only better if it was a bats shirt

Got7: returning their shirt when it doesn’t smell like them anymore

Mark:  is just dumbfounded when you thrust the missing shirt into his hands one day when he’s chilling w/ the guys. “So YOU stole my shirt!!!!!” was about to throw a fit bc you didn’t tell him, but now he’d wish you stole it again bc the sight of you pouting is too cute for his heart to handle. “Okay okay, how about you steal one of my colognes and bathe the shirt in it? Yeah? Sound like a plan? :)))”

Jaebum:  since he was the one who offered you keep the shirt for yourself, he was high key offended. He’s all like “so what if it doesn’t smell like me anymore? u hang around me enough to smell like me urself so thanks for breaking my heart y/n.” 

Jackson:  smiles like an idiot bc who else would think of actually returning their boyfriend’s shirt besides you tbh. Low key offended, so he tries to sneak the shirt back in your closet after he accepts it from you. “Y/n, u know u can’t just walk into my closet and steal whatever you want, I mean like I’ll give u all my clothes but like-”

Jinyoung:  lmao he might do something petty like take a shirt from you, wash it repeatedly, and then return it and say the same “doesn’t smell like ur perfume anymore, sorry I’m not satisfied w/ this.” Tbh he just doesn’t see why it was such a problem bc you looked better in all his shirts than he does, so he’ll persuade you into wearing his clothing items again.

Youngjae:  poor puppy “but :( you looked so cute wearing it :( I swear I’ll never wash it again :(” honestly he’s noticed this habit of yours since you started dating, like casually returning his clothes after a week or two. He’d just smile and kiss your temple……… also calls you out bc he knows you’d still wear it if he was doing promotions and you couldn’t see him.

Bambam:  won’t even bat an eye, only bc he does the same when it comes to the clothes and blankets you lend him. Hides his face in embarrassment if you’d do this in front of the other members tho, he tries so hard being the best boyfriend to you so you’d cause him a lot of teasing and poking at.

Yugyeom:  DRAMA QUEEN “u don’t want my shirt anymore? u don’t love me anymore is that it? is it bc I told Jackson u had ticklish feet?” I mean he genuinely doesn’t understand why you’d give it back to him when you begged to take it w/ you to sleep in it. Now he makes sure to drench his shirts and sweaters in cologne just in case you’d ask for another thing.

Originally posted by pinkhoodiemark

a mafia!sehun scenario pt.1 

(a combination of angst, smut and fluff. You have been warned.)

… … … … … … … … .  … …… … …  … … … … . 

Your red tartan shirt bristles behind you as you march, furious, towards the dancing neon lights that adulterate the street ahead of them. Kyungsoo had gone out. Again. Barley a week after promising to become less involved in mafia business and he’d slipped away from your shared apartment the second your back had been turned. Your brother’s lack of sincerity hurt, but what really fuelled your rage was the greater, heart-rendering betrayal you’d stumbled upon not an hour ago. Your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend, with his face buried between another’s woman legs. For weeks you’d suspected him of an affair, but to have it materialized in front of you had been too much to handle. You’d cried angry, shameful tears and stumbled home, in hopes of finding your older brother’s comfort and warmth. Instead, the house was cold and empty, and the nearest trace of your beloved big brother was a scrawled apology on a ripped piece of paper.

So yeah, you were pissed. And you weren’t about to let Kyungsoo get away with it. You knew how often he frequented this club, though you’d never actually visited it in person before, and that it was a place his gang would often strike deals with neighbouring groups.

You knew very little about Kyungsoo’s group, mostly because he refused to tell you anything or ever let you meet with any of the members. Not that you were exactly pleading for him to let you. He knew how much you hated that part of his life – the gangs, the money, the fights. You had no idea in what the hell he was involved in, but you knew it wasn’t even a little bit legal. He’d come home bloodied and bruised so many times that you were coming to be pretty handy with the makeshift doctor’s kit you kept underneath the kitchen sink. But no matter how many times you would complain about how this life was hurting him, he’d always simply reaffirm the same, undeniable truth – you needed the money. At which point, your yelling would abruptly cease, as you could offer no worthy response – he was right, you really, really needed the money.

You think however, slamming through the club’s dingy doors, that you’re not completely clueless about this part of Kyungsoo’s life. He’ll occasionally let slip some crucial piece of information that you’ve built up a fairly solid background. His gang – exo – run your area. They’re a group of 9 men and you think perhaps the leader was.. Suho, was it? Something like that. But you know that while they’re in control of the local area, they are not the absolute power at the front of it. They’re one of many gangs that help control the whole of Seoul for the big boss. That’s what you’ve taken to calling them, since Kyungsoo absolutely refuses to disclose any clues about their identity. You’re not aware of much else, other than that exo has had to regularly defend their territory lately, so Kyungsoo had been coming home more bloodied and bruised than ever. It worried you to no extent, but you knew that he would never leave his gang. Because as much as you were his sister, they were all his brothers, and his level of devotion to them ran deep. But he had swore he would spend less time out on these jobs, and the clear disregard for your wishes stung deep.

The club seems so busy that the walls themselves vibrate. Everywhere you turn, people slam against one another with shuddering fervour, and more than once you are jostled violently to the side. Craning your neck, you hope to catch a glimpse of Kyungsoo’s dark hair in the crowd, but with this many people and the twitching purple lights, it’s impossible to see. Your fists clench as you attempt to  reign in your growing anger and, thinking you see an opening in the middle of the floor, you push towards it.

It takes a considerable time, but eventually you manage to squirm your way to the forefront of the crowd. In the middle of the floor, two boys dance opposite each other, mirroring the other’s moves in a routine like motion. Around them, the partygoers cheer ferociously and stomp their feet to the beat of the mismatched song. You sigh irritably and scan around the room. From this angle, you realize there is a seating area above the floor. It trails around the room with a number of plush purple comforters at different points, tables situated between them. You growl, realizing this is Kyungsoo’s likely location.

Your attention is drawn back to the boys for a moment as the audience’s approval rears up once again in thunderous applause. You cringe slightly, and then realize it is because the floor beneath them has opened up and is now sprouting water, soaking their clothes.

And yes, you’re angry, very much so, but, well you know how to appreciate a nice view, alright? You’re so lost in the fluidity of the dance for a moment, the stark contrast of the boy’s physiques and their opposing blonde and black hair that you fail to realize everyone around you has moved back, and that you are a definite two paces in front of the crowd with water sloshing at your ankles, impatient shouts ringing at your ears.

Cursing at your own mindless ogling, you try to take advantage of the situation and glance up to see if you can better see Kyungsoo. However, as your eyes drift upwards, they connect with the blonde boy in front of you. His movements have paused, realizing your stance, and he seems to be assessing you, almost. His hair, wet and tousled, bats impatiently around his forehead, only lightly obscuring his dark eyes. The water drips untroubled down the long bridge of his nose and puckering over his full lips, before leading a dangerous path towards his lean and open chest. His attire, you note, leads very little to imagine, with his white shirt soaked through and ripped open, and his dark jeans equally distressed, clinging tight to his skin.

You snap out of your undignified gawking and clear your throat awkwardly, realizing he is smirking at you.

You’ve never been very good at holding the gaze of people so attractive they make your eyes hurt, so you look down immediately, blushing darkly. You hurry to stumble back into the safety of the crowd, but just as you begin to move, so does he. Suddenly, he seems to barrel towards you, as in, literally right towards you so that he is practically running at the crowd. Your eyes widen in considerable shock and you’re hurrying to distance yourself when he leaps into the air, twisting his limbs in a stance that frankly seems both unnatural and dangerous when-

He lands at your feet, on his knees, with his head hanging in front of you. The crowd roars their approval and, running his hands through his hair, he turns to look up at you, grinning this time. His boldness shocks you, though you can’t deny how attractive the sudden confidence is. You’re on the verge of grinning back when your eyes flick south again and realize the red ink on his shirt. Your eyes darken as you take it in, recognizing the same mark on Kyungsoo’s jacket at home. You know exactly what type of mark that is.

Of course. A man lands literally on his knees in front of you and he too, is involved in the mafia. What a blessed, blessed day.

Your interest evaporates instantly and you sigh audibly as he stands, especially when you realize his frame dwarfs your own. He blinks down at you, body still very, very close to your own and quirks an eyebrow at your admittedly not very club like attire.

“Enjoy the show?” He asks, eyes crinkled in a half smile as he leans down slightly.

You match his eyebrow quirk with your own and reaching your hand up, flick some of the water from his performance at his face.

“I’ve seen better.”

Over his shoulder you finally catch a glimpse of your traitorous brother, laughing loudly in a booth with a red haired man in front of him. Your earlier feelings of anger are quickly recalled at the sight, and glowering at the image, you shoulder roughly past the still-smirking man in front of you and slosh loudly through the water stage. You catch the grin of his dark haired partner as you do so, but make no effort to return such niceties – you are much, much too angry for that.

You land in front of your brother will a dull thud, water dripping from your jeans. He and the men around him turn to look at you in interest, but this quickly turns into panic as Kyungsoo realizes who it is standing, glowering in front of him.


“What the actual fuck Kyungsoo?”

He stumbles around to exit the booth and the members around him seem shocked at your tone. If you were perhaps calmer, more in control of your rational sense, you would perhaps note that these people around him are the infamous exo gang and have absolutely no clue as to who or what you are, or what you are doing.

“Y/n, calm down-“

“Don’t you dare!” You growl, snatching away from him as he attempts to placate your flailing limbs. In the process, your hand reaches up and strikes against his cheek, and though the men behind him make small sounds of outcry, he only stares at you.  

“You promised me, you promised-“ Your voice continues to raise as your hysteria does, and now not only him, but the men around him reach forward to steady you.

“Little sister, you’re making a scene.” He mutters quietly, latching onto your wrist, a slight red blossoming on his cheek.

Little sister? D.O, what’s going on?” From behind him a tall man asks, taking you in quietly. You glare at him in response, and his gaze hardens.

D.O? D.O? Is that what they call you here?” You hiss. “Is this who you are, D.O?” You question sarcastically and his grip on your wrist tightens.

He leans toward you darkly, ignoring the questioning shouts of the men behind him.

“This is not a place for you, y/n. Go. Home.” He punctuates his last two words harshly, though you see the quick scan he does behind you and realize faintly, that a small crowd has gathered to spectate. Still, unwilling to back down, your matching dark eyes challenge his.

“Go with me.”

You realize that you have laid out a very clear and obvious choice in front of him, and so does he. His eyes widen slightly at what you appear to be asking of him, but you refuse to submit to the hurt that blossoms there. He watches you for a few moments longer before sighing angrily and releasing your wrist so abruptly that it seems to fling across the small space between you. He backs away from you and stands in front of the men in front of him, closer to them than he is to you.

“Who’s the girl, D.O?” Someone asks from behind you and turning slightly, you realize a much larger crowd has gathered than you originally expected. You turn back to your brother, your palms clenched tightly together. He’s turned his back on you, leaning close to the tall man from earlier, who continues to stare at you tensely.

“She’s nothing.” Kyungsoo replies simply and, looking out across the crowd, smiles sardonically, rolling his eyes.

“As if I would associate with the likes of her.”

The crowd titters in cruel excitement behind you and hot, angry tears spring to your eyes. You scoff in disbelief and wonder how the situation escalated from bad, to worse.

He looks back at you once more and there’s a regretful understanding in his eyes, an almost tug in his limbs that make it seem as though he wants to approach you, but confirmed with a certainty that he won’t.

Overwhelmed with hurt, you turn on him and weave through the crowd who, having just witnessed your utter humiliation seem willing to leave room for your escape. This, small mercy you suppose you can appreciate.

Bursting out the doors of the club, you let out a sudden, feral scream. The hinges of the doors trickle shut behind you, but you ignore it, squatting to your knees and taking your head in your palms, willing the tears to stop.

You can’t believe Kyungsoo would willingly treat you this way. For a long time you’d regarded your brother as the one person in the world you felt you could rely wholly upon, who you were sure would never break or abuse your trust the way he had only moments ago. Your anger, while still present, is overwhelmed by the hurt of your brother’s disloyalty and your own humiliation at his hands.

Your inner monologue is interrupted as the doors once again swing open behind you. Initially, you take no interest in the likely drunk trespasser, expecting them to perhaps vomit in the muddy patch across from you before then stumbling back inside. Instead, slow, careful steps click against the pavement next to you and, spreading your fingers slightly, you realize a group of 3 men or so have come to gather around you.

You stop crying, and raise your head slightly. One directly ahead of you, one at each side. Your breath comes in quick, sudden gasps but you figure this is probably a good thing. They will not expect much of a girl who looks afraid.

(Though, you figure it’s probably important to note that you are very, very afraid anyway.)

A man with a dark suit, dark hair and darker eyes grins sardonically down at you. A cigarette dangles precariously from his lips and after a moment, he draws in a breath that seems almost laborious and crushes it under the heel of his shoe. He makes the sudden twist of his foot seem intimidating, and though he seems keen to maintain a supposed easy going stance, every inch of him stands firm and calculating.

After a moment’s pause, he squats down in front of you and pulls your hands away from your face, keeping them still in his palms. His hands are cold.

“And who might you be?” His words are smooth and clear, ringing out across the suddenly empty street.

Fighting hard to maintain a facade that doesn’t show how intimidated you have become, you raise your head higher, looking him dead in the eye.

“No one to you.” Your response is casual, cool, the opposite of what you feel in the moment.

He hums, the pressure on your wrists increasing slightly.

“No one to D.O either, apparently.”

You lose your composure for half a second, anger slipping through your eyes and he clicks his tongue, smiling.

“Ah, so sorry. Too soon?” His head tilts to side, mocking arrogance dripping from his every feature – the twist of his lips, the slight crinkle of his crescent eyes. Your fear is evident, but quickly overwhelmed by the irritation this man’s presence inspires.

“Is there a point to you speaking, or is it just that no one else wants to listen?”

The men to the side of you let out little chuckles, and he himself seems delighted by your notable indignation.

“Awfully brave thing to say of a girl who’s hands won’t stop shaking.” He holds up your trembling fingers as though to prove his point, loosely combining them with his for a second.

“It’s because I don’t find you attractive. I tend to get uncomfortable when ugly men insist of touching me.”

The men next to you really are laughing now, and though the man in front of you smiles still, he squeezes his fingers into your own harshly, so much so that you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from yelping in pain.

“But you didn’t mind when Kyungsoo touched you, did you? I bet you were loving it, his hands on you.” You attempt to back up slightly, disgusted by what he appears to be suggesting, but he doesn’t let you, snatching your body closer to his.

“That’s what you are isn’t it? I saw you on the floor too, standing closer so that little brat would come grind on you or some shit. I gotta say, you’re not very subtle about what you do, or what you are. But hey,” He pauses, reaching his hand to roughly tug your chin up to meet his, before letting his eyes travel slowly, leeching over your every curve and dip. He flicks his eyes up once more, settling on the disgust that screams in yours.

“I’m certainly not complaining. I respect a girl who knows exactly what she is – a dirty, little who-“

He doesn’t get to finish his monologue because, having heard enough of just exactly what he perceives you to be, you lurch forward bite harshly into the soft skin of his cheek. He yells in pain but you grind your teeth until you feel the blood spurt up in between them. He slams his palms against your face and the two men at your side rear you up and away from him. Breathing heavily, you spit out the blood in your mouth onto the street.

“Bitch.” He hisses, pressing his fingers to the blood trailing down the side of his face.

You hum in agreement and lean forward in your captors grip slightly. “And one that would never fuck you.”

His smiles and laughs are gone now. He takes two steps toward you before pushing open his jacket slightly to reveal a glint of metal against his hip.

“Maybe I ought to teach you a little les-“

The doors behind you slam open as Kyungsoo launches himself at one of the men holding up your arms. Beside you, the tall man from earlier does the same. And then, all at once the men you had seen sitting in the club seem to trickle out on the street beside you, taking up equally defensive positions.

Your arms now free, Kyungsoo takes a moment to look up from his attacker and shift his head frantically down the side of the street.

“Y/n, go!

You nod back quickly, but, turning back to the bleeding man in front of you as he faces off with the red haired man you’d seen your brother laughing with earlier, you can’t resist pulling the pepper spray Kyungsoo had insisted you carry from your pocket, and unloading the contents of it on his face. He shouts in pain as it sprays into his eyes and, satisfied, you drop the empty can and sprint off down the street.

“Dick!” And really, as you shout it, you’re unsure who it is you’re shouting it at.

As it turns out, you are even less athletic than you previously thought, and that was already pretty bad. So you’re not running for long when you slip into a small, decrepit alleyway and lean down in an attempt to catch your breath.

Your hand is spread over your stomach and your hair bats impatiently around your eyes when you jump at the intrusion of a rich voice ahead of you.

“Is this how you usually spend your Friday nights?”

You turn your head slightly and notice him, still damp from his performance as he leans against a wall and takes you in.

“Well, this is more of a Saturday night thing but, well I’ve had a rough week.”

The corners of his lips tug in a half moon smile and he takes a few more, easy steps toward you. You lift up your palm suddenly in an attempt to maintain a barricade.

“Listen, I’ve really had my fill of all and any of the male species tonight, so if you’re planning on intimidating me, d’you think we could, you know, move it to tomorrow night or something?” You huff and he’s really smiling now, eyes crinkling.

“But don’t you already have Saturday plans?” He asks, his head tilting to the side.

Despite yourself, despite the overall shitty nature of today and despite that little red inking on his shirt, you feel the laughter bubble in your chest.

It expands until you’re heaving through the chuckles, ignoring the tears that stream down your cheeks. You sigh, leaning back on your heels and sliding against the wall until you’re sitting, legs propped out in front of you. You hear him as he walks towards you and, as he comes closer, you loll your head to the side to look up at him. He blinks down at you, smiling gently, before he sighs loudly and slumps down next to you.

He nudges his knee against yours slightly and though you know you should probably attempt to create some space between you, remind yourself that not only is he a stranger, he is the worst kind of stranger, you can’t seem to muster the energy to pull away.

“What happened?” You sigh, drawing up your knees to rest your head on them.

“What didn’t?”

You lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment before he mimics your position, resting his head so that you both blink at one another, each taking the other in.

“I have a serious question.”

You steel yourself, nodding.

“Why’d you flick water in my face?”

You snort.

“Maybe I was displeased with your performance.”

“No, that’s not it.” His eyes twinkle with a childish mischief. “I saw you looking.”

You scoff, raising your head. “Looking at what?”

He raises his eyebrows, again repeating your motions. He gestures down to himself, over his still open shirt and dark jeans. “All. Of. This.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin does not falter.

“I was looking at the other one.”


“Yeah, that.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

You pause, feigning shock.

“You don’t know. I could be a terrible truth teller.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“100% a thing.”

“Doesn’t sound like a thing.”

“It’s a thing!”

His grin widens and he tilts his head further, regarding your now ruffled exterior. After a moment’s pause, he sticks out his hand towards you.


You hesitate, eyes flickering between his hand and loopy red handwriting barely visible in the light of the dumpster. After an awkward pause, you figure your night can’t really get much worse than it already has and well, he did make you laugh. You slip your hand into his gently, noticing that it is surprisingly warm and immediately worrying that your palms are sweaty.

“Y/n.” You respond, sighing.

Dropping your hand, he leans his head back against the wall again, closing his eyes briefly. You study him as he does so, your eyes canvassing along the general slump of his arms as they rest against his knees, the slack in his strong jaw.

“You look tired.” You observe meekly, and his eyes flicker open, familiar smile finding his lips once more.

“I am exhausted.” He grunts slightly, twisting his body to face you.

“You uh, I mean, you don’t have to stay here with me, if you’re tired.” You stumble over your words, suddenly embarrassed. “Actually, why are you here?” You enquire, gesturing around the dimly lit alleyway.

He shrugs, and his eyes cloud over for a second.

“My friends got in a fight.” He mutters. You regard him quietly, with not a small ounce of curiosity.

“You’re not gonna fight with them?” You enquire, and if on cue, his phone buzzes loudly in his pocket. He barley glances over at it before, reaching into his jacket, he flings it across the space and it lands with a dull smack against the wall, crumbling on the cracked pavement. You do not flinch.

Turning to look at you, his gaze seems much more intense, much more sudden than his previous teasing looks. You think that you should probably look away, that this interaction has become much more serious than either of you intended for it to be but, always curious, you do not.

“I’m tired of fighting with them.” He mumbles, almost meekly, as though he is ashamed of what he is saying.

“Do they know that?” You approach carefully and when his gaze finds yours, it is light again, infused with teasing.

“They would, but unfortunately I’m a terrible truth teller.”

You snigger slightly and he responds as such, blinking at you still.

You exhale loudly, eyes wondering over the starless night above you.

“My brother hurt my feelings.”

You grunt the words out forcefully, tasting them like bile in the back of your throat. He responds gently, carefully as you had done only moments ago.

“What happened?” He tries again, and you blink the tears out of your eyes, your breath catching slightly.

“I just-“ You break away, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. “It’s just been a shitty night.”

You feel his eyes on you as you struggle to regain your composure, and furiously blink away the tears that so desperately want to fall.  You hear the slight shift as movement as slowly, he leans closer to you. When you don’t pull away, he continues to shift, until his head rests carefully on your shoulder.

The gesture is a little strange and made awkward by how much taller he is than you. He has to shift quite far down the wall for his head to reach your shoulder, so he is practically lying beside you. He doesn’t seem to quite know how the rest of his body should face, because his long limbs hang nervously by his sides, as though you will jump away at any moment.

Despite this, and all the circumstances around the uneasy embrace, you appreciate it, and the hesitant warmth that scatters from his body to yours. You smile gently and rest your head against his, wanting somewhat to place your hand over his, but worrying that this will perhaps be too much. So instead, you inch your pinkie finger towards his, until they brush gently against the other. For a while, you both sit like this, leeching onto the other in the bristling of the slight spring chill and each enjoying the comfort of one another’s company.

“Thank you.” You murmur, and though he doesn’t respond, he turns your hand over slightly so that he is tracing small, nonsensical patterns on your palm, humming quietly as he does so.

You spend a while there with each other, until eventually the dark night gets darker, and the chill around you becomes too insistently bitter to ignore. You raise your head slightly and his movements on your hand cease. He raises his head to look up at you earnestly and in that moment, in that one, gullible moment, you make a decision.

“You wanna go get a drink?” You blurt out suddenly and he lifts his head from your shoulder, surprised.

“A… drink?” He draws out and you nod, perhaps a little too furiously, in an attempt to dispel some of your nervousness.  It doesn’t work and a slow, easy grin slips onto his lips.

“I mean – I’m just- not that you have to or anything like that – I just thought maybe you would uh- right, yeah, so I’m just gonna leave now.“ You stand up, your cheeks flaming as you stumble over your words. A drink? Really? Why not just scream that you want to do him right here in this alleyway? You groan internally, and his playful laughter bubbles up beneath you.

You go to walk away and quickly you realize he is lumbering beside you.

“So, where we going?” He asks. You turn to him, surprised, and slow your scurrying pace to a standstill in front of him.

“Uh- what?”

“You know, to drink?” He teases, mimicking drinking from a glass. You scoff slightly, surprised, and pleasantly so.

“Uh well-“

“Have you ever noticed people seem to make really rash, dumb choices when they’re drunk?” He interrupts, eyes skimming briefly over yours.

With a surge of confidence, you gnaw on your lip slightly, and follow his dark eyes with your own brazenly.  

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Things progress very quickly after that. As it is, it turns out you and Sehun do not require many drinks at all to make thoughtless, impulsive choices, and you’re barely tipsy as you stumble through the door of his apartment, his lips connected to yours.

It’s a decision you know you’ll regret in the morning, a very, very silly decision that neither of you should be making. Still, as his long fingers press gently against your ribcage, his leg pushing between the two of yours, it’s not one you can seem to pull yourself away from.

His movements are tender as he touches you, careful in a way that drives you to the brink of insanity as you just want more and more of him. He presses you against a wall, arms caging either side of you as his mouth works languidly against yours, peppering your lips with gentle kisses until your mouth slips open against his and his tongue slips against yours. You groan slightly, and you reach out your hands to brush over his cheeks, before smoothing down the sharp angles of his body until you reach his waist, at which you pull him flush against you.

He chuckles slightly, as the movement nudges his mouth away from yours so that he instead breaths hotly on your neck. You both take a moment to breathe, before he reaches down and tugs meekly on your thighs. You twine your calves easily around his waist as his lean fingers spread across your legs, moving his right hand up to your neck to brush away loose strands of hair and the collar of your shirt, sucking lightly on the skin there. You bite back a moan and your back curls against the wall, pushing your breasts against him.  He lets out a ragged breath and pulls away from you suddenly.

“We can still… stop if you want.” He hums slightly, hands suddenly hesitant against your thighs. You frame his face with your hands and press your lips firmly against his, much harsher than he had done. He grunts slightly in surprise and fists his hand in your hair as he returns the kiss with just as much fervour. You take the chance to stretch your arms out slightly behind you, peeling away your tartan shirt and letting it drop to the floor, leaving you in a loose tank top. You pull away, and skirt a thumb over his swelled bottom lip, before pressing insistent kisses against his jaw.

“I don’t… wanna stop.” You mumble and you think you hear him curse slightly under his breath. He tilts your chin up and reclaims your mouth, pressing against the sliver of skin exposed where your tank top has ridden up.

He readjusts his grip and pushes away from the wall. Surprised at the action, you press your head into the space between his shoulder and neck and, as he walks, push at the jacket on his shoulders. It slips from him easily and you lean back up to kiss him again, your hands resting at the nape of his neck.

You’re unaware you’ve reached a bedroom until he settles beneath you, bringing you down so that you’re sitting on top of him. You shift slightly so that your legs are on either side of him, and press against his crotch. He pulls away from you, moaning out your name quietly and you smirk, pleased at your apparently significant effect on him. You tilt your head down to nip at his neck before reaching down to pull on the ruffled white shirt he wears, pushing it over his head. It lands with a wet thump against the floor and as you turn to laugh slightly, Sehun takes the opportunity to flip you over, so that he hovers, shirtless above you. You press your hands against his back and his own palm flattens against your stomach. Instead of removing your flimsy top, his fingers crawl beneath it, reaching up over your stomach and fluttering over your ribcage before falling on top of your bra.

You grunt and flop beneath him, throwing your fist against the bed sheet.

“Don’t tease.” You huff and he chuckles at your frustration, before helping you remove the top. He pushes you further against the bed and crawls over you, until your head rests carefully on the navy blue pillow and he marvels down at you, smiling gently.

“Are you sure?” He whispers against your collarbone and you almost whine at him to hurry up already. He seems to sense your exasperation though, because he makes quick work of removing his own jeans before then pulling off yours, kissing along your legs as he does so. When he pulls down your underwear, his fingers press into you slowly, and he appears about to add his mouth too when you shake your head, pulling his face up to yours.

“Later.” You gasp and he nods, settling over you once more, fingers curling inside you. Again you slam your fist against the bed sheets and let out a loud groan, roughly pulling his head down against your own. He removes his fingers and you shudder at the loss of contact, but then his hands are slipping underneath you to unclasp your bra (and really, you have to take a moment to appreciate how quickly he does remove it, because you’ve been wearing one for years and it still takes you some time in the morning). Immediately his hand is on your chest, rubbing slowly against your breast. You throw your head back against the pillows but it smacks against the headboard instead, and you groan at the sharp gasp of pain.

Sehun stills, gasping before moving his hand to cradle the back of your head gently, lust quickly overcome with concern.

“Ah, y/n, are you alright?” He whispers and you wince slightly, but nod. You stare at him for a moment, his knuckles running softly against the back of your head. The concern in his face surprises you, but makes you feel good in a way you cannot explain. You skim your hand over his jaw and his gaze is drawn back to yours, wherein he blinks down at you with a firm sense of tenderness. You smile, and lean up to press a chaste kiss against his lips, hand still smoothing down his jaw. When you pull away, his eyes are soft, face settled in a small grin as he runs his hand through your hair.

“Do it now.” You whisper, wracked by a sudden eagerness to have him thrusting into you. He nods slightly, and leans down to kiss you again, before reaching into a draw and rolling a condom onto himself. You place your head back on the pillows as he braces above you. After a moment, he pushes into you, and you emit a high pitched gasp, your walls settling around him. He waits a moment too long to move, and you have to kick his shin slightly to signal that you’re ready. He huffs out a laugh and slowly begins to press into you, hands fisted in the sheets next to your head as he builds up a steady rhythm. Of all the boys you’d ever had sex with (which, admittedly, was really not that many) you’d always been pretty quiet in bed– sure, it’d felt good when they’d moved inside you, but it hadn’t exactly been earth shattering. But Sehun. The way he thrusts into you is, frankly, ridiculous. With every smooth roll of his hips he seems to find a different sweet spot and when you’re a moaning mess beneath him, he adds two fingers. You yelp, body twisting unnaturally beneath him, but he just keeps going, a thin layer of sweat forming on his chest. You lean up, trying to match his rhythm and he kisses you roughly, lips slanting over yours, your moans meeting in a mismatched choir.

It’s not long before the familiar pleasure begins to build, and by his sudden alternating change in pace you sense he’s close too. His hand gropes your chest and he leans down, taking your nipple in his mouth and just like that, you’re a goner. You’re on the verge of a scream as you come around him and he all about collapses on top of you, thrusting out his own orgasm. Your hands link as you both ride out your highs, Sehun sucking on your chest.

Spent, he pulls out of you slowly and tosses the condom into a bin beside him, his body flopping down next to yours. You throw your arm over your eyes, trying to calm your ragged breath as he does the same.

Silence settles around the two of you, panting, sweaty and naked in his dark sheets. Embarrassed, you wonder if, now that you’re finished, he expects you to leave. You shift away from him slightly, moving to the edge of the bed when he rolls over to his side and gets out the bed. You rush to do the same, shuffling awkwardly on the wooden floors.

You watch his figure retreat to a small wooden closet in the corner of the room and bite your lip, shifting your hands to cover your exposed breasts.

“Uh, should I-“ You begin, but are halted as, after having pulled on a set of loose tracksuit bottoms, he begins toward you, a shirt in his grasp. You raise your eyebrows questioningly, but he just gestures for you to hold your arms to the side. You do so, a little reluctantly, and he pulls the shirt onto your shoulders, humming.

He kneels to do up the buttons and as he finishes, pulls you toward him to place a soft kiss on your clothed stomach. Unsure of how to react, your hands simply hover above his tousled blonde hair.

He stands once more and intertwines his hand with yours, pulling you back toward the still–warm bed. He pushes you onto the sheets gently before then following suit. You turn on your side and he carefully places his hand on your waist, shifting a little closer.

“Is this… is this okay?” He mumbles and turning your head to face him, you nod slightly. Reassured, he smiles and moves closer, arms pressing more firmly around you.

“Don’t go.” He says and you face him once more, tilting your head in confusion. “In the morning, don’t go.” He elaborates and you smile softly. Instead of answering, you lean forward to press a tender kiss on his lips, and then his cheek. His eyes closed, he lets out a small contented sigh and you turn back around, closing your eyes.

He presses a soft kiss onto your head and, choosing not to think of what will happen in the morning, you clear your mind, and drift into a tranquil sleep.

 ((pls forgive any spelling/grammar errors as it is 1am and I cannot find the energy to check this. Also, I am a holy untouched virgin so idk how accurate the smut is but???? enjoy??? if you’d like a part 2, lemme know!))

“ Actually, Clark, you egotistical alien jackass, what I meant is that costume is just plain AWFUL.  First rule of non-powered crimefighting: you have to have a solid aesthetic to make up for the fact that you can’t punch villains through skyscrapers. Bats creep people out, and Ollie’s got the whole Robin Hood thing.”

“ Yeah, Clark, Bruce is right.  What the hell is that eyesore supposed to mean?  Do you shoot high velocity golden Ping-Pong balls out of your crotch?  I haven’t seen anything that lame since the original Green Lantern’s duds, and you know how that worked out. ”

“It’s about marketing, man.  You can’t squeeze coal into diamonds anymore, so you’re going to need that merch money. ”

“ How are you gonna get around town now that you can’t leap tall buildings in a single bound? You’re at least gonna need a car, and let me tell you, Bat and Arrowmobiles don’t come cheap.  You won’t even be able to pay for a set of self-sealing, puncture-proof tires on a reporter’s salary, and keeping it topped off with high-performance racing-quality fuel?  Forget it. ”

“  You think Alfred, my ‘faithful’ butler, hauls himself out of bed at 3 AM at his age to suture me up and make me a sandwich after Killer Croc used me as a chew toy for FREE?  He’s got a better benefits package than most CEOs. The Wayne Foundation doesn’t pay for Batman: t-shirts and action figures do.  Otherwise I’d be flat broke and racing to the scene of a crime on a Bat-Bicycle.”

“ Yeah, Clark, why do you think only rich dudes get to be the only superheroes without powers?  Skill and determination, my ass.  Better get out your checkbook, Golden Ball."  

Neal Adams, September 1968.

The Halloween Switch-Up

Summary: Stiles has a great idea for a Halloween costume.

Notes: Just some Halloween silliness! Derek and Stiles make fun of each other, but it’s lovingly, I swear. (On AO3)

“Come on, Derek. You know this is a great idea!”

Derek just raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m even going to the Halloween party?”

“Of course you’re going,” Stiles says with absolute confidence. “I know you love Halloween, even if you try to pretend you don’t.” He grins when Derek crosses his arms, but doesn’t deny it. “And I really doubt you have a better costume around here. You can’t go as a werewolf again, that’s cheating.”

Keep reading

- So all the bat boys go shopping like a day before Mother’s day.

- And they go in pairs.

- Like Jason and Tim are at Macy’s going through women’s clothing, with these confused expressions.

- “Tim, dude, look at this, It’s like a dress, only it has shorts at the end! How awesome is that? “

- “I feel like that’s really convenient, you know how busy they are, just slip it on and you’re ready for the day.”

- It is literally the ugliest romper in the world, it has a yellow and black block color pattern, and ruffles on the end of the shorts.

- “But you know we should keep our options open.”

“Yeah of course, of course.”

Keep reading


Maybe I’m alone in this, but I would LOVE there to be a canon universe in which superman has arachnophobia. A man that could pound the entire earth into dust without breaking a sweat, but completely losses it over a spider walking across his floor. Imagine him walking into his kitchen, and seeing a spider in the corner. The complete horror that would rush over his face before he flew from his house so fast he even forgot to change. Before he even knew what he was doing he arrives in gotham and had the bat signal turned on. The light in the sky finally brings him back and he groans inwardly before flicking it off and turning to leave, only to find Batman standing there. He never even heard him and he jumps back a little. “When did you get here?!” Bruce crosses his arms, looking over superman who is only in a white T-shirt and boxers. “A better question would be what had you so frightened you flew here dressed like that to call me for help.” Inside he cries wishing he’d just stayed home as Bruce narrowed his eyes behind the bat mask. There was no way he’d let him get away with not telling him and he couldn’t even make something up because Bruce would know if he’d lied! A long mournful sigh is pushed out and he slumps forward trying to prepare for his reaction. “Promise you won’t laugh!” Bruce’s eyes softened slightly, realizing there wasn’t any danger. “I promise. Now tell me what’s going on.” A deep breath was drawn in as Clark closed his eyes. “There’s a spider in my kitchen.” Batman shifts his weight to one foot, trying to decide if he’d heard his friend correctly. “A spider.” Clark nods sharply, shuffling from one foot to another. “And you used the bat signal for that.” Another curt nod is given. “It doesn’t apply! I know! I just!-” He cuts off, fist clenching as he drops his eyes to inspect the cold concrete below. Bruce heaves a deep sigh, laying a hand on superman’s arm. He didn’t like to see him upset and it was obvious this bothered him quite a bit. “Things are pretty quite here tonight. I don’t have anything else I’m doing.” Clark snaps his eyes up to Bruce trying to swallow down his embarrassment. “Thank you. I’m sorry about this. I wasn’t thinking…” Bruce shook his head. “Just get me over there. No explanation needed.” A huge weight lifted off Clark’s shoulders at knowing Bruce wasn’t going to pick on him about it and he gently grabbed him arm before flying off.

At the house Clark points out the invader to Bruce before ducking behind the wall to hide as Batman picks up a cup and sheet of note book paper from the table. He jitters as Bruce’s back blocks his view of the monstrosity. A few seconds pass and Bruce stands up with the spider in the cup, but he’s frowning. Clark’s heart drops. “What is it?” “She had babies, and they scattered.” Bruce blinked as Clark vanished from the room and shuffling sounded back the hall before he came back out dragging 4 large bags of clothes. “What are you doing?” Superman, now dressed only spares him a quick glance on his way out. “Its their house now!” Batman could stand there for several long seconds watching the door before looking to the small spider he had trapped in the cup. “This is going to be a long night.”

kiwilapple  asked:

I'm gonna tell you about my day! i just came out as trans masculine and the only thing that's okay right now is the fact that my coworkers are trying to get my name right and that my girlfriend will not bat an eyelash if I walk around without a shirt in this abysmal 118 degree desert summer. Little things make bad days so much better. I'm really, really grateful for them.

I’m super-proud of you for coming out and I hope it goes well for you! Also what the fuck that kind of hellpit are you living in that it’s 118 out???  If you need more little things to cheer you up: I can’t go to bed becuase my dog is stretched out on my bed, in my spot, on his back, snoring.  It’s too cute.

anonymous asked:

Cause I like your style, so maybe you can write a story where M&S are working undercover at a Star Trek Con... something silly please *grin*

This is pure fluff fun. I cheated and used Star Wars - my knowledge of Star Trek is limited to an early crush on Captain Kirk (!) and wobbly sets. Anyway, sorry it took so long to get this out. But I hope you enjoy it, kind anon. Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober

Mulder and Scully and the Third Leia

She stares at herself in the mirror. Despite her misgivings, she actually feels pretty damned cool. She pulls the jacket off the chair, shrugs it on and heads out to the venue. She knows Mulder is pumped for this assignment. After the Rob and Laura Petrie adventure, he’s been angling for more undercover work. She knows why. He’s the kid who was forced to go to the dress-up parties in costumes not of his own choosing. As she walks through the car park she pictures him as Kirk when he would have preferred to be the Spock, as Superman when he would have preferred The Spirit, as white spangly Elvis when he would have preferred the black leather version. Pushing through the crowds, she thought about black leather a little longer. And then she saw him.

           The convention manager flexed his knuckles and explained once again how this was an inconvenience. “My people pay huge money for photos with their heroes. They stand in line for hours for autographs. They buy tee-shirts…”

           “At incredible mark-ups and sleep in them for a year without washing them,” Mulder grins and walks to the window. “Believe me, I know. I have a stack of early Doctor Who memorabilia…”

           “Anyhow, Mr Melis,” Scully cuts in, “we really do need to surveil the full expo hall and the best way to do that is to blend in.” She eyes Mulder as he checks out his own reflection in the glass.

           Melis raises his eyebrows at her and tuts. “We have our biggest star due to arrive. I have to head out back.”

           “Biggest star?” Scully asks, as the manager hangs an ID badge around his neck and slips a plastic weapon into his holster.

           Mulder stands by her side. “William Hootkins, Scully. Didn’t you read the press? Is that the E-11 blaster or the DC-15A?” He points to the weapon and Melis pulls it back out.

           “William who?”

           Swinging round, blaster in hand, Mulder sighs. “Hootkins. He played Jek Porkins, in A New Hope. And Major Eaton in Raiders of the Lost Ark. I’m going to get him to sign my rebel pilot overalls.”

           “You brought overalls?” Scully asks, letting her exasperation out in a delicious crick of her neck. Mulder looks at her and his lips quirk into that ‘why are you even asking me’ smile. “Of course you did.”

The convention is heaving with Wookiees, droids, Stormtroopers, Ewoks and yetis that Mulder tells her are Wampas. There are Lukes, Hans, Darths, Landos and Leias. Mulder seems particularly taken with a trio of gold bikini-clad versions who walk past and shimmy at him. He turns to her, smirking.

“Don’t say it,” she lays a hand on his arm. “Rebel Alliance Leader Leia Organa is more my style.” She taps her padded white jacket and lets him sigh.

“I could have dressed as Jabba the Hutt and kept you on a chain, Scully.”

“And I would have taken great pleasure in garrotting you, Mulder.”

His eyes widen and his smile is insufferable. She walks off.

The Bureau was on the tail of Rita Barilla, wanted for theft, deception and credit card fraud. Her MO was to advertise her ‘services’ which included an eye-opening, and sometimes eye-watering, variety of unusual role-play scenarios and then make off with the goods before the act was finished. She would often meet her clients – always powerful businessmen who would find it difficult to go public - at fan expos, dressed as Leia. When Skinner suggested they attend this small town convention where the Bureau had arranged a sting, she’d automatically said no. Mulder let her talk for a while, outlining all the – very valid – reasons why it was a bad idea. Skinner sat with his customary two fingers pressed against his mouth and remained silent. When she’d finished, she sat back against the chair and held her chin up.

           “Scully, the only way we’re going to stop this woman from embezzling any further funding from the vulnerable in our society is to go where she goes. Do as she does.”

           “I hardly think that wealthy business men who enjoy dressing up as science fiction characters during sex play are the vulnerable in our society,” she said. “They pay a ridiculous amount of money to be whipped with light sabers or handcuffed to giant furry creatures.”

           “Wookiees, Scully. They’re called Wookiees. And these men are unable to speak out about the crimes that have been committed against them because of their position in society. You may not see them as vulnerable, but believe me, they are in a delicate position.”

           She opened the casefile. “Well, you got that bit right. This one, a high court judge, was released after seven hours tied face down across a replica of the Death Star. He was naked except for a Darth Vader mask, complete with voice changer, so that when he was found the paramedics thought he was being asphyxiated.” She looked at Skinner. “Delicate.”

           The AD took off his glasses and rubbed his face. “Agents, you are the only ones with the undercover experience to pull off this assignment.”

           “Sir, with all due respect, there are many other agents with the same, if not more experience. And this isn’t an X-File.”

           “Agent Scully, there are elements to this case that are unusual. The setting affords you and Agent Mulder the best possible in. You’ll leave in the morning.”

           “The best possible in?” She knew her voice was squeaky but she was furious. She stood up and stepped towards Skinner’s desk. “What does that mean?”

           “It means, Scully,” Mulder said, placing a hand on the small of her back, “that my many hours of studying the world of Star Wars will not have gone to waste.”

           “Studying? Is that what you call it?”

She swung round and reached the door before Skinner called out.


She turned, trying to contain her anger. Skinner was smiling. Sort of.

“May the force be with you.”

She’s browsing the stalls, flicking through stacks of autograph books, framed photos of people she doesn’t recognise, movie posters, tee-shirts and buttons and pins and mugs and toothbrushes and other assorted paraphernalia, when she hears the buzz of static. She thinks, with some amusement, that this is the only place in the world where nobody would bat an eye at a woman in a snow suit talking on a walkie-talkie while holding up an egg cup in the shape of R2D2.

              “I’m on her tail, Scully. She’s heading to the side doors, arm in arm with Han Solo.”

              “Can you give me a better description?” she says, looking around at the dozens of Leias and Hans wandering around. She heads out in the general direction, studying faces and eye colour and chin shape. She thinks she sees a likely couple and fingers her weapon when Han turns and she realises they are both women.

A few metres ahead, she sees Mulder. Beyond him, she spies the real Rita Barilla, plaits wound around her ears and white robe flowing, chatting to a man wearing brown pants, brown vest over a cream shirt, she thinks about how Mulder hadn’t really thought his costume through. Typical, impulsive Mulder. She races to the exit, feeling powerful in her own outfit. Rebel Leader was an apt description for her job.

“FBI! Rita Barilla, put your hands up.”

The woman drops the arm of her companion who sidesteps away with an expression of confusion and surprise on his face. Mulder is still catching up. She can hear him cursing through the walkie-talkie. Rita Barilla ducks down rolls into a crowd of people. Scully runs towards her and yells at Mulder to follow. He raises an arm in acknowledgement. She sees the white robe flitting through the crowds, towards a large gathering of other white robes. Shit. Scully pushes through the people, twisting them round to look at them. Mulder is finally with her.

“Rita Barilla, stop right there,” he yells.

“Where’s your weapon?” Scully asks, desperately scanning faces for the right Leia.

“It got stuck,” he whispers.

“Stuck?” She looks down at him.

“Don’t, Scully,” he says. “Just don’t.”

She can see the gun wedged down his thigh pad.

“She’s the third Leia on the right. She’s the one with the really big…”

“Plaits,” she finishes.

She rushes forward, barrelling into her target until she’s astride her on the floor. The crowd parts and Mulder arrives. Squeaking. And trying to unstick his weapon.

“Curse my metal body,” he says, finally pulling the gun out. “Rita Barilla, you’re under arrest…”

They watch as Barilla is taken away in handcuffs, wedged between two police officers. It’s eerily similar to a scene from the movie.

              “May I congratulate the Princess on her good work. The odds of intercepting the correct suspect in a room full of…”

              She digs him in the ribs and regrets it as it bounces off his gold plate. “Shut up or I’ll disconnect your circuit board.”

              He holds up his hands, bent at the elbows. His mask is off, his head is quirked at an angle and he’s wearing that silly grin again. “I love it when you talk dirty, Scully.”

((Warning: there is some transphobia in this story, on the part of two negatively represented characters. If that sort of thing is a trigger for you, please be aware.))

I have a lot of thoughts about trans lady Spock, ngl.

Like when she’s introduced to the new captain of the Enterprise for the first time, Jim just stops and stares at her, as if stricken. And Spock panics internally thinking, Oh no… he’s read me, and braces herself for him to say something ugly and transphobic, but instead Kirk shakes it off, stammers an apology and offers the ta’al in greeting. But Spock doesn’t forget. She decides right then that he cannot be trusted, keeps him at arm’s length for the first few months of the mission, and keeps their relationship purely professional.

But later, as they gradually become friends, Spock begins to think that maybe she misjudged the captain. Maintaining such a level of distrust over nothing more than an expression of surprise seems illogical, she reasons. After all, he has in so many other ways proven himself to be trustworthy and genuine. She begins to doubt herself.

But, as is often the case when one has been burned, or hurt too many times, she maintains a clinical level of professionalism for her own safety. After all, as the months pass, she is forced to admit to herself that she finds the captain increasingly compelling, and attractive. She cannot afford to trust.

Then one day a low-level ensign makes some comment about Spock within earshot of Jim, and he stops short. “What was that, Ensign?”

Keep reading

The Asset (1/?)

Originally posted by savagethalamus

Summary: The past two years have been the best years of Y/N’s life, but when her boyfriend’s, Bucky, past comes after her nothing will ever be the same. 

A/N: The way I plan this story is to alternate between past and present, meaning one chapter will show what is happening now and another will be entirely a flash back. Also there could be spoilers if you aren’t caught up or haven’t watched Agents of SHEILD.

Present Day

The sound of glass breaking in the living room woke me. Quietly, but quickly, I grabbed the wooden bat I kept by the side of my bed, slipped on my purple bunny slippers, and made my way cautiously towards the dark living room.

As I approached the corner I heard the sound of heavy feet shuffling around before a light tuned on. There was loud groaning as something heavy was dropped on the wooden floor.

In one swift motion I entered the living room with the bat in the air ready to swing at the intruder, but stopped when I saw what was before me.

“Hey,” Bucky said with a sheepish smile before dropping down on the sofa with a small groan of pain. He was covered in blood, some of it his. From here the only damage I was able to visibly see was a large burse on the side of his jaw and a few scratches on his face, but I new there was probably more damage in places that were hidden to me.

“Really,” I sighed placing the bat on the floor and walking toward him. “I just bought that lamp last week,” I said motioning to the now broken side table lamp on the floor.

“It was dark,” he said sheepishly.

“Kitchen. Now,” I demanded.

I flicked the light switch as I entered and moved to the cabinet under the sink where I kept the first aid kit.

He sat down on one of the chairs and faced me. I walked over to him and set the box filled with medical equipment on the table next to him before pulling a chair and sitting directly in front of him.

It was now that I noticed how bloody his shirt was from the front. I tried moving the shirt to see what had happened, but stopped when he winced in pain from my actions. Grabbing the scissors I began cutting his shirt open, it was the only way I would be able to see all of his injuries without hurting him more.

I stifled a gasp when I saw all the blood and the large gash on his side. The cut was deep. Not deep enough for any major internal damage, but it would need stitches.

“What’s the bad news doc,” he asked.

“I’m not a doctor yet,” I muttered. “Well the good news is that you’ll live. The bad is that your stupidity will kill you and if it doesn’t, I will.”

“Good thing for you is that you will probably be able to make it look like an accident.”

I cleaned his wound and began stitching in silence. When I finished I began cleaning off his bloody face and took care of the smaller cuts.

“You know,” I began. “One of these days I will not be able to help you.”

“Then I will savor these moments until that day comes,” he grins and pulls me to sit on his lap. I see him wince and try to pull back, but he holds onto my waist with both hands tightly. Sighing I idly place my hands on his bare chest and my forehead against his.

“Come on,” I say as I get off of him after a moment. “Lets go to bed. You’ll need your rest if you plan on still being an idiot in the morning.” He chuckles but regardless follows me to the bedroom.

“I think its time I show you how to use a gun,” he says from behind me. “Did you really thing a wooden bat would have stopped a burglar?”

“Do you question my bat skills?”

“No,” he admits. “I would just feel better knowing you can use a gun.”

“I don’t like guns.”

“And I don’t like thinking your only defense against an intruder is a bat,” we were in the bedroom now. Walking over to the dresser I grabbed a clean shirt and tossed it to him. I gabbed a clean set of pajamas and changed out of my now bloodied ones.

“We will discus this in the morning,” I mumble as I move to the bed. “But for now the bat stays.”

He doesn’t say anything else only moves to lie on the bed beside me and wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me close to him.

The next morning I wake up alone in bed with the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. Getting out of bed I walked in the direction of the heavenly smell. When I reached the kitchen a small smile made its way on my lips when I saw him with his back to me in front of the stove flipping pancakes.  

Slowly I walk up behind him wrap my arms around him and press my face to his broad back. He tenses for a moment before relaxing. “Good morning,” he says not turning around and continuing cooking.

“Morning,” I mumble still sleepy.

I let go of him and move to sit at the table while he finishes breakfast. When he is done he places a stack of pancakes in front of me, which I quickly drown in maple syrup. A moan of pleasure escapes me when I take the first bite.

“So,” I say in between bites. “Its Saturday, I finished most of my homework yesterday, what are we going to do today?”

“Well,” he hesitates for a moment before speaking. “Steve called and-.”

“No,” I cut him off.  

“I didn’t even get to finish what I was going to say,” he argues.

“I already know what you were going to say. Why does it always have to be you? Why can’t somebody else do it? One weekend James. That’s all I ask for. One weekend were I can pend it with not having to worry over you.”

“It won’t take as long as the last mission. It’s a simple in and out,” he stands up and begins clearing the table of the now food free dishes. “I promise I’ll be back by six. We can go watch a movie when I get back so be ready by seven.”

“Fine,” I grumble and helped him with the dishes.

Before he left I checked his wounds from last night and as always they had already healed.

He gave me a quick peck on the lips and left me alone in the apartment.

It was still early in the day so I decided to go shopping for a few necessities. The fridge was looking sad and the pantry pathetic as I tried to remember when was the last time I had gone grocery shopping.

An hour later I was back from the store and putting up all the food I had bought. As I was closing the door to the panty my phone began ringing.

It was Bucky.

“Hey, how’s the mission going,” I say making my way to the bedroom and flopping down on the bed.

“Its not,” he said from the other line.

“What do you mean,” I question confused.

“It was a false alarm. We showed up and everything was fine,” he explained. “I’m on my way home now.”

I heard the front door open and smiled. “Next time you should be more quiet if you want to surprise me,” I say into the phone.

“What are you talking about,” he asks.

“Don’t be stupid I heard the door open.”

“What door,” he asks urgently.

“The front door, you opened it.”

“No I didn’t,” his voice echoes in my ears and I hear the sound of several pairs feet walking in my living room.

“I think there is some one in the apartment,” I whisper looking at my slightly opened bedroom door. I want to reach for my bat but remember it is in the living room where I left it last night. The footsteps begin to sound louder as they get closer to me.

“(Y/N),” his voice breaks through the speaker of the phone pressed to my ear. I want to say something but fear that if I speak I will only scream.

“(Y/N),” his voice urgent. “Hide.”

It takes a moment for me to proses what he said and as quietly as I can I rush to hide under the bed. As soon as I’m under the bedroom door creeks fully open and two sets of feet enter. I hold my breath fearing for my life.

It was clear that they weren’t burglars. If they were they would be rummaging through the drawers and taking the TV off the wall. They never spoke. One of then went to the closet and the other I saw disappear into the bathroom. The one who looked in the closet moved closer to the bed. He kneeled and gripped the duvet that was hanging from the side with one hand, and balanced himself with the other on the ground. I scooted away from that side of the bed in an attempt to flee. As I got closer to the other side of the bed he pulled the cover up and looked under the bed.

He saw me and smirked at me sending even more fear through me. He didn’t move to grab me, only watched me hold the phone to my ear. Bucky’s voice on the other line repeating that he was almost home.

The silence in the room was broken when I released a blood-curdling scream as my feet pulled me from under the bed. I hadn’t noticed the man who was in the bathroom walk out and he quickly pulled me to my feet after pulling me all the way out and wrapped his arms tightly around me as I screamed and struggled to break free.  

The other man was back on his feet holding my phone to his ear.

“Hello Mr. Barnes. Ward sends his regards, he couldn’t be here to do this personally,” the man spoke into the phone. “He did mention that he wants you to understand why we are doing this, and that you should feel responsible for it.”

I kept thrashing and twisting in failed attempts to escape my captor.

“Don’t worry James,” the man talked into the phone again. “He have planes for her, so we won’t hurt her, much.” He dropped the phone and once it was on the ground he stomped on it, destroying it in one move.

He walked closer to where I was still struggling and when he was face to face with me he stopped and smirked.

“You’re a fighter,” he pulled a rag from his back pocket and pushed it harshly to cover my nose and mouth. “That’s good.”

The amount of traffic violations he committed did not matter to him. After the call had ended all he could see was red. As he approached the building he let the motorcycle clank on the ground loudly and ran inside the brick building. He took two stairs at a time rushing to the third floor where he found the front door of the apartment thrown open.

She was gone.

And it was his fault.

A/N: Ok this is the Bucky fic. Please tell me which you would prefer. This one or the Daredevil one. Both will be written eventually, just not at the same time. Message me with which you prefer to read first and I will post the the second part of whatever story wins sometime next week. 

Part 2


The series is as follows :

Mama Scully’s Party …. MorningUnderwearsMapsNachosFoul BallPromisesStayPhone CallsFlannel InterruptionAwakeningFriendly CompromisesScrabbleApart …  A Long WeekLightningMissing YouInterimStuffWaitingGoingHandsUnsteadyFearFastSlowRegardlessInto the DarkLightSurfboardsCurbsShowersBordersCanyonsSoakedIce CreamNever HappenedDeep SouthAlmostBlue-Suede ShoesUnwelcomeRemarkableStarsDoorbellsM&MsKneesHome


The pounding headache she could deal with, the cotton-mouth she could deal with, hell, she could deal with the queasiness as long as she found herself some kind of greasy taco soon.

It was the nose-rattling, window-shattering snoring Mulder was doing beside her that made her want to die. She knew he snored and she knew he snored louder when he had been drinking but the snoring that was happening at this very moment was enough to make her want to suffocate him.

Not completely, mind you, but enough to where he’d wake up so she could go back to sleep.

But of course, she did not, the main reason being that she’d have to drive back home alone, probably with his corpse strapped to the hood of the Jeep like some hunter’s trophy. That image, along with the one from the movie ‘Vacation’ made her chuckle, then laugh.

She forgot that laughing would hurt but apparently, it hurt Mulder more because his hand shot out and did his best to cover her mouth, “shut. Stop. Stop and shut.”

Scully licked his palm, “move it or lose it, Mulder.”

At least the chainsaw snoring had ceased. Scully sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

“I don’t think I can move it, Scully. I think I’m two seconds away from dying or puking.”

Moving fast, she slid off the bed, swaying with confused equilibrium issues but wanting to give him a clear path to the bathroom. He appreciated this but when he sat up, he neither keeled over in death nor vomited on the bed. Instead, he let out a belch that Scully couldn’t help but grin at, then wrinkle her nose, covering it with her hand, “holy shit … I can smell you over here. My God.”

“Sorry but I feel better now. At least on the throwing up front.” Squinting up at her finally, “no more wine. Ever.”

“Yeah, I can’t see that happening.”

“Me either but I thought I’d toss it out there to see if it’d stick.”

Scully’s stomach turned, making her frown, “I need some tacos. Want to come?”


“Greasier the better. I don’t have any means to make Mac and Cheese so tacos are my next best bet.”

Mulder attempted to stand, fell right back on the bed, groaning at he bounced a moment then stilled, “I’ll just slow you down.”

Moving to the bathroom to scrub at her mouth, “I’ll bring you back a bag full.”


Tacos purchased, she made her way across the hotel lobby, sunglasses in place, gait steady, 8:15am hangover food out there for the world to see.

She ate one in the elevator and felt instantly better.

She forced Mulder to eat two. He turned a lurid shade of green and threw them up five minutes later, opting to sit on the bathroom floor for a little while with a large glass of water.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t think that would happen.”

“Ssshhhh. Just … sssshhh.” Fingers over his lips like they were in first grade again, “no talking. Ten minutes. I love your voice more than you know but right now, it’s just like ice picks to the brain.”

Luckily it was far enough away from the Schnauz case that this image didn’t make her shudder or piss her off so she whispered ‘sorry’ and closed the door gently, leaving him in his post-inebriation agony.

Mulder came out of the bathroom not long after, asking for drugs and sunglasses. Handing him both, he slowly drank another glass of water, then, “so, think I can surf like this?”

“If you want to drown, yeah, go for it but otherwise, we’re probably gonna have to give it a few hours.”

How she was doing so much better than he was, he had no idea, “why are you not half-dead like me?”

Holding up the half-empty two-liter of water she bought along with the tacos, “water and grease. I have no idea why it works for me but it does.”

“Then I elect that you go drive to Tara’s parents and pick up the passports while I drink my own two-liter and take a nap.”

Feeling fairly okay with the world, “I’ll go in a little while. I don’t need all this water wanting out in the middle of the San Diego freeway system.”


By noon, she was back with the documents, Mulder dressed and sitting on the balcony, still drinking water but looking less dead than he had all day. Scully sat down next to him, idly glancing through her passport, then Mulder’s, then her own, then Mulder’s, then looking at her watch, then looking at Mulder’s again, “well, shit.”


“Have you happened to look at the expiration date on your passport recently?”

“Yeah. I still have another year on it. It expires next year.”

Holding it up for him to see, “no, dear, it expires in three days.”

“No … dear,” reaching for it, he examined it thoroughly, revving up to make fun of her until reality sank in, “damn it, it expires in three days.”

Scully settled in her chair, head on the cushion, “I’ll take an apology for the sarcasm any time you’d like.”

“Sorry.” Patting her arm with the passport, “so what do I do? If we go to Mexico now, we either have to go there and immediately leave again or never leave again because I won’t be able to get back in the country.”

“I imagine this is either a problem for the illegalities of the Gunmen or the legalities of one Assistant Director Skinner. Your choice but I’d go the legal route first because I hear Mexican prison is probably not the best place for you.”

“You’d leave me behind?”

“A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”

“Remind me to skip your Christmas card this year.” Both, however, were grinning by now, and Mulder went to retrieve his phone, sitting back on the chaise before dialing their boss. Just as it started ringing, he handed it to her with a sweet smile, eyelid batting included, “he likes you better than me.”

She took the phone, “Already have the speech prepared, Mulder, never fear.”


It didn’t take too long to square things away, a temporary extension issued for Mulder’s passport that would get him back over the border for the next ten days. Once Mulder high-fived her across the gap between the chairs, “so, can we go surfing now?”

“Do you think you’re going to be able to stay upright?”

“Only one way to know.” This time, he burst out of the bathroom to see her already pulling her shirt over her bathing suit, “one of these damn days, Scully, I’m going to catch you.”

“Good luck with that.”

Hours later, Mulder was not dead, he had not drowned, hit his head, been eaten by sharks, jellyfish, giant waves, he was still smiling, he was still excited. Scully approved.

“So, should we leave tomorrow morning? I’m ready to go down to Mexico and see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

“I’m going to have to buy you a surfboard for Christmas, aren’t I?”

She hadn’t seen his face light up that brightly since … well, possibly ever, “or we could just buy some now. There’ve got to be used ones all over this place. We should buy a couple, strap them to the roof and go live on the beach.”

“We are inching closer and closer to never going home, I can feel it. You’re gonna grow your hair long and I’m going to turn a dark shade of leather and we’re only going to leave the beach to go find food, unless you build a fire and just start catching our meals.”

“I can totally see us living on a beach but first, I think we should just buy some boards. Start small, you know.”

Conceding to at least go look at some, Scully was not surprised at the inevitableness of them buying a pair of surfboards from some guy’s garage two hours later, with cash, tie-downs thrown in for free because Mulder let the kid inspect his badge. He also finagled a deal in which he could return the boards after they tried them out if they didn’t work correctly for them.

The kid, seeing Scully shake her head in amusement and the gleam in Mulder’s eye, knew they wouldn’t be back so he agreed, “sure. I’m here the rest of the day. Feel free to come back if something’s wrong.”

They took them out for a spin when they got back to the hotel.

There was no returning.


Next morning, they got everything packed away, having caught up with a load of laundry in the hotel public machines. Making sure the boards, aptly named ‘Fred’ and ‘Wilma’ after the bright orange and blue colors they were, were tied down tight and the windows were open, Mulder pulled to the garage exit, “ready to venture south?”

“Onward, Mulder.

He turned left …

Then made an illegal u-turn because South was the other direction.

And got a ticket.

Throughout which Scully remained stoic.

She was, however, only able to contain her laughter until the officer walked away.

Then, all bets were off.