive to do our painting."

Koda opened her mouth to ask about the other piece he planned on submitting but slowly shut it as he spoke. Her mouth formed a thin line as she debated how to answer, rolling his words around in her mind. "I don't think you're radioactive, Patrick." She gestured at his phone, a small smile returning to her face. "I called and texted you. I even tried to catch you at the studio, but you were never there when I dropped by to paint. I wasn't going to show up at your apartment. Something tells me you wouldn't have liked that much."

Despite her careful words, the calming tone, Patrick visibly bristled. He was more alert than he'd been all night in that moment. He couldn't identify exactly what he was feeling, but whatever this knot in his chest was, he didn't like it. "Do you even know where I live?" he asked, then shook his head. That wasn't wasn't he wanted to say. "I wouldn't have liked it. But..." He shook his head again; the whole world seemed to tilt and he sighed as he turned to clumsily pick up his brushes.

“No, I don’t. I know you live with Grey in the apartments but that’s all. You sort of...ghosted, Pat.” She watched quietly as he gathered up his brushes, fingers itching to help him cover up his paints, to do something instead of just standing there awkwardly. Koda rubbed the back of her neck, unsure if she should bring up what had happened with Tai, but quickly decided against it, continuing her former train of thought. “Why did you?”

He might regret it tomorrow, but Patrick just hastily shoved his brushes back into his tackle box. He tried to tune out Koda as much as possible, but it was impossible when he was already this annoyed. Patrick grit his teeth but just shrugged again, keeping his back to her. “Does it matter?”

Koda sucked her teeth, gesturing aimlessly with one hand to Patrick’s back as she watched his cleanup take on more of a frenzy. “I wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t. What’s going on?”

Patrick quickly capped his tubes of paint and dropped them in the box along with his palette knife, not noticing the color getting smeared across his palms. He balled up the paper where he’d been mixing colors and tossed that inside as well. “Same old shit, Ko.”

Koda huffed and crossed her arms. "I don't know what that means, Pat." She watched him clumsily deconstruct his set up and cringed when he tossed his palette paper into his tackle box along with all his other supplies, knowing from experience that he'd find a big mess the next time he opened it. She took a step closer, trying to meet Patrick's eyes. "Are you okay?"

"What do you mean, you don't know what that..." He trailed off and shook his head, then looked back at her. The motion was too quick, and he needed a moment for his vision to focus back on his sister. When it did, she was closer, looking at him with concern. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. Just because I'm not talking to you doesn't mean I'm not okay."

Though only for a second, Koda caught a glimpse of Patrick's eyes when the light caught them; his pupils were wide and she saw him take a second to focus. "No, I know that. I didn't mean it like that. I meant, like, are you high right now?" She raised an eyebrow, sounding slightly amused.

Patrick's mouth twisted into a frown and he looked away again. Her amusement simultaneously quieted some of his anger but annoyed him in a new way. "I'm usually high," he mumbled, then he sighed. Once again, that wasn't what he wanted to say. "It doesn't matter," Patrick tried again, snapping the tackle box shut. It was only then, when paint smeared across the front of the box, that he noticed how filthy his hands had become. "Fuck."

"Oh yikes, you've got a little- a lot." Seeing the paint on his hands at the same time Patrick did, Koda decided against commenting further on his previous statement and instead held out a hand. "If you come back to my place, you can get cleaned up. I can carry your canvas too. I'm paint-free, see?" She shrugged but hoped he would accept her olive branch, not wanting to see him try to juggle his easel, box, and canvas all at one, while covered in paint. "I have a drying rack too."

Patrick didn't take Koda's hand or even acknowledge anything that she said. Instead he stood, picking up the box as he did. He was definitely coming down, now, and his mood was going with it. "I don't—" He cut himself off, sighed, and looked away again. "I'll come pick it up tomorrow," he told her.

"You can come pick it up tomorrow, and you can also come with me now and get all that paint off your hands before you get it on everything else." Koda gave Patrick a long look before she gingerly picked up his painting by one of the wooden parts of the frame, extra careful not to bump the canvas or cause any harm to her brother's work. "Come on," she tilted her head in the direction the townhouse was in. "It's only a few blocks away. I can carry your easel too, if you don't want to get paint on it either."

Patrick scowled at Koda and shook his head, petulant. "No," he said as she picked up his canvas, staying stubbornly in his spot on the sidewalk. "You don't get to—" His hand tightening into a fist; paint squeezed in between his fingers and got under his nails. "Don't baby me, Ko."

Koda inhaled through her nose as her brother refused to budge. "I'm not babying you, Pat. I'm trying to be helpful. Look at your hands. They're covered in paint. There's some on your shirt too, look." She tilted her head again, smiling slightly when she looked up from the paint Patrick was wearing. "Is accepting my help really the worst thing? Come on, I'll make hot chocolate or something."

He managed to swallow the urge to yell, but Patrick couldn't hold back snapping at Koda once again. Her kindness was grating. "You're not doing this over paint," he sneered at her.

She felt her face getting hot when Patrick goaded her, hating that he had read her so well. Stubbornly, Koda stared him down. "Fine, yeah, it's not just about paint. But I am trying to help, so if you need me to carry your painting, I will". She exhaled through her nose. "You're pushing me away...again. The last time I asked why you do that, you said that you couldn't push away what wasn't close to you in the first place. Well, I'm trying, Pat. I want to know you better, be close to you. I want to do that painting with you, still. But you ghosted me after- you ghosted me," she repeated, unsure if she really wanted to get into it at this hour, her energy slowly winding down now that the mood had soured.

"After what, Koda?" Patrick asked, leaning closer to her. "I ghosted you after what? Go ahead." He waited a second for her to answer, then kept talking. "And don't act like you don't know. I know you know, I know you and Chase talk about everything, I know you agree with him because you always do, and I know who you're friends with. I don't want to talk to you because I can see it in your face that you're thinking about. This is what I meant by the same old shit. If I'm your problem of a brother it doesn't matter if you try. I don't want you to try."

"After you got into a fight with Tai and you lied about it! To Chase, who cares about you and was there to make sure you were alright after your concussion! And yeah, Chase and I talk about everything and I do agree with him in this instance, but I'm fully capable of forming my own opinions, whether I agree with Chase or not!" Koda pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. "You're not my 'problem' of a brother," she bracketed the word problem with air quotes. "You're my brother and I care about you. I was worried about you after the fight, Pat. I called you and texted you, offering to check on you, to keep you company. But you know that, because you got all my messages, you just decided they weren't worth answering."

Every word she said made him more and more upset. Patrick tried to interrupt several times, but she kept going, and he kept getting angrier. As soon as she finished talking, Patrick decided he was done. Suddenly it didn't matter that he came out here expressly to finish the painting that had been on his mind for weeks. Suddenly he didn't care that he'd spent so much material and effort on it, or that it was finally almost finished. He wanted to leave, exit this conversation, and he wanted to stop Koda from having something to keep him in place. Patrick reached forward instead of answering and pressed his palm flat against the canvas. He dragged his hand down, smearing the image into unrecognizable ruin. "There," he snarled, stepping to her side so he could snatch up his easel. "Now you don't have to worry. You can throw that out in the next trash you see. Or just drop it here, I don't care."

Koda realized what he was doing a moment too late to stop it and her eyes flashed with horror. She stared at Patrick with her mouth agape, her eyes travelling to the muddy mess of oil paint on his hand. She couldn't bring herself to look at the now-ruined canvas so instead she looked at his face, her expression a mix of sadness and disappointment. "Gods, Patrick, I don't even want to think about how much time and materials you just threw away. How childish can you be? What was it - you didn't want to stand here anymore? You didn't want to talk to me that badly? You- you could have just walked away like a normal person, you didn't have to ruin your work!" Koda's voice broke and she leveled another glare at her brother, still clutching his canvas in her hand. When she spoke, she sounded completely exhausted, but she kept her eyes on Patrick, waiting for his reaction. "I'm going home. I, I really can't believe you just wrecked your painting like that. And don't you even try to tell me it's my fault, Patrick. Please just, don't."

Despite his desire to leave, Patrick paused after just few steps. He stood there, letting Koda yell at the back of his head while a burning sensation spread across his chest. Already he was starting to regret what he just did, but his pride got in the way of admitting it, of turning around to face his sister. He took a few deep breaths but it did nothing to quiet the anger swarming in his chest. Still, he didn't say anything back. His grip on the easel tightened but otherwise he didn't show any sign of reacting to any of the words she threw toward him. Once she was done talking, he sighed, looked up at the sky, then continued to walk away. He kept going, refusing to look back, and quickly left his sister in the darkness, illuminated only by the streetlight above.