#if this gets enough interest i can do an E-rated part two but i kept this pg-13 for now

[shadowtriovibes]

where there's smoke, there's firewhiskey

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC x Garreth Weasley

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: aged-up characters, established relationship seb x mc, underage drinking (by today's standards), recreational drug use, shotgunning, references to threesomes

Summary: request: "imagine a modern au, where parties are more like our idea of them and not, y'know, victorian england. And getting high, drunk, or both, at a party and running into literally any one of the boys and just acting like horny college kids. Seb fits this idea best in my head but kinda sorta lowkey I could see Garreth being a stoner LMAO." (predictably, i decided that three heads are better than two)

"What are we doing?" you whisper. "Having fun," Sebastian answers cheekily. "It's a party, we're allowed to have a little fun." "Doesn't have to be serious," Garreth chimes in, still pressing wet kisses to your neck. "In fact, it's usually better if it's not."

On nights like tonight, you’re quite proud to be a Hufflepuff.

You may have only been at Hogwarts for less than two years, but it didn’t take long to learn that all too often, your house is the least loved. Ravenclaws have their intelligence, Gryffindors their bravery, and even Slytherins their cunning, but what have you Hufflepuffs got?

Well, tonight what you’ve got is the honor of hosting the best party you’ve ever been to.

As soon as dinner had ended, your cozy, comforting common room had been completely transformed into a raucous den of teenage misbehavior from one last blowout party before your N.E.W.T.s exams start next week. For hours your classmates have taken turns sneaking sixth- and seventh-years from other houses in small groups down past the kitchens and through Hufflepuff’s massive barrel entrance until it felt like just about all your classmates were here.

There’s Muggle music blaring on someone’s contraband stereo across the room and some N.E.W.T.s-level Potions students are delightedly combining wizarding spirits with Muggle mixers and passing them out to members of a very thirsty crowd — in the pursuit of knowledge, of course.

Predictably, you’re already in Sebastian’s lap. All night he’s been unabashedly charming you into taking sips of Firewhiskey from his own bottle, wary of whatever has been bubbling away in Sacharissa’s cauldron.

Your boyfriend has turned you into a big fan of Firewhiskey. Every time you take a sip of the cinnamon-spiced spirit, you feel its warmth spread from the very top of your head down to the tips of your toes and everywhere in between. It’s sweet, slightly spicy and way too easy to drink whenever Sebastian offers you the bottle by its neck.

Now you’re tipsy and warm and perfectly content to sit with him in an armchair by a tucked-away fireplace on the far end of the room.

Plus, he looks so bloody fit in the varsity Quidditch jacket that Imelda had gifted members of the team at the end of the season that you can barely stand to take your hands off his broad chest.

Between your murmured conversations and occasional aimless kisses, Sebastian teasingly announces, “Looks like your friend’s just arrived.”

“Who, Natty?” you ask hopefully.

“Garreth,” he says instead, and you’re immediately suspicious of the way he’s smirking at you.

“What’s that look for?” you ask him.

He pointedly ignores your question and instead waves Garreth over. Across the room, he’s just climbed into the common room with a group of other Gryffindors, looking artfully disheveled as always.

He perks up when he notices you and quickly weaves his way over to the sitting area you and Sebastian had claimed. Your boyfriend disappointedly lets you climb off his lap so you can greet Garreth and give him a hug.

“Want to sit with us?” you offer. “Sebastian’s got some whiskey if you’d like some.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” he says kindly, taking a seat on the couch across from Sebastian. “But I’ll join you anyway.”

You wouldn’t dream of telling Sebastian, but over the years you’ve always maintained a slight crush on Garreth. You love Seb, you’re mad about him and you hope you’ll be together well after your tenure at Hogwarts ends, but still… That harmless crush persists, and it makes your heart race a little whenever Garreth smiles at you across his potions station or compliments your spellwork in Charms.

It doesn’t help that he’s generally a massive flirt.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” you offer after chatting with him for a while. “Everyone’s been getting boozed-up for hours.”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” Garreth admits. “But I’ve got my own stuff.”

Reaching into the pockets of his trousers, Garreth pulls out a small wooden box and flips open the lid. From inside he pulls out a small, thin strip of parchment and a small bag of what looks to be ground-up leaves.

“What have you got?” you ask curiously.

“Mallowsweet,” he replies, and sure enough, when he opens up the bag and tips some of its contents into his hand, you catch the magical herb’s familiar honey-like scent.

“Why?” you ask, and Garreth raises an eyebrow at you.

“You can smoke it,” Garreth explains as if it’s obvious. “It’ll loosen up your inhibitions just like alcohol. Have you never had Mallowsweet like this before?”

“No,” you admit. “I’ve really only used it for completing Merlin Trials, and Professor Garlick is surprisingly strict about how much she lets me grow.”

“It’s not her fault, the Ministry’s been trying to make it a controlled substance for years now,” Garreth explains. “She can’t let students have too much, but if you buy some off Timothy down at the Magic Neep, he’ll give you as much as you want.”

“And then you just dry it out to smoke it?” you ask, peering at the small, dried-out pieces of leaves in the palm of his hand.

“Yeah, that’s easy enough to do myself,” Garreth laughs. “All you need is a quick-drying charm and then it’s ready to smoke.”

You watch as he takes the small piece of parchment and tips the dried Mallowsweet onto it, and then he places the paper on the low table in front of you and carefully rolls it into a thin, cigarette-shaped joint. Finally, he seals it by licking along the exposed edge and pressing it closed.

“Got a light for me?” he jokes, placing one end in his mouth.

You roll your eyes fondly and gently tap the tip of your wand against the end of the joint. With a quick spark, a small flame jumps to life and the joint lets out a thin tendril of smoke.

Garreth takes a long drag and as he exhales, he murmurs, “Thanks, love.”

The pet name makes you blush, and you hope it’s not visible in the low lighting of the party.

“You want to try some?” he offers. “I think you’d like it.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask curiously.

Garreth pauses for a beat to consider before he tells you, “For me, it’s really calming. It kind of… turns my senses down, if that makes sense. Everything gets quieter, and less hurried.”

“That sounds really nice,” you say softly. “But I haven’t ever smoked anything before.”

You watch Garreth’s gaze drift down to your mouth, lingering a little longer than he’d usually be able to get away with. “Maybe I can help you.”

“You should shotgun her,” Sebastian suggests, and you startle, guiltily remembering that he’s still seated a few feet away in that armchair, watching the two of you with a keen look on his face.

“Yeah?” Garreth asks. “That’s alright?”

“It’s a party,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “I’m alright with it if she is.”

“What’s that mean, ‘shotgun?’” you ask skeptically. “Like how Everett chugs Butterbeers from the side of the can?”

“Not that kind,” Garreth laughs. “It’s more like… I’ll take a hit, and then when I breathe out, you’ll breathe in.”

You frown, confused. Garreth just smirks and offers, “It’s really easier to just do it than explain.”

“Sure, yeah,” you agree. “Go on then.”

Garreth lifts the joint to his lips again and takes another slow drag, holding his breath at the top while he sets the lit joint down in an ashtray on the table. Then he gently grips your chin with one hand and pulls you in like he’s going to kiss you, but before he does, he taps on your bottom lip with one long finger so you’ll open your mouth.

His lips just barely brush against yours while he carefully exhales smoke into your mouth, and thankfully your soft gasp breaks your trance and forces you to inhale that same smoke. It tastes slightly sweet on your tongue, as the name suggests, but pleasantly herbal as well.

“Hold onto it for a moment,” Garreth murmurs, his lips still touching yours. “Then breathe out.”

You count to five in your head and exhale. The smoke dissipates in front of you, and as soon as it clears, you’re staring right into Garreth’s warm brown eyes.

“Sebastian,” he says, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re not going to curse me for this, are you?”

“Go on, Weasley,” Sebastian drawls. “She wants you to.”

You want to offer an excuse, an apology, anything in response to Sebastian’s obviously correct assumption. Instead, you just lean into Garreth a bit closer and suddenly he’s kissing you, one hand still cradling your jaw.

He’s an excellent kisser, you think. You’ve only got Sebastian to compare him to, and he’s brilliant at it by your standards, but kissing someone new is so thrilling. Especially when it’s Garreth, who’s not only charismatic and glaringly fit but always so sweet and gentle with you.

Your eyes drift shut as Garreth kisses you deeper. He presses his tongue alongside yours and you taste more Mallowsweet, with a little bit of pumpkin juice.

While you can’t see him, you hear Sebastian stand up from the armchair and take a seat next to you on the couch, his larger form blocking you in and shielding you and Garreth from anyone who might glance your way from the common room.

He rests a hand dangerously high up on your thigh and leans in close to your ear to murmur, “You’re an awful liar when you have a crush, d’you know that?”

You whimper softly and Garreth swallows the sound.

“Don’t worry yourself, love,” Sebastian laughs quietly. “I’m better at sharing than you give me credit for.”

Garreth starts to kiss his way down your chin to your jaw and you tip your head back a little. Sebastian’s right there to drag his hand through your hair to coax you into leaning back even more. You moan softly when you feel the redhead suck a small bruise into your skin.

“What are we doing?” you whisper.

“Having fun,” Sebastian answers cheekily. “It’s a party, we’re allowed to have a little fun.”

“Doesn’t have to be serious,” Garreth chimes in, still pressing wet kisses to your neck. “In fact, it’s usually better if it’s not.”

You scoff and tell him, “That is officially the most Garreth thing I’ve heard you say all evening.”

While you and Sebastian are hopeless fools for each other and have been for ages, Garreth’s reputation is that of a perennial bachelor. He goes on lovely dates, and if the rumor mill is to be believed, he’s an excellent shag. But he genuinely appreciates being single for now, especially so close to graduation.

“W-well, um…” you stutter. “How much fun are we talking about?”

“How much do you want?” Sebastian asks, his hand on your thigh sliding higher underneath the hem of your skirt.

“We haven’t ever – y’know,” you hiss. “With someone.”

Garreth sits back and grins cheekily at you. “I have.”

“That’s not surprising, Weasley, you’re kind of a slag,” Sebastian smirks. “Who was it then?”

“Bit personal, don’t you think, Sallow?” he responds.

“You’ve just had your tongue in my girlfriend’s mouth, I think we’re well past any sort of modesty,” Sebastian counters, and you could not possibly be any redder, you think.

Garreth leans over to the table and lifts his joint to his slightly-swollen lips to take one last long pull before answering.

“Fine, it was Adelaide and Nerida,” he admits ruefully. “Bit of a package deal, those two.”

“You’re foul,” you laugh, but then Garreth slides his hand up your other thigh and suddenly you’ve got two of the most handsome boys in school boxing you in, each with a hand up your skirt. Any thoughts you’d spared for Hogwarts gossip go straight out the window.

“We should, um… Maybe we should go somewhere more private,” you suggest, still keenly aware of the party going on just feet away.

“Everyone’s down here for the party,” Sebastian suggests. “The dorms upstairs have got to be pretty empty right now, wouldn’t you think?”

“Can confirm,” Garreth agrees.

Reluctantly, both boys let you go and you smooth your skirt back down, standing up with wobbly legs. You hadn’t realized before, but the Mallowsweet has firmly taken effect on your system.

“Feeling alright?” Sebastian asks.

“Yes, I… I feel quite good, actually,” you murmur. “Really good.”

“She’s crossed,” Garreth laughs, affection clear in his voice. “Mallowsweet and Firewhiskey, now there’s a dangerous combination.”

“I feel warm,” you tell them. “All over, just warm and relaxed and…”

When you trail off, Sebastian asks knowingly, “Has it got you feeling a bit hot under the collar, love?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Really hot.”

“Sounds like you could use our help to cool you off,” Sebastian suggests. “Shall we?”

“After you, mate,” Garreth laughs.

As Garreth trails the two of you up the stairs to your dorm, you hear Sebastian mumble, “You’re bloody well right, after me.”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader x garreth #sebastian x mc x garreth #my fic #if this gets enough interest i can do an E-rated part two but i kept this pg-13 for now #also is seb x mc x garreth the freckles trio??? let's get a name going

[satancopilotsmytardis]

do you think tomura would ever let dabi try to dom him? /which of ur shigarakis is most likely to humor dabi like that?

I don't think any dabi would get very far without either his brain shutting off the moment it feels good, or crying and begging for help bc it just doesn't feel as good as when his sir (or daddy.... 👀) does it.

or maybe, he starts crying bc oh no he's supposed to be making his sir feel good and he can't do it right and-- tomura takes pity on him. fucks him into the mattress since he tried sooo hard, tells him it's okay, it's not his fault he was made to be a pretty little cumdump.

So I have talked about this before, and I always said that them switching would go horrendously badly, however certain *ahem* phrasing in this ask activated the brain worms so:

Switching It Up

Ship: Shigadabi

Rating: E

Contents: BDSM, feminization, lingerie, Daddy kink, dehumanization, objectification, orgasm denial/delay, anal sex, anal fingering, oral sex mentioned, marathon sex implied, aftercare, cumplay, creampie, cum swallowing, humiliation kink, praise kink, Dabi Is Bad At Feelings and is Feeling Bad.

Word count: 5253

You can also read on AO3, here!

He had not cared one bit about subbing for Shigaraki when they first got together. Dabi has always been a switch and fairly ambivalent to his partners' gender and sex, taking what he could get when he could get it given his own appearance, and had been more curious than anything else when he caught wind of Shigaraki's interest. He had thought initially that Duster would end up being a virgin and would definitely need a few spins with a partner before he could trust the other man to not blow immediately if he was gonna get fucked by him. 

But the first encounter Dabi had decided to start with a blowjob and by the time he was on his knees with Shigaraki petting his hair and losing a constant stream of filth too personalized and specific to be taken from pornos and Dabi had found out he had a cock big enough to go all the way down his throat and pull painfully at his staples, he had been proven abruptly and stunningly wrong. He hadn't even thought to ask about topping one he was being pulled up from the floor and held up against the wall as Shigaraki kept murmuring those filthy things and fingered him open so expertly that he'd nearly gone off before his dick even got touched. Then Duster fucked him so good he had cried because he'd cum so many times and he absolutely passed out. And the next morning, Shigaraki kissed him so gentle and sweet and told him what a good boy he'd been for him and Dabi was fucking lost. 

He would have, embarrassingly, probably done anything Shig asked him to after that, but thankfully Tomura was experienced with this stuff and the safety practices around harder play. He made Dabi sit down with him and actually go through the things he wanted to do and what he didn't and set his limits. That had been nice too. And then came the part of the conversation where Shigaraki laid out what he liked and Dabi had nearly overheated. It wasn't a surprise, then, that Shig took his time introducing new play into their scenes, working it up hotter and hotter until Dabi was doing things that he never thought he would be into and that he would never admit to under the most heinous of tortures. 

So he really, really had not wanted any of the other members to know what he and Duster were doing behind those closed and double locked doors. He was pretty sure the others were under the impression that the two of them had a strictly professional relationship. It wasn't any of their business so he hadn't bothered to say anything. He didn't want to get into it. They kept their play and their relationship very private. 

But after taking the CRC mansion, they'd had somewhere safe to sleep and hide out, and Dabi had a little bit of money stashed away, and god damn it he missed playing rough with Duster. So he'd grabbed himself a new pair of pretty lacy pink panties and waited until all of the others were out of base for a few days. Compress and Toga were off doing some kind of heist for a fence of Compress's to bring in a little extra money and Twice and Spinner were supposed to be going out trying to hook up with some pro-heteromorph extremist group that they had found out about from papers in this base planning a raid against them. They were hoping that they would all be able to get on the same side. Two days of travel minimum since they couldn't use most more public routes, and then however long it actually took to do the job. Dabi thought it was pretty safe when he fingered himself open and dripping, put on his panties and one of Tomura's shirts, and nothing else before going to find his lover. 

It just to happened that he found him down in the living room, reading through more of the papers they had salvaged from the other rooms. He hadn't even looked up, immediately starting to say something about work so Dabi had marched right over and sat in his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and simpering, 

"Daddy, I need you." And that had gotten all of his lover's attention in exactly the right kind of way. 

It hadn't taken long to have him half hanging off of the couch, Tomura's cock buried inside of him, fucking him so hard he was smoking, sobbing, and moaning so, so loudly, because each time he got close, his lover would change the angle or slow down to keep him from going over the edge. 

"Daddy," he plead, bloody tears dripping across his cheeks as he clutched desperately onto him. 

"Tell me what you want, baby girl. If you ask nicely, maybe you'll earn a reward." 

And he knew what that meant by then. Meant he needed to beg, and he needed to be specific and ask for what he wanted clearly, or he wouldn't get it at all. "Please, please, Daddy, please, let me cum. It feels so good with your cock in my pussy. Want you to make me cum. Want your hand on my clit, please. Want your cum in my cunt, Daddy." 

"Such a good girl, princess." And he'd moaned so loudly as Tomura had reached to start to stroke him--

"What the fuck?" The words were choked out and entirely out of place and the shock had Dabi's temperature flaring higher and their movements coming to a jerky uncoordinated stop and they both spotted Twice and Spinner, the later blushing furiously beneath his scales, but apparently too shellshocked to move from the doorway. 

Twice had burst out laughing, and then his contradictions had cut in, "Not cool, guys! We all sit on that couch!" And that had broken Spinner's stupor. 

"Holy fucking shit, oh my god, whose underwear--" Had lost the words in a choked squeak as Dabi saw the pink panties hanging off of the armrest and had felt himself blush furiously as well before he reached over and snatched them as if that would hide the incriminating piece of fabric. "No. Nope. Christ." And he had turned and left the room, still blushing, dragging Twice along with him. 

Needless to say neither of them finished. He had really, really hoped that they would all repress that incident and never speak of it again. And then Twice, and about a week after him, Spinner, had started making little teasing jabs out of Shig's earshot. 

"Hey, Dabi-- Yo, princess,"

"You gonna run that by 'Daddy'?" 

Nothing particularly egregious, but humiliating all the same. He had ignored it, he was absolutely planning on acting like it never happened. Absolutely not going to tell Shig about it and get accused of tattling to his Daddy. But it soured his mood, and that was obvious no matter how he tried to hide it. The other's aren't totally assholes, so when they'd noticed how quiet he'd gotten, how little time he would spend around them again, they'd knocked it off and apologized, but that hadn't made him feel any better. 

///

It's been three months since then. He fucked off for two of them, only coming back when they'd first reached out to the doctor, and then once again when the MLA pulled their bullshit in Deika. Then there was a solid month of restructuring the PLF and his lover and friends being treated so that they weren't broken anymore. And he hasn't scened with Tomura since they were walked in on. 

He probably should be expecting it when Duster, once he's healed enough to think about those kinds of things again, bullies him onto the couch in the seating area in their room to talk. 

"What's going on, baby girl?" And Dabi bristles, his gut souring immediately with his humiliation. 

"Don't call me that!" He snarls. "I'm not a girl and I'm tired of playing one for you. If you want a girl, then just dump me and find one. Not like you don't have a whole army throwing themselves at you now." 

He regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth, as soon as he sees Tomura's expression go soft and hurt with his surprise. He wants to take them back, but his aching pride won't let him. "...I'm sorry, Dabi, I didn't realize that was bothering you." His voice is measured and calm, but in the way it used to get when he was trying to placate Kurogiri or appeal to AFO's better mood, and Dabi feels even worse. "But I don't want a woman, I want you. You're... everything to me, Dabi." 

Guilt gnaws through him and makes him feel impossibly small. He can't even meet Shig's eyes when he mumbles. "...I just don't want to play like that anymore." God, he'd never say that his mouth ever gets him out of trouble, but he didn't know it could get him into so much so quickly. He doesn't remember he felt like he was this close to tears when he wasn't being actively edged. 

"That's okay, firefly. That's why we negotiate." Duster reaches over and hesitates a second, but then catches his hand between three of his fingers. "What can we do to make this work better for you?" 

He should stop this, should just backtrack, should do something to explain to Tomura why he's so upset, but he doesn't have the right words. "I don't know. I don't like being..." He just stumbles into the wrong ones. "The sub all the time." 

Tomura's grip changes, tensing a little more. He told Dabi when they first started sleeping together he really hated bottoming and that he very rarely ever subbed and when he did, it was not his favorite activity and he found it hard to get off like that. And Dabi said that was fine because Tomura's cock was a fucking miracle and he was happy to have it inside of him as often as he could without actually destroying his guts. "Okay, firefly. That's fine, we can figure that out too." 

He means it too, still holding his hand and starting to talk about the things he's willing to do as a sub so that Dabi will feel better about their scening. And Dabi is in so deep, he can't say a word as he keeps feeling worse and worse.

///

But he still can't speak up. Tomura and he talk about him subbing with Dabi feeling sick the whole time, and go to bed without doing anything besides cuddling up together, and even then, Duster doesn't hold him close to his chest, cradling him and murmuring sweet little praises into his hair. He lets Dabi curl around his body instead. It doesn't feel right and he can't fall asleep for hours, and when he manages it, it's fitful and miserable. He's not even surprised when he wakes, gasping for breath, smoke pouring from his seams and an aborted sob caught in the back of his throat as he shakes the nightmare, the memory, of his father treating him like he was nothing, like he was small, pathetic, useless, the second he couldn't live up to his standards. Duster isn't in bed. But he never stays all night, and Dabi makes the wise choice to go cry in the shower so that there's no blood on the sheets or evidence of how badly he's doing for the other to find. Things are already so strained. Tomura's already worried about him, he doesn't want to make it worse when he's the one who's being an asshole. 

He's mostly pulled it together, at least on the outside, by the next day. He's spent years perfecting his persona, putting it on again is like second nature, and he thinks it does a decent job of hiding how badly he is still feeling. But Tomura doesn't bring up anything sexual for the next week except asking if he knows what kind of domming style he prefers. He can't even contemplate that and shrugs, says he can do whatever Tomura likes. He's never dommed anyone before. He wasn't even into BDSM until after he and Duster got together, and he keeps pleading silently for his lover to see that, but he doesn't. He takes his words at face value because Tomura trusts that he knows what he can handle and what he can't. 

Dabi cannot handle this. 

Tomura kneels at his feet, his head down and his hands laying against his legs. He likes to be dehumanized when he's subbing. Not like how Dabi likes to be objectified. He likes to be a tool for his dom, something less than human, said that Dabi could use him as furniture, use any part of his body for his pleasure, just wanted him to take as much as he wanted out of him. And... not talk to him like he's a person. 

"Toy," he tries to keep his voice even. It's been half an hour. He was pretending that he was letting the anticipation build the way his lover does to him so often when they have time for longer play, but he had been desperately trying to figure out what he could have Tomura do. Duster doesn't look up, but he knows he's listening. Normally when Duster wants to get things started, when he wants to move into the more overtly sexual aspect of their play, he teases or praises Dabi, rewards or punishes him to get him to where he wants. But that's isn't what Tomura likes. He doesn't need to be rewarded, doesn't care about praise, he only wants to know that he's being effective by bringing his dom pleasure. And he doesn't want to be talked to like that. He doesn't even want to be kissed-- had a bad experience with a dom who used to kiss him while they were scening. He doesn't want any of the things that make Dabi feel so good as a sub, and that's the only frame of reference he really has. He tried to do his research, found out this seems like a form of service subbing, but that doesn't mean he knows how to navigate it. 

He thinks he would rather be putting in a fresh round of staples when he orders. "On your feet. I want to play with my toy." Tomura stands and Dabi follows, gesturing for him to move over towards the bed. "Strip." 

His lover does as he's told, removing his clothes layer by layer almost mechanically and Dabi can't feel any arousal in the actions. neither of them are even a bit hard by the time he's finished and Dabi is near begging, rather than commanding, "And now mine." Just trying to get his lover's hands on him like they usually are. But this feels different too. Tomura doesn't strip off his clothes with lingering touches, or hot kisses, or filthy words murmured against his skin. He strips him down methodically, not letting his hands stray, not pressing kisses to his skin as he exposes it, just doing as he's told and not bothering with anything else. 

"On the bed." He makes Tomura sit on the edge and climbs fully into his lap. He can be a dom who bottoms, he knows that, and he's just desperate to have something feel good, feel normal. He reaches over to the nightstand for their lube and brings it over, "Open your hand." He does. Dabi gives a generous squirt smearing it along his fingers and then breathing, "Open me." 

His lover reaches around him, spreading him open and starting to work his fingers against his hole. Stroking and circling and Dabi wraps his fingers around his lover's cock and starts to stroke, pressing his face into his neck and nibbling and licking there since he can't kiss him. Tomura's neck is sensitive, and the stimulation they're both getting now seems to finally start to get their bodies on board, but none of it feels right. It's like his body is completely disconnected from his mind and he can't make himself enjoy this. He just can't. He whimpers and Tomura seems to think that it's a good sound, usually is when they're in bed together, and strokes a little firmer at that same spot inside of him. But it's not right. 

Dabi catches his wrist. "Enough, I'm ready." He shifts higher in Tomura's lap, guiding his cock so that his head is just starting to stretch his rim and rubs against him as he speaks. It's been months since they were able to fuck. This should feel good, he should be desperate for it, but his stomach is in shaky tight knots the whole time he speaks. "I'm going to use your pretty cock as a toy and you," he tries, "aren't going to move unless I tell you to. You're not going to cum unless I give you permission. If you think that you're getting close, I want you to tell me. Understand?" 

"Yes, sir." 

Dabi hides his face against his neck again so he doesn't see how hearing that, the wrongness of that, makes his eyes burn. He ignores it and sinks down. It doesn't feel nearly as good as it normally does when he gets to ride Tomura, this angle and gravity usually doing the work of pushing his lover in so deeply that Dabi is bleeding smoke from how good it feels. But even though it feels good because having his lover's cock inside of him always feels good, it's not the same. He doesn't have Tomura's hands on his hips, squeezing bruises there, telling him how cute he looks so desperate to be just a tight little fuckhole for someone to use, doesn't tell him what a good girl he's being taking his cock so deeply. Isn't kissing him or pulling at his hair or seams to put the perfect ache into his body that makes the pleasure taste so much sweeter. It's just this, and it's not enough, it's not right, and Dabi breaks with a sob, 

"Red," Tomura tenses beneath him and then his hands are on his body, stopping him, pulling him off, one catching his cheek to pull him back so that he can see his face as blood drips across his face. 

"Shit, what's wrong, baby g--" He stops himself and Dabi sobs a little more roughly. 

"Daddy," the word is a broken plea. 

"Shh, firefly, I'm right here. What do you need, sweetheart? What can I do to make it better?" 

He can't remember the last time he cried like this, hard sobs that nearly choke away his words. He's spilling smoke, shaking like a leaf, and his head is so messy. "I--I wanna be," he nearly hiccups on the words. "Wanna be your baby girl, want you to kiss me, want to be good for you. Daddy, please, I'm sorry--" 

"Oh princess, shh, it's okay, you're alright baby girl." Dabi keens as soon as he hears that, trying to press in even closer, desperate for the reassurance, for something to feel good after how heavy his misery has been as it sat inside of him for the past three months. 

Tomura wraps an arm around his waist and lifts him easily, shifting their positions so that Dabi has his back against the mattress and can spread his legs to have his lover's weight settling between them, over him. Small beneath him in a way that makes him feel safe in a way he doesn't know if he ever felt before he let himself submit to Tomura. Daddy leans down and kisses him, kisses away the tears going over his cheeks and his hands move to touch him. They stroke gently over his seams, along his thighs. 

"Baby girl, you can be Daddy's princess whenever you want to. I'm so proud of how hard you were trying. Would it be easier if I told you how good you were doing while we're playing?" 

Still trying to give him what he said he wanted before and Dabi shakes his head with another sob. "Don't wanna be a dom." And Tomura's brows pull together. "Never wanted to be a dom. Just wanna be your sub. Just want you to make me feel good, Daddy." 

"We can do that too, sweetheart, you know I love having you be such a mess under me--" 

Dabi keens, the words putting a needy pulse of heat in him finally despite the sickness that has been tying up his guts for the past few months. He immediately tries to chase that feeling, rocking up and trying to grind his clit against Daddy so he can see how much he needs more of that. Finally sees a little heat flicker through his worry and Dabi tangles his hands in Tomura's hair and pulls him in for a harder kiss. He doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to think, he just wants Daddy to make him feel good and take everything else away. He whimpers loudly as that earns Tomura's hips settling more firmly between his thighs, his slick cock rubbing against his wet pussy and putting sparks there that there weren't before. He lets out a loud moan when Tomura reaches between them to wrap four fingers around his clit and stroke teasingly up his ladder. It feels so good that he's letting out another sharp sob as he rocks up into the touch. 

"Already so messy, princess. So upset, but your pretty clit is still so wet, baby. You just can't help it, can you? Need Daddy's attention however you can get it, even if it means acting like such a desperate little slut." Shows him how much it's true when his clit twitches against his hand, dribbling out a little pre as he tries to fuck up into the lazy strokes of his fist. "Thought you would like being in charge and getting to demand all of it, but I should have known better. Little dolls like you aren't good at being anything but pretty little cumdumps." 

There's smoke leaking out of him fresh along with his tears and whimpers. He's hot, he's so hot again. hot for the first time since they were interrupted and he needs it. "Please, Daddy, empty, hurts." 

"Of course it does, princess." And one hand shifts, reaching for him and not hesitating to shove two fingers into his cunt, pushing in and immediately crooking to put a sharp pressure on his prostate. He moans loudly, rocking back to get more. "So here's what we're going to do, I'm going to fuck your hungry cunt until you're nice and full, princess. And then we're going to have a talk and you're going to do your best to keep your slutty hole tight and not spill any of Daddy's cum. If you can keep it all inside, then you'll get a reward, and if you can't Daddy is going to fuck your need throat until your tummy is just a full, understand?"

"Yes, Daddy." It's like the demand has put something back into its proper place. His whole body already feels more settled than it did before, his tears slowing to a stop and his head starting to float the way it's supposed to, the way that makes him feel so good when he's being Daddy's plaything. "Thank you, Daddy." 

"You're welcome, princess. Now, let's see if you can keep being so sweet for me while I fill up your needy cunt." 

His cock replaces his fingers and Dabi doesn't think about anything else for a long time. 

///

Tomura fills him up three times, only letting Dabi cum once in turn, before he waits until he's able to focus and then pulls out. He cleans up the cum that was pulled out of him with the movement but then makes Dabi strain to hold the rest inside as they settle on the bed, Dabi cuddling up against him as tightly as he can as Tomura strokes his hair. 

"Need to talk to me, baby girl. I don't... understand what happened. What didn't you like?" 

And he's still a mess, but he's floating a little too, even as he tries so hard to keep himself full and wet. "Made fun of me." 

"Baby, I'm never making fun of you--" 

He shakes his head weakly. "The others. After." He doesn't want to say after what, hiding his face against his chest, some of that sourness starting to work back out of him. "Made fun of me for being your little girl. Didn't like it. Made it hurt." The arms around him tighten slightly, and Dabi tries not to cry again as he mumbles. "Worked so hard to be more than what everyone thought I would be. Didn't want them to think," his voice is barely above a whisper, "that you listened to me because I was letting you fuck me." 

"Princess, you don't need to worry about that," he reassures him, pressing a kiss to his forehead and trying to wipe away some of his tears. "You've proven yourself to them, to me, over and over. Everyone knows that you are the hardest worker we have here." He hesitates. "And you know that I would have never given you this position if I didn't know you were capable of it? No matter what you want in bed, or how we play, you know that I think you could burn down the world singlehandedly if you put your mind to it, don't you, firefly?" 

He's spent so much of his life being told that he couldn't be anything beyond a broken shell that even being told that now doesn't fully settle. It doesn't soothe away all of the hurt that's living inside him, that he's worried will keep living in him for the rest of his life. But it helps a little. "Okay." Sees it in Tomura's face as he resolves to tell him it every day for the rest of their lives until Dabi believes him. 

"That's not how my princess shows he understands. You're our best soldier, Dabi, and what you like when we're playing doesn't change that." He waits expectantly. 

"... Yes, Daddy." He is not going to examine why that loosens a little bit more of the knot in his gut. "I love you." 

"I love you too, baby girl. Now, let me see if you've earned a reward," his hand moving down to his hole and Dabi whimpers, because he got so distracted by his sorrow he forgot to hold tight, and he can already feel Daddy's cum has leaked out over his skin. "Oh, princess," 

"I'm sorry, Daddy. It was so much." But this failure doesn't feel like the mockery or sourness before. Daddy set him an expectation to meet, and when he can't, he's not going to think less of him, not going to ignore him, or hurt him in a way that he doesn't like or can't handle. He's going to punish him a way they'll both enjoy, and he's going to clean him up afterwards and hold him. Won't stop loving him because he wasn't perfect. Won't stop knowing that he can do his job outside of their room just because he misbehaved in it. 

"I know, princess, and it's been a while too." He strokes his hair with his other hand, "So Daddy won't put on your ring as long as you don't play with your pretty clit while you're being punished." Which has him starting to blush there already in needy anticipation. He always gets so hot with Daddy's cock in his throat, and that concession means that he's going to let him cum as many times as he can from having his throat fucked alone as long as he behaves. 

"Thank you, Daddy." 

Tomura wipes away another sticky track of his tears. "You're welcome, baby girl, now come here. Once you're all done with your punishment Daddy wants to give you a bath and spend the rest of the night doting on on his sweet little girl." 

///

Tomura was absolutely true to his word, filling up his throat until Dabi had cum two more times and was a boneless puddle full of his cum. And then he'd carried him out of bed and had pampered him. A warm sweet-smelling bath with some bath melts that helped his skin feel soft, stop aching around his seams, and smelled so nice, and then got him dressed up in cozy pajamas, ordered him all of his favorite foods, and had spent the whole rest of the night holding him close and petting him as he murmured praises over and over again until Dabi was floating so high he hadn't even noticed he was hard from the sweet words again. Not until Daddy took him back to bed and swallowed up his clit so that he wouldn't make himself a big mess again before it was time to go to sleep. 

He slept the whole night through for the first time in months, and wakes the next morning to a sticky note on their nightstand saying that he can stay in bed all day if he wants. Dabi immediately turns it to ash goes to throw on his clothes a quickly as possible, only ten minutes to spare before the lieutenants' meeting he's supposed to be at. Be starting with a report about how he and Geten's new training regiment for their soldiers is going that he absolutely does not trust the popsicle to not undersell beause he thinks that any training that's not complete isolation and to the point of collapse isn't good enough. He manages to get into the room before everyone has even settled into their seats and feels a sharp moment of triumph. It's met with a slight flicker of embarrassment as he sees Tomura standing off to the side with Twice and Spinner, four fingers on each of their shoulders and a placid smile that reminds Dabi so sharply of AFO that a shudder runs down his spine. He can't tell what he's saying from across the room, but the other two look like they're about to shit themselves with their terror, so he has a very, very good guess. 

"Duster, knock it off!" He snaps. "They already apologized." 

"I know," He lets go of them very deliberately, pulling each finger away from their skin one-by-one. "Which is why this was a conversation at all." He informs them both very pointedly. 

"Got it." Spinner squeaks out. 

"Good. Take your seats." They scurry to do so and Shig takes his at the head of the table. "I believe we're starting with the troops?" 

Dabi does his fucking level best to give a good showing of everything ounce of progress that they've made on that front. It's enough that even Geten has to admit to the group that things are progressing better than his first month on the mountain training alone had yielded. And by the end of the meeting, he feels a little more of the knot in his gut lesson as their work is acknowledged by the entire assembly without an ounce of input from his lover. 

Thanks for asking!

#tanco speaks #ask #asks #shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction #fanfiction

[kimnjss]

uncharted territory | kth

⤑  series: kinda hot

⤑ pairing: campus flirt!taehyung x sweet girl!reader

⤑ genre: lmao i don’t even know... angst? smut?

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 7.5K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: use of alcohol and weed, cursing, dirty talk, slight hair pulling, over-the-shirt nipple play, dry humping, ruined orgasms.

⤑ A/N: hihihi! just here to remind you how much i appreciate all of you guys reading this story nd getting as invested as you are!! don’t hesitate to let me know what’s on your mind - no matter what it is ., feedback is my favorite!!

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 19:07

Hoseok is leaning handsomely against the side of his car when you're stepping out. Arms crossed over his chest as his teeth nibble on his lower lip, eyes seeming to sparkle when he's looking at you. The shine only getting brighter when the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. Body lifting from the side of the car to pull the passenger's door open, gesturing to it with his hand.

“Ooh, check out the gentleman,” You're teasing with a laugh, ducking into your seat as he rolls his eyes. Jogging around the front of the car until he's sinking into the spot beside you, taking another moment to let his eyes travel over your body.

Nodding slightly to himself before he's grinning, “You look hot,” His warm hand landing on your thigh to give it a little squeeze before he's pulling from his parking spot and onto the road.

Compliments from Hoseok came sparingly, wasn't really one to gush over your appearance with mere words. He was more of a show-er than a talker in that sense. So when he was paying you a compliment, it was never anything all that deep. Never once compared the brightness of your eyes to the sunlight or whatever Shakespearean shit he could muster up. He was just going with what he thought and you appreciated that.

It kept things from getting confusing between the two of you. If he was constantly dotting on you and telling you how amazing he thought you were (and you were amazing, no doubt about that), but if he was telling you.. it would definitely put a damper on your whole arrangement. You were a simple girl to be completely honest. Words got to you, you'd be head over heels in love if he was calling you beautiful every chance he got.

Hot was good. Hot was fine. Hot was safe. Because catching feelings for Hoseok? You'd be better off standing in the middle of the road waiting to be run over. And then getting the driver to put it in reverse. Hoseok was brutal when it came to girls and relationships, didn't waste time on feelings or the overly emotional.

A bit of an asshole, but that was why you liked him. He knew how to keep things fun and exciting, loved being surrounded by people. But he wouldn't hesitate to tell someone to fuck off if the circumstances called for it. He was cool. To put it simply. A very cool guy taking you out on a date. Anyone would be giddy about that, it was Jung Hoseok for crying out loud!

“What you got a taste for?” His eyes don't move from the road in front of him. One hand steering the wheel while the other keeps its hold on your thigh. Skin easily warming under his touch, you force yourself to focus on what he's saying.

Having to keep yourself from suggesting, (for the first time in person but the eighth(?) to him) skipping dinner and going back to your place to make proper use of your time. You bite that down. He wanted to take you out to eat, so you planned to humor him. Eat with him so he can eat you out. Simple.

“Anything, really. You like pasta. Should we just go to that Italian place?” With a slight nod, he's directing the car toward the restaurant. The smile on his face lets you know that he had been secretly hoping to get to eat there tonight. It was his favorite place to go, knew the menu like the back of his hand.

So he's pleased that you're suggesting it.

The car ride is filled with soft music and playful banter about whatever comes to mind. He's challenging you, saying things that he knows will get under your skin just to hear you argue why he's wrong. Laughing as you outline all the reasons why mints and chocolate should be far away from each other.

He keeps a gentle hand on the small of your back as he leads you into the restaurant. Still egging you on with why he thinks you're wrong, laughing at the way your face twists up at him. Pausing only briefly to get your table, but the debate is in full swing the moment the two of you are settled across from each other.

There's a subtle type of competitiveness in his tone, paired with the playful smile on his face. Not even a full hour here with him and you were starting to see what Jimin was talking about. Being out with Hoseok, talking beyond where you should do it next, was something you never considered. 

It's nice.

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 19:59

Conversation between the two of you doesn't die down even after your food is being set down in front of you. You're only now noticing that you never really talked to Hoseok before. You were friends, of course, that's what the 'F' in FWB stood for, but you were more like group friends.

Never really hung out alone until some months ago when you were starting this whole thing up. And fucking didn't really account for all that much talking. You knew nothing about him aside from the fact he was Taehyung's asshole womanizer roommate. No idea how witty, how animated, how attractive he could be.

It made you want him even more.

He's in the middle of explaining the King Henry VIII drama he had seen the other night, which is also surprising. He almost seemed 'too cool' to be this interested in a period piece starring Natalie Portman. But he's speaking so excitedly, that you can't help but hang on to every word from his lips. All until your phone is flashing on the table beside you, Taehyung's smiling face lighting up the screen.

The buzz steals both of your attention from the conversation, your brow furrowing slightly. A part of you knows that he's only calling for nonsense, probably in the midst of a fight with his girlfriend and he's calling for you to tell him he's right. It's hardly ever an emergency when he's calling you, so there should be no problem with letting his call go to voicemail.

Especially this close to the end of your date, you'd be heading back home with Hoseok in no time. Plus he could just text you if it was something important. There was no reason to answer, and yet, you can't keep your hand from reaching for the device. Shooting an apologetic smile over at Hoseok.

“He knows I'm with you... he wouldn't call if-,” The nod of Hoseok's head cuts you off, waving you away with a smile to take your call. And you're excusing yourself quickly, pressing the phone to your ear once you're far enough away from the table.

He better have his dick caught in a mousetrap or something to justify interrupting your dinner. “Tae. What's going on?” You listen, for any telling sounds of things being out of the ordinary. All you hear is the hum of the TV and his heavy breathing hitting the line.

“Yn, you've gotta get over here.” There's an urgency in his voice that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing. “Why? What's going on?” It's probably something stupid, it usually is when it comes to Taehyung. But curiosity has already set in and you find yourself thinking of how to tell Hoseok you have to go. 

“I can't just tell you... you have to come,”

Groaning into the phone, your hand lifts to pinch the base of your nose. A deep sigh leaving your lips. “Tae. I'm out right now. If this isn't urgent-”

He's quick to cut your words, “It really can't wait.” He almost sounds serious, which has the slight annoyance you feel melting away. “Okay, okay. I'll be there in a minute,” Quick to hang up the phone and head back over to the table.

Hoseok has his head bowed, full attention on the plate of lasagna as he shovels forkfuls into his mouth. Reaching for his glass as you slip back into your seat, gulping down his water. And you're two seconds from telling him that you have to go when he's reaching for his napkin, wiping the corner of his lips.

“Taehyung needs you to rush over?” How he was able to just guess that is beyond you, but you're nodding your head a sheepish smile taking over your features. “He says it's urgent,” You genuinely feel bad. Even though things between Hoseok weren't any deeper than hooking up, you still had agreed to come out with him. To stay out with him.

To leave in the middle of it (not to mention before you could wrap everything up and go back home) felt shitty. You were having a good time getting to know him, but if you didn't go see what was going on with Taehyung, you knew it would bother you for the rest of the night.

Despite everything, Hoseok seems to understand. Insisting you finish the rest of your risotto before he's paying the bill. He even keeps up with the bubbly conversation from earlier, enjoying the sound of your laughter all the way to the car. Guiding you in with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

He lets you choose the music and hums along with the songs you play. It's not long before he's pulling up in front of his house, car staying on as he steps on the brake. You wait for him to put the car in park and when he doesn't, you're shooting a confused look in his direction.

“You're not coming in?”

He's quick to shake his head, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “I'm gonna go see what's up with those girls in building E.” Oh. Right. You almost forgot for a second who you were dealing with. Jung Hoseok, notorious fuck boy. If he wasn't sleeping with you, then he'd just find someone else to do it with.

Feeling bad for cutting your date short was useless. “See you later, then.” He meets your words with a nod, waiting patiently for you to get out of his car. Spares a moment to lift his hand in a wave before he's speeding down the road.

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 20:21

Taehyung is sat on the couch when you enter the house. Hunched over a bowl with chopsticks in hand. Torso bare and hair falling in a ruffled mess around his face. He doesn't budge at the sound of the door, too focused on pushing long strings of spicy noodles into his mouth.

He could've at least put together a fake emergency if he was going to call you over like this. Pretended his arm was broken or something, instead of coolly sitting on the couch trying to gulp down his beer around the mouthful of Ramen.

“Hey! What's so urgent? Why are you half-naked?” Your loud voice startles him, droplets of beer falling from his lips and rolling down his chest. He swallows, reaching forward to grab up a napkin, using it to wipe at his well worked on pecs. 

Your eyes follow the movement of his hand, long fingers brushing the droplets from his tanned skin. It must be the anticipation of getting fucked tonight because you're finding it hard to tear your gaze from the ripples of his stomach. “I'm in from the gym,” He explains the no shirt, the tightness in his arms that have fallen victim to your greedy stare. Flexing obviously as he reaches for his drink again, taking a few sips before he's picking up his bowl. His chest tenses with the movement.

Has he always been this... wow? Quite literally staring in the middle of the room, greedily enjoying the sight of your best friend without his shirt on. Yet, it's not the first time you've seen him sans shirt. Countless sleepovers and pool parties, but his bare stomach seemed different now.

Seriously. Did he always have abs like that?

You're forcing yourself to look away, face grimacing at the loud burp he lets out. Enough to snap you from your thoughts, wherever they were going was uncharted territory. And you had no interest in exploring that, especially when you were supposed to be annoyed with him!

“What's the problem? Why'd you make me rush over?” Wearily, you step closer to him. Eyes scanning over his body in a less pervy way, trying to detect any sign of injury. Maybe even a paper cut a little too deep. “Are you okay?” Your face inches from his, still searching.

He's laughing, hand lifting to rest on your forehead, pushing your head back slightly. “I'm fine. Want some?” Taehyung lifts the bowl between the two of you. And your gaze drops to the spicy scent. And normally you'd be letting out an excited whoop, accepting his generous offer and plopping down beside him.

But right now, all you are is annoyed. Annoyed and frustrated. If it wasn't for him, no doubt you'd be off somewhere with Hoseok, minutes from having your eyes rolled back, nails scraping against his skin. Instead, you're here, no emergency in sight. You shaved for this! Matched your lingerie for this! What a waste.

“Are you fucking kidding me!? I was out with Hoseok, Taehyung.” As if he didn't know. And he had the audacity, to sit there, slurping his noodles as if he wasn't at fault for this annoying ache in the pit of your stomach. Something that would've been long taken care of if it wasn't for him.

His shoulders lift in an uninterested shrug, jaw falling slack as he shovels another mouthful into his mouth. “Well... now you're not. It's extra spicy. Your favorite,” He's offering more food up to you and all you do is roll your eyes, letting out a frustrated huff.

“You're fucking ridiculous,” You scoff, hands rummaging through the contents of your purse until your fingers are catching onto your phone. “I'm calling Hoseok,” You announce for no real reason, especially because he acts as if he hasn't heard your words. Attention back on the hot bowl in his lap.

He's being weird and you don't know what it is. Noticed it in doses these past few days and assumed it would just blow over... but he just seemed to be acting more and more out of character the more time passed. It confused you. And you hated being confused.

Part of you was convinced that it had something to do with him now knowing that you're sleeping with his roommate. The side comments, inadvertently trying to cock block, and now this being proof enough. But there was another part of you... a much smaller, poorly trained part, that was convinced these were the actions of a jealous man.

What would he have to be jealous of, right? It wasn't like he wanted to be the one sleeping with Hoseok. Well, debatable... but seriously, the way he's been acting lately has led you to believe that there was something else going on that he wasn't telling you. Tae's known the guys you've fucked around with before and never has he acted so... stiff?

Something changed. Something was different. And you can't help but wonder if the picture incident had something to do with it. Highly unlikely, as Joon said, he has probably already forgotten about it. But, nothing else made sense.

Hoseok doesn't answer. Not like you actually expected him to. He went to 'see what's up with the girls in Building E'. No doubt busy with that, why would he answer his phone? “Come on, Yn.” Taehyung is beside you now, you're not sure when he stood up, but you can smell the sweetness of his body spray. Even after the time, he spent in the gym.

“Listen, I'm sorry I interrupted you.” His hand is reaching to lower your phone, halting your request for an Uber. “...but you're here now. Just stay. Relax.” Flashing that breathtaking smile of his and it's becoming apparent how he gets away with so much. This boy knew how to use his looks to his advantage, there was no denying that.

But, you're not easily fooled. “You can't just interrupt my dates because you're lonely,” Some of the bite is gone from your tone. Not entirely sure how upset with him you really were. Of course, calling you out when he knew you were with someone else was shitty... but it was Taehyung!

A terrible reason, but the best one you could come up with. There was no way staying mad at him was an option, when he has done the reverse many times with you involved. He's smirking at you, picking up on the anger melting away from your features. “So it was a date. You told me it was just dinner,” He teases.

Not entirely pissed at him anymore, but that didn't mean you'd just let his stupidity slide. This was the second time he's interfered with your much needed Vitamin D and it was about time he heard something about it. “Just dinner. A date. A fucking square dance. Taehyung, you can't just cut in because you want.” He's looking at you funny, this dazed expression that you've never seen directed to you before. From him.

It makes your heart stutter, so you ignore it. “What if I did the same with you? If you were out with Ailee and I called you up with some stupid excuse?” He doesn't even hesitate, dark eyes glued to yours. A stare so intense, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “I'd come running,” The deepness of his voice and the seriousness of his tone has your breath hitching.

There was no way this was happening. You were used to flirty Taehyung, got pretty good at compartmentalizing your feelings when it came to the Taehyung that you dealt with on a day-to-day basis. But this... this was different. Uncharted territory, indeed. The way he was looking at you? Talking to you? Nothing like you've ever handled before when it came to him.

No idea how you were supposed to react, so you decide to just leave to keep from making a fool of yourself in front of him. “I'm leaving. Goodnight, Taehyung. Call your girlfriend.” A halfhearted request, you're really just reminding yourself that he has one. And while 'The Other Woman' was a great song, that wasn't you.

“She broke up with me like an hour ago,” Again? You want to say, feigning disbelief. Their routine breakups were far from surprising and they always ended up in the same way: them back together and holed up in Taehyung's room for days on end. Only to end in a pointless fight that would repeat the cycle.

They were always broken up, but that didn't mean they were done with each other. It never meant that. “Please, stay.” He's pouting obnoxiously, so you're confused why you find it so cute. Fingers laced with yours as he lightly shakes your arm. “I miss hanging out with you,” Puppy dog eyes aimed right at your heart.

He's not wrong. It's been a little while since the two of you just hung out. Lounged around in sweats, ate, and watched bad TV. And it was very unlikely that Hoseok would be returning your call. Jimin is surely busy with Jungkook or something. You'd just be going home to sit around and do exactly what you could do here.

“Fine.” Eyes rolling to exaggerate your annoyance. “Go make another packet while I change,” Soft hair bounces as he nods his head, turning to pick up his half-empty bowl from the coffee table, carrying it into the kitchen.

You're halfway up the stairs before he's calling out to you, smiling when he sees your head poke around the corner. “I'm really sorry I ruined your date. That was not cool,” There's sincerity in his tone and in his eyes, every last bit of annoyance or frustration you felt dissipating at the sight.

“It's fine,” The prettiest smile he's ever seen pushes onto your lips, nearly stealing his breath away. “I'll just have to text Hoseok and explain your issue with separation,” Giggling at your own lighthearted joke and he's matching the sound. 

Silently praying you hurry upstairs so he can get his heart in check. So he could think. Something he's been skipping out on that since the moment he picked up his phone and decided to call you.

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 21:43

You're wearing basketball shorts. His basketball shorts. Paired with a sports bra that you must've left here for one reason or another. It takes everything in him not to zero in on the jiggle of your ass as you pass him. The pebble of your nipples pushing against the fabric. You always complained about how cold his apartment was.

He tries not to stare as you stretch to pull a bowl from the cupboard, laughing out loud when you realize that he's already taken one down for you. Thanking him as you move to stand close. Your cheeks are red and irritated from the quick way you removed your makeup with the dried-out wipes you left in his bathroom. Hair let out of the tight ponytail, cascading down your back in pretty waves.

It's not until you're pinning him with a furrowed brow and an upturn of your upper lip, does he realize he's literally gawking at you. With this unmistakable love-struck look in eyes. “Why are looking at me like that?” Spoken while plucking a piece of meat from the pan and pushing it into your mouth.

Caught and he doesn't even think of trying to backtrack. With a shrug of his shoulders, he's turning his attention back to the food in front of him. “I don't know. You just look beautiful or whatever,” He can hardly look at you as the words leave his lips, afraid you'll catch the blush on his cheeks.

“Or whatever?” You joke with a laugh, ignoring the flip of your stomach at the compliment. Instead, you move to the fridge, retrieving a couple of eggs while chastising him on forgetting the best part. Not sure what was up with him, but you refuse to let yourself get carried away.

You've spent so long accepting that he has and only will see you as a friend. Best friend, even. And just because he was throwing a few compliments your way didn't mean that everything all of a sudden changed. Nothing has changed. The two of you were still in the same spot you had been two years ago.

 Taehyung serves you with a smile ten minutes later, fingers lingering on yours for a moment longer than normal. Not long enough to be weird, but definitely long enough to get the wheels turning in your brain. And then he's plopping down across from you like nothing, head ducked as he takes the first steamy bites of his food.

It takes everything in him not to profess his unclear feelings. Trying to limit how often he looks at you, censoring his thoughts as they teeter between mushy and cringe. It's hard with the way you're joking between bites the way you always do, he can't help but notice how pretty you are.

He felt lucky to have you like this. Even if it wasn't truly having you. Just the fact that you were comfortable enough around him to be like this. Even if it had been years, it felt different now somehow.

Everything felt different since he's started to notice little things about you that he failed to see all along. Your cute habit of flicking and tossing your hair as you spoke, more often with how animated you got. How your eyes lit up when you were excited. That tiny dimple at the corner of your mouth, which only made an appearance when you were laughing really hard.

On top of it all, he was noticing how obvious you were. Not exactly sure when it clicked in his mind and it could very well be his ego talking, but he was starting to feel like he wasn't the only one keeping a mental scrapbook. The more attention he paid to you and your little mannerisms, the more he picked up on the fact that you were doing the same.

Whenever he'd bite his lip, rest his cheek on his palm, angle his head in a certain way – your eyes would follow. And how could he forget the lust-filled look on your face as your eyes devoured him, it hadn't even been a full ten minutes since you got there and you were so obvious.

A wonder he didn't notice it before, but now that he thinks back... all of the signs were there. Everything that he missed has been screaming at him for the past-however-many years. And as much as he wanted to do something about it, he knew he had to be careful.

Extremely careful.

JANUARY 30TH, 2021 | 23:52

Right now, you had your legs in his lap – ankle inches from his junk, but that's the least of your concerns. You're more focused on tucking every last crumb of weed into the paper, eyes flickering between your fingers and the TV screen. 

“How is she this oblivious?” You're commenting with a wrinkle of your brow and Taehyung has to act like he's been following the plotline all along.

From what he was able to pick up with your brief summary of the plot and the way you talked over every scene with backstory, the main character was set the be married to a man with much more experience than her. In life. In the bedroom. The scene playing in front of you right now she was just finding out that he had been lying about not being able to have children.

You had suggested starting from episode one, but he denied the offer. There was something about watching you explain a show while getting frustrated about the scenes that played out before you that he found endearing. Not a new feeling, but holding a new meaning now.

He can hardly hear what's being said because you're in the middle of a rant on how there was no reason for her to be so clueless and sent into a marriage. And how her mother should've gone into the nitty-gritty before shipping her off. And how her husband was just a compliment douche bag for taking advantage of her ignorance.

Taehyung is positive he looks like you just agreed to go riding off in the sunset. Leaned back against the couch and watching you with this dazed-dopey expression that you sum up to him just being high. You were working on rolling the second joint you'd share.

His eyes follow as you lean forward, hovering over his lap as you reach for the lighter on his side. Not even thinking to ask him to pass it over, not that he's complaining about the closeness. Elbows holding your body up as you fiddle with the spark, bringing it toward you when it stays.

You catch his stare as you exhale, handing the joint off to him before moving back to your end of the couch, legs falling back in his lap. He doesn't pull his gaze from you, letting the weed burn out between his fingers. “What?” You're asking with a soft laugh. He's hissing out a breath, bringing the smoke to his lips and inhaling.

“You're fucking gorgeous, it's annoying.” He says with a shake of his head, a thick cloud of smoke leaving his lips. “You're always talking shit,” Speaking through a burst of laughter, but he doesn't entertain the thought any further. Extending his hand to pass it over, eyes flickering up to the screen.

There had been something that he had paid attention to when you first turned this show on. The conversation that was being had on the screen about best friends and getting married and falling in love. And how that's how you should do it. Marry your best friend and it would work out.

No matter how many porn-like sex scenes appeared after that, he was still stuck on that one conversation. And the thought that if you looked so pretty next to him right now, there was no telling how much prettier you'd look done up and dressed in white. He has to laugh at himself, though.

Blaming his raging thoughts on the half-empty bottle of liquor on the table and the green you're handing back over to him. Which is why he doesn't bother to stop the question that slips out next. “Do you think that's really the key?”

Half forgot that even though you never left his mind, you couldn't read it. So you have no idea what he's talking about. “Key to what?”

“Being happy in a relationship?”

He hardly ever really talked about his feelings being with Ailee. You just knew what he told you and that was very limited. She annoyed him, but she was sometimes funny and knew what she was doing. That was pretty much it.

So you're a little shocked that he all of a sudden was bringing this up as if you knew their relationship from a hole in the wall. “Are you not happy with Ailee?” Someone who fought with their significant other as much as Taehyung did, couldn't really be happy. But you could be wrong.

“I'm sure I could be happier,” He's looking at you with those eyes again, flicking the ash off with his finger before bringing the joint back to his lips. “Do you think falling n love with your best friend is the key to all that?” He pauses, the blurts the last part out like he's lost control of his tongue. “Like you and me,”

You're letting out a harsh cough that has nothing to do with the smoke cruising through your lungs. Eyes tearing up while your back shakes. “Me and you?” You manage, letting out a gasped breath. “Like me falling in love with you and you falling in love with me?” Finger used to point between the two of you, just to be sure.

Taehyung nods his head, unphased by your dramatic reaction. “Yes, that's exactly how that would work. A money-less transaction,” You're letting out a laugh and a shake of your head, pushing the thought from your head. He was only joking, talking shit for whatever reason.

“Yeah, no. That would never work out,”

His words chase yours, “Why not?” You don't miss the small pout of his lips, as if he's actually asking. Wondering why you thought the two of you together wouldn't work out.

“I know too much. You know too much,” Going with the first reason that pops in your head, one that you've used countless times with convincing yourself. “There's gotta be some mystery,”

Taehyung is rolling his eyes, “Oh, come on. We're not the Scooby-doo kids, Yn. Mystery is overrated.” He's really pushing for this and you're not sure why. Most likely entertaining the thoughts that pop into his foggy mind, so you don't allow yourself to think too hard on his words.

Or what they could mean. “It's perfect,” He continues. “You meet someone, become best friends, decide to fall in love and now you're married to your best friend. That's the dream,” He says with a grin. And you're not sure if he's actually talking about you or if he's just talking.

“That's lazy,” Either way, you attempt to get the race of your heart to slow down. No matter how much closer he was to you now, backs of your thighs pressed against his. You're nearly seated in his lap and you just now noticed the mindless way his fingers drag over your knee. “You can't pick off from your existing friends. You meet someone, fall for them and then you become best friends,”

His laugh rings through your ears, then your entire body. Just the sound has you feeling warm all over, something that you were sure you had gotten under control a long time ago. “You just said the same thing as me, except you changed the last two steps,”

“It makes a huge difference,” It did. One was the two of you and the other could be any two strangers on the street. For the sake of you, your version was the one you'd go with. Anything else and it would be hard to talk yourself out of it.

But Taehyung has been a lot more attention, putting the pieces together as they appear. And one thing he was always good at spotting (except when it came to you for some reason) was when someone was into him. And judging from the subtle changes in your demeanor throughout this entire conversation, you were so into him.

With caution on his mind, he's shifting focus. Hand lowering to discard the dead bit in the ashtray. Leveling you with a squinted eyes and a purse of his lips. “What's the real reason you didn't want me to know about Hoseok?” Sort of had an idea of what this might be, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“What do you mean? I already told you,” You're reaching for the bottle on the table, taking a swig to keep your hands busy. And to keep you from having to look at him, no doubt the unfiltered thoughts in your mind would be slipping out with one glance. 

He doesn't pull his gaze from you, though. “No, you said you didn't want things to get awkward. I think that was a lie,” His face is much closer to yours now, you can clearly see the faint beauty marks scattered against his skin.

Just a simple stretch of his leg and you're pushed further on to his lap. Back resting against his arm now that he has his hand is pressed against the armrest. He's close, but not suffocating, has left enough space for you to get up and move if you wanted to. But that's the farthest thing from your mind right now.

“Wanna know what I think it is?” Voice so low he might as well be mumbling. His eyes flicker down to your lips, noting how soft they look. And he finds himself wondering just how they'd feel pressed against his. “What?” You sound breathless like you had been thinking about the same exact thing.

He's smoothly moving his arm from you, guiding the way your back falls against the couch. “I think you're into me, like how I'm into you... and you didn't want me to know because of that,” The risk of fucking up your friendship takes the backseat because he knows he's right. Took his time and put the signs together.

“Yeah, right.” You laugh it off, but he's learned how obvious you are.

A grin spreads over his features, hand dropping to your hip. “You're making the face you do when you've been caught,” The heat of his palm spreading from your side to your entire body. And you've come to terms with the fact that you've lost control of your heart. Wrapped up in the moment where Taehyung, Kim Taehyung, your best friend and former crush revealed he was into you.

His head bows, nose nudging against yours. It's embarrassing the way your lips instantly pucker, eyes falling shut as you wait for the soft press. Eyes fluttering open after a moment of waiting and receiving nothing, catching the devious smirk on his lips. 

“You're into me, aren't you?” While he was sure, positive after seeing how ready you were to have him kiss you, he needed to hear it. Needed to be sure that he wasn't missing something, he's been doing a lot of that lately.

The nod of your head is answer enough, followed by your warm hand reaching to rest on the back of his neck. Not sure who moved first, if you were pulling him down or he was lowering himself and you really didn't care. 

A tiny moan escapes from your lips as he shifts above you, the sound being sent straight to his crotch. His mouth is pulling from yours, brows raised and eyes wide as he stares down at you – surprised by the fact that you could actually sound like that. Before he's given a chance to comment on it, you're pulling him back down.

Kissing you is everything he's imagined it to be and more. The soft push of your tongue paired with the deliberate scrap of teeth on his lip. Your hummed moans fill the room and stir him on, his grip falling from your hip to your thigh. Easily pulling your legs apart to slot himself between them.

Fingers tangled in his hair and heavy breath hitting his lips each time you pull away, only to dive right back in. Mouths moving over each other messily, Taehyung can barely ask the groans that die on your lips. Free hand pressed against his chest, you can feel the hammer of his heart.

Thighs squeezed to his hips, bodies so close the thinnest of papers wouldn't fit. So it's no wonder you feel it. The twitch of his cock hardening against you, so enticing you can't help the way your hips lift to meet his just as he's dropping down to press into you. A hissed moan falling from your lips at the contact.

“Fuck,” He's groaning, a switch seemingly turning on inside of him. Mouth breaking for yours and hand moving up the toward your chest. His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple through the fabric of your bra as he rolls his hips into yours.

Just the heat from pressing against you like this was enough to rile him up, mind reeling with thoughts of what it would be like to really fuck you. And the sounds you'd make. You sounded so pretty with the simple rolls of his hips, what if he was actually buried deep inside of you.

His head drops, mouth latching onto the crook of your neck to suckle at the skin there. Your senses are fogged with nothing but him. The smell of him, the feel, the taste. Still lingering on your lips and hitting your taste buds as you lick them. There's a definite heat growing between your legs with each drag of his covered cock, angled perfectly that he's just barely tapping your clit.

You want more. So much more and it's making you delirious. Needy. Hips rolling up to meet his and he's pushing you down every time. Teeth scraping against your skin and fingers pinching at your chest. “Taehyung,” It sounds more desperate than you intend it to. He's groaning back in response, face lifting from your skin to admire the red mark he's left behind.

Tongue dragging over it, soothing it with a simple swipe. Hands re-positioned on either side of your head, his gaze drops to watch the way your hips move in order to meet his, a smirk pressed on his lips. “Fuck, look at you... such a mess.” He's pushing forward, cock meeting your clit perfectly.

Strained whimper ripping through your throat as you brace your hands on his side, back arching into him. “Grinding that pretty pussy all over my cock, didn't even let me get undressed. You're so wet, huh?” Now you knew what the boys were on about when they clowned him for being mouthy. Had laughed along before, but having his words directed to you was no laughing matter.

You knew what you were doing. You could feel the effect of what you were doing but something about having him point it out in that breathy tone of his was hot. What you didn't expect was for him to want you to talk back, but the slow of his hips is quickly warning you of your role.

“Don't stop,” You're gasping, hands reaching out to him. “I could cum like this,” Your whispering, cheeks heating up at the admission. How embarrassing, losing it over dry humping, you half expect him to laugh it off as a joke.

But he doesn't, instead, he's lowering his body back onto yours, the movement of his hips picking up in speed. “Me too,” He breathes out, fingers tangling in your hair as his tongue teases against your covered lips. “Wrap your legs around me,”

His words are muffled, but you understand him enough to lift your legs, ankles locking behind his back. He drives into you like he's balls deep inside of you, pulling gasps and moans from your lips. Nails pressed into his skin as you beg him not to stop, chanting your near release. And just as you feel it bubble up in your stomach, his low pants of your name getting to you. Just as you're about to be knocked over the edge you've been teetering on, Jin's voice is breaking through.

His loud laughter bleeding through the door behind you, followed by the low grumble of Joon's voice. The jingle of his key is what snaps Tae out of it, body freezing as his head lifts to glare at the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You're quick to push him off, looking away as he adjusting the throbbing bulge in his pants – leaving you to wipe at the slobber-dampened mark on your chest. Jin and Joon are stepping in just as you're rushing upstairs for a shirt. Their laughter filling the downstairs as you rummage through drawers for something to pull on.

All while shoving your raging thoughts out of your mind. Still in shock that that actually happened... whatever that was. Taehyung was into you. He had said it and then kissed you. God, he kissed you. Would've been to be able to fully enjoy it if you weren't so damn greedy.

Just one taste and you were wanting the whole thing and from the look of it, he was willing to give it to you. But what if it had been a fluke. A one-off because of whatever happened to Ailee and the fact that you were there. Into you, but what did that really mean? Would that change anything?

You dare to hope, even though you're sure you're wrong. There was a lot going on tonight. Him fighting with Ailee, you being torn away from Hoseok before you can do anything properly. You were high! Still, high to be honest. Would he still be into you when he was sobering up?

Finding out is the last thing on your list. Fitting yourself as his best friend after your quiet crush was one thing. Doing that after he's taken back being into you was another. You didn't want to think about what a disaster that would be, you'd rather just go home and sleep.

Jin is turning to happily greet you as you make your way downstairs, while Joon makes room for you on the couch. Taehyung doesn't look up, cheeks flushed and eyes glued to his knees. You'd give everything to know what he's thinking.

“Yn! Tae said you were here. We're gonna open Monopoly, wanna play?” It's an invitation from Jin that you'd usually be jumping at. Claiming your designated money bag piece without a thought, so he's shocked when you're shaking your head. “Think I'm gonna just head home, turn in early.”

Tae looks up at the sound of your departure, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He had hoped you would want to stay, so he could have a chance to talk to you properly. Tell you how he was feeling even if he didn't fully understand it yet. He wanted to tell you that he liked you and he wanted to hear you say it back.

Let you know that he wanted to try to be good at relationships because he wanted to try with you. He's standing with that in mind, shrinking back when you're looking at him. There before did he feel nervous around you, but with all this weighing on his chest, he doesn't know how else to feel.

“Let me walk you home,” He offers, it's a twenty-minute walk across campus. Enough time for him to talk to you... or just be around you for longer.

You're shaking your head, though. Pushing an easy smile onto your lips. “It's fine. I texted Jimin,” It's a lie and he knows it is, but he doesn't call you on it. Obvious that you didn't want to be around him. Most likely regretting the whole thing.

Nodding as he plops back down beside Jin. He watches as you pull your shoes back on, throwing a quick goodbye over your shoulder before stepping out. Not even sparing a proper look in his direction. A huff leaves his lips as he sinks into the couch, hands tugging through his hair.

He really screwed up.

>> PART TWO COMING...SATURDAY.

— you’ve always been cute, soft, tiny in taehyung’s eyes. but that’s changing one night when you’re accidentally sending him a naughty picture. forcing him to realize, maybe his best friend is kinda… hot?

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#taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #bts smut #🔥 sm au #taehyung fic #taehyung sm au #taehyung imagine #taehyung angst #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #jeon jungkook #namjoon #jin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #jungkook #bts #bts imagine #bts sm au #namjin #jikook

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I love your long posts which make for great reading and I wish you could do more because you’ve got such a range of astonishing interests. I’m hoping because you’ve served in the military you would have studied military thinkers. Do you think the Art of War by Sun Tzu is way overrated by everyone? I studied him a bit for my masters but I still couldn’t get my head around him. Interested to know your thoughts. Thanks!

“To lift an autumn hair is no sign of great strength; to see the sun and moon is no sign of sharp sight; to hear the noise of thunder is no sign of a quick ear." - Sun Tzu's Art of War, Chapter IV - Tactical Disposition, Clause 10.

Sounds cool, doesn’t it?

But what the hell does this quote really mean? Do you know what it means? Can anyone else tell me?

Look, I enjoy a good Sun Tzu quote as the next person. Only recently I was exchanging thoughts with a fellow blogger whose studying Thucydides, Clausewitz, and Kissinger for an advanced course at the US Naval War College. Even he prefers Sun Tzu over Clausewitz. I can see why too. If you can make sense of chapter one of Clausewitz’s tome On War you deserve a Nobel Prize.

Unlike my very learned fellow blogger, there are lot of folk who don’t know Sun Tzu at all. They can quote him, but almost certainly out of context. As someone who partly grew up in the Far East and even learned Chinese and Japanese (a pitiful but functional degree of fluency) I’m embarrassed (not hard since I’m English) when I hear other Western compatriots romanticise and elevate Eastern icons to mythic status that the Chinese themselves have never done.

I am even more bemused than embarrassed after having hung up my military uniform for ‘civvy’ corporate clothing at how badly abused Sun Tzu’s book is in the corporate world. In my workplace I grit my teeth at corporate high flyers who mistake a balance sheet for a real battlefield by quoting Sun Tzu out of their arse, and then as self-styled ‘corporate warriors’ work themselves up in a lather of testosterone induced self-importance to crush their corporate enemies into the dust.

This is why the The Art of War by Sun Tzu has invited a jaundiced eye roll. And rightly so. I can see why many view Sun Tzu as over-rated because many easily impressed people go all woo woo over anything ancient and Eastern.

It’s become a familiar trope to say the art of ‘strategy’ as a science began 2,500 years ago with the writing of The Art of War. I would dispute this. Not that the writing of Art of War was the earliest written but whether I would call it a manual of strategy per se - more on this below in my answer.  However you rate or overrate the Art of War it’s important to have perspective and remember this book is written in 512 BC. Other than the bible and some religious books, there are not many books that can survived thousands of years and still remains a steady bestseller and enjoys a wide influence in military academies and army staff colleges today and even as far into board rooms.

The question behind your question is just as interesting to me: why did Sun Tzu and his Art of War gain such traction in the West?

Sun Tzu (544-496 BC) wrote the original text of The Art of War shortly before 510 BC. During most of the past two thousand years, the common people in China were forbidden to read Sun Tzu's text. However, the text was preserved by China's nobility for over 2,500 years. The Chinese nobility preserved the text of The Art of War, known in Chinese as Bing-fa, even despite the famous book-burning by the first Emperor of Chi around 200 BC. The text was treasured and passed down by the Empire’s various rulers. Unfortunately, it was preserved in a variety of forms. A "complete" Chinese language version of the text wasn't available until the 1970s. Before that, there were a number of conflicting, fragmentary versions in different parts of China, passed down through 125 generations of duplication.

Indeed at the beginning of the twentieth century, there were two main textual traditions in circulation, known as the (Complete Specialist Focus) and (Military Bible) versions. There were also perhaps a dozen minor versions and both derived and unrelated works also entitled Bing-fa. Of course, every group considered (and still considers) its version the only accurate one.

When I last visited China before the Covid pandemic for work reason, I had time off to go to a couple of museums that housed the fruits of a number of archeological digs uncovering the tombs of the ancient rulers of China in which sections of Sun Tzu’s works were found. These finds have verified the historical existence of the text and the historical accuracy of various sections. I understand new finds are still being made.

The first complete, consistent Chinese version was created in Taipei in the 1970s. It was titled The Complete Version of Sun Tzu’s Art of War." It was created by the National Defence Research Investigation Office, which was a branch of Taiwan's defence department. This version compared the main textual traditions to each other and to archeological finds and compiled the most complete version possible.

This work was completed in Taiwan rather than mainland China for a number of reasons. Mainland China was still in the throws of the Maoist Cultural Revolution, which actively suppressed the study of traditional works such as Sun Tzu. The mainland had also moved to a reformed character set, while Taiwan still used the traditional character set in which the text was written. Only today is the study of Sun Tzu in mainland China growing, interestingly enough, through the translation of Sun Tzu into contemporary Mandarin. Based on the archeological sources we have today, we are reasonably certain of the historical accuracy of this compiled version that is the basis of what most people use today.

Surprisingly, the Art of War only came to light in the West around the 18th Century.  

Historians believe it was first formally introduced in Europe in 1772 by the French Jesuit Joseph-Marie Amiot. It was translated at the time by the title “The thirteen articles of Sun-Tse”. Joseph-Marie Amiot (1718-1793) was not just a Jesuit priest but also an astronomer and French historian, as well as fervent missionary in China. He was one of the last survivors of the Jesuit Mission in China (he died in Beijing).

Many of the historical problems with understanding Sun Tzu's work can be trace back to its first Western translation in French. A Jesuit missionary, Father Amiot, first brought The Art of War to the West, translating it into French in 1782. Unfortunately, this translation started the tradition of mistranslating Sun Tzu's work, starting with the title, The Art of War (Art de la guerre).

This title, copied the title of a popular work by Machiavelli (a criminally underrated writer on military strategy), but it didn't reflect Sun Tzu's Bing-fa, which would be better translated as "competitive methods."

We cannot say what effect being translated by a Jesuit priest had upon the text. It was unavoidable that the work's translation reflected the military prejudices of the time era when war was both popular and Christian. It was also unavoidable that most future translations would reflect some of the first translation's prejudices. However, war was on the verge of becoming much less Christian in the West since this time was the era of the French Revolution (1789).

The work might well of slipped into obscurity after its initial publication, but it was discovered by a minor French military officer. After studying it, this officer rose to the head of the revolutionary French army in a surprising series of victories. The legend is that Napoleon used the work as the key to his victories in conquering all of Europe. It is said that he carried the little work with him everywhere but kept its contents secret (which would be very much in keeping with Sun Tzu's theories).

However, Napoleon must have started believing his own reviews instead of sticking with his study of Sun Tzu. His defeat at Waterloo was clearly a case of fighting on a battleground that the enemy, Wellington, knew best. Wellington’s trick at Waterloo was hiding his forces by having them lie down in the slight hollows of this hilly land. This is exactly the type of tactic Sun Tzu warns against in his discussion of terrain tactics.

After Napolean, Sun Tzu's theories made their way into western military philosophy. Many of his ideas are reflected in the ideas of work of Carl von Clausewitz. who defined military strategy as "the employment of battles to gain the end of war."

The first English translation of The Art of War is less than a hundred years old. Captain E. F. Calthrop published the first English translation in 1905. Lionel Giles, an assistant curator at the British Museum and a well-known sinologist and translator, attacked this early translation, and he published his own version in 1910. It soon began to be read alongside Clausewitz’s 8 volumes of turgid German military prose.

It wasn’t long before military thinkers were ditching Clausewitz for Sun Tzu because no one could get past Chapter One of Clausewitz’s On War. The “Clausewitz is dead, long live Sun Tzu” school was first championed by the influential British military theorist B.H. Liddell Hart in the 1920s.  Basil Henry Liddell Hart (1895-1970) was a captain in the British Army. He was a very influential military theorist and historian, and author of several books such as The Future of War (1925) and Strategy (1954). Having witnessed first-hand the mechanised onslaught of the Great War, Liddell Hart sought a philosophy of warfare based in the prudent use of technology, psychology and deception - and the avoidance of the 'total war' catastrophes of preceding decades.

The main idea of Liddell Hart is to bring the set of principles of warfare in a so-called ‘indirect approach’ to the enemy. His advocacy in his scholarly work of an ‘indirect strategy’ over direct, frontal operations, was a reaction to the high casualties of the Western Front in the First World War. But his ideas were not simply about physically outmanoeuvring an opponent. Instead he pushed for a psychological scheme: to strike from unexpected directions, to generate strategic dissonance, and to induce paralysis. Hart’s well-known thoughts are “Only short-sighted soldiers underestimate the importance of psychological factors in time of war”, “Originality is the most important from all military virtues”, and “The principles of war could shortly be condensed in a single word: concentration”. 

Liddell Hart believed that distilling historical insights of strategy and operations would offer the chance to avoid the costly disasters of modern war and ensure a more cost-effective route to success. He imagined technological solutions in the form of air power and mechanised land forces outflanking and shocking an enemy at the tactical level. This would be complemented by taking indirect strategic ‘ways’. Like his contemporary J.F.C. Fuller, Liddell Hart considered concentrations of air and armoured forces driving deep into enemy territory to destroy their ‘nervous system’. The psychological aspects of this were central, since acquiring an advantage demanded moves that were unexpected, with precise attacks at the most vulnerable points. As the most influential military writer of the modern age, revered and reviled by three generations of strategists, armchair and armipotent, his controversial theories of armed attack laid the foundation of the famed German Blitzkrieg.

Hart’s championing of Sun Tzu’s work as articulated through his own works got a new lease of life as the world gingerly settled into the ice bath of the Cold War. The rise of Communist China, against all the odds having defeated the well disciplined nationalist armies of Chian kai-Shek, was a wake up call for the West. There was a general befuddlement among western military analysts to explain the secret of Maoist success. There was an intellectual inquest in the 1950s and 1960s for some way to explain (and, it was hoped, learn to counter) Maoist military doctrine. Sun Tzu was seen as one of the historical and cultural sources of some particularly Chinese or Asian way of war, and his work made its way into Western discussions of counterinsurgency and asymmetric warfare.

Into the breach - and with fortuitous timing - appeared a new translation of The Art of War that was to become the defining translation right down to our day. Liddel Hart provided the foreword to Samuel Griffth’s 1963 translated copy of the Art of War. It was to quickly become a key text in US war colleges and this version is still to this day favoured by most of these institutions. We also studied Griffith’s translation at Sandhurst alongside Liddell Hart’s ideas.

There is no question that Griffith’s translation has become the standard go to translation to this day in military circles - that is until James Clavell’s more populist and looser translation came along in the 1980s. One can see why. Griffith’s translation provided a number of historical Chinese commentaries on the text. It should also be noted that Griffith’s strengths was his immense experience in the military and knowledge of military history as a brigadier general in the U.S. Marine Corps.

However, this was also his version's greatest flaw. Like many other critics I have the impression that Griffith did not really believe or understand all of Sun Tzu. Indeed he would often explain away Sun Tzu's direct statements without making it clear that this was his commentary and not what Sun Tzu wrote. The other main criticism and this one is stylistic and therefore just my opinion, Griffith was also not much of a writer. By our standards today, much of Griffith’s language can seem awkward and dated.

Looking back it feels ironic of the US military were wrapping their heads around Sun Tzu as way to get inside the Chinese communist mind (of Mao the military strategist especially). Unknown to them Mao had desperately tried everything to get hold of a copy of the Art of War from the Chinese Nationalists. Cambridge historian and doyenne of intelligence history, Christopher Andrew in his book The Secret World: A History of Intelligence, wrote that the theory that Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was critical to mastering contemporary warfare is propagated through the use of a tantalising anecdote: “During the civil war between Communists and the Kuomintang regime [Mao Zedong] sent aides into enemy territory to find a copy of it.” The ancient text, ostensibly, was of such vital importance that Mao was willing to risk men’s lives to obtain it, while Chiang Kai-shek vowed to protect it all costs. It’s a questionable anecdote at best as there are no historical evidence of it.

We can say that the notion that Sun Tzu’s slim treatise is considered both potent and slightly dangerous - providing the master key to unlocking victory in war through the ages - is a compelling myth that refuses to die. Mao most likely never ordered a clandestine operation to pilfer the text, nor did Chiang Kai-shek give any thought to shielding its contents from prying eyes. Both men certainly read it long before the start of their civil war, both most likely had ready access to it during the conflict, and neither man won or lost based on adherence or divergence from its teachings. But undoubtedly it set the hearts of Western military theorists aflutter in trying to unlock the secrets of Eastern military thought.

Sun Tzu and his ideas in a reincarnated form took hold of the wider public imagination in the 1980s. The 1980s was synonymous with Japan. With the perceived rise of Japan as a global economic power and the changes in post-Mao China, there was a Western (meaning American) search for more explanations. What was the secret of Asia’s rise? How were Japan and China ‘doing’ this?

In Western business circles it was for a time trendy to read it because of the perception that it was part of what made Japanese businesses so successful during the 70s and 80s. Management gurus and other corporate consultants certainly latched on to it and touted it as a way for Western businesses to re-orient their entire management and business philosophy. I don’t know if that ever actually was the case in Japan - my father who worked in both China and Japan in the corporate world at a very senior level said it wasn’t - but what is true is that in the West as the Japanese economy languished into the lost decade of the 90s so too did interest in Japanese business practices, and thus Sun Tzu.

The idea that The Art of War was a kind of how-to guide to ‘strategy’  was made especially popular by Hollywood in the 1980s. Oliver Stone’s iconic film ‘Wall Street’ seemed to typify the ‘greed is good’ New York capitalist scene of the 80s and 90s. Hollywood mirror imaged the rise of the corporate raiders and junk bond kings like Ivan Boesky and Michael Milken. Hollywood sent thousands of American businessmen off to read Sun Tzu to look for ‘leadership secrets’. This is part of a general Western fascination with ‘timeless Asian wisdom’, the American idea that ‘the mysterious East’ is possessed of secret knowledge. American and European businessmen were enamoured of the idea that “a battle is won or lost before it ever begins”, a saying that reinforced traditional American business attitudes about a winning mentality and a ‘can-do’ spirit being two keys to success.

Because Japan and China were trendy in the 1980s and 1990s it also influenced Western popular culture, not just fashion (think Kenzo) but also comic books (manga) and anime. In this Eastern friendly climate it led a number of popular fiction authors to release their ‘own’ versions of the work to capitalise on its newfound popularity. These versions were more about the pop culture of the era than Sun Tzu. Unfortunately, though popular, none of these versions took advantage of the work completed in Taiwan creating a definitive version of Sun Tzu's text by this time. These versions were based either on old English translations (the Calthorp and Giles versions) or incomplete Chinese sources. However, all of these versions remain popular today, despite their questionable sources and poor quality of translation.

In 1983, James Clavell updated The Art of War translation of Lionel Giles and published it in a very popular version. This started a very common practice in English translation: creating a ‘new’ version from other English translations instead of going back to the original source. Authors today continue to follow this practice, which only perpetuates and exaggerates the problems with early translations.

Thomas Cleary, another well-known author, did his own The Art of War translation with historical commentary in 1988. Again, his name recognition did much to increase awareness of Sun Tzu, even if his work did nothing to improve the general quality of the translation.

Looking back the whole Sun Tzu as a business model fetish in the 1980-90s was really pretty silly, rather like 80s shoulder pads. Of course, there are some similarities in leadership regardless of profession, but the basic goals and working environments of war and of business are so wildly different that applying Sun Tzu to business is superficial at best.

So to me the problem is not that Sun Tzu is ‘overrated’ per se, the problem is that every half baked author out there try to apply its principles to every problems that mankind have. The Art of War, as the title suggest, is not The Art of Managing your Business, the Art of Winning in Competition against your classmates, The Art of picking up Women, The Art of Living Life to the fullest. It is, and only is, The Art of War. It is ‘overrated’ only if you expect it to answer every problems in your life.

The Art of War is not the word of God. It is a war manual advocating common sense with pithy aphorisms - and a very good one.

It’s not that I think the Art of War is over-rated it’s that the more common problem is that many people vastly under-rate Sun Tzu. By misreading Sun Tzu thoughts and ideas, I believe many are in effect under-rating the problems which Sun Tzu is addressing, namely war, or the continuum of conflict resolution where divergence in interests of multiple parties extends to the possible use of lethal force on a massive scale. A lot of people trivialise this problem with idiocies like “what if someone threw a war and nobody came” (clue, they would win, then hunt down and enslave or kill everyone too foolish to contest the issue, as has happened countless times in human history) or “ban war” (said ban apparently enforced by throwing flowers at soldiers).

Understanding that war is a very real and intractable problem is necessary to fully appreciate the genius of Sun Tzu’s work, especially where it avoids fixed and easily definable tactics specific to the Warring States period and instead illustrates timeless concepts of out-thinking the enemy at every level of conflict. That the text is still mostly readily applicable or at least reasonably insightful after thousands of years is a testament to the inability of humans to push warfare beyond the fundamental aspects of conflicting interests and continuum of forcible resolution Sun Tzu addresses.

Still, the particular translation matters far less than having an appreciation that, in war, you have an active opponent who is trying to out-think and counter any moves you make, and having an appreciation of non-dualistic philosophical reasoning more characteristic of Chinese classics generally. The classic symbol of Yin-Yang (and a number of derivative versions) illustrates apparent dualism as being a part of a deeper structural unity which does not permit a fixed division into separate parts.

Hence the difficulty of applying the principles of the Art of War to artificial ideas of “winning/losing” (or war/peace, right/wrong, us/them) as categorical absolutes rather than negotiated possibilities in a continuum of desirability/costs. And it is very difficult, no one should sugar coat that. Humans sort and construct their perceptions of reality by appeal to such gross simplifications. Binary logic is an immensely powerful tool in many areas because it leverages the ability to simplify complexity and then build valid inferences based on fixed premises. But at some point you have to go beyond that to have a more fluid response to reality as it is. Which Sun Tzu does for the reality of war.

I would recommend anyone to read it. At the end of the day it’s a book of highly general aphorisms that effectively synopsise the essential insights that apply to all kinds of human conflicts. Turning an enemy's flank has the exact same effect in 2500 B.C. and in 2000 C.E. and it has the same effect in the boardroom, or public market as it does on the battlefield. Deception and intelligence are still used in exactly the same way, whether conquering foreign lands, or stealing market share from a competitor. It's a book about common sense; but common sense must seem profound to those who have none.

Overall, I think Sun Tzu’s Art of War is a worthy read and not overrated because in our society of over educated achievers, common sense is in as short of supply as it has ever been; if this book can provide the meaningful framework for educating very bright people in down to earth common sense, that can only be a good thing.

The value of the book then is to drive home the fact that, in human conflict, there really is Nothing New Under the Sun (Tzu).

Pardon the pun and thanks for your question.

#question #ask #sun tzu #military history #book #philosophy #china #culture #the art of war #war #military #warfare #strategy #society #literature #america #britain #japan

[izusun]

*hands you an AU dump to hoard like a little goblin handing a small coin to a dragon*

OKAY so basically: after the doctor's visit where Izuku learns he's quirkless (I hc that they went when he was about five n' a half), Inko does a little bit of research on quirks and more specifically on her son's notebooks, learns that he's even more brilliant at quirk analysis than she originally suspected, and (after looking at some not great quirkless statistics) she instead informs Izuku that no, he's had a quirk all along! It's an analysis quirk!

So she updates the quirk registry, and Izuku goes through his life believing he has an analysis quirk, albeit teased for being a late bloomer, but he still can't shake the insecurity being quirkless for that one and a half year gave him.

He does research on all sorts of things, hacking, knife throwing, first aid, and building his own support gear and takes to all of it like a duck to water. He also does research on UA's policy for support gear in the entrance exam (cause surely they've gotta have a policy for non-offensive quirks like Koda and Hagakure) and finds that he can take one with him if he builds it himself. He goes fuckin bonkers.

Anyways: he trains with Katsuki, cause they're relationship is pretty good since Izuku has a 'quirk.' They both demolish the entrance exam. (Also Izuku kinda swears a lot because Katsuki rubs off on him)

Aizawa doesn't notice a goddamn thing is amiss until the battle trials on the second day (he decides to shadow All Might that day), where when he was using his quirk to silence his students while Izuku was rambling, he just didn't stop, as if he didn't notice anything was wrong. It happens again during the USJ.

So at some point during the sports festival, Nedzu (who is now intrigued because of Aizawa's complaining) invites Izuku into his office during a free period and lets him go ham on analysis, all while Aizawa is secretly there erasing Izuku's 'quirk.' Nedzu invites Izuku to be his personal student (making Aizawa go grey), he says yes, and then Nedzu drops the absolute BOMBSHELL that Izuku is actually quirkless. Cue an existential crisis.

(Also Izuku gets captured at the training camp alongside Katsuki because of his "analysis quirk," wonder how well that goes for him~)

- Goblin anon (sorry this one was kinda long)

GOBLIN?? DUDE???? HOLY SHIT I KNEW YOUR AUS ARE ALWAYS PHENOMENAL BUT THIS RIGHT HERE??? D U D E

i misunderstood the prompt a bit but i genuinely don’t know how to backtrack, so here you go goblin. sorry again o(TヘTo)

ok first of, inko taking on a stronger stance to support her son? love that of her. like, she doesn’t say sorry when izuku turned to look at her and cried that he can’t be like all might. instead, she took him in her arms and assures him that he will be a great hero. at first, of course half of it is lip service because she doesn’t know how to help her quirkless boy be a hero, since, you know, heroes need quirks.. (or do they)

and then she comes across a quirkless self help group which rang many many warning bells in her head. what kind of life do quirkless people live when a google research of them resulted in subsequent pages of results like how to stay safe when quirkless, or how to find jobs when quirkless, or quirkless mortality rates?

she fears for izuku, until she notices that her son’s smart. too smart for his age, but inko thought she’s just being biased. but izuku’s wit is something many people notice, for an instance, when izuku goes to the park to play and his friends’ (the few ones who stayed) parents tell her that her son’s smart for a quirkless person, she realizes that izuku’s wit is far more vast than normal.

then a thought worms into her head but wouldn’t it be bad to lie…but also, no one would be any the wiser.

further pushed by all the statistics she keeps seeing, or the lack thereof, about quirkless people, she makes the decision and pours it to izuku.

izuku who’s far smarter than his age and understood what his mom is asking from him. izuku who already saw the disparities between quirked and quirkless people at the tender age of five. izuku who knows what it means to lie about something as personal as a quirk, but realizes that it’s necessary for him to do so if he wants to live a “normal” life.

so he agrees; he tells inko that he’ll work even harder to sharpen his mind, and to keep expanding his knowledge.

when izuku’s quirk file is officially updated, he watches how his peers and teachers revert back into treating him as izuku. he regains his old friends, but he chose to drop them because he doesn’t want to surround himself with people who thought he was less for being quirkless.

katsuki stayed, surprisingly. katsuki stayed and everyday he kept bothering izuku to “get your quirk already!” katsuki stayed because he can’t fathom that the smartest boy in their class (of course not as smart as him, psshh) is quirkless. deku couldn’t be quirkless. (but if he found out that izuku, indeed, is, i wonder what would happen…)

katsuki was one of the loudest to celebrate when izuku announced that his quirk arrived.

“finally!” he screams and bothers izuku about the semantics of his quirk. he really wasn’t surprised to find out that izuku has an analysis quirk because he thought that nothing else would better be suited for izuku.

he doesn’t know that izuku pours so much of his time into learning and studying, often bypassing basics and intros to take more of the developed courses that are usually recommended for older ages. he doesn’t know that izuku is just a naturally smart kid with the ability to fill the gaps of his young mind with knowledge upon knowledge, storing and stacking them until he feels that he’s laid a sturdy foundation for his fake quirk.

then izuku began threading into different areas. he learns how to get into cyberspaces; hacking into accounts and delving more into how to access private information. he doesn’t thread too close lest he gets caught, but he learns the logistics of maneuvering around the web and burrowing in empty spaces to branch out his own. he creates and designs web algorithms for himself, just so he doesn’t trigger anyone who is looking into the web movements. he hones this and uses it to access more information.

then when he deems it enough, he turns his attention to something more tangible and something more physical. he learns other ways to be a hero; how to fight without a physical quirk, how to win against bigger opponents, how to use analysis quirk in fights.

izuku becomes more than a fake analysis quirk user; he creates it.

mental quirks are hard to describe, more so to compress, thus he creates new definitions of an analysis quirk. what used to be a silly lie is now a tangible fact that izuku believes in. because what makes a quirk? because what makes analysis a quirk? he learns these semantics (often political) and uses it to his advantage.

then he finally threads to hero analysis. at first it were classmates he analyzed; eyes running quickly at their forms and watching with great interest before calculating everything he’s seen and transversing it with the things he learned, and bridges these two facts together to create an analysis. it was a struggle at first: he didn’t know which to put emphasis on until he realizes, he doesn’t need to. he weaves them together and lets his analysis run long and watches how his hobby comes into fruition.

following his classmates are current heroes. these were more tough and more fun, and any of the information is less shared. he doesn’t tell his classmates or teachers about his analyses, only katsuki. and katsuki’s breath hitch every damn time at izuku’s talent quirk.

it is in their second year of middle school that midoriya begins to incorporate the facts with himself to create physical performances. the issues and things he learned through observing are now practiced by himself. he calculates the best way to fight with a body as petite as his, often taking examples from pro-hero hawks and other women heroes. their agilities and physicality suit izuku’s young body; he doesn’t see the merit in punching his way through things when he physically cannot.

so he learns ways to ease his muscles. he learns ballet and gymnastics; lets his muscles contort and mend themselves anew. he finds his balance and roots himself firmly, and learns to calculate his actions so he doesn’t waste his energy. katsuki doesn’t say anything, but he sees izuku’s dance and falls in love.

then in the spring of their third year of middle school, izuku learns how to build and handle weapons.

this is the easiest. izuku learns that weapons aren’t tools, but extensions of his arms and hands. they are not to be revered and not to be depended on because they can fail. instead, he learns to wield weapons as though they are parts of his bodies. he learns how to use swords and often narrowing to wooden sticks that can be picked up anywhere; he learns how to fire guns and how to hide daggers in his uniform. he learns that his body is the best weapon to use and that tools are just arsenal to help him win.

then he learns how to build them.

by summer, izuku begins reaching into UA’s servers. they are hard codes to crack, but not impossible. it takes him five days to access old entrance exam videos. the next day, the videos are snuffed and he is left to try digging deeper into UA.

he fails.

nezu must have caught onto his codes and proceeded to build walls against it.

so he slithers out. but a five minute video of last year’s entrance exam is enough for izuku because he learns two things: one, heroes must defeat villains and two, heroes must save others.

izuku prepares for this. unknowingly, katsuki is taught these same principles. katsuki would grumble and tell him that he knows what heroes must do, but izuku continues to hammer it down to him.

by the time of the UA entrance exam, izuku falls into the ease of having a fake quirk. he passes the written exam with flying colours and although it took three teachers to approve his support gears (present mic had to pull in powerloader, midnight, and hound dog to ensure that the well designed support gears are made by the hero student examinee and not by a support student examinee. majima saw the works and begged nezu to allow izuku to be his student.), izuku still succeeds and dominates the entrance exam.

when the zero pointer was released, he had flung himself towards the girl crushed by debris and yanks her out. he doesn’t waste a modified grenade to explode the zero pointer because through his calculations, doing so would not only create more collateral damage, but would also endanger the examinee in his arms because she still would be caught in the crossfire.

nezu hums in appreciation from the screening room, after all, smart minds always do think alike.

izuku gets a whopping 92 in the physical aspects of the entrance exam.

katsuki gets 85.

aizawa gleefully takes them in.

izuku thinks that no one will ever know of his and inko’s secret, but one look at nezu’s beady eyes and he knew that the stoat knew. it became a game to them, then. a game to see who else would realize.

and while izuku is smart, he doesn’t realize that nezu has basically taken him as his personal student the moment he and izuku had created a bet.

it takes two months for aizawa to figure things out. surprisingly, he is the only one to do so and he only realizes due to the many untimely attacks of LoV.

——

how angst would it be if katsuki realizes that izuku’s always been quirkless during their captivity in the LoV’s hideout.

#goblin anon #my BELOVED #ask #this ones such a damn good au #bamf midoriya >>> #head empty just fake anslysis quirk user midoriya #bakugou going fish eyed at the realization that izukus always been quirkless #bakugou: so u lied to me #midoriya: and to everyone yeah #no bc bkg falling in love w midos hard work #n thinking that he would love midoriya no matter what then ‘no matter what’ happens to be midoriya being quirkless n now hes confused #bnha #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #slight #bakudeku #aizawa shouta #nezu #long post #like long

[thecyberiatea]

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

mha boys reacting to lipstick marks

—characters: tenya iida, eijirou kirishima, katsuki bakugou. (mha)

—cw:mildly suggestive content once you reach bakugou’s. nothing too bad.

—author’s note:reblogs are appreciated.

you had just got a new lipstick color when you went shopping with momo and some of the others at the mall. originally you had never intended to buy it. with the pretty gold packaging and rich wine color inside, it was totally out of your comfort zone, totally out of your budget too. the store you got it from was pretty expensive anyways. one of those places you went in just to browse and daydream about buying items. but instead momo had insisted on buying it for you.

you would have to do your best to think of ways to repay her for it too. even if she insisted it was unnecessary, the pricing of the item said otherwise. what was in this thing to make it so expensive anyways?! whatever it was, it seemed like you’d be wearing makeup much more often now. you needed to get the best use out of it after all. it clearly wasn’t something you couldn’t just keep and wear in “special occasions”. even if the color was the same as ones you had seen in stores many times before at a much cheaper price. now there was only thing left to test: was it smear-proof.

tenya iida

➷｡˚you and tenya were on pretty close terms. on a good day you would be able to wake up just early enough while iida was head out to the main building.

➷｡˚man the guy was fast, you would had to plead with him to hold on long enough while you tied your shoes or quickly searched for your jacket.

➷｡˚”y/n time is an key increment factor to a positive learning process. i can not have your scattered nature interfere with my education.”

➷｡˚great, a morning lecture and class hadn’t even start yet.

➷｡˚you didn’t blame him though. a very important test was coming up, and you could tell iida was stressing over it.

➷｡˚he still waited for you though. it was an important part of the class rep’s duty to guide others towards the proper education.

➷｡˚the walk over was pretty peaceful, he let you talk about your latest interests. very good listener:]

➷｡˚”iida thanks for walking with me this morning” “of course y/n it is my job as class rep to—“ *chu*

➷｡˚soft kiss on the cheek. leaving a wine red lipstick mark in his skin.

➷｡˚at first, iida didn’t even seem to react at all. which was pretty odd, slightly worrying even.

➷｡˚but then he touched his fingertips to his cheek, seeing the lipstick mark gently rub onto the pads of his fingertips.

➷｡˚his face went red almost immediately. seemed like reality was just now hitting him.

➷｡˚”y/n pda is highly inappropriate for a school setting!” hand chopping away as he rambled on about who knows what.

➷｡˚loved every second of it though, even if he didn’t wanna admit such a thing. dreaded when he had to excuse himself to the bathroom and attempt to clean the mark off his face.

➷｡˚ needless to say, you’d definitely be wearing more lipstick around the class rep.

eijioru kirishima

➷｡˚moment you walked into class he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

➷｡˚thought you looked really classy and stunning.

➷｡˚you’d even catch him gazing at you during class. but he didn’t seem to even try to hide it. just giving you a small wave and smile before turning back towards the board.

➷｡˚”new look?” “yep. you like it?” you asked with a teasing grin. “how could i not, you look amazing.”

➷｡˚casual flirting all day because of it.

➷｡˚”aw shit. i forgot my straw,” “you can have mine if you want y/n? i didn’t end up getting a drink.” “aw, thanks kiri!” *smooch*

➷｡˚kirishima went bright red. signature sunshine smile of his plastered over his face with a soft blush.

➷｡˚rest of the bakusquad were hollering and making a scene, needless to say they got stares.

➷｡˚kept the mark there basically the whole day till sero finally talked him into washing it off.

➷｡˚definitely wore it to show off like it was a top ranked award.

katsuki bakugou

➷｡˚mans literally loses it just when you stare at him too long.

➷｡˚you really were contemplating even kissing the guy or not. you didn’t know if you were preparing for what could come after.

➷｡˚the two of you were studying in the library, meaning bakugou had to be quiet—well quieter for the moment.

➷｡˚you were pretty bad with math, but thankfully bakugou was kind enough to show you have to do it.

➷｡˚”you got all that? cause i’m not explaining it again.” “yeah i think so. thanks bakugou—“

➷｡˚you have aimed to kiss his cheek. but bakugou had turned to face you. by then it was too late and you end up giving a slightly smeared and off centered kiss to his lips.

➷｡˚in all honesty it was pretty cute, despite how awkward the situation was.

➷｡˚his eyes widened in complete shock. only reason he didn’t burst out yelling was because the guy was deciding wether or not to beat your ass(his hands are rated e for everyone. no exceptions🤞🏾)

➷｡˚the guy basically flung out of his seat pulling you along with him. deep between the shelves where no one could see you two.

➷｡˚”bakugou i’m sorry i didn’t mean to aim for your—“ “shut up.”

➷｡˚before you knew it he was shoved against the wall, pretty roughly too.

➷｡˚he grabbed your chin, forcing you two to have face to face eye contact before he ran his thumb over your bottom lip with a soft hum.

➷｡˚it was so surprisingly gentle, he was smiling?!

➷｡˚all before roughly rubbing his thumb over your lips. leaving your lipstick a smeared mess.

➷｡˚”there. now we match.”

➷｡˚you wouldn’t even speak. hell you were blushing harder than him. eyes wide just struck in awe and complete embarrassment.

➷｡˚slightly degrading.

➷｡˚his expression soon dropped, mirroring yours once he realized what he had done.

➷｡˚he backed away and was immediately a flustered mess, bright red avoiding all eye contact with you as he shoved you right back into your place against the wall when you attempted to take a step forward.

➷｡˚”dont ever pull shit like that again.” he snapped before storming off in a hurry. wiping the mark off on his arm.

➷｡˚he didn’t regret the kiss. just was embarrassed over what came over him and caused him to do that.

#tenya iida #bnha iida #iida x reader #iida x y/n #iida x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #bakugou x gender neutral reader #bakugou x y/n #ejirou x reader #kirishima ejirou #kirishima fluff #mha kirishima #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #mha x reader #mha x gender neutral reader #mha x y/n #fluff #imagine #suggestive #bhna x reader #yeagerwrites

[tardis-ghost-blog]

A task to fail (Simm!Master x Reader)

Rating: E - For explicit sexual content Summary: "No. That's not another task." His hand stroked along your cheek and he smiled. "Just couldn't resist stealing a kiss from you."

Sometimes the Master brought a bunch of humans aboard the Valiant. It was fun to watch their various reactions, to walk around in front of them, grinning madly. Sometimes he let them look outside the window when he sew destruction, other times he told them horrifying stories about how they would die.

It was one of those times when you first entered the Valiant. The soldiers had captured you off the streets, had told that you had been chosen as a special guest for the prime minister. With you were two others. They all looked so scared. Sure, you had heard the stories, but they had never bothered you. Since the first day Saxon had appeared on telly, you had found him quite fascinating. There was just something about him that had always made you want to meet the guy.

This made you weirdly calm when he walked in, clad in a black suit, eyeing everyone with almost childish curiosity. After a minute he stood in front of everyone and grinned widely.

"Congratulations, humans!" he announced. "You have been proudly elected to become part of my staff up here. I'm afraid-" he put on a mocking put- "your predecessors have decided to quit the job."

You exchanged glances with the others and found even more fear in their eyes. Saxon clapped his hands to get your attention back.

"To make this more exciting, I will decide what your tasks will be. If you do them well, you might stay. If not... well. We will find an... arrangement." He let out a chuckle that simply sounded evil.

It was inappropriate, but the way he acted just got to you. You couldn't help but smile at this and Saxon saw it and trod directly in front of you.

"Is that funny?" he asked sweetly.

"You'll kill everyone who fails, won't you?" You hadn't really planned to say this, but you just had to know. "It's a game."

Maybe you shouldn't have sounded so excited about this. It also was your own life that was at risk.

"Oh, and you like games, little one?" Saxon bent slightly down to your eyelevel, which wasn't very high. "Are you begging to become my personal assistant?"

Wide eyed you glared at him. You wouldn't even make it a day! He would give you an impossible task and just smile this god-awful smile of his, that was far too charming.

Despite all of this... you nodded.

Saxon blinked surprised, then threw his head back and laughed.

You never learned what happened to the others and you never asked. Instead you focused on the given tasks and did you best to fulfil them properly. And, at the same time, tried to find out as much as possible about Saxon.

He made your life difficult, that's for sure. On your first few days he let you sort the library. First alphabetically, then, when he decided this was boring, he made you sort everything once again, this time by colours. So you arranged everything to form a bunch of quite pretty gradients.

Saxon stood there, one finger on his lips, head slightly tilted, nodding eventually. He gave you a happy grin. "That looks way better, don't you think? Well, I think it does. Good job."

There were other tasks. Tedious tasks that were meant to tire you, some that were like puzzles you needed to solve. But you wouldn't give up. He couldn't kill you, when he had no idea where you were. So, until you found a way to get or do what he wanted, you hid. Each time you came back successful, Saxon looked a little dumbfounded.

"Stubborn, aren't we?" he mumbled one day. Then a smirk spread on his lips. "How about you make me a cuppa tea? I could really use one."

Tea... That sounded weirdly normal and easy. He probably was extremely picky with how it was made.

"Mister Saxon, Sir," you said then. "How would you like the tea?"

He couldn't punish you for making it exactly how he ordered you to. And when he realized your intention, his eyes crinkled in joy. It made him look really handsome and you had a hard time not blushing.

In the end you made his tea to his exact liking. And you weren't sure whether he hated or adored you when he took the first sip. Whatever it was, it was followed by an amused chuckle. He gave you a smile and it made your heart jump.

"You really try to stay alive, eh?"

"Uhm... sure. I guess." You shrugged and couldn't help but smile a little. "But it's more fun to see how happy you look when I do something right."

That surprised him visibly. For a second something slipped and he looked almost lost, as if he had no idea what to make of this. You decided it was a good opportunity.

"I always thought you were an interesting man, Sir. I'm glad I could meet you."

Saxon arched a brow and took another sip. "You'll die here. You know that, don't you?" He waited for your nod. "It's fun to play with you. But sooner or later there will be a task you won't manage to complete." He cracked a crooked smile. "Almost a shame. I'm really having fun with you. You're not as stupid as the others."

"I had to fend for myself my entire life," you mumbled. And when he didn't stop you from talking, you dared to continue, "I... actually should thank you. Your soldiers killed my foster-dad. He used to beat me a lot. Because of him I never had any close friends and... no other family. There is nothing I could return to, anyway."

Saxon didn't say a word. However, from then on, he kept you around. To make him tea, to sort his files, to keep his office clean. But mostly, as it seemed, to learn more about you. He asked many questions and you never hesitated to answer. Because, in return, he gave answers of his own. And you learned so much. When he told you, one day, that he actually was an alien, you didn't have a hard time believing it.

"We look so alike, though," you said, eyeing him curiously.

"Oh, there are many differences." The Master - he had told you his real name - chuckled and reached for your hand to place it on his chest.

You blushed at the touch and your own heartbeat sped up, so it took you a few seconds to realize that his was somewhat strange. It was fascinating and made you smile.

He told you of the war, of how he had fought in it and then ran, how he had almost obsessively spent a lifetime doing literally nothing else, but to repair a rocket to a place that wasn't even real. And then he had landed here.

"Sounds like you didn't have a quiet minute since years," you muttered.

"Yah..." The Master sighed and leaned back on the sofa. Lately he was strangely tense around you, especially when you came too close. And still his eyes followed you everywhere, almost hungry. "No time to... rest." He growled to himself and closed his eyes.

"You're alright?" you asked and leaned down to him. "Want me to make more tea?"

The Master grinned with closed eyes. "No. But..." he paused and eyed you possessively, which sent a shiver down your spine. He shook his head. "You're fun. I quite like you, which is bad. That makes it really hard to break you."

"Why, thanks?" You laughed and poked his shoulder. "Come on. You've told me so much already. I don't think a little request would break me." You poked out your tongue. "I could manage all your stupid tasks. I'm sure I can manage to do one that actually means something to you."

"Yeah?" he giggled impishly, suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him. It made you lose balance and you almost fell. But you could stretch out your hand in time, which landed right next to the Master's head. And your face came close to his. So close you could get lost in his hazel eyes.

"You know... Time Lords are usually above such things." His thumb stroked over your wrist. "But you make this difficult. And it's been such a long time. With the war and everything."

You had no idea if you should stay in this position or move away. He was so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. Your eyes met, his gaze was intense, demanding without words. In that moment you didn't care if it would bring you in trouble, the urge was too great. So you leaned forward, only a little, brushed his lips with yours. He sighed, lids falling shut.

And suddenly he grabbed your sides with both hands and pulled you right into his lap. Surprised you yelped, but he left you no time for confusion, his mouth found yours, devouring it in a fierce kiss. Your hands landed on his shirt collar, stroked along the cloth to do something. His tongue pressed against your lips, demanded entrance, which you gave willingly.

There was a soft groan from him that let warmth pool into your belly, but at the same time seemed to snap him out of everything. He broke the kiss, both of you panting heavily. His irises were almost black, his look mischievous.

"Whoops," he breathed out.

"Yeah." You chuckled softly. "Whoops." Then you remembered something and pulled away a little. "What about your wife?"

The Master huffed. "Political marriage. We never... were close in any way."

Slowly your fingers trailed down his chest, your hands came to rest above his hearts that still were beating wildly. It made you proud and giddy that you could do this to him, made you crave more. You moved in his lap, just enough to feel yourself gliding over the bulge in his pants. That made him groan again, but surprisingly he stopped you with his grip.

"No. That's not another task." His hand stroked along your cheek and he smiled. "Just couldn't resist stealing a kiss from you."

You giggled at that and gave him a tongue-touched grin. "Since when are you so reluctant?"

He returned the grin, connected your foreheads. "I like the thought of how I could make you feel, how I could make you scream my name. But it needs to be real. It's no fun otherwise."

"Is that so?" You leaned forwards and captured his lips again, rocking against his crotch in the same movement.

The Master groaned openly into your mouth, one of his hands snaked to the small of your back to press you closer. The kiss got wilder, his tongue doing things to you that made your head light. He swallowed your soft moans, while his finger glided along your shoulders, every touch sending goose bumps down your spine. You shivered when he traced a line down your back, when he caressed your bare skin and opened the clips of your bra.

"Sure about this?" he brought out.

His eyes were so hungry for you, it was hard to tell if he would really stop would you say 'no'. And still you had a feeling that he would. Which got you aroused even more. So, instead of an answer, you reached a hand between you and cupped his erection, stroking firmly over his pants. He gasped, eyes falling shut.

For a bit he let you tease him like that, then he grabbed the hem of your jumper and pulled it over your head, together with the opened bra. His skilled hands moved to your breasts, caressing them, thumbs stroking over your nipples, making them harden almost instantly.

Somehow your lips met again, tongues dancing sensually. It wasn't fair that he was still clothed, so you unbuttoned his dress shirt, happy he didn't wear a jacket right now. You wanted skin, wanted to feel him, and quick.

You weren't the only impatient one, however. Without a warning, the Master grabbed your bum and lifted you from him to drop you on your back on the sofa. His fingers slipped under the waistband of you jeans, eliciting a new groan from you, before he grabbed your feet to get rid of the shoes and then, finally pulled your jeans down, together with your soaked knickers.

His eyes roamed over your naked body, took in every detail with awe. You sat up then and unbuttoned his own pants, while he kicked off shoes and threw away the belt. Curiosity grew in you, making you wonder if Time Lords actually were... compatible with humans. It certainly had felt like it, and when you pulled down his pants you weren't disappointed.

"Like what you see?" he asked, wolfishly grinning.

"Oh, a lot."

"Then move aside, will you?"

You did, making space on the sofa, only to find yourself sitting in his lap again a second later. Feeling him skin to skin made your head even lighter than before. You started to move against him, then wrapped your hand around his erection to glide up and down his full length. Your thumb stroked over the tip, made him sigh out a moan. His fingers were on you clit at the same time, drawing circles that spiked your lust to new peeks. Oh, you wanted to have him inside you. You couldn't wait any longer. It was unbearable.

You groaned and kissed his half opened lips. "I need you. Want you."

"Say my name," he breathed against your mouth.

"Master." His name stumbled over your lips like a plea and you could almost hear his patience snap.

Both of you moved in unison. He straightened a little and you sat up on your knees so he could guide himself inside you. Slowly you let yourself down again, feeling every inch of him fill you out completely. You both groaned, stayed still for a moment to adjust and simply savour the intensity of the moment.

His hands on your bum urged you to move, pressed you flush against him. You had never done it in this position and regretted it now. The friction was just perfect, or maybe it was only because of the Master. You built up a rhythm, moved on him with delight. He, on the other hand, nibbled his way down your throat, leaving small marks on your skin here and there, while his hands were either on your bum or your breasts.

The tension in you rose quickly, almost too fast. You wanted to enjoy this, wanted to savour every second of it, so you slowed down a little. The Master grabbed your sides and guided your movements, his clouded eyes fixated on yours. Slowly you rose, let him almost slip out of you, before he pulled you back close, making you feel him glide inside you again. It was something you both enjoyed and repeated once more, panting.

The Master wouldn't allow you a third time, captured your lips and pulled you down on him, made you move again with impatience, breath ragged. He must be as close as you were and the thought sent a shiver through your whole body, made you move just a little faster until there was no turning back and you came with his name on your lips, clenching around him and groaning into his mouth, riding out the orgasm until you felt his grip on you tighten and until he had to break the kiss as his own release washed over him.

It took you a small eternity to find back to your senses. You heard the Master's rapid double heartbeat, felt his grip soften, but only for a moment. He then lifted you from him a little to slip out of you and lay down on the sofa. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his look weirdly serene in that moment.

"How about we change our game a little?" he murmured. "If you fail a task I get to have you again."

You nestled against his chest and chuckled. "That's not fair. I'd have to fail on purpose, then."

"Mhm..." He smiled impishly. "Can't let a human win against me, after all."

"That's too bad. I'd get to win, no matter what." You glinted back at him, mirroring the mischief.

The Master scowled, mockingly pursed his lips, then captured yours in a sweet, short kiss. His fingers gently trailed along your spine, drew circles on your skin until your breath hitched.

"I think I still win this," he muttered.

#the master x reader #doctor who #fanfiction #Smut #The Master #reader insert #second person pov #simm!master

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

 It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk. 

 “Erwin here?”

 The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

 Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

 Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead. 

 He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

 “What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy. 

 You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different. 

 “I needed to talk to you about something.”

 Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

 You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

 He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?” 

 “Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

 He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

 “You can shut it then.”

 Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you. 

 “Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

 Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!” 

 Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

 “And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

 Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

 You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping. 

 “That motherfucker,” he grunts.

 “What?”

 “You blocked his number.”

 “What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

 He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

 Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

 “Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

 “My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

 You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

 If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

 Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list. 

 “Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal. 

 “Have what?”

 “Tinder.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

 That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced. 

 Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself. 

 “Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

 Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

 “Probably.”

 “Might be a little difficult now, though.”

 Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

 Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

 You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

 Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

 You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

 But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process. 

 “It, uh… It gets worse.”

 Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

 Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry. 

 “I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

 Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling. 

 Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her. 

 “Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

 Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

 You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest. 

 There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him. 

 “Come on.”

 “W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

 “I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

 You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person. 

 “Fine, but put a shirt on.”

 “Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

 You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

 You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand. 

 “We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze. 

 It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

*

 Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous. 

 He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy. 

 "Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand. 

 "Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

 You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

 "I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable. 

 "Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

 "I'll be there, Nile."

 "Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

 Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth. 

 "So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back. 

 "Don't fucking tell me."

 Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

 "She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good. 

 "Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

 "How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

 "Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

 "Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

 "Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

 "I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

 "Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?" 

 "Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever." 

 It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it. 

 "Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

 "I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

 "As a distraction?" 

 Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?" 

 The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party." 

 It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house. 

 Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight. 

 Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on. 

 When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party. 

 Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him. 

 So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this? 

 And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink. 

 Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit. 

 She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?" 

 No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight. 

 They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism. 

 They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin. 

 Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you. 

 Oh, you don't like her. 

 "Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?" 

 Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

 "Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

 "Kind of?" You try. 

 Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?" 

 Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible. 

 Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

 Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe. 

 "Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

 "Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

 "I don't think that's really—"

 "Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd. 

 "What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits. 

 "You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes. 

 "Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out. 

 For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands. 

 He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you. 

 "The fuck do you want, Jaeger?" 

 "Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?" 

 Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt. 

 "Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back. 

 "He's not worth it, Mike."

 Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

 He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and  the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights. 

 He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead. 

 It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him. 

 He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger. 

 You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now. 

 So he drinks. 

 He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

 Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch. 

 "What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

 Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him. 

 "I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

 "I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!" 

 Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in. 

 "What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?" 

 "No!" 

 "Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

 He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms. 

 "Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head. 

 Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?" 

 Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

 "Are you serious?" 

 Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile. 

 "I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!" 

 Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again. 

 "Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks. 

 "Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

 "Including you."

 Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him. 

 "Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?" 

 "Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests. 

 Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty). 

 Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak. 

 "What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

 Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice. 

 "It's just Adderall, I swear!"

 Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren. 

 "Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

 He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up. 

 Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen. 

 "They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile. 

 "Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

 "Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

 Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time. 

 Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way. 

 "Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back. 

 It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause. 

 "Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink. 

 He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind. 

 It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets. 

 He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts. 

 Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

 *

 "God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in. 

 Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels. 

 A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again. 

 "Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

 "No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

 You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction. 

 "Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again. 

 "The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?" 

 "Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

 "Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic. 

 "I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him. 

 Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

 "He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker. 

 You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

 "Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

 "Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss. 

 He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand. 

 Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

 You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

 "What? No."

 "There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out." 

 Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea. 

 "Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

 "So?" 

 "Erwin."

 He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?" 

 "Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

 "Text me if you need help, alright?" 

 "You got it, boss."

 He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

 His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning. 

 How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass. 

 It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh. 

 People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place. 

 Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way. 

 More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of. 

 Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three. 

 Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep. 

 Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest. 

 After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it. 

 You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex. 

 You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

 It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long. 

 Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

 "Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

 "Nooo. No Miche."

 "Yes, Miche," you laugh. 

 He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again. 

 When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

 You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again. 

 "Okay. Just Mike then."

 He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again. 

 "You're a needy drunk, you know that?" 

 Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again. 

 "Sleep now," he mumbles. 

 "No, no sleep now."

 "Sleep now."

 "Oh my fucking god."

 His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water. 

 He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday. 

 Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self. 

 So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid. 

 He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much. 

 "President… dumb boyyy."

 "Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

 "Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr." 

 There's really no pleasing him. 

 "Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

 "Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

 You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you. 

 "You're fucking ridiculous."

 Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub. 

 "Jesus Christ, Mike."

 He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower. 

 "Water, pleeeease."

 He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them. 

 "No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

 Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle. 

 "Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

 The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

 So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist. 

 He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

 Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright. 

 "ευχαριστώ."

 "Come again?"

 "Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward. 

 You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways. 

 Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze. 

 "You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time. 

 "Dunno."

 "Can you tell who I am?" 

 Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

 "Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

 "That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun. 

 He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress. 

 Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel. 

 Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands. 

 "Can I help you?" 

 He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you. 

 "Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh. 

 Switching tactics, he pats his chest. 

 "Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

 Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

 Not like this. 

 "Please. No more vom. Promise."

 "I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

 He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants. 

 A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth. 

 This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin. 

 Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks. 

 "'m mad at you."

 Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting. 

 "I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

 Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep. 

 "Still love you."

 You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason. 

 "I love you too, Miche."

 Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake. 

 You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?" 

 "Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub. 

 Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

 "What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?" 

 He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!" 

 "You're disgusting."

 "Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

 God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint. 

 "Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep. 

 "Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off. 

 "We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

 Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

 You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

 It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day. 

 "Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub. 

 "He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts. 

 "Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add. 

 Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing. 

 "We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile. 

 "Probably."

 Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious. 

 It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look. 

 You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy. 

 There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him. 

 "'m still wet."

 "You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

 "Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

 "Know how it works, dumb… butt."

 "Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

 "Don't panotrize me!" 

 You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

 "That's what I said!" 

 It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard. 

 He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

 "All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?" 

 "Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

 "Why?" 

 "I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

 "Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair. 

 It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot. 

 He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours. 

 A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest. 

 Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed. 

 Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it. 

 You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

 The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #tw manipulation #tw vomit

[morgana-ren]

Pale Imitation

The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

Rating: E

Warnings: Porn, Masturbation, Yandere, Stalker Shigaraki, Shigaraki is a total creep, Rough sex, Noncon Fantasy/Roleplay

Preemptive Note: Before you continue I just want to note: I'm not a sex worker but I have nothing but the highest regard and respect for them. What ensues in this story is pure kink and fantasy and is not meant to reinforce any harmful/mean stereotypes what so ever. My personal fantasy is degradation and I can't really seem to get off without it so it's a majority of what I write, but I swear to you it was not written with the intent to insult or hurt anyone in the profession! I realize the hardships endured by the men/women/NB/GN in the adult sex work profession and this is just intended to be a pure sexual fantasy and is by no means attempting to reinforce or normalize toxic behaviors in the workplace.

Bad wig? Check .

Poor voice imitation? Check .

Shoddy, unsealed makeup that sloughs off onto the unfortunate scene partner’s skin? Check .

All the tell-tale signs of a bad porno but with one distinct peculiarity that drew his interest.

You know, this certainly wasn’t what he was expecting to see when he settled in for his first nightly wank. The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He’s no stranger to the villain kink page. Tons of civilians indulged in their darker fantasies through their nighttime excursions below their pantyline, and being a villain himself, naturally he was curious. Most of it is about what he’d expect. Villains, ancient and new, participating in copulation of all sorts. Some of it is that extremely out of character slow and romantic pornography. Other times, strangely enough, it’s the villains themselves getting taken advantage of. Sometimes by heroes, other times by random people, objects, or even tentacles. It’s interesting, to say the least.

Him though? He’d never seen himself in one, let alone being featured on the front page.

Up until recently, the media and all it’s sinful offshoots had opted to ignore him. However, his recent exploits must’ve caught the attention of the general public, and alongside it, the licentious denizens that dwell within. There had been a few forum posts, a little fan art (most of it flattering), and even a few oddly obsessive fangirls he’d come across. But this? Oh, now this was a whole new caliber.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

The guy they’d hired to play him was naturally a flat disappointment; Too bulky, and way too short. He could tell there was a classically handsome man underneath all that poorly done makeup that was meant to make him look pallid and dry. A sad, pathetic, and pale imitation of the real thing, missing some of his scars and moles entirely. The ashy gray wig they used to try to mimic his shaggy, unkempt hair had an awkward cowlick and kept flopping down too far on the actor’s forehead and looked far more dead than even his own unwashed mop. The voice he was using to mimic him was strained and scratchy, far too forced to be comfortable or even remotely realistic. If he had to place it, it sounded like the guy already had a terribly sore throat and had continued yelling for several hours to achieve the ‘desired’ effect.

He hadn’t expected much, but it was still disappointing. Though to be fair, they nailed the clothing, minus the brand of shoes he wears and the exact coat he’d chosen as his signature.

A part of him was ready to shut it off. Whatever lies ahead could only be utterly insulting, right? This grotesque pastiche lifelessly parroting his mannerisms was already curbing his sexual appetite toward something more violent, and not in the way he liked. Yet, out of sheer curiosity, he kept watching. What exactly did the average screenwriting porn cinematographer think he was into anyway?

It was a little ambiguous at first. At least until the shaky camera followed the Walmart brand Shigaraki knock-off down a generic hallway and into a borderline barren room, bringing into frame a quaking young woman tied up on a filthy mattress. After that, it became very quickly apparent just what type of smut he’d stumbled onto.

The camera zooms in on her face, tears leaking from her eyes and leaving trails of thick black makeup and mascara trailing down her cheeks, her begging and pleading muffled by a rag hastily stuffed in her mouth and secured with what appeared to be a bandana tied around her head. She’s clad in nothing but a flimsy tank top with the straps yanked down over her shoulders and a small pair of lace panties, covered in what appears to be made up lacerations and fake bruising. A nice touch, he notes.

He’ll admit, he’s intrigued now. It looks like they got one thing about him right, perhaps two now that he inspects the adult actress hired to play his unfortunate victim. She’s flattering, far more flattering than he expected given the low budget circumstances. Her watery eyes and quaking body coupled with the slight rope burn embedding into her chafing skin is enough to get his legs stirring and his pants tightening. She looks so pretty, so vulnerable behind all the waterworks and thick stage makeup. He thinks, just maybe, he might be able to get into this if he hyper focuses on her.

As his imposter approaches, she pushes her bound legs out, squishing herself back against the wall and as far away as she can manage from the threat encroaching on her personal space.

“Heroes can’t save you now.”

The shallow mockery of his voice grates at his ears, but he’ll admit the comment is on brand. The actor harshly yanks the bandana out of the woman’s mouth, her pouty lips trembling as she begins to grovel, blinking more tears down her swollen cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry! Please just let me go! I won’t tell anyone anything!”

All things considered, she’s convincing enough to get his blood pumping. Tomura readjusts himself in his chair, reaching his hands beneath the band of his sweatpants. If he can ignore her counterpart, he thinks watching her squirm and squeal will get him off. After all, it’s supposed to be ‘him’ violating this cute girl. Maybe if he defocuses his eyes enough, he can pretend it really is.

“I’m going to show you how much of a villain I really am!”

Ugh . Whoever wrote this dialogue clearly had never met him, or probably any real villain for that matter. It’s enough to make him want to retch, but the feel of his own hand on his cock and the soft whimpering of the actress  as the villain stand-in strips off his coat brings him back and makes him throb. The camera moves in to offer her a close up, face dropping and eyes widening in horror as she comes to the “realization” of what he means.

“No! Please! Anything but that!”

She kicks at him, trying to fend him off with bound limbs as he crawls over her onto the bed. A harsh slap to the side of her cheek is enough to quiet her down and allow the assailant to cage her to the bed with one hand, the other clumsily fumbling with the buttons of his jeans. After he shimmies his ill fitting skinny jeans down his thighs, she looks at him with eyes widened in horror, shaking her head erratically.

“No! Please Mister Shigaraki, it’s too big! It won’t fit!”

A hand far too burly to be his wraps around her neck, pointer finger plucked awkwardly upward. “Quiet! You’re my prisoner and you’ll do as I say!”

Just ignore it.

The free hand goes to grab at her tank top, a brief but noticeable pause in the filming leaves her topless with stage prop ash sprinkled along her torso, the ropes around her wiggling legs conveniently gone now. While the cinematic effect was laughably bad, Tomura can’t bring himself to care. Not when her tits are now on display for him to ogle.

Chest bare and heaving, perfect nipples perked to attention just for him. Smooth, creamy skin goose pimpled and tender, so tempting that he's aching to feel her. A quick swipe of his thumb over his sensitive, spongy tip elicits a rumbled groan from deep in his chest. It’s easier now to ignore the shitty portrayal of himself, especially when he can lose himself to the throes of lust and pretend that it actually is his hands wrapped around her little throat, other fingers drifting lower and lower down her trembling belly.

A quick hook around the seam of her panties and they’re ripped clean from her hips, legs splayed and leaving her pussy center frame, already wet and glistening. He swallows hard, the sight enough to make him salivate. She fumbles around beneath him, desperate to buck him off, but it’s to no avail. Fingers, his fingers, tease the entrance to her tight little hole, slipping one finger, and then two inside, oscillating in and out preparing her to take all of him. Just like she said, he’s so big. He doesn’t want to hurt her, not like that.

After that, it’s all too easy for him to slip into his fantasy. He strokes his cock in tandem with the pumping of the fingers, pausing only briefly as the girl mewls as the fingers slip out and the tip of his cock is aligned with her little entrance. He pistons his own hips as it slams inside, head reeling back on the edge of his chair.

The high pitched whine that escapes her throat as the fake buries himself deep inside has him biting his lip, slowing his hand by force on his shaft. Fuck, even her moans are hot. Her bouncing tits and staggered breathing as his imposter rails into her has him enraptured. The subtle way she leans into the hand on her throat, back arched off the filthy mattress, face expressing clear distress but body betraying her clever act.

It matters little that she’s being paid to partake in the scene with ‘him’. The fact she was open to it says more than he could have hoped to know, and clearly she’s enjoying the treatment. His hazy eyes focus in on her face, working his hand harder with every little nuance she gifts him. The twitch of arms as her nails imbed themselves into her palms, the parting of her moist lips. He’d be willing to bet her tongue could work magic, taking him all the way to the back of her throat. God, she’d look so cute like that. Hands tied behind her back, a sloppy, drooling mess around his dick.

“S-Shigaraki! You’re too rough!”

The hand clamped around her throat tightens, her final word more of a croak.

“You like it, you little slut!”

At least there’s one thing him and this mediocre porn actor can agree on; she certainly does like it. Rolling her hips against him and wailing in a way that has him wonderfully immersed in his fantasy. Hearing his name on those sighs only strengthen his hold, he can practically feel the warmth of her skin, indulge himself in the wet, clenching tightness of her cunt.

It’s fucking insulting that this trash gets to wear his skin, steal his countenance to fuck her. It should be him. If this whelp could get her all hot and bothered, just imagining what the real thing could do sends the remaining blood reserves rushing between his thighs, prick pulsing even harder in his palm. Yeah, he could get this little bitch squealing. She’d fucking like it too, judging by the look on her face as she gets plowed by a man wearing his visage.

Oh, he’d make her scream. Leave real bruising in place of that cheap costume makeup they’d so lazily applied to her naked form. Truth be told, the video itself was rather boring. He’d only kept watching because of how enraptured he was with the little witch being stuffed full of cock by his imitation. He’d never really been taken with an adult actress before but this one? Oh yes, he could really get into her.

He wasn’t sure what it was about her. So pretty to him, so deliciously pliable, so completely worked up about a villain using her as a toy, pumping in and out of her warm little pussy until he fills her with his hot cum and she’s overflowing with every fluid thrust. Sweet, sensitive neck exposed just for him to bite and abuse. Face stained with tears, puffy cheeks just aching to be squeezed and smacked. Probably tastes like rapture, eager to swallow whatever he decides to spill into her mouth.

And she could take it. He just knows it. Bent over for him, any hole he pleases free for him to use, hand-shaped welts raising on the swell of her ass. Fingers fisting her hair and arching that cute face back to look directly at him as he spits between her open and waiting lips. She’d swallow it like a good girl, just like a good girl, he knows she would.

He works himself faster, his own breathy whines joining the cacophony of licentiousness that echoes in his eardrums. His imagination shifts into overdrive, clumsy, irregular strokes of his hand tenting and deflating the crotch of his sweats. Soft, pillowy tits bulging through his fingertips as he kneads them, sucking on those tender nipples until they harden just for him. Fucking her mouth until her lips are swollen and red, face covered in a mixture of drool and cum with lipstick smeared around her cheeks. Legs locked around his narrow waist as he slams into her repeatedly, chanting his name and begging him incoherently not to stop, never to stop.

“P-please don’t cum inside me! Please- I-“

Oh, he’d cum deep inside. He’ll cum anywhere he wants on his little whore until it’s slick and dripping. He’ll tie her up, smudging it across her broken expression and let it dry nice and thick. Slip his cum covered thumb into her mouth and then ignore her until her thighs are grinding together and she’s begging for his thick cock again, any way he wants her.

Fuck- fuck she’d love it too. Ride him until each slap of her ass on his bony hips made his cock punch hard against her cervix, crying in pleasure and pain but never stopping until he allowed her. Dig his nails into her back, his teeth into her flesh and mark her up real good, let everyone who sees her know just what she’s been up to with him-

“Shigaraki! Fuck! Shi-Shigaraki!”

His name spills from her lips in a needy sob, voice cracking and so utterly genuine that it sends him over the edge. His cock throbs and stutters in his hand, shooting jets of sticky white seed all over the inside of his black sweat pants and staining his fingers. His entire body shudders, legs stiffening and balls tightening and clenching as his cum spills in fat ropes across the fabric. Try as he might to focus on her face as she cums for him, he simply can’t, eyes slamming shut and mouth left agape as a strangled cry erupts from his throat.

He gives a few subconscious pumps into his hand as searing pleasure crackles through his body, toes curling in his shoes as his lower body lifts off the chair to chase his high. Millions of images flash across his mind, the foremost of which is her, greedy eyes hungry for pleasure only he can give her, silky cunt milking him eagerly. A jagged tooth bites a little too hard into his blistered lip, enough to crack it open but he’s too submerged in bliss to notice. The only thing he can feel is her.

His thighs tremble as his body falls back down into the worn computer chair, orgasm leaving his entire body feeling weak and drained.  His breath comes in heaves, gulping down air as he tries his best to shake off the residual searing pleasure so hot it almost hurts. Overstimulation looms on the horizon and his heavy eyes drift open, feeling so drowsy now he can hardly keep them apart. The orange bar at the bottom of the video is all the way to the right, the video having concluded itself.

He’s never cum so hard in his life.

Her name. He needed to know her name. He needed to know everything .

He doesn’t bother reaching for the tissues. He simply withdraws his hand from his waistband, wiping his mess onto the knee of his pant leg before grabbing his mouse and scouring the page for any crumb of information he can find. The comments, while amusing, are hardly helpful.

So hot xx thanks

Who’s the guy even supposed to be?

This babe is so hot, luv her stuff everytime

Yall r gunna get rekt when he sees this shit lol

any sexy girls wanna reenact this with me? Hmu

I’m a girl and I love this!

Wish he’d do that to me <.<

He’d dwell on all of that later. For now, he settles for a quick search through the uploader’s account. It’s a small studio, only a few films out to date, most of which revolve around taboo relationships between villains and society. Following a hyperlink to their main website leads him to bio, complete with her stage name and picture, and even another link leading to an interview with a small time adult magazine, an article called “Cum to the Dark Side” that he bookmarks for later reading.

Even post-cum, she’s just as beautiful. Enchanting, sultry smile and cheeky little expression in her picture. Maybe it’s fate that he stumbled upon her. Maybe she really was just that good at acting and she didn’t have a thing for him at all. Either way, he wants some time with the talent. For research, of course.

Her personal details, as expected, are hidden. They go the lengths to protect their employees it seems. What isn’t hidden, however, is the studio’s number.

He thinks he can work with that.

#NSFT #shigaraki x reader #tw adult stuff #tw yandere #tw uhh self love #tw stalker behavior #Part 1 #tw noncon roleplay

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

I and Love and You

The fifth in Rafael Barba/Reader/Frederick Chilton threesome verse written in collaboration with @pascalispretty . Mood board also by the lovely and talented @pascalispretty !! Yep. We did this. Was it necessary? No. Did we enjoy it? Sometimes. Are you going to read it? I sure hope you do and that you like it! Cross posted on ao3!

Part Five of the series So Much Easier than You Realize

Warnings: Total and complete tooth rotting fluff. Schedule an appointment with your dentists, ladies and germs. Rafael is, as always, a bit of a jackass. You will probably have an incurable craving for breakfast food. And the teeniest tiniest mention of daddy kink. Rating: E for everyone because there is nothing objectionable in this at all, I did not think we could actually write something this sweet lol. Word Count: 3725 Summary: Mornings are for cookies and contemplation.

When Rafa wakes up, he spares a moment to sympathize with his growling stomach. More than one moment, if he’s being honest with himself. He isn’t normally an early riser but his stomach wouldn’t be so empty if he’d been allowed to have his bedtime snack and not rudely distracted by his two partners and an ingenious application of his second favorite blue tie. The result is pleasantly sore abdominal muscles and the rare opportunity to wake up in time to see the both of them still peacefully asleep in bed next to him.

Fred’s back is pressed close to his chest and his legs brush against Rafa’s as he levers himself up onto his elbow to look at her on Fred’s other side. Her face is tucked against Fred’s neck and the doctor’s arms are wrapped tightly around her, and Rafa smiles at them both, still asleep in the soft grey early morning light.

Fred shifts, and an irritable frown passes over his face the longer Rafa uses him to balance himself to stare at the two of them, so Rafa quickly presses a kiss to his temple before settling back down with a sigh.

It’s too early to be up, really, but he’s starving and is not getting back to sleep without eating something. He grunts and sits up before pressing another kiss to Fred’s shoulder. He swings his legs out of bed and grabs a pair of grey sweatpants.

Rafa trudges down the hall to the kitchen. There were still Bugles hidden in the back of Fred’s Tupperware cabinet. Oh shit, had he eaten them all? He flicks on the light to the kitchen and huffs a quiet laugh when he finds a sticky note on the door of said cabinet in Fred’s small, precise handwriting.

Sorry, I ate the last of your chips two days ago. In my defense, counselor, you left them in my house and I was having a very stressful day. I made you cookies instead, they’re on top of the microwave. I figured you’d be up before the both of us this morning since you didn’t get your snack. --An Apologetic Psychiatrist who feels like he shouldn’t be apologizing for eating food in his own cupboards.

Rafa runs his fingers over the note a few times, smiling like an idiot, his heart feeling full and warm and about seven sizes larger than it was when he woke up. He turns his head and sees a plastic container (with a green lid because the green Tupperware was for storage of baked goods as Fred was constantly reminding him) right where Fred said it would be, and when he steps over to investigate it further he finds a batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Another note is stuck to the lid.

I know these aren’t your favorite. I know that you don’t really enjoy white chocolate. Consider this my attempt to make sure you don’t eat all of these in one sitting. Please limit yourself to two; you aren’t in your 20’s anymore, Rafael, and it’s not even a normal time for breakfast yet, much less cookies. --A Not Apologetic Psychiatrist who doesn’t want your first heart attack to be in his apartment, thank you very much.

Rafa rolls his eyes and peels the lid off, smirking as he deliberately takes three out of the box. He doesn’t hate white chocolate, after all, and he does love macadamia nuts. And he has always had a problem following instructions.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Rafa eats his cookies with a pleased groan, once again thanking whatever saints or angels his mami appeals to for sending him a partner that bakes. Not that he thinks his mother would have prayed for someone at all like Fred. Fussy, officious, arrogant, snobby, and, well, a man. His mother would have had someone like their younger lover in mind however. Smart, pretty, and willing to stand up to his attitude. Most of the time anyways. Well, what did Lucia Barba always say? You can make as many requests of God as you want to but remember that He has a sense of humor too? She got him a little extra than what her original request probably specified.

Rafa snorts at the thought and brushes crumbs off his bare chest, leaning back against the counter and surveying the kitchen in the growing light. He’s still hungry but he knows he’ll hear about it if Fred wakes up and all of those cookies are gone. And today is supposed to be the one day this whole month the three of them can spend just being quiet together with no plans, no work, and no prior obligations. He’d rather not spend it all dodging Fred’s passive aggressive jabs and her pouting looks and quiet pleas to please just be the bigger man and apologize.

He stretches his arms out on the counter behind him and tips his head back, staring absently at Fred’s kitchen ceiling as he contemplates making his way back to bed and napping until Fred wakes up and decides to order in breakfast. He’s nearly settled on that plan when he catches sight out of the corner of his eye of the bright blue note on the cupboard. He doesn’t remember Fred spending any time in the kitchen before the two of them dragged Rafa into the bedroom to put his ties to a much more interesting use. He must have gotten out of bed after Rafa fell asleep to put this together, and Rafa can’t help the smile that spreads over his entire face.

Rafa slaps his palms on the counter and shoves himself off, making his way over to the fridge to see what Fred has in the way of actual food. He’s already awake; the least he can do is make breakfast.

He finds the ingredients for pancakes easily enough--Fred is a stickler for organization. Rafa tries not to make a mess as he moves around the perfectly arranged and spotless kitchen. He stirs the batter by hand rather than risk the noise of the KitchenAid but pauses over whether or not to put chocolate chips in.

She would be pleased, her sweet tooth nearly rivals his own, but Fred would almost definitely be annoyed. Especially because Rafa has already had chocolate earlier in the morning. With a fond sigh, Rafa puts the glass jar back in the cupboard, though not before tipping a few of the chocolate chips out into his hand.

It reminds him of cooking in Fred’s beautiful house in Baltimore, his sweet girl laughing and dancing around the kitchen in one of Fred’s shirts, barely being any help at all. All three of them adore the big, beautiful house that Fred had shyly shown them--as if they could have done anything else other than fall in love with it.

Fred relaxed slightly when it became clear that his guests found the house as beautiful as he did. Rafa tried to help her in slowing Fred down as he showed it to them, asking questions about particular objects or features and pointing out the things they especially admired. Every sincere compliment kept a gratified little smile plastered on Fred’s face--and there was plenty to compliment him on.

It’s clear that it holds a special place in Fred’s heart. It’s so him, every inch of it reflecting back the man who poured so much time and effort and money into making it a home. From the collection of antique medical texts carefully displayed on the shelves to the exact shade of teal velvet upholstery on some of the armchairs, Fred had lavished attention on the house to surround himself with things he loved and found beautiful. It amused Rafa to wonder if he’d taken that into account when he’d invited his partners over; whether they’d laud the elegant aesthetic he’d established in his home.

Shifting the spoon briefly to give his right hand a break from mixing, he smiles at the memory. He’s never actually admitted to Fred how much he likes playing house with his two partners there. Rafa is fairly certain that the kitchen in the Baltimore house is larger than the apartment that he grew up in and he knows that a wine cellar is an absurd luxury. But it’s a place where the three of them are free to be themselves, without worrying about nosy neighbors and doormen.

Rafa snorts quietly, folding the batter briskly to get out all the little flour bubbles. That pretty well explains how he feels about Fred too. Fred is too high maintenance, too abrasive in all the ways Rafa normally hates, too… prep school, but Rafa can’t help but smile indulgently every time he turns his nose up at a meal that costs less than fifty dollars, or every time he gets that prissy stubborn look on his face, or juts his chin out and point blank refuses to admit that he’s wrong (even though Rafa can tell that he knows that he is).

He never apologizes either. Ever. He’ll be proven wrong, he’ll hurt both their feelings, and the closest to any sort of acknowledgment of wrongdoing that the both of them will get will be a cup of coffee in bed the next morning, one of Fred’s most handsome smiles, and the complete and sudden cessation of all hostilities like the fight never happened. Rafa knows that with anyone else that kind of behavior would be a relationship killer.

Rafa looks over the batter and nods to himself, satisfied with the consistency, and balances the spoon against the side of the bowl. He stares at the oven and frowns. Just pancakes hardly make breakfast. Going over to the fridge, he grabs bacon out of its particular place, rolling his eyes as he does so, and tosses it on the counter next to the pancake batter, reaching under the silverware drawer for a frying pan.

Maybe it’s the way Fred ‘apologizes’ with the perfect cup of coffee instead of actual words. Maybe it’s that same perfect cup of coffee that somehow manages to find its way onto his desk at work when he’s too swamped to go out and get one--just because Fred knows he needs it. Or a sandwich from his favorite deli and a quick flash of that handsome smile on Fred’s lunch break.

Rafa gets started on actually cooking said breakfast, hissing and swearing quietly when he gets a first-hand demonstration of why you shouldn’t fry things without a shirt on. Fred would have more than a few words to say to him about the relative intelligence of what he’s doing right now. He grins. Maybe that’s it--the way he cares while trying desperately to make it seem like every time it’s an inconvenience of the highest order.

Maybe Rafa loves Fred because every once in a while, when he’s very drunk, very tired, or the perfect combination of both, Fred slips a little and calls the both of them by those cute, ridiculous southern pet names that before now Rafa would have put money on being more myth than fact. And how embarrassed he is when it is pointed out to him that he just called a forty-something year old man ‘pickle’.

Fred is arrogant, prickly, particular, and both overindulgent and overly judgmental of vices depending on if he himself shares in them. He is a pain to get along with most of the time and sometimes treats the two of them like they’re made of spun gold--things to be cherished and well looked after and shown off to the best of his ability. He’s a contradictory monster and Rafa loves him.

He has a feeling that the smile on his face is sappy and ridiculous, but as he turns the bacon and settles to wait a few more minutes, he shrugs. There isn’t anyone else around this early to see him; his reputation as a son of a bitch and a jackass won’t be ruined. He loves Fred. He loves her. He loves both of them--sometimes so much it’s hard for him to keep it to himself and wait for them to come to the same conclusion. Their individual faults, foibles, and perfections and the way they mesh with each other and fit so surprisingly well in his own life.

Like getting new book recommendations from her--whenever he has the time to actually read something for fun. She leaves them on his home desk with a brief explanation why she thinks he’ll like them. That almost always makes up for the numerous occasions he has gone looking for one of his own books and found it had mysteriously jumped off its shelf and walked itself three rooms over, or managed to find itself completely out of order.

He drains the bacon onto a paper towel covered plate and gives the pan a quick rinse. He loves finding packets of M&M’s in his briefcase or in his suit coat pockets, loves knowing they’re from her and that she braved Fred’s ire to indulge his habit of constant snacking. A habit Fred particularly despises. He loves--most of the time--being a couple minutes late to work some mornings because she got into a nearly incoherent argument with him about what color tie he should wear. He loves that she loves his wardrobe as much as he does.

Rafa loves ganging up with her to tease Fred and loves that she can take some teasing herself. He loves that she just rolls her eyes and plays along when his puckish side emerges and he can’t help but be an asshole even though he can tell she would rather he didn’t.

Rafa starts pouring pancake batter, chuckling to himself when he recalls the mood she’d gotten into the last time his sense of humor had gotten the better of him. While waiting for a table in a restaurant, a strange woman had made a snide comment about ‘men dating women young enough to be their daughters’ and Rafa had been unable to resist feigning outrage and asking what was so terrible about a man taking his daughter out for a nice birthday dinner.

The woman had been mortified, and Rafa had enjoyed the look on her face so much that he’d only hammered the point home further, telling her it was hardly his fault he was a widower and a single parent. He hoped it had taught her a valuable lesson in boundaries. His sweet girl had been so embarrassed but it had been so worth it.

Flipping the first pancake, he thinks about the flaws that come with her youth. She’s always the first one to joke about having daddy issues and Rafa can hardly deny how much he enjoys hearing her call him papi--and Fred daddy--in bed. He just has to try not to think too deeply about it. Not that Rafa really has a leg to stand on where difficult paternal relationships are concerned. But her jokes mask an insecurity and a clinginess that Fred has a habit of overindulging. More than once when he’s been trying to work she’s tried to distract him or cuddle up to him and then gotten sulky when he had to gently but firmly rebuff her.

When he finally finishes work on those evenings, he usually finds her wrapped around Fred instead, giving him a wounded look when he finally emerges from behind his case files. Those looks are wordless guilt trips every time he’s on the receiving end of one--no matter how right he feels in his decision to work instead of play.

And yet somehow she’s worked the same magic on him that Fred has. A flaw that in anyone else would have stopped any idea of a relationship in its tracks is something that he’s come to love about her. Her clinginess comes from a place of emotional fragility and it must be hard to let her partners see that. The fact that she trusts them enough to be so vulnerable around them makes Rafa’s heart swell. He can’t help but love her, even when he’s dealing with her pouting and huffing.

Fred talks about it like Rafa is somehow being ungrateful, that he should drop everything to spend time with his beautiful, smart, young lover, and it drives Rafa crazy. He knows that Fred generally means well when he tries to appeal against his more workaholic tendencies, but he also knows that Fred could retire now and live off his trust fund if he wanted. It rubs him the wrong way when Fred tries to discourage him from working hard because he’s never needed to understand why Rafa works as hard as he does.

He starts stacking the cooked pancakes on a plate on the stove and furrows his brow in concentration. Fred gleefully indulges her in her clinginess, dropping everything to scoop her into his arms or take her to bed. They’ve even taken to napping together with his cock still tucked inside her, as if they can’t bear to be anything other than as close as physically possible. He’s stubbornly blind to the fact that Rafa can’t just drop what he’s doing. If Fred misses a deadline for submitting a journal article the worst that happens is it gets pushed back an issue. If Rafa misses something in his case files or submits something late or fails to prepare as fully as he should, it can ruin lives. Dangerous predators can be let out on the street to offend again. People don’t get the justice they deserve. And even in this day and age, a poor boy with a Spanish name is granted a lot less leeway with employers than a rich boy with a nice American name and family money.

They come from very different worlds, even if Rafa has carefully and thoroughly infiltrated Fred’s, and Rafa loves and hates it a little that Fred forgets that most of the time. Rafa has to always be ‘on’ and can’t afford the same kind of laxness that Fred can.

Sometimes he even has to be ‘on’ at home when he’d rather put his fist through a wall or wrap himself in every blanket in the apartment with a bottle of scotch and pass out. Like when he walks into whichever apartment they’re spending the night at to find Fred in a screaming match with her that he has to moderate. She likes to complain that he and Fred can really get into it like a pair of children, and he isn’t saying she’s wrong—they definitely can—but she and Fred are just as bad. Frankly, the three of them are cut from the same cloth when it comes to being pig headed and it makes for some rather loud and spirited fights.

Like the frequent battles she has with Fred over her occasional smoking habit. They always start out with Fred gently chiding and somehow end up with Fred snidely pulling out his “I went to medical school, therefore everyone else is a moron” voice and her reminding him that he couldn’t cut it as a real doctor and she’ll “smoke a goddamn fucking cigarette every once in a while if she fucking feels like it.” Rafa tries to interfere before it descends to “as much as you like to act like it sometimes, Frederick, you aren’t my father” and “maybe if you knew how to make better choices you wouldn’t be constantly seeking validation from older men,” but he doesn’t always get home in time and instead walks in to the both of them glaring icily at each other or shouting as many deliberately hurtful things as they can.

He likes to leave his courtroom face at work, but it’s generally the only thing that will defuse those battles, or at least calm them down into cold wars. Rafa doesn’t particularly enjoy playing mediator on the best of days, especially not when one wrong word from him will have one or both of them turning on him as another enemy combatant. He likes his occasional cigarette too, and he snacks constantly, and eats terribly; all things that Fred will use to drag him into a fight.

But while he hates trying to calm them down enough to at least stop yelling, he has to admit he loves having people around to yell in the first place. Yes, these fights mean he has to put on his lawyer face when he’d rather get drunk and pass out. But he has people in his life to break up fights between. He can come “home” to people who care about him. People who, when they aren’t screaming, see him come through the door and smile. People who would, and have on occasion, drop what they are doing to bring him something he left at home and needs now. People who drop a sandwich on his desk when he’s working and quietly--most of the time-- leave him to it.

People who care and appreciate him.

Rafa finishes setting plates and cutlery out on the island and starts the coffee maker. He loves having them a few rooms away. He loves knowing that they like him enough to put up with his “shoebox sized apartment”, with him being an incurable workaholic, with the fact that when he gets stressed or angry he lashes out at anyone around him. With the fact that when he does he can be more than a little cruel.

Rafa makes his way back into Fred’s bedroom, wincing as always at how bright it gets when the morning sun fully hits it. He smiles when he sees them still tucked against each other just like he had left them. He loves this view the most.

Rafa grins mischievously. They put up with his innate tendency to be a complete and utter jackass, and that is one more thing he loves about them.

“I just rearranged every single cupboard, bookshelf, and drawer in your entire apartment, Frederick!” Rafa informs the room in general. Loudly.

Fred’s eyes snap open and he sits up, dislodging his sleeping companion without a second glance. His gaze lands on Rafa, who is smirking next to him, and his eyes go comically wide in horror.

“Rafael Barba, you didn’t.”

Tag List: @sassyada, @dreamlover31, @prurientpuddlejumper, @storiesofsvu

#rafael barba x frederick chilton x reader #rafael barba x frederick chilton #frederick chilton x reader #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba #frederick chilton #law and order svu #hannibal #fanfiction #fanfic

[jaskiersvalley]

Your safari au. Please. I need it. Water my crops with tigers and hyenas and witchers. Grabby hands and pleading faces in abundance here.

You are after my heart, Nonnie. And considering I've only talked about the Safari AU on Novigrad, I will happily assume you're lurking on there and I love you for it. Tweaked a little to add in a hyena just for you.

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Taking over a park was no easy feat, especially not when it came with a reputation like Nilfgaard had. Eskel scratched his head as he poured over the various financial reports, wondering just how much of it could be trusted. The problem was Nilfgaard had been a shining beacon in the animal conservation world, exceptional facilities, high enrichment for the animals and a successful rehabilitation rate. If there was ever an animal in need of a place, Nilfgaard had been first choice for years. All that came tumbling down in light of the revelation that Nilfgaard had been trading illegally, their animals sold to private owners as exotic pets or, even worse, hunters who wanted a guaranteed, easy kill. The place had been shut down immediately, a skeleton crew kept on to tend to the animals but nothing more. Management was on trial and Kaer Morhen had won the bid to take over. Though small and mostly unknown, nobody else had wanted to touch the remnants of Nilfgaard so they were quite uncontested in their bid. What had seemed like a good idea at the time, an noble because it was in the interest of the animals, now was an absolute headache.

Between the three of them, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert could split most of the urgent work. They had Jaskier working on rebranding, Yennefer managing the board and Vesemir as the head. It left them free to run the day to day of the park, learning the animals as well as the people who they had kept on. But they were going to need more people to actually help the place flourish and regain its standing in the community. Which meant asking the heads of departments for who should be kept on and what roles to recruit for from scratch. The easy ones were things like hospitality, Zoltan had a firm grip on the needs of the park and its visitors, knew all the catering firms and how to run a tight ship. So it was one less headache for them. Eredin had stepped up as Head of Security readily once it was proven he had no knowledge of the animal smuggling. Again, his familiarity with the park was a boon, as were his connections, putting together a security team that could be trusted. Much more messy was the animal welfare section. Fringilla, much like Eredin, had stepped up to become interim Head Zookeeper and was doing her best. While they were understaffed, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert helped out where they could but much of their time was spent getting to know the routine of the park and its many animals.

"We need to know who we can trust," Lambert grumbled, leaning over the table where they had personnel files open. "It's impossible to know who was in on things and who wasn't."

Though, in all likelihood, none of the lower level workers knew that when they helped usher one of their beloved animals into a crate, they weren't sending them off to another facility or a happily ever after. But it was something they just couldn't risk.

"May I?" Fringilla asked, eyes roving over all the files. At Geralt's gesture, she began pulling some of them out. "You'll want Triss, she was a vet here, promote her to senior or chief or whatever you call it. She's solid. And Sabrina, she's great, works well with Triss. Retain Istredd, Mousesack, Calanthe and Eist too. oh, and Letho for the reptile house." As she spoke, she kept looking with a small frown.

"Missing someone?" Eskel asked. Nodding, Fringilla frowned. Without much care for manners, she walked to the cupboards and began pulling out files until she hit the folder of resignations and terminations. From there, she pulled out one last file.

"You'll want him."

The folder was taken from her and the three peered at it with varying levels of frowns.

"You want us to hire someone who was terminated for gross misconduct? Whose notes suggest he abused animals and has blacklisted from working with animals?"

"No. I want you to meet the whistle-blower. Cahir's the one who found out about the trafficking and reported it. Nilfgaard didn't take kindly to it and retaliated."

Not sold on the idea, Lambert crossed his arms over his chest. "His file doesn't look exceptional. Personally, if he applied for a job, I'm not sure he shines enough to even be called in for an interview."

It was a sentiment echoed by the other two and Fringilla had to fight to hold back a sneer. "Invite him in and judge for yourselves. Just because his record doesn't have a quantifiable or gradable measure of commitment doesn't mean he won't be fantastic. If we ever have a new animal in that doesn't need to stay hospitalised, I wouldn't want anyone but Cahir to help settle it in. Especially the younger ones and babies."

Against their better judgement, the three decided to follow Fringilla's advice and e-mailed Cahir an interview offer. The reply was terse but assured them that he would be there at the agreed time.

First impressions were, to put gently, not great. Cahir looked rumpled, bags under his eyes and his attitude was rather sullen. It didn't bode well as they sat in the office, Cahir an odd mix of defiant and subservient. At least Fringilla had the grace to push the interview forward as much as she could until even she sighed and leaned back.

"Why don't we walk through some of the enclosures? Make sure you still remember what's where."

As they walked, Eskel ended up next to Cahir, who seemed content to not talk. That didn't stop Eskel from trying to initiate conversation.

"So, what have you been doing in the three months since you left here?"

"Tried to survive."

The blunt answer had Eskel blinking, there were many things he expected but not that. "Oh?"

For the first time Cahir actually looked at him, sadness bleeding through his half glare. "I used to live on site, worked for Nilfgaard from the age of 15, took a full time post at 18 and moved into the small cottage in the southern corner of the land. They fired me, I lost everything."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Eskel tried to figure out just how much of Cahir's so story was an exaggeration. "Have you been living with friends then?"

"For a few weeks, yeah." Cahir actually scoffed. "I've been trying to get a job and living in a hostel off savings. Turns out, only having in-house qualifications does not bode well for prospects in the world at large."

Fringilla led them into an enclosure where the grass was high. From the looks and smells, Eskel would have guessed it was a tiger's habitat but he wasn't familiar enough with the park yet to know. He would have hesitated going in, especially in a group like they were but Eskel had to trust Fringilla as she came to a stop and they stood in a loose circle.

The house Cahir had mentioned was one Eskel was familiar with. They had often wondered why it was empty yet well kept. It had felt like a life interrupted when they had a look round, nothing personal there yet it didn't have the empty, unlived-in feel of a show home. In a way, Eskel was regretting just how poorly Cahir's interview was going because he could easily see them offering his house back as part of a contract.

"So why are we here?" Lambert's words broke Eskel's reverie. "I thought we wanted to go on a walk."

It was by pure chance that Eskel caught Fringilla's smirk at Cahir and the slightest softening of that stern expression in return. Clicking his tongue, Cahir shot Lambert a look. "Tell me, have you ever been stalked by a tiger before?"

"No."

"You sure about that?" Cahir clicked his tongue twice and the world burst into motion. From the long grass a tiger pounced and Eskel was not ashamed to admit he let out a surprised yell. He wasn't the only one though, Lambert gasping, hand at his mouth and shoulders up as the tiger took Cahir out. They went tumbling and only Geralt looked like he might lurch into action, taking half a step towards the animal and Cahir. It would have been hopeless though, the two were wrestling on the ground until Cahir was on his back, tiger hunched above him.

The first thing Eskel noticed was how Cahir's face was creased into a happy grin. He looked younger, relaxed and happy ever as the tiger licked a large stripe from jaw, up his chin to his hairline. All Cahir did was laugh.

"Yes, yes, I missed you too, Princess," he said. fingers loosened from the fur in the tiger's neck and petted along her nose with the ease of familiarity.

"What the actual fuck?!" Lambert all but screeched. "What the fuckity fucking fuck?"

Eskel had the sense to look to Fringilla for answers, even if he wanted to watch Cahir with the tiger. The change in the man wasn't something he could have predicted. Gone was the sullen, defensive and standoffish air, replaced by an easy smile and a look of serene happiness as Cahir looked at the tiger, checking her over out of habit, muttering about dirty ears and mucky paws as he went.

"That is what you won't ever learn from a CV and qualifications," Fringilla said. She was absolutely looking smug. "Princess came to us at 9 months old, from a circus. Had terrible separation anxiety and a host of other issues too. She wasn't doing well despite our best efforts. At least, not until Cahir took her home and cared for her during the nights rather than leave her in a hospital cage. He introduced her to independence, slept out in the open with her for a few weeks when she was ready to transition to outdoors." Much more quietly, she added, "She's not the only animal he'd done that for. To find out some of his beloved children have been sold hit him hard. I don't think I'd ever seen him cry before then."

Turning back, Eskel watched as Cahir was sat on the ground, tiger with her back to him. The slightly strained "oh no you don't" from Cahir was lost as the tiger pushed up onto her hind legs and flopped backwards. Had she been smaller, Cahir would have probably caught her like a baby. As it was, he grunted as the weight crashed across his legs and he had a happily chuffing tiger's belly to tickle.

"I assume you'd vouch for him?" Geralt asked.

"In a heartbeat." Fringilla grinned at Cahir but it was lost on him, so focused on Princess as he was. The others might as well have stopped existing. That was the moment Eskel knew his heart was in danger. It didn't get easier as time went on. Hiring Cahir was proving to be a good decision. He just got on with the work, never finding anything distasteful or below him to do. If it needed doing, he got it done.

Over time he opened up too, Eskel found himself wandering down to the southern corner of the park to the little house that was now full of life. He got used to Cahir usually having a baby or two in his care. Sometimes he babysat for Letho's hatchlings, content to have baby snakes trying to look around his arms as they learned how to cope with being handled. The friendship between the two was one Eskel couldn't claim to understand but they seemed to make it work.

"Knock knock," he announced himself by the open back door.

"Come on in," Cahir called as he wandered out of the kitchen. "I'm just finishing making dinner, care to join me?"

That was new too, Cahir was inviting Eskel into his life more and more. It made Eskel feel even better about what he was planning to ask at Fringilla's instructions.

"I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow. There's a new arrival that we think will need your assistance."

Cahir cocked an eyebrow and held up an empty plate in question again. At Eskel's nod he began loading. "Anything you can tell me about it?"

"Not much. Private collector got raided, had a few animals in his less than tender care."

"So they'll be part socialised, part traumatised. I can work with that."

Somehow, Eskel had no doubts about that. But he was holding back some information because Fringilla had told him to keep it a surprise. The next morning the transport van rolled in, a small group of them ready to handle the newest arrivals. There were a couple of pythons for Letho to bring into his fold, a parrot for Guxart to train into swearing. Last was a large crate. As interesting as it was, Eskel's eyes were on Cahir, the way his nostrils flared as he caught scent of the hyena. The box opened and the animal cautiously peered out.

"Dave!" Cahir exclaimed, all semblance of quiet professionalism gone as he hopped off the top of the crate he'd helped open.

If his reaction had been exuberant, it was nothing compared to the hyena's. They collided next to the box, all over each other.

"I missed you buddy." There were tears running down Cahir's cheeks as Dave alternated between butting into him and running tight, excited circles around him before settling down and trying to bodily press into him. Glancing up, Cahir gave Fringilla a wobbly smile. "How did you find her?"

Her? Last Eskel checked, Dave was a male name. Still, he wasn't going to interrupt the tender reunion with such a dumb question.

"She was part of a collector's hoard. Didn't have the right permits so he was made to give her up to those who could offer her proper care."

A broken "thank you" was whispered in her direction before Cahir buried his face in the hyena's neck. Eskel watched with so many questions. Thankfully Fringilla didn't miss that fact.

"She was born in captivity, originally assumed to be a boy, needed to be hand reared after mum rejected her. She never understood that she wasn't human and as a result has spent most of her life living with Cahir. We've tried so often to introduce her to a pack but she never took to them, content to stay with them for a day, two at a push before she starts pining. When Nilfgaard sold her, that's when Cahir got suspicious, did some digging and realised she hadn't gone to another park. So Dave is a catalyst for this whole fiasco if you will."

Watching them, Eskel nodded. He had a hyena to befriend if he wanted to keep Cahir in his life it would seem.

#pre-Cahir/Eskel #fringilla vigo #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #eskel #lambert #geralt #safari au #tldr: nilfgaard is a disgraced safari the kaer morhen idiots take over

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 4: Man Pouts on Couch

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder is not feeling lucky.

In hindsight, he should have suspected something was off today; Scully kept looking at her watch.

It’s Friday, March 13th, and he thought it’d be cute to invite Scully out for a drink again, make a little joke about it becoming a Friday the 13th tradition. This could work, he thinks. His plan is simple; ask her out every once in a while, for some reason or another, with the intention of eventually coming clean and setting up a proper date.

At five o’clock he stands up and stretches with performative nonchalance. “Buy you a drink, Scully?” he asks, cocking his head towards the calendar pinned to the office wall, surrounded by newspaper clippings and grainy photos.

She pauses with her arm halfway into the sleeve of her coat. “I…” She falters and presses her lips together, looking suddenly guilty.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, a pit growing in his stomach.

“I’d love to, Mulder, but I actually have a date tonight.”

The earth stops spinning and Mulder is thrown off balance, hurtling through the atmosphere.

“Oh,” he says softly. “That doctor guy?”

Scully nods, not meeting his gaze. “His name is Mark,” she says. “We’re getting sushi.” She looks up at him then, big blue eyes soft. “A rain check?” she asks hopefully.

She owns him; one look like that and he’d sell his soul to buy her a cup of shitty coffee. “Sure. Another time, then,” Mulder says, gathering up every scrap of composure he has left, patching together a smile for her. “Have fun.”

He goes home and throws himself face down onto the couch.

She has a date. A real date, with a presumably mentally stable human man with a high-value job. And a daughter. A ready-made family, just add water and stir. This Mark guy probably calls her Dana, asks her how her mother’s doing, feeds her bits of sashimi with no threat of aliens or shadow governments in sight. Maybe he’ll kiss her at the end of the night, softly with closed lips like a gentleman.

What stings the most is the fact that this Doctor Mark had the balls to tell Scully outright that he’s interested in her romantically, something Mulder has yet to do.

Mulder knows he should eat, but his stomach is churning and the idea of food sickens him. He’s being dramatic and irrational; it’s just one date. But the implications are weighty, the potential enormous.

He feels bad for being upset. This is good for her; she needs to get out of the basement, connect with other rational people, find some normalcy and balance in her life.

You need those things too, he hears her say in his head.

He brushes it aside. It’s different for him; he created this life for himself. He’s a collapsed star, a black hole of conspiracy and paranoia that sucks in everything that gets too close. The last thing he wants is for her to get lost in his darkness, swallowed by the void like some interstellar debris.

She’d told him that night in Rock Creek Park that she does’t blame him for what’s happened to her, but that doesn’t assuage his guilt. He carries the weight of what she calls her choices, a load she has no intention of sharing with him, awaiting no acknowledgement or thanks.

He’s doing it to himself.

Mulder whiles away the hours on the couch, gazing up at the constellations of pencil marks on his ceiling, tossing his basketball above his head. He drops it on his face twice.

He knows it’s probably only going to make him feel worse, but he’s a glutton for punishment; so at eleven-thirty that night he picks up the phone and calls Scully.

He waits for her to answer, his heart sinking lower with each ring. She’s not picking up. Is she still out? he thinks anxiously. The guy has a kid, so it’s unlikely that they’d stay out too late unless he’s arranged it with his babysitter…

“Hello?” Scully’s slightly husky voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Scully,” he says, tentative relief creeping into his body.

“Mulder, what is it?” she asks. “It’s late. For normal people, anyway. Are you alright?”

“‘M’ fine,” he assures he. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He hears her hum in understanding. Late night phone calls between them aren’t uncommon, after all. “Have you tried counting sheep?” she asks, not unkindly. “Or slowing your breathing down, focusing on the cadence of inhales and exhales like I showed you?”

He’s wide awake, sitting upright on his couch, still in the slacks and wrinkled button-down he wore to the office that day. “Yes,” he lies. “It’s not helping. There’s too much going on in my head right now.”

“You work too much,” she says gently. “And yet not enough, when deadlines are involved. We’ve got an impressive paperwork backlog-”

“Can we not talk about work right now?” He reaches down and unties his shoes. “Otherwise I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Right.” There’s rustling on her end. She’s in bed, he realizes.

“Did I wake you, Scully?” he asks, trying to hide his surprise.

“It’s fine, Mulder, I was only dozing,” she replies.

“Oh, how was the date?” he asks, as though it only just occurred to him, instead of being the only thing he’s thought about all night.

“It was nice,” she responds, and he drops his head onto the back of the couch in defeat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit-

“We talked about medicine, about cancer, loss. His daughter’s name is Amanda,” she continues. “Her mother - his wife - died when Mandy was only two, so he’s mostly raised her alone.”

“That’s rough,” Mulder says softly. Please don’t make me feel bad for this guy, Scully, I can’t bear it, he thinks.

“Mhm,” she agrees. “And his work at the hospital is pretty grueling, so his mother helps out a lot. I… I told him about Emily.”

“How’d that go?” Mulder asks, concerned. “It’s not the most… plausible-sounding story.”

“I was vague,” she replies. “All I really said was that I had recently reconnected with a child I’d been separated from, right before she died. He didn’t ask for details; he could probably tell it was a fresh wound.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Mulder asks quietly. Somehow he already knows what she’s going to say, and he braces himself for the sting of her words as they pierce his heart.

“I… I think I will,” Scully says, sounding distant. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

She deserves this. She deserves a chance at something ordinary, safe, comfortable.

“Maggie Scully didn’t raise a quitter,” he says with a watery smile she’ll never see.

She chuckles. “No, I suppose she didn’t,” Scully muses. He hears her yawn. “I’m tired out, Mulder. Think you can sleep now?”

“I’ll try,” he says. He’s surprised to feel his eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. “Thanks for talking to me,” he adds.

“Anytime. Sleep well,” she says warmly, and the line goes dead.

He supposes he brought this on himself by keeping his feelings hidden. He waited too long, playing it safe. He wanted to gauge her feelings before he made any overt moves, and someone else beat him to it.

It’s just one date. But there’s going to be more. By the sound of it, she wants there to be more.

There’s no way he’s going to sleep well tonight.

He’s in a sour mood when he’s summoned to the Gunmen’s… den? lair? headquarters? the next afternoon, by way of one of their patented cryptic phone calls.

Byers unfastens the dozen locks on the door and lets him inside. “Mulder,” he says, ushering him in. “Good to see you.”

Mulder flops down in a rickety desk chair, exhaustion permeating his muscles. “I’m not up for being social today, boys,” he warns. “You said you had information for me?”

“We took the liberty of looking into Agent Scully’s new… uh, friend,” Byers says.

“For safety reason,” Langly adds, seeing Mulder’s lips purse.

“She’s precious cargo,” Frohike says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How did you find him?” Mulder asks. “I didn’t even know his first name until yesterday.”

“Don’t insult us with your surprise,” Frohike mutters. “We’re experts.”

“We knew he’s a part of the parish Scully attends-“ Byers begins.

“And we knew he’s an ER doc, has a 6 year old daughter, and a dead wife,” Langly cuts in. “That’s plenty to go on.”

“I don’t need to know more than that,” Mulder says, suddenly feeling guilty. “It’s not my business.”

“Maybe not, but we have the info,” Frohike says. “Look, all you need to know is that he seems legit. Name’s Einolander, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Mulder lies, taking a sunflower seed out of his pocket and biting it pensively.

“Of course not,” Byers says, sounding completely unconvinced.

“You alright, Mulder?” Langly asks. “You look rough.”

“Of course he does,” Frohike hisses in the least subtle whisper of all time. “Scully’s dating someone that’s not him. Cut the guy some slack.”

“You guys don’t know shit,” Mulder grumbles, then backtracks, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I, uh... didn’t sleep well.”

“It’s okay, man,” Langly says.

Frohike nods sagely. ”We know how you feel about her. This can’t be easy for you.”

Mulder wilts in his chair. “How did you know?” he asks pathetically, realizing the jig is up. Has he really been so obvious this whole time? Fucking hell.

“Look, knowing things is our business,” Byers explains. “And we know you. We’ve been around the block with you a few times, and nobody’s meant this much to you. Not even Diana.”

“Plus, Agent Scully is a smokeshow, and you have eyes,” Frohike adds. Byers gives him a jab with his elbow. “Hey, I stand by that,” he declares, rubbing his arm.

“Well thanks anyway, fellas,” Mulder says, standing. “I should get going. The walls in my apartment won’t stare at themselves.”

“Do you want the file we put together on the guy?” Byers asks. “We can make copies.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Keep it. Draw a mustache on his photo or something.” He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. “You kids have fun.”

“If you need anything, just flag us down,” Frohike says, patting Mulder’s back before unlatching the door.

Mulder steps out the door, then turns back. “How old is this guy?”

“Forty-one,” Byers says, flipping through the file. “Five-foot-ten, dark blond hair, brown eyes. Blood type-”

Mulder holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Bye, guys.”

He gets a petty, juvenile satisfaction from the fact that he’s two inches taller and four years younger than Dr. Einolander. It’s short-lived, but at this point he’ll take what he can get.

Because he can’t get Scully.

#my fic #txf fic #msr #xfiles #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #OH SHIT YALL THE ANGST TRAIN IS PULLING INTO THE STATION #had to do it to em

[kimnjss]

plot twist!namjoon | a-z

⤑  series: plot twist

⤑ pairing: rapper!namjoon x rich girl!reader

⤑ genre: just smut talk.

⤑ rating: explicit. // unedited.

⤑ warnings: smut talk... (mentions of) shower sex, cum shots, brat taming, doggy style, reverse cowgirl... sex positions, hair pulling, masturbation, semi-public sex, roleplaying, oral sex (f/m. receiving), rough sex, use of toys, teasing...

⤑ A/N: literally not even a full day and i already miss them :( they were such a mess but sooo much fun ., ugh. 

A = Aftercare (what's he like after sex):

While he enjoyed cuddling with you before going to bed, after sex was a whole different story. The act would have both of you all sticky and hot and Joon wouldn't be a fan in laying in that, he'd be suggesting sharing a bath before snuggling under the covers... which would most likely result in another round.

B = Body Part (his favorite body part of his and also yours):

It was no secret that Joon had an interest fascination with your back, especially when he was fucking you. But, what he liked most were the dimples at the end of the back, he'd often times find himself pressing his thumbs into them as he held you steady.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically...):

The two of you were not really a big fan of condoms and while you were great about taking your birth control, the pull out method had worked itself into your routine. Joon was either spilling out on your back or thighs and on special occasions, you'd let him finish on your face.

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of his):

Despite the excessive amount of eye rolls he gives you, Joon is secretly very into the spoiled brat act you put on. There was just something about the annoyed pout and scrunch of your nose that he found cute, more so when he was denying you.

E = Experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he's doing?):

You both were pretty equally matched when it came to the bedroom, although, you were a lot more adventurous than him. Always coming up with new things for the two of you to try, but it never took much convincing to get him to experiment.

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying...):

Doggy style. Reverse cowgirl. Anything back to chest. Even if you were starting off facing each other, you'd soon be shifting into the spooning position, his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck and his arms wrapped around your waist.

G = Goofy (is he more serious in the moment, or is he humorous, etc.):

Joon was pretty serious, but not so much that it made sleeping with him boring. He'd just get real concentrated on making you feel good and his entire focus would be on getting you to cum. Like in any other aspect of your relationship, you balanced each other out. You were playful and goofy enough for the both of you.

H = Hair (how well-groomed is he, does the carpet match the drapes? how does he like you?):

He didn't really care how you kept yourself, however you were deciding to look down there was however he preferred you to look. It didn't make that much of a difference to him in the slightest bit. The same went for himself, he'd trim up from time to time but it never really was at the forefront of his mind.

I = Intimacy (how is he in the moment, romantic aspect...):

Very, very, extremely romantic. Joon was very into the emotional part of sex even if he didn't really vocalize it. Loved holding onto your hand and looking into your eyes while he was inside of you. And if it's been a while since the two of you have been together, he'd be putting together a special night complete with candles, bubble baths and flowers to make up for it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

Not really his thing. Even before the two of you were getting together, he wasn't really into masturbation. Found it boring, actually. He'd much rather be with someone and experience that connection, rather than just getting himself off.

K = Kink (one or more of his kinks):

He's got an extremely subtle brat tamer kink. Unrealized, but definitely present whenever you were pulling your tantrums and he had something to say about it. Sometimes, without thinking he'd do things that he knew would get a reaction out of you, just so he could do something about it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

Anywhere the two of you could be alone without interruptions. He had given you shit about it before, but Namjoon wasn't opposed to fooling around in his studio with the door locked or even in your office when you weren't busy. Surprise blowjobs were his absolute favorite, especially if they were taking place underneath his desk while he was working.

M = Motivation (what turns him on, gets him going):

You're always very direct and vocal about what you want. Whether it being what you wanted him to do with you or what you wanted to do with him, there would always be a stiffness in his pants following your words. Paired with the need to be alone with you. He liked knowing that you wanted him the most.

N = NO (something he wouldn't do, turn offs):

There aren't many things that are off limits for Namjoon, but something he couldn't really seem to wrap his mind around would be roleplaying. Not like the two of you have ever tried it, but he knew that if you had it would end up being more awkward than anything. He'd have trouble staying in character and most likely would ditch the entire story-line and fuck you without the mention of it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

Receiving. While he was not selfish when it came to oral, he liked it a lot when you were below him. You knew what you were doing and you did it so well, never failed to have his toes curling. He'd always return the favor, but was always perking up when you were offering to go down on him.

P = Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? Etc.):

Rough and sensual. It was no secret that he enjoyed all the romantic parts of having sex with you, but he was often mixing that with a bit of roughness. Hair pulling, tossing you around, hard thrusts, and sometimes biting were to be expected when he was losing himself in the moment.

Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often... etc.):

Nope. Not a fan. They just annoyed him. Didn't see the point of speeding through things when you could very much take your time with each other. If you were suggesting a quickie, he'd be eliminating whatever reason it was you couldn't go and have proper sex. Then going to do that.

R = Risk (is he game to experiment, does he take risks):

Joon never really came up with new things for the two of you to try in bed, that was more something that you were into. He'd always be down to give anything that you were bringing to him a chance, at least once. While extremely different, the two of you happened to be into the same type of things... so there wasn't much to worry about there.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can he go for, how long does he last...):

He's pretty good at keeping it together, insuring that he lasts a bit longer than you so you're getting everything out of it. Pretty spent after two rounds, but after one quick nap or something to eat, he'd be ready to go again.

T = Toy (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?):

No toys. Not that he was against them, he's just never really thought about adding them in to your sex lives. Just like everything else, though, if you were curious about it, or wanted him to use something on you, he wouldn't hesitate.

U = Unfair (how much does he like to tease?):

He likes to tease just enough so he's bringing out your bratty attitude. Simple things like denying you kisses or acting as if he wasn't interested, so he can see that pout take over your features. Sometimes, he'd keep you from cumming... but that never lasted long because he liked watching you cum a lot more than not.

V = Volume (how loud is he, what sounds does he make?):

Not that loud or vocal. He'd talk dirty to you from time to time or ask if something felt good, but other than that low grunts were the extent of his vocalization. He's usually a bit too focused to keep up with dirty talk, but you didn't mind either way.

W = Wild Card

He found it attractive when you were working hard. Especially if you were doing something that he knew you enjoyed, he liked the look of accomplishment on your face whenever you've completed something. And was never hesitating to reward you for your hard work.

X = X-Ray (let's see what's going on in those pants, pictures or words):

The guy wasn't tall just for show, that's a fact. Joon was an all around big guy and that translated down south as well. Not only that, he was thick too. And he knew it, took pride in the little gasp you'd let out whenever he was bottoming out for the first time that night.

Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive?):

He was very good at matching your energy, so he wanted you just as much and as often as you wanted him. But, if you were dressed a certain way or paying a bit more attention to him, it would make him want you in some type of way. He'd be thinking of ways to shift things to the bedroom.

Z = Zzz... (how quickly does he fall asleep afterwards?):

Joon was hardly falling asleep right after sex, he'd want to get up and shower with you before getting comfortable underneath the covers again. There have been times he's fallen right asleep, but each times he's woken up in the middle of the night to clean off before going to bed.

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taglist: @ephyra1230 @awhnamjoon @jkismyasmr @eyereen @gldnrecs @jiminddaeng @morndas @daebakrex @getmemyfries @v3nti @drippingguk @iridescentstories @cheesecakes-randomshitz @jakiki94 @tatiquichi @tatajoonie @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @shadowhale @kuggnuj @cynicalitys @saymynamewithluv @kooafraid @milkteade @revehosh @gguksfilter @jai-namu @btsheartu @xxsunny-side-upxx @jeonkookiebangtan @scorpiostunner1027 @strwberry-jam @ssyubb  @paolandotcom @marvelous-capsicle @letmebreathepls @rlynotme  @bunny-meowmeow @bbybubbles @chxcolxtemilk  @hobiheavenly @cyb3rbab3 @hobiismyhopeu @h3llbunni @namjoonrkive @avipshamitra @seolarsyj @bitterly-sweet  @knjkitten @taescckookies @frompeaches​

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#namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon sm au #bts smut #🌬️ sm au #namjoon a-z

[inkandpen22]

Fate in Narnia

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Female!Reader

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: A year after the Narnian Revolution, Y/N, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie are sent back to Narnia. This means the three have a chance to be King and Queens, but most importantly, it means Y/N and Caspian can see each other again. 

Masterlist

I return home from my classes at the university with groceries for dinner. After a long day like today, I’m reminded that it’s just me left to take care of Edmund and Lucy. Peter and Susan joined Mother and Father in America six months ago. They write to us often, promising they’ll send for us too when it’s safer. Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I can balance classes, work, and picking up the slack for Aunt Beatrice. Her son Eustace and her husband don’t do anything to help around the house. Sometimes it feels like I’m taking care of five people. 

“Edmund! Lucy!” I holler up the stairs after I set the groceries down in the kitchen. 

When I don’t hear a response, I jog up the steps. They should be back from school by now, it’s nearly time for dinner. I hear a commotion coming from my and Lucy’s room. If it’s Edmund and Eustace going at it again I might just scream and I’m supposed to be the more patient older sibling! 

I swing open the door to find Eustace and Edmund fighting. However, my attention is stolen by Lucy standing in front of a picture frame spewing water. 

“What have you three done?!” I rush into the room. 

“It wasn’t us!” Lucy explains, grinning brightly. 

I glance between my sister and the ocean painting frantically. “You mean-” 

Narnia. Caspian. 

Eustace and Edmund finally notice the water swallowing up the room. Edmund hurries over to us. Based on his grin, he’s thinking what we are too. Eustace screams and goes to rip the frame off the wall. 

“I’m just going to smash it!” He threatens. 

“No!” My siblings and I struggle with our cousin for the frame. 

The ice-cold water fills the room in a matter of seconds. We each struggle to kick ourselves to the surface as the furniture of the room starts to float. I close my eyes, afraid of what may happen. I keep kicking to the surface, in the need of air. When I finally reach the top after what feels like an eternity, I take in a deep breath. 

“Swim!” Lucy shouts. “Eustace swim!” 

I snap open my eyes and a massive wooden ship is sailing toward us. I scream and Edmund grabs my arm to get me to start swimming. My brother and I swim like Olympians to get away from the path of the ship. 

“It’s Caspian!” Lucy yells enthused. “Guys, It’s Caspian!” 

Edmund and I halt immediately. Two men swim up and take each of us safely. 

“Caspian,” I repeat breathlessly, searching the surface for him. 

“You’re alright now,” the sailor assures me as he starts guiding me toward the ship. 

“Are we in Narnia?” Edmund asks one of the sailors helping us. 

“Yes, you’re in Narnia,” the man chuckles happily. 

After Edmund and I are brought up on the side of the ship, one of the sailors offers me his hand to help me on. I step onto the deck and immediately start scanning the many faces for the one I want to see most. 

“Y/N!” 

I spin around on my heels and am met with the raven-haired prince I’ve been longing to see. A bright smile appears across my lips as I run across the short distance. He opens his arms to me and I leap into them. He laughs deeply, twirling me around playfully. His embrace is warm and strong, just as I remember. Oh, how I’ve missed him. He lowers me to the deck, but his hands remain on my waist. 

“How long has it been for you?” He checks instantly. 

“A year and you?!”

I can’t hide my worry that it’s been forever. Granted, he looks far too good for it to have been too long. He looks practically the same except for the facial hair. 

“Three years,” he smiles and relief rushes over me. 

“Thank heavens it wasn’t over a thousand again,” I sigh, laughing lightly. 

“You still are older though...” he sucks in air sharply between his teeth. 

“Oh stop it!” I swat his arm playfully. 

“Beautiful as ever I might add,” he compliments and leans in to plant a kiss on my forehead. 

“Caspian!” Ed interrupts joyfully. 

“Edmund!” 

Caspian and Edmund embrace and Lucy comes to join us. Our attention is stolen when Eustace lands on deck failing. 

“Get this rat off of me!” He screams. 

A mouse comes leaping off Eustace and bouncing over to us. 

“Reepicheep!” Lucy gleams. 

“Good to see you again, Rep,” Ed greets. 

The mouse bows to the three of us. “Your Majesties, always a pleasure.” 

Caspian comes up behind me and drapes a blanket over my shoulders. I thank him quietly and wrap the fabric around myself. His hands remain on my shoulders as we watch my cousin go mad. 

“Where in the blazes am I?!” Eustace fusses. 

“You’re on the Dawn Treader! The greatest ship in all of Narnia!” A minotaur announces to Eustace. 

The boy faints instantly, making everyone on the crew laugh, including Caspian and Edmund. Lucy ridicules them. 

“Was it something I said?” The minotaur asks us. 

“No, don’t take it personally. He’s just never been to Narnia,” I explain kindly. “In our world, there aren’t any minotaur.” 

“Oh, interesting,” the creature replies with a shrug. 

Caspian slips his arm around my waist and appears at my side. “See to him will you?” He asks of the sailor. 

“Right away, Your Majesty,” the minotaur bows. 

Caspian then jogs off to the stairs leading up to the helm of the ship. 

“Gentlemen!” Caspian gathers everyone’s attention. “Behold our castaways! Edmund the Just, Lucy the Valiant, and Y/N the Gracious! High King and Queens of Narnia!” 

Each of the sailors gets down on one knee and bow their heads. My brother, sister, and I can’t help but smile. 

Caspian hurries back down and takes my hand to guide all of us inside. “Come! Let’s get you changed and I can show around!” _________________________________________ As the sun starts to set on the horizon, I watch over the side of the ship as the waves hit against the wood. Dolphins play in them, dancing along with the white foam. It reminds me of when I would watch them at sunrise when we lived in Cair Paravel. 

A pair of arms snake around my torso and bring me into their chest. I rest my head back against Caspian and slip my arms over his. He plants a kiss to my temple gently. For a year I’ve missed this. The last time we were in Narnia, Caspian and I hardly had any time after the revolution to settle. It came as a shock when Peter announced we would be returning home. I wasn’t ready to go and Caspian wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It took every ounce of willpower to leave. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Caspian whispers in my ear. 

“Oh do you?” I snicker. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs with a nod.

Reluctantly, I close my eyes and hold out my hands. I feel a familiar leather sheath and strap brush against my palm as Caspian lowers the object into my hands slowly. 

“Okay, open!” Caspian gleams. 

My eyes flicker open and sure enough, it’s my old weapon gear. “My dual-swords!” 

“I’ve kept them safe since you’ve been gone!” Caspian tells me. 

Over the moon, I spin on my heels and pull him into a hug. I can’t believe he’s kept them with him after all this time and even took the liberty of taking them on the voyage. His arms linger around me and I ponder the feeling. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers against my shoulder. 

“Me too,” I mutter solely, resting my cheek against his chest. 

Caspian tightens his embrace upon hearing my words. Three years have gone by for him. A year was long enough to feel like a lifetime to me. 

“So Caspian-” Edmund voices, making Caspian and I part. I place my weapons down on a barrel and lean against the rail behind me. Edmund doesn’t notice my glaring at him for interrupting. “-have you managed to find yourself a queen in the three years we’ve been away?” Edmund asks, amused. 

“Oh uh...” Caspian stammers nervously. 

My lips part as I stare at my brother dumbfounded. “Ed-” 

“No, none to compare to your sister,” Caspian answers to my surprise. 

“Ew,” Edmund grimaces in disgust and cowers off somewhere. 

I turn to Caspian in awe. “Do you really mean that?”

“Every word,” he whispers, reaching up and caressing my cheek. 

I lean into his touch as my eyes fall shut with immense peace. A sense of peace I haven’t felt in over a year. 

“I’ve counted the days, waiting for your return. I knew there was a chance it may never happen, but I couldn’t give up hope. I still love you, Y/N,” he confesses and I open my eyes. “If not more than I did when you left.” 

I step forward, leaning into my press my lips to his softly. The sensation is exactly as I remember, if not better than before. I part from him for a second, resting my forehead against his. Our eyes meet, my Y/E/C ones, and his jet black ones that I adore so much. The eyes I’ve dreamt about each night for the past year. 

“I love you too, Caspian,” I whisper. 

He smiles, releasing a breathless laugh of joy and takes a step back. His hands take both of mine and he rubs them with his thumbs softly. “I... I know you’ve never had a choice and I know I’m asking a lot of you but... will you stay here in Narnia... with me?” 

My eyes search his face at a rapid rate. Is he truly asking me this? I take a moment to consider what he’s really asking me. I would be leaving behind my world forever. I may never see my family again. After all, this could be the last time we ever come back to Narnia. 

“And I know that would mean asking you another question,” he continues. “I have something else for you.” He steps back and lowers himself to one knee. 

My lips part as I start to comprehend what’s happening. The crew takes notices and starts to gather, along with Edmund and Lucy. 

Caspian reaches into his pocket and a reveals a gold floral engraved ring in his palm. “It was my mother’s. I’ve kept it with me, waiting for you to return. I don’t wish to bombard you. I know I’m asking you to make an impossible decision and-”  

“Yes,” I answer. 

“Yes?!” He repeats, rising from his position. 

I laugh, “Yes! Yes, Caspian I will marry you!” 

He wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the deck. “Oh, I love you so much, Y/N!” Above him, I lower my head and bring my lips to his. 

Instantly in my heart, I can feel that my fate was always meant to be forever with Caspian in Narnia.

Masterlist

#narnia #narinia imagine #prince caspian #prince capsian x reader #lucy pevensie #edmund pevensie #imagine #fanfic #ben barnes

[bvccy]

Nothing to Despair | Preview 1 / Work In Progress

PAIRING: Soft!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Bucky and a girl he never met before are asked, because of their language skills, to go undercover as married on a two-week mission to Europe. He feels alienated in the modern world, and notices his partner feels similarly isolated. Maybe they can find a new home in each other, but she’s not easily persuaded.

RATING: it's pretty naughty but there's no bad words so Idk

WARNINGS: None, just softness and kissings and the hint of unrequited love

WORD COUNT: 2K

A/N: I'm currently working on something new, and as it might be a W H I L E until it's ready to post, I thought I'd share a snippet to tide you over. Now, the rest of it is only partly done, but I’ll just say I made myself cry while writing it. You’re all going to suffer, it’s gonna be GREAT. It starts soft and angsty but it will get very dark and smutty. On that note, do let me know if you’d like to be tagged once the full thing is published. It’s gonna be also on AO3 anyway.

Enjoy! :D

While he waited in his room for her to finish getting dressed, he was actually grateful to see Steve had texted him. Bucky read the message in passing then called without thinking.

"Hey, bud." came Steve's voice, happy but surprised and sounding just a bit tired. "Was afraid I wouldn't catch you in time."

"Hi, no, we were just about to go out."

"You ok? Sound a bit—"

"Everything's fine, Stevie, don't worry. So what's this club you mentioned?"

"Wanted to let you know about a little place SHIELD found out about. A few of your favorite people been making appearances, thought you'd be interested."

"Is that right… Where is it?"

"Not far from the hotel, I'll give you the address."

They sat through the first portion of presentations in a shared silence that was common but heavier than usual. She was as effortlessly nice to him as before any of their little fights, but distant, always distant underneath the smooth pleasantries.

They went for the lunch break with everyone else, and with every opportunity, Bucky kept his eyes on Hamelin. He was talking with the lady from Spain again and sitting more closely than usual. He'd seen him have lunch with a few of the other attendees as well, but she seemed to be his most frequent companion.

As they were about to part, Hamelin passed her a note so surreptitiously as to seem a handshake, but Bucky noticed. They left together, and as they passed the great big doors of the restaurant, Hamelin went in the usual direction of the auditorium, while the woman went a different way. From Steve's call that morning, Bucky had an idea of where that might be, and knew better than to miss the opportunity.

The girl was just finishing her meal, sitting in silence across from him. He thought about tailing the lady on his own, but the idea of leaving his partner in the same room as Hamelin, even with all the other conference goers, didn't sit well with Bucky. He paid for lunch, and as they walked out together he led them toward the lobby.

"A little side-trip." he smiled at her confusion. She wasn't surprised by that anymore, and went along as always.

"What is this?" she asked as they approached a decrepit looking building, not a ten minute walk from the hotel. It looked utterly uninhabited, but a lit stairway leading down betrayed its use.

"Just checking something out." he said as he led them onward, one arm secured on the small of her back.

They went through a rusty looking door at the bottom of the stairway, a squeak announcing them to a few shadowy figures ahead. People looked at them then turned away in disinterest, minding their own business. The faint sound of jazz floated through the corridor, and red lights lit the way forward.

They arrived inside what was a sort of dance-club, mellow and warm and smoky. A few patrons gathered around old wooden tables, some sitting at a dirty wet bar; a pianist and singer performed slowly on the small stage up front.

Bucky scanned the place, not seeing anything suspicious yet, if you didn't count the clandestine nature of the whole thing. Heavy red curtains decorated the walls, and beyond some he could just about see doorways. He held the girl closer to himself, just in case, and heard her wince in disgust as she spotted some of the couples grinding against each other in the dark.

"What are we doing here?" she whispered into his shoulder.

"Just stick close to me, honey." he smiled down at her, pulling her more possessively to him.

He led them to one of the empty tables in a red-cushioned alcove, stained with alcohol sprinklings and cigarette ash, from where he could easily watch the entrance.

"I'm gonna go get us some drinks. Will you be ok here a minute?" he asked as she sat down and took her jacket off.

"Yes, yes." she sighed.

"Ok…" Bucky smiled, and right before he left remembered to ask "By the way, what would you like?"

She thought for a second, and decided "Absinthe, please."

"Bit strong for you, isn't it?"

"I'll need a good disinfectant for this place." she smirked.

Bucky grinned, then went to the bar.

He was back soon enough with drinks for the both of them, and sat beside her to scan the place. He held her close to him, one arm flung around her shoulder, the other resting on his glass of gin. Nobody bothered or approached them, or even looked their way much; discretion seemed to be the rule of the place.

The girl sipped her drink, melting slowly into his side as it soothed her nerves, though she still regretted it every time she looked up and saw something she didn't like.

They were there for a quarter of an hour before sharp footsteps echoed from somewhere to the left, almost unnoticeable underneath the music. Bucky followed the sound to one of the far walls, and sure enough a figure passed through the curtains, almost as if materialising from the dark. It was the Spanish lady, looking rather nervous and out of place as she walked with another man who was older and broader, with a professional look to him. He led her out, and several minutes later came back to disappear the way he'd come, through the curtains.

The girl noticed it too, and looked up at Bucky suspiciously. Catching her gaze, he shrugged with a smile and instantly she knew they had work to do.

He led them across the room, toward the walls, walking along inconspicuously as they made for the entrance they'd seen. The heavy material parted for them to reveal a hallway, dark and very cold and even more poorly lit than the bar. Trash littered the corners and broken old furniture was piled up in places, waiting to be thrown away.

Wordlessly, the couple walked through hand-in-hand. They reached far enough away that the sound of music faded, where bits of graffiti, partially covered or scraped off, decorated the walls under the flickering lights. Some drunk was passed out on the floor, his legs sprawled across the way. Bucky and the girl stepped over him and went on, and met another pair a bit further, cuddled together on the ground as they fiddled with a package between them.

Finally, they reached a corner the led on to a more well lit path. Bucky and the girl looked at each other and quietly agreed to go on together. They didn't make it a few feet until he stopped her, Bucky just barely making out some voices through the walls. Three men, by the sound of it, speaking in Russian. They talked about payment, one week or two, verification, doubts, and counter-offers.

When Bucky heard their voices draw further, then closer again, he started moving the girl back and going the way they came. The men were coming out, and were bound to find them.

She didn't seem too frightened, following his lead obediently, and that gave him a bit of courage to try and find out more. Stepping past the dizzy drunks and vagrants, Bucky stopped them both in the middle of the hallway.

"They're going to see us." she whispered with worry.

"I know, but we gotta get into their office." he said, looking at the far end of the hall. The men should come through any second.

"But if they catch us…"

"They're not gonna catch us, doll." Bucky pulled her closer as he stuck his back to the wall, his metal arm covering the length of her spine securely, black glove holding the back of her neck.

They both looked with concern at the shadows lengthening around the corner, and in a heartbeat Bucky made his decision.

"Kiss me." he whispered, turning his burning gaze down toward her.

"What?"

"Come on, kiss me."

"I can't." she choked, looking up pleadingly into his eyes. "I can't, I can't…"

Just as the far off voices announced the near arrival of the men, Bucky took her face gently in his hand and pulled it up to him, turning it just slightly enough that his lips caressed the corner of her mouth. From the side, it looked good enough to pass for the real thing. His other hand went to her leg and hooked it up around him, fingers curled around her thigh and caressing its inside from underneath, raising her skirt enough to flash the red lace trimming of her slip, the edge of her stocking, and those naughty black garters.

She gripped his lapels to hold on, fearful but tight enough to seem passionate, and she pressed herself against him. She closed her eyes tightly, and even in the shadow of all the other feelings — more erotic, more sensual, frantic — Bucky most of all relished the gentle tickle of her lashes against his cheek.

He held on to her and she to him, shocked under his kiss — that wasn't a full kiss, as much as he could make it, and she was grateful to him for at least that. She grounded herself on the hard planes of his body, broad and heavy as a wall but radiating with a furnace-like heat against her chest and stomach and all the way down between her legs. His mouth caressed the side of hers in tender waves, warm and damp and surprisingly soft, while the tips of his fingers stroked the inside of her leg.

Her hands let go of his lapel for the second it took to grip onto his shoulders, pulling herself even closer and hiding in his body as the men passed them by. Bucky held her tighter and tilted his head just enough to look through the corner of his eye at the back of them, while his fingers caressed her skin with a mind of their own. The men were far enough away and soon were out of sight, going through the curtain and out into the jazz club. He closed his eyes and swallowed a moan, in disbelief at just how hot and soft her thigh could be, and as his fingers crawled upward toward an even deeper warmth, Bucky felt her tense and tremble, and he let her go.

Her leg slinked its way back to the ground while he lifted his lips from her, and as they slowly let each other go they were hit again by the coolth of the corridor. Bucky steadied her, and himself, with a hand on her shoulder, and searched her blushing and avoidant face.

"You good, doll?" he rasped, feeling as winded as she looked.

"Yeah…" she gasped into his chest. Above and unseen by her, he licked the remnants of her taste from his lips and swallowed greedily, while the girl brushed a dry hand across her mouth to wipe him away. "Let's hurry, before they come back."

It was an easy enough job for Bucky to break into their office, though he took his time to pick the lock as quietly as possible and mindful of any alarm triggers.

He gave her one of the two small flashlights he carried in his pocket, and they started looking through the messy old place, sifting through files and folders and open drawers. None of it felt right, those didn't seem like the sort of guys to leave stuff just lying around. And sure enough, inside a stocky wooden dresser, nailed into the bottom of it, was a compact safe. Bucky called the girl over, and she held a light for him while he looked it over.

It had a number of dials and buttons, and the metal didn't seem so thick that he couldn't break it open, but he didn't want to be too obvious about their intrusion. Bucky felt around the edges of the box, and considered picking it open before he noticed an even safer entry point.

He looked at the girl with a cocky smile, and she raised a brow at him.

"Another shoe?"

"Hairpin this time, darlin'."

She sighed and pulled one from her hair. Carefully, Bucky stretched and twisted it into an L shape, then pushed it through a small hole in the corner of the box while he kept pressure on the dial that opened it. He didn't have to twist it around much until the lock was opened from inside. With no risk of picks scratching or breaking the keyway, there would be no hint it was ever opened.

"You know, if we decided on a career as burglars, we could live like kings." she whispered with amusement.

"Don't temp me." Bucky grinned.

He sifted through the safe's contents, pulling out folders and stacks of cash in various currencies. The papers were in multiple languages, including the local one, but they didn't have time to go through it all. They decided to risk it and take the folders with them, which Bucky hid at his back, beneath the jacket. It wasn't until they were back out into the club that the girl remembered she'd left hers behind.

They went back to their seats but couldn't find it anymore, and the bartender said he hadn't noticed anything. It didn't have pockets nor any identifiable mark, so they weren't too worried about its loss. They gave up on it quickly and went back to the hotel.

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky x you #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky x OFC #Bucky Barnes x OFC #Winter Soldier fanfiction #Winter Soldier x reader #James Buchanan Barnes #The Winter Soldier #Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes fluff #mcu fanfiction #bucky x reader fluff #bv;fanfiction #Nothing to Despair #the context may or may not make sense but hang in there #also there's a reason why she's so distant #it's gonna be explained in the full fic eventually #but basically I'm writing an insecure-avoidant attachment style #because I see no reader or even OFC fics with divergent attachment styles and it's a shame #of course Bucky doesn't REALISE this is why she keeps away from him ahahaha cue unbelievable amounts of suffering

[waywardimpalawriter]

Could you do a Bucky/Reader fic for 16 on the smut prompts?

The intimacy of shaving

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader

Bucky Bingo Square: New haircut square

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Sarah Wilson

Setting: three months after the end of Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Rating: M (Mature), E (explicit), NSFW, +18 only please

Warnings: fluff, angst, bickering, smut, oral female receiving, yearning, pining, unrequited love, smutty dreams, broken bones, mention of torture, Bucky’s old memories,

Word count: 10,800

Summary: Frustrated with being left behind, worry taking hold after finding out just a fraction of how bad your boys are. Making you start to search your feeling's for both men. Especially with the intimacy of giving Bucky a hair cut and shave. Unexpected emotions surface on all parts.

Notes: Sequel too “My own worse enemy," filling in a bingo square for #buckybingo and also an Anon request asking for smut prompt #16 “I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.” Hope you don't mind me adding Sam into the mix sweetie. Also for my head cannon Sam uses Delacroix LA for his base of operation. Wanting to help take care of his family while taking on the mantle of Captain America. Hope you enjoyed doll.

Tag list’s: Are open

@buckybingo

Forever’s: @jedi-mando @chickensarentcheap

Bucky Barnes list: @learisa @eclipses-and-moondust

Story list: @sammyissassy @feelmyroarrrr

Wearing a path from the kitchen to living room ignoring Sarah’s stare, thumb nail damn near nibbled to the bed with how much your chewing the poor abused finger. Cell phone pressed to your ear, listening to Sams deep baritone, “What’d ya mean three places Samuel? How the f-ing hell did you both managed to get so banged up?”

“Explanations will roll out once we touch down Y/N for now know at least he didn’t break his funny bone that’s still none existence,” glancing towards Bucky stretched out over the metal helo bench. Right arm in a sling snug to his body, thick plaster cast covering from mid bicep to mid palm, fingers still visible.

“I heard that and I do to have a sense of humor just not your brand of stupid jokes bird brain,” deep voice unmistakably Bucky’s catching a wobble in the cadence not there when last they spoke.

Swiping a hand over your face wanting to kill them both for leaving you behind. Plans to do just that forming in your mind while snarking, “Remind me again why exactly you chose to leave me behind?”

Staying home you could’ve possibly worked with, the unknown danced on your nerves more than you’d give credit to. Having grown even closer to both men over the last six months, always brushing those pesky feelings and thoughts away that surface during weak moments of worry or sleep.

“To dangerous and I’m not arguing with you on those semantics it’s bad enough cyborg got the shit beaten out of him,” quickly pulling the phone from his ear at the high pitched sound from down the line. Forgetting a moment your attachment to both men, “You finished?”

Low growl in answer, biting off the curses you wish to fling at both Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Don’t worry you’re in for it once you get home. ETA?” Checking the watch strapped to your left wrist, “I’ll come pick y’all up, gotta stop in town for supplies anyway.”

“No worries my trucks at base I’ll get Buck and myself home.” Glancing at his watch, “Landing in about two hours, think you can grab a couple of Miss Bridgette’s pecan pies?”

Too many years working with that man not to know what he likes, “For the shit you and Barnes pulled get your own pie man.” Soft chuckles lets you know Sarah heard you. Eyes locking with her’s for a moment seeing the worry in those warm browns matching as you knew in your own. “Just bring you asses home so Sarah and I can roast them.”

Almost feeling the deep groan from over the phone line, “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing since that’s what I got,” shaking head tips to the side picking up on Sam’s easy breathing and the helo’s engines in the back ground. “Just get home dumbass,” affection in your tone. Ending the call, slipping the cell into your front pocket to flop down into the worn out but still comfortable couch.

“They get hurt?” Anxiety tainting her voice from across the room.

Peeking through your fingers at her, dropping them to your thighs to run the length of denim covered skin, “Don’t know really, Sam sounds fine but a concussion or another type of head injury wouldn’t show it’s self right away. From what I did gather they finished up the mission a little over four hours ago, in flight for the last two.”

“What about Bucky?” Meeting your eyes having confided in her years ago about the crush harbored for a certain metal armed ex-assassin turned Cap’s left hand man. Always leaving out the other part of your secret crush. “Speaking of which you ever gonna tell them how you feel?”

“Busting chops about that again Sarah?” Exasperated sigh marches passed barely parted lips, “Something’s broke in three places that’s all Sam ‘Stubborn ass’ Wilson would say. Just not which one of them or what body part exactly.” Firmly ignoring her last question and not picking up on the fact she said them instead of him. To stand hands to hips, leaning back to stretch and possibly pop your spine. “I’m going to town you wanna come or need anything.”

“And you call Sam stubborn,” head shaking with a fond smile tipping her lips upward. Picking up the subtle shift in your demeanor as relief floods your system with knowing they're coming home at least safe. Having guessed your feelings for her older brother not long ago however, keeping that little tidbit to herself. “I’ll come with, give you company and grief along the way. The boy’s won’t come home till later anyway.”

Eyes roll you reach for the car keys on the coffee table, patting your back pocket to check for wallet and the front for cell phone. “Ready to roll?”

Hour and a half later arms loaded with grocery bags, making sure to hide Miss Bridgette’s pie’s from Sam, you and Sarah set to work putting everything away. Setting to work fixing dinner efficiently dancing around each other like a well oiled machine working together in tandem getting each task done. Back door quietly trying to open, Sam poking his head around the well loved oak wood door. Showing a face littered with cuts, a busted bottom lip and dark shadow of a black eye around his left. But his smile still widens flashing pearly whites at seeing the two of you. Entering, Sam places a large locking suit case and round leather carry case not far from the door.

Soft gasp leave’s Sarah’s lips, quickly moving towards her brother to look him over, “You were ugly before now it’s just worse bro.”

Snort existed through his nose, stepping fully into the house with a limp on his right side, accepting the hug she gives him carefully. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’m the other guy,” voice slightly strained but still light almost playful unlike the Bucky of months ago. Though seeing him coming around Sam, arm cradled close in a black cloth sling. Peeks of plaster noticeable making you groan, head shaking at the very sight of him. Assortment of bruises littered his face, his own busted lip, and a three inch cut circling just above his collarbone. Seeing the storm brewing in your eyes, “No we didn’t fight and Sam didn’t cause these wonderful souvenirs.”

“Stupid ass got captured, wouldn’t listen to my plan…”

“You didn’t have a plan Sam not a logistical one…”

“Oh, so you bulldozing in like a raging bull in a China shop worked so well. Who got capture?” Pressing a finger behind his ear to lift the shell listening for Bucky’s answer. “I’m sorry I can’t hear you. You’re gonna say you right Robo soldier cause that’s the correct answer.”

Exasperated with them both, “Shut it and sit down dinner’s ready. I swear the two of you fight worse than Cass and AJ.” Authority ringing through Sarah’s tone cutting eyes at both men.

“Oh sweetheart Cass and AJ have nothing on these two bone heads, more maturity in their little bodies than both of them put together.” Rubbing your temples trying to fend off the building migraine behind your eyes. “Listening to constant bickering I wanna put them in a ‘Get along shirt.'”

Scowl in place while giving them a full once over. Cataloguing the damage you could see and wondering about that which you couldn’t. Noticing the length of Bucky’s hair almost a shaggy just falling a little over his ears and brushing the collar of the black t-shirt he’s wearing. Full beard dusting his cheeks and chin reminding you of those days long gone back in Wakanda. In contrast to Sam’s neatly kept mustache and goatee, close cropped haircut smartly framing his handsome face. Looking much like the day he and Bucky left three months ago on their reconnaissance mission. Knowing better as looks deceive and clothes cover up places eyes can’t see without stripping them naked. The very thought peeking interest but pushing those thoughts back with a frown. Of course it doesn’t stop you from wanting to hug them both mindful of injures unseen that brings a scowl to your features.

“You wouldn’t?” Traces of fear slicing through those deep russet browns. “I thought you loved me Y/N?”

Speaking over Sam, “What’s a ‘Get along’ shirt?”

Caught between wanting to roll her eyes and chuckle, “It’s a big shirt we’d put the two of you in till ya stop bickering like children and actually get along.” Dishing up dinner, Sarah looks towards both men. Trying hard not to burst out laughing at the sour look on Sam’s face nor the still slightly confused one on Bucky’s.

“I see smoke coming from his ears,” snarky quip receiving a back handing smack to his arm.

Bowel’s placed at the table, “Aim for the head next time Sar.” Taking the seat on Sam’s right offering him a cheekily smile, “Might actually knock the few brain cells he has left around and jump start the hamster running the wheel.”

“You both wound me,” clutching his chest dramatically. “With friends and family like this who can you trust.”

“Dramatic’s must come with handling the shield,” cerulean eyes rolling edged with teasing tone. Glancing towards Sam first then you beside him, going to explain for Sarah’s benefit. “Steve could put on some high melodrama back in the day. Much like Samuel here.” Scratching at his chin with vibranium fingers, a low hiss only you catch sounds when the plates catch the little hairs.

Scoffing, “Only Sarah calls me that first off, second look who’s talking Mr. Bionic Staring machine scaring off everyone who comes within two feet. Dramatics run through your veins just as well. ”

“Children,” both women exclaim hands coming down to slam the table at the same. Before time digging into dinner as the back door opens with Cass and AJ storming inside with excited chatter upon seeing both Sam and Bucky.

Each asking about what happened, how’d the mission go and why exactly Bucky’s sporting a sling and cast. All questions peeking the interested of both women with brows raised and narrowed eyes.

“Settle in first and eat dinner,” Sam intones wanting to keep most of what happened from his family. “For the most part the mission went successful.”

Very unladylike snort leaves your nose hidden behind a glass of sweet tea you sip from, “At least you came back in one piece or three in someone’s case.” Eyes narrow even farther on Bucky who has the good graces to look sheepish and divert his eyes.

“But the super serum why didn’t it help like that,” AJ snapped his little fingers for emphasis on the quickness the serum should work or so he thinks.

“Doesn’t quiet work that way AJ,” Bucky starts running a hand through his longer than usual hair. Giving a short frustrated tug before returning to the topic at hand. “Yeah the serum helps speed up the healing process it’s not instantaneous and,” pausing to side eye you not wanting to admit there’s more injures than just his arm.

Scowl returning having a feeling you know why he’s paused in explaining, “Takes longer to heal when multiple injures are involved.”

Dinner finishes with other questions, skirting the full truth about the mission, discussing the coming week with work and school. Sam’s boyish smile appears when Sarah brings out the pie, cutting out slices to pass around with Reddi-whip, coffee for the adults, milk for the kids. Silence settles for a moment the enjoyment of pie more important to savor and only once done do you raise to start cleaning up.

“I’ll,” shooting Sarah a look with a shake of your head.

“You got paperwork to catch up on babe I’ve got this, besides Sam volunteered to help. Didn’t you Sam?” Shooting a look his way, clearly speaking volumes if the answer comes back no.

Brow arched in question but thought better then to ask, though he flips the script on you, “Of course, Bucky volunteer’s.” Quickly moving away from the hand threatening to land a hard punch to his right thigh. Almost toppling to the floor in his hast to move Sam tweaked his hip a twinge of pain slicing through his features.

“Serves you right Wilson,” thought a slice of regret skates across your thoughts. Head shaking you stand gathering plates as the boys excuse themselves to play video games.

“Homework first or I’m taking those games away,” Sarah yells after them looking in your direction for a second. “You got these two?” Pointing at each of them in turn with her own frown dropping her lips downward.

“Sadly yes,” exasperation clearly written in the rigidness of you stance and narrowing to slits of your eyes. “Blissfully unaware or want to know everything?”

“Unaware I’m just happy their back whole,” nodding Sarah takes her leave, heading for the home office.

Times flown, six months in fact since Karli’s death and Sam taking over the mantle of Captain America. Going above and beyond to change how the worlds become and see’s the shield. Using Delacroix as home base to keep himself grounded and around for his family. Surprisingly enough including you and Bucky the house feels a touch over crowded but wouldn’t want things any different.

“Care to explain what that means?” Limping with hands full towards the sink, Sam places his arm load down watching you move around the kitchen. Putting leftovers up, setting to work on the dishes, the familiarity you exude warms a place in Sam’s heart. Always pushing those thoughts from his mind, your his best friend and wouldn’t see him in any other way. Especially with your heart firmly filled with Bucky.

Giving your back to both men and only acknowledging their presence when Bucky comes over with a bowel. “Thanks,” leaves your lips with a nod.

“We’re sorry for leaving you behind Y/N, but Sam and I agreed things were to dangerous neither of us wanted you to get hurt,” trying to reason Bucky leans his back against the counter beside you. Tugging once again at his too long hair that gets slightly tangled in the plates of his fingers.

“You actually agreed on something?” Catching his actions, your head shakes grabbing for the towel to dry soapy hands and help with his dilemma. “Instead you both come back looking like train wreck’s all beaten, broken and bruised. With a busted arm,” finished with untangling his fingers to point at his arm. Whirling around to assess Sam who’s trying not to put weight on his right leg, “Banged up hip and God know what else internally. Neither one of you are spring chickens for heaven’s sake.”

“Don’t know what your talking about Y/N? I’m not a day over twenty-five,” taking an aim to make you smile and ease the tension in your shoulders. Frown appearing when your countenance doesn’t change but deepens, “Talk to the resident Centurion who got his ass captured and tortured for over a week.”

Low growl leaves your lips pursed together in a grim line, “Do either of you think about the consequences of your actions? Of what’ll happen without either of you in this God forsaking world?” Tossing your hands up and turning back to dish washing, something to keep from chocking the life outta the two of them, or spilling your inner most thoughts. Afraid to loose either man the very thought making your heart clinch painfully in your chest, breathing picking up as tears gloss over your eyes. Plates clang loudly, forcefully slamming them into the drying rack making both men wince at your actions.

“Y/N,” coming up behind you large warm hands carefully rest on tense shoulders. Aware of your feelings for a certain cyborg the thought a little bitter to take but Sam resigns himself to the role of best friend. “We’re sorry really,” taking a breath and clearing his throat wanting to make amends and explain. “We thought, planned, things just…”

“Went to shit around us, it’s not like Sam or I wanted to get the crap beating out of us doll it just,” shrugging vibranium hand coming to rest on your shoulder beside Sam’s. “Got complicated.”

Taking a deep breath drawing in the scents of Sam’s citrus and cider wood cologne you couldn’t put your finger on naming, mixing with Bucky’s old world sandalwood base cologne of 4711. Eyes close for a moment blinking back the tears, and to gather thoughts, righting them in an order that makes sense. Trying to keep out the feelings currently jumbling up your brain. “I know,” body sags back against Sam’s strong chest while unconsciously leaning towards Bucky’s hand. “Neither of you will do that shit again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Not if things go dark side like this time, we’re not putting you in harms way,” feeling you stiffen Sam steps back, Bucky’s hand drops back to his side when you whirl on the man behind you. Stance ridge and firm, Sam crosses his arms adding his own glare and not backing down. “My decision is final on the matter and no amount of arguing will change that.”

Understanding Sam’s position, however the thought of staying behind, waiting to find out if… no you push those thoughts aside. “Mine, that’s who makes the choice not either of you,” heat of annoyance flaring to life as you look between the two men. “Knowing what I signed up for, choose to stick around and help put this broken blue marble we call home back together. I won’t sit out the next mission we clear on that?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, barely audible hiss leaves Bucky’s lips at having hair yanked out by the roots. Though his voice is steady when asking, “Why did you stick around? Thought once Walker handed over the shield, the Flag smashers agenda crashed and burned you’d skip out on the next train back to normal.” Not that he minded of course, in fact Bucky rather enjoyed your company, reminded him of those first months out of cryo getting to know each other. Plus his questions distracted you from getting an answer that won’t satisfy.

“I have my reasons,” giving a half hearted shrug you turn back to finishing up the dishes not really wanting to explain. Not fully sure yourself why you’ve stuck around though deep down you know it has to do with both men. “Reasons neither of you need to know.”

Sharing a look with Bucky, “Don’t pull that shit with us sweetheart you demand answers now we ask the same in return.”

Sure they still argued like an old married couple but a begrudging understanding has built between the pair, coming to an almost friendship neither would fully admit to. Both wanting to protect the small family friend’s circle patched together like grandma’s old quilt. Tattered, frayed and a few wholes but well loved and always cared for. Eyes landing back on you to watch the forward slump of your shoulders rounded inward along with your chin dropped to your chest.

“I have the two of you house broken,” idea forming to steer the conversation away. “Don’t need that headache on repeat and I wouldn’t leave the two of you bone heads alone to kill each other or drive poor Sarah crazy,” quicker than either can react you’ve scooped up hand fulls of soap bubbles to smash into both their faces. Deflecting the conversation away from having to answer and lightening the mood. Or so you hoped with the playfully murderous looks both men shoot you. Skirting Sam’s grabby hands heading to put the kitchen table between yourself, Captain America and the Winter Soldier. “Now boys that’s just all in good fun and your both hurt so I suggest you think about your actions before retaliating.”

Wiping the remains of soapy bubbles from his face, thick fingers making wet tracks over denim to dry hands. Sam edges a little closer intent on trying to snag your arm. That ghosts through his fingers, “For now but remember paybacks a bitch sweetheart.” Bright smile tugs his full lips, head shaking though he knows there’s so much more your hiding from both he and Bucky. One day he’ll crack that secret you hold so dear, for now Sam lets you cling tightly.

Watching him go you turn towards Bucky who’s smirk sets you back a moment. “I don’t think I like that look Barnes,” arms crossed mustering a half glare. “Sam’s right you really can see the smoke rising from your head.”

“Hahaha that jokes getting old,” light hearted quip falling from his lips, eyes raking your form as you near the sink. Catching you looking between finishing the dishes and making sure Bucky’s not going to retaliate. “I come in peace promise besides I’m too old for revenge I’ll leave it to you young whipper snappers,” throwing his voice to sound like an old man.

Laughter rings full and deep from your parted lips, soapy hands gripping the sink to keep from toppling over in mirth. His own chuckle exists on a grin, cerulean eyes taking in how carefree you look. Tension and worry melted away with his well played grandpa joke. Making Bucky wish he got to see you like this more often but then he remembered why he never searched. Why he left you alone and only within the last ten or so months managed to reconnect the missing dots in his life. Sure there’s still blood on his hands he tries to scrub clean with each mission, to make those amends and not just avenge. But truly help people in ways that didn’t require lead or blood.

Still wondering, so he gives voice to those thoughts, “Why didn’t you go back to your life doll?” Feeling he’s perpetuated a grave error in asking the question but a part of him wants. No needed the answer to know why you’d give up a happy life for one of danger and uncertainty with him and Sam.

Sobering, his question hitting you like a ton of cement bricks keeping you from turning to face him. Wincing when another hiss echos around inside your head from your right side. “Tell you what Buck you let me cut that hair and beard of yours I’ll answer your questions.”

“I get you don’t… wait… what?” Not sure he’d heard you right. Pain making a return to fog his brain for the moment as throbbing radiates across his broken clavicle to the dislocated shoulder, dancing along the fractured radius and painfully tingling his fingers. Soft curse exists his lips reminding himself to take Sam’s suggestions next time though he wouldn’t let the other man know. “Don’t happen to have any pain meds do ya doll?”

Eyes narrow, “Which parts did they break?” Holding up a hand to stop him from answering while you head towards your room. Grabbing up the small med kit Sharon gave you months back for times like these. Pausing to scoop up the hair scissors and trimer, along with a shaver and cream, both of which belonging to Sam. “Now you were saying?”

Placing everything on the table, unzipping the medium size unassuming black bag pulling out a small bottle to pop the top and wiggle out two pills. Handing those over to Bucky who just stares at them resting in his metal palm.

“Trying to kill me doll?” Teasing tone to the cadence of his words while popping them into his mouth and excepting the glass of water. Downing in one go and handing it back, “Never did like pills reminds me of Steve.”

Resting a gentle hand on his bad shoulder, “If I tried to kill ya Buck you’d see it coming,” snickering at the wide eyed look he gives you. Sobering with understanding filled eyes that stay locked with his, “I’m sorry it”s not my intentions to bring up the past.” Moving to put the glass down, you stay at the sink looking out over the backyard, orange and reds dancing over the rippling surface of the bayou. Sinking sun creating a cornucopia of color heralding the on coming twilight and the end of another day.

“You didn’t Y/N,” coming to stand next to you watching the golden ball of life giving light slowly sink into the horizon. On the tip of his tongue to speak about Steve, the abandonment he felt acutely with the absence of his best friend. Slowly filled by your present, that of Sam’s and his family. “I guess ‘Till the end of the line’ meant just till he could get back to who he really missed.” Anguish heard loudly through soft spoken words not meant for your ears but once uttered there’s no going back.

Out of your peripheral vision you study Bucky for a moment heart breaking for the man who’s lost so much to then fully face him. His own gaze staying straight ahead staring unseen out the window with tan lace curtains framing the coming twilight. Over head light casting shadows in the hallows and angles of his features, bringing out the bruises highlighting the cuts, making your heart ache for this man in ways you’ve tried to push aside. Ways you didn’t want it to feel in case of rejection but couldn’t help the tightening in your chest nor the want to embrace and hold Bucky close.

“Come on,” without thinking your hand slips into his vibranium palm tugging till he follows and only dropping to scoop up trimmer, combs and scissors before heading out the back door.

For a moment Bucky stood there thankful to Shuri for the ability to feel warmth and the weight of your hand in his vibranium limb. The very thoughts your simple gesture conjures damns his heart making it beat triple time. When your head pops back around the door sweet smile crossing those kissable lips. Bucky has to remind himself you’re off limits friends nothing more and to breath. Your beauty stealing the air from his lungs, making it hard to focus on anything except your present.

Catching the out of focus look in his cerulean eyes mind swirling with questions as to what he’s thinking about. “You gonna stand there taking root or get your silly ass out here,” motioning with a jerk of your head over your shoulder smile still firmly in place. Making sure he’s actually moving before existing to place a stool about middle of the back porch. Patting the hardwood barstool then reaching up to tug on the pull string as light floods the area casting a bright glow.

Transfixed for a moment in the doorway with the peek of skin allowed to his eyes. Your heather grey band shirt riding up teasingly tormenting him. Cursing internally, tongue trapped between indenting teeth to keep the sounds at bay. Till the hard slap of your palm against wooden seat draws his attentions and he robotically takes the seat. Stiffening with the fluttering of a barber’s cape hating to have things around his neck. Only to settle once you have it in place and buttoned reminding him your not there to hurt or torture him. Fingers brushing lightly over the exposed skin of his neck, creating goosebumps to dance across his flesh.

“Not too tight?” Gently running nimble fingers through his hair, blunt nails scratching the scalp. Finding it hard to keep from rubbing into your hands and fighting the urge to purr with each pass. You work the larger knots out carefully, pulling a comb from the back pocket of your jeans to run through his hair. “You with me Buck?”

“Hmm?” Simple noise issues from the back of his throat lost in the tingling sensations your fingers bloom across his body. Wanting to chase the feeling bringing peace to his mind much like the soft cadence your voice takes on with the intimacy surrounding the two of you. Sweet chuckle music to his ears and snaps him back to now, noticing you’ve paused your hands waiting for a response, “Sorry no I’m good.”

“Enjoying yourself Barnes?” Teasingly quipped while adjusting the cape to cover his back. Making sure all his hair lays over the edges and carefully combing out the smaller knots your fingers missed. Secretly enjoying the soft chestnut strands as they curl around your fingers. Massaging his scalp hoping to relax his tense posture when a particularly stubborn knot has you accidentally giving a not so gentle tug. Garnering a low moan from the man in front of you. “Sorry Buck,” working the knot out with a little more care taking the sound as one of pain.

Throat clearing, thankful his crotch is currently covered to not give away the secret he’s concealing. Praying to all the heavens you’ve taken the moan as one of pain instead of pleasure that’s surfing through his veins with a simple hair pull. “Yes, and it’s fine,” words pushed passed lips held taunt to keep from letting any sound out. Searching his mind for a topic to settle on, willing his body to stop reacting to the warmth of yours.

Each brush of fingers sends heat flaring to life along his nerves. Knowing the pain killers don’t worked through his system that quickly. Yet, the throbbing ache once present has diluted to a low annoying thump with the heat of your hands on his cotton covered shoulder. Wanting to lean back into your body but holds himself ridge from doing something stupid like enjoying the moment. Therefore clears his throat, “You’ve got me at your mercy doll ready to answer my questions?”

“Should I worry what you’ll ask?” Moving from behind him to head back into the kitchen. Grabbing the empty spray bottle to fill with warm water and head back out.

Eyes close with the first spritz of water, chin dropping to chest as you work to wet his hair. “Why?”

“Why what?” Knowing what he’s asking, your distracted for a moment putting the spray bottle’s trigger through a belt loop incase its needed once your satisfied with the wetness of his hair. “I’ll need more specifics than just why. Why’s the sky blue? Why’s it so damn hot? So many why questions you gotta stop wasting your breath Buck.”

“Cheeky doll very cheeky you know damn well what I mean,” keeping his head still to prevent you from severing an ear.

Smirking, setting to work on trimming up the top back portion of his head, trying to keep from childishly making faces. “Sure don’t Sarge.”

Groan slipping passed before he’s able to trap and swallow the sound at the off handed use of his military rank. Wondering which deity had it out for his ass today. Cursing the fact he’s let you so close to breath in the flowery scent of your body. Gentle use of those skilled fingers through his hair not making things any better for the growing problem tenting his jeans. Returning to himself when you move to his left shortening the hair over his ear. “Why’d you stay with us? I thought,” remembering those painful words back in Madripoor. “I thought you had a happy life to go back to.”

“Ear hustling Barnes?” Switching sides and glancing down with a raised brow you know he doesn’t see.

Looking up to try and catch your eye your focus on cutting his hair makes the attempt impossible. So he settles on, “Don’t know what you mean doll. Just asking a question,” trying to hold the shiver at bay when your fingers brush over the shell of his ear.

“Since your asking it means you didn’t hear everything Sam and I talked about,” thankful that’s the case or things would get a whole lot complicated. “I lied.”

Head whipping to the side so quickly you fear he’s damaged his neck with the wince taking over his handsome features. “Lied why?”

“Reasons,” ‘Ones I won’t tell you James,’ speaking the last words in your mind, careful probing fingers check for anything popped out. Garnering a hiss of pain when you’ve found the break in his clavicle. “What did you break besides the hamster running your wheel brain?”

Bitting off the curse as pain flared over his right side. Gritting out, “Clavicle, dislocated shoulder, fractured radius, you can see the cuts and bruises so take it a little easy on this old man.”

“How… Why did you get captured?” Worry fights fear both dance with anger marching through your veins as a Thanksgiving Day parade band would down the streets of New York City. The very thought of both your men hurt and so far away from home torn a hole in your heart. Thoughts you try to push away and focus on the job of cutting Bucky’s hair.

Finishing up what you could on the back of his head, Bucky feels you come around to the front. Knees spread to accommodate your body, closing his eyes to keep from staring at your breasts. Licking suddenly dry lips with having you extra close, he tries to gather an answer to your question. “We needed an in so I made a decision.”

“One I’m sure Sam disagreed on,” carding your fingers through the top, snipping pieces checking length. Jealous over how soft his hair feels between your digits. Woodsy pine scent reaching your nose that twitches in pleasure at the fragrance matching what you always thought he’d smell like.

“Yeah well we ran out of time doll. Couldn’t let what remains of LAF get away,” eyes quickly open only to slam shut again with having you still too near for his own good.

Every brush of your fingers, thighs brushing against his with every move, your flowery scent wrapping around his heart to squeeze tight. Breath punched from his lungs when your knee makes slight contact with his erection. Shooting pleasurable fireworks off behind his closed lids. Wishing for your hands on his body, wondering what they’d feel like over bare skin. If you’d shy away from the scars littering his flesh or… he wouldn’t, didn’t need to think about the alternative.

Unsure why he gasped you move from between his legs and look upon his face confused as to his ridge posture eyes held tightly closed. Insecurities rushing through your mind, setting up shop to remind you no man let alone someone as handsome as Bucky would ever want to look at you. Shoving back those thoughts to ask, “You okay Bucky?”

“Fucking fabulous doll,” bitting out the words while trying to reign in the need to grab hold of your hips, bringing you back against him. Wanting to find out if you’d fit as good or better than what he’s imagined during those dream filled nights he doesn’t talk about with anyone. “Finished?” Praying you’ll say yes, the temptation becoming almost unbearable.

Unconvinced by his words but pushes that aside and stepping farther back to round him, grabbing up the trimmer on the way with a numbered comb. “Almost but then I still have your beard to do.”

“Fuck,” low gravely voice intones the single word hoping you’ve not heard and cursing the heaven for this test of his will and desires. In another life Bucky wouldn’t have hesitated to ask you out, wine and dine with dancing till midnight. Taking you home with a simple kiss of promise with more to come. But he’s different now and you don’t deserve to have a broken man on your hands.

Swallowing harshly to cover your growing need to escape and bury yourself in another program or book to distract from those awful thoughts running around in your mind. Replaying all the brush offs and look aways as rejection shattering your heart. Pushing you to finish his new hair cut that much quicker. “Done, now how short you want your beard?”

“Gone,” knowing exactly what he’s saying and damning himself to the torture of a different kind.

Coming back in front of him, you slip between his parted knees so easily a thought you try to push away while switching the trimmer combs and flicking the on button. Carefully cupping his left cheek while shortening the right for a closer shave once your done. “Surely you didn’t just let them capture you.” Returning to a safer subject other than how good his bearded jaw felt in your warm palm. Wondering how it’d feel in other places.

“Offered myself up for a little bloody torture and a few broken bones. I’m here to tell the tale instead of those guys Y/N. They're off the streets and we have the information needed to finish taking down LAF.” Teeth gritting to keep from rubbing his jaw into your palm, from turning to kiss the center and devour you with his mouth.

Pausing a moment, “But you could’ve gotten killed James.” Sorrow coloring the cadence of your tone, eyes filled with fear at what could’ve happened. “You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped.”

Heart stopping, never had you spoken his first name, always Bucky or Buck, Barnes when your angry but never James. Opening his darken cerulean orbs breath trapped somewhere between lungs and mouth at the sorrow written deep in those eyes he never could not stare into. Heart hammering back to life with the subtle brushing of your fingers over his cheek, “Would it have matter?”

Confusion tips your head to the side, “What you dying or me helping?”

“Dying,” single word dropped like a bomb destroying everything in the path.

“James,” softly spoken with so much emotion held within the countenance of your features. Watching the ghosts float through those beautiful cerulean eyes, memories of a time he couldn’t control, of deeds done to people who didn’t deserve the pain and death he dealt out as the Fist of Hydra. Tears gloss over your eyes once again trying to blink them away to keep them from clogging your emotions filled throat. “It matter’s Barnes, matters to a lot of people you’re just too stubborn to realize that.” Shaking your head to clear the fog and get back to work.

Speechless Bucky just sits there letting you finish up trimmer the hair away as if trying to erase the past months, the torture he let happen with no regard to his personal well being. During this time your words chase around his mind, combined with Sam’s out right demand of him to never put himself in harms way like that again. Adding more questions added than any true answers. Delicate fingers brush over trimmed facial hair bringing him back to the present right as you move to take the barber’s cape from around his neck. Missing the warmth of your touch, heat radiating from your body, your scent filling his nose and making him drunk on you.

Folding the cape to drape over your arm, “I’ll shave you as well come back inside.” Voice slightly rough with unshed tears avoiding looking directly at Bucky and missing the longing written in the ocean pools. Mistaking his lack of response for rejection of your words and feelings. You enter the house placing the small hand load down and moving a chair over towards the sink. Returning to grab up the shaving cream and razor, pulling a fresh wash cloth from the draw by the sink too wet it hot.

“You don’t have to,” entering and closing the back door with the heel of his boot. Bucky leans against the counter watching you with a closed expression. Pain dull but still worming its way through his veins along with so many thoughts.

Glancing his way, “I know,” motioning with a wave of your hand, “but if I don’t that beard’ll come back in short order and we’ll have to do this all over again.” Going for playful to ease the tension built from the lingering words of out on the porch, “Bring your ass over here Buck.”

Your change in mood has a confused frown pulling his mouth down but complies with the order. Taking up the seat with spread legs and turned up face watching you wring out the wash cloth. Using your elbow and tipping his head back to gently place the hot cloth around what’s left of his beard to soften the hair and wake up the pores. Catching the small muffled groan, “To hot?”

“No, perfect,” faintly hearing the two simple words you grab up the shaving cream to put a generous amount in your palm before pulling the quickly cooling cloth from his face. Tossing it towards the sink and applying a layer of cream to his skin. Left overs rinsed from your hands quickly before drying and grasping the razor with steady hands. “Just a little off the top if you please,” boyish smirk slips over his lips tipping cream covered cheeks up while trying to be funny.

Eyes rolling, “To late for that one top’s already taken care of.” Using the pad of your thumb to push the skin of his cheek taunt. Carefully dragging the razor over his flesh intending to keep your gaze directed towards working the blade over his check. However, you’re unable to do so while cleaning the razor as your eyes dart up catching the fact Bucky’s gaze firmly rests on your face. Heat blooming across your body, eyes drop back to his cheek intent on getting finished quickly to avoid any farther embarrassment.

Meanwhile Bucky maps every feature of your face, the slant of your nose, set of your eyes, cupids bow of your top lip. Visions of drawing the plump flesh in for a bite and pull before letting go with a wet pop, filter through his mind. Finding himself in a rather precarious predicament, thighs spread to accommodate your body, his palms itch to grasp and tug you into his lap. Bitting back a moan each touch brings, the gentleness tearing a new hole in armored covered heart. Wanting to keep you out but finding it harder to do every time you show the kindness his life lacked for decades.

Minds eye drawing the curves of your cheeks, lips twitching to caress, fingers tapping trapped in plaster and cloth against his body. Wanting to brush his knuckles over your throat to gently grasp the back of your neck and bring your lips against his for a slow sweet drink of the tempting cavern of your warm mouth. Only snapping back to reality with the soft brush of your fingers along his jawline.

Searching for any hairs left behind, soothingly palming his cheeks with cool hands desperate to taste his skin. Drag your lips over the same spots the razor just graced. Teasing the tip of your tongue along the hard edge of his jaw to place a kiss just below his ear. Tempted to even suck a mark for everyone to see. You swallow harshly removing your hands from his cheeks to rinse and warm up the cloth to clean off any residual shaving cream from his face.

“Finished,” clearing your emotions clogged throat, stepping towards the sink, your profile the only side Bucky sees as you work to clean up the mess.

Feeling rather than hearing him stand heat radiating of his body just a few inches shy of brushing against yours. “Thank you doll,” impulsively leaning forward to brush his lips over your cheek. Lingering longer than he should but unable too stop himself from pressing soft slight chapped lips to the corner of your mouth. “Next time I need shavin’ I know who to come too,” breathing the words before pulling away, taking his leaving quickly to keep from doing something even stupider. Like wrap you up into his arms and actually kissing those pillow soft lips. Backdoor swinging closed a little harder than he meant in his bid to get away from your warmth and tempting body.

Frozen in place, skin tingling from just that slight press while your heart beats almost out of your chest. Pounding against your rib cage so hard fear it’ll crack a rib any second now. White knuckles grip the sinks edge, heat flaring across your body to pool low and throb through your lady parts. Thighs unconsciously rub together needing friction to alleviate the ache growing between your legs.

“Did you cut him or take a hunk of hair out and now he looks like Frankenstein monster?” Teasing tone to his quip, Sam enters the kitchen still staring at the back door. Having watched the exchange from the darkened hallway. Reverting his eyes to your back, taking in the ridge posture of your spine with a slight very subtle shake. “Y/N what’s wrong?” Swiftly coming up behind you, hands gripping your shoulders to turn you around. “Did Bucky say or do something wrong?” Worry creasing his brow the want to hold you close growing with each second your not in his arms.

Looking up into the kind russet eyes flashing with concern and worry, “No,” head shaking, “no he didn’t Sam just…” unable to stop yourself from burying your body against Sam’s firm chest. Trying to figure out how to explain what’s running around in your head. The indecision, thoughts you know shouldn’t roll through your mind doing just that as your arms wind around his trim waist.

“Just what sweetheart?” Wanting to help smooth things over between his two best friends even if it meant swallowing his own feelings.

Keeping your eyes closed, breathing in his cedar wood and citrus scent, burying your nose against his collarbone. Always able to calm the raging storm of emotions boiling through your veins. Confusion setting in with those same tingles you feel when Bucky touches you now dances across your body at the warmth of Sam’s arms cradling you close. Reminding you of earlier when his chest pressed to your back strong hands gently placed on your shoulders. The shiver you suppressed at the touch of both men. At the memory your eyes pop open and you quickly push away from Sam as if he’s burnt you. Needing to escape and figure out what’s going on.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry,” feet quickly taking you from the kitchen into the safe arms of your bedroom.

Missing the confused look marring Sam’s face that turns into hurt at the way you’ve shoved him aside. Body sagging against the counter, hand rubbing at the back of his neck searching for what’s changed in such a short period of time.

“Men, blind and just plain foolish,” landing a hard hit to his shoulder, which he rubs to alleviate the pain. Sarah comes up beside her older brother with a raised brow. “Still don’t get it? Searching for exactly why she reacted so strongly? Think Samuel use that big brain you have and actually put it to good use.”

Frown creasing between his eyes and drawing his lips down, “Left behind sucks Sarah that’s all it amounts to. But we… I couldn’t have her along, wouldn’t risk her life like that.”

“Has nothing to do with leaving her home Sam,” giving him a meaningful look that still bewilders him. “Why didn’t you want her along but you took Bucky with you?”

“He’s a super soldier Sar he can take the hits not that I want him hurt either. Shit when he let himself get captured,” moving towards the abandoned chair to plop down heavily. “He scared the living shit outta me, I thought…” hard to swallow the memories of watching those men pulling an unconscious Bucky into a van. Driving off before he could plant a tracker and barely able to get up with bruised ribs making breathing painful. Sam runs a hand over the short hair unsure when things got so complicated between the three of them.

Pulling up a chair in front of Sam, “You’d lost him?” Seeing the nod Sarah’s features softened knowing from the tell’s she picked up watching the three of them for so long. “You love them?”

“What?” Head whipping up so quickly making Sam wince. “Of course I do but not like that I mean their family, you know I’ll do anything to protect my family.”

Hand resting on his shoulder, “You keep telling yourself that big bro maybe one day you’ll actually believe it and able to push those feelings away good enough to keep them at arms length.” Looking up at her, “Just a word of advice,” seeing him nod, “don’t push those emotions away, you deserve that love they both would readily give you.”

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

Softly closing the door behind you heading towards the ensuite bathroom for a nice cold shower, preforming your nightly routine, and shutting off every light except the one beside your bed. Falling into the soft mattress with your current book keeping you company for the rest of the night. Eyes start to droop, words blur and you read the same sentence half a dozen times. Book falling against your chest as a yawn takes over your features.

Body stretching out against cool sheets jumping when a soft knock echos around your room, eyes darting towards the clock to see its just a little passed mid night. Slowly getting out of bed, pulling the extra long dark blue with little pink flowers dotting the sleep shirt down to cover your ass and thighs. Thinking its Sarah checking on you, eyes shocked wide with the small crack you open the door to spy Bucky standing there fidgeting.

“Everything all right Buck?” Opening the door wider to lean against the casing arms crossed just under your breasts.

Swallowing, glancing from your eyes to lips repeatedly. Trying to form the words he wants to speak when the decision makes itself clear and Bucky surges forward. Gently wrapping vibranium fingers around the back of your neck and bragging you against his strong chest. Slanting his lips against yours, nipping your bottom lip to make you gasp and slipping his eager tongue passed into the warm depths of your mouth. Leading the kiss and praying he’s not wrong.

Rewarded by your arms winding around his neck careful of his injures. Fingers tugging at the now shorten strands thanks to your expect hands. Garnering a low moan from the depths of his chest, one that rambles with a pleased hum as you return the kiss. Tangling your tongues together making nothing soft nor gentle about this melding of mouths. Only breaking apart for both of you to gasp for air.

“No, nothing’s all right doll. I can’t stop thinking about you,” resting your foreheads together sharing common air. Fingers at the base of your skull massaging the tension with surprisingly easy pressure. “I’d done fighting, done pushing you away, I need you Y/N.”

“James?” Lips tingling from a kiss you’ve only dreamt about as confusion marring your tone, eyes blinking a few times to make sure you’ve pushed the sleepy haze from your mind.

Soft groan issues at hearing you whisper just first name, hand slipping down to wrap around your waist and pull your taut to his body. “If…” trying to push the next words past his lips, “if you don’t want…”

“Us, we need to know now sweetheart. We won’t push you into anything you don’t want,” Sam’s voice full of desire and longing cuts across Bucky’s for a moment.

Making you look up from eyes locked with Bucky to stare at Sam trying to process his words, the look in those beautiful russet eyes you can’t pull yours away from. Till Bucky presses a kiss to just below your ear, “We know it’s a lot to take in doll and you can say no…”

“I,” gulping like a fish out of water, heat thumping through your veins at the unspoken promise both sets of eyes show. “I don’t know what to say.”

Stepping forward to push you back a step so Sam can fully enter your bedroom and close the door. He comes behind you sandwiching your body between two walls of muscle and masculine warmth. Pressing a kiss to the opposite cheek, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, “There’s no going back sweetheart you’re ours if you say yes. But if the answer is no I’m not going to lie things will change. Awkward as hell yes especially at first but I,” Bucky clears his throat to which Sam nods, “we would work through that with you. Loosing your friendship can’t happen no matter what.”

Removing yourself from between their warm bodies to collapse at the end of the bed, head in your hands. Mind so confused, a jumbled mix of desire and lust touched with a heavy dose of love that scares the living shit outta you. Feeling the bed dip on either side, removing your hands to glance at both men. Seeing the reassurance in those cerulean and russet orbs you swallow to wet your parched throat. Gaining strength to finally speak, “I don’t want to loose either of you,” looking between both men. Taking each hand within your own, “But this last mission taught me I don’t want to deny my feelings any longer.”

“What feelings doll?” Giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

Looking into Bucky’s cerulean eyes, “I’m in love with both of you.” Switching to Sam’s russet orbs seeing the blatant want shining only boosts your confidence to lean over. Cupping his jaw and bringing your lips against his. Different from the kiss you shared with Bucky. Who’s bottom lip begs for a nibbling, Sam’s fuller lips press against your own in tender caresses.

Gentler too, a soft slant of his mouth against yours, pressing twice at different angles before tracing over your bottom lip. Gaining entrance on a sigh of need to check in with your tongue before tangling together. Heated palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over the apple twice while he artfully pillages your mouth. Drawing out a low moan squeak following when a set of lips slide over the side of your neck nibbling a short path to suck a mark behind your ear. Making you weak and boneless against Sam, who releases your cheek and hand to grip your hips, having you straddle his thighs.

Kiss breaking for air, “I’m to heavy Sam, your hip.”

“You’re prefect baby girl no arguing understand?” Cupping your ass in both hands to roll your hips against the hard bulge of his erection. Teeth gritting at how good you feel in his arms, the damp heat of your core only serving to make him grow harder with each brush against your cloth covered pussy. Sam reclaims your mouth, this kiss much different. Desperate and demanding taking no prisoners this time as he immediately slips his tongue back into your mouth. Pulling a groan from deep within your chest, arms going around his neck to help move your body against his. The delicious friction sending jolts of pleasure radiating out over your body, clit throbbing with a need you’ve never felt before.

Hissing at the cool sensations of Bucky’s vibranium fingers drawing circles across your back. Pushing your sleep shirt off your body arms raising, breaking the kiss to accomplish the task. Looking over your shoulder at the bare chested Barnes, mouth salivating at the sight eager to touch and kiss every inch. Brought back to Sam with the heat of his mouth connecting to your pulse, adding his own mark to your body while his callused fingers dances across your back.

Cursing his rotten luck for not having use of one hand, Bucky steps forward lowering to his knees carefully. Brushing his lips along your spine while cool alloyed fingers sweep around your body between you and Sam to trace a line between your breasts. Head dropping back to Bucky’s shoulder and baring your breasts to Sam’s hungry glaze and Bucky’s questing fingers.

“So beautiful,” words whispered reverently from Sam’s lips against the damp column of your throat. Mouth tasting each inch of your skin he can reach. Till moist heat circles your nipple, wet tip of his tongue coming out to flick the tightly budded peak before sucking harshly. In contrast to the cool patterns Bucky draws, taking the time to tug before pinching just hard enough that your back arches into Sam’s mouth.

Pushing into Bucky at your back a whimper parting your gasping lips. Needing more of both men surrounding you, slick coating your trembling thighs as you clinch around nothing. Dragging a whine of desperation from you soul,“Please,” single word escaping your mouth.

“What doll? What do you want?” Drawing his lips up to your ear, nipping the lobe bringing it between his teeth giving a sharp bite at the same time Sam flicks his tongue over your nipple.

Letting go with a wet pop, smiling at the whine exiting your heaving chest, “I think out girl needs more Buck. Any thoughts on how to please her?” Brow wiggling over your shoulder at Bucky who just smirks.

Fingers sliding down then under the band of your panties to find you soaked and pulsing. Cool metal meeting heated flesh makes you jolt in Sam’s arms. Grinding down into those wonderful fingers and against the thick ridge of Sam’s cock.

“Don’t stop please,” gasping head lolling back, your eyes close as sensations crash through your veins. Tight coil starting to form with just the brush of his fingers.

Maneuvering closer to slip two fingers into your clinching channel. Deep groan vibrating through his chest and into your back, “Fuck Sam she’s tight and so wet for us. I bet she tastes just as good as she feels.” Rocking your hips, fucking his fingers desperate for that high traveling up from the bottom of your spine. Tickling your tummy with jolts of pleasure only to have it diminish when Bucky pulls his fingers out.

Frustrated whine leaving your lips only to choke on air when Bucky offers one of the fingers perviously buried inside your cunt to Sam. Who doesn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around the single digit, groaning at the very taste of your essence. Circling the tip with his tongue, making sure to clear every drop off while keeping eye contact with Bucky. Mimicking with his mouth how he’d suck Bucky’s cock, garnering a growl from deep within his chest. Letting go with a smirk, “Even better Buck and I bet from the source it’s simply heaven.”

“Only way to find out,” answering grin firmly in place he raises from the floor. Helping you stand on shaky legs turning you to face him. Capturing your lips in an open mouth kiss, flicking his tongue against yours, teasing your bottom lip and drawing out another frustrated groan making him chuckle. “Don’t worry doll we promise you won’t go unsatisfied we’re going to take care of your every need.”

“Don’t tease her Buck it’s not fair,” glint of mischief sparking through those russet eyes that only Bucky catches since your still face him. Sam comes up behind to pressing his bare chest against your back, hands resting on your hips, tugging and letting the band of your panties snap back against your skin. “You can still say no.”

Wiggling back against Sam then pressing forward to feel the hard line of Bucky’s erection against your lower tummy. Knowing why he’s asking, seeing the same sentiment mirrored in Bucky’s eyes that warms your heart filling with love for both men. “Now who’s teasing Samuel,” reaching behind you to slide your palm over his ridged cock giving a squeeze at the same time you palm Bucky. “I’m sure my loves,” enjoying the answering growls from both men. Before another word leaves your lips Sam tugs down your panties letting them pool at your feet as Bucky moves you towards the bed.

Swiping the book from the mattress to lay on the nightstand, smile on his lips at finding the well loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. Bringing you to sit then lay back against the cool sheets, trailing his vibranium fingers from your cheek down between your breasts. Circling each nipple, giving the right a light pinch that has your back arching and a gasp existing your paired lips. Distracted till Sam gently grips your left ankle, spreading you open to slide between your legs. Pressing kisses alone the inside of your leg towards your thigh. Soft bread tickling your skin making giggles erupt from your mouth.

“I think she likes that Sam,” the comment spoken against your ear. Placing a kiss to your cheek, “Have to remember to let my own beard grow back out.”

Whimpering softly at the thought one hand fisting the sheets as Sam draws his tongue over the crease between thigh and groin. Purposefully avoiding the spot you want him most, “Payback is a bitch boys,” words growled out right as Bucky envelopes your left nipple into the heat of his mouth.

“Teasing half the fun sweetheart have patience,” looking up from between your legs. Stiffen tongue drawing up from your entrance to clit, circling the little throbbing nub and making your back arch, gasping for air.

“Fuck,” single word breathed from deep within your body. Sweat starting to bead across your forehead. Head tossed back into the pillow free hand carding through Bucky’s chestnut hair tugging the strands harshly till he lets your breast go with a wet pop. You guide his mouth up to yours, demandingly taking the kiss over, slipping your tongue into his mouth this time. Swallowing your moans of delight with each thrust of his tongue. Matching the pace Sam sets against your dripping cunt.

Rutting into the mattress to find the prefect friction hoping to ease for a moment the throbbing of his cock. “Stop stealing all those pretty noises Barnes I wanna hear our girl,” reaching up to smack the other mans thigh hard enough to break the two of you apart.

“Sorry not sorry,” giving him a smirk while licking his lips from the heated kiss.

Filing away the fact Bucky knows what means only to have any thought fly from your mind as two thick fingers enter your quivering channel. Slowly thrusting, his mouth suctioned onto your clit, drawing little short patterns making your thighs shake around his head. Slacking off to lazily place kisses over those thighs but still pumping his fingers, crooking them into a come hither motion to brush over that special spongy spot.

Blooming stars behind your tightly closed eyes, “Watch him doll, see how much you loves devouring that pretty cunt.” Voice rough with arousal against your ear, Bucky’s metal fingers dancing over your chest only adding to your heighten state of desire.

At his command you eyes open to lock with Sam’s passion blown blacken eyes. Moaning at the picture he presents you with, panting breath as you keep drawing closer to your orgasm. Only to have Sam back off creating frustrating tension in your body. Gritting out, “I’m going to die if you don’t let me cum.”

Smirk showing in those beloved eyes as he doubles down on your clit. Lips puffy but forming a perfect O too suction and flick his tongue over the engorged nerve bundle. Fingers, third added to stretch you open and picking the pace up as your mouth drops wide in a scream Bucky devours with a deep kiss. To keep from waking the kids or Sarah, his own body on fire with a need to have you both.

Tingles quickly dancing through your veins, breath panting as you break from Bucky’s mouth, one hand gripping the sheets below the other still buried in his hair. Body on fire as you near that perfect orgasm Sam’s intent on giving you.

Denial’s not just a river in Egypt as your eyes pop open at the knock on your door. Reminiscent of what your sluggish brain comes to understand as just a very vivid dream. One that makes your heart drop with the book that’d lay on your chest now face down on the carpeted floor. You stand checking the time of mid night before heading to the door and finding Sarah on the other side with ice cream in hand.

“Figured you might need some cheering up,” letting her in and taking the bowl of your favorite ice cream.

Vivid dream lingering though you don’t share feeling a TMI moment she doesn’t and most likely wouldn’t want to know about her big brother. You steer the topics away from the non existent love life to plans for tomorrow and the coming weekend.

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