#AND PULLED OUT MY FRIDGE TO FIND THERE'S A *MASSIVE* GAP BETWEEN THE WALL AND FLOOR

[growingdesires]

Retail - Chapter 13

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Chapter 13

I look again at the bra on my desk and take in its magnitude.

D to L…

I shake my head.

No bigger than an L.

I look at the CCTV to observe Mandy before taking a deep breath and heading out to meet her once again.

Rounding the corner to the shop floor I see that Mandy is occupied with another customer. I walk over to the tills and pretend to work on them, opening the browser built into them when in reality my eyes are glued to Mandy and her chest.

The top she has on is strained very tightly across her vast bust at this point and with the lack of a bra she appears even bigger somehow. The fabric is being pulled tightly at its sides, so much so that it has got tell tale signs of being on its last legs. Her breasts are compactly stuffed into the top and with each breath as I watch I can see her top being pushed to its limits.

The chilly air from the supermarket fridges linger throughout the entire store and this has an obvious effect on Mandy, her nipples are very clearly on show, protruding outwards very prominently.

I wonder if the customer noticed.

The customer turns to leave and Mandy thanks them for their time, leaving the shop Mandy turns to face me and smirks.

“Hi.” She says with a childish tone about herself.

“Hi.” I reply, trying to sound playful but coming out more nervous.

“I’m not sure if they appreciated my work attire Dan.” She squeezes her biceps against the sides of her breasts.

The fabric creaks as she manipulates the massive amount of breast flesh attached to her chest.

“I really don’t know if I will make it to the end of the day either.” She says in a hushed voice as she takes a step towards me.

“They are still growing. Much slower obviously but I can feel them.” She moans a little too loud.

My face reddens as I watch her take another step which now closes the gap between me and her, her large boobs crash against my chest, I can even feel her thick nipples pressing into me. I let out a big wheeze as the collision occurred.

They are heavy.

Leaning her face closer to mine she whispers, “Can you feel that?”

Remaining still I concentrate hard on the feeling of her boobs against me.

“I er-“

Before I can answer I feel her hands grasp my wrists and move my palms to her tits. My hands sinking into her softness, I feel a slow and steady building, very faint but it is there.

My jaw drops slightly as I can’t believe it still, even after seeing her grow before my eyes, I am still blown away by Mandy and her magnificent chest.

“I don’t know what too big is.” She whispers into my ear. “But I think you don’t either.” I feel her hand rub against my cock as it snakes down my thigh. “The only problem is if this carries on, I might need to go around topless.” She jests.

The joke causes my cock to pulse and flex against her hand. She coos and lightly strokes it, eliciting a moan from me.

“Seems like you like the sound of that?” She presses herself more into me. “You want to see my big tits out in the open. Is that it?” Increasing her grip on my erection. “You do, don’t you, you want to show everyone what you did to me.” 

Fuck…

“You want everyone to know that it is because of you I am so fucking busty.” She moans herself now.

I grip onto the desk beside me as my legs shake from her strokes.

“Mandy…” I try to protest.

“Yes Dan?” She doesn’t stop stroking.

“Cus- Customers…”

“Oh, and you were so close.” She stops and steps back and winks.

I notice that somehow, impossibly, her nipples are even harder now, her thick thimble sized nipples now trying to burst out of her shirt. Before I can warn her, she turns around without missing a beat and she greets the customers who are approaching the store.

I watch as the couple’s eyes go wide as she turns around.

Yeah, I think I’d react like that too.

I stumble back as my cock pulses in my pants, I lean against the back wall for support and just try to focus myself before I too need to help a customer.

She was right too… I was close…

The customer that Mandy is dealing with takes a long time, maybe because they were distracted by the busty saleswoman, but I wasn’t able to observe too much as I had a few customers of my own. My erection faded quickly enough as the next customer came in.

Time ran on quickly and before I knew it, we were approaching closing time. Mandy closed the tills and I started turning the other equipment off and locking things up.

Crap! I never asked Mandy about tonight.

“Hey Mand! Shit I am so sorry, I forgot to ask, would you be able to stay on tonight?”

“Tonight?” She queries.

“Yeah, we’ve got a promo change and I forgot to ask you earlier.”

“Too distracted or something?” She winks and looks down at her chest.

“Maybe…” I blush and shyly admit.

“I don’t blame you; I’ve been feeling them grow all day and there is only one thing I want.” She pauses and stares towards my growing bulge.

“Umm… Yeah, tonight, right now even.” I stammer a reply.

“Well, is it just us in the building?” She asks, raising her eyebrow.

I nod.

“Good.” With a deep breath, Mandy arches her back and right before my eyes I watch as her tits explode out of the shirt she is wearing.

Vast amounts of breast tumble forth from the confines of her too small uniform. I watch as they jiggle and bounce, sagging down slightly due to their immense size. I watch for a good five seconds as they continue to quake and wobble.

I stare at Mandy’s giant breasts, easily the biggest I have seen in real life, and I notice the marks left over their surface from being confined in her top all day. Deep red indents cover the surface, but they are already starting to fade.

I move my attention to her thick nubs which have been teasing me all day, my cock running straight down my thigh as I watch my busty lover approach me.

“This feels extra naughty now doesn’t it.” She bumps her breasts into my chest and pushes me towards the display table behind me.

The edge bumps into my lower back and I feel her squish her exposed breasts against my torso. Looking up at me, biting her lip, I feel her hands start to trace down my sides.

“Come on… I’ve been wanting this all day…” She lifts my shift over my head and starts immediately fumbling with my zipper on my trousers. “Sit up there.” She gestures at the display table behind me.

Jumping off the floor and sitting on the display table, my cock now exposed, Mandy lifts her breasts up and engulfs my dick between her massive melons. “Ohhh…” She coos.

I grunt at the feeling. “Fuck… It feels good.”

Without saying a word, she starts to work my cock in her cleavage.

“They are so big… They are all yours…” She moans softly. “Just think, when you are done, they are going to grow again.”

I feel my hips buck as I start thrusting against the heavy pounding of her chest against my lap.

“I can feel you… So close…” She squeezes my dick tighter between her pillowy mounds. “Do it. Cum. Make me grow.”

Unable to resist I cum, spurting load after load between the valley of her vast breasts. I let out a deep grunt and start panting as I feel myself giving in to the throws of orgasm. As soon as I finish, I look down at her tits, still wrapped around my dick.

“Oh, I can feel it…” She moans teasingly.

Remaining hard throughout, I feel her breasts start to feel tighter around my cock.

Fuck, this is still so hard to believe…

I watch in awe as her breasts swell before my eyes. Getting heavier, plumper, rounder. They pulsate with their growth, in time with her heartbeat.

“Mmmm” Mandy moans once again, squeezing the swelling sides of her breasts. She takes a step back and I stare at her boobs as they cover her torso entirely.

“I’ve had enough of just this… I need more…” She pants, swiftly removing her trousers and panties. “I need you now… Enough teasing, fuck me.”

My cock twitches as she starts to touch herself. I quickly close the gap and start to grope her gigantic breasts. Her still expanding breasts cause my fingers to spread apart as she continues her growth. Her soft skin felt tauter by the second.

She grabs my cock and starts to stroke it. In response I lift her on to the opposite display table and guide myself into her wet pussy. Sliding straight in I feel an explosion of pleasure as I start to thrust slowly into her. She starts moaning loudly as I fuck her.

Her breasts cover my torso as we gyrate together, my cock buried deep within her, my hands groping her breasts. I feel her contract around my rock-hard rod as she orgasms herself. Thankfully, we are alone in the building otherwise we might be in trouble.

I slow down as she processes her orgasm, grinding to a halt as she continues to moan. After stopping she says between laboured breaths. “I’m… Growing… Again… I can feel it… Coming…”

Sure enough I feel her breasts expand again, compressing against my torso. Her body wavering as she struggles to keep herself upright, the added weight and pleasure is too much for her. I pick her up, squeezing her close and lay her on the floor. Her giant breasts spilling over her torso and covering her.

“Don’t just stand there… Fuck me…” Mandy demands.

“I enter her and start to thrust, not able to hold back. I start a bit too quick, and I watch as her giant breasts crash over her torso like waves. The massive weight of her breasts takes the air out of her chest as they bounce against her chin and then back towards my torso as I continue to pound her.

Wrapping my hands around them and holding them tight, I continue to thrust into Mandy, her screams fill my ears as I pound her harder as her breasts expand in my arms.

“I… Can’t… Last…” I grunt.

“Do it. Cum in me.” She screams as she succumbs to another orgasm.

I exploded for the second time, this time deep within her. Pumping load after load into her I grunt as I give my final thrusts.

I pull out and a few seconds pass as our breathing returns to normal, I look down at her and watch as she suddenly starts moaning.

Aftershocks or something?

Quicker and quicker her breathing rapidly accelerates and she screams out in orgasm. Confused, I watch on as she writhes on the floor beneath me. I finally see why; her breasts are changing.

They look… fuller…

I prod at her burgeoning breasts as they bulge towards me, her veins becoming more prominent.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“They… Are… Filling…” She manages to say before she starts screaming again in pleasure.

Did she say filling?

I watch as her nipples get thicker and darker and.

Holy shit.

I see a droplet of milk forming on her nipples.

HOLY SHIT.

The droplet becomes a steady stream as her tits have reached their max capacity and are now leaking.

“Don’t… Just… Stand… There… Milk me.” Mandy moans.

#expansion #story #breastexpansion #teasing #tease #writer #lactation #mommy milkers #milk

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #18: Cherry Garcia: Bucky Barnes

You’ve made an unfortunate habit of pilfering Bucky’s ice cream stash. Of course, it was only a matter of time before he caught you.

Characters: Bucky Barnes / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), secret late-night kitchen sex, ice cream sharing, f l u f f 

Notes: I’m trying this thing where I don’t post at midnight, like a swamp creature.

This is not proofread as thoroughly as it should be. I’m throwing this at the wall and running away. Today’s prompt was ‘In the Kitchen,’ so of course I had to make it cute. 

*flails* i love picturing Bucky with a sweet tooth 🥺

Kinktober Masterlist

It’s three o’clock in the morning and you’re starving.

You’re not quite sure when this little habit of yours turned into such a thing. After all, originally it was a bit of a fluke. You were fresh off a mission with frayed nerves and exhausted muscles. It had been the middle of the night and you’d just wanted a little comfort food.

It wasn’t your fault that you’d found out about Bucky’s love of ice cream. It was something he’d never tried growing up. Milk, sugar and eggs were commodities far too valuable to be affordable in his youth. Let alone the even more precious ability to keep things cold.

Now, he keeps at least three flavours of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer at all times. They’re always there, though, so you can’t imagine he samples them often. What, you’d thought, so many nights ago, could possibly be the harm in sampling a few bites?

Of course, a few bites at the end of a long mission soon blossomed into more. These days, you were sneaking down every night to grab a bowl. Sitting on the counter with your legs dangling over the edge and finishing it in the dark. Then crawling back upstairs to bed, quiet as a mouse.

Not quiet enough, as you were about to find out.

The compound kitchen is massive- like the kitchen in a restaurant, or a bakery. Double ovens on one wall, a massive eight-burner Viking, two fridges and an upright freezer. It has to store enough food to feed the entire team, after all. Snack hoards included.

But it still feels homey these days. There are beautiful windows above the sink that stream butterscotch sunlight in the morning. There’s a little breakfast nook tucked away to one side. And you have so many memories of this place. Baking pumpkin pies at Thanksgiving, making a mess of Steve’s birthday cake. Fighting over who’s going to clean up after Vision cooks dinner for all of you.

And sneaking into the freezer in the middle of the night for a taste of Bucky’s Cherry Garcia.

You take your usual post on the edge of the counter, flipping open the paper lid and digging your spoon into the frozen treat. You’re lifting the first sinful bite to your lips when-

“Ah-hah.”

Your blood goes cold. You know that voice.

“Bucky,” you squeak. Slowly, you set the ice cream down and nudge it away from you, but it’s too late. You’ve been caught Cherry Garcia-handed.

“Please,” he croons, holding up a palm with a smug smirk. He glides across the dark kitchen with all the grace of stalking cat. He’s pretty comfortable invading your personal space these days, much to your chagrin. As a result, he’s not shy about coming right up between your thighs, flesh and metal sliding up your bare skin.

Your face tilts forward out of habit, but he keeps his mouth hovering above yours, letting a soft puff of breath over your lips.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he chuckles. He brushes his nose against yours and pulls away, snagging the open ice cream from beside you.

“You gonna tell me how long this has been going on?” He asks. It’s obvious, as he stirs the ice cream with your abandoned spoon, that he finds this hilarious. You suppose you should be relieved. Then again, you can’t imagine Bucky getting seriously upset at you for pilfering his ice cream stash.

You don’t understand why you’re so embarrassed, then.

“Remember Rome?” You purse your lips. It was months ago. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“You little minx,” he accuses, dabbing the spoon into the rapidly softening Cherry Garcia. He takes a little spoonful and smirks, holding it up to your lips. You’re dying to know what he’s thinking right now, but you take the scoop, tasting Vermont-sweetened cherry and the bitter snap of a chocolate chunk.

“I shoulda known,” he chuckles, taking a bite for himself and putting the carton down. He braces his hands on your thighs again. “I don’t even like Cherry Garcia. But somebody took the seal off, didn’t they?”

He leans forward, and this time he doesn’t wait to close the gap between you. His tongue is cold and sweet, but his warm hands are shifting higher and higher on your bare thighs, brushing beneath the hem of your (his) oversized t-shirt.

“What’d I tell you about stealing my snacks?” He chuckle-growls as he draws back from your lips and glides his mouth along your jaw. His scruff brushes your cheek; in the dark, you can see the silhouette of his hair as it slips forward.

He laves his tongue over your pulse point, then kisses it sweetly. All the while he’s slipping a hand between your legs to thumb the cotton of your underwear, damp and warm already from his ministrations.

“That you’d be… glad to share with me,” you croon, biting down hard on your lower lip, “because I return the favour often in bed.”

Bucky retaliates by pushing the crotch of your panties to one side and dipping a finger into your slit, making your whole body twitch.

“Maybe it’s time you returned the favour now, then,” he rumbles. Your hips tilt forward into his touch. You whine. You can’t even pretend not to want this.

You reach forward, fingertips brushing the elastic edge of his sweatpants. That’s all he’s wearing- since when does he wander the compound in the middle of the night without a shirt?

You push his sweatpants and they slide precariously low on his hips. Beneath the baggy material, it’s easy to see that he’s getting hard. He nips in, slipping his hands under your thighs and pushing his hips forward to rub against you before you can even get another look.

“Bucky,” you gasp, looping your arms around his neck. He shucks his sweats down to his knees and his cock pops out against your thigh, twitching and rapidly stiffening with his growing excitement.

“Always wanted to fuck you down here,” he chuckles sleepily against your neck. He slides a hand between you to grab himself, giving a few strokes. He doesn’t need them- he’s like a steel rod against you- but he’s lining himself up and you’re already wet and this is not how you thought your Wednesday night would go.

He pushes forward, pumping into you right away with near-lazy strokes.

“Aw, fuck,” he groans against your skin, already starting to tremble. “Hell, baby, how come you never told me you were gonna be this tight?”

You can’t help but giggle. He’s had you a million times. But it never gets old, sex with Bucky. Not even in the compound kitchen at three o’clock in the morning.

He starts to rut up into you in earnest now, seeking a precise rhythm. He holds you firmly in place as he fucks you. The slow clap of your bodies is slightly muffled by your panties, still bunched in the crook of one thigh.

He slips his right hand between your legs and finds the swell of your clit.

“That’s it,” he pants, feeling the way you clench around him when he thumbs the tight bundle of nerves. “That’s it, baby, that’s it.”

You love the way he loses himself when he’s with you. He’s so measured in his everyday life- exercising control, nervous to seem collected in front of his other teammates. But when it’s you, when it’s just you, he’s vulnerable. He’s loving. He’s charming. He’s caught up in ecstasy.

When he comes, you feel every cell of him shake. Even in the quiet of the kitchen, where he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck and huff tenderly through it, pistoning his hips messily into your body as he pumps you full of him.

He surges forward. One hand braces fervently on the granite countertop. He knocks the Cherry Garcia over. Half-melted, it pools across the shiny surface.

You hold him gently as he resurfaces, waiting until he backs slowly from you to speak. He’s tucking himself back into his pants- wet, softening, and you can’t help but ogle.

“Please remind me,” you sigh, tugging your panties back between your thighs, “to steal your ice cream way more often.”

“Hey,” he barks, grinning playfully up at you. The exhaustion of the late hour is starting to settle over the both of you. “Don’t push it. I let you off with a warning this time.”

“That was just a warning?” You hop off the counter, pausing when you spot the mess out of the corner of your eye. “Shit.”

“Leave it,” Bucky growls playfully, grabbing you by the waist and tugging you close. “I kind of like it.” He grins, kissing your head.

“Somebody’s going to kill us in a few hours when they find it.”

Bucky just smiles, hooking an arm around your shoulders and ushering you toward the door. Back to bed.

“Let ‘em try.”

#bucky barnes/reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky/reader #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes #reader insert #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #marvel #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel kinktober #marvel fanfic #readerfic

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter One: Miles]

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Mount Massive Asylum was a silhouette ahead of the setting sun. Against the red and orange and white in the sky, Mount Massive was all dark brick and covered windows. Half of the building had flickering light peeking out from slats and cracked curtains, and the rest was pitch black. 

    Miles opened the car door and planted one boot on the dirt, brows furrowed. He came with only his camcorder, a few spare batteries, a notebook, and the email he was sent: 

     You don’t know me. Have to make this quick. They might be monitoring. 

     I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF Psychiatric Systems’ facilities in Mount Massive. All sorts of NDA’s I am very much breaking right now but seriously, fuck those guys. 

     Certainly enough to grab Miles’ attention. When most people heard he was an investigative reporter, they treated him with what they thought was respect. All talking in circles and stepping over eggshells. This person emailing him—they had something to say and they were going to make sure Miles was listening. 

     Terrible things happening there. Don’t understand it. Don’t believe half the things I saw. Doctors talking about dream therapy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountains. People are being hurt and Murkoff is making money. 

     It needs to be exposed. 

     A fall breeze brushed by, making Miles shiver under his brown jacket. He flipped the collar up. 

    He was prepared for a facility up and running, for patients and orderlies to interview. This place looked abandoned. 

    Miles poked around the empty building where someone should be there to open the gate from, but the computer was frozen and there was nothing. 

    The gate—for humans, not cars—creaked as it opened. Securing his notebook and the hard copy of his email in the inside pocket of his jacket, he raised his camera and headed inside. Mount Massive loomed over him as he stalked towards the front entrance. Military trucks lined the walkway. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a stream of consciousness: 

     I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Mount Massive Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, reopened by Murkoff Psychiatric Systems in 2009 under the guise of a charitable organization. Cell phone reception cut off abruptly a mile out, more like a jammer than a lost signal. The Murkoff Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But never on American soil. Whatever they thought they could get out of this place has to be big. Might finally be the story that breaks the bastards. 

     The front entrance was locked. He blew out a frustrated breath and looked around to find another spot in the fence, allowing him into a tiny courtyard with a fence and scaffolding up along the walls. He looked through his camera and zoomed in—there was an open window. He grimaced. 

    He didn’t want to go back to when he was a teenager, sneaking into empty buildings through crumbling walls and broken windows, but he didn’t see much of a choice. He had to get inside. 

    He got the same thrill he always had when he was younger to climb and leap over the scaffolding until he reached the window. The second his feet hit the ground, the light exploded. He gasped and covered his head as glass rained on the carpet. 

    Raising the camcorder, he flicked on the nightvision, then winced. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    The room was empty, the furniture all turned over and piled up. Miles strained his ears, but the asylum was silent. He crept his way over to the door and peeked inside the hallway. Both sides were barricaded, giving way only to the room across the hall. This room was a bit more normal, lit up by the light streaming through the hall and the thin curtains. He looked around for any clue of what happened here, but nothing. There was a second door letting him into the hall past the barricade. 

    He was about to squeeze through a gap between the next barricade, when he faltered. 

    Is that fucking blood? 

    He pulled up his camcorder and zoomed in. Sure enough, blood splattered the wall and stained the carpet. There was no sign of a body. He swallowed and pushed forward. I have to find out what happened here. 

    In one of the rooms, he found a status report for a patient named Billy. Most of the words Miles didn’t understand most of the words, but he could connect it to the email; ‘lucid dream states,’ ‘the blood dreams of Doctor Trager,’ and something called a ‘MORPHOGENIC ENGINE.’ 

    Something Miles found interesting, part of an interview with the patient: 

        Billy asked about the status of his mother’s lawsuit against Murkoff and the asylum...catastrophic breach in security...all orderlies and security personnel must be questioned and video security improved…

        Signed ‘MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER

    MOUNT MASSIVE CO’ 

     The first sign of life Miles was given was a bathroom door shutting as he approached. He hesitated, then rapped on the wood. 

    “Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    No answer. He shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… okay then. I’ll be around if you change your mind.” 

    The next door was locked, but across the hall there was a small kitchen. He did a quick once-over, then stopped at the counter by the fridge—is that a fucking— is that an organ— is that a fucking organ on a tray? Right next to a fucking soda can. Miles’ stomach lurched. It was long and thin, flesh coloured, veins of blood smearing onto the silver tray. 

    I have to find out what’s going on here. I have to expose it. 

    The only way was up, into a ventilation shaft. As soon as he got inside, someone burst into the room, looked around frantically, and ran out. Miles barely caught them with his camera. His heart was ready to beat right out of his chest. 

    “Fuck,” he whispered, panting. “Fuck this.” 

    He got to the end of the shaft and paused. It dropped too far for him to get back up if he decided he had to leave. With the blood, the fucking soda organ, was it worth it? Was this worth risking his life? 

    What if he didn’t have enough evidence? What if he couldn’t convince the police to come? What if the public thought it was a joke? 

    Closing his eyes, he jumped down. 

    Creeping along to the first door, he threw it open and a body hung from the ceiling. He stumbled back with a gasp. It was bloodied and pale, and Miles watched, horrified, as it smacked to the floor. He covered his mouth and forced himself into the library, eyes burning. 

    Keep your camera raised. No matter what you do, keep your camera raised. 

    The library was a maze of pushed over bookcases, the righted ones holding decapitated heads. Their mouths were gaped open, eyes blank and bloodshot. He crept forward. In the light of a window, a body sat impaled on a pole, still slowing sliding down. Blood caked the metal. It smelled of rust and decaying meat, and Miles was quickly losing his resolve. He stepped forward and the body, the man, gasped and reached out, choking on his own blood. 

    “They killed us,” he gasped. “They got out. The… Variants.” 

    Miles watched with wide eyes. A few tears ran down his face, but he kept recording. 

    “You can’t… fight them. You have to hide… can unlock the main doors… from Security Control.” He desperately tried to crawl himself up the pipe. “You have to get the fuck out of this terrible place. Stay away from the north, it’s… it’s chaos.” 

    Miles dropped the camera and leapt forward to help pull him off, but the moment he pushed up, the man lurched, screamed, and fell dead. Miles stumbled back with shaking hands, his palms red and sticky. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

    He pulled out his notebook. 

     I’m inside. Bodies everywhere. Blood. Burn marks. Heads lined up like bottles behind a bar, Dead Murkoff scientists hung from the ceiling; their badges say “Murkoff Advanced Research Systems.” Murkoff’s longtime M.O. has been to profit off the exploitation of supposed charity. Fuck the third world and bankroll another billion. 

     How did Murkoff think they would make money off a building full of the mentally ill? 

     There’s some kind of tactical cop pinned like a pig on a spit. Tells me to get the fuck out then dies. Would have been a good thing to hear when I could still leave the way I came. 

     He lowered the notebook. His chest was tight, tight, too tight, he couldn’t breathe. He sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t had panic attacks since he was a teenager, but he couldn’t blame himself, not this time. 

    He slid his notebook in his pocket and picked up his camera. 

    He left the library. The second floor of the Administration Block was an atrium, one floor wrapped around the carved out middle where reception was below. He got to the ground. He was not safe here. He couldn’t be seen. He switched out his battery and recorded himself moving forward. Another barricade blocked the hall, but there was a gap he could squeeze through if he could just… 

    “Little pig!” 

    A thick hand grabbed the back of his neck like someone picking up the scruff of a kitten. Burning pain ripped through his skin as a hulking figure yanked him out of the gap. Miles barely got a glimpse, but at first, he did not register it as human. His nose was smashed in, and there was a giant chunk ripped out of his forehead. He bared his teeth, a huge row of shark fangs, then threw Miles through the glass atrium. He smacked against the reception floor, and blacked out. 

    xxx 

    “And who are you, then?” 

    He blinked his eyes open, his head pounding, his entire body throbbing. A bald man in vestments stared at him, a flashlight blinding him. His face was full of wrinkles, with full cupid lips and wide set eyes. Miles groaned and dropped his head back to the ground. 

    “I… I see.” The man held Miles’ camera. “Merciful God, you have sent me an apostle. Guard your life, son, you have a calling.” 

    xxx 

    When he woke up again, the man was gone. 

    He tried hard to remember what happened between his blackout, but it was hard, like a dream he couldn’t quite get a hold of. He gripped his throbbing head. All he knew was he had to get to Security Control. 

    There was more carnage in the reception area. A handful of dead bodies absolutely eviscerated, their guts painting the ground. The smell was something worse than Miles had ever witnessed in his life. Some cops had told him you’d never smell anything worse than a dead body, or anything close to it. Miles knew now that was right. 

    It wasn’t until he had explored a little bit that he noticed the big letters written at the base of the atrium, over Miles’ head—Proclaim the Gospel. He hoped it was red chalk. At the receptionist’s desk, he found a document: 

     You are hereby required to grant M.H.S full access to all facilities and surrender complete authority to its agents. By acceptance of this document you (and any surviving relatives) surrender all claims of litigation against the Murkoff Corp. or its subsidiaries for the actions of M.H.S. or the circumstances which required their actions, regardless of responsibility. 

     A status report in one of the storage rooms, about a patient named Chris Walker, observed by Dr. Rudolph Wenicke. It mentioned more of the rumoured Morphogenic Engine. From the interview notes: 

     Walker was interviewed in restraints, following his self-inflicted mutilations. Restraint have had to be altered to accommodate his enourmous size...he claims the skin ripped from his forehead allows for a truer way of seeing...his predominant fixation, amplified by therapy, is a manic exaggeration of military security protocol. 

     It took Miles a minute to realize that was the big fucker who threw him through the window—Chris Walker, an abused patient. The rage in his stomach muted. Did he even know what he was doing? Miles shook his head. It didn’t matter. 

    Coming into the hallway, he stopped. A Variant sat in a wheelchair, staring at the floor. Miles cleared his throat and hesitated, before stepping forward. 

    “H-Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    The Variant’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted. Miles’ brows furrowed as he came closer. Like Chris Walker, this patient looked horribly unhealthy, and deformed. How many patients came into Mount Massive this way? Could this be a coincidence? 

    The man didn’t respond, so Miles moved forward. He came into a room with three Variants, all bald men, staring with dead eyes at a static television screen splattered with blood. Miles introduced himself again, and nobody answered. He pulled out his notebook. 

     A crowd of broken men watching a dead channel. They look like patients. They survived whatever happened here but nobody’s home. 

     He carried through the room and cautiously explored the Administration Block until he found the keycard for Security Control. He passed the Variant in the wheelchair, only to find his back smacking to the floor, reawakening the pain in his spine, the Variant screaming, “GET THEM OUT! PLEASE! THE DOCTOR IS DEAD! RIP THEM CLEAN! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” 

    Miles gasped and shoved at the fucker’s chest, until he finally flew off and hit the ground. The man curled into a fetal position and sobbed into his arms. Miles panted, the anger in his stomach slowly subsiding. 

    “It’ll be okay.” He swallowed. “I’m here to help. Which doctor are you talking about? Rip what clean? How can I help you?”

    Miles raised his camera. The man refused to respond. Miles stepped back, covered in sweat. He hesitantly left as the man crawled away. 

    He made it to the hallway with Security Control, and as he stood at the edge, a Variant at the end of the hall ran forward and pounded into a door until it opened, then slammed it behind him. Miles sucked in panicked breaths. He thought of approaching, of seeing if he could get some information, but shook his head. Maybe it was better to leave the Variants alone, when he could. 

    He couldn’t help himself—he explored what rooms he could. He found several dead bodies, blood splattered almost excessively, and managed to scrounge up some batteries. In the bathroom, a clothed man sat on the toilet, dead and hunched over, with the word ‘WITNESS’ written in blood above him. His abdomen burning with anger, Miles hands trembled over his notebook. 

     I’m already beat all to hell, picking broken glass out of my scalp, coupole cracked ribs. Nearly killed by a deformed giant, looks like somebody tried to fuck-start his head with a cheese grater. He throws me through a wall, knocks me unconscious. 

        I wake up and some doughy old man with a face like an alcoholic kiddy fiddler in a homemade priest outfit calls me his Apostle. Not a job I asked for. 

        There are words scrawled in blood everywhere. I’m getting an ugly feeling in my gut that the priest is writing them, and for my benefit. 

     He kept exploring, looking for anything that could bring this place down, and grinned as he read through a document. 

     The profit potential of PROJECT WALRIDER remains staggeringly high...four fatalities...PROJECT WALRIDER remains a dangerous initiative...certainly be further casualties...family and government interest in the patients is so low as to make any chance of legal actions vanishingly unlikely. Violence among patients is increasing as the Morphogenic Engine Therapy gets closer to producing working models…

     He pocketed the document and headed for Security Control. This is enough. I’m going to bring down Murkoff Corporation. 

    The reader beeped as Miles scanned the keycard and headed for the control panel. A security guard laid crumpled, dead in the corner. He ignored it the best he could and got on the keyboard, only for the priest to appear on screen. Miles watched with wide eyes, his heart racing in his fingertips, as the father yanked down a lever and the lights went out. 

    Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

    The screens had said basement. If he could get down there and restart the generator, he could get out. 

    He stood and headed for the door. His hand on the handle, he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

    A familiar voice. “We have to contain it.” 

    Miles whipped around and looked in any place he could possibly hide in the tiny room. His heart raced, his breath short, his eyes landed on the locker. He sprinted over and crammed himself inside, slamming the door closed just in time for the room’s door to burst open. 

    Bringing his camcorder up, Miles pressed his free hand to his mouth to hide his breathing. Chris Walker’s own breathing filled the air, short and rabid, as he mumbled to himself. Walker looked around for around, checking the desk, circling the room, mumbling. “You were here, little pig, weren’t you…?” 

    The locker beside Miles creaked open. He bit back a whimper. 

    What do I do? What the fuck do I do? 

    Miles placed his hand on the cold metal, and prepared himself to run.

bls let me know what you think! and reblog <3 critiqued by @dib-leo-pard

#outlast #camerashipping #waylon park #miles upshur #whistleblower #outlast revisited

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 7

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Drama, Theft, Amateur Heroics, Hospital Visit, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Blow Job, Fingering, Lavish lifestyle, Henry is loaded, The Shard, Expensive Gifts, Sixty nine, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Angst, Argument, Jealousy,

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Chapter 7

 When you emerged from the bathroom Henry was just coming out of the kitchen area, two bottles of water in hand before he opened one and handed it to you;

 “Drink”

 “Thank you” you took it from him and lifted it to your mouth, not realising how dry your throat had grown from all the exertion. As you drank in silence you couldn’t help but to let your eyes stray over his exquisite body, from his broad chest to his narrow waist, to his thick cock hanging heavy between his enormous thighs. You hadn’t realised how long - and obviously - you’d been staring, but when he held his arms out and span slowly around with a smirk on his face you realised it hadn’t been in the tiniest bit subtle;

 “Like what you see Princess?”

 Stepping forwards you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest as you smiled at him;

 “You know I do”

 With a sly grin you pressed the cold-water bottle to his naked ass and he let out a high-pitched squeal and leapt forwards, knocking you to your ass onto the soft plush carpet. Propping yourself up on your elbows you grinned at him as he towered over you, a look of dark amusement on his face;

 “Oh, you are in for it now Princess”

 You let out a squeal as he suddenly swooped down and threw you over his shoulder before stalking back to the bed and tossing you onto the king-size mattress. You squealed and laughed as he was suddenly upon you, tickling your sides in a relentless fashion as you writhed and wriggled beneath him. With your legs entangled you were soon rolling around, skin sliding against skin and you could feel him getting hard against your belly. In a moment of weakness you were able to twist your body enough so that suddenly you were on top, straddling his waist. You caught his hands in yours and intertwined your fingers together, your chests heaving from exertion and laughter.

 You leant forwards and pressed a kiss to his lips, and that’s when you felt it. You weren’t sure if henry knew what you were about to do, but as you knelt back upright and rolled your hips just right, you slowly sank down onto his hard length that had notched just right at your entrance when you’d kissed him. His eyes went wide in surprise, his jaw hung open before the feeling of your hot soaked walls completely enveloping him was too much to process and his eyes fluttered shut;

 “Oh… oh-hoh… fuck…”

 His lip trembled as you slowly rolled your hips, arching your spine before straightening. With your fingers still linked you moved, riding him slowly, spelling out letters and words with your hips to rub him just the right way to make him go crazy. Out of all the times he had known how to work your body and drive you to an intense orgasm, now it was your turn. With a roll and curve of your hips you felt his fingers tighten against yours, his mouth moving but unable to get out the words he wanted to say, before finally finding his voice;

 “Hu-holy… fuck... Princess, I-if you keep going I’m gonna cum”

 “That’s the plan…”

 “But you…”

 “Shhh… don’t you worry about me Hen, just enjoy it”

 His body relaxed when he realised what you wanted to do, that you weren’t concerned about your own orgasm, and instead wanted to drive him completely crazy. With a swirl of your hips you started to spell out certain letters with your hips. You closed your eyes and concentrated on spelling and with each letter Henry’s moans and cries got more heated. On the second to last letter he let out a high pitched whine and his hands flew to your hips, the tell-tale tremble where your bodies were joined, and as you swayed your hips from right to left to right to left it was the trigger and his back arched, pumping you full of another load of his thick seed.

 He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you down to his lips, kissing you before you settled onto his chest, your head resting on his shoulder as you held him in the afterglow of his orgasm. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper;

 “Thank you”

 “Umm, you’re welcome?”

 “No, really, thank you. It’s been a long time since a lover has solely given me pleasure without expecting it in return… which I absolutely will do, but…”

 In that moment you felt for him, you knew that he knew he was a skilled lover, but when you have a skill sometimes people can take it for granted. You went to speak but in that moment your stomach rumbled, and you giggled as he ran a hand softly over your back;

 “You are feeling hungry again Princess?”

“We did work up quite an appetite… do you think it’s too late for room service?” you propped yourself up and smiled at him.

 “Go check out the fridge… I would move but you’ve rendered me useless for the next few minutes with that pussy from heaven…”

 You delicately shifted off him, feeling his now soft member slip out of you, and you stood on wobbly legs, walking bow legged to the kitchen as you felt Henry’s cum slowly coating your inner thighs. Bending to look into the fridge you let out a squeal when you saw the large plate decorated with miniatures of all the restaurants famous desserts. 

“Bring two spoons!” you heard Henry call from the bed and you smiled as you did as he asked, carrying the plate in one hand and the cutlery in another as you made your way through the room lit by a single lamp at the side of the bed that he’d switched on and settled the plate on the bed beside Henry as he sat propped up against the plush pillows. You handed him a spoon and grinned;

 “Okay so we’re not going to just eat these off each other’s bodies?”

 “Uh-huh… you see this one?” he swiped his spoon halfway through what looked like a chocolate cheesecake; “This one has cocoa nibs in… they get caught in my chest hair”

 He lifted the spoon to your lips and you moaned as the rich Ecuadorian cocoa hit your taste buds, before grinning and talking with your mouth full;

 “So, you’ve done the body cheesecake eating thing with someone else?” you cocked an eyebrow, before your eyes went a little wider when you saw him start to blush and you stopped chewing.

 “Not exactly…” he took a deep breath and smiled sheepishly; “I was staying here last year - my Air B&B wasn’t ready - and I ordered room service. I had fucked up my shoulder on a dig so couldn’t be bothered to wear a shirt… and proceeded to drop an enormous spoonful of cheesecake on my chest”

 You let out a burst of laughter, struggling to keep the chocolatey mess in your mouth as he continued;

 “So not only was it super cold, it got caught in all the hairs… and my dominant arm was fucked up so when I went to pick it out I missed the plate with the crumby base and dropped it on the floor… then proceeded to step on it and leave a trail of brown stains across this carpet to the bathroom that looked like I’d trodden shit around the suite”

 Your eyes watered from trying hard not to laugh and spray cheesecake over him, but the thought of him having to speak to the concierge about another ‘its-not-shit-its-cheesecake’ incident was too much… thankfully Henry could see your predicament, quickly reaching to the plate to grab a paper napkin that had been set on it and handing it to you so you could spit the cheesecake out.

 The pair of you picked at the desserts, feeding each other, talking and laughing, before you stifled a yawn;

 “I need some sleep… you’ve worn me out”

 “Let me get rid of this” Henry grabbed the empty plate and started towards the kitchen area; “And then I’ll see about sorting you out Princess”

 Standing you smiled as you headed towards the bathroom, your body and mind in that pleasant glow of pre-sleep, absentmindedly calling out to him;

 “I love you to pieces Henry but you are not coming near this pussy again tonight, she needs time to recover… I’m gonna pee then fall asleep in your arms in that massive bed”

 With your back turned you weren’t aware of Henry’s reaction to your words, how he’d picked up on your casual use of Love, and that he knew it came from the heart. 

 By the time you returned to the bedroom Henry had lowered the blinds and was laying in bed, the covers to his waist as you climbed in beside him, curling up to his wide chest as he wrapped an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You were asleep within minutes; however Henry was wide awake, his mind racing, processing something that had never been said to him before.

You woke to find Henry’s arm draped over your waist, his chest to your back as the cracks of daylight peeked in through the miniscule gaps in the blinds that covered the windows. You shifted a little and he rolled silently onto his back, the sheets draped over his lower body and you could tell he was sound asleep. Sitting on the side of the bed you reached for the water bottle only to find it empty, and with a longing glance at sleeping beauty you pushed yourself to your feet in the search for a drink.

 Twenty minutes later you emerged from the shower, having found your lower body to be a sticky uncomfortable mess upon waking, you spied Henry’s shirt from the night before draped over a chair and pulled it on, smiling at the scent of his aftershave as your body heated the luxury cotton as it nestled against your naked body. Quietly making a cup of coffee you peered in at Henry, still snoring away in the massive bed. Letting him rest you took a seat in the dining area, resting your legs on the glass table as you checked your phone, snapping a shot from your hip that showed Henry’s shirt tails draped over your thigh, your steaming mug of coffee, and the London skyline in the background. 

 One Instagram upload later you were quietly enjoying your coffee as you checked your messages when one caught your eye, from your roommate. As you read it your heart sank. Two years ago when you’d been hunting for a flat share in London you’d been introduced to a friend of a friend, a photographer that had a flat in Fulham and was never home, as he was a Paparazzi and travelled for 9 months of the year. He kept a place in London that was in essence a storage flat, but for security he liked to have a roommate. The last person had moved out and he needed someone to take on the spare room. Rent would be low by London standards, and for most of the year you’d have the place to yourself. Well, now he had decided to make the move to LA permanent, and wanted to touch base with you regarding how you and he should go about sorting the flat… and he was giving you first refusal to see if you wanted to buy it. 

 You set the phone down on the table and stared out of the window, a million and one things racing through your mind… did you earn enough to get a mortgage? Would it just be easier to move out and find another place? You were chewing on a fingernail when a large pair of hands slid down your shoulders and slipped inside the open shirt to cup your breasts, whilst the owner of said hands bent over you and kissed you;

 “Morning”

 “You look delicious in my shirt Princess”

 Henry's voice was rough from sleep, immediately ridding the previous problem from your mind and it sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core;

 “You looked pretty damn good in it too last night”

 Turning you stood and wrapped your arms around his wide shoulders, sighing into the tongue filled kiss as he lifted you and set your ass down on the cool glass of the table. Slowly he unfastened the few buttons that were holding the shirt together, before letting the garment fall open to expose your naked body. He ran his hand down your body, cupping your sex before sliding two fingers through your folds;

 “You’ve showered”

 “I have… I was sticky…”

 “Mmmn… I’ll just have to make you sticky again”

 He angled his hips and you felt his morning wood press against your entrance, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he slowly pushed into your soaked channel. You were expecting him to just fuck you on the table, but when he lifted you and wrapped your legs around his waist, you let out a cry of surprise before he walked the few steps to the massive windows and pressed you against them;

 “I want all of London to see how beautiful you are when you cum, how well you take my dick…”

 He started to fuck you hard against the glass, your head resting against the cool surface as you clung to his shoulders, and with each delicious flick of his hips he was driving you rapidly towards orgasm, his thickness filling you completely. You were almost there when he paused, and it brought your focus back to his face, surprise to see he wasn’t looking at you, instead his attention was outside. You following his gaze and let out a shriek: the window cleaning crew were hanging from their gantry, squeegees in hand and jaws agape as they watched Henry railing you against the window they were cleaning from the outside. 

 With a smirk Henry reached over and pressed the button for the internal window blinds to be lowered, the two of you still carnally connected as the outside world was cut off. In the now muted light Henry started with fresh vigour as he fucked you harder than ever before, filling you repeatedly before you came with a scream, squeezing his body so tight he followed soon after, pumping you full again. 

 He spent the longest time just holding you, pressing kisses to your face and neck before your legs started to cramp and you begged to be let down, the sclooping sound of his heavy length pulling free of your cum soaked channel met your ears and it sent a grin to your face;

 “I’m going to need another shower”

 “I think I’ll join you” he replied with a grin, before picking the room phone up; “I’ll order breakfast so it’ll be here for when we’re finished, say 45 minutes?”

 You nodded silently, realising that the shower wasn’t going to be a ‘just get clean’ shower.

 -

 The shower had proven one thing; Henry was insatiable and had the stamina of a horse. He’d had you bent over from behind in the shower before you’d both cum, finally washing yourselves clean after that. As Henry shut the water off and stepped out he held out a hand to you, before wrapping a huge fluffy towel around your body and pressing a kiss to your nose. A knock at the suite door interrupted, Henry wrapping a towel around his waist as you started to dry yourself.

 Emerging from the steamy bathroom a few minutes later, you’d tied the soft robe that was provided by the hotel around you and found Henry setting out the trays of breakfast on the table that only an hour before he’d been fucking you on;

 “Breakfast is served! What would you like; waffles? Fruit?”

 “Yes, it all sounds amazing”

 You sat beside each other quietly eating, before Henry sat back and smiled at you;

 “What would you like to do today?”

 You shrugged;

 “I hadn’t really thought about it to be honest… I wasn’t expecting an overnight stay at a hotel, so I didn’t exactly pack a change of clothes. I guess just head home after doing a walk a shame through reception in my evening dress”

 Henry stood suddenly, holding a finger up in a ‘just a moment’ way, crossing the room and disappearing to the bedroom. You heard the quiet woosh of the sliding wardrobe doors opening, and moments later he reappeared carrying a number of bright yellow giftbags with ‘Selfridges’ emblazoned across them;

 “I thought of that…”

 He set the bags onto the table in front of you, and you raised an eyebrow;

 “Hen… what’s in the bags…”

 “An anti-walk-of-shame kit” You stood and looked into the bags, before starting to pull out their contents as he continued to explain; “I wasn’t sure what to get, or what the weather would be doing, so I got a few choices…”

 Pulling a floaty summer dress from one bag you held it against you and twirled around, revelling in the way the fabric drifted on the breeze. Checking the label you saw that it was the right size, before setting it down and going through the other bags. You found a pair of comfortable velvet sliders that your feet would certainly welcome after wearing the high heels the night before, a cardigan, and a bikini that looked incredibly tiny along with some lace panties. Another bag contained travel sized toiletries and a hairbrush. Another held a pale tracksuit in the softest of jersey fabrics. You set everything back into their bags and looked at Henry;

 “Thank you…. Is this normal for you?”

 “No, not at all” he wrapped his arms around your waist; “With everything that happened this week, I wanted to treat you, surprise you with a night that couldn’t beat any other night you’d ever had with anyone in your past”

 “What if I hadn’t said yes to staying the night?”

 “Then I would have taken all this back to my place for you to use there” he shrugged and a smile on his lips.

 “And why the bikini?”

 “Oh, there’s a pool here, thought we could make use of it before lunch?”

 -

 The sight of Henry in swimming trunks was enough to make you want to drop to your knees, the fabric closely cropped around the tops of his massive thighs, and the way his dick bulged obscenely in them, well, you were glad you were the only ones making use of the pool. Your bikini that he’d chosen for you wasn’t much better, the top merely two triangles of fabric with an array of straps, the bottoms just about covering your pussy but not a lot else. You were thankful for the robes the hotel provided for your short trip to where the pool was. 

 Once you were in the water however the playful side came out of both of you, hands sneaking under the water for surreptitious squeezes and caresses. Just at the point where Henry was about to have you pressed against the wall of the pool you heard the door open to the pool room, and a family with three kids came in, the kids dive bombing into the water. You both laughed at their excitement of swimming in a high-rise, the views over London just as stunning as in every other room, and as the parents apologised for the kids you told them it wasn’t a problem at all;

 “We were just about to get into the jacuzzi anyway”

 “We were?” Henry muttered but didn’t argue as you led him up the steps and quickly sank down into the hot bubbling waters, the jacuzzi just around the corner from the pool. You were in the same room but thankfully out of sight, and the second the two of you were enveloped by the bubbles Henry pulled you to sit on his lap, facing away from him. 

 “There are camera’s here” he whispered in your ear; “But they can’t see what happens underwater…”

 His fingers snuck into your bikini bottoms, seeking out your folds before rubbing against your clit. Resting your head back against his shoulder, to anyone watching it would seem you are just a couple in each other’s arms; what they couldn’t see was Henry already had two fingers knuckle deep within you. He was grinding his dick into your ass when you let the water float you above his lap enough for him to tug his shorts down just enough to free himself, before he pulled you down and you sank onto his hardness. 

 As you watched the city go about its day Henry whispered utter filth into your ear, his hips making the tiniest of thrusts beneath the water, his fingers rubbing hard against your clit as you did your absolute best not to moan, sigh, or give anything away above the water that you had Henry’s massive dick plundering you yet again, this time in public. 

 His breaths were getting shorter in your ear and you had almost bitten through your lip from trying not to moan at the pleasure that was building in the pit of your stomach, so when Henry’s other hand snuck inside your top and pinched at your nipple you let out a tiny grunt and started to cum, the tightness of your walls contracting around him setting his own orgasm off.

 Soon after you climbed out having rearranged your swimwear, pulling your robes on before nodding to the family that were blissfully unaware of what you’d just done, their kids having been squealing and screaming far more than you two ever could.

 -

 Back at the room and showering again, you laughed as you playfully slapped away Henry’s hands as he kept trying to grab your ass in the shower, before finally turning and cupping his balls;

 “Henry, give these two a rest, they’re almost empty… gotta save something for my afternoon snack…”

 He grunted as you carefully washed him down of the soapy suds that covered his cock and balls, before kissing him once. As he soaped your back his voice was quiet;

 “What would you like to do now? Head out somewhere? Borough Market is just across the road… Or it’s just a short walk down the embankment to tower bridge… we could be proper tourists for the day”

 “That sounds good”

 -

 Sipping on the multiberry smoothie you’d bought as you and Henry had looked around Borough Market, the pair of you slowly strolled along the embankment alongside the River Thames. There was little to no breeze which you were truly thankful for as the dress he’d bought you was shorter than you were expecting, however he certainly wasn’t complaining and rather vocally had expressed how much he enjoyed seeing you in it. With your fingers interlinked with his you were deep in thought as you sipped on your drink, walking in silence towards the ornate towers of Tower Bridge.

 “... Princess?”

 Stopping you turned to Henry;

 “Yes? Sorry, did you say…?”

 Henry quietly laughed;

 “I have in fact been wittering away for the entire length of the embankment… what’s on your mind?”

 You saw a bench and nodded to it, Henry following you as you sat down;

 “My roommate has told me he wants to sell the flat”

 “Oh… I didn’t realise you had a roommate… and a ‘he’ at that…”

 You sat back and looked at him, raising an eyebrow;

 “Are you... Are you jealous?”

 He leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. Taking a deep breath, he let out a single laugh before shaking his head;

 “No… yes… kind of…”

 “You don’t need to be. He’s gay. He’s out of the country for nine months of the year. When he is in the country, he’s barely at home with the hours he does”

 “What does he do?”

 “Paparazzi photographer. He’ll be here for a few months in the springtime… when it’s warm enough for celebs to be here for holidays and shopping. Usually starts with the Brit awards in February and is gone by May”

 “Where does he sleep?”

 “In his room of course”

 “His… room?”

 You stood, getting frustrated at the points Henry was focusing on;

 “Yes, his room. The door off the right of the living room. That’s his room”

 “Oh”

 That was it. He didn’t say another word, instead just looked down at his hands. And it annoyed you. This man, this gorgeous, kind, caring man, the same man you had thought of and nothing else for the past few weeks, who had been your knight in shining armour, was suddenly focusing on such a small detail of your life and becoming jealous of it? The longer you looked at him the longer he kept his gaze averted, saying nothing.

 You’d stayed long enough, silently you turned, the lump in your throat growing as you walked away, tossing the remains of your drink in the nearest bin. You didn’t look back. If he was going to be like that over something so tiny, perhaps you’d fallen too hard for him.

Chapter 8 >>>

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfic

[malereaderoneshots]

Kim Doyoung ; Misunderstandings

Requested?: Yes “hello, hope you’re doing good and staying safe! could you write a doyoung x malereader where doyoung picks on the reader and sometimes the reader bickers back( both in a friendly manner )but once, after a long day, doyoung says something a little too harsh, not really understanding what he said or thinking about how it could hurt the other and the reader starts tearing up a little, brushing it off as being tired but doyoung still feels bad and tries to make him feel better? thank youu!” Pairing: Kim Doyoung x Male reader Word Count: 1565

Despite being a 99 liner Y/N was always found with Doyoung. To someone new it looked like Doyoung hated Y/Ns cheery existence however if the younger wasn't with him Doyoung would sulk and search for the other member until they were joined at the hip again. "I'm surprised you're not bald yet Y/N" Doyoung said ruffling Y/Ns colourful hair. "You're just jealous that I can be colourful and expressive while you're stuck with the same shade." Y/N spat back sticking his tongue out at the older member. Around them Jaehyun and Taeil hid their laugher with a cough. "See they agree!" Y/N cheered a wide cheeky grin spreading over his face, he looked up at Doyoung who rolled his eyes. "Hey, don’t bring us into your lovers quarrel." Jaehyun said, putting his hands up in surrender before him and Taeil retired to their rooms.

Y/N followed Doyoung into the kitchen. As the elder pulled things from the cupboard Y/N sat at the counter swinging his legs back and forth and watching Doyoung. "It’s annoying that they call it a lovers quarrel" Doyoung huffed. "Who?" Y/N asked, "Jaehyun or the phrase in general?" Doyoung turned to look at Y/N resting his weight against the side of the counter looking at Y/N, "all the boys. Have you not heard them? They always say it." Now that Y/N thought about it he had heard the boys say it under their breath a few times, but he didn’t understand why it bothered Doyoung so much. “I couldn't date you.” Y/N looked up to see Doyoung staring ahead, Doyoung spoke again, “for one you’re a colleague and for another you’re too young and hyper.” Y/N closed him mouth, for some reason he felt an uncomfortable weight on his chest and the urge to cry. But instead he forced a laugh, “yeah, I didn't even think about that but looks like you’ve put some thought into it. I just remembered Taeyong wanted to show me something so I should probably go.” Y/N didn't give Doyoung a chance to respond as he was already out of the kitchen by the time his finished his sentence.

Taeyong was chilling on his bed playing animal cross when Y/N entered. "What can I do for you Y/N?" he chirped humming along with the soft music. "I just wanted someone to cuddle while I have a nap." Y/N sniffed already climbing into the bed beside the leader. Taeyong wrapped an arm around the younger member allowing him to rest his head on Taeyongs chest and also watch Taeyong play the game. After a while Y/N broke the silence, "Hyung?" Taeyong hummed in response, "have you ever been in love without realising it?" the older member stiffened slightly. "This is about Doyoung isn't it?" Y/N shot up in a sitting position his cheeks dawning a rosy colour, he opened and closed his mouth a number of times before Taeyong laughed. "You're either alone or with Doyoung so it's a massive surprise that you came to me and now you're asking me about something personal to you which leads me to believe that this is about the one person you're normally with but you can't tell him. Am I wrong?" Y/N pursed his lips together and played with his sleeves creating sweater paws. "Y/N-" Taeyong said before Y/N burst into tears and diving into Taeyongs arms.

Johnny walked into the kitchen and found Doyoung sitting at the counter staring at the wall with an untouched cold coffee resting between his hands. Johnny cleared his throat startling Doyoung, "Where's Y/N?" Johnny asked while going through the fridge. “With Taeyong I think.” Doyoung said, voice void of emotion. Johnny gave him a quizzing look before starting up again, “Okay well Taeyongs just messaged me that Y/N is bawling his eyes out in his arms and to find out what happened so what did you do?” Doyoung looked at him in shock “I didn't do anything!” Johnny hummed before taking a seat next to Doyoung. “Okay,” he said pinching the bridge of his nose, ”Y/N, who is always with you, is currently crying in Taeyongs arms while you’re sat here staring into space with no emotions and a full cup of coffee. Do you see where I'm getting my accusation?” Doyoung sighed and looked his coffee, swirling it around in the cup and watching it, “I said I couldn’t date him for some bs reasons. I don't even know why I said it,” he finally looked at Johnny, tears collecting on his waterline and making his vision blurry, “I don't even know why I said it because it’s not true.” he sniffed and whipped his nose and face with his sleeve. Johnny chuckled, “well do you know what you have to do now?” Doyoung nodded before standing up “I need to apologise” he said confidently. Johnny laughed in response, “you need to more than apologise, I heard he's an absolute mess.” the sinking feeling returned to Doyoung as he rehearsed what he was going to say when he saw Y/N.

Taeyong had managed to calm Y/N down but some silent tears still fell, "Hey-" a knock on the door startled them both, "I'll get it" Taeyong said before opening the door slightly to see whoever it was that was stood outside. "What are you doing here?" Taeyong asked, a bit of anger slipping into the question. Doyoung lowered his head a bit, "I came to see Y/N please." Taeyong sighed before looking at Y/N then back to Doyoung, "I'll ask him" he replied before clothing the door again. Taeyong sat beside Y/N gripping his knee gently, "Y/N? Doyoungs at the door, he wants to talk to you." Y/Ns breath hitched as his bottom lip wobbled and fresh tears raced down his face. Taeyong wrapped an arm around the smaller boy and squeezed him gently, "come on, hear his apology" he coaxed. Y/N sucked in some air before sitting up straight and nodding his head. Taeyong left the bed to open the door "You have 15 minutes to make up or I'm sending the dreamies in to annoy you so much you leave." He joked before closing the door on the two younger members.

"I don’t think he's joking you know." Doyoung tried to joke, rocking his weight on his feet. He looked up at Y/N and a lump quickly formed in his throat. In all the years they had known each other Doyoung had never seen Y/N so dishevelled. His usually styled hair stuck up in random places and was frizzy, and his usually light and happy eyes looked dull and held pain within them. "I'm so sorry," Doyoung started voice breaking. "I don’t know why I said any of that…I guess I was scared of losing you in any way that I tried to get rid of those feelings even if it meant saying something as stupid as that. I've never felt this close to anyone and I don’t want to lose this feeling." The last part came out as a whisper, but Y/N heard clearly and patted the spot beside him on the bed. Doyoung clumsy climbed onto he beds, knocking shoulder with Y/N in the process, the younger boy let out a rough laugh, Doyoung slightly cringed "Would you like some water?" he offered, opening the bottle for Y/N to take.

After downing the whole bottle Y/N leaned his head against Doyoungs shoulder. "Tell me about those feelings you wanted to get rid of." Doyoung tensed lightly and laughed nervously, he played with a loose threat on his sweater trying to think of the right words. "Well…When I'm with you my heart feels like it’s free, like I'm free. Like nobody else's opinions matter but yours. And I look at you and I just want to hold you for the rest of my life and kiss your puffy cheeks and lips in the morning and hold your hand anywhere and everywhere for no reason and all the reasons…But I didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t accept my feelings so I thought it would be best to hide them and try to get rid of them, only that turned out to be the worst way." Doyoung huffed out a laugh and shook his head not believing what his over worrying caused. Y/N lifted his head and turned his head to face Doyoung. "If you now accept your feelings," Y/N looked down quickly to lace their hands together before looking up again and continuing, "do you think you could accept mine?" He asked, looking into Doyoungs eyes. Doyoung nodded wordlessly not believing his ears, or his eyes when Y/N closed his and leaned in slightly waiting for the other to move away or close the gap. Doyoung chose the latter and closed the gap, cupping Y/Ns jaw and tilting it up lightly to deepen the kiss. "Aw come on!" A shout made them jump apart, taeyong stood there with his arms crossed and an amused Johnny leaning against the door. "Not on my bed." the leader whined. Doyoung and Y/N laughed and got off the bed before Y/N grabbed Doyoungs hand and lead them to Y/Ns room. "You have a lot of cuddles and kisses to repay for the pain you put me through." the younger boy laughed before pulling Doyoung into the room and closing the door.

#Kim doyoung x male reader #Kim doyoung x reader #doyoung x male reader #doyoung x reader #nct x male reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x male reader #nct 127 x reader

[oneofyatosfollowers]

One of a Kind- Last Chapter

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191861/chapters/54732715

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13360973/1/One-of-a-Kind

She supported him. Their breaths mingled as they walked straight, his feet dragging as he stumbled. He took a heavy hit, his side was probably already bruised, but it was hidden under the sturdy stitching of wearalls. She still had dried blood on her cheek and forehead, the specks of it being cleaned off by her sweat. She wasn't dizzy anymore, but she still struggled to walk with his arm around her shoulder. She held onto his wrist as tight as she could, grunting under the weight.

The sun beat down on the Earth, it's rays practically sizzling off the brown dirt and garbage. Even as she lead them away from the city, the heat was hardly bearable. Yato looked up when she walked them around the side of a truck trailer, his eyes bulged when he saw a perfectly cut hole in the side, just big enough for a Wall-E and their compactor.

"In here." she said, tugging him inside. The trailer had a mattress in the corner along with a first aid kit, TV, and a fridge. It was dirty and dark, but she moved easily in it. It dawned on Yato this must be where she lived. Not knowing what to do, he listened to her when she told him to sit down anywhere. He learned earlier it's best not to argue with this Wall-E. She went to the fridge and pulled out a ice pack, coming back to hand it to him with a smile.

"Thank you for saving me," she said, sitting in front of him. Yato blinked, his cheeks heating at the genuine kindness.

"Y-you're welcome, uh," Yato's eyes flicked to her stitched-in name, "Sakura."

"This is the least I can do," her eyes did the same with a playful smile, "Yato?" The red of his skin stretched to his neck.

"It's a nickname!" Yato waved his arms but winced and regretted it instantly. Sakura took his hand and gently lead it back to his side.

"Well, I like it!" She decided. They both smiled. The work day was over and Sakura felt it was dangerous to walk back to the city alone. Even though Yato promised he would be more than okay to make it back, she won with the same ferocity that got him here in the first place. So they talked, and laughed, and argued. Yato arguing a young woman shouldn't have a gapping hole in the wall of her house, Sakura insisting a piece of wood blends in just fine.

"Hey, wanna do something fun?" Sakura asked. Yato perked up from the ramen she gave him.

"Mm-hm!" Yato mumbled around a mouthful of noodles. Sakura beamed and made her way to the television. Yato's eyes wandered down to her feet, her ankle was bruised in the shape of a hand. She had thanked Yato, but in reality he didn't know why he saved her. She wasn't the first Wall-E to be attacked, by those infected or otherwise, but before he knew it he had jumped in. She looked familiar, that's what he told himself. The beads caught his attention, he had seen her in recruitment and accessories like that were hard to miss. It wasn't something he ever did before. But he also never did something fun.

It was nighttime and dark in the little trailer, so when the television burst to life, colors dancing around the room, Yato nearly dropped his food in shock. Sakura turned back to him, smiling from ear to ear. She quickly got up and dragged the mattress around to the front, sitting on it and patting the spot next to her. Yato crawled forward a bit slow, it had been a while since he watched tv, ignoring the city's advertisements. But the dancing yellow creatures intrigued him in a way they hadn't before when he was comprising them into a cube.

"I found one that works! But this is the only movie I managed to get that wasn't scratched." She sounded like the idea upset her. Yato didn't like that.

"I like it!" He stated, looking her in the eyes. Her face twisted, then she busted out laughing at the seriousness of his statement. Yato's face caught fire again, but he laughed too. The action was still foreign to his lungs. The movie's credits rolled long after they fell asleep, hurt limbs tangled up awkwardly on the mattress.

They went to work together after that. Sakura introduced him to the larger tribes of Wall-Es that stayed together, and often times they found themselves there to drink and party the night away. Stories of infections were still far and few between, but they preferred to be back in the trailer before sundown. Yato decided to keep close to her, the female Wall-Es were very rarely seen alone, something his friend didn't seem to understand until recently. He only snuck off so he could surprise her with Twinkies and working movies.

At night she'd teach him how to mend clothes and draw, badgering him when he finally fixed the hole in the wall and rigged the door to open and close with a push of a button. They lived that way, together, for a short time. Getting closer and closer. He told her of his past, his heritage, and she sadly said she couldn't relate. She was orphaned as a teenager and like most Wall-Es decided this was the best course of survival.

They lasted until the virus got worse. Until the city was more disease than sanity and work was a battle zone. They stuck together like glue, but even that couldn't help against numbers. He remembers her face, his systems able to bring it up in painful, blinding clarity that no human brain could ever accomplish. He remembers the way she said his nickname in every tone possible. The one they both grew fond of.

Yato.  

Yato!

"Yato!"

"Yato! Yato, Wake up! Please!" Hiyori shouted over the chaos. Yukine knelt next to her, tears gathering in his eyes. Yato's torso was crunched, his back bled from around his hooks and his hair was matted from the crack in his skull.

Once the ship righted, the humans were able to get up. The captain as well. Tenijn walked back onto the screen on his own two feet, followed by Bishamon, Kazuma, and a securely tied up and shut down Auto. His face had morphed from pride and accomplishment to one of horror when he pulled up a screen showing the Halo-Detector and saw Yato underneath, Hiyori and Yukine painfully trying to lift it off his body.

Tenjin hit the button, the Halo-Detector opened, and Hiyori dragged Yato out and onto her lap. The order came over the speakers for all hands to report to the stage and for humans to brace themselves. One of the Secur-T took the plant and placed in the Halo-Detector, it was scanned and confirmed. The ship announced it's count into hyper space.

Hiyori let out a sob, letting the tears drip down her cheeks. The drops fell on the Wall-E, his face not even twitching. Hiyori moved to wipe them, her fingers lingering on his face. She whispered his name again, pleading. Yukine sobbed it louder, burying his tears in Yato's torso. Heaven's Sun whirled to life, the entire ship buzzing with a power that hasn't been used since it broke Earth's atmosphere. Hiyori tugged Yukine forward by the shirt, her free arm wrapping around him. Yukine hugged her back, his other hand refusing to let go of Yato's.

The ship jumped into hyperspace. The humans fell back over and clung together for dear life. Tenjin did the same with Bishamon and Kazuma. Hiyori braced the two boys in her arms as reality around them twisted and stretched. They grunted against the strain, holding Yato even tighter. Then, just as suddenly as it happened, it stopped. The ship floating for a moment before letting Earth's gravity pull it in. Everyone shouted as fire lit up along the windows and sides of Heaven's Sun. The ship rumbled as it crashed through the pollution layer and plummeted towards the Earth's crust.

By the time the city came into view, Kazuma came up the stairs with Masaomi of all people. Practically carrying the human against the ship's landing. Behind them was a hovering stretcher and a couple more nurses. Together they lifted Yato onto the bed as the ship docked. The people rocked a little as the massive suspensions caught the ship, dust showering everywhere, and the bridges automatically connecting to the exits.

"Everyone clear a path!" Tenjin commanded over the intercom, "The closest exit is off to the right of my lobby. Go, now!" The humans were already forming a path so that Yato could be rushed through. Some of the Secur-T were already there to meet them, handing out oxygen filters. Hiyori tried to turn on her helmet, but the broken headpiece made it impossible. She accepted the filter. It looked like a newer version of Yato's.

"Wait," Hiyori said. She rushed over to Yato and dug around in his pockets. She pulled out the iPod, crushed, and some candy he must have stole from somewhere. Then she found it, happy to find the filter miraculously unharmed.

"Miss Eve, we have a newer one-"

"No," Hiyori cut off Kazuma, "it has to be this one." No one stopped her as she slipped the triangle over his bloodied mouth and nose. It shocked her how different he looked, how she'd forgot what a Wall-E looks like on Earth. He was so different when she first met him. She stared at him as a glass casing circled around his body and sealed in clean air. Hiyori looked at her own reflection for a moment longer, let go, and turned her boots on.

"Follow me," she said, and again no one argued. The door opened and natural light seeped in.  The outside air hit them like a slap in the face, they coughed as dust and pollution assaulted their lungs. Hiyori didn't even spare it a thought, taking off towards the west.

"W-Wait! Hiyori!" Yukine called. He helped Kazuma and the other escapees push Yato away from the city port and across the cleaned trash land. Masaomi and a nurse following behind in their chairs. Some of them looked around in awe at the massive cubes of compresses trash as they kicked up dirt along the ground. Hiyori lead them to the yard of truck trailers stopping when she noticed, closed up, they all looked the same.

"Hiyori?" Yukine looked up when her shadow stopped. The sun was odd, filtered brown and nothing like the yellow or white masses he's seen from the ship. Something in front of him moved. Yukine flinched. A creature? It's front was turned up towards Hiyori.

"Nora!" The Eve cried in relief, "Take us to your house, okay?" The creature, Nora, seemed to understand, and scuttled off to the left. Hiyori zipped after it and the rest followed. They passed massive rectangle containers- Earth houses? Before stopping at a larger one.

"Over here!" She called them over. Hiyori landed and flipped the switch, causing the box to whirl  and one of the walls to fall towards them. Kazuma stepped back and held an arm out in front of Masaomi, eyeing the contraption wearily. But Hiyori didn't even hesitate, stepping up the ramp and into the trailer.

"Bring him in here. Masaomi, do you have your kit?" Hiyori flipped on all the mis-matched lights as they walked past her. It was a tight fit, but as long as Masaomi and Kazuma could work, that's all that mattered.

"I never leave without it!" Masaomi held up the white box, patting the red cross. They pushed Yato into the center of his little home.

"I just processed the Auto's blue-prints from the captain. I have all the information I need to work with Yato's model." Kazuma's eyes flicked over his screens once more before holding his breath and nodding to Masaomi. The glass cover slid back under the stretcher, and the two got to work.

"Good. Yukine?" Hiyori looked over at the anxious Mo. He stood at attention when his name was called.

"You see that switch next to you?" Hiyori pointed to the left of his head.

"Yes?"

"I need you to push it when I say, and let go when I say stop." Hiyori tried her scanner, happy to see it still worked. Yukine hit the button, flinching with the rest of the occupants when the entire wall spun. She scanned the shelves and started pulling out random spare parts, passing them to one of the nurses that squeezed in the back.

"Kazuma, tell me what he needs." Hiyori looked at the Major General, who nodded. Yato was hooked up to a heart monitor and had a tube stuck down his throat. They flipped him and worked on a new mother board, working to save the memory chip. Meanwhile the nurse had Yukine help stitch and patch the skin around Yato's hooks. When those was done, Kazuma still looked grim, his glasses running a mile a minute as it preformed tests and scans. It seemed like they worked for days but what was instead only an hour at most. Kazuma relaying the needed materials, Hiyori yelling at Yukine to start and stop as she scanned for the needed objects.

Yato was being put back together like Humpty Dumpty, not a single reaction coming from him in any way. A new chip, speaker, laser finger, even re-fastening the hooks on his back. The captain, Kofuku, Diakoku, Hiyori's parents, Typ-Es, Wall-Hs, Secur-Ts, and the escapees all stood a couple feet outside the trailer. Quiet with worry as the group rushed to save the cyborg. Masaomi took his hands off, Kazuma did as well. He scanned three times before he looked outside.

"Outside! Move! He needs to charge right now!" Kazuma shouted as he and Yukine started to push. The crowd shuffled back as Yato was parked just past the ramp. Hiyori and Yukine held his arms at an award angle so the sun light completely cover his fore-arms' solar panels. Kazuma called over the Typ-Es.

"Stimulate the circuits with a small voltage, just to get it going." Kazuma whispered to Take. The cyborg nodded and pulled out a smaller dagger, clicking it on. Yukine tensed and eyed the offending object as it grew closer, taking Yato's hand in his. Masaomi held the Wall-E's head up as the cyborg waved the object up and down the back of Yato's neck. Small shocks crackled off and jumped around the naked chips and wires.

"Stop that's enough." Kazuma put a hand on Take's wrist. Everyone held their breath. After a moment or two, a beep was heard. Yato's speaker let out soft static as the beeping got stronger and more persistent. Everyone stood straighter when a long, higher pitched sound echoed. Yato's chest expanded in a deep sigh and everyone leaned in. After a couple moments, Yato's eyes opened. They looked clear. Too clear. Like they've never seen horror or known sadness, not the least bit dazed or confused.

"Yato?" Hiyori questioned as he sat up. He didn't answer. Hiyori's repeat was drowned out by the sound of cheering. The former passengers cried out and hugged each other, over joyed that the Wall-E that fought so hard was the last one standing. Hiyori looked across the table at Yukine, who also looked unsure. Yato turned towards him to slid off the table, not sparing anyone a glance. Instead he scanned the horizon, eyes fixing on something in the trailer.

Yukine let out a choked sound as Yato's hand slid out of his. The Wall-E brushed past his friends and made his way into his home. Hiyori called out to him, louder this time. The crowd's excitement hushed at the sound of the Eve and the Mo shouting out again. They followed him into the trailer. Hiyori felt her eyes grow hot, an impossible thought crossed her mind.

"Yato? Yato, I'm so sorry I got you involved in all of this. I didn't mean for you to get so hurt and I-" Hiyori flinched when Yato knocked down his treasures from off the shelf. Yukine tried to ask what he was doing, but Yato only stared at the floor. His arm came up over his shoulder, his hand grasping nothing. Hiyori put a hand up to her open mouth as she watched the hooks on his back open and close. The Wall-E scanned the room again, making his way towards the old television.

"Hey wait!" Yukine walked forward, grabbing his guardian's arm and stopping him from pulling out another compactor.

"This-This is your stuff, right? Don't throw it away!" Yukine pleaded, shaking his arm. The Wall-E blinked down at him like he just noticed the Mo.

"Don't. Don't tell me- your memory too?" Yukine's voice squeezed as he clung to older cleaner. Eyes looking up at him, wet and pleading.  

"My sensors have indicated the objects as pollution. I have been ordered to compress them." The Wall-E spoke in a frank tone, expression neutral. He grabbed the compactor and walked past Yukine without another word, leaving the kid with an open mouth and crying eyes. Hiyori stepped between the pile of capybara toys and Yato, fists curled at her sides as she fought to keep her lips from trembling. Yato stopped a foot away from her, looked her up and down, then bowed slightly.

"Excuse me, miss, there appears to be garbage by you. Please, allow me to pick it up." Yato asked.

"No," Hiyori replied, "Y-Yukine! The TV. Put the tape in and hit the power button!" Hiyori shouted in desperation. Yukine did as he was told, fumbling around the foreign machine. The screen flickered to life, the boy capybara and girl capybara safely on the island and leaning in for a kiss. It captured Yato's attention for a couple seconds, his eyes reflecting the dancing colors. Then he turned back to Hiyori. She held he breath as he looked at her.

"Miss, please allow me to clean up the mess." Yato tried again.

"No," Hiyori's chin tightened, "No, this isn't junk. This isn't a mess. This your stuff! You love this stuff!" Hiyori shouted at him, gesturing to the movie and the matching knick-knacks on the ground.

The Wall-E looked a little unsure as he straightend, but his attention drifted to the wall next to him. He reached for more of the objects, but Hiyori caught his hand. He looked down at it in mild shock, his eyes watching her naked hand intertwine with his.

"Yato." Hiyori whispered for his attention again. He looked back to her, not moving as she stepped in his personal space. She looked sad.

"My name is Yaboku, number 001-P," he spoke quietly to her. She let out a dry sob, his fingers flinching against hers at the sound.

"Yato," she said again. Hiyori brought her other hand up to his face, letting the pads of her fingers graze across a bandage on his cheek. He didn't move, and he didn't look away from her. She let his eyes look her up and down, this time slower and with more focus. He wasn't just scanning her for protocol.

"Yato, my name is Hiyori," she sucked in a breath, "and you named the Mo behind you, Yukine. You adopted him." Some tears dripped from her long lashes. Yato looked at them, he tried to bring something up in his scanners. She appeared to be in pain, but there was no sign of serve injury. In fact, the one in pain was him. Something was wrong with his chest but his sensors didn't have a reason for it. He kept trying, until her thumb traced lightly across his cheek bone and he forgot what he was doing. It was warm. She was warm.

"You did it," Hiyori continued, tears falling freely now with hiccups lacing her words, "You brought the humans back to Earth. You don't have to be alone anymore, Yato."

"You dont have to be alone anymore, Yato." Another voice echoed in his head. Brought up by the back-up save files. Suddenly, his mind was taken elsewhere. For a split second he wasn't here, but several miles in the city. For a moment he was on the ground and a woman was stubbornly telling him to let her help. For an instant there was blood on his hands and a warm body in his arms and a hand on his cheek. Things were dangerous here, his friend was hurt and where was his kid? His kid could be hurt too or alone somewhere if Hiyori wasn't there with him!

"I can't be alone cause then who will be with Yukine and Hiyori?" Yato shouted at the person in front of him. The Eve flinched back and Yato did too. He quickly went to apologize for yelling suddenly at a stranger. But the girl in front of him looked familiar.

"Hiyori?" Yato repeated dumbly, "Hiyori!" It clicked, the girl in front of him was Hiyori! Yato dropped the compactor in his hand and tackled her in a huge hug. She cried out and buried her tears in his chest, sobbing as he laughed. Something tickled the back of his brain, he turned around to see Yukine standing nervously behind him. The kid kept looking at him with painful anticipation, his face just as wet as Hiyori's.

"What are you waiting for, Yukine? An invitation?" Yato didn't even give his kid time to perk up, he reached an arm around the kid and pulled him in the group hug. Yukine spun and clung to him too, fist bunching the back of his clothes next to Hiyori's. The front of Yato's wearalls getting a thorough wash.

Yato looked over Hiyori's head, heart all but stopping at the sight of a mass of people standing outside his trailer. They were cheering and hugging, some were even trying to dance. Most of the chairs were no where to be found as the humans let their toes dig into the dirt, clean of trash Yato had long since picked up. His chest swelled and squeezed at the same time. He imagined this is what Heaven truly looked like.

"Well come on! What are we waiting for?" Yato looked down at the two sniffling people in his arms, "Lets go show them around!" He beamed at them, grabbing them by the hands and pulled them down the ramp towards their cheering friends. Kofuku and Daikoku came to hug them, followed closely by Kazuma and the other cyborgs and Hiyori's family.

"Oh honey," Hiyori's mother gave her daughter a hug, "We're so proud of you."

"You preformed your job to the fullest and never gave up. We couldn't ask for a better little girl." Hiyori's father clasped her shoulders.

"Thanks dad," Hiyori said, wiping a tear. To her surprise, her father turned to Yato.

"I heard it all from my son! Are you the boy that followed my baby girl across space?" He asked with a wide smile, his face squished under the clear mask he wore. Yato mirrored the expression and held out a hand.

"Yes I am! My name is Yato!" Yato stuck out a hand and waited patiently for her father to do the same. When he did, Yato grasped it firmly- but not enough to hurt- and shook it. HIyori's dad copied the action with vigor.

"Does this mean I can marry your daughter, sir?" Yato blurted out. Yukine and Hiyori's mom nearly fell over. Hiyori blushed a bright shade of red as her father and brother cackled loudly.

"I don't see a ring!" Kofuku called from the side.  

"Yeah?" Yato shouted back, "Well I don't see one on you either!" Yato grinned as Kofuku whined and Daikoku shouted profanities with a red face. Yato spun around and pulled the kid in close.

"Hey where's the ring?" Yato whispered to Yukine. The kid's face somehow got even redder.

"Wha-? Ring! You never said anything about a ring!" Yukine fires back. Yato rolled his eyes.

"Come on, a smart kid like you? There's no way you missed the chemistry Hiyori and I got goin' on. A true wing man would have had the good sense to pick one up!"

"Are you serious!" Yukine squawked, he grabbed Yato by the ears and started shaking his head back and forth. Yato cried out in mock pain as his kid roared at him. Something squeaked and chirped under their fight.

"Nora!" Yato cheered at the sight of his friend. The little cockroach had always been sneaky, somehow finding them through the new crowd. Yato saw she had a plastic milk jug ring, holding it up as high as she could.

"Haha! That's my girl! Way to follow the plan!" Yato grinned and plucked the thing from her, laughing as she jumped on his palm and scurried to his shoulder.

"What is that?" Yukine squinted at the thing, annoyed Yato talked to it like he talked to him but fascinated at the sight of a real live animal.

"She's not a 'that', her name is Nora," Yato explained. He plucked her off his shoulder, gently squeezing her sides despite her hissing and squirming. Yukine jolted when he dropped the creature into his hands.

The creature was extremely light and felt kinda hard. Yukine stared at the thin antenna as they inspected his clean skin, and marveled at the hard shiny shell that shifted over her many legs. She clicked at him and scrapped her arm against his palm, turning to shriek at Yato.

"Yukine, it's not nice to stare at a lady," Yato chided. Yukine gasped and sputtered out excuses. He then stopped short and wondered why he was trying to defend himself against something that was clearly not lady-like. Yukine scrunched up his face and glared down at Nora. The cockroach only chirped and flicked her antenna.

"Oh Hiyori!" Yato skipped back over to the Eve. She had wandered off to talk to the other Secur-T, but excused herself to turn and smile wide at Yato. He stopped and beamed at her, Hiyori walked a couple steps closer.

"Hey," Yato said.

"Hey," Hiyori copied, just as giddy. Yato blushed and coughed awkwardly in his hand. He then showed the ring in his palm, it clearly being too big to fit on her finger.

"So, um, I got a ring. Or, uh, should a say Nora got a ring, so I could, uh."

"Nora! I'm so glad she's alright!" Hiyori clapped her hands and look a little past the Wall-E.

"Where is she?" Hiyori already spotted the creature, making her way to Yukine. Yato looked down at the plastic band in his hand and after a brief moment, let out a sigh, and pocketed the thing.

"Hiyori!" Yato whined and followed after her. Trying and failing to grab her attention from the cockroach while Yukine badgered him to knock it off.

A cough interrupted their merriment. They turned around and stopped short. The captain stood, being helped by a long-haired Pr-T, with Bishamon. She held onto a rope which coiled tightly around the Auto, still unconscious and on the ground. The humans around them hushed at the sight.

"I've come to a decision," Tenjin addressed Yato, "but before it goes into motion I would like your opinion, Yato." Yato looked surprised, his eyes drifted to Bishamon, who stubbornly glared at the dirt that now soiled her boots.

"What?" Yato asked cautiously, his eyes dragging up from the limp Kuoto to the captain.

"I've decided to keep the Auto alive," he paused for the gasps of the crowd.

"You're kidding!" Yukine stepped forward, hatred lining his face. Yato put an arm out to stop him.

"What's that got to do with me?" Yato said after a pause. Tenjin cleared his throat around the filter.

"Well, he is driven and his systems are hardwired to follow orders. Now that his memory of The Crafter and A1-13 has been wiped, I was hoping to re-program him to be a protector of all living things. Someone who can oversee and regulate the activity, so that something like this doesn't happen again."

"We were hoping you could help with the programming aspect. Especially since your systems really are so similar." Tenjin watched Yato's face, impressed to find it so hard to read. Hiyori came next to him and grabbed his arm. She insisted he didn't have too and Yukine agreed. But of course, Yato nodded.

"I'll do it." Yato agreed. His eye brows raised when Tenjin hobbled over and stuck out a hand. Yato grasped it and they shook. Confirming a plan for the future.

Once things became settled, Yato took over the cleaning aspect, there still being much to do. Him and the Wall-Hs, now honorary Wall-Es, compressed the more difficult stuff. Humans handled the basic pick up and transport. The Mos were taught how to work the junk yard machinery and had a blast crushing large objects, and were planned to move to buildings further down the road.

The Secur-Ts and other service cyborgs worked on rebuilding the city to a more habitual and efficient living environment. The Pr-Ts oversaw designs and helped with keeping the humans clean. And the Eves were to continue monitoring the Earth for other life forms and were to catalogue their findings to the new and improved Auto (now called Word) along with his two guides, called Noras.

The creation of cyborgs halted, the information stored away and protected with the Noras, making Hiyori the last cyborg to ever be created.

The sakura plant made its home just to the side of a little trailer out side the city, roped off and under the strict care of a Mo, an Eve, and a Wall-E.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, onlymollygibson!

Today, we wish a Happy belated Birthday to @onlymollygibson! We hope you had a wonderful day back on March 22nd, and celebrated in style! To bring your birthday feels back around, @ally147writes has written a story just for you!

AN: Apologies for the delay, @onlymollygibson. I’ve got a massive presentation to give at uni next week which has consumed much of my time. Also, this prompt was... kind of hard :/ I tried to make it lighthearted and fun, but it just didn’t work. I’m not 100% happy with it, but I do hope you like what I managed to cook up, though.

Unbeta’d. All errors are my own. Rated T.

Peeta’s front door is wide open when he arrives home from work.

 There’s a dozen things wrong with this picture, not least the fact that he forgot to lock his door before leaving at half-three in the morning — again — but there’s also the fact that it’s just gone one in the afternoon, it’s broad daylight out, and on the short five-minute journey from the bakery to his home, he passed a dozen people walking dogs or jogging. What sort of person’s brazen enough to stage a daylight robbery in full view of the entire neighbourhood?

His hands shake as he slams the car door shut, and his heart feels halfway up his throat as he plucks his phone from his pocket and punches in 911. He hovers his finger above the call button as he darts across the driveway as silently as he can manage.

 There’s no carnage, he notes with a sigh when he’s inside. (Does he lock the door behind him or what? What’s the protocol when you’re getting robbed? Do you keep them in or let them out?) Nothing overturned, his lounge room is intact, no frames broken, and his television is right where he left it. A cursory glance to the hollowed book on one of his shelves that houses his rainy-day savings tells him that’s safe, too. The only thing telling him there might be something wrong is the dusty set of boot-prints leading into his kitchen.

 He frowns. The kitchen?

 His kitchen sits at the end of a long, narrow hallway. His pride and joy, filled with every fancy appliance he can afford on his meagre salary, and a spice rack even the most well-stocked restaurant would be jealous of. Peeta picks up his pace a little, the thud of his heart seeming louder than his footsteps.

 His stomach falls. The fridge door is wide open, so too the pantry and the cupboards. Bags of flour and pasta and pulses lay strewn over the floor, crunching under his feet. The fridge is still beeping its alarm to say it’s been open too long, and the toaster is laying on its side on the bench.

 Most concerning, though, is the slumped-over young woman pressed tight in the narrow gap between the wall and dishwasher.

 Peeta’s breath falls from his lungs at the sight of her. She’s thin, painfully so. Black hair he imagines would glint red in the sunlight lies in dull, ashy clumps along her prominent spine. Her coat and trousers are at least five sizes too big, ending in men’s work-boots too large for her feet. He can’t tell if she’s a threat or not, but desperation makes people do crazy things, and this girl looks all kinds of desperate.

 He clears his throat and inches his way forward, as though she’s a wild animal. She doesn’t stir, but tears roll down her cheeks, cutting lines through the layer of soot covering her skin.

 “Uh, hello?” He sets a hand on her sharp shoulder and shakes her gently. “Miss, are you all right?”

 She opens her eyes. Grey, red-rimmed, glazed, and confused. “I’m… I’m hungry.”

 He stops short, frowning. “You’re hungry?”

 “I haven’t eaten… I don’t remember when it was.”

 “What… what are you doing here?”

 She shakes her head and slurs, “Your door was open, but you have no food. I fell over. Didn’t want to get back up.”

 He glances over her, as though he can spy whatever injuries she might have through her layers. “Did you hurt yourself?”

 “No. Not much. Just… do you really have nothing you can just… eat? Like, right then? Like a bag of chips or something?”

 “I… uh… I usually make everything from scratch. That’s why —” He pulls himself short; he’s got no reason to explain himself to this girl. He sets his phone down on the bench and sits beside her on the floor. “Do you need me to call you an ambulance?”

 She shakes her head, closes her eyes. “I just want something to eat. Please.”

 “Do you, uh, want me to… I don��t know. I’ve got a loaf of bread and some other stuff in the car. I could make you a sandwich?”

 He doesn’t even wait for her to reply before he’s up and out the door, grabbing the bag of bread and misshapen pastries he left on his passenger seat. When he gets back inside, the girl has moved so she’s sitting up. He spies the sharp angle of her collarbones through the gap in her shirt’s collar and looks away immediately.

 “I… just, hang on a sec, all right?”

 She nods, and he sets to work. Nothing too heavy, just a grilled cheese. Some soup would be better, but he hasn’t gone grocery shopping since the weekend. Just this poor girl’s luck that the first unlocked house she found was the one with jack all food in it.

 “Can you tell me what’s going on?” he asks once the sandwich is sizzling in the pan.

 She traces the lines in his hardwood floor with her blunt fingernails. “Just… have you ever had everything in your life go horribly, unimaginably wrong at once?”

 “Uh, not exactly.”

 She hums and tips her head against the wall, closing her eyes again. “It completely sucks.”

 “Yeah, I… um, I guess it would. Sorry.” He plates the sandwich and cuts it into four triangles. “Is there anyone you’d like to call? You can borrow my phone.”

 She shrugs. “No one left to pick up.”

 He’s not sure what to say to that.

 “Here.” He hands her the plate and sits beside her again. “Eat slowly.”

 She stares at the sandwich like it’s something far more elaborate than a grilled cheese on sliced white bread.

 “It smells amazing.”

 “It tastes pretty good, too.”

 She starts off with nibbles, eating the crispy edges before she inhales the middle. Soft noises escape her while she eats: tiny sighs and breathless little moans. The more she eats, the more she cries, and the more awkward Peeta feels watching her.

 “Are you okay?” he asks her, because he hasn’t gotten a straight answer out of her yet.

 “I’ll be okay.” She takes another bite and smiles. “This is wonderful, though.”

 “Thank you.”

 “No. Thank you. No one else would have done this.”

 “I’d like to think they would.”

 “You’d be wrong.” She finishes the sandwich in silence while he watches her for new clues. He doesn’t find much, but he’s not sure he’d be allowed to see it, anyway.

 “Do you want anything else?” he asks when she’s done and staring at the plate.

 She shoots him a quick, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile. “I don’t think you’re supposed to keep offering me things. I mean, I did break into your home.”

 “Well, I did leave the door open, so I was probably inviting it.”

 “Yeah, you really should remember to lock it. Who knows what sort of crazies are out there.”

 “I don’t know. You don’t seem so bad.”

 “You really don’t know me well enough to be making those sorts of calls.”

 “Well, maybe we should change that.” He clears his throat and holds out his hand. “I’m Peeta.”

 She stares at him like he’s crazy — and, yeah, he probably is — before she smiles at him properly.

 “Katniss,” she says as she takes his hand in a surprisingly strong grip. “My name is Katniss.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaygifts #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #fan fic #by ally147writes

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Finger Painting

Author: MyChosenWords

Year: 2009

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Mike/Dave

The entrance to Dave’s flat is unexpectedly dark as Mike steps through the front door. He dumps the pile of borrowed CDs on the table and tucks Dave’s spare key into his pocket. From the basement he can hear the strains of what he can now confidently identify as Led Zeppelin. Grabbing two beers from the fridge he makes his way to the stairs.

“Dave!” he cries, not wanting to startle his friend.

“Hey Mikey!” Dave responds, “Bring us a beer would ya?”

“I’m way ahead of you mate,” Mike replies as he reaches the bottom step.

Dave is stood in the middle of the basement staring at a big white sheet that almost covers the entire floor. Cans of paint are scattered around the room along with an assortment of paintbrushes.

“Modern art this time? Very nice,” Mike comments, lifting one finger to his lips and tapping it in an exaggerated display of thoughtfulness, “I love how you’ve really captured the essence of nothingness. The absence of the paint is a great mirror for the absence of colour in our pathetic, meaningless existence isn’t it?”

Dave elbows him playfully and grabs his beer. “Fuck off.”

“What are you actually doing?”

“I’m supposed to be creating a backdrop for the live show. Noel had this idea about making these massive scrolling backdrops so we’re each painting one as a prototype.”

“So why aren’t you getting on with it? I mean, how hard can it be to paint a couple of trees and a hill?” Mike asks. Dave looks at Mike in a way that makes him once again curse the fact that Noel got all the creative talent and all he has is a lisp and the ability to stare at things for a long time without blinking. He’d give almost anything to be able to have a conversation with Dave about art and perspective and shadows without resorting to jokes or stupid questions but he’s completely out of his depth. Luckily Dave once again proves that he can read Mike like a book and begins to explain.

“Basically before I can start painting anything I need to know where we are going to be in relation to the backdrop. The size and position of the mountains is affected by whether we are close to them or far away.” Mike nods slowly in understanding.

“Want to help?”

The only thing stopping Mike from agreeing immediately is an overwhelming fear of somehow fucking it up. He has always enjoyed the company of the older man and usually jumps at the chance to spend time with him but Noel has been exceedingly grumpy lately and Mike doesn’t want to Dave to get the blame for something Mike has messed up. Dave picks up a paintbrush and wiggles it in Mike’s face.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he urges. With a sigh, Mike takes the offered paintbrush and turns to the tins of paint.

“Where do we start?”

Dave draws a rough outline on the sheet, pours some of the blue paint into a tray and puts Mike to work painting the sky. They work solidly for a good half an hour, Dave singing along to the music and Mike concentrating on not going too far outside the lines Dave has drawn. It’s actually quite relaxing and Mike can finally accept why Noel used to spend hours shut away listening to music and drawing. He finishes the last of the sky and is just about to stand up to admire his handiwork when his elbow catches the tin of green Dave was using for the trees and it tips over. He scrambles to pick up the tin but it is too late. Mike can only watch in horror as the green puddle slowly spreads across the sheet. Ashen-faced he turns to apologise to Dave but the other man is blinking tears of laughter out of his eyes and cackling. Dave’s amusement increases momentarily at the look on Mike’s face before he eventually softens.

“Don’t worry about it Michael, it’s only a practice.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“But you’ll have to do it all again!”

Dave shrugs. “So? It’s hardly a masterpiece Mike.”

“Fine. But let me clean it up. You can go get some more beers or something,” Mike insists.

Noticing that the paint is about to spill off the edges of the sheet, Mike rushes to his feet. In his haste he plants his foot firmly in the blue tray. Flecks of blue paint fly up into the air, raining down on Dave’s hair, face and clothes. Groaning, Mike covers his face with his hands and flushes a bright, burning red.

“Oh god, that’s it. I give up. I am fucking useless.” There’s a bitter note in his voice that quells the snigger that was bubbling inside of Dave.

Mike hears movement in front of him and the next moment Dave’s hands are peeling Mike’s away from his eyes.

“Hey, come on Mikey, it’s fine. I always wear old clothes when I’m painting anyway. And besides, it was pretty funny,” Dave soothes. Impulsively he leans in and plants a soft kiss on the tip of Mike’s nose.

When Mike finally opens his eyes Dave is grinning at him, the bright spots of paint highlighting his blue eyes. Despite his embarrassment Mike laughs. “Matches your eyes,” he remarks.

Dave studies him for a long moment and there’s a mischievous gleam in his eyes now. Very slowly he dips his finger into the brown paint and begins to draw on Mike’s cheek. Mike remains briefly still until he realises what Dave is drawing.

“Hey!” cries an outraged Mike. “That’s a bum. You’re drawing a fucking bum on my face!”

Dave collapses into childish giggles. Mike smudges the crude drawing until it’s just a brown blob. All sense of guilt or embarrassment forgotten, he bends down, drags his paintbrush through the escaped green paint and flings it at Dave. It hits him square on the chest and begins to run down his jeans. Mike yells in triumph but is quickly silenced when a splatter of red paint collides with his shoulder. Dave jumps out of the way as the green paint from Mike’s brush splatters against the wall.

Paintbrushes are soon abandoned in favour of more aggressive tactics. Dave chases Mike around the room and manages to plant a bright green handprint on his black hair. In retaliation Mike slaps a blue handprint onto Dave’s arse. Dave dips both his arms into the yellow paint and hurls himself at Mike. Unprepared for the impact, Mike falls, bringing Dave down with him. Dave attempts to get away but the paint is so slippery he simply falls unceremoniously on his arse. Mike is laughing so hard he can hardly see. When he finally calms down enough to take a good look around he is surprised by how strangely beautiful it is.

There is paint everywhere; on the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling. The colours have mixed together and now there are oranges and purples and pinks as well as the colours they started with. In the middle of it all sits Dave, with bright purple hair and clothes drenched in every possible hue. Mike’s own clothes aren’t much better. There are two yellow lines underneath his arms from where Dave tackled him and the rest of his shirt is a garish polka dotted nightmare the likes of which even Noel would claim was ‘a bit much’. Mike gazes fondly at Dave, whose ability to make light of any situation has once again spared Mike from hours worth of angst and self-esteem issues. Dave shuffles closer to him and for a moment Mike thinks it might be time for round two but the other man merely wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into a hug.

“Feel better now?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Mike replies.

Dave scans Mike’s face, looking for an unblemished patch of skin. He finds it at the corner of Mike’s left eye and kisses it.

“Good.”

Their eyes meet and before Mike can wonder what the hell he’s doing he closes the gap between them. Dave is quick to respond, chapped lips sliding leisurely over Mike’s. The paint has made their hair slippery and Mike has the deeply disturbing thought that this is kind of like what kissing Old Gregg would feel like but then Dave growls and Mike is jolted back to reality. He can’t imagine Old Gregg ever making such a masculine sound. Breathing eventually becomes a problem, forcing the two apart. They stare at each other with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“So...,” says Dave eventually, “This is new.”

“Yeah,” Mike exhales. His fingers are itching to reach out to any part of Dave they can reach but he can’t bring himself to do so without knowing, absolutely, that Dave wants this too.

There’s a splash of purple on Mike’s lower lip and Dave brushes it away with a surprisingly clean thumb. He leans in and kisses Mike so slowly it feels like time has somehow been manipulated.

“Good though,” Dave whispers as he pulls back to meet Mike’s eyes.

Mike can only nod mutely in response. He feels as though he’s travelling very fast through a dark tunnel. Everything around him is blurred but for Dave’s face. He is dimly aware of the music in the background and the smell of the paint. Dave is smiling at him affectionately, like you would a kitten playing with a ball of string, and Mike thinks that won’t do at all so he gets to his knees and turns so he can straddle Dave’s thighs. There’s a flash of lust in Dave’s eyes and he wraps his arms around Mike’s waist and pulls him down. For the first time Mike can feel how the situation is affecting Dave and it sends his head into even more of a spin.

“Mike,” Dave pants as Mike begins to softly grind himself down into Dave’s lap, “I know this is probably the worst idea I’ve ever had but I swear if I don’t have you right now I’m going to go insane.” He rounds off the statement by biting down on Mike’s earlobe, prompting the shorter man to yelp in pleasure and in pain.

“So take me,” Mike murmurs before nipping at Dave’s jaw. In a flash Dave’s hands are tangled in Mike’s hair and they are kissing again and Dave is thrusting up now and the room is filled with moans and breathless names. Dave shoves Mike off his lap but before Mike has a chance to complain he’s flat on his back with Dave’s body covering his own.  

When they were younger Noel used to come home with an assortment of bruises and a filthy grin and Mike could never understand how he got off on something that was clearly painful. But here in Dave’s basement with an unusually sharp paintbrush digging into his back and Dave pressing onto him from above Mike was starting to really enjoy the exhilaration of losing control. The moment their lips had touched Mike had forgotten all about the fact that Dave was his older brother’s best mate, or that they worked together and that things would undoubtedly change from that point on; all that mattered was that Dave didn’t push him away.  

Mike’s hands work frantically at the buttons on Dave’s shirt. When they finally reach the last one he reluctantly breaks their kiss to allow Dave to sit back on Mike’s hips and shrug the shirt off his shoulders. Dave hurriedly pulls the shirt off his arms and throws it behind his head. His hands now tug at the hem of Mike’s shirt and Mike raises his upper body slightly to allow Dave to slip it over his head. The shock of bare skin underneath their paint-stained clothes causes Mike to chuckle. Dave looks at him curiously but the look soon fades to desire as his gaze falls on the trail of dark hair leading down into Mike’s waistband. With a careful, cautious finger he traces a line down Mike’s chest before lavishing caresses on Mike’s nipples and hipbones. Mike bucks and whimpers beneath him and Dave can’t believe how good it feels to be the cause of such obvious pleasure. His fingers make quick work of the buttons on Mike’s jeans and pretty soon they break apart again to shed their remaining clothes.

Forgetting about his earlier bouts of clumsiness, Mike attempts to crawl seductively over to Dave. His right hand lands in a puddle of orange and slips quickly out from beneath him. As his chest crashes into the wet sheet he can hear Dave’s hysterical laughter and he feels himself blushing again. Mike rolls over onto his back and finds his body once again covered with Dave’s.

“You are absolutely the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” Dave whispers, stroking his fingers through Mike’s hair.

“I’m a clumsy git,” Mike grumbles, though he does turn his head to nuzzle Dave’s hand.

“You’re perfect,” Dave shoots back and then he’s kissing him again.

Dave’s tongue urges Mike’s lips open as his hips begin to move. The first brush of their naked erections elicits a moan from both men and Mike thrusts upwards to increase the pressure. If this were a different time and place Mike would take great pleasure in memorising every inch of Dave’s skin but they’re sliding all over the place as it is and Mike is so hard it hurts and if he doesn’t get some kind of relief soon he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Dave’s tongue maps every crevice of Mike’s mouth as his thrusts become less and less controlled.

“Fucking hell Mike,” he groans roughly into Mike’s ear.

“I’m close Dave,” Mike replies and is rewarded with a nip on the earlobe.

“Me too. Come with me?”

Mike nods and Dave buries his face in Mike’s neck, kissing his collarbone through the layers of paint. Mike arches his back as Dave’s hips slide once more over his own and then he’s coming hard onto Dave’s stomach. Dave is a mere second behind, panting Mike’s name like a mantra as he shudders above him. Still breathless he collapses on top of Mike.

“Fuck,” Mike sighs happily. Dave rolls over onto his back and grins.

“Not quite,” he retorts. “Maybe next time.” Mike wants to turn his head to check if Dave is pulling his leg but he can’t muster up the energy required so he merely lays back and hopes. The CD has stopped now and the only sound in the room is their shaky breathing as they attempt to regain normal breathing patterns.

It’s almost an hour later when Dave finally sits up. Mike’s eyes are closed, his mouth stretched into a soft smile, and he looks so relaxed that for a moment Dave thinks he’s fallen asleep. As soon as Dave stands up though Mike’s eyes flutter open and he gazes up at Dave contentedly. Dave’s face splits into a grin as he studies the mess they’ve made of the sheet.

“Check this out,” he says, motioning for Mike to stand up.

He does so, and laughs warmly at the sight. There is the distinct outline of Mike’s body smeared into the paint, Dave’s handprints on either side of his head and a series of smudges from where they had slid across the slippery sheet.

“Now that’s what I call modern art,” Dave remarks smugly. “You know, I’m thinking it could be part of a series.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Dave replies. “I’ve got plenty more sheets where that one came from.”

“Does this make me your muse?”

“Paintbrush more like.”

“It’s not quite as glamorous as being a muse but I suppose I’ll take it.”

“Hey Mike, get us a beer would ya?”

Mike turns obediently towards the stairs only to receive a playful slap on his still-bare bottom. “And don’t be too long,” Dave insists, “We’ve still got a backdrop to paint.”

Mike is standing in the queue at the supermarket when he gets the call. He hasn’t spoken to Dave for two days but that’s not unusual when they are preparing for a new tour. Dave is involved on so many different levels; he probably gets less sleep than even Noel or Julian. The rest of ‘That Afternoon’ passed without incident; they finished painting the backdrop and parted ways as if nothing had ever happened. He still isn’t sure whether they’ve completely ruined things between them or not. It doesn’t feel like a horrible mistake. In fact, it’s one of the best things to ever happen to Mike, but whether Dave feels the same or not Mike has no idea.

“Hi Dave,” he says, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder whilst attempting to balance his armful of groceries.

“Hey Mike, how’s it going?”

“Not too bad. Yourself?”

“I’m alright thanks mate. Listen, have you got time to pop round tonight? I was hoping you could help me out with something.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Call it 7:30? There’s beer and wine in the fridge and I’ll rustle us up a pasta,” Dave suggests.

“Sounds great,” Mike replies. Dave’s been on his mind constantly since the other day and he’s both nervous and excited at what might happen the next time they are alone together. Plus, Dave is quite a good cook and this is likely to be the best meal he’ll eat all week.

The woman at the cash register smiles at Mike as he dumps his groceries on the counter. “Hot date?”

“Could be,” Mike replies with a wink.

Dave answers the door with bare feet and a wide grin and wraps Mike in a hug. “Good day?” he asks as he ushers Mike through the front door.

“Not bad. You?”

Dave runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Average. We met with the stage managers today.”

“And?”

“Total disaster. We tried the backdrops but the sheet keeps catching on all the other shit we need on the stage. Nearly ripped Noel’s to shreds.” Dave runs a hand over his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Ah. So no scrolling backdrops then?”

“Not at this stage,” Dave replies, “Beer?”

Mike follows Dave into the kitchen and grabs one of the free bar stools. Dave grabs two beers out of the fridge and slides one over to Mike. Garlic and onions are sizzling in a pan on the stove and Dave busies himself with preparing the other ingredients whilst chatting to Mike. They discuss their days in greater details and enthuse over the plans for the tour. Mike sets the table and puts some music on. It’s the kind of domestic familiarity you usually only see in the movies and Mike hadn’t realized he craved.

The pasta is simple but delicious. During the meal they fall into reminiscing about the last tour and it suddenly occurs to Mike that whatever does or does not happen between them, they will more than likely be sharing a room again for the duration of the tour. Julian has already announced his intentions to make frequent trips home to visit his family, prompting Noel to suggest that he share a room with Rich instead so that Julian can have one to himself. Julian was extremely grateful, and as Dave helpfully pointed out, Noel wouldn’t be spending much time in his room anyway. The conversation leads them to the Australia tour and their memories of their first night performing as part of The Boosh. Mike admits that he’ll never be able to repay Noel for the opportunity he gave him that night and Dave reassures him that his constant support of Noel is more than enough.

“You don’t realise how much he cares about you Mike and how much your opinion matters to him. He’s always looking out for you,” Dave insists.

“I know. I should tell him more often how much I appreciate him.”

Mike finishes the last of his wine and pushes the empty bowl of pasta into the middle of the table. “That was fantastic Dave. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” says Dave.

The conversation continues to flow easily and it’s nearly half-past nine when Dave finally pushes his chair away from the table and stands up purposefully. “Now...about that favour. Come on.”

Dave leads Mike to the stairs and motions for him to go in front. Suddenly nervous, Mike steps slowly down the stairs and into the basement. His stomach lurches as he steps into the room. The paint splatters have been cleaned off the walls and ceilings but they still litter the floor and Mike notices that the cans of paint have been gathered together on an old brown table. In the middle of the room, spread across the floor, is a large red sheet.

“See the thing is, I’ve still got all this paint left over,” comes Dave’s voice from just behind Mike’s ear. A hand, that trembles slightly though Mike doesn’t know it, reaches out and slides around his waist. “Paint with me?” Dave asks softly. Mike’s only answer is to press back into Dave’s embrace. That one simple question is the answer to all the questions that have been swirling through Mike’s head for the past couple of days. With that simple question all of Mike’s nerves disappear and he smiles warmly up at Dave in agreement.

Dave puts some music on and opens the tins of paint. Not even bothering with the charade of paintbrushes, he plunges a finger into the blue and begins to trace strange and intricate patterns on the sheet. Mike soon joins in, his yellow lines swirling and crisscrossing Dave’s blue. He can’t believe how easy it is to just sit and revel in the joy of finger painting. He feels like he’s five years old again, without a care in the world; except that a five-year-old boy surely wouldn’t notice the way Dave’s thin white shirt clings to his arms, or the way his tongue slips out to moisten his lips when he’s concentrating. They catch each other’s eye occasionally and there’s a tension building that they are both doing their best to nurture. There is none of the urgency of their last encounter; Mike knows he won’t be going home tonight so he promises himself that he will take the time to savour every moment.  

It’s almost forty minutes later when Dave makes the first move. The edges of the sheet have been covered with various blue and yellow patterns but the centre is still bare. He waits until Mike is looking at him and then slowly he tips the blue tin so that a little puddle forms in front of him. He plants both hands firmly in the paint before crawling over to Mike on his hands and knees. He stops just in front of the dark-haired man and waits. Mike smiles warmly at Dave and smoothes his hand over Dave’s forehead before leaning in and kissing him. Dave’s blue hands clasp Mike’s head as they kiss and Mike’s lips fall open under Dave’s eager tongue. When they part Mike knocks over his own tin of paint and pushes Dave so he’s laying in it. Dave laughs and pulls Mike on top of him, wrapping his arms around Mike’s waist and pressing their bodies together. Already Mike is rocking his hips into Dave’s erection, desperate for the friction. Dave’s hand squeezes his hip firmly as he matches Mike thrust for thrust. Afraid things might be going too fast, Dave flips them over and settles himself on Mike’s hips. Warm fingers wriggle under Mike’s shirt and Mike sits up so Dave can remove the offending garment. He dips his finger into the spilt paint and draws a big smiley face on Mike’s chest.

“So pretty,” Dave murmurs reverently.

“Shut up,” says Mike, blushing. He pushes up so that Dave slides off his hips and he can sit up, before pulling Dave’s shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Dave’s head tips back and he squirms in delight as Mike bends his head and gently bites down on his nipple.

Eager fingers make quick work of their remaining clothing. Dave lies back and tries to pull Mike on top of him but the younger man bats his hand away. Dave’s confusion turns to surprise as Mike’s hands close around his cock. Mike’s tongue licks at the juncture between hip and thigh before making its way to the head of Dave’s cock. Hands fly to Mike’s hair, urging him on and Dave cries out Mike’s name as he is engulfed in the heat of Mike’s mouth. He can’t help himself from thrusting up but Mike doesn’t seem to mind. He merely looks up at Dave through those long, dark lashes and continues his ministrations. One hand grips Dave’s hipbone firmly, trying to control his thrusting, and the other trails through the paint pooling at Dave’s side. He raises the finger to Dave and carefully traces a letter onto the lower part of Dave’s stomach.

F

Dave is uncertain of where exactly Mike is going with this but enjoying the sensation all the same.

U

Mike trails open-mouthed kisses up and down Dave’s cock before covering the head once more.

C

Fingernails dig into Dave’s thighs hard enough to mark him and that thought only causes him to shiver and thrust himself further into Mike’s waiting mouth.

K

Dave’s hands twist into the sheet as Mike rolls his tongue over Dave’s right testicle. Mike leaves a small gap before beginning the next word.

M

Mike places one last kiss on Dave’s cock before raising his head so he can watch Dave’s reaction as he draws the last letter.

E

“Fuck me,” Dave recites, “Mike...do you mean that?” He gazes questioningly at Mike.

“Please,” Mike whispers. Dave’s hands grab Mike and haul him up so he can kiss him. Mike’s tongue darts into his mouth and Dave moans as he tastes himself on the other man’s tongue. Mike’s hands sweep across Dave’s sweaty forehead, brushing the hair back as he kisses across Dave’s hairline.

“I want you so bad right now,” Dave pants in Mike’s ear, his voice husky with desire. His hands run up and down Mike’s bare back, sliding down to cup Mike’s arse and squeezing experimentally.

“Dave,” Mike whines, rubbing their erections together impatiently.

Before he knows what is happening Mike finds himself on his back with Dave’s blue eyes boring into him. “Give me two seconds,” Dave says, placing a kiss on Mike’s cheek before leaping up and bounding up the stairs. He returns not long after with a bottle of lube and a condom and it hits Mike all of a sudden that this is really happening. Dave kisses Mike passionately as his fingers fumble with the wrapper. Mike helps him to slide it on with shaky fingers and an encouraging smile.

“You’re sure?” Dave asks as he unscrews the lube. Mike nods.

“Fuck me Dave,” he begs.

Dave squirts a generous helping of the lube onto his fingers before trailing one around Mike’s entrance. Mike keens into Dave’s mouth as the finger makes its way past the tight ring of muscle. Dave stretches him slowly, adding two more fingers and searching out Mike’s prostate. When he finds it Mike cries out in pleasure and bucks around Dave’s fingers. Dave captures Mike’s lips in one last, searing kiss before positioning himself at Mike’s entrance. He pushes carefully inside and gasps at the feeling. Mike is so tight and warm it takes all of his self control not to pull out and slam back into the tiny man beneath him. Mike is grimacing though and Dave doesn’t want to hurt Mike in any way. He waits for Mike to adjust to the feeling before slowly sliding out and in again. This time a small moan escapes Mike’s lips.

“You feel incredible,” Dave gushes. He leans down and kisses Mike again, tongue thrusting to the same rhythm as his hips.

Mike is thrusting back now, back arching and hands wandering all over Dave’s back searching for something to hold on to. Dave’s cock finds Mike’s prostate and Mike’s whole world flips upside down. One hand wanders down to his own cock and he strokes himself slowly, enjoying the slow build up to ecstasy. Dave nibbles the shell of Mike’s ear, moaning incoherent sounds punctuated with Mike’s name.

“Mike, I’m getting close,” Dave murmurs as his thrusts become more frantic.

Mike nods and meets Dave’s heated gaze with one of his own. He increases the pressure on his cock and is dimly aware of Dave crying his name out as his orgasm washes over him. The pleasure is more than he can bear and his small body shudders and bucks as he spills into his hand. Dave lets his weight drop onto Mike, unwilling to let go of the feeling of Mike surrounding his cock. He kisses every part of Mike he can reach and runs his hands through Mike’s hair.

“Wow,” Mike says as soon as he’s recovered the power of speech. “That was just...wow.”

“Mmm...” Dave murmurs in agreement. “You are amazing. I cannot believe how good that felt.” He slides out of Mike and pulls the condom off, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. He rolls over so he’s on his side and drops a kiss on Mike’s chest.

“You can talk,” replies Mike. “No one’s ever made me feel like that before.”

Dave lifts his head so he can look at Mike and smiles fondly. He inclines his head towards the sheet and raises an eyebrow. “Another masterpiece you reckon?”

Mike nods his head and allows Dave to pull him to his feet. Once again there is the clear outline of Mike’s body in the paint. The blue and yellow has mixed in places to form a bright, vibrant green but Mike can just make out the handprints from where Dave crawled over to him. Where Mike’s hand had just been there is a small splash of white that stands out starkly against the red of the sheet. Mike notices it first and blushes furiously. “I’ll just get that shall I?” he says, looking round for a cloth.  

Dave’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. “Don’t.”

Mike stares at him.

“No one’ll ever know. And besides, I think it’s hot,” he punctuates the statement by placing a series of kisses along Mike’s neck and collarbone.

“What are you going to call it?” Mike asks.

Dave studies Mike for a moment and then looks back at the painting. “Heaven,” he says with a grin.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #dave brown #mike fielding #mike fielding/dave brown #mike/dave #real person fic #rps

[oatsn-honey]

Stray

Masterlist 

Summary: Izuku and Ochako, now married, take in a stray puppy.

“Well I’d say that was a successful mission,” Ochako chimed, walking hand and hand with her pleasantly smiling husband. In both of their free hands were several plastic grocery bags, filled with assorted goods.

“Yup!” Izuku confirmed, smiling down at Ochako, “I’m super excited to try making this!” In the bags were the ingredients for Italian Gnocchi Soup -- when they got married and moved into together, the two decided that they would endeavor on a culinary journey, attempting to whip up unique dishes that neither had indulged.

“Well, I’m mostly excited about getting to eat it!” Ochako joked before nuzzling further into her jacket due to the cool breeze. On a chilly night, soup is always an appetizing selection. Changing the topic, Ochako asked, “So, how was your day, honey?”

Chit-chat continued to float between them as they leisurely made their way towards the apartment building. Less than half a block away from their home, a high-pitched whine interrupted Izuku as he told his wife about something a friend, Eijiro, had done earlier that day, “So, when we were visiting the school, he stood up on one of the students desks and started screaming the lyrics to Part of Your...,” He trailed off, alert of the alarming sound.

“What do you think it is?” Ochako questioned, her brows furrowing.

They continued walking, albeit rather slowly, scoping the surrounding area for a possible source. “I don’t know,” Izuku frowned, his green eyes shifting to the dark alley near them. Ochako joined him, gazing down the narrow passageway, as well.

“Oh my gosh!” She exclaimed, sharply inhaling. “Izuku!” She dragged him into the alley, dropping her 2 grocery bags by the entrance.

“Wh-what?!” He yelped in confusion. Then he saw what was producing the sound. “Oh...” Huddled against the wall was a whimpering puppy, violent shivers wracking its small body.

“Poor baby...,” Ochako moaned in dismay, crouching down. “He must be freezing,” She reached out and the canine cowered away in fear. Ochako frowned up at her husband and he returned the look.

“Oh!” Izuku quietly and abruptly uttered. He reached into one of his grocery bags, the material crinkling loudly, and pulled out a sealed, pale blue package of vanilla biscuits. He peeled it open, taking the top cookie in his hand. “Maybe he’ll like these?” He extended it out to the dog, calling softly, “Here, boy.”

At first, the dirt-smothered puppy displayed no wish to move, only squashing himself closer to the slimy alley walls. But, after a tedious 2 or so minutes of Izuku offering the tantalizing treat, the small animal finally began to inch forward. Holding their breath, Izuku and Ochako anxiously waited as the puppy cautiously sniffed the food. At last, the first lick, and then an unsure bite, of the biscuit was taken, allowing the two heroes to silently rejoice. Swiftly, the rest of it was devoured with fervor.

“Good boy!” Ochako praised as Izuku pulled out another cookie, this time bringing it closer to himself. The dog quickly caught its scent and took a small step toward Izuku. Then he stepped again, and again, each time more confidently. And with a final step, the puppy retrieved his second cookie, his tail swaying as he finished up, licking his lips.

“You like those, huh?” Izuku cooed, gently rubbing the dog’s head. “I do too,” he popped one in his one affect, humming with delight for added effect. “Here, have another,” this time, the treat was fed directly to the young puppy. And quickly, while the animal was distracted, Izuku scooped him up, tucking him in his muscled arms. He softly patted the still shivering puppy’s belly. Luckily, he didn’t resist.

As Izuku began to saunter off, carrying the groceries and the dog, Ochako scampered after, crying in concern, “Wait, we’re keeping him at our apartment tonight, right?” Her eyes were wide with worry.

“Well, of course,” Izuku sent her playfully questioning glance, “What else would we do?” Ochako heaved a sigh of relief, her hand over her chest.

As they made it back into the light of the night-life city, Ochako grabbed her earlier discarded grocery bags, then fell into a brisk walk along side Izuku. After another five minutes of travel — accompanied by the concerning whimpers of the small puppy — and a few turns in the path, the two heroes finally glimpsed their modest apartment building (they weren’t Shouto and Momo, who lived in a massive complex together). They thanked God that their policies allowed pets, and even if it wasn’t permitted, they would’ve found a way to sneak the stray inside.

When they were near, Ochako jogged ahead and swung open one of the glass doors leading into the lobby for Izuku, as his arms were quite stocked with a squirming pup and abundant sacks of food and household supplies. And upon their entering, a warm gust of air flew into their frost-bitten faces. It was impossible to resist the inevitable sigh of content.

“Oh!” The young receptionist perked up at the sight of the animal in Izuku’s arms, running past the counter up to greet them. “Awe, what a cutie... where’d you get him?” She looked up, awaiting an answer.

Ochako supplied, “Poor baby was out shivering in an alley. We thought that we’d take him home for tonight and check for owners tomorrow.” She readjusted the heavy bags in her hands, then continued, “But from the looks of it, he hasn’t had someone to care for him in a long time.” She frowned slightly, eyebrows pressed in sadness.

The worker hummed in acknowledgement, then began to attempt at lighting the briefly downcast mood, “It’s always something new with you two! I never know what to expect when you come through those doors,” she tilted her head towards them, and with a smile added, “Next thing you know, it’ll be a baby cradled in your arms, not a dog!”

Instantaneously, the two heroes’ faces combusted into furious bonfires of embarrassment. The girl realized her flustering and statement, and began to stammer in apology before trailing off.

Waving her hands, Ochako cried after forcing a laugh, “Haha, I don’t know, maybe you’re right! W-well, I think we better go!” The two began to stiffly and awkwardly walk away towards their own apartment.

“Well… that was... uncomfortable,” Izuku sweat nervously, “But maybe she’s not completely wrong.” His smile, while shy and bashful, was vibrant and hopeful.

“Maybe…” Ochako’s gently curving, pretty grin made her husband’s heart flutter. They subconsciously slipped a little closer to one another.

They leaned farther, heads angling to smile and gaze lovingly into the other’s eyes. But before the gap between them could disappear, a small, urgent whimper resounded from between them, reminding them of their task.

Looking down at the brown, messy-furred puppy, Ochako cringed in embarrassment, “Right, we better get you home.” She rubbed his head softly, “Isn’t that right, buddy?”

Then, in a blur of motion, the dog was gone, and so was the man holding him, leaving a shocked brunette behind. “Wha- Izuku?” She looked ahead, down the corridor. Her husband, the dog in his hands and bags of assorted items swishing behind him, was sprinting away. “Izuku!” Ochako screeched while running after him, smiling and giggling lively.

He was moving at an almost inhuman speed, and all without his powerful quirk. But, luckily, Ochako could do the same. And when Izuku looked over his shoulder to smile teasingly at his wife, he met his downfall. She was growing closer, closer, and closer, a grin on her face the entire time.

Until, “Wait! Izuku! You’re dropping groceries everywhere!” A box of cookies fell out of one his many sacks, followed by a dish towel and a small collection of plant food. “Stop!” She yelled, laughing. But he didn’t, no doubt a devious smile on his face.

So, she tapered to a slow walk, bending down to collect the discarded items. Rolling her eyes (but with a pleased smile that couldn’t stay away), she breathed, “Goofball.” Ochako slipped the stuff into her bags and continued her walk.

When she reached the apartment, the door was propped open and the heavenly scent of cinnamon and pine trees wafted out. She peaked her head in, glimpsing the flickering candle. Walking in, she set her groceries on the small bench against the wall. She removed her olive-green jacket and hung it up on one of the hooks in the entryway. “That wasn’t very nice,” Ochako giggled, untying her boots.

Izuku was leaning over, switching on the small heater, the puppy nuzzling into his yellow sweater. He was still holding all of his plastic bags. “I really just wanted to get this little guy home, he can’t stop shivering.” He frowned, brushing his fingers across the dog’s left ear.

After carrying her things over to the kitchen and setting them on the counter, Ochako walked over to Izuku, reaching out to take the tiny puppy. Soon, he was cradled in her loving arms. “Thanks,” Izuku spoke, then went over to set his things down. He began sifting through the bags, pulling out the cold items and finding them a place in their fridge.

He pulled out the ingredients for dinner and set them off to the side. Then, when the rest of the groceries belonging to the kitchen were dealt with, he began to prepare the Gnocchi soup. But, after setting the pot of water on the stove to boil, he sighed, and ran his hand through his forest-green hair.

“What’s wrong?” Ochako frowned, approaching. She rubbed his shoulder with her free hand, concerned.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just remembered something.” He gave a not-so-reassuring smile and continued, “Well, I’ve got to go out for a little — just a couple of minutes. I’ll be back.”

And before Ochako could protest in confusion, he was slipping into his jacket and grabbing his wallet. “Um, bye?” And he was out the door. She looked down at the puppy in her arms, and then up at the pot on the stove. “Oh.” She laughed under her breath, “Guess you need dinner, too.”

In less than ten minutes, Izuku came back through the door, sweaty from using his quirk to get halfway across the district and back, the second time hefting two sacks of who-knows-what and a 40 pound bag of dog food. “I’m back!” He called from the entryway, taking off his shoes.

“Welcome home,” Ochako giggled. She was chopping vegetables, the little puppy resting at her feet. Izuku sat at one of the island-counter’s bar stools, then dumped out the contents of the two plastic bags. There were various toys, a blanket, two different brushes, a dog bowl for food and water, treats, shampoo and conditioner, flea and tick treatment, and puppy training pads. “Woah,” Ochako breathed, shocked by the abundance of dog-items.

“Yea,” Izuku said sheepishly, “I didn’t know what all to get.” He chuckled slightly, “I got kinda excited… I never had any pets as a kid.”

“Me either,” Ochako related sadly, “We could never afford it.” But she wouldn’t let that ruin the night, “But now we both have the chance to see what it’s like! Together!” She fist pumped into the air… and then remembered that she was holding a knife, “Ah! Oops!”

Her husband giggled, “Right! First off, I think we should give this little guy a bath, he definitely needs it.” He went near Ochako to scoop the pup from the ground, causing him to perk up. “Do you think that you can handle dinner?” Izuku asked as he picked up the dog bath products.

“Leave it to me, Puppy Hero Deku!” Ochako smiled, teasingly shooing him into the bathroom. When he was away, she merrily continued to cook, occasionally glancing down at the recipe on the counter.

“Alrighty…,” Izuku set the puppy down on the bathroom tile, and put the shampoo and conditioner on the toilet lid. He turned the shower knob and let lukewarm water fill the tub for a while. In the meantime, he got a bowl of cool water and set it down in front of the dog, who lapped it up immediately, clearly dehydrated. “Poor baby,” He frowned, rubbing the dog’s thin back.

When the tub was filled with about 3 inches of water, Izuku shut it off and placed the puppy inside. At first, he just stared at the water encompassing his lower half in confusion, but eventually began to move around in it, if only slightly. After letting him explore and get comfortable, Izuku kneeled down by the tub, grabbed a cup and scooped some water into it, then gently poured it over the small dog’s body. When the puppy’s fur was successfully wet, Izuku squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his hand, and began to rub it around. However, the struggling began immediately after that.

It was a long, wet 30 minutes, filled with the puppy whimpering and squirming around and quiet exclamations of “Wait! Hold still!”, but Izuku was finally able to get the puppy washed. And while the animal was swaddled in a warm, fresh towel, Izuku was dripping wet, his sweater and pants soaked, with bubbles everywhere from his arms to hair. “Well, at least you’re clean,” Izuku sighed, leaning against the bathroom wall, exhausted.

With the puppy still wrapped up and in his arms, Izuku exited the bathroom, which looked like a soap bomb had gone off. The moment he reached Ochako’s line of vision, she began to hysterically laugh. “Did you struggle?!” She cried, holding her stomach, “You’re leaving a soap trail out of the bathroom!” Izuku frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. (Luckily, Ochako was able to snap a photo without him noticing.)

“How’s dinner coming?” He asked, desperately wanting to change the topic.

“Oh, it just needs to cook for about 15 more minutes,” The remnants of laughter lingered in her answer.

“Alright,” Izuku murmured, walking up behind Ochako sneakily. Swiftly, he lifted up her shirt and pressed his free hand up against the small of her back, catching her off-guard.

“ACK!” Ochako screamed, “Your hand is so cold! And all wet and soapy!” He removed it, laughing. “Gross! Go shower!”

Izuku chuckled, “Okay, okay. But you watch him, okay?” He grinned, slipping the puppy into her arms.

“I will!” She huffed. When he walked off and into the bathroom, she mumbled, “Ew, ew.” Looking down at the puppy in her arms, she cooed, “You wouldn’t do anything like that, would you?” And in a shocking moment, the puppy licked her face, in a sort-of sloppy dog kiss. “I guess you would…,” She sighed, wiping her face with her hand.

Later, while Izuku was in the shower, and after the dog was dried, brushed, and treated for ticks and fleas, Ochako filled the puppy’s bowl with food and water. She set the table while he was eating, ladling soup into two bowls and placing a loaf of baked, garlic bread down.

“Dinner’s ready!” Ochako called, and Izuku came out of the bathroom, wearing a long tee and a pair of sweats. He was trying to tug a brush through his crazy hair quickly, but it was getting him nowhere. “Here, let me help,” Ochako giggled, approaching him as he let go of the brush handle (it effectively stayed lodged in his hair, however). In about 5 minutes, his hair was all brushed — that didn’t mean that it was tame, though — and both heroes were seated at the table, the puppy sleeping soundly on Ochako’s lap.

“Wow, honey, this is really good!” Izuku said through a spoonful of soup.

“Thanks, Izuku.” She smiled, and took a nibble of her bread. Quickly after, dinner was finished, both bowls empty and three bellies full. Izuku, Ochako, and the dozing pup all settled on to the couch, the last sprawled across both of the heroes. Leaning into her husband, Ochako felt herself begin to drift into unconsciousness. She let her head fall onto Izuku’s shoulder, and sighed in contentment. “Today has been nice and relaxing.”

Izuku hummed in agreement, resting his head on his wife’s, “Mm, I second that.” He too began to doze off. That night, their home was… warm. Cozy, and almost inexplicably nostalgic. Peaceful, much unlike the heroes’ daily lives. And the small animal sleeping between them only enhanced the home’s comfort. Now, everything seemed to fall together perfectly and completely.

Not 15 minutes later, the two were startled awake by sudden incessant barking. “Wha-!” Ochako cried, sitting straight up, eyes wide. She looked over -- Izuku’s hands were raised defensively. “Wow, look what our profession has turned us into.” She gave a small laugh before attempting to quiet the yapping puppy.

After many failed attempts to calm the animal, who had begun to scamper around the living room, Izuku offered, “Maybe he needs to use the restroom?” Ochako slammed her palm onto her face, dragging her hand down her features in exasperation. Izuku chuckled awkwardly, watching as she grabbed a training pad.

While she coaxed the dog into using the pad, Izuku scrolled through the latest news stories, using his favorite app to do so: Hero Headlines. He clicked the story titled, “Up-and-Coming Heroes and Their (Supposed) Significant Others”. (What? He was curious.) He laughed when he noticed Shouto and Momo on the list, only to blush furiously when he and Ochako were on the list, along with several leaked photos of them out together.

He was pulled out of his thoughts of “When did that even happen?” and “How did someone get a picture of that?” by Ochako’s frustrated groan. He looked over to see her leaning back on her hands, face scrunched in annoyance. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” He slipped his phone into his pocket and walked over to her.

“All I want to do is curl up in bed and pretend to watch a movie while I really just play with your hair or sleep.”

“And what’s stopping you?” He sent her a questioning look.

“Dishes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about that, Ochako! I got it!” He smiled, helping her off the ground before proceeding to the kitchen (where a treacherous mountain of heaping dishes awaited him and the scrubber).

She picked up the brown puppy and made her way over to the sack of dog toys, shaking her head and saying something along the lines of, “You’re too sweet.”

30 minutes of bonding time (with the puppy for Ochako and the dish scrubber for Izuku) later, and the two heroes were collapsed on their bed, the puppy sitting happily on Izuku’s chest. Ochako heard him murmur, “Well aren’t you just full of glee? Let me tell you, doing the dishes would change that completely.” The dog only whined and layed down, his face nestled into the crook of the green-haired hero’s neck. Ochako quickly snapped the photo, silently promising that she would show it to all of her friends… including her boss.

Later, when Ochako had been through the shower, she came out to see Izuku in the same position from earlier, snoring softly. She climbed onto the bed and began to pull her hands through his thick hair. As he was aroused from his sleep, she asked, “You should get ready for bed, change and brush your teeth. Yeah?” He looked up at her through half-lidded eyes -- she was wearing a pair of fuzzy pajama pants and one of his long sleeved tees.

After getting ready for the night, Izuku crawled under the covers and huddled close to his wife, lifting the dog onto his lap. He let himself drift off to sleep, one arm wrapped around Ochako, the other draped gently over the dog. That night, Izuku and Ochako slept content and happy, snuggled up together with the little puppy burrowed between them. That very dog had the best rest of his life. He didn’t have to struggle for the unlikely possibility of food and a place to sleep. He had no other strays to fight off, and no humans kicking him around. For once, he received kindness and compassion, and wasn’t met with disgust and revulsion. He didn’t have to shiver in the cold of the city, and he didn’t have bugs jumping on his matted coat. He was full and rested. Above all else, he was safe. And he was loved.

#IzuOcha #izuocha fluff #izuku x Ochako #izuocha one-shot #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #Ochako Uraraka #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku x uraraka ochako #fluff #oneshot #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aged-up #married #puppy #writing #bnha fanfiction #romance #slice-of-life #dogs

[a-splash-of-stucky]

A Messed Up Place | Fourteen

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: A collection of precious moments throughout your pregnancy

Warnings: Fluffiness, swearing.

Notes: WooOOOoooOOO! A whole century later and we’re finally back with another chapter! I’ve missed writing for this baby :’) Also -- four fics in four days whut? 2018′s off to a good start ;)

As the summary suggests, this chapter is a collection of ‘moments’ throughout your pregnancy. After the trainwreck that was the last 13 chapters, I’ve decided to finally gift you with some pure fluffy goodness.

AMUP Masterlist

Bucky moves back into the compound that very evening. As they say: no time like the present, right? Having made amends with you, Bucky feels as if the chains that have been holding him back have finally been unshackled, like he can finally go about this relationship the way he actually wants to, the way he should have done from the very start.

He’d had to make a quick trip to the apartment in Brooklyn, just to clear out his things. He hadn’t brought a lot with him in the first place, which means that most of his worldly possessions are still safely stowed in his room in the compound — something that worked out in his favour, in the end.

Since then, he’s thrown himself into romancing you like he’s never romanced anyone before. Bucky’s also been doing a lot of reading, trying to prepare himself for parenthood as best as he can.

The rest of the team are happy to have him back at the compound, if a little puzzled by his sudden, unexplained disappearance, and equally confounding return. Natasha comes to visit him a couple of days after he moves back in. a grim set to her jaw and a purposeful gleam in her eye.

Bucky watches her with wary eyes from his spot on the bed, hands stilling in his lap. He’d been cleaning one of his rifles before she’d come in and interrupted him. He tracks her as she leans against his dresser, arms loosely folded over her chest.

“I know that you and Y/N had something going on before she got with Steve,” she tells him. Before Bucky can open his mouth to refute her claim, she holds a single finger up and barrels on. “I also know that when she did get with Steve, you were devastated. Pretty obvious with the way you were moping about the place. And it’s why you asked me to set you up, right?”

Bucky hasn’t said anything, but his silence must’ve been a good enough answer for her.

“It was to help you get over her, wasn’t it?” Natasha presses, picking up the comb he keeps on top of his dresser and twirling it between her fingers. “It was to get over her.”

“Stop,” Bucky growls, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

She smiles tiredly. “I’m not judging you, Barnes. I just—,” she breaks off, eyes downcast as she says the next two words. “The baby.”

“What about it?” Bucky asks tersely.

“Is…I don’t know whether it’s yours, or whether it’s his, but I’m guessing that it’s either Steve’s death or her pregnancy that was your trigger. One of those things, or maybe both of them, I don’t know — made you leave,” she surmises, setting the brush down and affixing him with a cool gaze.

“The two events happened so close together—I’m just not sure what set you off. But—whatever it is, I just hope you two get it sorted out.”

Bucky blinks owlishly, surprised by the sudden swerve in the conversation. “I—thanks, Natasha,” he murmurs.

She nods curtly, pushing off from his dresser and sauntering towards his door in one sinuous motion. “You’re both good people,” she says, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Idiots, but good people.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says dryly. She blows him an exaggerated kiss as the door falls shut.

————————

“You don’t have to come,” you say nervously, for what is probably the tenth time in half as many minutes. “I’ve gone to them by myself before, it’s—,”

“Y/N,” Bucky says, cutting short your nervous babble. “I want to, okay? I really do. I wanna go with you, I wanna see the baby.”

“Okay,” you breathe, smiling nervously at him. “Okay, of course.”

It takes exactly eighteen minutes for Happy to drive you both to the hospital. Throughout the entire journey, you keep your hands folded in your lap, fidgeting anxiously with the hem of your t-shirt. Towards the end of the drive, Bucky finds himself reaching across the massive gap between you and him in the back seat, resting his hand on your knee and squeezing it reassuringly. You’re startled by the sudden gesture, but the tentative smile you flash his way tells him that you’ve appreciated it, nonetheless.

Happy pulls up in front of a sleek building which Bucky has a hard time believing is an actual hospital. It’s all shiny glass and polished steel and spotless floors, nothing like the dingy labs that HYDRA used to work in. Though the interior is sophistically decorated, the faint scent of antiseptic that seems to cling to every hospital building is present, making Bucky’s nose scrunch up in disdain. He follows you to your doctor’s office — Dr Habiba, he learns, is her name — and takes a seat in the overstuffed armchair. You, on the other hand, perch yourself on the examining table, jiggling one leg nervously.

It’s a fairly standard office, albeit devoid of those tacky health-conscious posters that normally adorn hospital walls. Even the medical equipment in there has its own aesthetic appeal, fitting in with the rest of the decor as if they were abstract art installations.

“Twenty weeks, eh?” Dr Habiba comments, once she’s got you settled on your back. You smile and nod, your expression perking up as she chats pregnancy stuff with you — most of it goes straight over Bucky’s head. Dr Habiba’s got dark skin and jet black hair that she’s pulled back into a neat chignon. By his best guess, she’s probably in her mid-forties. She seems pretty competent, moving the machinery around and speaking with the air of someone who’s been through this routine a billion times.

When it’s time to start the scan, you gesture for Bucky to stand beside you, near your head. He’s touched by the gesture, even more so when you take his flesh hand from where it’s lying beside your shoulder and interlace your fingers together.

“All healthy, looks exactly as it should be at this stage,” is the verdict you receive. You blow out a breath Bucky hadn’t realised you’d been holding, expression visibly relaxing at the words.

“You sure you don’t want to find out the sex of your baby?” Dr Habiba asks, looking to you, then Bucky, then back again. Bucky flushes. Does she think that the baby is his, or something? After he’d introduced himself, you’d told her that Bucky was a friend of yours. Perhaps the doctor is more perceptive than she appears.

Bucky squints at the mass of black and white on the monitor. The grainy image does look like a baby, he’ll give it that; he can see the shape of the head, can even make out the bump of a nose and the slope of what he thinks could be a lip. Even so, he’s got no idea how this woman, talented as she may be, can tell what sex the baby is with any kind of certainty.

“Um,” you say, sharing a look with Bucky that he can’t decipher. “I—um, well…I…Bucky? Do you wanna know?”

He’s taken aback. Surely it’s your decision, not his. Bucky licks his lips nervously. “I…uh…only if you want to,” he says hesitantly, not sure whether that’s the answer you’re wanting to hear.

“But do you want to?” you ask, more insistently this time, as if his opinion really matters to you.

“Uh…not really,” Bucky admits, free hand scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I—think a surprise might be nice.”

Your mouth splits into a grin, eyes beaming with happiness. “Really? Great!” you exclaim.

Dr Habiba has been watching this entire exchange with an amused smile on her face, clearly discerning that there’s something more going on between you and Bucky, that you are clearly more than just ‘friends’, as you’d claimed. Whatever she thinks she does not voice aloud, however, instead just murmuring a soft ‘okay then’ as she turns back to the screen of her monitor.

“How many pictures do you want me to print out?” she asks.

“Three,” you say unhesitatingly. At Bucky’s arched eyebrow, you elaborate, “One for me, one for the fridge in the kitchen — so that no one tries to steal my picture, y’know? And one for you.”

Bucky is not ashamed to admit that he looks at that small print-out for a full five minutes before he falls asleep that night.

————————

“Oh fuck, Bucky!” you moan, head lolling forward as Bucky runs his hands all over your back.

“Yeah, doll? That feel good?” he murmurs absentmindedly. He digs his thumbs into the base of your spine, chuckling at the low groan that rumbles out of your throat.

“Ah, f-fuck, yeah,” you hiss, as his hands start to smooth down your sides, exerting just the right amount of pressure to make your body limp and pliant.

Someone snickers.

Bucky looks towards the direction of the sound and discovers that the source is Wanda, who is trying very hard to conceal her giggles behind her hand. Sam and Natasha, sitting on either side of her, are doing their best to suppress their own smiles. Bucky quirks an eyebrow up questioningly, and that seems to be the tipping point. Wanda gives in, doubling over and clutching her stomach as her shoulders shake. Her laughter set Natasha off, who buries her face into Sam’s neck.

“Wha’s so funny?” you slur out. You scoot backwards and inch the bright red exercise ball you’re bouncing on towards Bucky, so that his hands can start massaging out the tense knots in your shoulder.

“S’nothin,” Sam snorts, “You just sounds like you’re havin’ sex over there.”

“Fuck you, Wilson,” you growl, though the heat in your tone is subsequently ruined by the whimper that falls from your lips. This promptly sets off another round of giggles among your three spectators. Bucky can feel his lips fighting to pull into a smile, even as his cheeks flame up in embarrassment. It seems that you’ve decided to staunchly ignore Natasha’s wolf-whistles, instead choosing to arch into the steady press of Bucky’s fingers.

When you told him that you were feeling sore today, Bucky hadn’t hesitated to offer you a back rub. In hindsight, he probably should’ve waited for the privacy of your room, or something.

Tony and Pepper walk in at that moment. “What is this I hear about sex being had? Why am I not invited?” Tony asks loudly.

“Tony,” Pepper sighs, giving him a gentle cuff on the ear. He scowls like a little child in response.

“Bucky’s giving Y/N a massage,” Wanda wheezes, still not having fully recovered from her laughing fit, “And I think Y/N’s enjoying it a bit too much.”

“Fuck you, Wanda,” you grumble. Bucky pets your side sympathetically.

“Well, I think we should all just be happy that Y/N and Bucky have worked things out,” Pepper says, raising her voice to be heard above everyone’s laughter. “And we should all leave them in peace, hmm?” she suggests, eyes darting towards the door pointedly.

“It’s okay, Pepper, they can stay if they want to,” Bucky assures her.

It’s good knowing that the rest of the team are at ease like this. Bucky hadn’t noticed it, but him being in a sour mood for the better part of six months had really been a dampener on the atmosphere at the compound. Now, with all of the bad air cleared between you and him, it’s like a curse has been lifted; smiles are easier to come by, nowadays, and the sounds of laughter can almost always be heard.

Besides Sam, no one else on the team knows the full truth. Of course, some version of the truth had to be fed to them, that had been an inescapable fact. The condensed version of yours and Bucky’s story, is that you and Bucky started a friends-with-benefits arrangement about six months before you got with Steve, after which, the arrangement became null. Then, one drunken night of passion in KL changed everything, meaning that this baby could potentially by his — that had earned you and him a couple of disapproving looks, at the time. The two of you have assured everyone that you’ve put your differences and disagreements behind you, and that your relationship from here on out should progress a whole lot more smoothly.

Natasha’s probably managed to put together more of the puzzle, but he’s not going to begrudge her that. Natasha’s Natasha; she’ll understand, in her own roundabout way.

“How dare you insult the pregnant woman,” you grumble, tipping your neck forward to give Bucky more room. “Just fuck off and let Bucky give me my massage in peace.”

Bucky can’t help but smile a little at the hint of fondness in your tone.

————————

You’re coming out of the bathroom just as Bucky pops his head into your bedroom, having just got back from a trip to the city. You’re swathed in a fluffy polka dot bathrobe, your damp hair hanging limply around your face. Bucky holds up the small canvas bag he’s holding in his right hand and waggles his eyebrows triumphantly.

“What’s that?” you ask, waddling over to your bed and sinking down on it with a grateful sigh. Being five and a half months pregnant is starting to take its toll on you.

Instead of answering verbally, Bucky comes bounding up beside you, thrusting the bag into your hands. Nervous excitement is radiating out of his every pore. He feels a little like a wolf that’s gone hunting for its mate — not that you’re his mate, or anything — and is now presenting his treasures for inspection.

Your lips pull into a frown, which quickly turns into a giddy smile when you peer into the bag. Inside is a collection of fruits that Bucky bought from the farmer’s market earlier this morning — strawberries, blueberries, a small melon, even a couple of mangoes.

“Bucky, what…?” your voice trails off as you turn to look up at him, eyes sparkling with wonderment.

Bucky shifts his weight from foot to foot and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, uh…I’ve noticed that you’ve been craving a lot of fruits, lately, especially the sweet kind, so I—I went out and bought you some.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, but he’s certainly taken by surprise when you surge forward and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a fierce hug. “Thank you,” you whisper sincerely. Bucky wraps his arms around your torso and gives you a gentle squeeze, not wanting to jostle anything he shouldn’t be jostling. He’s enjoying the way his heart swells with pride at having made you this happy.

“Oh, there’s also this,” Bucky says, when you finally step away. He shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and plonks it on the bed, pulling open the zip and rummaging around inside. With a soft hum of victory, he pulls out a tub of cookies and cream ice cream and waves it in your direction.

“You got me ice cream?” you gasp, eyes going comically wide.

“Well, last week you said you really wanted some,” Bucky said, handing it over to you. There’s a brief moment where his fingers brush yours as you take the tub from his hands — maybe it’s his imagination, but he swears that sparks fly at that point of contact.

“You remembered that?” you ask softly, gazing down at the tub of ice cream like it’s a whole lot more symbolic than simply, a tub of ice cream.

Bucky snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You were keeping me awake all night talking about it!” he reminds you, aiming for nonchalance, but tone coming out far too tender for him to do it effectively. Besides, he’s pretty sure he’s got some goofy grin on his face that ruins the effect anyhow.

You shyly catch his gaze through your lashes. “I was not,” you mutter, “But thank you. I love you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat, just as your free hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head once the words you’ve just said finally register with your brain.

“Y/N—,”

“I’m sorry!” you blurt out, “I—I mean, I do, but—,”

“Romantically?” Bucky interrupts, “Or as a friend?”

Your jaw snaps shut, eyes travelling to the floor by your feet, not wanting to meet his stare. “Um…would you kill me if I said both?” you ask timidly.

“No,” Bucky replies. “I bought these things for you because I feel both, as well.”

“Oh, good,” you say, before tossing the ice cream onto the bed and pulling Bucky in for another enthusiastic hug.

————————

Bucky’s just finished relieving himself and is busy washing his hands at the sink when he hears your scream.

“Bucky!” you shout, “Get in here, now!”

A million and one thoughts surge through his system, a sense of panic being the strongest of them all. He bursts through the door — probably ripping it off of its hinges in the process — and sprints towards you. You’re sat on the armchair in the corner of his bedroom, bottom lip caught between your teeth and hands cradling your bump.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks breathlessly, fighting to keep his cool in the face of all the emotions threatening to cloud his rational mind. Bucky collapses to his knees in front of you, reaching up to cup your face. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Are you hurt? Are you—”

He shuts up when you grab his flesh hand and place it on top of your belly. His confusion deepens momentarily, until he feels a barely-there fluttering sensation against his palm. Understanding clicks into place.

“Are those—,”

“The baby!” you cry happily, your hand coming to rest on top of his. “You feel it?”

Bucky has to swallows around the lump in his throat before he speaks. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “I feel it, alright.”

He flattens out his hand, pressing as much of his palm onto your stomach as he possibly can to maximise the amount of movement he can feel. There’s no pattern to the motion. He’ll feel a quick burst of fluttering, before the baby quietens down again. Some movements are harder and sharper than the others, but all make him smile equally wide. There may or may not be tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He makes no move to brush them away.

“I started feeling movement a few weeks ago, but you never when you were around, for some reason,” you say softly, the fingers of your other hand threading through his hair, nails scratching gently against his skull. He has a sudden urge to butt into the touch, nuzzle his head into your palm like a cat.

Bucky’s not embarrassed to admit that the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon watching a movie from your couch, your hands intertwined on top of your stomach. He can think of worse ways to spend his day.

————————

Bucky is lying on his bed, back propped up by a couple of pillows, feet crossed at the ankles and a parenting book held in his left hand. He looks up when you breeze in through his open door, a small white box in your hand.

He resolutely tries to not think about the last time you waltzed into his room holding a box. The past is the past, and your relationship has come far since that day.

“I bought my first something for the baby!” you announce, beaming happily at Bucky as you climb onto the bed.

“Oh really?” Bucky asks, putting his bookmark back into place, before setting the book on his bedside table and pushing himself upright. He crosses his legs Indian-style and rests his elbows on his knees, all whilst trying to tame the exhilarated thumping of his heart. “What is it? Lemme see.”

You twist around so that you’re sitting on the bed properly, mirroring Bucky’s pose. You set the box down between the two of you. It’s square-shaped and pristine white, probably a little larger than Bucky’s hand. The name of the company is embossed on the front in a neat gold font. You open the lid and set it aside, then reach into the box and pull out the — wait, is that a piece of fabric?

“It’s a blanket,” you explain, holding the item in question up and shaking it brusquely, so that it opens up completely. Bucky reaches out and touches it, rubbing the material between the thumb and forefinger of his flesh hand. He fights not to gasp aloud; the blanket is the softest thing to have ever touched his skin.

You pass it to him and Bucky drapes it over his lap, running his fingers over the material to marvel at its unbelievable softness — Jesus Christ, he can’t wrap his head around how silky this thing feels. It’s a pale brown colour, a cross between beige and warm chestnut. There’s a small teddy-bear embroidered on one corner. It’s square-shaped and pretty large too, probably about half a metre in length and width.

“I wanna go baby shopping with you,” Bucky says suddenly, the words coming out of his mouth before his brain can even parse them through.

“Okay,” you say, as if that settles everything. It’s probably not as big a deal as Bucky’s making it out to be in his head, but his excitement levels have definitely kicked up a notch at the prospect of being able to go baby shopping with you. With great reluctance, he hands the blanket back over to you, observing as you carefully fold it into a neat square and place it back into its box.

“I need to properly start buying clothes and things,” you sigh, “Ugh, I need a changing table, and a crib, and a stroller, and—,”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupts, laying a hand on your knee, “Don’t stress yourself out. I’m here to help, right?”

The corner of your lips quirk up into a half-smile, just as one of your hands come to rest on top of his, your thumb stroking over his knuckles. “Yeah. I’m glad,” you murmur. “What’re you reading?” you ask, jerking your chin over to the book he’d set down.

“Oh, uh…” Bucky flushes, running a hand through his hair in embarrassment. “Just a parenting book,” he replies. There’s a pause, then, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Y/N,” he says quietly.

Your thumb pauses its back and forth motion. “You…want to stop? To back out?” you ask carefully.

“No!” Bucky cries hurriedly, quick to reassure you that that is not what he means at all. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just…I think I’m gonna do more harm than good, is all,” he sighs. “I’ve never fed a baby, or put one to bed, or given one a bath, or—,”

“Hey, neither have I,” you point out, “I’m gonna be just as clueless as you are.”

“But—,”

“We’ll just have to learn together, yeah?”

And there’s just something so earnest in your gaze that Bucky finds himself not caring about his inexperience anymore. Who cares if he fucks things up? It’s all a learning curve, right? Even so, he can’t quite shake off all his worries. “And—there’s something else,” Bucky says, “It’s not just that.”

“No?”

“No,” he admits, shaking his head slowly as he gathers up the courage to say what he’s been meaning to say for a while. “I—don’t know if this,” he says, waving his metal arm around, “Was made for handling babies.”

He forces his gaze to meet your eyes, even though all he wants to do is curl up into a ball in the corner and wallow in his self-pity. Bucky watches as your eyes soften, your mouth falling open into a soft ‘o’.

Moving carefully, as if you don’t want to spook him, you reach forward and take hold of the wrist of his metal hand, bringing it into your lap. You wrap both of your hands around it, enclosing it in your grasp. Your gaze flick towards Bucky to ensure that he has his eyes on you, before you bring that hand up to your lips and slowly, deliberately, brush the tenderest kiss over each knuckle. Then, you stretch each finger out and press your lips to each fingertip. There’s a sense of reverence to your actions, adoration and—and acceptance so clearly discernible in your gaze. The gears and plates in his arm whirr and click, responding to the nervous energy flickering through him. Bucky wants to snatch his hand away from you, but it is as if you have him frozen in place.

His breath hitches as you use one finger to trace the grooves on the back of his hand, your expression unreadable as you cock your head to the side. “I have faith in you,” you say quietly. “Once upon a time, you didn’t think that this hand could touch my lady bits, either, remember?”

“Y/N,” Bucky says exasperatedly, pushing aside the scandalous images that pop into his head.

“And lemme tell you,” you whisper breathily, leaning in closer so that your face is just inches away from his own. “I’ve had some of the best orgasms of my life, thanks to these fingers.”

Bucky feels as if you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs. He clears his throat and tries to remember how to get his mouth working again. “M-metal arm kink,” he jokes, but his voice is too husky for it to come off as playful as he wants it to.

You shake your head. “No! Well, actually—maybe, but that’s not the point,” you say, rolling your eyes at Bucky’s self-satisfied smirk. “My point is that you’ve got more control over this arm than you give yourself credit for,” you tell him, giving the hand an extra-tight squeeze, for emphasis. “I mean, I’m sure you can get Tony to amp up the sensors in it, if you really wanted to, but—whatever the case, I know that you won’t hurt the baby, and that’s good enough for me.”

If Bucky were to ask himself what possessed him to reach up and cup your jaw, at this point, he wouldn’t have been able to answer his own question. He feels as if his body is on autopilot, flesh hand holding the back of your neck as he leans forward. He’s thrilled to see that you’re closing your eyes, your own head tipping upwards and slightly to the left.

The first press of his lips against yours is perfect — everything he remembered it to be from that night in KL, yet so much better, untainted by bitter thoughts of self-hatred. You hum softly in the back of your throat as Bucky deepens the kiss, tongue licking lightly at the seam of your lips. God, but he’s wanted this for as long as he’s known you. All the parts of him are singing in ecstasy, overjoyed to finally be able to indulge in this experience with you.

The two of you pull away before anything can get too heated. Bucky does so remorsefully, but he knows it’s for the best, in the long run.

You sit back, a dazed look in your eyes. Bucky swallows, cards his hands through his hair. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to that. “Um…that was—,”

“Perfect,” you finish, smiling happily at him.

Bucky breathes an internal sigh of relief. “I—yeah. That’s…yeah. Wanna watch a movie or something?”

————————

The two of you are in your room, snuggled up under the covers as a random movie plays on the TV. You’ve got the volume turned down low, however, because neither of you are really watching it. You’re just using it as an excuse to have a lazy evening together.

You’re pressed up against Bucky’s side and his fingers are idly drawing loopy patterns on your tummy. With you at almost seven months pregnant, your belly has rounded out considerably. One of Bucky’s favourite past times is running his hands all over it.

“C’mon, I’m being serious here, any name suggestions?” you ask, prodding him on the shoulder. “This baby ain’t gonna name itself, y’know?”

“What boy names are you thinking of?” Bucky asks.

“I was thinking maybe Steve, or Steven as a middle name,” you admit.

Bucky snorts. “We should spell it S-T-E-P-H-E-N,” he jokes.

You scrunch up your noise in disgust. “Ew, no, that’s an atrocity. I—fuck no, that’s too weird.”

Bucky laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. A hint of possessive pride flares in his chest at the way you burrow even closer to him. “Being serious though,” Bucky continues, “I like that idea. Using Steve’s name, I mean. Spelt the proper way.”

You hum, brows knitted together in thought. It’s apparent that you haven’t heard a word he’s just said. “Or…how about Roger? As a middle name, I mean?” you suggest.

“Oh, that’s nice too,” Bucky says. “But why’re you thinking of middle names first? Shouldn’t first names come first?”

“I know,” you sigh, scrubbing a hand over your eyes. “They’re just harder to think of.”

“What ideas d’you got?”

“I like Carter,” you tell him, “William. Nicholas. Theodore—,”

“Theodore’s good,” Bucky interjects.

“Yeah? Theodore Roger?”

“Yeah, and the baby’ll have your last name, right?” Bucky asks.

You turn your face to look at him properly, confusion evident in your expression. “Oh? Are you sure?”

“Well, we don’t exactly know whether this baby is mine or Steve’s, right?” Bucky points out, shrugging one shoulder indifferently. “I mean, well—it’s all up to you at the end of the day, I guess, I’m okay with anything.”

Bucky watches as you nibble on your bottom lip, mulling over what he’s just said. “Yeah, I—y’know, let’s just cross that bridge when we get there, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky agrees, squeezing your hand reassuringly. He watches as you yawn widely, covering your mouth with your hand, a sheepish look in your eyes. Bucky then notes the time on the clock on your bedside table; it’s almost 11PM at night.

“I’ll just head into my—,”

“No!” you cry, hand darting out to catch his wrist as Bucky moves to roll away from you. Bucky stills, heart racing so fast he can feel it in his throat. “I—I mean,” you add hastily, “I would really like it if you could stay, but if you wanna go back, I understand.”

It takes Bucky two tries to get his answer out. “Okay, doll, I’ll stay,” he says softly, reaching out to stroke your hair out of your face. He asks FRIDAY to switch off the movie as he rearranges the pillows around you, propping one underneath your head, before pulling the covers up and over the both of you. He reaches over to switch off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You pull him down by the sleeve of his shirt, rolling onto your left side so that Bucky can spoon you.

His mind is whirling. This is the first time he’s actually sleeping with you — that night in KL doesn’t count — and his heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. He hopes that you can’t feel or hear the mad thumping of his pulse. Bucky allows his body to do what feels natural, curling protectively around your back, his arm resting around your burgeoning waist, his nose tucking into the space behind your neck. Your hand rests on top of his, fingers intertwining with his flesh ones.

“I love you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin.

“Love you too,” you whisper.

————————

“Oh my god, Y/N!” Bucky gasps.

“What?” you ask, turning around to look at him.

“Look at these!” Bucky cries excitedly, holding the tiny booties up for you to see. They’re a lovely blue colour, with white stripes on the soles. “They’re so tiny!”

“I know!”

“They’re so cute!”

You place your hands on your hips and narrow your eyes at Bucky in suspicion. “Barnes, do you need a moment? Need to step outside?” you tease, “I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

“But they’re so cute!” Bucky whines, as he brings them over to you for closer inspection. He drops them into your hands and watches the small smile that crosses your lips as you rub the material between your fingers.

“It’s times like these that I wish I knew what I was having,” you groan, looking miserably around the shop.

“You’re having a human child, I hope,” Bucky deadpans.

You snort, smacking him across the chest with the back of your hand. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Bucky grunts in agreement; for as progressive as this century may be, all the baby clothes in this shop seem to be in various shades of either pink or blue. “Everything’s either really girly, or really boyish,” you grumble, as you continue walking between the racks of clothes. “I mean, yeah, if I had a boy, I could put him in pink things, and vice versa, but…yeah.”

“Oh look!” Bucky cries, as the pair of you round the corner and enter a different part of the shop. Specifically, the part of the shop that houses distinctly less gendered clothing; the unisex section. Everything here is in calming shades of white, beige, yellow and green. Bucky wanders down the aisles, dropping the items of clothing that catch his fancy into his basket as he passes them by.

“Buck? Come take a look at these,” you call.

Bucky hurries over to you and barks out a sharp laugh at the display you’re looking at. “Avengers merch? For real?” he asks.

“Bucky, we need to get this stuff,” you say seriously, moving to put a set of Black Widow-themed bibs into your basket.

“Wait, no!” Bucky says, catching your wrist to stop you.

“What? Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty sure the rest of the team are going to get us this kinda stuff for our baby shower,” Bucky explains. You frown, but shrug a shoulder in agreement, dropping the subject in favour of exploring the rest of the shop.

Bucky’s noticed that he’s started referring to the two of you as ‘us’ more and more frequently, in recent days. It’s not something that he consciously chose to do — it’s more a habit that he picked up and found he couldn’t stop. If you notice, you don’t correct him and for that, he’s secretly pleased.

————————

“Never again!” you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes dramatically. Bucky chuckles as he continues digging his thumbs into the soles of your feet. Apparently, three hours of non-stop shopping takes a lot out of a heavily pregnant lady.

“Never again,” Bucky agrees.

“How ‘bout Samantha?” you suggest, continuing the discussion you’d been having in the car. You lift your arm away from your eyes at Bucky’s indignant scoff.

“Who’s nickname would be Sam? Do you want Wilson’s head to get any bigger?” Bucky asks, “If it gets any bigger, he won’t be able to fit it through the door.”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” you laugh. “What about…ooh! What about Stephanie? Or Steffi, as a play on Steve?”

“Oh, I like Steffi, actually,” Bucky agrees, using a thumb to dig into a particularly sore section of your foot, if your sharp intake of breath is anything to go by.

“Middle name?” you prompt. “Oh, what about after your ma? Or one of your sisters?”

Bucky’s fingers falter at your suggestion. It means a lot to him, honestly. “Um…Steffi Rebecca doesn’t sound that nice, and neither does Steffi Winifred,” he muses. “My second youngest sister was Elizabeth—,”

“Steffi Elizabeth?” you try, “Mmm…Steffi Beth? No, don’t think so.”

“And my youngest sister was Ann,” Bucky finishes.

“Steffi Ann,” you murmur, lips pulling into a small smile. “I like it. I really like it, actually.”

“Me too,” Bucky says quietly, “Almost as much as I like you.”

“Like?” you echo, waggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Bucky rolls his eyes but takes the bait. “Okay, more like love,” he admits, as he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

“Love you too,” you breathe.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucyk barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst #bucky angst #bucky x reader smut #bucky smut #avengers x reader #my writing #a messed up place

[nickireadstfc]

The Raven King, Chapter 8 – Epic Ass-Kicking, Pt 1: We Get Our Asses Kicked

In which – surprise! It’s Ravens vs Foxes Death Time™! Featuring: American colleges Doing Too Fucking Much, me thinking up crack AUs at the worst times, Kevandreil pulling some sweet (read: badass) moves, and Kevin being No 1 Proud Dad.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

So, after the absolute sassfest two chapters ago and the gigantic dump of backstory last chapter, I thought this chapter would be a bit shorter, a bit more chill, a nice lil interlude before we get on with the fuckery again.

Well.

HO FUCKING BOY.

DOES NORA HAVE NEWS FOR ME.

           October arrived without warning. Neil knew their match against the Ravens was coming up fast, but it still startled him when he realized they were already a week into the month. The game was only six days away.

Where did that come from.

Seriously, a few chapters ago Neil was still angsting about having to leave the Foxes after the Raven game, it seemed like the absolute end of the journey, and now it’s just… Here?

I AM NOT READY I DID NOT PREPARE WHAT IS HAPPENING.

To start this ride off, we are once again reminded of how fucking extra American colleges can be.

For real. They do not fuck around when it comes to school spirit.

Lawns are trimmed. Floors are scrubbed. Banners are hung from every square inch. Cheerleaders don’t sleep for days. Neither do bands. They have motivation parties. The mascot disturbs classes just to promote sportsball. They clean the fucking pond.

Seriously, these two pages read like the textbook definition of Doing Too Much.

Fucking chill.

           Thursday was when Dan finally started to lose her cool. (…) Seeing people finally rally behind her and her team flustered her. She kept a brave face in front of the cameras, but she spent Thursday night in Matt’s bed.

My daughter :’(((((( you’re the best you’ll be fine don’t worry.

Hey, speaking of Doing Too Much: Remember when I was raving (hah) on about how Extra and Dramatic™ the Ravens were?

           Kevin tried explaining Raven synchrony earlier this week, but Neil almost wished he could forget that story. (…) They were all enrolled in the same undergraduate degree and took their classes together in groups of three or four. They weren’t allowed to go anywhere without taking at least one teammate with them. They weren’t supposed to socialize with anyone outside the team.

What the actual fuck.

Why is Extra and Dramatic™ always paired with borderline abusive in this series. Why.

           Their intense lifestyle, forced integration, and vicious punishments put them on a whole different scale than any of their opponents. They were, in short, the complete opposite of everything the Foxes knew and understood. Tonight’s game pitted a hive mind against a fractured bunch of rejects.

That last sentence is one of my favourite sentences in that book so far.

Also, what the actual fuck.

My dudes, I’m starting to get the sinking feeling y’all are getting your assess whooped big time tonight.

           “Can you do this, Kevin?” Abby asked, searching his face for any sign he was okay. “Can you play?”

           “If I am breathing, I can play,” Kevin said. “This is my game, too.”

Well, at least now we know what Tattooface McExtra over here is getting engraved on his tombstone.

If I am breathing, I can play, jesus fuck. My eyes are doing somersaults in their sockets right now.

           “Neil, get at least five points or I’ll have you running marathons every month until graduation.”

           Neil stared at him. “Five points?”

           “You got four last week.”

           “We weren’t playing Edgar Allan last week, Coach,” Neil said.

           “Irrelevant,” Wymack said with a jerk of his hand.

Gotta love him. What a dude.

           Wymack clapped his hands at his team until they fell in line.

           “Let’s do this,” he said. “The sooner we kill these bastards, the sooner we can get roaring drunk at Abby’s place. I spent all damned morning stocking her fridge.”

GOTTA LOVE HIM. WHAT A DUDE.

#dicksoutforwymack

           Neil looked up into a sea of orange. (…) [The Raven fans] had come in all black and took up an entire reserved section directly opposite the Foxes’ bench.

It is at this point that I have the idiotic realization that the Foxes and the Ravens together form the Wilde Kerle colours.

Why.

Why is my brain like this.

To all non-Germans reading this: Die Wilden Kerle (literally the wild guys/the wild bunch) is a German children’s book and film series about a ragtag football (meaning soccer) team. They are basically 10-year-old punks that stick it to the man, live and breathe football, and wear a lot of black and orange. They were huge around the time I was in elementary school and are probably the books that influenced me most as a child, aside from Harry Potter.

(The books were massively better than the films. Fight me.)

They look like this.

If anyone writes me a Wilde Kerle AU of TFC I will literally pay you in Ben & Jerry’s. No questions asked. This is the most bullshit AU idea I’ve had in a long time and it works.

Alright. Shut up, brain.

TIME TO FUCKING GO.

           [The Ravens’ fight song] was a dark and heavy tune, an intimidating message of death and domination. The Ravens took their image seriously. Neil guessed they had a lot of intensive counseling in their futures.

Even in times like this, the Josten Sass™ cannot be tamed.

And they’re taking their spots, holy shit you guys, we’re actually doing this. I’m not ready.

           [Riko] stopped at Kevin’s side. He took his helmet off, but the cheer echoing off the court walls drowned out whatever he was saying. Kevin unstrapped his own helmet and hooked it over his fingers as he answered.

What did they say, what did they say, I need to know.

I also have the feeling I’ll find out soon enough and I will not fucking like it.

That Fucker™ also hugs Kevin shortly before the game starts. I want to punch him. 

Get your dirty abusive hands off my dramatic idiot.

Alright. Is it starting yet?

           Neil closed his eyes and breathed. He locked away everything he was, burying his father and Nathaniel and the Moriyamas into a mental safe for later. (…) He wasn’t Neil right now. He wasn’t anything or anyone but a Fox, and he had a game to play.

IT’S FUCKING STARTING.

And from the beginning on, as expected, this game is not messing around.

           Neil almost lost track of the ball as it shot between the Raven strikers. (…) Riko moved in a blur, and the goal lit up red. The buzzer sounded to signal the point and the crowd screamed. (…)

           They were only two minutes into the first half; it was the fastest anyone had ever scored against Andrew.

Well – fuck.

Ain’t that motivating.

The Ravens have come to collect their aforementioned ass-whooping, I fear.

           Riko wasn’t going back to the starting spot but was headed for Andrew. Andrew moved to meet him and they faced each other with just the goal line between them. Andrew waved off whatever Riko said to him with a careless waggle of his hand, but Riko didn’t leave.

Seriously, what is it with That Fucker™ and talking to my boys at the most inopportune moments?

Fuck off.

The game continues, and I take back everything I said about orange sportsball games earlier: I bloody love this. I can’t quote anything because it is just too much, but this time I am actually invested in the game and it’s thrilling.

I mean, the Foxes are so, so outplayed by the Ravens. But still. Exciting.

I have to quote one thing, though, because it is the most awesome thing anyone does this chapter:

It’s Episode 1 of Kevandreil Pull Badass Sportsball Shit Together!

           It wasn’t against the rules for goalkeepers to leave their goals, but it was extremely ill-advised considering how big their goals were and how fast a ball could move. A goalkeeper only risked it in extreme cases. Apparently tonight was one of those nights.

Oh shit vas happening??

           Neil only needed a second to realize Andrew was sending the ball to him, and his heart beat with savage triumph. (…)

All those long nights learning Raven drills had to pay off here. The perfect rebound wasn’t just about getting the ball to hit the right racquet; it was getting there at the right angle so Kevin wouldn’t have to aim. (…)

           It was the same trick the Raven strikers had been pulling all night, but the Ravens weren’t ready to see it from Neil and Kevin. (…) The Raven goal lit up red when Kevin slammed the ball against it.

FFFFUUUUUUUCCCKKKKK YEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH.

           Kevin’s smile was fleeting but fierce. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. It was the first sign of approval Neil had gotten from him since they’d met and Neil felt it like an adrenaline boost.

After that, the game turns violent pretty quickly – which my brain thought to comment on with a brilliant rendition of the Weather Girls while reading.

It’s raining cards, halleluhja!

And then, it’s over as fast as it begun and sadly, yet unsurprisingly, the Foxes get #owned, leaving them with a thirteen-six score. Which, you know, sucks because that’s a seven point gap and that’s also thirteen points on a bastion of a goal.

But which also fucking rules because hello, SIX POINTS against the absolute Douchemasters Of Exy™ themselves.

           As Neil watched, Andrew leaned over to pick his racquet up. He tried, anyway. He only got it a foot off the floor before he lost his grip again.

           It reminded Neil of their first practice together, when Neil almost blew his arms out playing against Andrew.

Shit, that seems like lifetimes ago. Has it really only been a few months?

Man, time flies when you’re busy with angst, drama, and gay shit. :’)

           The Ravens had taken an incredible hundred and fifty shots on goal; it was unbelievable Andrew had only missed thirteen of them.

A FUCKING HUNDRED AND FIFTY.

Hello, I’d like to file a request to Andrew Joseph Minyard? I’d for him to formally LET ME LOVE HIM.

Nobody who doesn’t care about this game plays like this. Nobody. Don’t ever tell me Andrew doesn’t give a shit. He can’t move his arms anymore, for chrissakes.

Kevin, bless his idiot heart, knows exactly how to deal with the situation at hand:

           “So,” Kevin said, “did you have fun?”

           Andrew was too tired to put any heat in his words. “You are despicable, Kevin Day. I don’t know why I keep you around.”

Ma frickin BOYS. <3

Sadly, we are not left off the court to lick our wounds (with vodka, preferably) before That Fucker™ has added his irrelevant shitty commentary.

           “I cannot thank you for tonight’s game because I can’t call this debacle a game. I thought I knew what to expect when we came here tonight, but I am still embarrassed on your behalf. You have fallen so far, Kevin. You should have stayed down and saved us the trouble of forcing you back on your knees.”

I was about to go into a rant about That Fucker™’s endless shittiness and lack of any sportsmanship – but! But!! BUT!!!!!

           “I’m satisfied,” Kevin said.

UHMMM. What?

           It was the last response any of the Foxes expected from him. They forgot about Riko in favor of gaping at Kevin. “Not with their score or performance, but with their spirit. I was right. There’s more than enough here for me to work with.”

MY DUDE. MY BOY.

I’M SO???????

Kevin ‘Stoic And Mighty’ Day finally praising his team and being proud of them nobody fucking tOUCH ME :’)))))))))

If Kevin finally grows into the No 1 Fox Dad he was destined to be (after Wymack obvs) I might actually light myself on fire.

Y’know. I’m, like, cool with all this.

           Kevin only smiled, slow and sure and pleased, and offered Andrew a hand. Andrew looked at it, then at Kevin, and let Kevin haul him to his feet. Renee was ready when Kevin let go and looped her arms around Andrew in a fierce hug.

A HUG.

Renee you actual angel from the heavens, somebody finally gave this boy what I have been waiting for for chapters now – somebody hug that sad aggressive bean, and somebody did.

#hugsoutforandrew, this is the realest shit, get it trending, I’m not okay.

Is the irrelevant shitty Raven nuisance still there?

           “One man cannot carry you that far,” he said, sounding torn between incredulity and disgust. “Even you are not stupid to believe that. You should give up now.”

           It was a threat, not friendly advice, but Kevin said, “One is enough to start with.”

Okay. Okay.

Kevin Day, an anxious mess just two chapters ago, being openly threatened by his abuser and proudly sassing back right to his face, with the strength of his fierce ragtag team at his back.

This may be my favourite Kevin moment of this series so far.

That Fucker™ fucks off after that, and the Foxes are left for traditional post-game pep talk with grumpy dad Wymack.

           “You should be pretty fucking proud of yourselves right now.”

           “Proud of that mess?” Aaron asked, tired and annoyed. “We were destroyed.” (…)

           “I’m proud,” Allison said, earning a startled look from Nicky and a half-smile from Wymack. She turned a condescending sneer on Aaron, looking more like herself than she had since Seth died. “This is only your second season with us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand what a game like this means.”

And welcome back, Allison! <333

Fucking finally. Nothing like a bit of good ol’ arch-enemy Exy smackdown to get over your dead boyfriend grief.

And to close things off, Wymack puts the cherry on top of all the good things that have happened this chapter:

           “Starting next week everyone’s finally back in their proper spots. If you two can run a full game against Edgar Allan, you’re ready to take on the rest of the season alone. Everyone else: thank you for your patience and cooperation while Kevin and Neil got adjusted. Renee especially – you’ve been a damn good sport this year. Welcome back to goal.”

YEAAHH BOOOOIIIII.

Nicki happy. Nicki out.

If you like what I do here and you want to help me continue writing, please consider buying me a coffee! Thank you so much <3

#nicki reads tfc #trk #aftg #tfc #nora sakavic #the raven king #all for the game #the foxhole court #yall I'm not okay