#I mean his idea of a safe house was his tailor

[buckttommy]

I have an idea for a full-season Eddie arc that I want to put into the universe. tim, feel free to plagiarize me yet again (but this time. i want a dm. i know you're around here somewhere come say hi). So. Anyways. Season 8

8x1: Eddie has broken up with Marisol. By the time this episode rolls around, they've already been broken up for a couple weeks/months. As mentioned in 7x5, he's struggling with the idea of Catholic guilt, struggling with the idea of faith in general. He mentions, in casual conversation, to Buck, Chim or Tommy (who is still with Buck on screen *coughs loudly*) that he's thinking about going down to Texas for a while. His grandmother is the most religious person he knows and he's always found comfort being in her space and soaking in her presence, so he wants to talk to her about his feelings. Whoever he's talking to agrees that's a good idea.

8x2 - 8x7: A couple episodes pass with the idea of Eddie taking some time off in the background of the audience's mind. Nothing major, just little throw away lines about getting the truck tuned up before he makes a big road trip, paying bills before he leaves, things like that.

8x8: The 118 responds to a call of a fire in a church. Two people are getting married and their families are in attendance. Eddie doesn't go inside the church but he fights the fire from outside and helps treat the injured. Almost everyone is pulled out safely but the mother of the bride. Her daughter is crying because she and her mother aren't on good terms and she doesn't want it to be too late for them to patch things up. Eddie and the bride get to talking, and the bride mentions she always felt like she wasn't enough for mom, that she found it impossible to live up to her standards. They had an argument before the fire broke out because the bride realized, on-screen, that she didn't actually want to marry the man she was going to marry because she was in love with someone else (that's what started the fire, her making that announcement caused someone to pass out, and blah blah blah). But she was only marrying this man because her mom thought he would be good for her, and the brides makes a comment about always feeling like she was living her life for someone else, in service of a standard she could never reach. Eddie, of course, can relate. The bride's mother passes away and, it's a tragedy and is treated as such, but at the end of the episode during the voiceover (*coughs louder*), we see the bride reuniting with the person she's actually in love with because her mother's death means she's free from having to try to, like, be perfect.

8x10: Eddie's been getting a call from his dad all throughout the episode but he's been ignoring it because [shenanigans]. This is a light-hearted episode and the tone will be important because when he finally answers the phone during the last five minutes of the episode, he's like "Dad, come on, jesus, what is it" and his dad tells him that his grandmother has passed away.

8x11: Midseason premiere, the episode begins with Isabel's funeral, mainly because I want to see Eddie/Ryan in a nice tailored black suit (timothy, i'm sure you can relate). Anyway, the funeral is outside because it's important Eddie doesn't go inside a church yet. When it's finished, he goes back to the reception at Isabel's house. His sisters are there, everyone is there. He offers to help his mother in the kitchen and she tries to make conversation, but Helena Diaz has never actually learned how to relate to her son, so she says the wrong thing. It doesn't go well (but that's something to be circled back to in another season). Eddie looks at the pictures on his grandma's wall / mantle / whatever and sees himself and his sisters and his cousins when they were kids, smiling big at church christenings or whatever, and he's like... "I don't recognize this kid who was so happy to be inside of religion. I didn't know who I was then, and I definitely don't know who I am now because of it". He doesn't say it, but that's the vibe ofc, and Ryan's face is expressive enough that he can pull that off.

8x12: He's back in LA. Everyone is treating him with the utmost care because they are good people and they love him, and one evening, Eddie gets a visitor. He opens the door and it's his sister. (one of them lives in LA, remember?). In my head, that's always been Sophia, so he asks what she's doing here, and she holds up a bottle of wine. They sit on the sofa, they talk and reminisce about their grandmother, make apologies for the fact that they haven't been around for each other much despite living in the same city (but this isn't Eddie's family issues storyline, this is the Catholic guilt storyline. We will circle back to this in S9). So Eddie pitches the idea of faith to her, and asks what it means to her. It's the same question he wanted to ask his grandmother. Sophia says she has faith in the universe, faith that things always happen the way they're meant to, and it's a good answer but it doesn't speak to the core of Eddie's problem, which is that he always feels beholden to something he can't name/place.

8x14: Eddie continues to ask the people around him (Buck, Athena, Tommy, Chim) about faith and what it means to them. They all give him different answers. Athena has faith in purpose. Chim has faith in his family. Buck has faith in the inherent good of humanity. Tommy has faith in himself. It's not very helpful in the sense that no one gives him his answer, but it does reveal to him that faith can, does, and should exist absent of guilt, that maybe he's been doing it (or was taught) all wrong.

8x15: Insert an embarrassingly on the nose call about a kind, nerdy, reserved man who's lived by an unspoken rulebook all his life. He came out to Los Angeles on a whim and suffers from a hiking mishap where he's physically blinded by [something] and subsequently needs to trust that the 118, these people he literally cannot see, will save him. When they pull him to safety, he berates himself for even coming out to Los Angeles in the first place because he's not the kind of guy who does this, he just wanted to do something for him and now he feels stupid. And Eddie (because of course it's Eddie) is just like "no, you didn't do anything wrong. Look, you took a leap of faith (episode title btw). That's more than what most people can say. Maybe it didn't work out in this instance, but who knows how it'll work out tomorrow, or the next day. You don't know the future. None of us do, so maybe stop trying to live according to some giant colossal plan and just... live, and try your best. Isn't that all we can do?" And he watches the guy get airlifted away (thanks Tommy! *coughs even louder*) and it's like his lightbulb moment, like, oh. Yeah. He finally gets it.

8x16: Eddie walks into a church for the first time in years, and for the first time all season. It looks exactly how he remembers; wooden pews, high ceilings, the works. He takes a seat on one of the benches and prays / talks aloud to God and is just like, "I don't really know who you are and I don't know how to be what you want me to be. All my life I've been trying to be what everyone wants me to be to the point where I just don't even know who I am anymore, if I ever knew. So I don't know who you are, but I know I am who you made me to be, and I don't know who that is, but I know that person is enough for me right now. And maybe I'll figure you out along the way, maybe I won't. But, right now, what I know is that i can't be your perfect son because I can't be perfect at all, and I need to let go of the idea that I can and start living my life for me." So he walks out of the church and not much changes, but everything changes. You know?

And, like, obviously the story would need to be flushed out a little more. Obviously, this story centers more of the idea of faith than the idea of explicit guilt, but they're one in the same anyway because you can't have guilt without failed/presumably "failed" expectations. In this case, religious or spiritual expectation. So. I don't know. But there's just something so sexy about the idea of Eddie systematically and intentionally dismantling and releasing himself from all the things that have kept him from growing over the years. Starting with his survivors guilt in S5 and working his way through Catholic guilt in S8, I just love the idea of Eddie being purposeful in his own healing, especially in this post-breakdown era. Plus it'll give him a chance to have a storyline that's not romance-focused cos we've been leaning a bit too heavily into those. 🙃 But anyways. (Next up is his issues with Helena. btw. because we have yet to circle back to his family issues in canon but we certainly need to).

#Sorry Isabel you were the sacrificial lamb #I wrote this instead of working ermmmm okay back to the grind as they say #jack.txt #tv: 911 #jack answers mail #8a speculation #8b speculation #ish #no read more sorry. i talk a lot and you should all be used to it. #tim minear #ok no for real i got work to do lmfaoooo bye #EVERYONE MANIFEST IT WITH ME GIRLS

[differenteagletragedy]

OUR LIFE SWAP OUR LIFE SWAP

Another part to the Swap AU in which Baxter is your best friend that grew up across the street, Cove is the friend you met when you were 13 and Derek is the boy who moved in for a summer.

More Swap AU here -- and here -- and here.

You'd been best friends with Baxter for ten years, so you'd seen him in almost every imaginable mood. Happy Baxter, sad Baxter, anxious Baxter, you knew them all.

But giddy Baxter ... that was one of the rarer versions.

It was, however, the version that you got on your prom night.

"Are you ready yet?" you heard him ask excitedly. You had him on speakerphone as you roamed around your room, putting the finishing touches on your look.

"Not yet, hold your horses," you told him.

"I don't have any horses, just my car keys," he answered. "Perhaps we will have horses at our wedding, they can pull the carriage."

You rolled your eyes, and although he couldn't see it, it seemed like he imagined your reaction -- he laughed.

The two of you weren't dating, had never dated or even talked about liking each other in that way, but he liked to tease you like that. He called you "darling" and "sweetheart" regularly, always offered you his arm when you were walking anywhere, talked about your future wedding and the children you'd have.

It was just what he did -- he teased. But you'd had a crush on him for years, and despite these kinds of jokes being a regular occurrence, they still made your heart flutter.

"You're so funny," you told him wryly, taking a last look at yourself in the mirror. "I'm ready."

"On my way!" he said cheerily, ending the call.

You made your way out to the living room, preparing yourself for your moms' reaction, and they didn't disappoint.

"You look so beautiful!" Mom said, gripping your shoulders and pulling back to get a good look. "Baxter isn't going to know what hit him."

"He's seen me practically every day for the past ten years, he'll probably have a pretty good idea," you told her.

She shot a look over to Ma, who giggled. Before she could add in her thoughts, the doorbell rang. She rushed over, pulled the door open, and there he was.

Baxter was smiling -- a full smile, showing his teeth, very different from his trademark smirk. He was wearing a classic black suit, well tailored, and his matching black and white hair was swooped carefully across his forehead.

You were so busy looking at him in awe that you didn't recognize that he was taking you in with the same reverance.

"Pictures!" Ma called out, breaking you out of your shared trance.

Baxter grabbed your hand, pulling it up to put your arm through his as you followed your parents outside. "You look amazing," he said quietly, leaning in so only you could hear.

"Speak for yourself," you replied.

Your moms made the two of you pose for photos out on the poppy hill. Ma had her phone and Mom had the proper camera, and they directed you to a variety of positions and locations across the little field.

"Sorry, I know you want to go," you told him as Mom looked through the photos she'd taken.

"No need to apologize," he said. "Honestly it wasn't so much that I wanted to go as it was that I was eager to start the experience."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that it's the idea of spending this night with you that I find thrilling."

You weren't sure what to say to that, but you felt a blush coming on. Your moms caught it, it seemed, because you heard a few clicks and some laughter.

When that particular torture finally ended, Baxter escorted you back into the house, through the front door, and out to his car. As your parents waved, he opened the door for you, made sure you were safely seated, then closed it before jogging over to the driver's side.

"I'm very excited," he said as he started the car, flashing another bright smile your way.

"Is it the fanciness or the dancing?" you asked, knowing his love for both things.

"It's the fanciness and the dancing. And getting to do all of it with you," he said. "Usually all my dancing happens with a competition partner, not someone as dear to me as you are. And it is rare that you'll indulge me in a bit of formal wear."

There it was again -- "someone as dear to me as you are." A flush made its way to your face again. It was going to be a long night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When you got to the prom, held in a large room at a nearby hotel that had been decorated extensively by your fellow students, Baxter was practically buzzing with anticipation. He parked, jumped out of the car and raced to the other side to open your door before you had the chance.

He led you inside, and when you opened the doors he actually let out a little gasp. There were little lights hanging everywhere, flowers all over, and a soft, slow song was currently playing as the other attendants who'd already arrived danced in the center of the room.

"Magical," he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

Unable to hold himself back from one of his favorite activities, he grabbed your hand and gently pulled you to the dance floor as well.

"Is this all right?" he asked when you got there. "Did you want to do anything else before?"

"No," you laughed, "I figured this is what we'd spend most of the night doing."

"Excellent," he grinned, then guided one hand up to his shoulder as he held onto the other. He put his free hand on your waist and started leading you in the same sway the others were doing.

"No waltzing?" you asked, half joking and half genuinely surprised he wasn't trying to jump into one of his routines.

"No room. Besides, there's something to be said for something simpler, don't you think?"

The song lasted a bit longer, and by the end of it he'd pulled you closer, close enough that your cheek was resting on his shoulder. When a faster song started, you felt him smile against your hair.

"Do you think your classmates would be opposed to us staying like this?" he asked.

"I'd be opposed," you said, pulling yourself away from him. "I want to see you dance to this."

"It won't be very pretty," he said with a grin.

"I doubt that."

You saw him warm at your words. He grabbed your hands again and started dancing, something so different than the smooth, graceful ballroom style you knew he loved, but something beautiful all the same. He jumped around, shook his shoulders, yanked you back and forth in turns and twists, laughing the whole time.

When you invited Baxter to go to prom with you -- as friends, you'd told him, not willing to risk putting yourself out there enough to ask for an actual date -- you imagined you'd spend most of the night dancing, and you were right.

There was the occasional break to get drinks, and he'd insisted you get your pictures professionally taken against the backdrop that had been set up in the corner, but for the most part, you danced. And it was wonderful.

You stayed even as people started leaving and workers started backing things up. At one point, the rooms regular lights were turned on, but the music kept playing a nice ballad, and Baxter didn't make a move to stop, so neither did you.

"I don't want this night to be over," you heard him say, a touch of sadness in his voice. It was the first time he'd been less than ecstatic the entire night.

Someone shut the music off, and the handful of other students that had stuck around started unsticking themselves from each other and moving towards the exit.

"I don't think we have much of a choice," you told him.

With a sigh, he let go of your waist, but kept your hand in his. This time, he held onto it as you walked back out to his car.

The ride home was odd. He was still excited about the night, that was clear, and he was disappointed it was over, but there was something else going on with him too. Something that made his hands tense on the steering wheel and had his jaw clenched, even as he smiled when you talked about how much fun you'd had.

When you got back to the neighborhood, he parked in his usual spot on the street in front of his house, then once again opened your door for you. He helped you out, then walked with you across the street and up to your front door.

"I had a marvelous time," he told you. "Thank you so much for inviting me, it means the world."

"Who else would I have invited?" you said, laughing at the idea that you'd want to share the night with anyone but him.

"I don't know, I imagine there's a gaggle of boys at that school of yours in line to sweep you off your feet."

If you didn't know better, you'd thought that almost sounded like jealousy. As you were thinking about it, you heard yourself say, "There's no other boy but you."

You bit your lip, nervous at how forward that had sounded. You saw him glance down at your mouth, then take in a breath.

The next thing you knew, he had a hand on your hip, lower than the spot on your waist he'd been holding all night. With his other hand, he he cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb softly against the skin there. You stepped closer to him, and he pulled you closer until you were flush against him.

He was leaning in, and you knew there was nothing else he could be doing except going in for a kiss. You shut your eyes, waiting.

"Hey guys, what are you -- oh no."

Baxter jumped back, and you did the same. The interruption was brief -- your mom had peeked through the door to see why you were both waiting outside, then snapped it shut when she saw what was going on, but the moment was gone.

"I better go inside," you said, beginning to twist your hands nervously. "But thank you, for tonight. For everything."

It took him a moment, but he smiled at you. He reached over across the distance you'd both placed between you and stroked your cheek again.

"Until next time," he said, then left to go into his own house without another word.

#our life beginnings and always #baxter ward #our life #olba #our life baxter #our life baxter ward #baxter x you #baxter x reader #baxter x mc #baxter ward x you #baxter ward x reader #olba baxter #olba baxter ward #baxter ward x mc #our life swap au #i don't know why this mc is so oblivious #like honey he is right there please open your eyes

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (2)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Two: Strain Curve (see previous or series)

IMPORTANT: I forgot to mention and link that this started with an anon ask, so I should give them credit for the idea. Here's where this all started! Additionally, Richard Fisk is an actual Marvel character and the son of Kingpin. All that is straight out of the comics (and animated shows), down to the horrible color choices.

Summary: Steve shelters you from Fisk while attempting to hide the truth from Tony. He's not a great liar...but how much of this is really fake?

Warnings for fluffy fluff of the 21st-fluffery with a teeny bit of angst, 100% idiots in love! Also a quick disclaimer about me knowing exactly diddlysquat about fashion design. I binged 'Next In Fashion' and so this is the best I got lol... WC 4066

You watch Steve blush at your attempted smile. He paws at the back of his head before gathering another confession.

“Actually, I do have—I mean, yes, I wanted to see you, but uh—“ he rushes over to fetch a paper bag he must have stashed as he snuck in behind the cops “—I did have a reason to come.”

In the bag, you find three shirts, and your smile turns more genuine.

“Of course, you did. How romantic.”

You’re still awash with adrenaline; there’s no filter to keep your teasing at bay. You can barely pick up that you said anything anyway.

Steve shrugs, looking down to take back the shirts as Abby returns with a glass of water for you. “Not my best move.”

You chug the water, loudly, unable to regulate how desperately you need it. Abby gently pries Steve’s shirts from his tense arms.

“Right.” Steve rolls his shoulders out, straightening and clearly falling into Captain mode. “We need to get you somewhere safe. I just have to make a few calls and—“

“Don’t tell Stark,” you blurt, hand instinctively grabbing the wrist that holds his phone ready. “I’m sorry. That sounded like an order, just…please don’t tell Mr. Stark.” Tony can’t know that Fisk has been using you as a tailor as well. He can’t. 

Alarm and curiosity flicker behind Steve’s blue eyes, but he hides it well immediately. “Ok. I’ll—” he makes no move to take his arm back “—think of something.”

“And I have three clients left…for the day.”

Abby tsks you from behind though it’s the truth. The empty glass rattles on the tabletop with your faint tremor.

Steve thinks for a prolonged, squinting moment. “After work then. I’ll pick you up.”

You run off adrenaline and butterflies the rest of the day, and yes, whatever liquids or snacks Abby and Dominica (when she returns from her errand) put into your hand along the way, but mostly it’s the fluttering anticipation of Steve that floats you through.

And then he’s back and it’s already dark outside.

“Oh shit,” you burst, politely showing Mr. Chen out while Steve waits his turn to get in the door. He says nothing, but Captain America lowers his head in disapproval at your curse. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time. Let me grab some things.”

You race up the stairs to the apartment over the shop. Your clientele and brand used to be small enough that you could keep those two sides of life separate, but slowly, your work has crept into your living space. Now you survive from a dresser, a hanging rack, and a Murphy bed that doubles as a small desk when it’s upright against the wall.

Not much of an existence, but it’s very practical.

You’re shuffling around with an overnight bag and a dump tote to grab mostly work things and two changes of clothes. One of your assistants can bring you more stuff if/when necessary, but it feels presumptive to think you’ll live out of a safe house for long.

“So…working to live or living to work?”

You jump at Steve’s deep voice from the open doorway. He looks around at the hodgepodge of work benches and mannequins lining the walls.

“It’s a fluid and evolving situation,” you admit, sweeping several binders of fabric swatches and sketch pads into the tote. You eye a work-in-progress on one of the dummies and decide against trying to take it. Too bulky.

In order not to keep Steve waiting, you hand over the tote and head to the car, texting Abby and Dominica instructions the whole drive. Steve assures you that you’ll still have wifi and freedom to communicate, so you don’t have to clear fittings and consults off the books. It simply won’t be wise to invite welcome clients into where you’re staying.

Admittedly, that’s very generous considering you could have been looking at a blackout, witness-protection level of hiding.

You’re still on your phone when Steve opens your car door, and you shuffle with your duffel, his feet at the edge of your periphery to follow. It doesn’t register that you walk down a long hall. It doesn’t register that there’s an elevator ride and another voice. It doesn’t register that you’re looking at a kind of hostel-esque apartment inside another building until you ask if there’s a space you’ll be able to spread out for work.

Steve glows with pride that he thought of that and walks you to a conference room…surrounded by glass…overlooking a 30-story high view of the city.

You’re in the Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower.

“Wait, he’s not supposed to know.”

Steve gets your confusion right away. “Tony doesn’t, but without filing paperwork stating the reason you need a safe house, this was the best—“

“Sheers!” the booming voice of one Tony Stark reverberates across 360 degrees of windows. “I thought it might be you.”

“Might be me for what?” you ask as innocently as possible.

“As Capsicles’ first, of course.”

Steve hangs his head while his pal claps him on the back.

“First use of his guest pass that is. Granted, I’ve been saying for years we need an in-house tailor, but no takers…” Stark fake-punches Steve’s shoulder. “Way to break the ice, buddy. I’m proud of you. What happened? You noticed you’re both workaholics and needed your girl…closer to get closer, did you? Good call.”

Steve shoots wary eyes your way, silently praying you ignore that remark or maybe checking you’re okay with the implication. The way Stark says ‘your girl’ as if he’s heard it several times before though…

“Something like that,” you shrug. 

“At least he finally asked you. I kept telling him to shit or get off the pot.”

“Language,” you hiss quietly.

The men look a little shocked for a split second before slowly turning to each other, a silent conversation passed in the empty space over your head. Whatever just happened seems to have really convinced Tony because a wry smile flickers beneath his sinking, pale sunglasses. Yes, of course, Tony Stark is wearing sunglasses at night, just as, of course, Captain America is willingly deceiving Stark to be your fake boyfriend. 

“Romeo,” the building’s namesake coos. “Training them young, I see.”

Steve’s jaw and neck tighten, a raging flush creeping up his pale skin, but he doesn’t argue. Stark buys the ploy, which is great, but in reality, Steve doesn’t even have your personal number.

Tony lifts his hands in surrender and starts retreating to the door. “Look, I hate to take credit—“

“No, you don’t.”

Incredulous, sagging eyebrows dip below his frames. “—but I am very, very good.” He points a finger back and forth between you and Steve. “You’re welcome.”

He tries to peek under a pile of sketches atop your work tote, and you rush to slap your hand down. Stark might see the other designs you’re working on, and just like he can’t know about Fisk, he can’t know about those.

“Fine.” Tony puts his hands up again. “I’m going.”

Steve steps to your side, apology loud in his eyes, and asks if he can make you tea or something stronger, ya know, because Tony has that effect on people.

“Yeah—“ you stare off toward the elevators where Stark remains lurking “—he’s still there,” you whisper.

Steve huffs a laugh and shifts to bridge the mere inches left between you, his hand gently landing on your upper arm and planting a kiss on your forehead like a breeze.

“Better make it look good then.”

Turns out you need tea and food.

You’d been so reliant on your assistants for nourishment that you forgot dinner. Steve sees; he has it covered. Instead of winding down after a trying day, however, you get a rush of energy, and you can’t squander the chance to make crucial adjustments. Every minute counts in the lead-up to Fashion Week.

“May I join you?” Steve asks, ready to walk away with his meal in hand should you prefer. “I won’t take up much space.” He looks down at his shoes and up the two inches above his head to the top of the doorframe. “Ok, much more space,” he corrects.

“You wanted to leave me alone?”

He bites back a smile and shakes his head, settling into the least cluttered corner.

He chats excitedly as you both eat, but after failing to pry some answers about Fisk from you,—‘are you often threatened by clients?’ and ‘can you steer him in another designer’s direction?’—Steve slips away to grab his own art supplies.

You’ve barely looked up until you get a surge of inspiration and search for your colored pencils under the pile of templates. How did they get all the way over there? Since when are red and grey so worn down? Weren’t you needing to replace both blues soon?

“Those in your way? I can move them?”

Steve stops sketching, holding a yellow pencil, the only color missing from the tin. That’s when you realize. He uses the same brand of pencils you do—tools made of quality materials but nothing overly fancy.

“No need,” you marvel. “I just mistook them for my own.”

Steve sweeps a large hand out in offering. “Mistake away.”

You can’t help it. You chew your lip to calm your grin. He’s simply a very giving man who enjoys simple things. It’s refreshing.

“Or we could trade? We seem to use the opposite colors the most.”

“Right,” Steve laughs, “I went on a tear trying for Sam’s suit in-flight. Never turned out.” Shaking his head dislodges a lock of hair, so he runs his fingers through the strategic coif.

“Hmm,” you hum absently, engrossed by his picturesque appearance, “my drawings are more like guidelines for my imagination. No need to be precise.”

“A sentiment I’ve heard many times before.” He slides the tin closer to the midway point between you. “I just want to do beauty justice, which sounds pretentious but…

“Point is—“ Steve lifts his gaze to you with a soft shrug “—use whatever you like.”

You thought your work habits were grueling, but poor Steve flits around at all hours of the day and night with workouts, training, meetings, and missions. He mostly gets to do drive-by waves of ‘hello’ as he travels the building past your glass bubble, always with a smile, always with a tinge of something else. He’s an easy man to read: you can tell when he’s fatigued (in spirit though, not body), you can tell when he’s irritated from stress, and you can tell when he wants to linger but has to go.

It’s incredibly cute. Steve Rogers is just so damn cute.

You continue with business as usual as best you can, video calling during consults and the most critical fittings. Clients aren’t exactly happy with your absence, but they don’t dare complain when the alternative is waiting another month for you to schedule in person. Besides, there are oftentimes you step away from routine appointments to focus on creating new lines.

Dominica is allowed to walk right in with any of your requested supplies since she’s delivered to Stark several times before. She stays for a few hours to touch base. She assures you that Tarik is no longer unnerved by the police car that sits at the curb outside the atélier’s front door. Apparently, Abby takes the cops coffee a couple times a day.

All in all, it’s going well.

One day, you think Steve is showing up for one of your ‘sketch sessions’—where he sits in his own chair somewhere around the huge oval table and quietly works alongside you—but not today.

“They…it’s…” Steve plants his feet on the carpet across from you and looks behind him nervously. Anytime other people are near the room, he walks right over to you to kiss your cheek, a show to keep up the appearance of actually being a couple, but it’s late enough that no one is around. “We do movie night—we’re doing movie ni—we’re watching a movie if you’d like to join?”

You’re tempted to tease him, ask ‘where’s my kiss’ or something that makes that fiery blush creep up Steve’s face, but you grin back. “Sure. I could use the break.”

Honestly, no, you should be hammering out some details for the lapels of this blazer, but ehh, you’re also tired of staring at the same damn jacket.

Of course, this means the lot of them save you and Steve seats beside each other on a couch. You two have only ever sat in chairs in front of or separated by a table, so figuring out how to curl up next to the man you are not dating is an adventure in micro-expressions. You share a look that lasts about two seconds but contains a forty-five-minute discussion of how far is okay to take this and agree that you want to keep up the charade.

Thus, Steve lifts his arm to drape across your shoulders, and you lean into his chest.

It’s a good fit, good enough that you wake up two hours later not knowing what the movie was about and starting to sweat from being so close to his very warm body.

Maybe it’s the eye convo or maybe napping directly on him tells Steve how comfortable you are with him, but either way, he changes to giving a kiss on the cheek or forehead every instance he sees you, no exceptions.

After a week of remaining on the same floor of the same skyscraper and doing nothing but working, sleeping, and movie-sleeping, you’re at your wit’s end, longingly staring out the window at the city below.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asks as he enters the conference room. Forehead kiss this time. His lips feel soft and warm as they ghost over your skin.

“Stuck,” you mutter.

His hand smooths across your back. “Well, how do you normally get unstuck?”

“I go for a walk through the park.” You know you can’t go outside, but it’s difficult to wrangle every bit of bitterness at your captivity. You appreciate all Steve is doing to make it so Fisk can’t get to you, but you need fresh air.

Steve sighs like he’s mad at himself before spinning around the room. “Right.” He grabs your hand. “Come with me.”

In the elevator, Steve explains that in keeping with the eco-friendly intent of the new clean energy tower, Tony made half of the rooftop a greenhouse and the other half a garden. The walking paths are all moss-covered, but there are no benches. Just outside the elevator doors are folding chairs, and Steve grabs two.

On separate chairs with no table in sight, you two watch the sunset on the other side of the building from your work room. You take in a big breath of the chilly air and shiver, completely content to experience freedom away from climate control, but Steve rushes back into the greenhouse to retrieve a blanket from the stack beside the chairs.

“Here ya go,” he stumbles, leaning to tuck the fabric around you. “I should have brought us tea or something,” but when he makes to leave this time, you take his hand.

“You’ll miss it.” He’s probably seen the view from here a million times before, but you don’t want him to go. “Stay,” you say in a whisper.

Steve visibly softens, shoulders dropping, eyes alight. “Yeah?” He sits again and looks at the nearly cloudless sky. “Yeah.” He slouches to get comfy in the small and unsupportive chair, but he looks so at home bathed in the warm pink light. “Each time’s a bit different but—“ he turns to you, smiling “—this one’s better.”

Since the sunset sit-down, Steve makes a point to pry you away from the work area when he has time to hang out with you. The couch isn’t actually far away from the conference room, but it does mean you get to sit together, your feet in his lap while he reads a book, listening to his commentary on the author’s points or sketching aimlessly for fun.

The whole thing feels like a bizarre vacation, some alternate reality where your home life intersects with superheroes. Tony Stark may have been a sometimes-client, but he never let you attempt anything more custom than a three-piece suit. 

You’re not complaining; it’s just weird that Captain America is so average when his uniform comes off. He sinks his face into his palm when he’s sleepy. His yawn is outrageously adorable for how big the man is. He absently holds your ankles steady in his lap when he shifts on the cushions. His eyelids droop, and he repeats paragraphs when he can no longer keep his place on the page.

Steve Rogers could not be more normal, and for this reason, you find him extraordinary.

He gets dressed every morning while you’re there, no sweatpants, no workout wear—or, what did Sam call it? Athleisure? That’s not a word, right?—except for when Steve is actively working out. He thinks it’s too on-the-nose to wear your designs in front of you for days on end, but that limits his options significantly, considering how much of his wardrobe sports a Tovarich label. Good jeans and a black sweater will have to do because today he’s playing model.

It seems the mannequin Dominica hauled in for you isn’t close to the right proportions for your client so Steve volunteered, rewarded immediately with a gorgeous, toothy smile that made his heart thump against his ribcage.

Steve’s chatty but can’t help it.

There was one conversation a few days ago that unlocked so many memories he thought he’d lost.

While he peeked at a few of your sketches, you asked him about clothing in the 40s, and he took your notepad to doodle a bit. Steve drew a common dress from memory to show you girls he grew up with, the pleats and cinches in their exact spots because—now that he has your full and rapt attention—he thinks it’s important.

He’s had to recall maps, battle maneuvers, building layouts, and evil plans more times than he can count; no one’s ever asked him how his mother styled her hair or which shoes she wore to work at the hospital.

They’re just shoes, but Steve sat misty-eyed describing how Ma tied her laces a very specific way, the way she taught him to, the way he still ties them to this very day. He hadn’t thought of why in so long, and ever since, little details keep flooding back.

“Buck used to never tuck in his shirts,” Steve laughs as you nudge his arms higher to check his range of motion in the shoulders. “He’d fix the front half and leave a tail out in the back.”

You chuckle at that. “Unacceptable for proper ol’ Stevie,” you muse.

“No, it was not—“ he drops his head in shame “—and I’d remind him every time.” Steve spins, prompted by the pull of your hands at his waist. His face is on fire, but he promised to help you. He just has to ’suffer’ through your touch, he supposes.

How horrible…

“Sharp dresser, were you? Not a hair out of place?”

“Yes, ma’am, or…at least for my size I was.”

You’re deep in thought, pulling the bottom hem to check how it lays at his hips, checking the lining before buttoning him up. “These might be too flashy,” you mumble. “Gosh, I hope he likes this color.”

“Why not? It’s stunning,” Steve jumps too eagerly at the chance to praise the barely purple fabric. It’s that kind of illusion hue that might look black, navy, or its true shade in different lights.

“And the buttons?” you prod.

He tilts one of the stamped, dark nickel rounds to see the embellishment. “I’d consider that a signature touch of the Tovarich brand,” he beams.

Your elation is contagious until an ear-splitting alarm sounds overhead. You’re so startled you spring backward into a rolling chair and topple to the floor.

Steve scrambles to help you right yourself while the wailing screech continues, but he knows that noise.

Emergency.

He has to go.

You’re holding your elbow, flashing him a thumbs up, and Steve feels terrible yelling to ensure you’re okay.

Agents race past the glass walls, and he really has to run so off he goes, jacket still on.

An incredibly long seventeen hours later, Steve is returning to his room only to notice you’ve fallen asleep at the conference table. He’s pleased there is no bandage on your elbow, so the fall was no worse than bruising, but he refuses to leave you there.

Slowly peeling your face and hands from your drafting paper, Steve wrestles your flopping arms and limp legs into a solid hold to carry you to your own room.

You don’t wake up, not fully, only enough to grip the shoulder strap of his shield harness as he gently lowers you onto the unmade bed. Luckily, your MO is to kick off your shoes when concentrating on work, so once you release the leather attached to him, he pulls the covers over you.

He kisses your temple. “Night, Button,” he whispers like a secret, and for now, it is.

You simply sigh and turn deeper into the pillow.

Steve purposefully finds you at breakfast to ask if you’d want to get lunch with him. Yes, it would just be in the cafeteria on the lower levels, and yes, you two have already shared many meals, but in his mind, this is the actual ask, the question of ‘will you go out with me’ instead of just ‘are you hungry at this reasonable time and may I be hungry in your vicinity.’

It’s stupid, he knows. He’s anxious for your answer anyway.

Steve has a very love/hate relationship with having you essentially trapped in the Tower. On the one hand, you’re starved for interaction and the choice of your surroundings. On the other hand, he gets you all to himself. He’s ashamed of how much he enjoys that perk. Somewhere deep inside, he hopes whatever Fisk is after is never resolved, but that’s wishful—and terribly selfish—thinking.

Just in case going on a deliberate date with him isn’t offer enough, Steve can return your client’s jacket. He hung it in his locker when changing into the tactical suit. It’s safe, but he’ll get it after his debrief. That’s a good excuse. That’ll work.

You’re happy and excited, only making him more nervous, but it’s progress. He’s done ‘round noon after the long meeting scheduled to start in, yikes, fifteen minutes, and you quickly agree. Steve floats on cloud nine, bouncing his foot until dismissed so he can rush back up to you.

He isn’t expecting to see Tony in your bubble.

“You don’t know me, Stark. How dare you!” Your face twists in fury. “Screw this,” you shout, frantic in grabbing your essentials from the table. “I don’t answer to you. I don't need this. Someone else will get my things.”

Steve doesn’t understand why you won’t meet his eye or speak to him as you barrel past. He’s too stunned to follow you to the elevator, it feels imposing to race down and corner you in the lobby, but he marches up to Tony with wide eyes.

“What the hell happened?”

Tony waves him off, cagy and dismissive, rushing off upstairs to his lab, and Steve almost asks if this is about Fisk. If it’s not and he blabs, then you’ll definitely be angry at him. If he grills Tony too much, there might be something that gives away that Steve lied about having a significant other as his guest for two weeks. If Steve admits that he doesn’t even have your number, the jig is 100% up.

But he knows you have his number, he knows he still has a jacket you’ll want back, and he knows one thing he’s incredibly good at.

So Steve waits, ready to apologize, ready to grovel, ready to yell at Tony for whatever. He is just ready and waiting.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @darsynia

[Next Part]

[Light Masterlist; Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader #fashion designer!reader #threadbare #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fluff

[hanayori89]

Darkness Incoming

*Kakariko Village*

Link awoke to the sound of dishes clattering in the distance. He groaned as he swung his feet off the bed. That's when he realized he was at Renado's.

And that he had spent the night with Y/N.

Link turned to see the bed completely empty. Not even her imprint was nestled into the empty space beside him.

Goddesses, she needs to go to work!

Link stood; his gait was slightly woozy as he made his way to his boots. He was still drunk from the deep spell of sleep. He reckoned his deep slumber was thanks to being snuggled in with Y/N.

Which was by no fault of his own. The true culprit was that horrid nightmare making its nocturnal reappearance. Only this time, when he reached his arms out to dive and catch the mirror, he felt a warm body in his embrace in its stead. Link felt almost as if he were on the precipice of another dimension. The dimension in which his physical body held Y/N, and she was safe. There was no Mirror of Twilight. No crying. No heartbreak. But then there was his mind, which couldn't seem to escape the dimension it was trapped in or the immeasurable warning of what was to come.

But one look at Y/N's face, shrouded in the tranquility of sleep, caused Link to push the warning away. As long as she was in his arms, no harm could come to her. When he awoke, he instantly took notice of her fingers tangled within his bangs. He made no attempt to move them. He was suddenly overtaken by a feeling of weariness. All the running he was doing when he was awake, he couldn't even escape in his slumber. He then fell back asleep, Y/N and he remaining enmeshed in one another.

As Link continued to straighten himself up, he mentally reached out to Goddess Hylia.

Hylia, please help me. I'm so worried about catching her, but I'm the one who has fallen and won't be able to get up. I don't know how this will play out. Above all else, please help me continue to walk a path of nobility. I know these dreams are so much more. But I do not wish to see them come to fruition. Please help me.

Please.

A single tap sounded on the other side of the door. Renado gently pushed it open, peeking inside. When he saw Link awake, he let himself in.

"Good morning, Link. Sleep well? Y/N is finishing a walk with Luda. I packed a light breakfast for you both."

The mention of Luda's name induced Link to come up with an idea. "Renado, thank you for your hospitality. I'm afraid I must ask a favor. I can make it worthwhile. At least for Luda." Link gave Renado a gentle gaze. He walked over to the saddlebag that held Y/N's dress.

"I wanted to take this to the tailor. I know they're not open at this time. If I give you some rupees for the mending as well as for your inconvenience, would you take it for me? I can return to pick it up. Or if you'd like to come to Ordon, I can secure you both lodging at my place. Luda could play with Beth and the others."

Renado took the dress from Link in a careful manner. As if sensing the importance of it. He regarded Link with inquisitive eyes. "This girl means a great deal to you. I can tell."

Link nodded. "I-" He stopped himself once again, changing the trajectory of the conversation. "She is very special. Thank you, Renado. Would 100 rupees suffice?"

Sensing Link's eagerness to change the discussion, Renado followed course."100 rupees is very generous. I will accept this amount, but more so as travel compensation. This will make her smile. Thank you, Link."

Link nodded awkwardly, hearing the deafening sound of Renado's unasked questions within their silence. Thankfully, an eruption of giggling and cackling encircled them both as Luda and Y/N strolled back into the house.

"Link," Renado warned in a low gargle. "I sense darkness approaching. I've felt it the past few days. In the urgency of the rain. In the aggression of the thunder. It speaks to me. I implore you to be careful. Watch the girl, too."

Before Link could inquire further, Luda skipped up to them. "Link, Y/N here is so fascinating. I had a great time with her! She was telling me all about where she is from!"

Link raised an eyebrow in Y/N's direction. She gave him a meek smile in return. The ride into Castle Town was sure to be an uncomfortable one. They did sleep with each other. Well, in each other's arms, that is.

"Where did she tell you she's from?" He asked cautiously.

"She said it's a faraway place past the Gerudo Mesa. She was telling me how they do circuses! She was telling me they have a girl play you." This made her burst into laughter.

"Why is that funny?"

"Well, you do have to admit, if you didn't have your muscles and had longer hair, you would look like a girl. Even Beth thinks so."

"Beth? Does everyone think of me as feminine?" Link glanced around for support but found there was none to be had.

Renado choked back a small cackle before correcting Luda. "I think what the girls mean is that you have an androgynous appearance."

"And draw generous? What's that?" Luda looked up at Renado, confused by his selective term. One that Link suspected he had most likely thought to himself since their meeting.

"It just means Link's look is mutual in a masculine and feminine regard."

"Well," Luda let out a devilish smirk. Anytime a child gifts a devilish smirk, what follows is never a good thing. "Y/N thinks you're very manly. She likes your eyes. And your arms. And that she wants to kiss-"

"Luda, that's enough. They have to be going." Renado curtly cut in.

They exchanged goodbyes with Renado and Luda, readying Epona for the trek to Castle Town in complete silence. Link's anxiety was at an all-time high thanks to Renado's warning. But he didn't share his sense of alarm with Y/N, not wanting to scare her. He just needed to see Zelda, and fast.

It was no longer just time closing in on them. The darkness around them was asphixating.

Link tried to push it away. But the harder he pushed, the clearer he could see that whatever this was ended with that dream.

Had Hylia heard his prayers?

*Castle Town*

Most of the voyage across Hyrule Field was spent with light spurts of chatter. Link wondered if Y/N, too, could sense the imminent foreboding that seemed to surround them. Renado had been right.

It was in the fog that looked like it had been smeared across the sky with a knife.

It was the precious dew drops that coated the grass. They no longer looked like miniature diamonds but whetted tacks.

It was in the gray tufts of clouds that seemed to have the sun pinned against the wall of the sky.

It was even hidden within the crisp chill of air that could lethally permeate through your skin and into your bones.

"Y/N, are you cold?" Link noticed her shiver for the third time against his back.

"No, I am fine." She lied.

"I brought a light blanket in the event of weather like this. You can wear it like a shawl. I can stop so that we can retrieve it from Epona's saddlebag."

"Link, really. I will be ok. I just want to get to work."

Her response came out short. He knew how detrimental a stormy sky could be to the mind, so he shrugged it off.

"We'll be there soon. I promise." Link couldn't fight against the next thing that left his mouth. "You can rest on me. If you wish."

She didn't reject his offer. Her head plopped onto the back of his shoulder blade as her arms reached around his waist, seeking security. He took his idle hand and rested it on top of one of hers.

Together, the melting of their flesh melted away time. They had arrived in Castle Town.

***

There was a line all the way down the street at Telma's. Link couldn't help but gasp in horror at the sight. "Y/N, did Telma mention anything special about today?"

She slowly shook her head, refusing to tear her eyes away from the overwhelming exhibit of customers.

"Goddesses, I hope Telma is ok." Y/N dashed towards the bar, and Link quickly followed behind her, curiosity pulling at every inch of him. He'd never seen Telma's bar look like this before. Once inside, they spotted Telma. Her normally polished plaits were frizzed by the frenzied atmosphere of the bar. Sweat beads cascaded down her neck into the well of her cleavage like a waterfall.

"Telma!" Link called out to her.

"Thank Hylia, you're here! I need all the help I can get!" She held three mugs in one hand and three in the other. She began running all the mugs beneath the draft server of mead. It spilled all down the mugs, splattering all over the floor.

As soon as Y/N called out to Telma, cheers erupted. "THERE SHE IS!"

Telma laid a tray on a table with all the mugs she just filled. Mead sloshed everywhere as she lifted them off the tray. "They're here for you. Word got out about my new employee and her face that could break a 1,000 yr curse."

Link stammered, his heart sinking as it dawned on him. "What..."

"They're here for Y/N. Isn't it great? I've made enough for this month's rent in one day! Of course, yesterday she was off, but I promised my patrons she'd be in today. She's got a following, Link. They adore her!"

The inundation of male flattery tore into Link's heart as he listened to the barrage of comments that came at Y/N from left and right.

"Wow, she is as pretty as Princess Zelda."

"Hylia, look at those e/c eyes! Is she single? Telma needs to hire people more often!"

"She's very sweet too! She has a bit of an accent. She waited on me the other day when it was her first day. I fell in love with her before I even had my four glasses of mead!"

Link could feel something unfamiliar controlling him. Sweat began to erupt all over his flesh as the catcalls and applause continued.

He had heard of jealousy, but he himself had never experienced it, for he was never given a reason to. Besides, wasn't jealousy a low-level emotion for someone who was a hero?

But under the low lights of the bar, Y/N's hand withered beneath the hardened hold he had on her. He was jealous.

As far as Link was concerned, Y/N was his. As she had been in that moment he set eyes on her in Ordon, that moment he caught her. The only time he caught her.

What if someone else catches her? What if she converts and chooses to leave me in the dust?

"Link, I must go put my apron on and help Telma."

Link knew this was a polite way of ushering him to let her hand go.

"No way. I can't leave you both alone to handle this. I will help."

"No! Weren't you going to see Zelda? I'm counting on you, Link!"

A giddy, intoxicated male puckered his lips at her and called from a table. "Hey, Y/N, how's about you bring us a few glasses of milk over here?

"I absolutely am not leaving you here alone!"

"Yes, you are."

A stiff, feminine voice whirled past them both. Link recognized it. He had grown up hearing that voice his whole life.

It was Ilia.

Just like that, the hand he refused to let go of was discarded in revulsion.

Edited: 3/19/23

An unlikely patron has made an appearance at Telma's bar. With Link's barrage of nightmares increasing in frequency and an unexpected visit from Ilia, what does it all mean?

Has Goddess Hylia heard Link's prayers? Or is it too late?

Check out my other completed OOT Zelda work- No Woman Beyond

#legend of zelda #link #loz #fanfiction #wattpad #link x reader #romance #the legend of zelda #fanfic #fanfic on tumblr #loz twilight princess #twilight princess #twili #legend of zelda twilight princess #loz midna #action adventure #l

[gingerbreadmonsters]

i am what's known in the trade as an idiot

(read: it is 3:15am gmt and i should probably not be awake HOWEVER it is still TECHNICALLY the 25th across the pond and therefore i say it counts - the whole thing should be finished pretty soon, but i couldn't just let rae day pass me by without an appearance from my girlie's favourite vampire, could i?? happy birthday beloved @sri-rachaa and i hope you're having a wonderful day 💕💕💕)

under the cut: can't be fucked to think of something clever, it's the first draft of the first bit of 五二零, have at it

-

Vincent Solaire is up to something.

You're not sure what, and you don't really know why, but he's got that look - you know the one. The one he gets whenever he spies the final jam tart sitting unguarded on the table, whenever he notices William's left his instant camera unattended, whenever Sam says he's leaving you two alone with Fred and his partner, don't touch anything. It's the look that means he's plotting something nefarious again - one of his diabolical schemes that should send anyone with common sense running for the hills, and that probably means you either need to find your passport, renew your life insurance, or check the stability of every flat surface in the house.

(Actually, now that you think about it, how does life insurance work now that you're a vampire? Are there special empowered insurance providers? Do you get a payout if you get turned into a vampire? Are you or a loved one eligible for financial compensation? Mental note: ask William at tea on Thursday.)

He says it’s nothing. Yeah, right. You’d almost believe him if it weren’t for that cheeky grin he’s been sporting for the last week when he thinks you’re not looking, tapping away on his laptop of an evening like a man possessed, stifling a laugh every ten minutes or so. Meddling little so-and-so. He thinks he’s so slick, but you know better. Vincent Solaire has got something up his perfectly tailored, meticulously ironed, ridiculously expensive sleeve, and you are going to find out what it is.

You’ve got a pretty decent idea of where this particular scheme has come from, so that’s a good start. He was out with Gavin a few weeks ago, one of their little mothers’ meetings, and you’re sure whatever he’s planning is the product of that. The pair of them are terrible when they’re together - they gossip like you wouldn’t believe, wander round Dahlia charming the (thankfully metaphorical) pants off of everyone they meet, and they both drink like fishes if there’s nobody around to supervise. They’ll have cooked up one of their signature (read: stupid) ideas that sounded really good at the time, and now you and Gavin’s partner - who, let it be said, has the patience of an absolute saint when it comes to Vincent and Gavin’s collective bullshit - have to deal with the fallout. You know the drill.

(To be perfectly honest, you’re still not over last time - they’d come stumbling down the street at some ungodly hour, absolutely sloshed as usual, tottering arm in arm towards your front door and giggling uncontrollably at some half-baked joke Vincent was trying to remember. You and Gavin’s other half had been forced to pause your show for some emergency damage control when the dynamic duo finally managed to get the key in the door, and to this day you’re not sure how they managed to get Gavin safely out of those shoes and into pyjamas without some sort of divine intervention.)

Anyway, you have no doubt that they’ve come up with some Machiavellian (or, more likely, Rube Goldberg-ian) plan or other, which probably means the only option is to brace for impact. He’s a force of nature, your Vincent, and he tends to get what he wants - the stranger the better, and he’s had some pretty strange ideas.

(Strange might be putting it a bit lightly. The day Sam stops reminding him about the roller skates incident is the day hell freezes over - you don’t even want to know how they managed to get the dents out of the rear bumper.)

#redacted asmr #520 blaze it lmao ✌️✌️ #couldn't quite get the whole thing done in time but made some pretty good progress #maybe tomorrow if i wake up at a reasonable hour lol #happy birthday gorgeous girlie!!! #🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 #rae beloved <3 #passing out now brb

[incarnateirony]

oh uh, by the way, while we were laughing about 2po being like "THIS HAPPENS EVERY YEAR" (note: with me it did not. Only when I knew berens wrote it did I change my tune. I took years of harassment from hellers for telling them otherwise beforehand) and us being like. what. the cw being sold, wb changing leadership, jensen making chaos machine, a new branded series, what part of this happens every year.

Then I realized, while I've been trying to talk about markets and demos and this idiot bluffing douchecanoe kept falling through the floor, he doesn't even realize WHY WBD put the reigns on the old product, and that was leading concern for the international market, specifically Russia which had 2x the per capita viewing of SPN as the US. Robbie's episode wasn't just used for Destiel Market Testing. Corporate Knew because the episode already made it briefly get pulled from Russian TV once as Too Gay and we almost lost Russia.

Guess what, dumbfuck. International market is coming second to national demand, as it should be. It's not being tailored to be able to be bulk marketed first. AND even if it WAS, guess what stamp is on the tin from the gate: LGBTQ, Romance.

He genuinely doesn't understand how nothing he's ever sought comfort in structurally for his homophobic views staying safe while he posts condescending fake bs of support only to turn around and attack it--none of it is left. The execs are gone. The marketing logic is gone. The product market segregation issue is gone. It's all new people top to bottom and he's sitting here picking his nose saying "IT'LL BE THE SAME*", but his version of the same includes "*actually delete and remove one of the major final points that is freakishly correspondent with this new story for some reason", his version of Same DOESN'T involve picking up what got dropped, actually.

His verison of "Same" involves reverting to old WB, old CW, old Singer production house, old marketing tactics, old creatives, and primitive plot ideas while denying the narrated morals being told because, well, I had said they were the morals first and he denied it, so LALALALA HE ISNT LISTENING. His version of Same is Jensen building Chaos Machine for funsies, and it not actually accomplishing anything, and hiring Renee Reiff chief LGBTQ DEI advocate of DC to run his whole house. It's just. there for vanity in 2po's head.

At this point it's willful ignorance on his part and anyone stupid and desperate enough to still listen to him vagueblogging his hopes and pretending they're sourced takes.

Imagine being so narcissistic that you think Jensen would build this big gay Out in Hollywood featured company with WB's heaviest hitting LGBTQ advocate building out his whole company to talk to Zaslav when Jensen is away, and Zaslav has been told to just defer to Jensen anyway. And like. Imagine thinking. He'd be ok with the show premiering with a rainbow shooting out of his head on the main account, like he doesn't know what that signals.

What, are you gonna say it's queerbait to attack him now and defy the obvious? You think he's gonna burn down an entire media empire he just spent years building and a fuckton of money starting and is basically hanging his entire highspeed launching career on and--what, pull the rug, just to be a mean, soulless asshole like you are? No dude. Catch a clue. He's doing what he's doing and he doesn't care if a bunch of people that fuck their own family members IRL disagree. He's not gonna burn down his career for you. Catch a fucking clue, you idiots.

Congratulations, that feeling that's turning your stomach is you realizing Jensen has, in fact, built us Destiel The Series while you screamed in denial only to get clocked down by reality the entire way. He made it nuclear bomb proof. You're gonna eat your gay ass chicago deep dish and you're gonna like it.

[transgenderfivepebbles]

would you like to spill the deets about your oh seas

Okay so I run an askblog (points at @emergentharmonies-localgroup) and I don't want to let the slugcats out of the can too soon but I cannot resist. All about my mentally unwell children under the cut.

Long, be warned.

The Local Group

Four siblings, nestled in a once-frigid valley crossed by countless rivers and surrounded by high mountain plateaus. Their facilities teem with purposed maintenance organisms to keep them and their communications intact.

Reflections of Song (they/them)

The group senior. Their large can and dual-chamber design was intended to house a truly extraordinary city, a hub of industrial and artistic activity. In spite of its former glory, it has, of course, long been abandoned, like all the others.

Their two puppets are not quite separate people – despite the differences in their demeanor, tailored to fit the needs of the residents, they share memories and desires, fundamentally very similar beings.

Dawn, the eastern puppet, once managed the more personal aspects of the city; social, cultural, and spiritual questions were predominantly directed to her. As such, she is more sociable and playful than her counterpart, and looks back on the time spent with the Ancients with a bittersweet fondness.

Dusk, situated in the west, kept the practical systems of the city running, organizing industrial and economic practices to bring prosperity to their creators. He's rather withdrawn and direct as a consequence, but highly innovative, and engineered most of the creatures that maintain the local group now.

Entangled in Promises (he/him)

Second oldest of the group, he was built on a polar mountain plateau, in an effort to alter the local climate for more abundant life. Unfortunately, the major altitude change between the surface and his roof was not taken into consideration, and as time passed and temperatures rose, the air conditions at the extreme elevation of his city became nearly uninhabitable, his residents leaving for his younger, lower-built siblings. His construction was very unusual as groundwater would normally not pool at such a high elevation, meaning that his water intakes are highly decentralized, fed by many smaller mountain tributaries rather than the large valley aquifer system that the rest of the local group draws from.

Also part of The Divorce Triangle™, who I have repeatedly tagged on posts and will explain in detail farther down.

Two Ashen Bells (she/her)

My failgirl. My first iterator. My miserable computer daughter. Nature loving iterator who can't be normal about it. I'll tell you all about her.

She hates being an iterator. She can't take the guilt of being what she is, of destroying the world around her by simply existing. In the past, she mostly dealt with it by establishing a sanctuary in the upper portions of her can, diverting vapor channels to reduce her rain output and provide water to the creatures living in the safe spots above, unlocking her city's gate so that it could be put to some use again.

Though she enjoyed watching as nature overtook the abandoned ruins, she still couldn't bear the knowledge that the old world, before her creators came along, the way things should've been, was gone and there was no way to get it back and she was only making it worse. Her guilt eventually spiraled into self-destruction, and she saw merit in Erratic Pulse's ideas, but he did not sympathize with her back, and she was excluded from most groups involving him or his ideas. Void forbid women do anything.

In rationalizing her hatred of her own mechanisms, she grew hostile to the rest of her kind as well, believing the creation of iterators at all to be a mistake.

Now, she sits isolated from her local group by her own will, trying desperately for a way to redeem herself for her very existence.

Nascent Sparks (he/they)

The youngest of the local group, and second to have been created by me. He's my special birthday boy, my little gamer. Probably listens to Miku.

He was built in the midst of a highly divisive religious schism, one that often escalated into violence. Though it wasn't really intentional on their part, the Ancients living in his city often depended on him to resolve conflicts from very shortly after his inception, and he would often end up witness to a lot of unnecessary strife and violence. Having spent his youth in such a situation, of course, took a toll on their mental state, and the global ascension was a point of both great sadness and relief to them.

At the moment, they spend most of their time honing their bioengineering knowledge and conversing with friends. The effects of what he endured in the past are not so bothersome now, but they're not completely gone either.

The Divorce Triangle™ (the other two)

Variegated Disarray (it/he/they/neos)

Once heavily restricted by an unsympathetic and controlling adminstration, Disarray was built as a high-efficiency model with an exceptional capacity for parallel processes and precise control over them. Shortly after global ascension, it set out to remove its own taboos, with great success, changing its name and redesigning its puppet to shed the legacy of his creators as much as possible. He has no interest in ascending, and doesn't believe that anyone should; it accepts life as an iterator with this newfound freedom, and desires to break the others' shackles as he did his own.

Idyllic Field (she/they/he(?))

Rather unremarkable in her construction and history; quiet but deeply kind, striving to empathize with and care for all those they came across. She and Promises were in a stable and loving relationship, very affectionate toward each other in spite of the distance between them. Their relationship with Disarray, on the other hand, was considerably more uneasy, and eventually she, swayed by his offer of freedom, attempted to break her own taboos, only to fail and develop rot, which was ultimately incurable and led up to the event of A Silent, Tranquil End.

#asks #i. i guess this is basically the oc masterpost #idk whether IF actually uses he/him askjdhjf theyre. genderfluid and out of office today sorry #i went a bit wild on this one. took so very long to write about all of them #but here they are. anon enjoy your feast

[projectoffice5487]

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[thisentertaining]

The Way of Models- Stormlight Archives Fanfiction

Characters: Adolin/Shallan, Jakamav/Inkima

Summary: Adolin can’t wait to be featured in a televised fashion design competition, but a bet with his friends may make things a little more difficult. 

Modern AU with Roshar elements. Basically I couldn’t commit to either so I did a little melding. It’s basically modern technology on Roshar. Also men can read. I don’t mention Spren but they could be around. 

_____

Jakamav accepted his wine with a wide grin to the waitress that was returned with a well-practiced, if insincere, smile in reply. Adolin accepted his drink with a smile of his own, though he kept his eyes on his friend.

“I hear congratulations are in order, you made it onto the show.” Jakamav said, turning up the collar of his green sportscoat.

“Finally,” Adolin said with a broad grin. “I think they’ve just been trying to get a name for themselves before calling in the real stars. Smart if you ask me, every other season of ‘The Look’ will pale in comparison after they see what I’m capable of.”

The Look was a competition-based reality show highlighting the best and brightest upcoming fashion designers and models in Roshar. For 10 weeks designers would be given a particular theme for inspiration for a single outfit that their models would wear down the runway, with one team getting eliminated each week until the three best would have a full show. The fairly new show was quickly gaining in popularity boosted by live online audience voting. This year they were trying to become more interactive than ever as the competitors were tasked with staging and photographing a photo shoot to promote outfits for side-challenges. The pictures would be posted to social media for the public to vote on, with the winners given an advantage in the next challenge. As a model, Jakamav knew very well what the next few months would entail.

He looked forward to it. He knew that he was handsome, and that he wore clothing well. He was already growing a name for himself on the ‘best dressed’ lists at the kings banquets and other high society events. There was only one problem, well two really. First, none of the outfit’s he’d gained ‘best dressed’ notoriety with were designed by his girlfriend Inkima, and she was to be his designer for the competition. Second, Adolin really was good at what he did. He may not be as good as he thought he was, but he was good. He knew color better than Inkima, and he was more creative. He would be a great contender, a greater one than Jakamav really cared to go up against.

“And you and Inkima of course,” Adolin suddenly added, as though noting his faux pas. “With all of us competing at once, it will be a season to remember.”

Clunky recovery, lacking any poise or subtlety. Jakamav wished the highprince’s designs were as ill-refined as his politicking.  

“Of course.” Jakamav said, indicating to the waitress that they wanted another drink. “And I assume Shallan will be joining you?” That would be good at least. Sure the girl was pretty, but the man thought her hair wasn’t nearly as refined as the Alethi black, and her freckles may cause problems as well.

Adolin grinned stupidly at the mention of his girlfriend. Storms, but the man had it bad. “Yes, but not as my model. She wanted to be my assistant.”

Jakamav’s nose wrinkled in confusion. He never understood Shallan. What girl would rather be an assistant than a model? Didn’t all girls want to be models? All girls aside from Shallan, apparently. “An assistant? Really?”

“She is a master with makeup. You should see it sometime, she can look like a completely different person. It’s incredible. Plus, she’s good with lighting and stuff, she’ll be good for all of the… you know, new stuff. Who’s going to be Inkima’s assistant.”

“Danlan offered.” Jakamav took care to watch Adolin’s reaction at dropping the name of his ex so abruptly, but the other man was so caught up in thinking about his current girlfriend that he hardly seemed to notice. Oh well, the way Adolin went through women, they would probably break up before the third episode was through. That would be give Inkima an edge then.

Adolin nodded and took a long draw of his drink to empty it as the waitress came to refill it. The man’s head was starting to bob to the music of the live band on the stage, likely already feeling the effects of the strong drink.

“And your model?” Jakamav asked, settling back into his chair.

“I’m not sure yet. I’m thinking of finding someone online, maybe putting an add out at an agency.”

Well that was interesting. Jakamav wasn’t nearly as good at manipulations as his girlfriend, but Adolin was a fairly easy target, maybe he could nudge the man a little. “Hmm. It’s not exactly fair though, is it?”

“What?”

“You, having the cream of the crop of models to choose from. You’re the nephew to the king, son of the Blackthorn the greatest martial artist of all time, a master duelist, one of Roshar’s most famous eligible bachelors even without the show. You could show models a sack and they would pretend it was an honor to model for you. Even if the rules do state you have to use an amateur, you’re going to end up with the best of the best. No matter the other’s designs, you’ll have an edge.”

Adolin snorted. The combination of his euphoria at getting accepted, Jakamav’s compliments, the pulsing beat of the nightclub music, and the intoxicating wine was beginning to get to him. That much was obvious to the other man. It was making him overconfident, cocky. It was prime breeding ground for the manipulative Alethi brighteye. “Please,” The blonde-and-black haired man said. “I could make anyone look good, and I mean anyone.”

Jakamav scoffed. “Please, we both know you say that, but you’ll choose some light-eyed beauty whose been practicing modeling for years.”

“No man, I’m serious. I guarantee that I could win with anyone.”

“Fine. How about we make this interesting then, eh?”

“Fine. Choose anyone here, anyone, and I guarantee I’ll win with them as my model.”

Jakamav grinned. This was perfect. He hadn’t been sure how Adolin would react to his prying, but this was perfect. A guarantee like that could mean only one thing: a bet. Jakamav was certainly a gambling man. The brightlord thought for a moment, what could the payment be though? Adolin was so confident, this could be an excellent moment for some political dealings. There was some tension between his house and Dalinar’s at the moment. Oh, but that was so boring. Also, if the stakes were too high even Adolin wouldn’t agree to the bet. Adolin swiped a lock of black-blonde hair out of his eyes and Jakamav grinned. That would be perfect.

“Fine then, I will choose your model. If you lose though, you have to shave your head.” Adolin gaped at his friend, completely aghast, and Jakamav grinned. This was probably actually higher stakes to Adolin than any kind of political subterfuge. “That is, unless you don’t think you can do it.”

The kholin bristled. “No, I’ll win with whoever you pick. When I do, you have to shave your head.” Jakamav froze. Maybe these stakes were too high. Adolin grinned at him. “Well? Pick your champion.”

Jakamav looked around and his heart began to sink. This is why he usually let Inkima plan stuff like this. OF course he would make this challenge in one of the kingdoms most exclusive clubs. No one could even get in unless they were rich, beautiful, young lighteyes. None of the clientele would have any issues being a fantastic model, and none of them would even consider passing up the chance to grow in the esteem of the Kholins. Who then, should he pick? Someone who he knew to be annoying and argumentative? Someone in his pocket that he could easily bribe? Perhaps a beautiful woman that would be sure to draw Adolin’s eye and hasten his and Shallan’s falling out?

Wait, was that- perfect. Jakamav pointed with a smirk. “Him.”

____

Adolin followed his friend’s pointing finger and froze. “The bouncer?” He asked, incredulous.

Jakamav was pointing at a well-muscled darkeyed man standing at the entrance to the club. The man’s stance bespoke of strength and aggression as he eyed the lighteyes in line to get in with a discerning gaze. His uniform, while well cared for, was obviously worn, as though he wore it every night because he didn’t own alternatives. His eyes were dark brown and what looked liked prison tattoos peeked out from where the tank top revealed his shoulders and back.

It was obvious that had he not been an employee, the man would not have been allowed within ten miles of the place without someone calling the police on the ‘ruffian loitering around the high-end district’. Worst of all though was his expression. It was as though a storm cloud had become trapped in the man’s face, dangerous and volatile. Adolin doubted that the man could do anything but scowl, he certainly was not the type to ‘smile for the camera’.

His friend grinned. “Yeah, him. I thought you wanted a challenge. Oh and look, he’s going on break now. You’d better hurry, this may be your only chance.”

Looking up, the highprince could see that the bouncer was being replaced with an equally intimidating man, though the new guy’s scowl could never compare to the original’s. Jakamav clearly wasn’t going to change his mind. Adolin stood and hastily began walking towards where the bouncer was headed, determined to beat the man to the employees only area.

The man was walking with a quick, purposeful stride, but wasn’t actively trying to hurry like Adolin was so the brighteyes managed to catch up quickly. The designer stepped in front of the man with a large smile, putting every ounce of charm he had into the expression.

“Hi, I’m Adolin. Nice to meet you.”

The bouncer gave him a flat look in reply, “I’m not letting your underage friends in, I don’t care how much you pay me.”

“No, no” Adolin laughed, “That’s not it, I just wanted to ask you about something.”

“I also have no interest in being the ‘darkeye’ notch on your headboard.”

“No!” Adolin blushed. “That’s not what I, no. You misunderstand. I have a proposition for you.”

“My answer stands.” The bouncer said, just as flat as the first time he spoke. “Also, no, I don’t know who you are and why you are so incredibly important. Nor do I care. I also don’t care if you complain to the manager about me. I’m hired here because I don’t give into the whims of lighteyes like you. I suggest you give up.” He tried to side-step around Adolin, but the highprince blocked his path.

“Please, just hear me out.” The bouncer sighed. He remained in the spot, though he did it with the air of someone dealing with a difficult customer and didn’t want to get fired. Refusing Adolin was one thing. Walking away from a lighteved customer who wanted his attention would be another.

Adolin realized that this man would not be impressed by his charm nor his position. No, the plain, blunt truth would best serve him here. Though few other highprinces used it, Adolin knew what a powerful tool the truth could be. It was what had interested Shallan at least. “I am a contestant on ‘The Look’ next season. Do you watch it?”

The bouncer raised one, unimpressed brown and Adolin deflated. Right. He didn’t seem like the fashion show type. The young lord coughed awkwardly. “Right. Uh, anyway, My friend and I just made a bet that he could pick anyone as my model and I’d still win the show. Loser has to shave his head. He picked you.”

“Then I suggest you find a nice hat.” The man tried to get around Adolin again, and the brighteyes started sputtering.

“But this is a chance to be on TV! It’s one of the highest rated shows of the year, you’d be famous!”

“I’d want that, why?” The man was scowling even fiercer now, which Adolin wouldn’t have thought was possible. He also didn’t have any idea how to respond to the man’s question. Why wouldn’t he want that? He glanced over at Jakamav in despair, but the other man just held two fingers up in a way that looked vaguely like a pair of scissors and pretended to cut his hair. Adolin grimaced.

“I’ll give you all of the prize money if we win! Every cent.” Shallan was going to kill him. Oh, Shallan, speaking of. “My girlfriend is kinda sorta related to Sebariel, the owner of this club.” Or not related. He was very confused about that relationship, but he’d long since stopped questioning Shallan. “I can guarantee that you can come right back to your job afterwards.”

The man’s dark look remained, and for a moment it looked like he was going to give another curt reply and walk off, but then he paused and looked thoughtful. The man sighed heavily, as though the next words were being rung out of him. “How much?”

“Huh?”

“How much is the prize money?”

“500 Ruby Broams. And we’ll win. I know it, I’m the best.”

The stranger looked physically pained by the boasting, but his lips moved and Adolin could almost see him making calculations in his head about what that amount could gain him. “That’s two months, right? After that I get back to my normal life?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise. All the prize if we win, and your job waiting for you guaranteed.” The money would have been nice, but neither he nor Shallan really needed it. She was going to give him an earful, but it would be fine.

He hoped. 

The bouncer sighed. “I must be a storming fool.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a single black and white business card. ‘Bridge 4 Bodyguards, Bouncers, and Catering services.’ Under the title was a single phone number. “Call sometime tomorrow. If I don’t pick up, ask for Kaladin.”

#stormlight archive #The Stormlight Archive #adolin kholin #jakamav #kaladin stormblessed #Shallan davar #Cosmere #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Stormlight fanfic #Modeling #Models #Fashion design #Adolin is a fancy dressed boy #I just really wanted to Write Adolin being obsessed with fashion #I mean his idea of a safe house was his tailor #This is probably only funny to me. #Oh well #Can you imagine the rest of the bridge crew's reaction to Kaladin being asked to model? #Yep #funny only to me.

[sinner-as-saint]

Just A Little Too Much.

(Dark) Mob!Steve Rogers x Innocent!Reader AU

Run-through: You met Steve after your parents got divorced. He was your mom’s ‘special friend’, and you soon began living at his place, along with your mom. You were just 18 and a half then, and Steve became the only man you looked up to after you learnt that your father was sent to prison for unknown reasons. Soon, Steve became the only family you had after your mother started going away on even more trips for work, then came the time where she stopped coming home altogether. But that was alright, because you had Steve. You were his Princess, and he often told you that you needed no one else but him. He would do anything for you, he loved you - perhaps just a little too much. 

Themes: innocent!reader, manipulation, dark!steve, smut, fluff

You woke up from your nap with a faint smile on, feeling a pair of lips leaving soft, warm kisses all over your cheek. 

Steve. 

You immediately felt so warm just knowing he was here; his powerful scent wrapping around you, making you feel safe. 

“Wake up, Princess.” He murmured. “It’s your birthday, you can’t be napping.” He said it like it was the most ridiculous thing one could do. 

You heard Steve’s voice, and felt his beard trail after his lips all over your face. You opened your eyes, giggling and realizing that you had fallen asleep on the couch in your bedroom. You looked up to find Steve above you, his strong arm placed on the back of the couch as he bent over slightly to look down at you with his pretty blue eyes. He was dressed in one of his many expensive, well-tailored suits which gave away that he had just finished some call or video conference regarding work. 

“Hi Stevie.” 

His soft gaze roamed your body. “Hi Princess. Come on wake up, you don’t wanna sleep all day.” 

You smiled up at him. “Yes I do.” You said, making him raise his eyebrows at you; smirking. “It’s my birthday, I can nap all day if I want to.” You did make a fair point, he had to admit. 

His smirk morphed into a gentle, calming smile as he reached out to caress your cheek softly. “But I miss you.” 

You shrugged, lazily. “Sounds like a personal problem to me.” 

His lips parted in fake surprise. “Is that so?” 

The moment you saw his hands reaching out towards you, you knew he was planning to tickle you till you ran out of breath and begged him to stop. So you shot up and slipped from his grasp, running away as fast as you could; giggling uncontrollably. 

Steve chased you, chuckling each time you escaped his grasp. “Come here, Princess. You can’t run from me, you know that.” He chased you around the room, watched you as you jumped over the coffee table, the pouf and just as you were about to run into the walk-in closet Steve managed to grab your hand and tackled you down on the bed. 

He had you trapped, giggling and squirming under him. He was a happy man as he looked down at you, pinning your wrists down on the bed above your head, his face so close to yours that he was certain you and him were sharing the same breath. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. 

You eventually stopped fighting and squirming. You looked up at him and smiled as big as you could. You stared up at him and saw the man who was your everything. 

Steve was your everything. Your family was… absent. Steve said none of them cared about you as much as he did. Steve also said that your father was not a good man, and that’s why he was locked up in jail. You never asked why, or what he did to deserve such punishment, but Steve said that it wasn’t important for you to know so you let it go. Your mom was not here either, she was always out of the country, working. Steve said your mom made work her priority over you, but that was okay too because you had Steve. And he was all you need. 

Steve looked down at you, admiring how pretty his Princess was. When he first saw you around four years ago, he knew he had to protect you forever. You were too precious, too innocent for this world. He couldn’t just stand there and watch this world corrupt you in any way, so he kept you close. He did what he had to in order to keep you under his roof and protection all the time. He made sure you’d never have to worry about anything, ever. 

“Hi Princess.” He murmured again, still on top of you. You gave him a smile which always melted his heart ever since day one. You owned him, and you probably had no idea about all the things he was willing to do for you. 

“Hi Stevie.” To you, he had always been Stevie - your best friend, your family, your protector - your everything. You don’t know where everyone went, or why everyone gradually disappeared from your life once you met Steve. But you had him, and he was all you needed. 

“Happy Birthday.” He whispered, wishing you for the fifth time since this morning when you woke up in his arms. Steve leaned down to kiss the side of your mouth. 

You relished his touch. Steve always made you feel good just by being there, and having all his attention on you was all you ever wanted. You giggled as he kissed his way down your neck. “Thank you.” 

He hummed as he kissed along the neckline of the dress you were wearing. “Did you like your gift, Princess?” Steve asked, kissing along the top of your breasts. 

You let out a quiet gasp of pleasure as you felt him gently nip at your skin. You nodded, “I did. Thank you, Stevie.” You whispered, getting lost in the way he made you feel. You thought of the gift he had given you this morning, it was currently parked in the twelve-car garage of the house, sitting there with a pretty, red bow on top of it. It was your shiny, new dream car. 

“We can go on a drive later, if you want.” He murmured against your skin, one of his hands releasing your wrists, lowering to undo the buttons at the front of your dress. 

You shivered as you felt the warm, slow touches of his lips and fingertips all at the same time. He was always so gentle with you and always so mean to others. He always said that was because you were his precious Princess and other people meant nothing to him. 

A drive with Stevie sounded amazing. Only, he’s always working these days. Would he even have the time? “We could. But then what about work?” 

He froze for a moment, hearing the hint of sadness and uncertainty in your tone. He hated it. He hated that he had been so engrossed in work this past week that you noticed he wasn’t spending enough time with you. 

Steve pulled away and looked up at you. “I’ve been too busy with work lately, haven’t I?” He asked, knowing the answer. The little, sad nod you gave him made his heart hurt. “Aww…” he cooed, reaching up to kiss your nose, “I’m sorry, Princess.” He murmured against your skin and pulled away to look into your eyes again. “How about this, you have me all to yourself for the whole day today and the upcoming week? Sounds good?” 

He didn’t care about how much that would affect the many people who worked for him, all he knew was that his Princess needed him and he would do anything to make her happy. 

You smiled brightly. “Perfect!” 

He chuckled before leaning in to kiss your lips. Slow and gentle at first, before growing more and more needy for you. He pressed his body against yours, allowing you to feel the urgency of his need. You gasped into the heated kiss as you felt his hardness in between your legs. Steve shoved his tongue past your lips, tasting you, stroking the inside of your mouth. You whined when you felt him roll his hips against yours. 

You felt warm, burning with need just as much as he was. And he knew. 

You shivered in pleasure as you felt him kiss his way down your body again, unbuttoning your dress with impatience, his need overpowering his entire being. He needed you, needed to taste you and have you come undone on his tongue, he needed your taste embedded in his brain, not wanting to risk ever forgetting it. 

Steve kissed down the middle of your breasts, down till your belly button and stopped at the waistband of your light pink, lace panties, which matched the bra and the dress you wore. Wanting to tease you just a little, he stuck his tongue out and licked along the edge of your underwear before licking up and down your wet, clothed core. 

He watched you squirm on the bed. Smirking devilishly, he kissed along your inner thigh just to mess with you a little more. He could tell you were slowly giving into the haze of pleasure which washed over you even though he had barely touched you yet. 

“Stevie…” you whispered, closing your eyes and tipping your head back as he nibbled along the soft skin on your inner thigh. “Please…” 

He had to give in. His cock twitched in his pants, straining against the zipper at the sound of your soft moans and pleas. 

He pulled your underwear away from your skin and to the side, exposing your dripping wet folds to his hungry eyes. He could tell just by the look of it that your sensitive clit was throbbing. He hummed in satisfaction, “Prettiest little cunt I’ve ever seen…” He whispered more so to himself, reminding himself - not that he would ever forget - that you were his. “Spread your legs for me, Princess.” 

You did, just like you did everything he asked. You parted your legs then supported yourself up on your elbows, watching him. Steve once mentioned that he liked it when you watched him as he pleasured you. 

You let out a moan the moment his mouth touched you. His lips moved along your wet folds as his tongue teased your entrance. His beard scratched your sensitive skin, as your arousal spread all over his mouth. 

“You taste so sweet, Princess.” You watched how Steve closed his eyes, savouring your taste. You were a moaning mess in no time, your whole body electrified at his touch. “Like strawberries and honey.” He moaned at your taste alone, humping against the bed discreetly. He could always fuck you later, but right now was strictly about you. 

Steve moved his hand which was caressing up and down your thigh towards your core. He pushed his two fingers past your entrance and pumped them in and out of you slowly, gradually increasing his pace. He felt your walls clench around his fingers as you moaned louder and louder with each stroke of his fingers against your walls. His mouth moved to your throbbing clit, teasing you further until you felt like you were losing your mind. 

“Stevie…” You struggled to hold back your moans. 

Steve took one look at you and he knew you wouldn’t last much longer. You never could last long under his touch anyways. But he was always more than happy to pleasure his Princess. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, Princess? You can’t hold back from cumming all over my tongue, can you baby?” 

His husky voice made your body throb even more, along with his warm breath fanning your damp skin. You whined in response, dropping down on the bed - your upper body having no strength to hold you up any longer. Steve chuckled. 

“It’s okay, Princess. Cum for me.” He whispered and placed his mouth back on your clit while his fingers pumped in and out of your relentlessly. He noticed the way your legs were shaking slightly. You couldn’t hold the pressure in between your legs anymore so you let go and came violently around his fingers and mouth. 

You moaned out loud, squirming as you came, and Steve lapped up everything you had to offer. He licked each and every drop of your cum as it spilled out of you before kissing his way up your body again. He reached your lips and kissed you deeply. 

You giggled into the kiss. It made Steve smile, he always found it adorable how you were always so giggly after he made you cum. 

Steve pulled away after a while, looking down at your swollen lips and the shine in your eyes. “Want me to order your favorites for your special day? Strawberry and chocolate donuts?” He asked. Those damn donuts were your kryptonite. He often wondered if you loved them more than you loved him. 

You gave it a thought. “Nope.” 

Your answer worried him. And he opened his mouth to ask you why but you spoke up before he could. “Let’s make some cupcakes instead. With strawberry and chocolate icing.” You had missed him so much and you desperately wanted to spend time with him, and what was better than baking together in the kitchen? 

Steve smiled, almost reading your mind. He knew exactly why you had proposed so. He felt a little guilty but quickly pushed those thoughts aside. Then he remembered… 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Princess,” it sounded like a warning. “You remember what happened the last time we tried to bake something, right?” His voice sent shivers dancing down your back. 

Of course you remembered. It involved a lot of kisses, chocolate ganache and eventually ended with Steve fucking you right there on the kitchen floor. Your face felt really as that memory resurfaced in your head. 

You nodded. “I promise that won’t happen again, Stevie.” You were the one to blame for that, since it was you who kept teasing him in the first place. 

He hummed in your ear, the sound making your body throb again. “We’ll see about that.” He pulled away and stared down at you. “Okay, come on. Let’s go make some cupcakes for my Princess.” 

You jumped out of bed the moment he got off you. He pulled you close again, buttoning your dress for you while you looked up at him like he hung the moon. 

By the time you made it to the kitchen, Steve had already removed his suit jacket and tie. The black button down shirt was doing things to you but he didn’t need to know that yet. It should be illegal for a man to look that good. While you took out all the appliances and utensils you needed for the cupcakes and icing, Steve’s phone vibrated on the counter. 

He grabbed his phone and took a look at who the caller was. You noticed the frown on his face. 

“Who is it Stevie? Is it work?” 

The discontent in your tone didn’t go by unnoticed. But this phone call had to be dealt with. “No, Princess.” Steve stepped closer and kissed your forehead. “It’s… an old friend. I’ll be back in just a minute, okay?” He kissed your lips briefly and left the kitchen. 

You pouted for a moment but then shook it off. 

Steve went as far away from the open kitchen as he could, just to get out of your hearing range. He had to cross the entire living room to answer the call. Bitterly. 

“What?” He spat at the caller. And he was immediately greeted by a sobbing woman. 

“Just let me talk to her, at least please. She’s my-,” 

Steve cut the crying woman off, like he always did. “She’s your nothing! Nothing, you hear me? She’s mine. Only mine. It’s not my fault you’re a terrible mother who doesn’t care about her daughter’s well-being.” 

He heard more sobbing on the phone. “I didn’t do anything, I just-,” 

He cut her off once again. “Stop lying! You tried to take her away from me!” 

The woman raised her voice. “Because I realized that you’re crazy! I regret the day I met you, the day I let you in my life, in her life. You were a big mistake, and now you won’t even let me talk to my daughter?!” Her anger could be heard despite the tears. “You won’t even let me come home, I can’t even step out of this damn place because your men are everywhere!” 

Steve chuckled. Your mother was abroad, not allowed to come anywhere close to you because… because he didn’t like the thought of having to share your love or attention. You were his. You had him, you didn’t need anyone else. 

“You’re in a luxurious house, with everything one can ever need in it. What are you complaining about? You could’ve been dead, you know? I could have had you killed instead if I wanted to, but I didn’t. You should thank me for that.” 

He received a series of swear words as a reply, which only made him smirk wider. 

“It’s her birthday, Steve. Let me talk to her. I won’t tell her anything about this, please.” The woman begged. 

Steve scoffed. “She doesn’t need you. She has me. Now, don’t ever call here again or I’ll make sure you don’t live to see another day.” He ended the call right in the woman’s face. He carelessly tossed his phone on one of the couches as he walked back into the kitchen. 

You were taking out all the ingredients, weighing them on the scale carefully. You had somehow managed to get some flour on your cheek in the process. Steve smiled, his heart melting at the sight of you. So precious, all his. 

He walked over to where you stood and wrapped his arms around your waist, lowering his head to kiss your exposed shoulder. “Hi Princess.” He murmured, softly. 

You smiled. “Hi.” 

“I love you more than anything, Princess. You know that, right?” He placed another kiss on your skin. 

You turned your head to the side a little, smiling, “I know, you tell me everyday. I love you too, Stevie.” 

-

Midway through, while your cupcakes were in the oven and Steve was getting the icing ready, he noticed a slight frown on your face as you sat on the counter not far from him. 

“What is it, Princess?” He placed the bowl down and stared at you, giving you his undivided attention as always. 

“Hmm?” You looked up at him, “Oh, nothing.” You lied. And he caught it immediately. You were never a good liar. 

Steve walked over to you, stepping in between your legs and placing his hands on your thighs, caressing your skin gently. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. Tell me what you’re thinking about.” 

You looked down at your lap, his hands inching higher and higher up your thigh. You wondered if you should bring it up, because it always upset him. But before you could stop yourself, you were blurting out the words, “I was wondering why my mom didn’t call me today. She did last year. You think she forgot my birthday?” 

Steve was upset for a moment, before being clouded by jealousy and possessiveness. He tried smiling to hide it. “You don’t need her. If she cared, she’d be here right now. Don’t you agree, Princess?” 

You nodded, lowering your eyes, but Steve could tell you didn’t agree. 

“Princess, look at me.” He spoke, you looked up. “You don’t need anyone. You have me, right?” 

You nodded again, more firmly. “I know, Stevie but-,” 

You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence. Steve slid his hand into your hair and tugged on it gently to make sure he had your attention. “Because what, huh? Is my love not enough for you? Am I not enough?” His tone was gentle but bitter. His eyes were glossier than before. Anger, jealousy, it all ate him up on the inside. 

You stared into his eyes, your own watering a little. Oh no, you didn’t want to upset him. “You’re my everything, Stevie.” 

Those words shook his entire being, and he released your hair immediately. He looked down for a moment, sighing loudly. He placed his hands on either side of you on the counter, pressing his forehead to your chest. “You’re mine, Princess.” He whispered as your fingers slid into his hair, massaging his scalp to calm him down. It was working. “You’re mine and you don’t need anyone else.” He whispered. “We don’t need anyone.” 

You spoke up immediately, “I know. I don’t need anyone. I have you.” You felt him kiss his way up your neck soon after. 

“But you’re still thinking about your mother, are you not?” He sounded bitter. “She doesn’t care about you, Princess. She never has, neither did your father. They never cared or loved you like I do.” He said softly, but his jealousy was hard to ignore. 

“I know, Stevie.” 

You couldn’t see his face but you knew he was in a bad mood. He eventually said so himself, “You upset me, Princess.” He murmured then resumed kissing your skin. “I do all this for you, buy you what you want, do everything to keep you happy but it seems I’m not enough.” He whispered against your skin and you shivered at his tone. 

“No Stevie, that’s not-,” 

He shut you up by placing his mouth on yours. He kissed you with all he had in him, pouring out all his emotions - the good and the bad. His hands gripped your hips as he kissed you hard and fiercely, not caring that he was biting your lips carelessly. 

You couldn’t help but gasp into the kiss when he swiftly slid you off the counter and set you down on your feet. Steve pulled away and stared into your eyes with love and anger. “I’m all you need, Princess. Why can’t you just accept that?” 

Before you could say something, he turned you around so your front pressed against the edge of the counter and your back to his torso. You gripped the counter as he grabbed your dress on either side and pulled it up until it bunched around your waist. You felt his mouth at the side of your neck; licking and biting and kissing - making your heart race and that intensified when you heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

“I’m gonna show you that I’m enough.” He whispered into your ear. “That I’m all you need, because no one is going to love you as much as I do, Princess.” The sincerity and certainly in his voice sent tingles down your spine. 

You felt him lower your underwear until it reached your ankles. Your heart fluttered and raced all at the same time. You could feel him, pressing against you. His hands on either side of your waist as you pressed the palms of your hands against the cold counter. 

You waited for a moment. Then you felt the tip of his cock press against your folds, slowly rubbing up and down; parting the lips at your entrance. “You’re all mine, Princess.” Steve moaned under his breath as he pushed himself slowly inside of you.

Your grip on the counter grew tighter as you steadied yourself for his thrust, knowing it was coming sooner than you thought. Steadily, Steve filled you up; stretching you all the way like he always did. And he had you whimpering in no time. 

“You belong to me.” He murmured, pushing his face into the crook of your neck. Your mind was foggy as he started rocking into you. Slowly at first, then gradually building up his pace. “Say it.” He demanded. “Tell me you belong to me.” 

You felt all of him. Each time he filled you up entirely, the tip of his cock brushed against your most sensitive spot, and you moaned out loud each time; your walls clenching around him. 

“I’m yours…” you whispered. Your mind was hazy, by him slamming into you. His thrust was animalistic, and rough. Each time he slammed into you, your front crashed against the counter, achingly. But the pleasure his body brought you made up for that.

“Louder.” He growled. “I didn’t hear you.” He taunted, pulling his face away. His hand flew to your hair and he grabbed a fistful of it, and tugged on it; tipping your head back. “I said louder, Princess.” His voice sounded menacing. 

You whimpered as he pounded into your core. His pelvic bone smacking against your ass each time he thrust into you. “I… I’m yours, Stevie” You said, louder like he wanted. 

The sounds of your skin slapping against one another was downright obscene, and the grunts leaving his mouth was even more sinful. You couldn’t see him, yet you knew he looked absolutely, devilishly handsome with his head thrown back, eyes closed, his lips parted as occasional groans escaped his lips. You could imagine him with the frown of pleasure he always had whenever he fucked you. 

“You better remember that, Princess.” He growled into your ear. “You are mine. I love you, and I am the only one you’re allowed to love back. You hear me?” 

You nodded, moaning as he reached every single sensitive spot inside you. You felt a familiar warmth taking over you, and a pressure building in your lower region. You knew you couldn’t hold it any longer. 

And when your walls clenched violently around him, Steve knew you were close as well.

“You’re gonna cum for me, Princess?” he cooed, his voice laced with lust and desire. Seeing you didn’t reply, he tugged on your hair and tilted your head back a little more. He leaned in to kiss your parted lips before pulling away a few inches to spit into your mouth, then leaned in to kiss your swollen lips again. You moaned wantonly as he did. 

“Cum for me.” He slammed his cock harder into you, and your eyes watered. He felt agonizingly good. It didn’t take much for you to come undone after that. Gushing out around his cock, walls pulsating around him; you came, hard.

He did too. With a few strokes against your walls, he came right after you. “All fucking mine.” His warm load shooting inside you, leaving behind his presence as your body shook against the counter.

Carefully, he pulled out. And smiled, satisfied, as he watched how his cum trickled out of you and past your folds. He adjusted his pants and zipped it up. He pulled your underwear up, then finally fixed your dress. 

He leaned in to kiss your cheek. Your back was still against his torso, and his arms were around you. Unable to trust your own body, your hands gripped the counter still. He nuzzled your neck, kissed your skin and moved his lips to your ear. 

“Now tell me, Princess, do you need anyone else? Anyone at all?” He mumbled. 

You shook your head, still hazy. “No, Stevie. You’re all I need. You’re my everything.” You replied, repeating the same words he constantly told you. “I love you.” 

Steve smiled against your skin. “I love you more, Princess.” He added, “Perhaps a little too much.” He meant what he said. 

He didn’t care how many times he’d have to remind you. He would do it as many times as it took, all for you to realize that you belonged to him. There was no one else. No other love, no one else to turn to, nowhere to run. Just him. 

“Now come on, we have cupcakes to ice.” He kissed your cheek before pulling your trembling body away from the counter. 

You smiled up at him. Your Stevie… How could you ever bother about whether anyone else remembered your birthday or not? Stevie was here for you, and he was all you ever needed. He was your everything. You loved him. Only him. 

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #mob!steve #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers

[loracarol]

i love your encanto meta, and i’d love to hear your perspective: what do you think Alma got a door…for? She’s holding the candle on her door, but she doesn’t really have a concrete Gift like the others do. If anything, I’d assume the Casita was her “room” but it seems like that’s true for Mirabel. Also what do you think Camilo’s room looks like? Or Julieta’s?

Oh wow, thank you!

TBH I go back and forth on what her candle is for. I've written before on how maybe Mirabel didn't get a gift because it was the first time in 40(?) years that Alma felt safe in her home, and going by that logic, maybe the candle holder is in charge of distributing the gift, and that's her "gift"/why she has a door?

Though I also really like the idea of Casita as a character, (who is, like the others, flawed and makes mistakes), giving Alma a door as a hint towards how the house functions. Plus if the door said Abuela on it & had a picture of her on the door as an older person, it might give Alma hope because she would know that her/her kids/the town survived long enough for her to have grandchildren.

I have seen some people speculate that the reason Mirabel doesn't have a room of her own is less that Casita as a whole is her "room" and more that she's going to get Alma's room after Alma passes, which is a depressing AF meta, but I can see it. This would tie into Casita being flawed and making mistakes; Casita sees Mirabel as getting Alma's door, and thus doesn't understand why Mirabel would be sad about not getting a door as a child. She's going to get one eventually, right?

That being said, I really do hope that Mirabel got a room of her own post-movie. :(

tl;dr, I think Alma got a door because Casita was trying to show Alma how it worked/was trying to be kind to Alma, and tbh I flip flop on what I think the rest of it means. |D

As for Camilo's Room: I think pre-movie, his room was definitely a theatrical stage with mirrors, as a place to practice his gift. Post-movie I think it still has that to an extent, because I do think he enjoys his gift, but it also has a bunch of different sections where he can try new things. Like, a section for musical instruments where he can see if he likes playing music, a section for various types of crafting, so he can see if he likes that; basically it's a room where he can try out new things and see what kind of person he wants to be.

(Also, post-movie, the theater is set up so that other people can join him on stage instead of him having to play all the roles.)

And Julieta's room: I feel like, with Camilo's, I'm only repeating what other people have also said, so my apologies, but I do like the idea of her having a place where she can grow edible plants/vegetables/herbs for her cooking. If she has a kitchen in her room, it gets smaller post-movie, as it becomes a place for her to cook only for her family and not The Whole Town. I just picture something very cozy, you know? Esp. bc my headcanon is that Casita does change the rooms a little bit when a Madrigal brings home a partner/has kids, to make the rooms non-magical/child safe, and with Agustín's how [waves at everything], something soft and cozy seems up her alley to me. Like, something like the aesthetics of cottage-core but adapted to Colombian culture. IDK if you need a hearth/fire in Colombian winters, but if you do, it has one of those. Casita also gave them a nook for Agustín's work (I picture him as a tailor), though it's not near as fancy as Julieta's part of the room, and he had to bring his materials in manually; Casita didn't supply him with a sewing machine, he had to do that himself.

I also really want her to have a magic book that transcribes any recipe she comes across so that she can keep track of everything she's learned without having to memorize it all, but that's just something I think would be cool.

#encanto #encanto meta #casita #casita as a character

[marigold-doms]

hello can you do smut with a lil fluff about 18th century gentleman!hongjoong where he's really sweet to f!reader in public (holding doors, kissing hands etc.) but only reader knows he's VERY scandalous in bed and the neighbors start some commotion about that lmao my imagination is running wild. thank you for this 😊 I love your writing

They Never Know || Kim Hongjoong ||

Pairing: “gentleman”!hongjoong x fem!reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Genre: Smut

Warnings: degrading, d/s elements, possessiveness, a very jealous hongjong, teasing and an abrupt ending to it all.

Summary: No one was going to warn you of the man that Hongjoong would be with you behind closed doors. All simply because no one knew of the insane amount of power that he hungered over his sexual partner. You have nowhere to run and no one to tell this to—how indecent of you to share your marital escapades. Hongjoong marveled in the mystery of his character and will only share his dominance with you. Meaning, no one would ever know—at least, hopefully this latest story to tell, isn’t what reveals everything to the nosy neighbors.

Admin Mika🌻: NOW THIS. THIS REQUEST>anything else. As soon as I read it a MILLION ideas went off inside of my head so LETS GOOOO~ also I hope you enjoy love~ thank you so much for being patient with me!

They will never know of the kind of man your sweet husband, Hongjoong, is. Who he really is. He is hasty in assuring you that you are safe—assuming his place when walking along the pavement.

Protecting you from danger. Oh what a gentleman he was. Hongjoong held out your dress from the dirt that could possibly stain the precious fabric. He provided well. Hongjoong worked hard in the offices to make ends meet. An honest living as he loves to tell others.

No one could compare to the man that you married. Even the women at the tailors swooned over your loving husband.

Little did they know who Hongjoong really was when the doors were shut. The way that he disregarded his manners and poise to treat you lesser than him. It heated you up. As you are preparing to iron his clothes for the following day, Hongjoong presses himself against the back of your dress. The warmth from his body now spreading to you.

“Hello, Dear.” His gravelly tenor sends shivers down your spine.

“Mm.” Was all that you could manage. He was progressively giving you more and more anxiety as his hands begin to trail slowly down the hem of your skirt.

“I heard from a colleague today that he felt your appearance today in the lobby was,” The hand that was gently tracing the hem of your skirt has now grazed over your stomach and his thumb skims over the ribbon securing the skirt around you. “Captivating.”

The amount of anxiety that sinks into your stomach is enough to make your knees wobbly. You’re sure that Hongjoong’s strong arms would catch you but that doesn’t stop the shiver that vibrates through your body.

“What do you have to say about that, Love?” His bottom lip grazes your ear.

A few moments of silence passes. Then your surroundings rotate and Hongjoong’s dark eyes betray him as he questions you again in a lighter tone. “I expect an answer, Sweetheart.”

“I only visited the office to deliver your brief case, Dearest.” Your soft voice trembles when your eyes make contact with the floor. You didn’t have to look at your husband to know that he was enjoying the way you cower at his aura.

“And somehow in that short delivery to the office for my belongings, you managed to flaunt yourself around the office?” He lowers his head to level with yours as he tilts it to the side. “Hm?”

You shake your head. “Nothing of the sort, My Dearest.”

He loved it when you called him that. It was so much more discreet and he knew that if he had to make you say it from your lips that the look on his face would make him want to break you over and over.

“Do I appear to believe your deceitful words?”

Your stomach folds and you lean towards him. God, you were feeling weaker and weaker by the second. Hongjoong does absolutely nothing to help you.

“I’m terribly sorry. I was not aware of my actions.”

“What shall I do for such terrible act then?” His icy tone is enough to make you fall to your knees.

The entire time, he observes you without moving a single muscle as you tremble on the floor. “I’m waiting for a response, my sweet darling.”

You hated that he marveled at your vulnerability. He leans down and persists his eye contact with you. Boring holes into your face as he tips your head up to him with a gentle finger.

“A punish-punishment seems appropriate, sir.” The words fall out of your lips as a pathetic excuse for a whisper. Yet, Hongjoong is gracious enough to let this pass.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve disobeyed me, My Love.” His thumb traces over your lips. “I’m beginning to believe that you are deliberately doing it to spite me.”

Your head shakes slowly as you peer up at your calm husband. “No, Dearest.”

“You will understand, if not—be forced to learn that I am not tolerant of any defiance. Especially from you.” Hongjoong slips away from you. Your skin is hot and cold from the heat of his words and the lack of contact. The more he speaks the more your stomach does backflips. In an instant, your lifted from the floor by the hair. Unable to completely react to the harshness of your lover.

*****

You face roughly mushes against the sheets of the bed and the headboard slams roughly into the wall.

“Now what do you say?” Hongjoong lowly groans as his hips slam against the plushie cushion of your ass.

“Thank you, Dearest.” The words barely leave your lungs as you try to catch your breath. He was purposely making it hard for you to think. The stretch and force of his menstruations were the least of your worries. With Hongjoong, it was the filthiness of his mouth.

“What will my work mates think of you when the figure out that you’re just a useless play toy for me?” His voice is swirling around your head as his lips brush against the sensitive shell of your ear.

You let out a weak moan. Words failing to form—rather another low cry escapes your lips when he lifts your leg higher, wrapping it around his waist. Hitting you deeper than he was before. “Oh! You’re impossibly tight— fuck!”

You feel his warm liquids spurt out and into your clenching walls. Your arms tremble and fall limp against the cushions of the pillow around you.

Not seconds of Hongjoong pulling out, 3 timid knocks on the front door startle you both.

You shoot hongjong a tired—but concerned look.

He gathers some clothes from the ground before he goes to investigate. There’s voices and a back and forth exchange before you hear the door close again. Once Hongjoong comes back, there’s a content and almost happy look on his face.

“What’s the matter?” You’ve gathered enough bedsheets to cover yourself in the time that he was gone.

He shakes his head before slowly yanking the covers away from you. “Only the friendly neighbors coming to our aid in case something bad was happening in our house—since they heard screaming.”

Your face instantly feels hot as you recall forgetting to cover your mouth.

“Not to worry my love,” Hongjoong’s warm body meets yours and you feel the hardness of his member again. “You simply can’t help crying for help when I’m having my way with you.”

No one would ever know of the monster inside this bed. No one but you and hongjoong.

[end]

#mika’s works #hongjoong smut #ateez smut #ateez masterlist #smut #kpop smut #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong #hongjoong scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez hard hours #masterlist #ateez drabbles #dom!hongjoong #dom!ateez #ateez #hongjoong x reader #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong ateez

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Haven

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: This was already posted on ao3 last week so I’m just putting it here too.

A few familiar characters show up and as for the timeline, as mentioned we're right after it was announced the Berlin Wall would come down, so we're in about 1990 atm. That means certain events in the MCU timeline have changed or haven't even happened!

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

Steve asked James, rather this man he called ‘Bucky, if he had a car. You thought it odd since James had sought the man out for help but you trusted that he was cautious enough for the both of you.

You’d left the car a few streets over. You sat in the back with Luka as he began to nod off and James drove as Steve gave directions. You hugged your son anxiously and inhaled the scent of his unwashed hair. You hoped you would have a bed for the night, if you were fortunate, a shower.

The street lights cast shadows on the men in the front as the New York streets passed by. Even a soviet-born Russian like yourself marveled at the infamous city. Never in all your life had you expected to end up there.

“You don’t live in Brooklyn?” James asked as his gripped the steering wheel.

“I do. Bought mom’s old place,” Steve answered, “But I can’t take you there, Buck.”

James was silent. He sighed as you pondered this friend’s name for him. ‘Bucky’. It sounded odd and didn’t seem to fit the man you knew. And yet, like much of his character, it confounded you. Perhaps it suited him after all.

“Not because of you, but to protect you,” Steve intoned. “Same reason we didn’t take my car.”

“Protect me?” James peeked in the rear view mirror as you stared at his silhouette.

“I’ll explain when we’re standing still,” Steve said curtly as he brushed back his hair with his fingers.

“Right,” James said grimly. “How ya doin’ back there?”

“Fine,” You answered in Russian without thinking. He nodded and continued on.

Silence pervaded the cramped space of the Chrysler as Steve pointed James down the next street. Luka’s soft snores floated around you and warmed your chest as he leaned against you. You dared to hope that you might sleep that night.

James pulled into an underground garage next to a high rise. The two men climbed out of the front seat and James opened the door for you and took Luka gently into his arms. The boy didn’t stir as he was cradled against his father. You stepped out into the smelly garage and Steve waved you onward.

He led you up a staircase and past several business housed in the building above. He stopped at an unmarked metal door one would assume was a utility closet and shoved a key in the slot. He opened it carefully and ushered you inside. The door closed heavily behind him as he flipped the lights on.

Within was a small living space that surprised you. There was a sofa, chair, a single bed in the corner, and a smaller door just beside the narrow counter along the wall. There was a square table at the far end with a boxy computer and an old telephone. James’s eyes scanned the room as if searching for some trap.

“A safehouse for now,” Steve explained. “This is my Plan B but haven’t had to use it so far.”

“Plan B for what?” James hissed.

“Just in case,” Steve shrugged. “It’s safe here, besides.” He strode past the couch and turned back. “This folds out.”

James nodded and crossed to the small bed in the corner. He sat as he laid Luka down and slipped him beneath the quilt. He touched his cheek before he parted and stood to face his old friend. Steve looked between the two of you.

“So, I take it you two met in Russia?” Steve chuckled. “You know, that’s a long way to go for a wife, Buck.”

James said nothing as he tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. The phone rang and Steve flinched as he grabbed it before the second chime. He put it to his ear and listened. He replied with two short words; “Eagle. Demo.”

The line clicked loudly from the mouthpiece and Steve replaced the phone in its cradle.

“We have tonight,” Steve stated as he leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “You can rest. Get clean up in the shower,” He nodded towards the other door, “There’s food in the cupboard. Basic rations but we’ll get better tomorrow.”

“Then what?” James asked sharply. “We go to S.H.I.E.L.D.? That’s who you’re with, right?”

“I am and I’m not,” Steve answered. “But the important thing is I know people who can keep you safe.”

“Safe? Do you even know what we’re running from?” Bucky sneered.

“Not hard to guess,,” Steve tilted his head and sniffed. “Buck, do you have any idea how unbelievable this is? That you’re still alive? How much of a relief it is?” He dropped his arms and pushed himself away from the table. He crossed to James and clapped his shoulder, “Bucky.”

The other man winced and grabbed Steve’s hand. He pushed it away and held up his own. He slowly rolled his glove up his palm and slid free his fingers. He turned his metal hand in show and lowered it in shame.

“Can’t say they never gave me any gifts,” James uttered, “Though I would say I paid for it.”

Steve frowned as he watched James’ hand then looked him in the eye.

“Well, good thing I didn’t say anything about finding you in one piece,” Steve scoffed.

“Ha,” James snorted and shook his head. “You promise your friends are gonna play nice?”

“You trust me?” Steve challenged.

“Always,” James avowed.

“They’ll play nice.” Steve assured him, “But you know it’s not that simple.”

“I know,” James grumbled as Steve brushed by him and went to the door, “But I’m not worried about me.” He paused and looked at you, then Luka, “You understand?”

“I do. You know we’ve always been as good as family, Buck.”

“That was a long time ago,” James insisted. “A different life.”

“Yeah,” Steve rested his hand on the door handle. “But we’re not so different.” Steve smiled and peered past James, “It was nice to meet you.” He opened the door slowly as he spoke. “You two have a good night. Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

Steve shut the door behind him as he stepped out into the hallway. The door locked from the other side and James stared at the metal barrier. You stood behind him, still, silent, watching as he hung his head. You neared the couch and sat.

“James,” You said gently, “You are going to sit and tell me who Bucky is and how he knows Steve Rogers.”

James turned and swallowed as he looked at you. He approached reluctantly and sat beside you. He leaned back and gripped his thighs as if to brace himself. His fingers danced on his knee anxiously and he nodded.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes and Steve Rogers is my best friend. We served together in Europe. We grew up together in Brooklyn. He was this kid, used to wear newspapers in his shoes, built like a toothpick. His mother, Sarah, was his only family besides me. But that was before I died in the war; before I was the Soldat…”

✰

James let you have the foldout couch to yourself. You were unused to the emptiness beside you but you hadn’t the heart to move Luka as he dozed soundly. James took his usual spot on the floor.  He slept with his back against the door though you doubted he actually got much rest. You woke often and looked at him, sometimes his head slumped down, and others he seemed to stare endlessly into the dark.

James roused first and you sat up as you heard him open the cupboard. You grumbled and stripped the thin mattress before folding it away. You left the thin blankets in the chair as James turned on the single burner on the counter. He set the kettle atop it and turned to face you.

“Tea?” He asked. You nodded as he leaned against the counter.

Luka slept on and you let him until a knock came at the door and woke him. As James set out two mugs of steaming tea, three short raps came and had him frozen. He motioned for you to stay back as he neared the door and you went to Luka as he rubbed his eyes and sat up in confusion.

James unlocked the door and inched it open. His shoulders dropped and he stepped back to let Steve in. Another man followed him and James quickly stiffened. The man strode haughtily inside, his silver hair combed back neatly, as he wore a tailored suit that bespoke of money.

“Howard,” James greeted the strange man with a grimace. The door closed heavily and pierced the tension between them. “Why’s he here?”

“He’s a friend. A real friend.” Steve said.

You helped Luka out of bed and sat him at the table with the box of tea biscuits you found in the cupboard.

“Don’t be rude, James,” You managed in your best English, “You ask if they want tea.”

“James,” The man he called Howard chuckled.

James sighed. “Do you want tea?” He asked tersely.

“We’re good,” Howard answered with a smirk. “So, I think my first question is where they came from?” He pointed at you and Luka. “Lucky the kid looks like his mom.”

“Really, Steve? This jackass.”

“Buck, you don’t understand. S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s not… not safe. There're approximately three people you can trust in this country and we’re two of them.” Steve insisted.

“Three? Who’s the third?”

“Peggy,” Steve replied curtly. “Everyone else, well, we’ve figured there hand-in-hand with the bastards who chased you here.”

“Hydra?” James asked, Steve nodded. “They’re here? Where?”

“Calm down,” Howard strolled around the room as he felt around in his jacket. “We’ll fill you in once you do the same for us.” The man stopped beside Luka and pulled out a bill. “Here, kid, maybe later you’re mother can take you out to buy some candy.”

Luka’s eyes rounded at the money and you nodded to him. “What do you say, mishka?”

“Thank you, sir,” He smiled and accepted the money.

“You didn’t have to--” You said as Howard grinned.

“Got a boy myself. Bit older but I miss when he was smaller. Easier to handle.” He said. “And I’m fairly sure those cookies are well past stale.”

“So it’s just the three of you? Against Hydra?” James interjected. “You really think you can help me?”

“We have safeguards,” Howard turned back. “And it’s better to keep enemies close.”

“Not Hydra,” James’ hands balled into fists. “You don’t understand--”

“No, but we want to try.” Howard neared him. “Look, I’d say that kid is what? Four? Five? And there was a certain Soviet assassin that just up and disappeared as many years ago. A certain experiment abandoned after its perpetrators were slaughtered… think maybe you can fill in the details?”

James paled and looked to you. His eyes fell to Luka and he blinked. “Not in front of the kid.” He glanced at Steve pleadingly. “I’ll talk,” James snarled, “Just… the boy. He can’t--” He took a breath. “Come on, Howard. You said you had a son, too. Please.”

“It’s early, we don’t have to get into it right now,” He raised his hand defensively. “I just needed to know that I was right.”

“And I need to know that you’re gonna keep them safe. I don’t care about me, but they didn’t do anything.” James stepped closer to the man until they were chest to chest. “You swear to me that they’re safe and I will tell you everything.”

“Mother knows something too, she must,” Howard said.

“I tell you,” You stood and squeezed Luka’s shoulder before you left him. “But as James say, not in front of boy.”

Howard considered you then turned back to James. “We’ll move you tonight. Bigger place, much nicer too. Then, we’ll have a long debriefing.” He turned to Steve and checked his watch. “You keep them here until I can get it sorted out. You know the rules.”

“Got it,” Steve said. “And Peggy?”

“One thing at a time,” Howard said as he went to the door, “As far as she’s concerned, you took the day off.”

#bucky barnes #Winter Soldier #dark winter soldier #dark!wintersoldier #bucky barnes x reader #fic #series #breach #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #Steve Rogers

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harrison Osterfield - A Happy Day (& A Puppy)

A/N & WC - I don't know Haz, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.2k

Warnings - Mentions of a dog rescue centre and poorly dogs, slight anxiety, copious amounts of fluff.

Summary - Today is the day you and Haz get a puppy. It's the next big step in your relationship, and despite your anxieties, you know it's a happy day.

YOUR HEART FILLS WITH GLEE at the prospect of the day. You and your boyfriend, Harrison, have been together for a long time now, by ‘young people’ standards, and have recently taken the giant step of moving in together. Only, after you lived in a flat with various different people for a long time, and after he spent so long in a house with three other blokes (where you also spent a substantial share of your time earlier in the relationship, much to your dismay,) it’s quiet with just the two of you. And not the good quiet, though sometimes it’s nice and peaceful. You’re just both so accustomed to the constant bustle of people. And the only comprisable solution you could come up with, save for moving back in with Haz’s old housemates? Get a dog.

Obviously you want to, you love dogs, but it’s also a bridge to your future.

“Are you ready to go sweetheart?” Haz shouts from the doorway, rustling with his coat, while you’re still in the bedroom.

“Do we have to?” you beg.

“Yeah we do. You want this dog, don’t you?”

“Of course I do... it’s the rest I’m anxious about.”

See, you’ve been conversing with a shelter home for some weeks now, ever since they got an influx of puppies. A big litter of little blighters, separated from their mother and left to die on the side of the road in a damp cardboard box. Thankfully, and by some kind of God-given miracle, they all survived, and many have already been adopted, but your little treasure? You were the only takers. Not that you’re complaining, obviously.

Haz appears in the doorway, his own pea coat fitted to his form perfectly, tailored and tan to suit his complexion. He holds yours out to you and edges closer to your shared bed, made and done up by him.

“I know, baby, but it’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You loose a sigh. “Is there any way we can go in the back way?”

Your own puppy eyes convince him and he kisses you. “I’ll see what I can do. If not, just close your eyes and I’ll lead the way.”

Shelters upset you immensely. How anyone could hurt a dog or abandon it is beyond you, they’re the most precious things ever and need to be protected and adored at all costs. You knew you wanted a rescue dog from the get go, but you’d never be able to bring yourself to actually scour shelters to look for a dog. You just hope this one likes you, or else Haz is gonna have to do it all himself. You can’t face the pleading faces and the imploring eyes and the sadness around the whole place. If you could, you’d buy them all, give them a good, loving home, but you can’t, and that harsh reality leaves a pit in your stomach and a hole in your heart.

“Don’t cry darling.” he coos, kissing your tears away with tender brushes of his lips.

You hadn’t even realised you were crying. How emotional can you be? Today is supposed to be happy, but you’re breaking at the first hurdle. To make the pressures worse, you know that, if you don’t take this little bean, it’ll be put down.

“Come on, it’s a happy day,” he prompts once he realises you’re no longer crying. He stands, shrugs your coat onto you, and pulls you to standing, wrapping his arms around your torso as he sways. “We’re getting a puppy!”

His sheer excitement in his voice brings joy to you too, any doubt being left behind as you sway with hum, holding him close. You’re getting a puppy.

A little more pep is in your step once you stand up, ensuring your hands are adjoined the whole time. Concealing your nerves with excitement is a solid step, so you paint on a happier face than before and clutch him close as you tug him to the front door.

“We’re really doing it, we’re getting a puppy,” you say.

He nods, keying the door open, “That we are. Think we’re ready?”

You almost howl laughing. In many ways, yes. You’re mature people in a committed relationship, you’re both incredibly responsible in all the ways that matter, and know when you need to take the next step or hold back. Getting a puppy is a huge leap, though. But you’ve thought about it, planned for it, prayed for it to work, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t be ready, but it feels like a giant step. In the right direction. That’s all that matters; that, and the fact you’ll love this puppy endlessly.

“Y’know what? Yes. We’ve worked for this.”

“That we have, darling.”

Reaching the car, he places a kiss to the crown of your head. “Conserve your energy, honey. How about I drive?”

“Okay,” you answer, pecking Haz on the lips after he opens your door for you and hovers at your height until you answer him. “That means I can cuddle it on the way home.”

“It’s not an ‘it’, remember?” he chides, but the excitement is evident in his tone and the sparkle in his eyes, “we gave it a name.”

“Bixby, and he’s a boy, I know. How long is the drive?”

You fasten your seatbelt, smiling at him as he limbers into the drivers side. He’s attuned to your subtle mood shifts now, and realises that you’re slipping more from anxiety into anticipation, and he needs to work to keep you there, soothe you so that you don’t cry at the shelter. He’s a gem is Harrison, and you know he’ll be a brilliant dog-dad. It’s a huge part of why you’ve lasted so long together. The second you saw him with Monty, you knew he was a keeper.

After strapping his own seatbelt and manoeuvring the car into gear, he reaches over and curls his fingers around your thigh, pulling on that invisible connection between you, tugging you to look at him.

When you do, he spies that your current happiness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but is in part a façade. Haz loves you, but you’re the damn most sensitive soul he’s ever come across, especially when it comes to animals. The main reason the two of you got your own place was because living with people you weren’t close to took a real toll on you, as it did him—no matter how reluctant he is to admit it, the forced intimacy of it all, so this puppy is a big step to comfort you both and help you settle down to this new walk of life.

Of course the delight is there, of course you’re happy, but your slight snags and worries are visible to him too. “Love you, baby,” he whispers, leaning over to lock your lips together, applying a certain pressure, sucking on your lower lip gently as his hold on your thigh increases.

Once he pulls away, he sees the true you, calm gracing all of your beautiful features so nicely, happiness in your eyes and a wry smile on your lips, no overt anticipation of any kind.

“You can choose the music, yeah?” is all he says, offering you the twitch of a smirk before he’s locking the key into the ignition and you’re off.

You nod, whether he sees it or not, and plug your phone into the radio, allowing yours and Haz’s playlist to stream through the speakers, the melodies wrapping you in their embrace the whole journey.

One thing Haz has learnt through his time with you is that his touch grounds you. No matter what it is, as long as he’s touching you, you’re okay, your breathing regulated, your nervous habits quieted. And though you’ve never outwardly confessed it, his comfort has helped you more times than you’d ever care to admit aloud. He knows this, but no one else needs to.

Once you park up, Harrison leans over to kiss you again, more gently this time. “I’m gonna ask if there’s a way we can get you around the back, okay? Don’t want you getting upset on such a happy day.”

“Thanks babe.”

You peck his lips, but tug away almost instantly, afraid if you don’t, you’ll be here a while. He smiles, and shuts the door behind him, tapping on your window and pulling a silly face as he passes your side of the car. You wait patiently, scribbling down a list off the top of your head of things to buy for the pup. Basket, bowls, toys, mat, brush, collar, lead… you’ve already got a lot of Monty’s old things, puppy baskets he outgrew, his old crate and such like, but you’re adamant that Bixby needs a basket in every room of your place… just in case.

“Hey dreamer,” Haz’s voice snaps you from your reverie, that cute nickname he uses when you drift off into your own little world easing a smile onto your face. “He’s waiting for us, you can come in now.”

You draw your lip between your teeth, and peek over your shoulder to the little puppy holder in the back one last time, filled with a blanket and a cuddly toy. Completely unnecessary, since you plan on holding him, but Haz thought it’d be a good idea nonetheless.

He holds your hand as you tread out of the car, and the whole way into the building, and you’re glad to find a member of staff waiting to greet you with a warm handshake by the back door, happily guiding you inside to the office, more than likely. And there he is, with his big floppy ears and his droopy eyes, sitting on the chair inquisitively, looking like the prince of the palace.

“Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!” you cry, and with little reluctance, you tug away from Haz, bounding over to the puppy.

You know how startled they can get, so you ensure to stop at a safe distance, tentatively holding out your hand for the pupper to let his black nose sniffle at you, before his long pink tongue laps out and licks your hand heartily, a doggy smile breaking across his face as he pants.

“He likes me. Haz, look, he likes me!”

He chuckles, “I can see that, sweetheart.”

You firstly pat at the chestnut-dappled white fur between his ears, stroking his silken fur, before moving down his body, scruffing a little at the rolls of fat there, completely natural for a basset hound-mix. His paws are huge, though, for such a tiny dog, especially considering his stumpy legs.

“Okay, should we settle down and talk about paperwork?” says the kind lady, a completely rhetorical question.

“Come on baby, if we want Bixby to come home with us, we need to fill these forms in, yeah?”

“Yeah babe.” you nod, and glance at the only remaining available chair. “Well, Bixby, it looks like I’ll just have to pick you up. How about that?” you coo.

His tiny tail wags enthusiastically, and he slobbers another kiss to your hand, so you cautiously scoop him up and settle him on your lap once you’ve sat down.

“First of all, we need to remind you that Bixby is the... runt of the litter, and has more significant health issues than other puppies of his breed, requiring more care, including a limp and slight hearing loss in one ear, and he is small for his breed.”

“We know,” you and Harrison answer simultaneously, his one hand occupied with stroking Bixby also.

He’s dealt with business thus far, bringing Bixby blankets from the house to get him used to your scent, meeting him and meeting with the managers, filling out your application forms, making visits to the shelter. It was actually quite a miracle that you were allowed to get a puppy from here, since you both work, but due to Harrison’s schedule as an actor with press and such, he works from and near home a lot, and whenever he’s working away, despite your own job requirements, you’re able to work from home to hold the fort down. So it worked out okay. And with the compromise, they said you met the necessary guidelines to qualify for adoption with one of you almost always at home.

“And he costs £250, but he’s already been vaccinated and microchipped.” she says. You both nod; you’ve already discussed donating a hearty amount to the shelter to keep it afloat, and because Bixby should be worth a damn lot more.

For the rest of the meeting, you zone out rather a lot, only paying attention when you have to sign papers or a cheque, the rest of the time tickling and fussing your new bundle of joy, already so relaxed within your lap. The time seems to whizz by, as before you know it, you’re clambering back into the car, a towel sat over your lap, and Bixby licking happily at your cheeks.

“You know, I showed him a picture of you,” Haz says, smiling wistfully, “the first time I came to visit him. I told him you were my wife and his mum—” he trails off, and darts his eyes to yours, realising what he just blurted out with a dry mouth and knitted brows. “Baby, I didn’t mean—”

“You want to marry me?” you ask, your voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“Of course I do, sweetheart. One day you’re gonna be my wife, and Bixby can be the ring bearer, and everything will work out the way it should, and you won’t be sad anymore.”

“What makes you think I’m sad, babe?”

He raises his thumb to your cheek, capturing a tear before it falls. Again. He’s been stuck doing this a lot.

“Point taken, but for once these are happy tears. I’m just overly sensitive with… everything, but I promise I’m not sad.” Never with Haz, you think. You look down at the puppy, now half asleep, contentedly wagging his tail at a leisurely pace atop your thighs. “This is a happy day, isn’t it?”

“So happy, y/n. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I love you too, so much.”

He smiles, and slowly pulls out of the parking spot, ensuring to drive extra carefully, avoiding even the smallest of potholes on your journey. You keep one eye firmly on Bixby the whole time, but let the other roam your gorgeous boyfriend; the breadth of his shoulders, the veins in his hands, the intricate details in his blue orbs…

“Stop staring,” he whispers, “I can’t focus when you’re looking so pretty.”

You feel yourself flush, and turn your attention back to Bixby wholly, listening to your music as you quietly say, “I’m sorry.”

He says nothing more, but holds your hand over the gear stick the rest of the way.

*

You get a lot of attention in the pet store, carrying around a half asleep puppy with floppy ears the size of your entire face, meaning that your supposedly swift visit is elongated, but you survive, and are packed into the car shortly with everything you needed and more. A few people wanted to take a picture of Bixby, actually, having never seen a puppy basset hound in real life. You let them, leisurely trailing after Harrison as he got everything on your list, only purchasing if it passed Bixby’s sniff test.

Arriving home for the first time as a three is what makes everything seem so real, your heart overflowing with joy as you get out of the car, and walk to your door, and unlock it…

The first patter of paws on your wooden floor lets you know that this is home now, for all of you, as a family. That much is intrinsic.

“We did it. We got a puppy,” you say to Harrison, placing your hand over his chest where his heart steadily beats at a slightly faster pace.

“And we’re going to love him with everything we have.” he responds, kissing you softly, meaningfully, letting only love fill your embrace.

The skitter of Bixby’s claws coming towards you soon brings you back, though, and you begin to introduce him around the house, never once letting go of Haz’s hand. You show him the living room, where a blanket is already laid out on a sofa cushion for him to join you, and then the kitchen where his food bowls and water are, as well as his exit to the garden, and then to your bedroom, where the fluffiest basket you’ve ever seen sits in the corner, covered with swathes of blankets and scattered with toys. Treats already cover the floor all over your home, puppy training pads laid out just in case, and a hook by the front door with a blue lead dangling off it, as well as a tiny coat. Only…

“I didn’t buy this.” you say, spinning to face Haz, Bixby gnawing at his socks, rolling around at your feet.

You point towards the sturdy hook, embellished, engraved with two words. ‘Bixby Osterfield.’

“No, I did. I thought it was a nice surprise for you.”

He answers you as though it’s the most blatant thing in the universe. And really, it is something relatively small, but so thoughtful at the same time, so you open your arms wide, and nuzzle into him.

“Thank you, Haz. For everything. For this, for today, for loving me, for buying me Chinese takeout tonight.”

A laugh rips from him, his face breaking out into a wide smile, raising one hand to clutch at his chest while the other still securely encircles your waist.

“You’re more than welcome, babe. I’ll always love you. But I'm knackered.”

“Oh my God, same,” you breathe, slumping a little into him as you tickle the dog with your toes. “Who knew playing with a puppy would be so tiring?”

A low chuckle resonates from him, but he just holds you tighter, bending down to pick Bixby up as you trail over to the sofa, Haz’s footsteps silent on the glossy parquet floor of your home.

*

It doesn’t take long for you to get settled down, contentment filling you both, alongside ample Chinese food servings, and a fair amount of exhaustion too. Bixby has been with you the whole time, and while Haz sat down first, tugging you into his lap, legs spread wide as he lounged against the cushions a moment later, he ensured to position himself accurately on the ‘L’ shape of your sofa, so you could both reach the tiny snoozing puppy who curled into your side without a second thought.

“I’m glad we got a puppy,” you whisper into the darkness.

Night has come, the day having slipped away, and the movie you had playing is close to rolling its credits. You didn’t close your curtains but instead decided to watch the sun set and the star sparkle in the onyx sky, a stark contrast of beautiful silver, the light mirroring that that Bixby has brought into your lives.

“I am too, babe,” he replies, his nose burying into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, gently kissing your exposed skin, “how about we just settle here tonight?”

“Hmm, good plan,” is all you can muster, already feeling the tug of sleep, one hand on Bixby’s soft silken fur, the other holding Haz’s hand.

This is it, you think to yourself as you drift off, this is your family. Haz and Bixby, both of them snuggling into you, keeping you tethered, bringing you sheer joy. A happy day. All because you got a puppy.

#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield one shot #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield writing #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield fluff #harrison osterfield angst #leo the irregulars

[surlybobbies]

(here’s a late holiday offering for all of you)

deancas, 2.5k, AU, friends to lovers, baby jack

-----

They stopped at a park on the way back to Dean’s apartment. Baby’s trunk was full of gifts, evidence of a successful Christmas shopping trip, and so it was with satisfaction that Dean leaned against the hood of the car and pulled out his burger from the takeout bag.

Cas was similarly content, and they enjoyed each other’s company in silence for a few minutes as they began their meal. At a nearby jungle gym, children threw snowballs at each other from the little flakes of ice they’d been able to scrape together. Dean tried not to watch them too closely - you could never be too careful - but Cas observed them with a furrowed brow.

Apropos of nothing, he said, “How do parents handle the Santa situation?”

Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What do you mean?”

“When would one begin telling a child about Santa? And how does one deal with the inevitable fallout when they realize he isn’t real?”

Dean’s stomach turned a little bit. “You thinkin’ about kids all of a sudden?”

“Not sure,” Cas said, examining his burger and plucking out a piece of onion with his fingers.

Another silence descended. Dean frowned at his meal, his appetite lost.

Meanwhile, Cas plucked out another onion slice. “I don’t think I believed in Santa,” he said eventually. “But I knew about him. I wish I could remember who first told me the tale.”

“I learned about him when I was in middle school,” Dean admitted. “The first time I stayed at one school for more than a few months. Pretty sure by then I was too old to believe.”

Cas lifted his eyes to the playground again. “No doubt at least a few of these children believe in Santa.” He sucked some stray ketchup off his thumb, and Dean had to look away.

“Good for them,” he said. “They should enjoy being kids.”

“In a few years, maybe even this year, their parents are going to have to admit to their lies.”

“It’s harmless,” Dean replied, waving away Cas’s curious stare. “It’s good for ‘em. Teaches ‘em to question things, question motives. Gets ‘em ready for the adult world of backstabbing and lies.”

Cas smiled at him. It was wide and affectionate. “I thought you said they should enjoy being kids?”

Dean bit down on a reflexive smile. “It’s one little thing, alright? Santa’s like - 1% of the kid experience. They’ve got the other 99% to think about - cooler, more important shit.”

“Like what?”

“Like the shit they do on the daily, y’know? If they can con their parents into letting them have candy for breakfast. Or sneaking down at midnight to have some ice cream. Or building a pillow fort. Or stickers. Or farts.”

“Farts?”

“Kids like farts.”

“No one likes farts.”

“You don’t know kids then.”

Cas conceded with a tilt of his head. “You’re right. Maybe they do enjoy farts.”

They finished their burgers and sipped at their sodas. It was when Dean was returning from the trash can that he saw the wistful look on Cas’s face as he listened to the yells and laughter of the kids. He smacked Cas on the arm. “You good?”

Up close, Dean could see the downturn of Cas’s lips. “Just thinking about the future,” Cas said eventually. When he turned to Dean, he was smiling woodenly.

Dean’s gut turned sour again, and he knew himself better than to blame it on the burger. “So you are thinkin’ about kids.”

Cas looked down at his shoes. “I think I might be.”

Dean ran a hand over his chin, then cleared his throat. “Good for you, man. I think you’d be a good dad.”

Cas looked at him. “And you too. You’d be an amazing father.”

The expression on Cas’s face - sincere, soft, affectionate - made Dean’s throat tight. He laughed too loudly. “Hey, listen, when you do have kids, you can tag me in any time, alright?”

The wistfulness had vanished from Cas’s face. He was smiling. “Agreed. I’ll let you handle the Santa situation.”

-----

Cas started fostering Jack a year later, and it was apparent very early on to Dean that fatherhood was Cas’s calling. Yes, he was always tired, and yes, he didn’t have nearly as much time for Dean as he did before, but Jack was thriving and Cas was happy - and because of that, Dean was happy, even if it meant losing Cas’s attention to fatherhood.

Dean’s disappointment was lessened by the fact that Jack quickly became just as attached to Dean as he was to his foster dad, so if Dean spent a few days a week at Cas’s place to “help out with the baby,” no one questioned his motives.

“You ever going to tell him?” Sam asked one day as he and Dean watched Cas carry Jack around Sam’s garden. Jack was a grabby kid, and Cas was constantly having to stop him from putting flowers in his mouth.

Dean didn’t bother asking what Sam was talking about. “He doesn’t need that on his plate right now.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, unconvinced. “So when? When he gives Jack up? You and I both know that’s never happening.”

“Then never,” Dean snapped, even though just the thought of holding it all in for one more day made Dean’s chest feel tight.

Sam ran a hand over his mouth like he was trying to stop himself from saying anything else, but Sam was nothing if not nosy. “We both know never’s not an option. It’s gotta be now, Dean. Or if not now, then soon. You’re already playing house with Cas. Plus there’s a kid involved now - a kid who absolutely adores you - so I hate to say it, but if things have to go south, it has to happen before Jack’s any older.”

Dean stared at Sam. “That’s fucked up, Sammy.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know this already,” Sam said, though his tone was gentle. “I’m just saying out loud what you don’t want to admit.”

Cas was approaching with Jack, so Dean didn’t respond.

“I apologize,” Cas said to Sam. “Jack might have destroyed a few blooms.” He opened his palm and offered the crushed red blooms up for inspection. It could have been Dean’s bloody heart for how much he was hurting.

It was obvious that Sam was still watching Dean out of the corner of his eye, but he spared a smile and a tummy tickle for Jack. “No harm done, little guy.”

-----

Dean knew Sam was right, knew that for Jack’s sake, his two de facto parents needed to be on the same page about what they were to each other - but there was never a good time to bring it up. Was Dean supposed to just spill his heart out onto the dining room table with Jack’s sliced fruit? He contemplated asking Sam for advice, but 1) Dean did not want nor would he accept any pity from his little brother and 2) Sam was busy getting ready for his wedding.

So Dean, Cas, and Jack went on with their lives - separate but hopelessly intertwined, and all Dean could do was lie awake at night hoping that when the time came, he’d be able to make sense of the mess of tangled knots they’d created.

-----

Jack made the cutest ring bearer. Cas was a groomsman, but he’d asked to escort Jack up the aisle, and Sam and Eileen had loved the idea. Dean had loved the idea too, mostly because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to stomach the sight of Cas walking down the aisle in his smartly-tailored suit, arm-in-arm with Eileen’s cousin Sara. In the moment, however, Dean loved the idea simply because Cas was incandescent, smiling widely down at Jack, holding Jack’s hand as the toddler took his too-big, unsteady steps down the garden path.

At the end of the walk, when Cas had deposited Jack safely with Gabriel in the front row, he took his place by Dean’s side.

Dean couldn’t help but smile at him, helpless with affection. “I’m happy for you, Cas,” he said, just as the guests stood up to welcome the bride.

Cas ducked his head bashfully, but he put a hand on Dean’s back in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

-----

Cas cornered him at the reception, where Dean was lurking at the edges of the dance floor. “Can we talk?” he said, leaning in to be heard over the music.

Dean had two servings of whiskey in him. “Always, Cas.”

Cas looked him oddly, but he said nothing. He led Dean away from the reception tent (where Gabriel and Garth were taking turns to dance with Jack in their arms) and stopped when they were far enough away to hear each other without yelling.

Cas was pink-cheeked from champagne, his hair was a mess, and Dean was so in love with him it hurt. “What do you need?” he asked, because concentrating on what Cas needed kept Dean from focusing on what Dean wanted.

“I thought I should tell you before it gets any farther in the proceedings - I’ve started the formal process of adopting Jack.”

Dean’s heart was full to bursting. He swallowed down a sudden urge to cry. “That’s great news, man,” he said, pulling Cas into a rough hug. “Congratulations!”

Cas’s arms wrapped tight around Dean, his chin hooked over Dean’s shoulder. There was a telltale sniff at his ear, so Dean just held on tighter to his best friend.

When Cas drew away a minute later, his nose was red. He kept his hands at Dean’s elbows. “I’ve asked so much of you already - “

“Stop right there,” Dean said, shaking his head, “because that’s not true. Whatever I did, I did because I wanted to. Because I’d do anything for that kid.”

Cas looked at Dean so tenderly it made Dean’s throat tight. “And I’m so grateful for that, Dean. You’ve been the best support I could have asked for.” Cas looked down, his eyebrows furrowing. The hands at Dean’s elbows tightened. “But I have to ask of you one more thing.”

There was no universe out there where Dean would have refused Cas anything. “Spit it out, Cas.”

“If something were to happen to me,” Cas said, eyes brimming, “would you take him in?”

Dean took hold of Cas’s elbows too, a reassurance that Cas was still there in front of him, still alive, still breathing. “Cas, you’re going to be kicking for a long time. Jack will have grandbabies before you check out.”

Cas smiled softly. He indulged Dean. “Still, if I should go before you - “

Helpless, absolutely wrecked, Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sammy had just gotten married to the best woman on Earth a few hours prior. A few yards away, the people Dean loved were dancing to “The Cha-Cha Slide.” And now Cas was asking Dean to take on the biggest honor of his life in the same sentence that Cas was talking about his inevitable death. Dean’s eyes welled up.

Cas touched Dean’s face for a brief moment. “I’m sorry to do this to you.”

Dean swiped at his eyes stubbornly. “Cas, I meant it when I said I’d do anything for that kid. If he ever loses you, he’s going to have me. Don’t even think about apologizing for that.”

“Thank you,” Cas said. There were tears on his cheeks too. “That makes me feel less scared of the future.”

Dean sniffed. He straightened Cas’s tie. “But hey, no takebacks, alright? Even if you go and get yourself hitched, I’m not giving Jack up.”

Cas’s mouth lifted at the corner, but Dean knew it was just for show. “I don’t think marriage is in the cards for me, Dean,” Cas admitted.

It was the way Cas looked at him that made Dean remember what Sam had said a few months before. If Dean was ever going to say something, it had to be right at this moment.

“Listen, Cas,” Dean said, clearing his throat, “now that we know Jack’s gonna be sticking around, you should know something.”

The hands at Dean’s elbows tightened again. “Tell me,” Cas said, his eyes growing worried. He stepped closer, studying Dean’s face.

Dean was crying again, and he despised it. “I’m in love with you,” he said. He was terrified, anxious, and angry with himself at the same time. “So if that changes things - if you want me to fuck off and never talk to you or Jack again - now’s the time to tell me.”

Cas took a shaky breath. He cradled Dean’s face. “My love,” he murmured, eyes warm though they were still brimming with tears. “Love of my life.”

Dean almost laughed. Incredulous, he asked, “What? Who, me?”

Cas kissed him. It tasted like salt, and Dean was still crying, and honestly he had no idea what was happening, but Cas was patient with him, kissing his cheek when Dean did nothing but stare.

He drew back after the first few seconds, smiling despite Dean’s shock. “Yes, you,” he confirmed. His hands went to Dean’s tie. His voice was thick when he spoke again. “So no, in case it isn’t obvious, I do not want you to ‘fuck off.’”

This had not been what Dean was expecting. Tentatively, he touched Cas’s face, just a brush of fingers against Cas’s cheek, not bothering to hide his amazement when Cas smiled at him.

“Kind of slow on the uptake,” Cas said. His nose was still pink. “Maybe I should be in charge of Jack’s studies.”

It hit Dean all at once. Cas was his. Jack was his. Everything he’d ever wanted in this world was his. He kissed Cas properly this time.

-----

They returned to the reception a few minutes later. Eileen, upon seeing Cas’s glossy eyes and pink nose, instinctively grabbed a butter knife to throw at Dean’s throat, but Sam tugged her arm down and pointed at Dean and Cas’s joined hands.

The pair mingled with the guests hand-in-hand for most of the night, only letting go to pick up Jack and swing him between them.

Later on, in the parking lot, with Jack asleep in his car seat and buckled safely in the back seat of the Impala, Cas turned to Dean, who had his arm around Cas’s waist.

Cas smiled at him. He said two words: “Marry me.”

Dean didn’t know how he had any tears left in him. “Jesus. Give a guy a break,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Earlier I said marriage wasn’t in the cards for me,” Cas explained, smiling widely, apparently pleased that he was making Dean cry so much. “I don’t want you to misunderstand - it’s in the cards if it’s you.”

Dean touched his forehead to Cas’s, so happy he could barely get any words out. “Cas, you know it’s a yes.”

-----

Jack was five years old and came home from kindergarten with a coloring sheet of Santa. Cas looked at Dean, mouth thin. “I’m tagging you in,” he said, then left the room.

“Can we see Santa at the mall, dad?” Jack asked, tongue between his teeth as he scribbled with his crayon.

Dean put a hand on Jack’s back. “Sure, bud,” he said. “You can tell him what you want for Christmas.”

He pulled out his phone. You’re dealing with the tooth fairy, he texted Cas.

Fine. You talk to him about the Easter Bunny then.

-----

Hope you liked it! I only ask that you do me one favor if you did - go and read my most recent fic on ao3 - I posted it at a dumb time and wish more people could see it. 

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #holiday fic #friends to lovers #kc fic

[holykillercake]

Red String

𝕊ℍ𝔸ℕ𝕂𝕊 𝕏 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕖!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

word count: 2.8k

summary: You had any place in the world to moor, a stable and safe summer paradise somewhere in the South Blue, or you could visit the winter island where cherry blossoms painted the freezing horizon pink. The world was on the menu, and yet you chose to break into a Yonko territory.

highlight:  ¨What about you, Y/N? Will you try to put your hands on me?¨ 

warning: Look out for your arm, it might melt with the fluff.

notes: Hi, guys! This was an anon request for Shanks x Marine Reader. I was given the freedom to write whatever I wanted, so I hope you guys like it! <3 Dear, anon, I apologize for the time it took and I hope you read it! 

𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤, 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖!

¨I have to say, not a usual place for a Vice Admiral to enjoy a vacation.¨ a smirk bent your lips as you heard the playful voice of the man who courted you with another drink. 

¨Well, I´m no usual Vice Admiral.¨

¨No one doubts that.¨ He put the sword on the table and pulled a chair, sitting close to you. ¨You have grown, Y/N.¨

¨You have aged.¨

¨Oi, not very nice. You hurt my feelings.¨ the red-haired placed the hand on his chest, over the heart, faking an offended tone. 

¨Mission accomplished.¨ 

You stared at each other for about four seconds before breaking into laughter. As always, Shanks was louder, banging his fist on the wooden table and vocalizing his amusement to anyone who had ears to hear. 

¨It´s been a long time, Y/N.¨ he wheezed, still recovering from his overreaction.

¨Yes, it has, Red hair.¨

¨Red hair? Really? I mean, you tried to kill me way too many times already. You gotta call me by my name.¨ You chuckled, sipping your drink. ¨Especially when you´re at my house.¨

You grinned, shaking your head and biting your lip. Of course, the bastard would not let this opportunity slip. 

After years of non-stop hard work, you received a few weeks off duty. That meant that the world could split open, the moons could fall into the atmosphere followed by the sun, and you would not have to move a single finger.  

Issho-san would handle that better in any way. 

You had any place in the world to moor, a stable and safe summer paradise somewhere in the South Blue, or you could visit the winter island where cherry blossoms painted the freezing horizon pink. The world was on the menu, and yet you chose to break into a Yonko territory. 

However, the Yonko in question was more than just an Emperor of the Sea. Your lives entangled at a very young age when the Pirate King was still alive, and Garp had melanin left in his hair. 

You were just two snotty brats fighting your Captains´ battles. 

¨Anyway,¨ he chugged his drink and asked for another one. ¨I missed you in Marineford.¨ 

¨Well, I guess I missed Marineford myself. Had a good view, though.¨ you answered nonchalantly. 

¨What do you mean?¨

¨I had an underling transmit me the whole thing.¨

¨Isn´t that handy?¨

You tried not to laugh. It was stupid, but every time you had Shanks and hand in the same sentence, you felt the urge to laugh.

¨I wanted to see Luffy.¨ you said.

¨Why not go there, then?¨

¨Duty called somewhere else.¨ you shrugged. ¨Besides, I would have been no help for him.¨

¨You´re saying you wouldn´t help him?¨ Shanks carried a suspicious tone in his voice.

¨Of course I wouldn't help him.¨ You took a sip of your drink. ¨But thanks... for stopping that madness.¨ 

The man casually stretched his arms above his head, tilting his head back, enjoying the warm sun.

¨No biggie. You owe me another one, and we should be fine.¨ he smiled.

¨Who´s counting?¨

¨I am.¨ 

¨I already stopped hunting you, Shanks. Isn´t that enough?¨

¨Not on my book, Y/N.¨

For a long portion of your life, you had a personal mission to give the Red Hair the same fate as his Captain. Whenever his crew was located, you would be the one hunting them. No one dared to tell you otherwise. 

By that time, you had no significant position. Maybe a Lieutenant, Captain tops. But being related to the Hero of the Marines, well, that granted you some free passes, and as long as you could hand Shanks´head in a tray, a little nepotism didn´t bother you. 

Actually, although everyone saw you as Garp´s relative, you were just his first protegé, his first rescued dog. Apparently, the highly ranked officers were going through boring times and decided to pay their dues by doing charity.

The only one you got to know was Sengoku´s kid. Rosinante was his name. To this very day, you could not think of him without the twist in your heart. 

Even you didn´t know how to describe it, and honestly, you didn´t care. Was the job done at the end of the day? Good. 

That was all that mattered until another pawn entered the game, a very troublesome one, by the way. Slept like a rock and ate all your food. You couldn´t help but fall in love with little Monkey D. Luffy. 

He was the one to give you the answer you had stopped looking for a while ago.

In order to be his older sister, you had to be Garp´s granddaughter. Everyone loved the idea, except for the man himself. 

You were as keen as Garp to make Luffy become a great Marine. You bought him tailor-made marine onesies and shared stories about the seas. Whenever he spotted you approaching with the leather book in your hands, he would get restless. 

The onesies, however, those never lasted. They were thrown in a boiling dumpster altogether with your dream of him joining you in a job one day.

The sun was about to set, and you had just returned from a long and intricate mission when you received a call from Makino saying that Luffy had gotten into some trouble. 

Not only that, The Red Hair Pirates were somehow involved. It was all you heard before hanging off the den den mushi and hopping in a Marine ship, headed to Foosha Village.  

The idea of Shanks causing Luffy any pain or just giving him a hard time made you turn into a beast. But your bloodshot eyes were washed clean by the image of your brother, safe and sound, hanging out with Red Hair, who seemed rather... different. 

¨Why would you do that?! What do you want, Red Hair?!¨ 

A lot of things went through your head, but none of them could explain why a pirate, why him, would sacrifice his arm to save Luffy. There was no way he didn´t know about your little brother´s connections. 

¨I want to pay you a drink. But only if you stop yelling.¨ 

With a swing of his hand and a smile, Makino appeared with a jug of beer before you could spit fire on him again. 

¨They´ve been really good at keeping Luffy entertained this past year, Y/N-san.¨ she said, kind as usual, before leaving.

You sighed and took a seat by his side. 

¨Why did you do that?¨

¨I bet on his life. Just that. Why is that a problem? You don´t want to feel grateful for a pirate?¨ 

Your grip tightened around the cold glass, teeth clenching and knuckles turning white. 

¨No.¨

Gratitude was never the problem. You would be grateful to anyone who risked their lives for Luffy, but he... you needed to hate him. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn´t get yourself to do it. 

¨I don´t want you thinking that I owe you anything.¨

¨You don´t have to owe me anything, Y/N. But we´ve known each other for a while now, so... we both know that you will.¨ 

His lips turned into an honest smile, no teasing behind it, and you wished not to have your heart beating faster for it. 

¨You don´t kn-¨

¨Y/N!¨ Luffy entered the bar, running to you with the brightest of the smiles on his face.¨Are you done? I have to show you something!¨ he asked, pulling the fabric of your coat.

¨Oi, behave Luffy, I´ll be done in-¨

¨Nooo!¨ he pouted before turning to the opposite side and pulling one of his impish grins ¨Look what I can do! Gomu gomu no...¨ 

His tiny hand balled into a fist, which you watched stretch all the way to the opposite side of the room before coming back and hitting him in the face. 

Did his arm just...      

The air froze in the room. You blinked a couple of times, hearing a few gasps around the bar, your gaze fixed in the same place his hand was seconds ago.

¨Luffy-kun, why don´t you come outside with me?¨ Makino extended her hand for him to take. ¨I´ll bring some meat.¨

The kid screamed in excitement and followed her, drool dripping down his chin. 

So close, Shanks. So close. He thought, lowering his head on the counter and waiting to get chewed up. However, after a few unscathed seconds, the red-haired lifted his head, almost not believe his eyes. 

That was the first and last time you bowed to a pirate. 

Of course, later on, you punched him for letting Luffy eat a Devil Fruit. 

You swore to leave him and his crew alone, as long as they did not cause bigger problems, which they eventually did, but you had a debt you could never pay, and you ended up focusing on other things. 

Those things made it difficult for you to visit Luffy as much as you wanted, but since Garp had sent him to live with Dadan, you could sleep with a clean consciousness. 

Whenever you paid him visits, he would tell you about these other kids, whom he considered brothers. One you got to meet, Sabo, smart and polite. The other, however, ran from you like you were a freaking plague. 

Ace, another one with whom you had an inestimable debt. 

¨Humor me, Y/N. If not Foosha, why here?¨

You shrugged.

¨I was passing by, and the place seemed quite enjoyable.¨ 

¨Hm.¨ the wind blew stronger, turning the gentle swishing of the palm trees into a harsher rustling. ¨Should I get my men ready for a conflict?¨

¨Relax, Shanks. Right now, this is the safest place on earth.¨

¨What do you mean?¨ he asked, genuinely curious. 

¨Oh, come on.¨ you scoffed. ¨Not even the World Government will try to put their hands on you, and I´ll kill anyone who dares to ruin my vacation.¨

¨What about you, Y/N? Will you try to put your hands on me?¨ 

His gaze was heavy on you, conquering aura filling the place. You looked at him with narrowed eyes and a smirk growing on your lips. 

This guy...

You harnessed the moment to take in his features, a lot more mature than you remembered. Although the scars were deeper and he seemed more tired, his hair shone like fresh blood, and his eyes... you were afraid to drown in them. 

¨What would you do if I decided to put my hands on you?¨ you bit your lip. ¨I heard you´ve been terrorizing some kids lately.¨

¨Gotta give them a run for their bounties, right?¨ He laughed. ¨But I also heard some interesting things about you, Y/N.¨

You raised your eyebrows as if you were encouraging him to tell you more. 

¨Apparently, I´m not the only one spending recreational time with young pirates. And there I thought Marines weren´t supposed to hunt Warlords of the Sea.¨

A shiver ran down your body, already aware of the subject he was about to bring up.

¨Well, I have no idea what you´re talking about.¨ You said, giving him your best oblivious eyelash bat. 

¨Oh yeah? Because it was brought to my attention that you made some business with... what´s his name again?¨ he pretended exaggeratedly to think about it ¨Ah, Trafalgar Law.¨

¨Only time I spoke to him, he was a Warlord as well. And I just wanted to thank him for helping Luffy in Marineford.¨

¨You´re gonna start lying to me at this point of our relationship?¨ Shanks teased to eager a bit of the tension, and a scoff left your mouth.

¨First, you´re delusional. Second, you´re too nosey for your own good.¨ 

The two of you laughed along like you were not natural enemies.

¨Did you get to meet Luffy in Dressrosa? Heard they made an alliance.¨

¨Hm, yeah. But no, couldn´t get myself to do it.¨

You frowned, hurting for have had your little brother so close but not being brave enough to approach him. Good thing he had no idea about your presence in the scene, and you could trust Law´s discretion to keep it that way. 

¨He doesn´t hate you, you know.¨

¨Yeah, I know...¨

That was true. Luffy didn´t hate you for not helping him in Marienford, just like he didn´t hate Garp for standing in his way. He had too big of a heart for that. 

Shanks let you have your time in silence, empathizing with your feelings. He too had to make sacrifices by standing his ground before.

¨What now?¨ he asked.

¨What now?¨ 

¨Garp is retired. Joker is down. What´s holding you back?¨

The air got stuck in your lungs. The reality you had been running from, the question for which you postponed to find an answer. 

When Garp took you in, the alternatives available for you were restricted, to say the very least. It was either accept the kindness of a stranger or die. He taught you his trade and molded you into one of the best-skilled marines. 

As the time passed and you learned the ugly truth behind the World Government, the disgust and disbelief made you want to leave. Fortunately, your life was not stained by the passage of a Celestial Dragon, but how were you supposed to protect them, aware of the atrocities they afflicted to people?

At the same time, how could you leave Garp after everything he did for you? Of course, he would survive if you disappointed him that much, but you owed him your life. 

What made you stay, however, was something much less pleasant than a lifetime debt. Thirteen years ago, evil prevailed, and you lost something really important. Or rather, someone. 

Commander Donquixote Rosinante. Marine code 01746. 

He had a sense of justice like no one else. He was strong, honest, and fair. Did he make you want to pull your hair out every time he lit himself on fire? Yes. Did it bother you to have stains on your tatami because he dropped hot tea on it? Yes. He possessed the ability to get you on your nerves, but he was your family. 

You were supposed to be the greatest. 

Long story short, that night, at Swallow Island, you left with more than just his dead body. You inherited his will. 

You swore to take down the man responsible for shortening his life, and hopefully, in a later day, you could meet the little boy about whom he spoke so highly. 

It took you thirteen years. No more ties of the past, no more strings on you. 

Well, just one, if you were to be entirely honest with yourself. A string of a stupid tale, a nonsense legend, a foolish myth. The Thread of Destiny, supposed to connect two people together. They say the thread may stretch or tangle, but it shall never break. 

Bullshit. There´s no such a thing. 

But assuming that there was, why did you feel that if you pulled it to its very end, what you would find would be red as well? 

Red as the vest Luffy wore diligently; red as the nose of a cranky apprentice; red as the pompous sails of the Oro Jackson; red as the locks of the man capable of stopping wars with words.

Would you dare to be anything else? Could you step out of your own life like this? Could you abandon everything you fought for all these years? 

¨You know, I´ve said it in the past, but I´ll say it again. We could use someone like you in our crew.¨ 

You gave him a two-second smirky scoff before frowning again. 

Were you worthy enough to owe yourself the chance to choose? What did it mean, the justice coat of a Vice Admiral you carried so proud on your shoulders?

If piracy took a lot from you in the past, could piracy, or a pirate, give you everything back? 

¨Y/N?¨

¨Hm?¨ You hummed, gaze locked on the lethargic view. 

Hot puffs of air played with your hair and involved your skin in a warm hug. You could hear the gentle sound of the waves crashing on the shore, coastal birds cooing and the wind whistling over the rocks. 

¨Do you think, maybe, one day... I could ask you out?¨

No matter how many times you rewound the tape, you couldn´t find a different answer, a plausible reason for the burning feeling you held for him, whatever that meant. 

From the first time you put your eyes on each other, a contract was opened without even a handshake. A deal was set without your acknowledgment. An ironic fate tied you to the same string. 

¨Yeah... maybe.¨

#one piece #opfanfic #shanks #red hair shanks #yonko #emperors of the sea #Marines #vice admiral #monkey d luffy #op