#was it casual when you hit me on the head with a fire extinguisher so you could steal my self sacrifice moment

[brainrotcharacters]

I'm just so happy for Logan honestly he finally found a bitch insane enough to match his freak

[thinemoonshine]

⋆𐙚₊ 𝐚 ‘𝔀𝓮’ 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 ‘𝓾𝓼’ ˚⊹♡

downbad!enhypen hyung line x fem!reader content(s): fluff, enhypen being down so horribly, terribly, bad, like whipped whipped for (y/n), (y/n) is sassy and loves to tease, pet names, one profanity, alcohol type: oneshot

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ synopsis: in which (y/n) doesn’t call them her boyfriend because they haven’t officially asked her to embark on an official courtship˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

⋆˙𐙚 L.HEESEUNG 𐙚˙⋆ “…you’re gonna be the death of me!”

“don’t you think this would look good on us?” heeseung asks as he lifts up a pair of couple-y beanies and looks at (y/n) expectantly.

(y/n) shifts her gaze between the two before she brings it down. “don’t they look too couple-y?”

“yeah, i mean that’s the point, righ—wait, what do you mean ‘too couple-y?’” the realization hits him late and (y/n)’s already walking out the store, bells hung on the door chiming behind her.

heeseung hastily puts back the beanies, panicky, before he runs out to follow her. “(y/n)! (y/n), wait! what do you mean by that?”

“by what?” the girl monotonously responds.

“there’s nothing wrong with wearing matching stuff, right? aren’t we a couple? or do you not like it?” heeseung worriedly bombards her with questions as he sticks behind her like a tail—almost stumbling entirely when she stops abruptly.

“we aren’t, though.”

“huh?”

“we aren’t a couple,” (y/n) corrects him and his eyes widen as lips gape—frantically moving to stand in front of her when she budges in the slightest.

“are you breaking up with me? please, (y/n). i-i don’t know what it is but i’ll make it up to you! please not like this, no. i don’t want to lose you,” heeseung pleads as his hands shakily grab her shoulders—much too soft to actually say he even put force but the way his fingers curl, securing onto her show that he’s more than ready to latch on for his life. “tell me. tell me what i did wrong.”

(y/n) stares at his face, the desperation and concern paint him so clearly and a guilty sigh leaves her. “we can’t break up if we weren’t together in the first place.”

now confusion settles over him. his brows knitting and doe eyes searching into hers. “what do you—oh.”

and finally putting the pieces together, a loud laugh escapes him while his not-girlfriend frowns, a small pout playing on her lips.

he coos while his thumb brushes over them. “aww, is that what this was all about?”

“heeseung, you—”

“(y/n),” he interjects with his voice laced with so much charm she just can’t refute. an endearing smirk threatens to appear on his face as he cups her cheek—looking down at her with the most tender and sincere gaze. “will you let me be your boyfriend? please?”

the air’s knocked out of the other at his soft little voice that instantly extinguishes any sort of fire in her as she instead, melts into his arms that magically made their way around her waist.

she clears her throat. “yeah, i guess. yeah.”

he finally lets the smirk form as he swoops down and pecks her forehead, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her and he chuckles at her expression. “now let’s get those couple-y beanies to celebrate our official first day as a couple, hm?”

“…yeah,” the girl bashfully replies with cheeks tinted in a shade of pink.

heeseung’s chest tightens at how cute she is to the point it’s hard to breathe and he squeezes her against him—pressing her face into his chest as he resists the urge to just gnaw at her head. “you’re just so—gosh, you’re gonna be the death of me!”

“hee, my makeup!”

the way his nickname rolls from her tongue so casually is music to his ears and he bites his lip, shutting his eyes as his head falls back. “i’m the luckiest person ever to have you as my girlfriend.”

⋆˙𐙚 P.JONGSEONG 𐙚˙⋆ “silver or gold?”

there’s something off. he can’t quite put his finger on it—but there’s something terribly wrong. and it’s not just because of his and (y/n)’s cuddle sessions with her hugs too short to even be called cuddles, or the lack of kisses from her and hesitant acceptance of his or even the way she sometimes cringes at the pet names he uses on her.

but also because of the way she treats him in general. she’s still affectionate—greeting him with the biggest, most beautiful smile, going out for lunch dates with him and paying for his order because “last time you paid for everything” which, in his perspective is mortifying because why?? would she?? do such a thing??

it’s his responsibility—or so he claims—to spoil her as much as possible. he wants to be the one to feed her, buy her all her silly little trinkets and take her out on shopping sprees and carrying all her bags so why?? it breaks him to see her act the way she is.

but at the end of the day, it’s still affectionate, isn’t it? as much as he can’t comprehend it, he sees it as his girlfriend wanting to treat him every once in a while to show appreciation or something—a self-hypnosis, one might say so he doesn’t fall into hysteria.

despite his suspicions however, he says nothing and lets things flow as he takes the opportunity to observe her more, in hopes he can at least make a small conclusion so he won’t upset her by asking the wrong thing.

and today’s the perfect time for it since they’re having another one of their lunch dates. he sits anxiously at their table as he watches (y/n) who’s still at the counter—having bumped with her friend and now she’s accompanying her as she orders.

“is that all you’re having?” (y/n) asks her friend who nods and right after, the former passes the cashier her card—surprising her friend to which she assures her it’s all fine. “no, i insist! after all, last time you paid for everything.”

jay who has been a loyal, attentive audience this whole time instantly feels himself being washed over with dread. small lips parting and hand resting on the left side of his chest as it dawns on him.

all this time…(y/n)’s been treating him like a friend. not a lover. it all makes sense now. the distance she put between them and the affections shown that are always in border between friend and lover but never more to the latter—he sees it now.

“jay? what’s going on?” (y/n) asks from her seat facing him. “you’re zoning out. hello?”

he just had a short circuit and her saying “jay” so simply is only rusting his gears from overtime working.

“‘jay?’”’he echoes with a small frown on his face. “why jay?”

his question baffles her and she emits a small confused yet amused scoff.

“that’s your name? what else am i supposed to call you?”

“baby, bae, darling, honey—” he starts listing out loving pet names and making her gape at his eloquence. she’s not sure if being so knowledgeable in this subject is really useful at all but it’s impressive. “there are so many you can use! just not just my name as it is. we’re not friends…right?”

ding ding ding! finally, the man gets it and (y/n) lets a mischievous smirk play on her lips.

“i’m pretty sure we are, though,” she teases and her date’s jaw detaches, crashing to the floor along with his heart in shards. she giggles and the sound itself revives him, now looking at her with eyes wide and lips pressed expectantly. “i mean, i don’t recall being asked to be someone’s partner so…”

an audible gasp leaves him before he reaches out to hold her hands in his as they rest on the table. “my love, i should’ve known. i shouldn’t have left things be unclear between us. so, silver or gold?”

his question confuses her. “huh?”

“for our couple rings. i’m using it to propose to you to be my girlfriend later. so, silver or gold? actually, diamonds will be best, right? you only deserve the best.”

“wait, slow down—”

“how many carats?”

“jay!”

“‘jay???’”

“…sweetie? babe??”

“so much better <3”

⋆˙𐙚 S.JAEYUN 𐙚˙⋆ “i can even be your doormat!”

it’s not a secret that sim jaeyun is sometimes the embodiment of a human puppy. so it’s not surprising to see him literally following (y/n) around like a tail—even before they professed their love for one another.

the only difference now is that he’s much braver in initiating skinship to show his affections like fixing her hair, or cupping her cheeks, drawing circles on whatever part it is that he’s touching on her and even cuddling with her to the point that he’s practically sandwiching her onto the couch with his face buried in the crook of her neck.

but he notices something: it’s always been one-sided. and that’s weird. because as far as he knows, one of (y/n)’s love languages is physical touch. but it’s not like she rejects any of his advances, she accepts them all. maybe she’s just not very keen on starting it, but is always up for it.

so he lets it be.

until at one point, it starts to bug him and eat him from the inside out, leaving him shriveled like a wilted flower lacking every single form of nutrient and water—and all the sun’s doing is just drying up every bit of moisture and drawing the life out of him.

“(y/n)…” jake croaks weakly as he crawls to his phone that he previously threw onto his couch, now only a sliver of the man he once was with his cheeks hollow and lips chapped as his sickness riddles him. a terrible sickness caused by (y/n) deficiency.

the other end of the call rings a few times before the voice of his beloved sings through, instantly energizing him. “hello? jake?”

“(Y/N), I NEED YOUuUuUu~” he howls and (y/n) has to pull her phone away from her ear. “i’m SICK.”

concern fills her quickly after. “sick?? what happened? do you have a fever?”

she’s bombarding him with questions as she hastily puts on her shoes near her main door, ready to leave right after. the pitiful sob from him that follows after only heightens her worry.

“i’m sick…of missing you,” he finishes and (y/n) nearly trips over air just as she’s about to step to the door. “please come over and cuddle…please…?”

his desperate whimpers are just so adorable that it nearly shatters her resolve of playing hard-to-get. nearly.

squinting her eyes, crossing one arm under her chest and hooking it to the other that holds her phone to her ear, she then hums questioningly. and gosh, does jake feel like every second is another hour taken from his life span.

“no.”

nevermind. he’s dead now.

“wh-what? what do you mean ‘no?’”

huzzah! he’s been resuscitated. he wants justice.

(y/n) captures her lip between her teeth—holding back her amused chuckles at his cute confusion. “that sounds like a very boyfriend-girlfriend activity, jake. and we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend…”

beep! beep! beep!

he…hung up??

(y/n) gapes and calls him.

“the number you’ve dialed is unreachable…” the automatic machine answers.

again.

“please leave a message after the beep!…”

again.

still no answer.

worry creeps in again as (y/n) slips in her foot back into her shoe which she took off mere minutes ago. just when she stands however, a persistent ringing of her door bell freezes her momentarily.

swinging the barrier between her and the source open, she’s met with surprise to see sim jaeyun, the man himself, down on his knees as he looks up at her with doe eyes glossed over.

“jake! wha—”

“we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend? what did i do? tell me, i’ll fix it!”

“you didn’t do anything!”

“i didn’t? the-then, why?”

(y/n) opens her mouth to answer when she suddenly realizes that him not doing anything is exactly the problem—and her momentary hesitation is enough to have him clasping his hands together in desperation.

“please please please, don’t throw me away! i love you so much, i won’t be able to live without you! please please, pretty princess? PLEASE!”

the girl’s eyes widen at his sudden pleads and she anxiously looks at the other doors in the corridor, hoping her apartment neighbors will disregard the chaos occurring. “jake! jake, stand up! stop doing this!”

“NO! you’re mad at me! i don’t know why but…still! is it because i’m too clingy? because i asked you to come over? sh!t! i should’ve been the one to come over not you! i’ll be better, i promise!”

“what?? no! there’s nothing wrong with that just listen to me and get—”

“NOOOO!! i’m not getting away! i’m not leaving! just keep me by your side! i’ll do anything! i-i can even be your doormat—here! right here!”

the sound of a rattling doorknob triggers (y/n)’s fight or flight and she seizes jake’s wrist that’s conveniently raised—thanks to his howls and pleads of “you said you love me!” and “love me backkkk~” respectively—and she hauls him into her apartment.

jaeyun’s eyes widen at the abrupt motion and he stumbles onto the floor of her house but before he can say anything, a pair of soft lips smash against his—ridding him of every thought as his hands instinctively reach up to cup her cheek and nape.

he limps backwards, now completely against the floor while (y/n) hovers and his vision darkens as his eyes shut—reveling in the addicting sweetness of her taste.

a small whine sounds from him when she pulls away and he chases after her lips—wanting nothing more but to relish in her essence endlessly yet her hand that gently pushes him down by the chest halts him.

she giggles at his dazed expression—his breaths shaky, eyes blown out and half-lidded as he peers up at her. “i do love you, jakey. i just said we weren’t a couple because you haven’t asked me out yet.”

“i haven’t?” he slurs like a drunken man, still on cloud nine from her kiss and his gaze casts frequent glances onto her glistening, rosy nubs. “must have been in my dream then.”

“yeah, must be,” (y/n) chuckles and sits on his lap before hauling him up—instantly getting engulfed in an embrace with his arms coiled around her waist and nose buried in the crook of her neck. feeling ticklish, the girl elicits a few titters which makes him smile against her skin.

“i can’t believe i let my princess feel so frustrated for so long,” he muffles into her. “but don’t worry, i’ll ask you now.”

“i’m all ears.”

“will you marry me?”

“HUH??”

⋆˙𐙚 P.SUNGHOON 𐙚˙⋆ "love me, please"

sunghoon is more emotional of a person than how he seems. he just hides himself well and even when others try their best to push him to the edge, he will never lose his grip on his thread nor walk the plank—able to pull himself up and return to the safe shores.

of course, he’s still human and thus, will never be completely impenetrable. one common weakness among those with strict discipline? alcohol.

“i don’t know why…she doesn’t love me,” sunghoon sobs into his arms as he’s hunched onto the counter and almost slipping off his stool. jake looks down at him before a sigh escapes. he was amused seeing his usually stoic and smiley friend act so sappy at first—but that was 3 days ago and he’s still being it since.

jake pats the other’s pack. “why don’t you ask her? i thought you guys confirmed your feelings for each other?”

sunghoon nods against his arm as a low groan rumbles through him. “we did…but then i overheard her saying to her friends that we ‘aren’t together’ and are just ‘two people who share mutual affections.’”

“maybe you misheard?”

a wail akin to a whale’s call sounds from the drunken lad and jake looks around frantically, embarrassed, and is for once thankful for the blaring DJ remixes that burst people’s ears.

“i didn’t. i heard clearly what she said, that’s why i ran away… i left her there… i screwed up our lunch plans… she’s gonna hate me more! it’s my fault! why did i just—WAAaaAaA!”

once again, his friend finds himself in a fluster, scared that someone’s going to think that a marine creature’s been illegally smuggled into the establishment—causing him to haul the taller lad onto his shoulders and out of the place of business.

“there you go. stay,” jake huffs as he laboriously drops his friend onto the bench outside before pulling out his phone. dialing a number, he then puts the gadget to his ear. “hello? sorry for calling you so suddenly but uh, sunghoon’s kind of in a situation i know you’re the only who can save him from. oh, no! it’s not anything dangerous! it’s just, well…”

after hearing his explanation, it doesn’t take long for the girl to zoom to the club and there, she meets a passed out sunghoon on a cold wooden bench and jake sitting on the edge of his seat—not having enough space due to the drunkard.

“hey, thanks for coming,” the slightly older male says with a smile and nods with gratitude at her. she reciprocates.

“so…you say he’s been doing this for 3 days straight—since he overheard me?” (y/n) confirms and jake’s affirmation elicits a long sigh from her. “dummy hoon. thanks for accompanying him, jake. i’ll take over from here.”

bidding goodbye, (y/n) then approaches the sleeping young man. her heart flutters at his delicate yet sharp visages that simply steal her breath away even when he’s doing something utterly mundane such as sleeping. her hand lifts to cup his cheek, flinching at the coldness of his skin. “sunghoon, wake up. hoon?”

she nearly has a cardiac arrest when the man’s eyelids shoot open and he springs to a sitting position before facing the blanched girl.

“(y/n)!” he exclaims cheerily with the most radiant beam before engulfing her whole against his figure—muscly biceps securing around her frame as she squeaks from the sudden embrace. she chuckles, adoring how he’s still able to be so gentle with her even whilst drunk. “hi, my love~”

the nickname brings a blush to her face that’s already mantling from the cold. “come on, let’s get you to the car.”

as soon as he’s in the passenger’s seat, (y/n) bends down slightly in front of him to secure his seatbelt but pauses when sunghoon’s head drops onto her shoulder—rubbing his forehead against the fabric covering her skin.

“(y/n)…you’re so warm,” he murmurs, eyes shut and lips parted. “if only you were really here.”

his words make the girl’s brows knit. ‘does he think he’s imagining me?’

click! the seatbelt connects and she shuts his door before going to the driver’s seat.

the drive is mostly quiet with sunghoon being drowsy and (y/n) busy with trying to get him home safely but the tranquility is broken by an unexpected monologue by the former.

“i do this again and again just to see you… and you’re always there. but i wake up and you’re gone…always gone,” sunghoon murmurs in his sleepiness, and (y/n)’s fingers tighten around the wheel at his confession—feeling her heartstrings getting tugged. “i love you so much, it hurts.”

(y/n) glances at him, feeling a surge of guilt and swallows dryly. “if the real (y/n) was here, what would you tell her?”

“i’d apologize for canceling our lunch date again. and tHeN! i’d apologize again and tell her i’ll do wAyYyYY better! i’ll be the BEST MAN she’ll ever have!” sunghoon exclaims in an inconsistent rhythm—bursting on some words and calm for the others. “the LAST one too! she’s going to end up with me, i’ll make sure of it.”

his drunken confession affects her more than she thought—butterflies erupting and tickling her from the inside out with their soft, rapid wings.

“oh, really?” she teases, an amused grin worn as she faces the road which isn’t unseen by sunghoon.

his sudden quietness confuses her but soon feels his scrutinizing gaze prickling at the side of her cheek—her peeking at him from her peripheral.

“woah. you’re the best version of (y/n) my brain’s made. you feel and look real…so warm and pretty like how my (y/n) really is… my gorgeous, gorgeous girl… hihihi…” his lovesick bashful giggles from his own comment instantly beats all her favourite music and artists, defeating all her playlists and reigns the throne.

his eyes upturned in a blinding eyesmile as cheeks and nose glow a bright red from both the alcohol and the lovey dovey, giggly mood he’s brought to himself. he’s so cute. a cutie pie.

by the time they arrive at his home, he’s onto his reason number whoever knows on his list of ‘why my-not-but-still-my-girl aka.(y/n) is the best girl.’

he flops on his bed when (y/n) drops him with a large grunt before joining his side in exhaustion. big mistake.

because now she’s caged within sunghoon’s beefy arms and as much as she loves nothing more than to stay in them—suffocate in them even, but he’d never let—she has to go home.

“sung—oof! sunghoon!” she grunts and wriggles in his unbudging grasp and just when she tries to slip through by sliding down vertically and off the edge of the bed, he nuzzles into the side of her head—drawing figures in her hair with the tip of his nose.

“love me, please,” he whispers and that instantly shuts down her motor—now completely still as she slowly turns to him. her eyes dance across his face that’s slightly scrunched and she can tell it’s because of what he overheard her say. he’s thinking about it again.

“i do love you, hoon—so so much that it physically squeezes the air out of me sometimes. i only said what i said because i realized we never made it official and whenever i hinted at you, you just acted like it was nothing. just going with it without accepting or denying anything,” (y/n) explains in a whisper as her finger moves up to trace his features.

freezing suddenly when she reaches his mouth and the corners begin to curl up.

“so i just need to make things official and we won’t just be ‘two people who share mutual feelings together?’” he asks with clarity. the lack of muddled mumbles and dragged words instantly tell the other of his sobriety.

she looks up, taken aback to see him already staring down at her with the most endearing of gazes—shifting between her eyes constantly before letting it dance across her face and back to melting their gazes together.

“i guess so…” she mutters, flustered and belatedly shy from the proximity.

sunghoon catches his bottom lip between his teeth, finding the sight before him simply too adorable and presses a kiss on her forehead. “then, just as i am already yours, will you be mine?”

his concise offer makes her heart skip beats but it still doesn’t compare to hoon’s that’s running a mile a minute, vigorous thumps almost blending into one another and she feels it from the way he hugs her tight.

so much for mr.cool guy act.

“it would be my honour, hoon,” she replies with a cheeky grin and a second later she’s squealing from getting bombarded with butterfly kisses—unknowing of his struggle to keep himself together and not just crush her every bone from the cuteness aggression, finding her to be the loveliest ever. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ maknae line ver.

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog—they give me some motivation, ya know? but please do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[foli-vora]

more than words, pt.4

A/N: Hello, angels! I hope you’re all safe and healthy! Next instalment is here, and I’m very excited for what’s coming. I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy, too! Love to you all! (I hope I haven’t forgotten to tag anyone but if I did, I’m really sorry!)

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader, best friend!Benny Miller x f!reader

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF, swearing, brief alcohol mention, bit of spice (reminder: this fic is 18+), Frankie being the tease he is

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3 / pt.5 / pt.6

+

Your lips were still tingling when you woke the next morning, eyes fluttering open and a smile creeping onto your face as the events from last night replay through your mind for the millionth time. Frankie had been on your mind the entire drive home, the tenderness of his first kiss kicking your heart into double time, and the pure unrestrained passion of the kiss that followed hitting a far lot lower.

Was it possible for a first date to go as well as it did? There wasn’t a single moment in your time spent with Frankie that had you unsure about his character or intentions.

Benny had actually done it. He had found you a guy you really liked. Is Hell freezing over?

You reach for your phone as you slip from bed, stretching leisurely as you make your way to the kitchen, and finding Benny’s contact before pressing ‘call’. It takes a few rings, until his drawl finally greets you through the phone.

“Did you puke?” is his immediate answer and you roll your eyes, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder as you putter around your kitchen putting some breakfast together.

“No, you asshole.”

He laughs. “He’s that whipped, he’d probably thank you.”

What? What does that mean? Has Frankie spoken to Benny? Did he talk about last night? What did he say? Did he think it went as well as you did? Shit. Calm down. You try to steady your suddenly quickening pulse, a pleasant flutter consuming your stomach as you attempt to sound casual.

“Oh? Has he said something?”

Benny’s voice is sly, teasing – he knows you far too well. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean ‘maybe’?”

“Maybe I’m sitting next to him right now. And maybe he’s sitting here blushin’ like a little –” Benny grunts suddenly, seemingly in pain, and the phone crackles as he shifts on the other end, “don’t fuckin’ kick me. Anyway, Fish wants to know what you’re wearing.”

You hear him then, raspy voice piping up in the background with an aghast ‘What?! No–’ and then there’s more scuffling, more grunts of pain, and Benny’s snort of laughter.

“What are you even doing up?” Benny redirects his attention to you after a few minutes of bickering with Frankie, words muffled as he talks around whatever food he has rolling around his mouth. He had noted the early time when your face had flashed over his screen, wondering what could’ve possibly gotten you up and out of bed so early on a day off.

You shrug lightly, even though he couldn’t see it, and prepare your pancake batter. “Just couldn’t sleep in.”

He’s quiet, chewing thoughtfully and then asking softly, “You okay?”

“Yeah – I’m fine, just bored sitting at home. For some reason, I wanted to see what you were up to and if you wanted to hang out, but you’re busy so never mind.”

Benny laughs, “Aw, you missin’ me, angel?” he teases.

“Ugh, I take it back. I’d rather sit here in silence and stare at my wall.”

You can hear him laughing even as you pull your phone away and press the red button, shaking your head and smiling to yourself.

-

A week passes by before you even know it, work taking over much of your week, and much to your delight, Frankie had eagerly organised another night to meet up. You had talked all week of course – a phone call every evening once Mena had been put down for the night, texts here and there throughout the day, and when he had asked if you were free at all over the weekend, you had agreed without a second thought.

Eagerness buzzes through your system the entire day of the date and the drive to the restaurant, a much welcome change from the anxiety riddled one before. It was a breath of fresh air.

Frankie was waiting for you, as he said he would, leaning against the wall of the restaurant and a smile immediately widening his features when his eyes find you.

This time there was no hesitation, no voice in the back of your mind wondering how to tackle the situation. As soon as you saw him – you couldn’t help yourself – you were in his arms and giving him a soft kiss in greeting. Pleasantly surprised, he smiles against your lips, arms winding around your waist, and the electric tingles that rocket up from your palm when his rough hand gently takes yours has your heart going wild in your chest.

It’s dinner instead of drinks this time, and the two of you squeeze yourselves into one side of the leather booths, instead of sitting opposite each other. You order quickly, and sip at your beer while you listen to Frankie talk about his week, the conversation soon moving in all sorts of directions as you wait for your food.

“How could you not?” You cry at one point, slapping a hand on the table and watching his shoulders shake as he laughs, stomach twisting at the pleasant sound of it.  “The universe is huge – like, huge. We are not alone.” You say ominously, and he laughs harder, head hitting the back of the booth.

“Where’s the proof?”

“What?”

“The proof! If it’s so big and we’re not the only ones here, where is everyone?”

“It’s a cover up.” You sniff indifferently, sipping your drink and fighting the twitches threatening to turn your pursed lips into a smile. “Oh my god, you were in the military – are you in on it?”

He’s struggling to breathe, cheeks aching under the grin stretching his features and stomach starting to cramp. “In on what?”

“That’s it! You’re part of the cover up!”

“Yeah, you’ve got me. I was actually a part of a crew chasing away UFO’s.”

No longer able to keep it in, you erupt into a fit of violent giggles, melting over the table top and letting the laughter shake your frame. Frankie watches you fondly, affection flooding his system and causing his insides to warm pleasantly.

He was still trying to work out how he was here, with a beautiful woman, having great conversations, fun conversations, and laughing more than he had in… shit… a long time. It was refreshing and, if he were completely honest with himself, slightly nerve-wracking. Nothing ever stays so perfect, and that thought had him ensuring he was enjoying every second he could with you before you inevitably realised you were incredibly out of his league and went looking elsewhere.

But… how could you ever? When you peak up at him, you can’t help but study the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his dimples deepen in his cheek, and you honestly couldn’t imagine anywhere else in the world you’d rather be. It was… scary. You’d only known him a couple of weeks, and you were feeling like this?

The night melts away before you both even know it happens and soon, you’re snatching up the bill before he can move, and walking out onto the street, Frankie’s arm slung around your shoulders and keeping you pressed close up to his side as a sharp late evening breeze sweeps through you both.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Chickens?”

“I’m sorry, but have you ever been chased by a rooster? Those things are fucking vicious, Frankie.”

He grins, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, well what about you?”

“Heights.”

What?

You frown, “But you’re a pilot?”

“I can handle heights if I can control the situation. Flying is easy – I know what to do when I need to do it. It’s when something’s out of my control – falling off a cliff and shit. It’s just… a long way down.” He’s quiet, obviously dwelling on something before he’s shaking his head and smiling, “Do you have a favourite book?”

The short walk to your car takes longer with the leisurely pace you both had unconsciously set, wanting to milk the remaining minutes of the date as much as you could before having to part ways.

“Thank you for dinner.” He spins you into his arms and you laugh quietly, smiling.

“You’re welcome.”

Silence falls over you both as you regard the other.

Frankie… your voice is so quiet, the soft whisper of it dances in his ears, igniting a fire through his veins. He unconsciously presses himself closer, lost in the way your lashes flutter when you look at him. You raise a hand, fingers trailing softly against his jaw and he turns his face into your touch, chasing the feeling of your warm fingertips as they glide up and around his neck.

“Kiss me?”

He smiles, enjoying the way your face scrunches slightly as he nuzzles his nose against yours, “Say please,” he mutters playfully, grin widening when you breathe a quiet giggle.

“Please kiss me, Francisco.”

Oh shit.

You don’t miss the way his face slackens for a brief moment, eyes widening and breath seemingly getting caught in his throat. He swallows, the flicker of a flame that had been burning lowly in his stomach suddenly blazes red hot and then he’s moving, hands cupping your cheeks and claiming your mouth with an intensity that had your knees buckling the second his lips touched yours.

You melt instantly, unable to stop the small whimper that bubbles from your mouth as his tongue traces teasingly along your lip. You open your mouth automatically, tongue immediately sliding greedily along his. His mouth was hot, rough against yours, and the grunt he lets out when your fingers dig into the dark curls at the nape of his neck has a delicious heat shooting to your core, your hips rolling against his.

Fuck. Did you just grind on him?

The sudden stab of panic at potentially going too far is quickly extinguished when his hands fly to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer and keeping you tight up against him while his fingers dig hungrily into your flesh.

The sudden blaring of a car alarm has you both jumping apart and a mile high, Frankie’s hands tightening on you instinctively, and it’s not until you look around that you discover it’s your car making that God awful noise that is ripping your ear drums apart.

“Shit,” you fumble for your keys, quickly pressing the button while Frankie chuckles into the skin of your throat, hands softly rubbing up and down along your waist to calm you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault.” He grins, not at all remorseful for causing such a big disturbance. “It was probably for the best – any longer and we might’ve been arrested for indecent exposure.” The words are growled playfully against your skin, but you can’t help thinking he wasn’t far from the truth. You laugh, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso and placing a final kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Drive safe,” you say as he begins to pull back, and he smiles warmly at you.

“You too.”

You slip into your car, watch him disappear down the street and sigh dreamily, body working on auto-pilot for the drive home while your head remains firmly in the clouds. You could only hope you had actually somewhat paid attention to the road and didn’t miss any stop signs or red lights.

Your phone goes off in your hand when you eventually walk through the door to your apartment, and you read the text as you shrug off your jacket. Your eyes have to read it back and forth a few times before the words actually sink in, and then you’re holding it to your chest, delicately cradling the device while you rest heavily on your door, heat flushing along your cheeks.

I’ve thought about whether or not I should say this the entire drive home, but fuck it... miss you already.

Well, fuck.

-

Delivering a sharp little karate chop to the remaining flat cushion on your couch to fluff it, you place it with the others and then neaten the edges of the blanket hanging over the back, casting one final glance around your apartment and trying to imagine seeing it through a visitor’s eyes.

Clean.

Really clean.

Frankie was picking you up for a ‘mystery date’, which meant – naturally – you had spent the entire day scrubbing every surface in your apartment until it looked like you semi-had your life together. Did you inhale more bleach than what is probably considered healthy? Most definitely. Do you regret it? No. Will your apartment ever be this clean again? Also probably a no.

Checking the time, you’re startled to see how long you had spent fluffing fucking pillows and chant curses as you run to your room, kicking the clothes you rip off under your bed to deal with later and quickly pulling on the outfit it had definitely not taken you two hours to decide on. Your eyes dart to the alarm clock next to your bed when a knock on the door echoes throughout your small home.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, he’s on time –

God, why can’t he just show up half an hour late like the others? You immediately regret giving him the code to your building… that could’ve bought you an extra few minutes.

Stupid perfect face with his stupid perfect punctuality –

You open the door with a grin, hoping your forehead doesn’t look as sweaty as it feels, face softening when you find Frankie standing on the other side with a little potted houseplant cradled in his palms. He sees your eyes fall to it curiously and holds it out to you, your fingers brushing his when you carefully take it from his hands.

“You said flowers make you sad when they die, so…” he shrugs lightly, a gentle smile curling his lips.

Oh.

Emotion claws at your throat as your fingers trace the patterned leaves softly. Not only had he paid attention and actually listened to you during your many conversations, he had gone out of his way to find you a gift you could nurture, one that wouldn’t inevitably end up in the trash after a week or two of blossoming.

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, clearing your throat quietly before glancing up at him, shy and overwhelmed by the wave of adoration that inundates you.

“Thank you, Frankie. I love it.”

And he knows you really do. He can hear it in your voice, sees the gratitude shining in your eyes. He follows you as you turn back into your apartment, eyes following you fondly as you walk around, eyeing potential places to situate your new addition.

“I think he looks good there.” You say, turning to confirm his approval over your shoulder after you situate it in the middle of your small dining table. He smiles, nodding his support and watching you turn back to look at the plant, taking his own little minute to admire you and the way you look bathed in the bright afternoon sun shining through your windows.

Fuck. He was captivated, completely infatuated by someone he had only known, what – three weeks? He should be nervous, should be alarmed that such strong feelings had developed so quickly, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than joy – hope. Maybe this could be it, you and him. Endgame.

Fuck. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

His arms open automatically when you saunter up to him, enveloping you into a warm embrace while you press an appreciative kiss to his cheek.

“So, this mystery date,” you say, pulling back to gaze up at him while your hands wrap loosely around his neck, “will I need a jacket?”

“Yes,” he nods, grinning when your brows pinch in contemplation. “You’ll never guess so don’t hurt you head trying.” Lips press against your forehead and you press back into the soft touch, heart jumping at the tender gesture.

-

“Minigolf?” You question, looking up at the colourful entrance.

“Is that okay? If not, we can go somewhere else –”

He’s nervous – you can hear it in his voice.

Easing his anxiety, you shake your head and grin, “It’s perfect.”

You watch him relax, a pleased smile curling his lips, and then your hand is in his as he leads you through the gate and to the reception area to pay. The both of you meander outside once collecting your clubs and balls, and you feel childishly giddy at all the bright colours and fun obstacles set throughout, bouncing slightly in excitement as you walk to the first hole.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” He asks around a grin, head tilting as he watches you set up and take your position.

“This isn’t my first time,” you hum, shifting on your feet and lining up your shot. Swinging the golf club gently, you watch the neon orange ball bounce along the walls and finish up teeteringly on the edge of the cup before falling in with a satisfying clunk.

“Oh, by the way,” you spin, smirking, “I kick ass at minigolf.”

“Good,” he returns your smirk, gently nudging you out the way, “I don’t have to take it easy on you, then.”

What had started out as fun, quickly becomes competitive, and with competition comes foul play. Frankie had pinched your sides when you went to hit your ball, your body jolting with a yelp of surprise as he exploited your ticklish spots. In return, you knocked his golf club when he swung, and giggled wildly when he immediately turned on you, wrapping you in a tight hold and raining scratchy kisses along your throat in punishment.

The afternoon melts into evening with mix of steady conversation, laughter and hidden kisses behind obstacles – Frankie stealing the breath right from your lungs when he crowds you against the side of the colourfully decorated windmill and claims your mouth, the crowds of other couples and families wandering around the course oblivious to the two of you hidden in the shadows.

If he was trying to work you up, it was working. He had to know what he was doing to you, had to know how all-consuming his presence was when he swept you up into kiss after kiss. You were so wrapped up in the touches he would caress you with, so focused on the feel of his moustache as it tickled the skin above your lip, that you were completely unaware you were losing… until you peaked at the card Frankie kept sticking out of his back pocket (totally not because you were checking out his ass) and the wave of vicious competitiveness shadows the overwhelming desire to jump him right in the middle of the course on the artificial turf.

Payback.

The next course, you took your short as normal, squirming as you feel Frankie come to stand right behind you. Focus –

Breathe, he’s not there. Breathe, he’s not there. Breathe –

Goosebumps rise along your arms in waves, the skin on the back of your neck prickling as he ghosts his curved nose down the column of your throat, your head tilting ever so slightly to allow him more access.

Fuck. No, breathe –

You swing the club, satisfaction rolling through you when the ball ends up in the cup perfectly in one shot. He’s slightly shocked, incredibly impressed, and presses a soft kiss of praise just below your ear. You watch as he takes your place, dropping his ball on the ground and readying his posture.

God, you need to stop looking at him like that.

The golf club feels loose in his grip, palms clammy from the fiery gaze locked onto the back of his neck as he hunches over for his turn. He feels a presence behind him but doesn’t pay any mind to it, and instead pays all of his attention to lining up the ball, mentally calculating what sort of angle he’d need to get it through the tunnel and around the winding corners to the cup a short dip below.

The cool puff of air suddenly blowing past and tickling his ear makes him fumble, the ball missing the tunnel and bouncing off of the sides and rolling back to his feet. He sighs, eyeing you over his shoulder with a playful frown as you blink innocently back at him.

He lines up again, tensing when warm hands work their way under his jacket, resting softly on his hips. He could feel the heat of your palms through his t-shirt and clears his throat, shifting on his feet and trying to focus back on the ball. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, teeth nipping lightly at his skin when he swings the golf club softly. Another miss. Frankie watches the ball return again, stopping at his feet with a light knock to his shoe.

“Yeah, that’s right, Morales – I’m onto you.” Your soft voice rings in his ear and he grins, knocking the ball into position with his club. “You may play dirty… but I do, too – try again.”

The words settle hotly in his stomach.

“You think you can win?”

“I know I can.” You all but purr into his ear.

He blocks you out then, focusing everything he has on getting that stupid fucking pink ball through the tunnel. He’s got it this time. This time –

Fingers dive under his shirt and his stomach jumps as they trace along his hot skin, slowly following along the waistband of his jeans teasingly. Fire shoots through his veins, muscles clenching under the feather light touches, your nails softly dragging along his skin.

Fucking Christ –

“Are you just going to stand here all day, Francisco?” You question slyly, voice soft and mocking. At your teasing, both verbal and physical, he hits the ball a little harder than intended and it bounces off the turf entirely and into the bushes lining the course.

You’re smug as you watch it disappear into the shrubs, “I’d say that’s forfeit.”

You go to step away when he starts to turn, but a hand grabs your wrist and keeps you flush against him, your insides somersaulting as his dark eyes burn through you.

“You’re trouble.” He accuses gruffly, heart still hammering in his chest while his skin burns from the ghost of your touches.

“You love it.”

He does.

Fuck, he does. Too much.

“Come on, loser,” you murmur, lips leaving a whisper of a kiss against his. “I’m hungry.” And with that, you turn, winking cheekily at him from over your shoulder, and he watches you walk away with a dumbfounded expression before he follows along behind you, jeans feeling a little tighter than what they did before.

-

The tension is stifling in the truck on the drive home. You feel your heart beating in your ears, the anticipation bubbling in your chest growing with every mile Frankie travels closer to your apartment. You were aching. Physically in fucking pain, and rubbing your thighs together was doing nothing to soothe the insistent throbbing from your core.

All that playful teasing, the touches and the rough kisses during the day, had caught up, and it was destroying you.

Frankie had briefly mentioned Mena staying with his parents for the night, and it had kickstarted your thoughts into overdrive. Was that a hint? Was he giving you a green light to potentially take this further? Was he saying he would be open to staying over? Was he asking to?

You were worried you were thinking on it too much, maybe getting the wrong idea and he was just expressing how nice it would be to have a night all to himself, but then his hand landed on your thigh and squeezed, and any inklings of doubt all but vanished.

He watches you from the corner of his eye, trying to focus on the road and not the way you keep shifting in your seat. He feels every time you squeeze your thighs together, feels the muscles move under his hand, and he physically has to stop himself from making a noise every time you do. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to him?

Your building comes into view and then he’s pulling up outside, removing his hand from your thigh and throwing the truck into park, letting it idle while you study the structure and get your thoughts together. Swallowing the sudden spike of nerves that settle in your stomach, you look to Frankie and find him already watching you quietly.

For a moment, you say nothing, and he doesn’t bother filling the silence. He lets you have all the time you need while you decide on your next move. Not that you need much time – you know exactly what you want.

“Do you want to come up?” You ask quietly, watching his eyes darken as they flicker to your building before returning to you. You watch his Adams apple bob as he swallows, and then he’s nodding, turning the keys in the ignition and the truck cuts out beneath you.

+

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed @emilykjh @peterhollandkait @sara-alonso @starlightsearches @bookishofalder @empress-palpat1ne @shadowolf993 @rosiefridayrogersunday @canyonmirrors @eoz-stuff @blackonemasie​ @layniapetrovnaaa​ @alberta-sunrise​ @betterthanbucky​ @linkpk88​ @afootnoteinyourhappiness​ @livilottie​ @hailmaryyramliah​ @kesskirata​ @blueeyesatnight​ @a-perfct-stranger​

[clarissalance]

Hints of something more

Albedo x fem!reader

Warning: Slight suggestive language at the end. 

Word count: 2k7

Summary: Apparently, visiting Albedo in Dragonspine has somehow opened a new door to your vague, no-label relationship. And Kaeya won’t stop teasing you about it.  

Before leaving for Dragonspine two days ago, Albedo told you to bring him some canvas, a few pencils and a paint set of watercolour. However, he failed to mention which brand and type of watercolour he wants you to bring. Is it a set of 24 colours? 48 colours or the 12 colours set? Furrow your eyebrows, you stared questioningly at the shelves, hesitating to pick one up. Knowing how picky Albedo is if it is not up to his standard. The man would refuse to touch the paint. 

What would he choose usually? You can’t seem to recall his watercolour preference. Funny how it is, he usually encourages you to follow your instinct. Human instinct is the best to study. He would say something like this out of nowhere. Sometimes they make a really questionable decision that I can’t decipher. Definitely one of his catch-on phrase. 

 Drilling holes on the shelves for too long is not the solution, so you finally choose the most expensive set of 48 watercolours in the store. You cross your fingers and hope that he doesn’t question your choice. There it goes for half of my salary. Far away, you can faintly see the outline of the money fairy waving at you, flying toward Celestia. I hope he will like this one. 

 Packing up the last few things inside your backpack, you prepare for the adventure to the Dragonspine to meet with the chalk prince. The bright sun on the blue canvas is almost halfway to the top. The weather would be lovely for a small picnic, too good to waste over climbing to Dragonspine. Dragging your body toward the front gate, you lazily hope to hitch someone carriage. It would be best to start early than arriving at the lab late.  

 The journey takes an hour by feet to walk from the city to the foot of Dragonspine and then takes another 2 hours to walk to Albedo’s lab on the mountain. It would be much faster if you can actually have combat fighting skill to head-on with the cryo mitachurl, but life is much a sadder reality. You don’t have a vision nor a combat skill to solo a whole camp of hilichurl. However, with your brain and your gifted survival (escaping) instinct, dodging a few camps and distracting a few of them isn’t very hard. 

 The weather in Dragonspine is much better than what you anticipated. The sky deep and clear, the veil of fog has thinned enough. The air is crisp, mist rises and slowly dissipates after each exhales. The sheer cold is as brutal and sharp knife-like as usual. You can’t understand how Albedo loves the weather in this place enough to set up a lab in here. A summer person like you refuses to set foot in this area unless for commissions and Albedo’s related purpose. Hnng, you are starting to regret coming here.  

There are a few more camps of hilichurl than usual on your way to the mountain, so you decide to take the longer route. At least meeting with a few Fatui is much more comforting than getting hit by an ice mitachurl shield. 

 By the time you get to the camp, the sun is standing proudly on the top. You get here an hour late, and much to your dismay, Albedo wasn’t in his lab. He is going out to look for more sample again. Heaving exhaustingly, you drop the heavy backpack thud on the ground. Scampering over the fire, you let out a satisfying at the charing fire. A pyro vision would be convenient to have in this weather. 

 With the sound of wood cracking under the desiring heat, the frost bearing breeze slowly finds its way into the camp, cooling the scorching radiation from the glowing fire. Warmth slowly crawls and sinks in on your dry skin, soothing the icy air. Exhausted, your eyelids slowly pull themselves over, threaten to extinguish your consciousness. A nap wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? You let out a long yawn, curl into a fetal position and use the bag as a pillow. Darkness comes within a second. 

 _____________________________________________________________

 You are woken up by the warmth on the hand caressing your cheek, running through your hair. The familiar smooth hand resting on your face doesn’t know you have woken up, the thumb fiddling with your soft skin. Nuzzle lovingly at the palm, you let out sigh contentment. The hand is big enough, gently and carefully tracing your face outline like it’s treasuring a gift. This familiar feeling tickles you like a feather. 

 Groggily, you peel your eyes open and greet with a stunning sight. Albedo is sitting next to you, the fluffy blond hair softly falls on the cheek, some being tucked under his ears. The teal eyes focus intently on the notebook in front of him, glimmering with interest and dedication, his long lashes fluttering like a butterfly wing on a flower petal. The golden diamond on his neck glimmers faintly under the flicker of light, stand out on his creamy white skin. His warm slender fingers still lightly touch your hair soothingly make you feel so relaxing. Letting out a satisfying purr, you press your plump lips on his wrist, successfully gets Albedo attention. 

 “ How long have you been up?” His soothing voice has never failed to calm your nerve. You yearn up a little bit, trying to peek at the notebook on his lap. It’s so far away, you can’t catch a glimpse from here. 

 “ A while.” You hum. “ Long enough to get drunken at your handsome features.” 

 His eyes widen a little bit, not expecting that coming out from your mouth. 

 At the corner of his eyes, he catches your cheeky grin. Beaming widely at him, you internally cringing at your cheesy remark. You don’t even know what gives you the courage to slip the embarrassing words. 

 Albedo smirks at your blatant flirt, his reaction opposite what you look for. He returns his attention back to the notebook. His eyes still remains a hint of amusement. You want to dig a hole and jump in it. 

Slowly rise up, you rub your eyes tiredly, and notice Albedo’s coat on your body. Did he put it on you? You glance at him curiously, trying to seek an explanation, but he remains quiet, focuses on the piece of paper. The sound of pencil rustling on the parchment eases you somehow, like waking up in a small cottage with your loved one. 

 “ What time is it? ” You let out a big yawn, voice thicks with sleep. His light coat somehow is warm. Maybe you should ask him where he got this. 

 “ It’s around 3.” Albedo mindlessly points out. “ You can sleep more. Put my coat on if you're cold.” He reminds.  

 “ I shouldn’t be sleeping longer. Let me help with your work so I can get back to Mondstadt on time.” You scratch your head, your body is numbing over the sheer cold. Throw on Albedo coat, you hope the thin layer can keep you warm a little bit longer. His coat smells like frost and Cecilia. Inside the pocket, you find a heating pack. Maybe this is what kept you warm when you were sleeping.  

  “ M almost finished.” The sound of paper rustling each time he turns a page. “I can accompany you back to the city.” 

 “ But I haven’t done anything?” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, hands folding at your chest, trying to saviour some warmth. “You’re sure you finished?” 

 “ Yes, just a few more retouches, then we can go back.” Albedo nods, his eyes still glued on the piece of paper. Abruptly, he stops and looks up at you, waving his hand, signalling you to get closer. Obediently, you walk toward him. When you are an arm-length from him, the man gestures at the chair put closely next to him. He wants you to sit down?

 You sit down quietly, trying to take a look at the drawing he is working on. Hmm, is that you? Did he draw your sleeping form? On the paper is the portrait of you curl like a fetal, your long hair splaying on the floor. Each stroke of pencil depicts the gentleness you have in your face when you are sleeping. The drawing is mundane somehow, you feel comfortable and relax when looking at the piece. 

 Suddenly, you felt a warm hand slotting in your palm, elbow nudging yours. His slender digits are weaving tightly with your fingers, warmth tingling on the tips of your fingers. . Look up from the drawing, you see a tint of pink on his ears. So he can also get embarrassed. 

 “ You look cold.” He mumbles, eyes avoiding yours, his cheek flush furiously. “Sit closer.” You gladly shift closer, your hand and shoulder touching his. Albedo picks up the pencil and returns to his drawing. This time he turns to a new page, start to draw another specimen. Looking at the sketch, you guess he is trying to sketch the abandoned ruins. The comfortable silence envelopes the two of you. 

 Being so close to him, you can make out the whiff of fresh Cecilia and pine. Engulf by his coat and, now next sitting next to him, you are bathing under his signature scent. It would be nice if I could feel him more. Blushing at the thought, you try to push away those not-so-innocent thoughts. Obviously, he is trying to be a gentleman. You should be grateful, if not because of him, you're going to freeze to death.

 Albedo is much warmer than you, his body radiating heat like a furnace after a while. Silently, you pick up a book you left here last time on the table. Most of his books are either textbooks or ancient language book about the alchemist, which you think you are qualified enough to read. Waiting for him in silence is a form of torture if you don’t do something. Your attention removes from his body and to the novel on your hand. 

 After what feels like two hours, Albedo finally puts down his pencil and stretches. His long limb knocks your hand a few times, your knees bump with his. He let out a tired yawn, cracking his knuckles. 

 “Finished?” Your eyes still glue on the thick book. You hear him let out a hum, his hand remove to clean up the mess on the table. 

 “ What are you having for dinner?” Albedo casually asks, hand dusting the enormous amount of eraser dust on the paper before dumping them in the trash. His voice wavers a little, but you aren't sure why. 

 “Hash brown and cream stew. I have a brownie for dessert.” You notice Albedo never makes small conversation like this. He is the type who would get straight to the point or request. Perc up from the book, you are faced with his back at you. He is arranging the bookshelves.

 “Do… you want to join me for dinner? ” After it felt like a while, you finally break the silence, your voice laces with uncertainty. If you read the atmosphere wrong, it can cost you quite severely.  

 “Sure.” He shrugs nonchalantly, continues sorting the stacks of books on the ground. Somehow you can feel the tension in the air is lifted, and he seems more relaxed than before. 

 “These are some observations and speculations I made in the last few days in here.” The chief alchemist hands you a folder. 

 You flip through the files, they are mostly pictures and drawing of large camps of hilichurl. At the end of the file is a map marked with their locations. The Abyss Order's activity has increased rapidly in this month. Commissions have been sent out continuously, yet many of them haven’t been sorted out properly yet. It seems like the sheer cold of Dragonspine can't prevent their enthusiasm. On your ways here, you have met 4 more camps, hence the reason why you choose to be acquainted with the Fatui instead.

 “I will give this to the Adventurer Guild. Thank you for this.” You exhale, fingers rubbing your eyes tiredly. The next few days are going to be very busy. 

 “If you are done, then pack up. We are going back.” He announces, returns his attention to pile on the ground. Fold the corner of the page, close the book, prepare the pack-up for the leave. You can’t wait to leave this devastating sheer cold and return back to the realm of fog and wind. Shuffling through your backpack, you put the art supplies Albedo asked you to buy on the table neatly. You didn't take anything out, so no need for packing. Basically, you are done. 

 “ Let’s go back.” 

 _____________________________________________________________

On the way back, you both walk in silence. Most of the camps are cleared, barrels and boxes shatter into tiny pieces scatter on the ground. Seem like our dear traveller has their job quite well. The place is almost spotless, even with the Fatui camp. You are impressed with their productivity.  

 It takes less than 2 hours walking back from Dragonspine, now that your bag is lighter. Walking comfortably next to Albedo, your hands grazing past each other a few times. You watch the sunset etches widely on the blushing hues orange sky in Dragonspine can be so romantic. 

 Suddenly feeling so motivated, you gently slip your index into his palm. Albedo freezes but still complies, his fingers caught your hand, slowly interlocking yours. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, heating creeping up your cheek. Shutting your eyes, you mumble incoherently something about how unfair life is. 

 He let out a breathy snicker, with your fingers interlock, sharing the heat in the harsh weather. Look up the fading orange, slowly disappear behind the layer of thick snow, you blow out warm air, fog gathers and dissipates in the air. Sunset in Dragonspine can be arguably one of the best scenes in Mondstadt. 

    “I’m going back to my office to put this away.” When you arrive at the gate, Albedo decides to head to the HQ of the Knight of Favonius. He motions at the package in his hand. 

 “ See you later at dinner.” Nonchalantly, he plants a kiss on your cheek, hand ruffles your hair a little bit before head off in the opposite direction. 

 You stand there, still trying to comprehend what just happened a few seconds ago. The peck on your cheek is too short, too light, like feather brushes. He can’t do this to you. Your cheek is blazing with fire, and if not careful, a spark can ignite an explosion right here. You turn your head sideways, trying to saviour and recall the feeling of his lips. 

 “ Tch tch.” The sound is coming from the nearby alley, the click-clack of boots coming closer. You whirl your head toward that direction, just to realize the source of the sound is all-mighty Calvary Captain of the Knight of Favonius. 

 “ Love is really in the air.” He comments sarcastic, hand waving around to shoo away those imaginable ‘love’. 

 “ Living this long, I have never thought I would be able to see our Alchemist Chief giving someone a goodbye kiss.” Kaeya smugs at you, his deep blue eyes gleaming with mischief. Oh, you really can't wait to wipe his shit-eating grin off his face. 

 “Stop being a drama queen, Kaeya.” You shot back. “ He gave Klee one too, don’t treat this as such an abnormal supernatural act.” Internally, you have to say that Albedo giving affection is kind of a supernatural incident too. Kaeya eyes at you like you grow another head, shaking his head.  

 “ You know what I meant.” The captain shrugs, his voice ringing with a hint of smugness. 

 The man suddenly walks closer, his gloved hand pats your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Must have been really cold in Dragonspine for him to give you his coat.” He winks at you, his eyes slowly drag down your figure. You cautiously look down. Shit, you totally forget this. 

 “We have a meeting at 8 tomorrow at the HQ. Please tell him to not stay up too late.” The cryo user whistles teasingly, heading toward Angel Share, his hand waving in the air. Your face flushes furiously, smoke almost come off your burning face. Now you realize why people have been giving your pointed gazes when you first enter the gate. Damn it, Kaeya, it is not what you think it is.  

[lokiondisneyplus]

Loki director Kate Herron’s heart was beating fast. She’d already had some surreal experiences during her short time in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, so a simple phone call shouldn’t make her nervous. But on the other end of the line was Owen Wilson, an actor and writer she admired and hoped would join her on a time-jumping journey through the MCU.

“It was the most detailed pitch I’ve ever done, to an actor, ever. I pretty much spoke through the entire first episode with him,” Herron recalls of wooing Wilson, who wasn’t too familiar with Marvel before being cast as Mobius, an agent for the mysterious Time Variance Authority central to the series.

Wilson instantly put Herron at ease with his laid-back charm as she walked the actor through 10 years of onscreen lore for Loki, the god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. She answered his questions about Avengers: Endgame, about time travel, about how this version of Loki was not the one fans knew from films like Thor: Ragnarok, but rather one plucked from an alternate timeline from 2012’s The Avengers.

It was all part of a whirlwind few years for Herron, who not that long ago was temping at a fire extinguisher company and struggling to land directing work even though she’d already helmed a BBC project with Idris Elba. Then Herron finally achieved breakthrough success directing episodes of the Netflix hit Sex Education and soon was hounding her agents for a Marvel meeting.

When Herron finally landed one, the Loki superfan cleared her schedule and spent two weeks putting together a 60-page document, even though her agents tempered her expectations by noting it was just a meet-and-greet.

“I knew I’d be up against some really big directors, and I knew I wouldn’t be the most experienced in the room, so I [said], ‘OK. I’ll just be the most passionate,'” recalls Herron.

Just a few days after officially landing the job, Herron found herself on a five-hour walk through New York with Hiddleston discussing Loki and flying to D23 in Anaheim to be greeted by thousands of screaming fans alongside Loki head writer Michael Waldron.

Herron is now working long days finishing up Loki in Marvel’s production hub in Atlanta, where the British filmmaker has largely lived since getting the job in 2019. Over Zoom from her freezing Atlanta apartment (she still hasn’t figured out the quirks of the air conditioner), Herron dives into Loki ahead of its June 9 debut on Disney+.

What was your process of sitting down with Marvel for this?

I was just so overexcited. [My agents] were like, “Look, it’s just a casual conversation, they just want to get a sense of you,” and basically I was like, “OK, I’m just going to pitch them.” Because I thought, they might not meet me again. So I got as much information as I could, and they sent me a little bit about the show. And I just prepared a massive pitch for it. I canceled everything for two weeks. I made a 60-page document full of references, story ideas, music. I knew I’d be up against some really big directors, and I knew I wouldn’t be the most experienced in the room, so I [said], “OK. I’ll just be the most passionate.”

Was that first meeting in Burbank?

That was in England, in southeast London on Zoom. I had a few stages where I did that. Then after a few interviews with Kevin Wright and Stephen Broussard, two of the Marvel executives who got me ready for the big match, I went in to pitch to Kevin Feige, Victoria [Alonso], Lou [Louis D’Esposito], the whole team there. That was very surreal because they flew me to Burbank and I pitched at Marvel Studios. I didn’t have the job, but I found out they were interested and then I remember Kevin Feige called me, and when he was in London, we had coffee. He was like, “Look, we want you to direct it.” Oh my God. They flew me to D23 and that was crazy because I think I found out I got the job 48 hours before, and then I was onstage. The Lady and the Tramp dogs were in front of me and Michael [Waldron] on the red carpet. “What is going on?” (Laughs.) I met Tom that week as well, so it was a bit of a whirlwind kind of thing.

📷Herron, Waldron and Feige at D23 in 2019.

Where did you first meet Tom?

I had a two-stop trip. I flew first to New York to meet Tom. He was in Betrayal at the time, on Broadway, so we basically went on this amazing walk around New York. I’d never met him before. We just spoke about Loki and what was really important to us about the character and where we thought it would be fun to take him, as well. It was this intense, five-hour conversation with him basically. I met him and then flew straight from meeting him to D23. So it was a lot. (Laughs.)

When did you finally get the scripts? How did that change your thoughts on what you want to do?

They sent me the outline, so I knew the overall story. I also was pitching stuff. “Oh, we could do this with this character.” The pilot was really well written by Michael and I really liked what they were doing with the character and the story. Then it was building upon that and throwing in ideas for where he could go later in the show. It reminded me a bit of improv where you’re always building, always trying to push the story to the best place. So we were always adapting and shifting the story. Our lockdown, during COVID, was a chance for us to go back in. I was cutting what we’d done, so I was like, “OK, this is tonally what is really working for the story.” Then we went back into what we hadn’t filmed and started adapting that stuff to fit more where we were heading.

The Marvel movies have a writer on set to help tweak things. Was that the case with Loki?

Michael [Waldron] was with us at the start, and then he went on to Doctor Strange [in the Multiverse of Madness]. We had a really wonderful writer called Eric Martin from our writers room, and he was our production writer on set. It was between me, him and my creative producer Kevin Wright. We would kind of brainstorm and adapt. I’ve always loved talking to the cast. We had such a smart cast. Owen is a writer as well. If you have that amazing resource, why not talk to them? We were always adapting. Obviously paying respect to the story we wanted to tell from the start, but always trying to make it better.

📷Herron on the set of ‘Loki’ with Hiddleston and Wilson.

Kevin Feige has said Owen Wilson, like his character, is nonplussed by the MCU. Since Owen isn’t necessarily dazzled by Marvel, does that make him all the more perfect for this role?

He is playing a Loki expert, so at the beginning of production, Tom and I were talking. He devised this thing called Loki School. He did a big lecture to the cast and crew. I love the character. This is a decade of fans loving this character and where that character has been. It was talking everyone through that, but through Tom and his own experiences. Stunts that Tom liked or costumes. He ended up doing that same Loki school for Owen. Owen absolutely loved it. Owen has such a writer’s brain. I remember I had to pitch him down the phone. My heart rate [was up].

Was this the pitch to get him to get Owen on board?

Yeah. I love his work. “Oh my God, I’m going to talk to Owen Wilson.” He’s so laid back and nice, it immediately puts you at ease. It was the most detailed pitch I’ve ever done, to an actor, ever. I think I pretty much spoke through the entire first episode with him. You can tell he’s a writer, just by the way he attacks story. His questions about the world and the structure and the arc of the character. It was really fun to work with him.

Was it the most detailed pitch you’ve ever done because you really wanted Owen, or because you knew you needed to woo him a bit to get him to sign on?

It was the questions he asked, and the way he attacked story, in that sense. And also probably because he was newer to the Marvel world, he was like, “OK, how does this work?” I also pitched him Loki’s arc over the past 10 years, where that character has gone, but also explaining our Loki and what happened in Endgame and time travel. There’s a lot to unpack in that conversation.

Sometimes Marvel will give writers or directors a supercut of all the scenes of a specific character. Did you get one of those?

They didn’t actually give me a supercut, but I’m a big Loki nerd. I think his is one of the best [arcs] in the MCU. I really wanted to make sure we were paying respect to that. At the same time, something Tom spoke about a lot was you have to go back for a reason. Let’s be united on what that reason is and feel that it’s worth it.

The reason can’t be, “Well that’s what happened in Endgame,” so the question becomes, “What is the point of revisiting him at this era of his life?”

Yeah. He’s only had — I don’t want to get this wrong — I think 112 minutes of screen time in total if you cut all his scenes together. And he steals the show. We have six hours to really delve into this character and talk about him and go on this completely new story with him. For me, it was making sure that [we’re] paying respect to what has come before — I know as a fan if there is a character I really loved and I found out they are making a show about him, I obviously would be so excited and so happy. I felt lucky to have the responsibility, and I took it very seriously.

Those who have worked with Kevin Feige say he’s someone who can stress test an idea and push things in new directions. What have you found working with him?

Something I always found was we would sometimes pitch something, and it would be at a good place, but he’d always be like, “OK, that’s great, but push it further.” Sometimes I’d pitch stuff and be like, “This is too weird,” and he’d say, “No, go weirder.” He wants to tell the best story and I found it really helpful having his eye across everything and the fact that he does challenge everything. Tom as well, on set. He brings this amazing energy and this great A-game that causes everyone to rise to the occasion.

How do you know when you’ve got the perfect Hiddleston take? Is he asking you for one more, are you pushing him to do one more take?

By the end, it was almost telepathic. We would kind of know. We would look at each other. “We could go again,” or, “We’ve got it.” It’s different with every actor. There are some actors who will come in firing and they just want to go for it. But they don’t want to do a million takes. There are other actors I work with who are very meticulous and they want quite a few to warm up and get into it. It’s actor-dependent. The way me and Tom are similar is we are both very perfectionist. We are both very studious. (Laughs.) We definitely connected in that sense. He’s a very generous actor. I remember one day, we had quite a few of our actors coming in as day players. It was really important for him to be there for them, to read lines offscreen. He would have to be 50 places at once, because he is the lead actor. The most amazing thing about him was his generosity. Not just to the other actors, but also to the crew, to be filming in a time like COVID.

When you make an Avengers movie, you get a big board with every character that’s available, and whether the actor’s deals will allow them to appear or if that would need to be renegotiated. Loki is smaller, but was there any equivalent for you? Was everything on the table? Was only some stuff on the table? I imagine if Chris Hemsworth has his own new Thor movie coming up, he’s not going to be on the table, necessarily.

I felt like everything was on the table if it meant it was good for story, and Marvel would be like, “We’ll work it out.” Me and the writers, we never felt restrained in that sense. Honestly, it always comes back to story.

What is your relationship with your editor as you finish this up?

We have three editors, Paul Zucker, Emma McCleave and Calum Ross. My relationship with all three of them is very different. Emma and me are very close because she was also in Atlanta away from home. I got to know her very well. I love working with the editors because it’s a fresh pair of eyes. You get so deep into something when you are filming, it’s almost like writing it again when you are in the edit. Stuff does change. Even some episodes, we’ve reordered the structure. Or we moved scenes from one episode to another episode. I’ve always loved the editing process. The best thing is someone honest who can be like, “Hey, this doesn’t quite make sense to me,” or, “This isn’t working.”

What are you going to do on premiere day? Will you be on the internet at all to see the reaction?

I’m actually working. I’m still finishing the show. My last day is the day the second episode airs. I’m going to be working that day. Sadly, I’ll probably check in on the internet a little bit, but I’ll probably go to bed when I finish because I think I’ll do a 12- or 13-hour day or something. I can’t remember. I’m really excited for people to see it and just to bring it out in the world, really.

Everyone wants to know about spoilers, but what’s something you wish you were asked about more when it comes to Loki?

Kevin Feige said, “We make movies. We want to run it like a movie.” So unlike a lot of television shows that are showrunner-led, this was run like a six-hour film. As a director, you don’t often get to do that in a television-structure show. I really enjoyed it, having a hand in story and just how collaborative it was. Also, just beyond that, directing the equivalent of a six-hour Marvel movie was incredible for me. That’s something I found interesting about it. Making something the Marvel way.

In terms of the themes, I love gray areas. The show is really about what makes someone truly good or what makes someone truly bad, and are we either of those things? Loki is in that gray area. It’s exciting to be able to tell a story like that. As a director and a writer, you don’t necessarily understand why you are making these stories. Something I keep getting drawn back into is identity. Sex Education, we spoke a lot about identity and feeling like an outsider but actually finding your people. I feel the same with Loki. It’s a show about identity and self-acceptance and for me, that’s also what drew me in.

Gray is a good way to describe Loki. Your version of Loki just tried to take over the Earth not long ago.

Exactly. This isn’t the Loki we’ve seen. How do we take a character that people love, but from a lot earlier, and send him on a different path? That for me was interesting, getting to unpack that. Alongside that, getting to set up a whole new corner of the MCU with TVA. That to me was so exciting.

What about the Teletubbies? You referenced that recently and it made quite a splash. Are you going to leave people in suspense on that?

I referenced the Teletubbies once and people were like, “What, Teletubbies? What does this mean?” Maybe I should leave people in the air with it. One thing I would say is the show for me, stylistically — I wanted it to be a love letter to sci-fi because I love sci-fi. Brazil, Metropolis, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Alien. If people love sci-fi, they will definitely see the little nods we’ve got across the show.  People will know what it was a reference for when they see the show. It was a visual reference to something in the show.

Interview has been edited for length and clarity. Loki debuts on Disney+ on June 9.

[thecarrieonokay]

Fluff and Angst Prompt #2

Happy Monday! Shall we start the week with some fluff and/or angst?

@hellishrose this one’s for you, dude! From THIS list.

Warnings for a bit of colourful language and (pretty much goes without saying) they’re pissed as farts. (Drink responsibly, guys. Or don’t. But don’t blame me!)

Riley smelled them before she saw them. The unmistakable scent of tequila was wafting towards her in waves.

She turned to see Bozer and Mac stumbling through the war room door, Desi behind them with a firm grip on both of their collars. 

“Found them,” she said just before releasing them.

Bozer stumbled forwards but managed to style it out with a little swagger before landing hard on one of the stools. Mac just hit the edge of the table with an ‘umf’, rested both of his palms on the surface and bowed his head. He shook it like there was a gnat in his ear. 

Desi rolled her eyes in Riley’s direction before spinning on her heel. “I’ll make a vat of coffee,” she called back over her shoulder as she marched in the direction of the break room.

The boys stank. Seriously. The sickly sweet smell hit the back of Riley’s throat and triggered a string of unwelcome memories. Ever since that unfortunate event in July, tequila had pretty much become Riley’s least favourite thing. She shuddered. The consequences had lasted a solid week. 

“Boze?” She clicked her fingers to get his attention. “Hey! Bro!” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?” 

“M’ not dat drunk!” he slurred. “Immonna go get some coffee though. ‘Scuse me.” He launched to his feet and stumbled past her. 

Riley chuckled and shook her head as he swaggered in the same direction as Desi. “Matty is going to murder you!” she called after him. 

All she heard was a dismissive “yeah, yeah,” as he zigzagged down the hall. Riley chuckled to herself. There was no way they could sober him up in time for the briefing. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world if he was drunk enough to not take the threat of Matty seriously. 

When she turned to Mac, he was staring at her, a grim look on his face. Riley raised her eyebrows at him. “Mac? You okay?”

“We went for drinks.” 

“I can see that,” she smirked. 

“Bozer was sad.”

Riley’s smile faltered. “Bozer was sad?”

“Yeah,” Mac nodded. “I’m sad too. Not as sad as Boze, of course. But,” he sighed, “I’m sad too.”

Riley closed her eyes as Leanna’s smile flashed across her vision. A wave of pain followed in its wake. Leanna’s death was weighing on them all. But since that day, Riley could actually see Bozer physically carrying the burden of it with him. His feet seemed heavier and his shoulders inched towards his chest, as if there was a literal hole where his heart had been. 

In all the chaos of the last few months, there hadn’t been a beat to process the enormity of the loss. Matty was definitely keeping them on a hectic schedule on purpose. But Riley knew that distraction would only work for so long. Feelings that stayed buried tended to either fester until they were rotten or boil over at the worst possible moment. 

At this point, Riley was somewhat of an expert on the subject.

The object of her suppressed desire was frowning when she opened her eyes. “I don’t wanna have any regrets, Riles,” he said.

Riley puckered her brow. Mac’s drunk talk usually involved props or a slide-show of some kind. Typically, his Macspaining went into overdrive until his brain appeared to short-circuit and he passed out somewhere really uncomfortable (like the coffee table or a flight of stairs). This sombre tone was new. “What do you mean?” she asked, concerned. 

Mac sighed and stood mostly upright. He skirted around the table, using it for support as he worked his way towards her. “Bozer could have had more time with her,” he murmured and shook his head. “He regrets so much. I don’t wanna feel that way.”

He stumbled over his own feet and Riley leapt forward to grab his forearms before he hit his face on the edge of the table. His usual pine and petrol scent was so obscured by booze that she scrunched her nose. She ignored the rolling in her stomach and focused on trying to get Mac to plant his ass on the nearest stool.

“Tequila, Mac?” she asked as she guided him backwards until the backs of his legs hit the seat. He gripped both of her arms as he lowered himself onto it. He didn’t let go. “Why tequila? Have you forgotten what happened in July?”

He raised his head and narrowed his eyes. “Actually, it’s a bit of a blur to be honest.” His eyes brightened as he said, “Y’know what happens to the brain when alcohol triggers memory loss?” He gave her arms a little squeeze. 

That was more like it. Riley rolled her eyes. “I bet you’re gonna tell me.” 

He smirked. “Only if you want me to.” Then he leaned in and whispered a little too loudly, “I could tell you a lot of things.”

His breath may have smelled like booze, but it was also warm as it tickled Riley’s face. 

“You do tell me a lot of things, Mac. You never stop telling me things. It’s kind of your thing.” And she loved him for it. Not that he knew that, of course. 

He smirked. His voice dropped an octave as he said, “I could tell you other things. Things I know I’ve never told you before.”

Mac’s husky tone sent a shiver surging down Riley’s spine. Her heart involuntarily stuttered. He was drunk. He was… impaired. He was definitely not suggesting what she thought he was suggesting. 

For one thing, he and Desi had only just split. And it hadn’t been pretty.

Against her better judgement, Riley asked, “Oh yeah, like what?” as casually as she could manage. She ignored the alarm bells ringing in her head.

He trailed his long fingers down her arms and tickled her palms as he narrowed his eyes at the rings adorning her hands. “Like how you have the most beautiful skin.” He sighed. “I just want to touch your skin all the time, Riles.”

A heavy stone settled in the pit of Riley’s stomach as his nimble fingers wrapped around hers and held on tight. 

“Like how much I care about you,” his brow lifted and his eyes shone as they pierced her. “I’ve never told you how much you mean to me before. I’d die if anything ever happened to-” 

“Mac, stop.” Riley reacted on pure instinct when she ripped a hand from his grip and placed it firmly over his mouth. She couldn’t let him go on. Each word was like a dagger to her chest. “Please stop,” she whispered.

He was drunk. He was impaired.

She stood looking down at him with his knees brushing her thighs and her hand over his mouth. Mac’s eyes grew darker and darker. Inebriated though he was, his gaze was steady. She felt herself being drawn closer, unable to break her stare as he looked into her. The stone in her stomach turned to water. She felt unsteady on her feet as waves crashed against her insides. 

At least ten beats pounded in her chest as she stood caught in the steady beam of his gaze. It felt like an eternity. 

Still unblinking, Mac reached up, peeled her hand away from his face and placed it carefully over his heart.

Riley held her breath. What he said next shattered her, just not in the way she expected. 

“Riles. I don’t want to be sad,” he said.

Riley didn’t want him to be sad, either. His sadness was like a mirror. She could see her own pain reflected in his open and earnest expression. And it scared the shit out of her. 

Because if there was one thing Riley’s life experiences had taught her, it was that people always said things they didn’t mean when they were desperate or scared. Or sad. 

Emotion could be just as intoxicating as tequila. And just as destructive.

She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath through her mouth. The warmth of his skin was seeping through his shirt into the pads of her fingers. Though the urge to cradle his head to her chest was overwhelming, Riley fought against the crushing grief. She allowed herself to feel the thrum of only three more of his heartbeats before slipping her hand out from under his and taking a full step back. 

Riley opened her eyes. 

“Mac,” she sighed. “Your tolerance for alcohol sucks about as much as your skeeball game.” 

He stuttered something incoherent, like he was about to argue, when Bozer burst into the room shouting. “Ah HA!” 

Then Bozer froze, apparently distracted by his shoe. 

“Boze?” Riley asked. 

“Yeah?” He looked up at her and squinted. “I mean, yeah!” he shouted. “I caught you!” 

Riley lifted her eyebrows and waited for him to explain himself.

“I mean…” he looked between Mac and Riley like they were opponents in a tennis match. Riley was still confused. So was Mac, if his foggy expression was any indication. “Goddamn it!” Bozer exclaimed. He settled a furious gaze on his oldest friend. “Didn’t you kiss her yet?!”

Riley choked on air. She looked sideways at Mac to gauge his reaction to Bozer’s alcohol-induced hallucinations. His jaw was locked, his eyes were like saucers and his cheeks were as red as the fire extinguisher he kept on his desk. (After the last ‘incident’, Russ had insisted it stay there permanently.)

What in the holy hell was happening?! 

Bozer just waddled forwards and deposited himself onto the nearest stool with a dramatic sigh. “I knew you would chicken out. I just knew it,” he mumbled. “All that big talk about how you were finally gonna-”

Riley didn’t get a chance to hear exactly what ‘he was finally gonna’ because Mac launched himself off of his seat in Bozer’s direction and knocked him to the ground. They both landed in a heap in front of the door and began smacking each other like five year olds.

And that was the moment Matty chose to enter the room. 

“What part of ‘I might need you guys for an op tonight’ did you not understand?!” she boomed. Mac and Bozer both groaned as they craned around to look up into her furious face. 

Oh, this was going to be SO much worse than July.

Desi appeared in the hallway and froze like a rabbit in a snare when she saw who was standing in the doorway. There were two mugs dangling from one of her hands and a huge steaming coffee pot in the other. She mouthed “fuck” at Riley through the window. 

“Wait,” Matty’s expression turned murderous as she hollered, “IS THAT TEQUILA I SMELL?!”

Bozer frantically untangled his legs from Mac’s and stumbled to his feet. “Matty, I swear,” he pleaded. “This time we totally did NOT tipi your house.”

“No,” Mac chuckled from the floor. He proudly lifted his chin and declared: “We egged Taylor’s car instead.”

[fading-lace]

how Kirishima, Dabi, Aizawa, and Denki would react to a crackhead s/o

[Kirishima X g/n!reader, Dabi X g/n!reader, Aizawa X g/n!reader, Denki X g/n!reader]

warnings: crackfic...cursing...dabi-

summary: basically how the guys would react to a crack headed reader-

A/N: this gif is killing me- lol

ok ok ok ok ok ok ok owaefalskfhaskfjlawek

i feel like kirishima would be just as much as a crackhead....but would have more common sense, if that makes sense-

like he would be the type to say yes if you asked if it was a good idea to cook like Gordon Ramsay does...you know, with how he deals with the fire and all.

bad idea, you both set the kitchen and half of the living room on fire until Aizawa came and helped Bakugou and Todoroki extinguish it.

you couldn’t cook for the rest of the year and you were under house arrest with supervision-

but if you asked if it would be a good idea to tape feathers to your arms and jump off a building, he would obviously say no.

please dont actually try that- i care for all your lives. your to important  🥺🥺

aNywAys....

he would constantly worry about your safety, since you can’t be trusted with it

he came back home one day from going out to buy snacks for your daily cuddle session and saw you hanging upside down from the ceiling by sero’s tape and him knocked out on the floor-

“w-what the hell is going on?!?!”

“....i asked if sero could tape me up in a cocoon like a butterfly, he did and i swung around and hit him in the head...knocking him out.”

“......”

he got you down safely but you weren’t allowed to see anymore nature documentaries-  

*sighs* .....i feel like dabi would beat your ass everyday to try to stop you from doing these things...

like you would ask him a crackhead question and he would immediately say, “no.”

because he had to deal with fucking twice and toga’s stupidity all day, he didn’t want to have to deal with yours.

he came back one day to find you toga, and twice doing somesort or ritual with stuffed animals with stitches of different color fabric. 

“it worked!!!”

“he has come!!”

“i wasn’t apart of this-” shigaraki said while casually walking to a different room.

“(Y/N)...who’s idea was this?”

“....toga!!” you said while pointing at her.

“what!! this was your idea!!”

“no!!”

“who did it. now.” he said while threatening with his quirk

“f-fine fine i did it!! we were using the stuffed animals to summon you because they have stitches and look like you!....”

run.

just run.

he sighed and walked closer to you.

“(Y/N)....im going to have to punish you..”

FUCKING RUN I-

you ran and ran, but he caught up to you and punished you with cuddles and no stuffed animals.

he would never actually hurt you, ok?

this poor, poor man...

he already has to deal with mic, and yet you can’t even manage a whole day without doing something stupid.

one day he was fucking you into the mattress until you RUINED the mood by saying 

“sex is just like riding a bike, you can do it alone, but its much better with more people.”

he pulled out of you, got some boxers on, and l e f t the room.

“w-wait im sorry! i was just joking!!”

to late, he has already indulged in the 5 cats you have as pets.

great job, you ruined everything-

or there was another time where he came home after a long, exhausting day with his class and mic to find you doing the thing that inosuke does-

you know...

this thing-

“(Y/N) what the hell are you doing?”

“...yoga-”

“your gonna break your back if you keep doing that-”

“nah i’ll be fin-”

you broke your back and was left in the hospital for almost a month before going back home-

this boi is just as stupid as you are. literally.

you both have to be under supervision when alone

because if you aren’t...oh boy...

you both managed to set the toilet on fire-

you actually wanted to make a cursed image with candles on the toilet seat but it caught on fire...the water to-

 one time you convinced Denki to make everything work faster by using this quirk on the electronics.

that gave you guys a power outage for the next three days-

and also a stupid Kaminari-

he convinced you to eat a Carolina reaper, Aka: the hottest pepper in the world

you actually ate it and ran out of milk the day before-

you both started shoving ice, mints, water, bread, butter, anything to make the burning stop-

and somehow you convinced todoroki to make some of his ice for you to munch on-

it still didn’t help-

you cried so much and actually almost went to go get your tongue chopped off-  

thankfully deki was smart enough to know that getting your tongue choppd off wasn’t a good idea-

you decided to spray some of that fire extinguisher stuff in your mouth to see if it would help-

Uraraka had to call poison control-

but you managed to live in the end!! so thats good!!

just...try to think before you do anything for now on- 

[rosy-cheekx]

from the dialogue prompts! 6: “go away” “no, not until i know you’re okay”

Oh boy this one was hard to write for whatever reason, but she’s done! just in time for us to pretend a world in which Jon or Martin’s lives are ever in real danger doesn't exist....right?

AO3 Link in source on OP

-

On Being Fine, Absolutely Well-Adjusted, and OK

Martin supposed he should count himself lucky. He hadn’t needed to go to the hospital after the Prentiss attack, had come out with only a few worm scars to show for it, god especially when he thought about Jon and all the worms he and Sasha had had to corkscrew out of him, his face and neck and arms and legs—

See? Martin shook his head, clearing his mind’s eye of the silver and crimson kaleidoscope. It could have been worse. He scratched at his calf, where a close trio of scars had begun to heal, skin-tight and shiny, and, at last, remembered he was supposed to be washing his hands. He was glad the unisex Archive lav didn’t have a mirror by the sink; he didn’t need a reminder of how tired he must look.

The return to work had been difficult, but not as bad as he had expected it to be. Knowing Prentiss was dead had made it easier to return home, though he had immediately spent his first pain-free day rearranging the furniture, as recommended by his therapist. (He had lied to her, of course, claimed an attempted break-in + assault had traumatized him. It wasn’t that far off from the truth, anyways.) So Martin had been spending his evenings repositioning, redecorating, cleaning; anything he could to erase Jane Prentiss and those horrid things from his mind. It wasn’t easy, and Martin still spent nights awake, hyperaware of the smallest sound of squelching or the smell of rot. But he was alive, he reminded himself at home in the mornings, concealing eye bags and trying to reassemble his appearance into some approximation of normal, and shouldn’t that be enough? He hadn’t been seriously injured, like Jon or Tim, hadn’t had to risk a lonely end save them all like Sasha. He should be the most well-adjusted of the three of them.

So why was he here, in the Archive toilet, gripping the edge of the sink so hard he might crack it?

Martin released his grip and watched his blood flow back into his fingers, flexing them. He should really go do...something. Work, probably, if Jon ever decided to stop speaking to him like he was a jigsaw with too many pieces. He splashed some water on his face and exhaled deeply. He was fine, he could-

 “Oh shit!” Martin yelped as he turned to face the door into the bullpen. In the reflection at the corner of the mirror that hung on the back of the door was a shiny, squat, silver worm. “Fuckfuckfuck!” Martin cursed, backing into the door and pulling his shoe off with one hand. He patted for his beltloop, where had taken to keeping his corkscrew, and huffed to find it gone. Of course. He was trying not to be paranoid.

Picking up his shoe, he threw it at the worm, half-hidden by the rubbish bin. It bounced harmlessly—or, maybe it hit? Martin couldn’t tell. Either way, the worm moved, and that was when Martin’s vision greyed dangerously, heart leaping to his throat. Oh god, he couldn’t breathe? Why couldn’t he breathe? Was it the carbon dioxide? No. The fire alarm wasn’t going off. Martin’s thoughts raced and he desperately jiggled the door handle, only to find it turning against him. Oh god, it was her. It was-

“Martin?”

It was Jon.

“Jon? Jon, fuck, hey, don’t come in, okay? There’s a worm and I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

…is what he would have said if he could catch his breath. Instead, all he could let out was a raspy, strangled “Jon.”

“Martin, are you alright in there?” Jon’s voice was too calm, too casual for the bile rising in Martin’s throat.

“W-worm.” Martin sputtered as he heard a click of a cane through the door; probably Jon taking a step backward at the word. “Got-gotta kill it,” he babbled, more to himself than to Jon. He could try with the shoe again, but it hadn’t worked the first time, and that would leave him unprotected if he wanted to step on it.

“No! Martin, don’t-”

Oh, he could step on it. Seized in a moment of something, a peculiar blend of bravery, fear, and plain exasperation, Martin crossed the few squares of lino between him and the worm and moved to step on it with precision. To his great surprise, it rolled out from under his foot, glinting against the overhead lighting.

“What?” Martin mumbled aloud, and the realization hit him all at once: this wasn’t a worm at all. Cautiously, he picked up the metal tube and spotted a small label on the bottom. The thin silver tube contained MAC #239: Not Like Other Girls, according to the reddish-brown sticker.

“Lipstick?” Martin whispered to himself, slumping against the wall of the bathroom and letting out a relieved sob. He had been terrified of lipstick?

The realization that should have calmed him down instead sent him spiraling. Martin Blackwood wasn’t always the calm one, but he was always the shoulder to lean on. He couldn’t do this, not have a breakdown in the middle of his workplace, not with—

Tapping came from the door outside. “Martin? Do I need to break the door down?” Jon was still outside, Martin realized with a start.

“Uh-” Martin choked back a sob. “No, no, it’s alright, Jon. I’m fine.”

“You certainly are not.”

“It was just a-a bloody lipstick tube, Jon, I’m alright. Just leave me alone.” Martin shuddered a breath as he swiped at his eyes with the hem of his sweater, praying to anything and everything that for once Jon would just do as he was told.

“No.” Of course not. “Not until I know you’re okay.” Jon’s voice was softer now, a part of Martin realized. The gentleness of his tone struck Martin and he found himself shakily standing and moving to the door. Unlocking and opening it, he saw Jon, leaning heavily on the medical cane he had been given after the incident, eyes a mix of panic and concern, like the way one might eye a wounded animal. Somehow, that look managed to make Martin feel small, protected, loved, and it warmed something in him.

It was that look that broke something in him and Martin felt a taut string inside him snap loose. Tears welled up in his eyes and he desperately swiped at them with the sleeves of his sweater, leaning against the doorframe. “I feel so stupid,” he mumbled, choked laughter mixing with his tears. He held up the lipstick tube, which he had pocketed earlier, and held it up to the light. “It doesn’t even look like them, not really, I-I-I just saw the squat and silver and panicked.”

Jon’s hand was on his arm, but he was quiet, not saying anything until Martin had collected himself, heaving sobs to hiccups to shallow breathing as he brought himself to baseline again. “Martin,” Jon said quietly, flexing the fingers that held his bicep, “I know you’ve had a rough few months.” Martin scoffed. “Fine, okay, maybe rough doesn’t begin to cover it. What I mean to say is, well…” Jon’s mouth floundered for a word properly, lips forming a few different shapes before settling on, “are you, you know, getting help?”

“Yes, Jon, I’m in therapy.” Martin surprised himself with his own honesty. “But there’s not really much I can say, you know? Not without getting carted off to a sanitorium or getting doped up on meds of some kind or another. I mean, evil worms haunting my house and my workplace? A worm woman determined to kill me and everyone I care for? Not exactly something cognitive behavior therapy will fix.”

Jon sighed in assent, nodding. “That’s fair, I suppose. I just-Martin.” The hand squeezed his elbow and Martin felt a jolt of electricity run through his skin. “You’re allowed to hurt, you know?” Martin’s eyes must have given away his thoughts because Jon continued, voice soft and gentle. 

“We all suffered, Martin, but you were the one who was locked in your home, and then the basement where you work, for months on end. Just because you’re not-” he shifts to wave his cane idly, “-doesn’t mean you haven’t gone through hell alongside us.” Jon’s voice has taken on a hardness to it, an insistence Martin last remembered seeing when they were locked in Document Storage together, when Jon was so afraid of being forgotten. It made Martin shiver, not from fear but from something in the way Jon’s eyes bored into him. He was determined to make Martin believe him. Who was he to refuse The Archivist’s words?

So Martin listened, letting Jon’s insistence settle in his chest. He had suffered; he had lost months of his life to Jane Prentiss, he couldn’t sleep without a fear of worms crawling into his skin and mouth at night. He didn’t feel safe until he was in the Archives at his desk, the one that surveyed the whole room and had two fire extinguishers still tucked into the drawers. As Jon spoke, Martin let his muscles relax slowly, until he was leaned up against the alcove in which the door to the toilets stood, helpless under Jon’s gaze and yet feeling the strongest he had in weeks, if not months. Tears welled in his eyes and he heard Jon hesitantly break off. 

“Ah-Martin? You-ah shit, I’m sorry.” Jon’s voice had lost the severity it had previously held and was back to its quiet insistence. “I’m sorry, you-you didn’t ask for a soapbox.”

“No, no,” Martin shook his head, raking his nails through his hair. “I...I think I needed to hear that.” He smiled; a shaky, fragile thing. He scratched the back of his calf awkwardly, trying not to dislodge Jon from where he was precariously balanced between the hand on his arm and the hand on the cane. “Thank you, Jon, really.” 

Jon smiled and shifted his hand from Martin’s arm to his hand, squeezing gently before releasing it and sliding the lipstick tube from his hand before turning to the bullpen. “Anytime. C’mon, let’s see if this is Sasha’s or Tim’s. I think it’s more Tim’s color, hmm?” 

[creepypasta-headcanons]

How you met them

Jeff:

Your parents had to send you to a boarding school due to them being extremely busy with their jobs and them wanting a very intelligent and we'll behaved kid.

Well, things never went like that. Your first weeks in that place were decent, but with the passing of the days, the teachers started to show their true colors.

Some of them were nice, others way more strict but still friendly...and the PE teacher. The school assigned your group a male weird teacher, that was cool with you on your first classes, and then things got perverted.

You wanted to get out of that place and he was the main reason, but also your only hope. He said he would run away with you and be happy, and that's what you did...well, with the exception you tried to knock him out to have time to escape using a fire extinguisher, but it seems that you hit him way too hard in the head.

Luckily you were able to run away fast, and you decided to hide inside an old looking house. Karma, that house was the one where Jeff and his brother grew up together. Jeff was casually walking around the place, and he saw something moving.

He was ready to kill you but then he saw your face, your expression...your eyes.

There was murder in your eyes. Your soul was no longer pure.

“—What the fuck do you think you're doing inside my house? —”

“—GAH! I am so sorry, please, don't tell anyone I'm here...they'll lock me up oh my god. —” And then, you fainted. Jeff took a deep breath to calm his anger, and decided to take you to the Creepyhouse to torture you.

At the end of the day, he never harmed you. He literally just forgot that you were in his room chained up to the wall and your mouth covered with masking tape because Eyeless Jack wanted to show him a dead squirrel that he found earlier.

Later, he went to his room and decided that before killing you he would chat a little bit to know why were you inside his old home.

Nina:

You talked to her at school before, but when she appeared in the news something was extremely off.

"—Someone or something is watching me... —” you thought. The feeling was uneasy but somehow safe.

Later at night, you were laying in your bed crying. You missed Nina. A lot, even if you two chatted a little bit at school.

You were sobbing terribly.

“—...Nina, please...I hope you are okay now... —”

After that sentence, a very loud sound startled your ears. You sat up in your bed and looked at the door: Nina.

“—Please, come with me. We'll live a better life now. —” you had to admit that your decision was kinda weird and stupid. You were living a cool life now, why would you start another one with her?

Oh, yeah, probably because she is holding a knife to your throat.

Eyeless Jack:

You were carefully walking through the forest, looking for some animals to kill. This was your only source of food due to your house and family being far away from everything in a little abandoned town.

You found a rabbit and tried to shoot at it with a big rock but it ran away. You gave the first step to run behind it but unluckily you stepped on a trap that tied you to a nearby tree with a chain.

Three hours passed, and the sun was going down. You were extremely hungry, dizzy and scared. The fact that you heard heavy footsteps didn't help at all.

“—Oh, cool. —”, you heard someone say out loud.

“— Can you please get me te fuck out of here? I am so hungry I think I'm going to die, oh God. —” your stomach growled loudly.

The strange masked guy walked slowly to you, and lowered his head to your ear.

“— Would you eat... something weird? —”, okay, this dude's vibes are extremely off.

“— I'll eat anything. —” and with you saying this, he pulled from his blue hoodie something that looked like a human organ. Ok, now you were scared shitless.

“— E A T. —” he said while getting that thing in his hand closer to your mouth.

You ate it all. What the fuck.

He took you to an abandoned place and when he asked if you wanted to stay here you showed that you didn't really care about your family or friends, proving him that you are one of them.

Sally:

You had a sister that was similar to her, but one day, she was kidnapped from school. This bad news affected your whole family and life.

One family in particular never gave up. Nope, it wasn't your family, they were the Williams.

A couple that once had a beautiful and innocent child, a family that broke apart because of a dirty man that ruined their lives, a family nobody really talked to due to the depressed aura around them. A family that had a daughter.

You always loved them because of the way the acted towards you. They treated you like you were one of them. They told you about their dead daughter and why they wanted to help you.

Still looking for your sister, you decided to have some time alone, some distraction. You went to the graveyard to talk to Sally's tombstone to tell her what's happening right now and how you feel about it.

You found it. It was kinda isolated, away from the other graves. This one had dead tulips, now you're replacing them with fresh and beautiful white roses.

“— H-Hi, Sally...I... —” you felt dumb, and numb.

“— I wanted to talk to you about my life. I know we never met, but I'm pretty sure you were a beautiful and full of life young girl. Your parents miss you so much, and that's why I'm here. My little sister...she....she was kidnapped some month ago and I-I'm really scared about what could be happening to her right now and I-If she's being raped, or if someone is selling her, or...or...—”, the ambience was weird. You took a deep breath.

“— what if she's dead? —” you were sobbing right now.

Something poked your leg.

“— Let me help you. —” when you looked down, you were met by two beautiful green eyes. Sally is by your side.

“— Go to the Michael's Mafia House. He has your sister. I'll bring some friends to help you, okay?—” you hugged her. Her voice was similar to your little sister's one.

Sally disappeared and adrenaline was running through your veins. You went to your house and immediately started looking for one of your favorite knifes from your dad's collection. When you were passing by the living room, you saw your beloved mother lying on the old couch, staring at your sister's picture. You smiled.

You started running towards the place Sally told you to.

The friends she was talking about were some creepypastas, they helped you to get to the boss office and encouraged you to kill him, wich you did. And you enjoyed every single second of it.

At the end, you found the place were your sister was kept captive and freed her and the other people trapped in there. She had clear signals of abuse like the other victims. You felt so angry, but she was okay. Everything was going to be better now, right?

Well, no. The rest of the mafia started looking for you and your family, and they had to move. Things were never the same, you started killing all the guys that showed up to your door to harm your people, and this interested Slenderman.

You ended up visiting the creepyhouse once a month because you had to stay with your family to protect them from the mafia.

Slenderman:

This is the same story as Sally's one. Sometimes you bring your sister with you to play with Sally, and while they played you talked with Slenderman about a plan to get rid of all those mafia members.

He wanted to help since he saw your potential, but he thought that the fact you had to protect your family slowed down your progress at training to be a murderer.

You felt extremely satisfied when you killed, and this was the other reason why you wanted to keep training with him apart of wanting to protect your family at all costs.

_______

I'm sorry if there are some misspellings or weird incoherences, english is not my first language and I made this blog because I wanted to practice my English, writing and drawing skills all at once lmao

[szivtalan]

love is in the words unspoken

all these moments are golden,

forever is mine with you

the blossoming of the cherry trees always puts hawks in a strange mood. he thinks they’re romantic, magical - reminds him of a time when he was more naive, more dreamy, didn’t know much about the world. it’s nostalgic, to see the carpet of sakura petals on the streets, reminding him of what is and what could’ve been.

‘hawks!’

it’s ironic that he runs into endeavor’s child just as the flowers begin to fall.

‘hey, it’s todoroki.’ he grins, glancing at the two heroes behind the one already rushing up to him: deku and dynamight. ah yes, the three musketeers, as they call themselves. it’s nice to see the top three teaming up that way. ‘where’s the honorific though, kiddo? i’m still much older than you.’

‘not that much.’ shoto replies, and it feels like a shot to the heart. that’s right... they’re both in their twenties now. ‘and i figured i’d drop the honorifics now that i’m above you on the hero ranking list.’

the tilt of his head would be adorable if he weren’t such an asshole. tokoyami was right when he said that his youngest was different than endeavor - hawks only wished to see such a playful side of him.

‘the disrespect.’ hawks laughs, slapping shoto on the shoulder. he hits harder than what would be necessary, but the boy doesn’t even bat an eye. sturdy. and tall. holy shit, is he taller than hawks now? ‘anyway, i really don’t mind. are you guys patrolling around here?’

‘GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE HALF-AND-HALF, BEFORE I GO THERE AND BEAT IT!’ one youngster yells at them.

‘kacchan, don’t be so rude! he’s talking to hawks-san!’

‘friendly bunch.’ hawks snorts, and shoto just shakes his head with a smile.

‘they’re the best. i’m just trying to catch up.’ he admits, sounding sincere.

‘DON’T IGNORE ME, FUCKFACE!’

‘what are you doing around here anyway?’ shoto asks. ‘isn’t your office in a different city?’

‘yeah, i just came here to stretch my wings, take a walk.’ hawks says, ruffling his feathers a little for emphasis.

‘are you walking on your wings?’

‘n-no...?’

‘then how-’

‘WRAP IT UP NOW!’ at dynamight’s next shout, shoto visibly flinches. he seems more irritated than scared, at least to hawks.

‘i just wanted to thank you for helping my dad all those years ago.’ shoto says then, bowing his head a little. hawks takes it back, he doesn’t have an ounce of disrespect in his body. he’s just a little warped in the social area, and hawks has a fairly good guess where he gets that from. ‘i’ll be going now.’

‘wait, ah- how, how’s the old man?’ hawks tries to aim for anything but desperate. ‘i haven’t heard from him since the retirement.’

shoto looks at him thoughtfully, and those dual-colored eyes make hawks immeasurably nervous. he feels like he’s staring into his soul, opening up the secrets he’s got locked inside.

‘he’s well. i go home on weekends.’ shoto says, pulling up a notebook and a pen. ‘here’s the address. i think he’d appreciate the visit.’

the road to the todoroki estate was the most tiring one hawks had taken in a while. it’s not like it was far from where they met with shoto, but he spent the entire time worrying if he’s dressed well for the occasion, if he should just walk instead of flying to not get gross and sweaty - if endeavor will even let him in, or he’ll just pass by and get told off.

the house is huge, traditional, designed in classic enji taste. hawks could see the roof from a street away, almost walks into a lamppost while staring, his heart picking up the speed both from the scare and the nerves. his feet feel heavier with every step, walking down the street, finally getting to the gate-

and seeing todoroki enji, former number one hero, the feared endeavor sweep the walkway to his door, the scene way too casual to not send an already spring-up hawks into hysterics.

‘what the hell is that?’ hawks spits, laughter erupting from deep in his belly. the look on endeavor’s face just makes him shriek louder, his abs clenching with it. ‘is that- a fucking broom for ants, endeavor, you look so funny-’

‘can’t a man just do his chores in peace?!’ endeavor’s yelling now; sparks fly on his heated skin, and then they burst into flames.

‘now that’s the endeavor-san i know and love.’ he laughs, holding onto his own stomach, wiping his tears. endeavor’s face appears red under all that fire, he walks up to the gate to let him in.

‘what are you doing here, anyway?’ he mumbles, extinguishing himself as hawks walked in. he holds his broom under his armpit rather awkwardly, with the gracelessness of a man not quite used to doing the cleaning. hawks looks at him, observes: the slouch in his shoulders, the specks of grey in his stubble, the blush high on his cheek, the early wrinkles. he smiles to himself, reasons unknown, buried deep in a secluded part of his heart.

‘ran into your kid downtown, he said i should drop by and say hello.’ hawks lifts the nylon bags he’s been carrying, offers a lopsided grin. ‘i brought takeout.’

‘hmpft.’ endeavor is elaborate, as always. a man of few words and plenty actions, something hawks has always admired in him. ‘you can stay. only for the food.’

‘so you’re still very much hopeless in the kitchen, eh?’

‘don’t make me change my mind, brat!’

the house is huge on the inside, at least five bedrooms, two bathrooms, a big kitchen and dining room, and one living room all fit into one floor. all of it echoes from their steps, empty and lonely.

‘your boy said that he’s visiting you on weekend.’ hawks pries, shrugging his coat off as he hands over the bag. his fingers brush against endeavor’s fight-hardened, calloused ones and his heart feels like it could jump out of his chest again.

‘whenever he has the time. shoto’s a busy man.’ endeavor nods, his voice dripping with pride. hawks doesn’t need him to say any more to know how fond he is of his son. it makes him smile, actually. ‘why?’

‘and the rest of your family?’ he asks, a little more cautious.

‘i see rei and natsuo on holidays, and fuyumi usually spends her school breaks here.’ enji sets down the bag at the low table, grabs a pair of chopsticks from the dish rack. there are plates piled high there: it seems like he can clean up after himself, but refuses to put things away. hawks figures it’s pretty comfortable, considers that for a second before he realizes how much he can see into endeavor’s private life.

they sit down at the same time, and their eyes meet. ‘i’m not lonely.’ enji immediately turns defensive. there’s probably pity or sadness in hawks’ eyes, he wasn’t paying attention to his expression for a second.

‘i wasn’t suggesting you were.’

‘being alone is something i deserve. so i take my punishment with pride and strength.’ enji squares his shoulder, sitting up impossibly straight at his uncomfortable seat. he takes the boxes out, scatters them across the table for them to reach. no plates, though. ‘itadakimasu.’

they eat mostly in silence, warm, comfortable, and hawks can’t take his eyes off him. endeavor looks so casual, so approachable like this. he looks soft, in the slightly frayed sweatpants, a little weary from use, and the soft cotton shirt hugging his bulging muscles, stretching across his enormous shoulders. his face is a little thin, the wrinkles obvious on its unharmed half. from this close, hawks can see the grey hairs on his temple, too.

‘i’m looking for a place to stay.’ hawks announces once they’re finished eating. the look of surprise and something else - hope? no, it can’t be... - flashing across endeavor’s face startles him, but he’s not about to back down, now. ‘what-... ugh, how much do you think you’d rent out a room for?’

‘what?’ endeavor appears shell-shocked. ‘wh- why?’

‘well, because my apartment building is remodeling, and i’m pretty sick of living in the busier side of the city anyway. figured i’d change it up, move into the suburbs-’

‘that’s not what i’m asking.’ he snaps. ‘why me? don’t you have friends who’d let you stay with them?’

‘not anyone i’d like to move in with.’ hawks shrugs, playing with a few leftover grains of rice. ‘you know, i can cook, and i’m also willing to dry off and put away your damn dishes.’

‘hawks...’

‘c’mon, we can have sleepovers! i can braid your hair and you can braid mine. it will be fun!’

‘i can’t let you do that, hawks.’

‘okay, yes, i admit, your mane’s a little short for a proper french braid, but i can make do-’

‘hawks.’ enji’s voice booms. ‘no.’

‘you’ve known me for almost a decade, old man.’ hawks is talking back, suddenly fired up. ‘why won’t you just let me take care of you?’

‘because i’m a perfectly capable person who doesn’t need anyone to take care of them.’ he huffs, steam seeping from his nose. ‘and because i can’t let you do that to yourself.’

‘what, enji?’ he’s loud. is he shouting? he can’t tell.

‘waste your time on a bitter old man who isn’t worthy of you.’

now they’re pulling up the big guns. hawks deflates, props his head up on his elbows.

‘retired, but still on your self-deprecating bullshit.’ he sighs. ‘will you take it to the grave?’

‘hawks, i’m serious-’

‘and i’ve been serious, too. my entire life, about my feelings for you. you kept shaking me off, saying it wasn’t appropriate for someone your age dating someone so young, saying you were married, but all this time, i kept getting refused because you hate yourself too much to allow yourself to be loved?’

hawks doesn’t know when he stood up, but he’s falling to his knees beside enji now.

‘what kind of an asshole does that...?’ he whispers, staring right into enji’s fearful eyes.

‘an asshole who cares about you.’ enji murmurs, letting hawks hit him in the chest.

‘this isn’t “caring” about someone! this is just lying to yourself and keeping yourself from being happy!’ his fingers tangle in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

‘keigo-’ enji hisses, losing his balance and gripping the edge of the table so he doesn’t fall against the other man.

‘tell me no.’ hawks proposes, his free hand coming up to cradle his jaw, so prickly and manly and strong, the shudder that ripples through him from the gentle touch, making him so weak and vulnerable. ‘no more running away, enji, no more games. tell me no right now, and i won’t ever bother you again.’

endeavor furrows his brows, the skin around his scar pulling grotesquely over his face with the struggle. he takes a deep breath, and hawks gets goosebumps as the hot air from the exhale hits his skin.

‘i can’t...’ enji whispers, and hawks can barely hear over the sound of his heart shattering. he starts to let go, but he forgets to breathe and move altogether as enji leans in instead, hand coming up to hold him close by the back of his head. ‘i can’t say no, not anymore...’

the first touch of lips against his have his insides flutter, almost working him into a panicked frenzy. he can only hope that enji can’t feel his heart beating in his throat as he kisses him, deep and desperate and oh so careful. hawks clings into him, lets him chase him for a change, holds on for the ride.

when they separate, hawks feels dizzy, drunk with heat and pleasure. enji looks just about as much present, he seems dumbfounded.

‘well, uh.’ he says, and hawks would kick anyone who says he doesn’t have a way with words.

‘i can come on thursdays and fridays.’ he offers, for now. ‘that way your kids can still have you on weekends.’

‘thanks.’ that’s all endeavor says before he pushes a few stray strands of hair back from hawks’ face, leans in for another kiss.

it’s a date, then.

[brainrotcharacters]

Was it casual when you were so desperate to save him from certain death that you destroyed a reinforced door?

Was it casual when you used your years of military training to stab him multiple times?

Was it casual when you used your upper body weight to make sure you stab him correctly?

Was it casual when you grinned up at me as I bled into your mouth?

Was it casual when you hit me on the head with a fire extinguisher so you could steal my self sacrifice moment?

Was it casual when I used your skeletal adamantium remains to kill space cops?

Was it casual when both of us wanted to stay in that car?

[tortie-tales]

Vilkas x Reader

On an impulse decision, I had walked into Jorrvaskr and asked Kodlak if I could join the Companions. I did not realize the price would be fighting my crush.

I followed Vilkas outside, passing Aela who was casually drinking a bottle of mead.

I readied a flame spell in one hand and a shock spell in the other. I faced my opponent, who just looked annoyed.

"Whoa whoa whoa-" Vilkas put his shield down "-we don't use magic here."

"But I don't know how to use weapons," I said, irritated. I relinquished the magic and put my hands down. This topic always seemed to come up in a conversation.

"I don't know what to tell ya." Vilkas glared at me, obviously not willing to compromise. When Kodlak agreed to let me in, he immediately objected. That alone hurt my feelings, but this behavior was just salt on the wound.

Enough is enough. This ends now.

I walked up to him, ready to ask him why he was being a skeever face. "Fine. No magic."

"I thought you didn't know how to use weapons, though." he said, obviously mocking me.

That's it. You asked for it, buddy.

"I don't." I punched him in the face.

Aela, who had been watching from the deck, burst out laughing. "How's her sword arm, Vilkas?!" She bent over and smacked her knee, snorting.

Vilkas slowly straightened up and glared at me. I gulped, knowing this probably got me kicked out.

"That'll do," he mumbled, before storming off, slamming the door behind him. Aela continued to laugh at him.

Well. He's pissed, isn't he?

I walked towards the doors, afraid of the fate that awaited me. I heard yelling coming from inside.

I took a deep breath and opened the heavy wood doors. I blinked a few times to allow my eyes to adjust to the difference in lighting.

"She punched me!" I heard Vilkas' complaints coming from downstairs the moment that I walked in. A few others looked up at me, and I blushed.

Silence filled the air, unnerving me.

Great. I should probably just leave. Actually, you know what? No. Vilkas asked for it. Just because I don't use weapons doesn't mean I'm weak!

I walked down the stairs, annoyed. I ran into Vilkas, who gave me a death glare. I returned the look, and continued walking.

"Kodlak? I understand if you don't want me to be here anymore, considering I punched Vilkas in the face." I peeked into his room, and he grinned at me.

"Quite the opposite. You seem to have a strong arm, considering Vilkas' reaction," Kodlak continued to smile.

"O-oh. Uh, is he going to be ok?" I asked, unable to keep the blood from rushing to my cheeks.

"He will be fine. You are still welcome here. I hope you can refrain from punching any more members, at least without a fair warning."

I nodded. "Thank you, Kodlak." I walked out and bumped into Aela.

"Are you still in?" I nodded. She slapped her hand on my shoulder. "You are my new favorite person. Come, let's show you around." She gave me a short tour of where everyone's rooms were, stopping at hers. She started talking to Skjor, forgetting about me.

I sighed, wondering if I would be able to make things right between Vilkas and I. The main reason I joined was because of him, after all.

Aela snapped me out of my thoughts. "Hey, Ice Brain! Come show (y/n) where the newbloods sleep!" I looked up and saw Farkas walk over.

"You were still accepted?" Farkas sounded slightly surprised. I smiled nervously and nodded.

"Alright, well, come on. Let's go, new blood." He walked me over to a large sleeping. "Vilkas told me that you were rather strong. It's disappointing that you aren't using that strength to wield a weapon, but I'm sure you know what you're doing."

"Yeah, I work better with magic than I do weapons. If I get desperate, I can always punch my enemies in the face." Farkas chuckled at my joke.

~~~

It was cold that day; I wore my favorite pair of gloves and a nice pair of boots to keep the chill at bay. I took a deep breath, admiring the orange leaves in the trees.

"New blood!" Vilkas shouted, startling me. I turned around, only to have a sword shoved in my arms.

"Go get my sword sharpened. And be careful with it, it's worth more than you are." He pointed at a forge on top of the hill.

"Why should I?" I shoved his sword back in his arms. "I don't understand why you've been so mean to me. What did I do to you, Vilkas?" I asked, upset. I had apologized multiple times for punching him in the face, asking him how I could make it up to him, and he just ignored me or waved me off.

No. Even before that, when I was first accepted, he was acting like this.

He got in my face. I could feel his breath on my lips as he spoke. "What are you going to do, cry? Suck it up, new blood, the world is tough. Now go get my sword sharpened," he growled, shoving the sword back into my arms..

"Careful, Vilkas, she might punch you in the face again!" Aela started laughing, and Farkas shook his head, sighing.

I was pissed. Punching him in the face was tempting, but a small part of me still knew it wouldn't solve anything.

I need to calm down before I do something I regret.

"Get out of my way," I said quietly.

"No. Go sharpen my sword," he growled, getting closer to my face. I wanted to take a step back, but I felt like that would be equivalent to surrendering. Instead I took another step forward, as though I were challenging him.

Our noses were touching now.

I locked eyes with him, refusing to back down. "No. I won't," I narrowed my eyes, "what are you going to do about it, cry?" I spat out each word, sick of his attitude.

Vilkas shoved me back, sheathing his sword. I stumbled back and glanced up at him. He looked furious.

"You know what, Vilkas? I've tried solving this like adults. I've tried talking to you. But nothing seems to get through that thick skull of yours." I tapped my head, pretending to be in deep thought. "Should we just fight? Will it make you feel better if I beat you in a fist fight? Let's go, little boy." I clenched my fists, furious. I felt a familiar buzzing in my hands, and heard a crackle. My fists were now coated in electricity. "No holding back."

"Fine. No holding back," Vilkas said, putting his own fists up.

I heard Aela cheer and Farkas tell her to shut up.

I was the first one to attack, aiming for the same spot I hit him in last time.

Maybe I can knock a tooth out this time..

My thoughts were cut short when he grabbed my arm and yanked me down. I face planted on the dirt, getting some in my mouth. I heard him yelp, likely getting shocked from coming in contact with my hand. I smiled and rolled over, hopping back up on my feet.

I raised my fists, this time feeling them burn. "Have you ever played with fire, Vilkas?" I asked, trying to be cool. I saw smoke and realized I had caught my gloves on fire.

"AAAAHHHH!!!" I started screaming and tore off my gloves, stomping on them to put out the flames. That only caught my boot on fire.

I screamed some more, this time out of frustration, and cast frost. This extinguished the fire completely, leaving a few blades of grass frozen solid.

But by then it was too late. My gloves had already been burnt to a crisp, and now I had a hole in my boot.

All of my anger from earlier had dissolved; all that was left was a deep sadness, caused by the loss of my favorite gloves and Vilkas' hatred towards me. I sighed, picking up the scraps.

"I surrender, Vilkas. You win. I'm a skeever-face and you are a perfect specimen. Sharpen your own damn sword." I walked away, wondering if my gloves would be able to be saved.

~~~~~

Nothing worked. My gloves were dead.

I held a small funeral service over a trash can, the only attendant being myself.

"You were a good pair of gloves. I'm sorry my stupidity killed you." My eyes watered, sad to see them go. I dropped them in the trash can and sat down.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up, surprised to see Vilkas.

"I-" he stopped and sat down before continuing "-I'm sorry, (y/n). I let my temper get the best of me on several occasions. I hope we can start over." He handed me a box, containing a pair of leather gloves.

"They're fire resistant, so you casting your spells and what not shouldn't be a problem." He looked at me, hope in his eyes. I hugged him.

"Thank you, Vilkas. You know, I've always thought you were kind of cute," I hiccuped, only slightly tipsy.

"What? Are you drunk?" Vilkas asked, pulling back from the hug. He looked deep into my eyes.

"HA! You owe me fifty septims!" Aela yelled from across the hall.

"No fair, she's drunk! That doesn't count!" Farkas yelled back.

"I am NOT drunk, I am tipsy. There's a difference, people." I finished off a bottle of Black-Briar Mead, savoring its taste.

Vilkas sighed, smacking my hand when I reached for another bottle. "Why am I the one who always has to babysit?"

"Would you ever consider being more than friends, Vilkas? It's completely fine if you wouldn't-" I started back pedaling, sober enough to realize my mistake "-you know what, just forget I asked."

"In time, (y/n). In time."

[forcefully-awoken]

req/concept: Possessive, sadistic Kyoutani puts you in a full nelson, thigh fucking you while shoving his length into your folds letting it hit your clit while going at a pace for his own pleasure. This is your punishment for telling Tendou he was a shitty boyfriend. This is what you get for getting drunk with Tendou and letting him rub your clit, did you think he wouldn’t find out? He overstimulates you and slaps you every time you try to move his hands from your hips. He likes telling you to shut up when you try to tell him you’re sorry. He loves looking at your pretty face when you’re crying while trying to stay quiet.

HI this went kinds sad I’m sorry 😭

cw cheating, overstim, lots of crying, slapping, degradation

It wasn’t supposed to end up this way.

Kentarou wasn’t supposed to find out about Satori, wasn’t supposed to find out about the way you had so casually thrown away the last three years for some drunken stupidity. You were so certain Kentarou would never find out, that’s why you had picked Satori, so removed from your own group of friends. He wasn’t supposed to know about how you had slurred your way through lies, about how Kentarou couldn’t please you anymore. How Satori’s fingers slipped into your underwear, his lithe fingers circling your clit until you had the most mediocre orgasm of your life.

But the way Kentarou’s fingers grasp at your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh so hard you know you’ll bruise, tells you that he’s found out about your dirty little secret.

“This what you want, you stupid whore?” His voice is a growl in your ear as he presses your legs further back to your chest. Your back is to his chest, you can feel the war drum that is his heartbeat as it pounds. He’s not even fucking you, cruelly sliding his dick between your slick folds, rutting up against your needy clit.

His dick slides between your thighs, and his hands press them tighter together just so he can rut between them more. Your pleasure is a distant memory, all he cares about is punishment. Kentarou’s normally gentle, generous hands dig bruises onto your skin, and when he finally shoves his cock inside you, splitting you open, his fingers slap at your clit.

“Did he touch you like this?” There’s a sort of disappointment in his voice, a low sadness that if you were in a better state of mind you would be able to hear. Right now you simply grab at his wrist, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“N-no, only you make me feel like this!” It’s not quite what he asked, but the effect is the same. His hands grip your hips tightly, letting your legs rest between his own now. It makes your cunt tighter around him, makes his cock feel even larger somehow. Your eyes roll back into your head when he starts lifting you up and down off himself, using your hole for his own pleasure. “‘M sorry!”

“Shut up,” He spits, and you can feel the hatred in the words, stabbing right through your chest. “Shut up, I don’t want to hear you speak until I’m done.” You can’t do anything but bite your lip, tears streaming down your face as his cock grinds up against that sweet spot inside you, hurtling towards an orgasm.

“You wanna, f-fuck, act like a whore,” He says, with a particularly hard thrust of his hips, “Then I’ll treat you like a whore.”

Your first orgasm overtakes you, limbs locking up as the pleasure runs through you like a river. Kentarou doesn’t stop, just keeps fucking you. When you try to push his hands away, try to give yourself even the smallest of breaks he lands a slap to your cheek, hard enough that there’s a ringing in your ears.

“Be a good little hole for me,” His words break off into a moan. One long, muscled arm wraps around your waist to hold you in place on him, his free hand reaching down between your legs to find your clit. He doesn’t rub circles, just presses a finger down onto it, letting the jerky movements of his hips do all the work.

It overwhelms you, as he slams into your body over and over again. He takes over all of your senses, fuck, you think you can feel him in your soul the way he fucks you now. You lose count of how many times you cum, liquid gushing from you more than once. He positions you however he wants, bending and twisting your body.

You end up underneath him, glassy eyes staring up into his face. His mouth is twisted into a snarl, soft grunts escaping it. There’s a dying fire behind his eyes, the last embers of his love for you extinguishing with every thrust. Your hands run up and down his back, a facsimile of the comforting gesture you’ve done so many times before.

“Why?” He asks, but you can’t give an answer.

“Why him?” Satori was there, Kentarou wasn’t.

“Why did you do this to us?” You can’t give an answer again, a final orgasm being wrung from your body, your eyes fluttering closed as you ride through it. Every nerve in your body feels like a live wire, pleasure and pain mixing as they spark through you.

“I loved you,” Past tense. He breaks as he finally cums, pressing his hips deep as he spills inside of you, filling you for the last time. He collapses on top of you, shaking as his own tears begin to fall. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, letting you hear his sobs.

Your hands rest on his back, tears slipping from your own eyes as you feel him soften inside of you. The reality of what’s happening settles around you, the guilt an albatross around your neck. One mistake, one drunken night and the last three years of your life become null and void. Everything you want to say is strangled in your chest, and you’re unable to speak. You want to apologize, want to beg forgiveness.

You say nothing when he finally pulls out of you.

Kentarou’s eyes don’t meet yours now, as he dresses himself in silence. He pauses at the door, not bothering to turn his head back to you when he speaks.

“I’ll stay at a friends this week. I expect you gone when I come back,” His voice is soft, devoid of any emotion.

You lay in bed until you hear the front door close behind him, the lock sliding into place a moment later. He’s gone then, the realization breaks you now, and you curl up around yourself in an empty bed.

You feel his cum leak out of you when you do.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

But it did.

[drmmyrs]

Ahh no worries if you’re busy! But a scenario I have in mind would be MC cooking a dish for Yvette for when she feels homesick (honestly it would be hard to tell when she feels that way) and MC takes initiative to cook a dish from Yvette’s hometown for her. Thank you!

Hi anon, hope you enjoy this! I badly wanted to put more fluff but I felt like it would be out of character for Yvette soo this is the best I could do 😅

tag list: @whackawriting @samanthadalton​ @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy​ @alexroyard (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️ )

Simmer (Yvette x MC)

As today's shooting came to an end, I found Yvette leaning against the balcony railing, looking out across the mountains, appearing to be lost in thought.

"Chef?"

If she heard me, she did not show it.

I tried again. "Yvette."

Yvette turned around with an impassive look on her face. "What do you want?"

"Zara was looking for you..."

And with that, she left without saying another word.

***

Back inside the restaurant, Julia greeted me with her usual cheery self.

"Great job on today's episode."

"Yeah..." I trailed off, my mind elsewhere.

Julia looked at me in concern. "Is something bothering you?"

"Did you notice that Yvette seems a little off today?

Julia brought her hand under her chin, thinking. "I think... she's feeling a little homesick."

"How'd you figure?"

"For one, I caught her looking at some old photos a while ago."

I turned back to where Yvette disappeared earlier, a resolution forming in my mind. I'm gonna make her smile.

***

The day after, I went early to the kitchen, determined to recreate Lambi, a staple in St. Lucia, Yvette's hometown. I gathered all the ingredients and followed the best recipe of the dish that I could find after scouring the internet all night, while adding my own personal twist.

Just moments after I finished preparing the dish, Yvette arrived. When she saw me already inside, her eyes narrowed. "You're here early."

"I, uh, was just trying out a new dish. Would you care to taste?"

Yvette walked towards me; her expression unreadable. When she saw the dish, her eyes sparkled in recognition. She took a bite, and as soon as the food hit her lips, a smile slowly crept up her face before she caught herself.

Yvette cleared her throat, her mouth returning to a straight line. "Not bad."

I smiled knowing that coming from Yvette, that was already a huge compliment. "It's for you."

Yvette raised her eyebrow but didn't say anything else as she started to dig in. I stood there and watched how the food would graze her lips, leaving small traces of sauce in its wake. How her tongue would skim across her lips ever so often. How–

"You're not eating?" Yvette asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I grabbed some silverware and joined Yvette, my shoulders mere inches from hers, and our fingers brushing once in a while. We ate silently, apart from the light chewing and the occasional clink of the silverware. When we finished eating, Yvette turned to me with a little sauce at the corner of her mouth. Instinctively, I reached over and grazed my thumb over her lips, completely taking her by surprise.

"You have a little sauce..." I trailed off, feeling Yvette's breath hitch as her heated gaze flickered from my eyes to my lips. I let my hand drop as Yvette started to lean in towards me, stopping just for a brief moment before finally pressing her lips against mine. I tasted the remnants of the food that we shared earlier–food that tasted much, much better on her lips. As the kiss grew deeper, Yvette shifted, pressing my back against the counter, her hands resting on top of it. I cupped my hand on the back of her head while I snaked my other arm around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. As we pulled apart for air, Yvette whispered my name, her voice warm enough to make my heart melt. Just as I was about to kiss her again, we heard a voice coming from outside the kitchen.

"Yvette! Ainsley!"

We both jumped apart at the sound of Zara's voice. It was like cold water extinguishing a fire as I felt the heat dissipate between us.  Yvette blinked a few times as if coming out of a daze before she smoothed her clothes and strode outside the kitchen, not once looking back. I, however, remained still, still flabbergasted from the encounter. After I composed myself, I rushed out to join them.

***

Later, I hung out with Julia during one of our breaks when she suddenly turned to look at someone over my shoulder. I followed her gaze. It was Yvette casually talking with the restaurant owners.

"I wonder what happened," Julia said almost to herself.

"What do you mean?"

"A while ago, an intern bought a wrong ingredient, and while we were already preparing for another one of Yvette's infamous outburst, it never came. The last time I saw Yvette that calm was... actually I don't even remember."

I looked at Yvette, catching a hint of smile ever so often on her lips. I chuckled to myself, remembering our earlier encounter. I happily worked the remainder of the day, content that I made Yvette Flynt smile.

[charaznablescanontoyota]

superhero au sebderrick + poor planning?

Seb isn’t technically a hostage anymore, but it’s an unspoken rule that he doesn’t really leave the apartment. Not in daylight, at least, and not without an escort. Just in case. Even if Seb won’t say as much, Derrick knows there’s a reason he showed up half-dead on the apartment’s doorstep instead of crawling back to the ILB, and Derrick owes it to him to help him keep a low profile.

Well. Derrick owes him a lot more than that, but they don’t discuss it.

What they do instead is late night convenience store runs while Shaq is streaming or tinkering with the drones, two perfectly ordinary civilians picking up snacks and soda and not discussing their personal problems. It works until it doesn’t. Which isn’t to say that one of them accidentally trips and falls into a discussion, but that Seb’s civilian getup might be a little too convincing, and Derrick might duck into another aisle for just a second to grab a six-pack of beer, and then a pair of supervillains are holding up the convenience store.

“So, here’s the deal,” one of them says, holding the flat of a blade to Seb’s throat, casual as anything. “I want the register empty by the time I count to thirty, and nobody has to get hurt.”

“Fuck off,” Seb says. It’s spat through his teeth and - well, it’s not the way he used to talk to supervillains, Derrick knows that much. Rude is a good look on him.

Derrick flips up his hood, activates his powers easy as anything. The villain’s partner - they’ve got matching outfits, which is kind of tacky, honestly - is roaming the aisles, presumably collecting wallets. It’s not hard to catch him from behind. It’s sort of what Derrick does, and the poor guy must be pretty inexperienced in a fight, because he goes down easier than expected. He doesn’t even try to scream when Derrick slits his throat.

From there it’s making his way carefully across the convenience store, unnoticed, pausing and ducking every time someone throws a glance his way. It takes a longer time that it should, but it’s worth it for the look of sharp surprise on the face of the villain who has Seb when ey feels a blade at the back of eir own neck.

“Having fun?” Derrick asks, not sure if it’s directed towards Seb or the villain holding Seb hostage. The cashier has been struggling to get the register open this whole time, which must be Seb’s doing, and Derrick’s honestly impressed the villain trying to rob the store isn’t totally coming apart at the seams by now. Maybe ey’re a D-lister, but at least ey knows how to keep their cool.

“The security cameras are off,” Seb says. “By the way.”

“Perfect,” Derrick says. Then, to the villain: “Your partner’s dead. Walk away now, and you won’t join him.”

“Uh,” the villain says, “yeah? He’s been dead a while, bro, that’s kind of his thing.”

“What,” Derrick and Seb say in tandem, and then something blunt and metal smacks Derrick in the back of the head, and his vision goes white.

The hood of his sweatshirt doesn’t cushion the blow at all, as much as he’d like it to. He staggers, grabs a shelf for balance, and blinks the stars away from his eyes just in time to see the guy whose throat he slit standing five feet away, holding a fire extinguisher, half-smiling like he’s not sure if this is supposed to be funny or not.

“What the fuck,” Derrick growls. “You can see me?”

“I told you, bro, he’s dead,” the other villain says. “Peoples’ powers don’t work on him.”

“He slit my throat, Lorcan,” the guy with the fire extinguisher says, entirely deadpan, reaching up to massage the gash in his neck like it’s a minor inconvenience.

“Sucks! Hit ‘em again if you want.”

“Don’t do that,” Seb says, voice rising with panic. Derrick sees the register finally spring open behind the counter, out of the corner of his eye - maybe a distraction, maybe a peace offering.

“You should take your money and go,” Derrick says, careful, shifting the weight of the butterfly knife in his hand.

“Hm,” the guy with the fire extinguisher says. “We might be past that point.”

“Yeah, I think people are getting hurt now,” his partner says, and bears eir teeth in a grin that reminds Derrick of Shaq - which is to say, a way that makes him already deeply exhausted.

“Fine,” Derrick says, peeling himself away from the shelf. “People are getting hurt.”

[somersetmummy]

(A/N): This fic takes place immediately following book 1 chapter 11 (after being rescued by Sam from Sofia's closet). 

- I promise the Robin lust that is part three is coming soon! -

Series/Pairing: The Nanny Affair (M!Sam Dalton x MC Katie Hide)

Original characters - all property of PB: Katie Hide (MC), Sam Dalton, Mason & Mickey Dalton, Jenny Blake, Robin Flores (part 3 only)

New characters: (present in part 3) Serena-Rose Warren, Tessa Finch, Lucinda Hansen

Rating/Content warning: PG13, a little bit of lust & desire but nothing graphic

Word Count: 1199

Summary: Katie prepares for a night out with the girls but is distracted by a certain roommate...

- Scroll to the bottom for bonus text message between Katie & Jenny -

Find Part One here. 

Part Two -

When Friday evening swiftly arrives, Katie tried to distract herself from the excitement building within by throwing herself into her love of cooking and creating an overly elaborate meal for the boy's dinner. While they don't particularly need a full roast dinner with all the trimmings, she's in far too good a mood to care. As is usually the norm when she cooks dinner, the boys sit at the counter half watching - half playing, keen to be around her as much as possible.

There's a certain calm which they feel when they're with her, safe and warm. They'd spent so much time bounced between family, babysitters and tutors over the last few years they relished the opportunity to be around someone so steady and secure, plus she just effortlessly understood them and knew how to put their needs first.

"Suck it Mason!"

Mickey's cheer startles her from her culinary daze as he slams down the last of the cards in his hand with vigour, winning the nail-biting game of snap the boys are playing.

"Mickey, language...please."

Katie glares at him to show that she's serious but can't completely stifle the grin underneath, threatening to give away the fact that she's humoured by the intensity of their game.

Of the twins, Mickey has always been the most energetic and animated, he rarely holds anything back and doesn't take any prisoners. Mason on the other hand is a much more sensitive soul, wise beyond his seven years and far more observant about the world around him. They're a real split of Sam's personality and a constant reminder of all the things she loves about him.

Before Mickey can apologise, the elevator dings sparking confusion in the kitchen. Katie pulls her phone out of her jeans back pocket to check the time. 5 o'clock on the dot. Equally puzzled and completely in sync with one another, the boys hold a ceasefire in their game as they all turn to look to the hallway waiting to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

Her heart flips as Sam saunters into the room, eyes sparkling and a wide smile already on his face as he takes in the scene before him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made it home this early, but something had changed recently, something which made him long to be at home, long to play with his boys, long to live a little. And then he locked eyes on that something. Katie.

"Well if it isn't my three-favourite people."

The sincerity in his voice paired with the adoring look he gives is enough to make Katie's knees go weak. The boys are clearly oblivious to the fact that his fiancé should probably be above her on his list of favourite people but in that moment she's happy to take the compliment, nonetheless.

"What are you doing home so early?"

Sam makes his way over to the kitchen, ruffling the boy’s hair before slipping casually onto the bar stool next to Mickey. The boys in return beam at him, revelling in the novelty of having two grown-ups to shower them with attention.

"You didn't think I'd forget your big night out, did you? I wanted to make sure you had plenty of time to get yourself ready without having to chase these two clowns around."

He winks at her before turning back to the boys. Mason throws Sam a look of mock offence at being labelled a clown, Mickey on the other hand smiles proudly, totally owning it.

After putting the boys to bed, Sam settles himself in the living area, pacing around unable to stay still. Nervous energy tingles through his veins as he waits impatiently for Katie to emerge, already letting his mind run away with the less than innocent images of her in his head of how she'll look when she appears.

Nothing could've prepared him for what he was about to see as she emerged like a butterfly from its cocoon, transformed.

With the wind knocked out of him, his eyes trail over her capturing every detail to recall later. He admires her delicate curves wrapped in a form fitting deep blue sequinned mini dress, so dark it almost looks black until it catches the light and a blue hue shimmers, just like when the moon hits the sea on a clear night. He immediately wishes he could trail his hands along the flimsy spaghetti straps falling gently over her shoulders, crossing over her back revealing the barely-there rear of the dress.

As she confidently flicks her golden blonde hair it smoothly drips over her shoulders like honey, long soft curls bouncing just below her breasts. Her sweeping fringe ever so slightly obscuring her intoxicating blue eyes which sparkle back at him full of conviction.

The whole look gives her an air of unfaltering confidence which he's never seen on her before. This may be the most turned on he's ever been from just looking at her, so much so that his hands seek refuge in his pockets, untrusted not to grab her at the first opportunity.

"Wow, you look incredible!" He throws her a mischievous smile and continues, "If I'd known you'd look this good I wouldn't have been so eager for you to have the night off!"

Noticing the fire in his eyes, she feels conflicted as she allows herself to imagine what might happen if she were to stay at home tonight. The air crackles between them as they hold each other's gaze a little longer than they should.

"Thank you, I'd forgotten how much I like dressing up and looking good!"

The fire in his eyes extinguishes and leaves behind warm sincerity, a small smile crosses his lips as he finally builds the courage to move closer.

"You always look good. I'm particularly fond of your jeans and t-shirt look, but yes, this look..."

Unable to finish, the fire returns to his eyes as they're drawn down to her legs which seem to go on for days, the delicate sequinned dress barely falling past her upper thighs. The intensity of his gaze thrills her.

Taking as much strength as it would to pull two magnets apart, she finally steps away to grab her purse. Ever the gentleman, Sam picks up her jacket holding it out for her. Unable to resist, he takes the opportunity to lean into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. She smells like a breath of fresh summer air, flowers and sweetness dancing in the breeze.

Her spine tingles as his lips graze her neck and his fingers gently fondling soft tendrils of her hair to move them out of the way. His whispered words make the hairs on her skin stand to attention.

"God, I wish you were mine tonight, you don't know what you're doing to me."

The indignant ring of the penthouse intercom breaks the spell they find themselves in and she begrudgingly steps away exhaling shakily.

"That'll be my cab."

He watches her sashay over to the elevator, the sway of her hips captivating him once again. Slowly she turns to face him, winking wickedly as the doors are almost closed.

"Don't wait up."

TAG list: @shewillreadyou @txemrn @silma-words @thefrenchiemama @secretaryunpaid @sfb123

- BONUS-

Messages between Katie and Jenny while Katie prepares dinner for the boys.