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supernovaquirrel · 2 years

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Christmas Lights

Summary: In this family, Christmas is a big deal…

Pairing(s): None

Word Count: 2480ish

Warning(s): none worth mentioning, some mention of character(s) death(s), other than that this is just Christmas crack 😆

A/N: Happy Christmas Eve Eve everyone! Enjoy this little speck of our imagination while celebrating the holidays!!

Craving more? Here’s our Masterlist!

“Hey, Dean pass me one of those wreaths.”

Standing at the top of the makeshift stool you had forged together, you almost stumble back as you call Dean over. You grip onto the bookshelf in front of you and turn your head towards Dean who seems to be enjoying watching you flail about with the decorations.

“Dean get over here before I decide to skin your ass…” you mutter a bit irritated. You have to get this entire bunker decorated and ready before everyone shows up. In this family, Christmas is a big deal.

The last Christmas you remember seemed so long ago. You never pictured yourself celebrating anymore. But now, you find yourself surrounded by the faint golden glow of the lights adorning almost every inch of the war room. Hollies and garlands are draped over every corner where the wall meets the ceiling and you had a lot more where that came from.

“Okay here you go”, Dean said, holding a small wreath for you to clip onto the draping garlands that you lined earlier.

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“Don’tcha think you should slow down a bit Y/N, you’ve been doing this since you got back from the market this morning.” Dean chuckles while he thinks back to that morning, “you were there forever by the way. I mean I would have gone with you, but there is nothing like killing a bitchy gnome on Christmas eve eve.” The asshole was pretty proud of himself about that too, while you were out at the Christmas market hauling ass.

“Dude, you may not have noticed but the bunker is HUGE!”

“Your point?”

“The point, Michael Scott, is that everything has to be ready in 5 hours. And I still need to decorate the kitchen, the rest of this room, our rooms, the Dean Cave, library, and even the shower room!” Exasperated, you jump down and push past him to get another garland from the stash of decorations you bought.

“Woah woah woah,” Dean turns with a questioning expression, “5 hours? And the shower room? Since when are you Genji girl for Christmas?” Dean chuckles at his own conclusion, and takes a couple of steps back with outstretched arms to try to block you from moving.

You stop abruptly and he is met with your famous bitchface. You try to duck under Dean’s short arms to get to the decorations, but he decides to duck down with you instead.

You glare at him and hiss, “Dean, now is not the time.”

“What do you mean? I always have time to decorate.” Dean says with a stupid grin on his face.

This asswipe.

Does he not realize that you have to make this dull overglorified geek mancave look amazing in a few hours? You want to ask him to move again but think better of it and opt for grinning back at Dean as you clock him in the kidney instead. Dean brings his hand to his stomach area and hunches in surprise.

“What the he-” he starts but you decide to Judo flip him for good measure as a kind of ‘fuck you’ for being annoying. As soon as Dean hits the ground with a big “oof”, you step over his idiotic self to get to your hard earned decorations you got this morning.

As you start digging into your decorations to find something to complement the table in which everyone usually does their research on, you turn to Dean.

“Are you gonna help now that I flipped your ass or —,” Seeing that Dean is still on the ground, you realize that it probably was not a great idea to rough him up after a gnome hunt.

“Okay. Look fine, I’ll call Cas to help me. I already sent Sam to go get us a tree. Fuck! I still have to deal with the goddamn tree!” You pace around the room and then turn to Dean again who is trying to peel himself off the floor “You . . . you take a breather.”

You decide to add two nutcracker soldiers and a poinsettia to the table.

So far, you have hung up lights outside and have decorated the research area, the front entrance and, like, a fair amount of the kitchen.

You walk back towards Dean who is now in the kitchen getting a beer out of the fridge.

“C’mon Dean, time to decorate the rest of the kitchen and then our rooms.” Dean pops open his beer and glares at you. “I’ll buy you a pie after we’re done, how’s that?” Dean looks like he contemplates this proposal and then decides that decorating is worth the pie.

“Alright, but I need a case of beer to get through this.”

After about two hours of decorating, you and Dean have the kitchen, the Dean cave, and all the rooms done. Now all that is left is the shower room. You leave Dean to his last beer in the Dean Cave and head to the shower room. When you step inside, you realize how filthy it is and decide that you do not in fact have to decorate this room. You head back to Dean and declare the end of the first half of decorating.

“Okay so, Cas should almost be here by now since I called him two hours ago and I think Sam texted me five minutes ago saying he’s got the Christmas tree.” You look at Dean to make sure he is still listening and head to the front door, expecting him to follow. “Now all we need to do is help Sam bring in the tree and wait for Cas so we can decorate it.”

At the foot of the stairs to the entrance, you realize that Dean has stopped following and is now staring at you.

You're about to tell him to hurry up if he wants pie but Dean cuts you off.

“Hey, thanks a lot Y/N, you have no idea how much this means to Sam and I. I’m sure Cas will appreciate it as well, despite how much he likes spouting off the history of Christmas for dummies.” He stops for a second, hesitating then continues, “after Bobby, then Kevin and Charlie, Christmas was hard, but thanks for, y’know, decorating.”

You turn to face Dean and consider him for a second.

You weren’t there when Sam and Dean lost them.

You weren’t there to see how that may have affected all of them and you have never brought up anything about it unless one of them talked about them first in fear of bringing up memories that were not welcome. Maybe you should have asked about them more and maybe you did the right thing by waiting for them to pop up. But one thing is for sure. You are here now and every hunter knows that you take every moment that is granted to you as a blessing, because no one lasts very long in this line of work.

“No problem Dean,” you smile, “Christmas means a lot to me too.”

He seemed visibly more relaxed now that that’s out of the way.

Dean smiles back and not long after there is a knock at the door. “That must be Sam, or Cas, or both,” you jog up the stairs now, “took them long enough to get here.”

Dean follows after you when you open the door. Sam is there looking exhausted and Cas is behind him staring up at the lights you painstakingly put up. At least someone appreciates them.

“Hello Dean, Y/N.” Cas says without breaking eye contact with the lights.

“Heya Cas. Thank you for coming to help. Someone wasn’t exactly…in spirits”, you chuckle.

“Hey! You know I helped!”, Dean interjects defiantly.

“After being bribed with a goddamn pie.” You shoot back.

“Uhh hellooo, guy with a huge tree here!” Sam loudly says considering you and Dean are only two feet away from him. Either way, Sam still effectively shuts the two of you up.

“Okay Sammy, we get it.” Dean looks like he is two seconds away from rolling his eyes. “So, um, where exactly is it, because it would suck if you spent all day in town looking for a tree while I killed some creepy ass garden gnomes on this fine Christmas eve eve.”

“It’s right behind me Dean,” Sam says while pointing behind himself, “maybe if you actually looked for once instead of just standing there, you would have just seen it.”

“Whatever bitch,” Dean throws at Sam.

“Jerk,” Sam says back while holding back a laugh.

“Okay guys, why don’t we get the tree from wherever it is before we all freeze out here?” You interject because it's frickin’ cold out and you will be pissed if you catch a cold on Christmas day.

Looking around his slouched form, (let’s be real he is far too tall even when slumped against the wall) you see a pine tree tied up and leaning against the Ford Sam borrowed from the garage, easily looking 10 feet tall.

That’s an impressive find considering that you sent Sam to look for a tree two days before Christmas Day. You were expecting him to return with one that was 3 feet tall looking like an overgrown Charlie Brown tree.

“Wow okay and uh, how do we plan on getting Sasquatch 2.0 into the bunker?”

“Well, uh, I was thinking of just getting Cas to carry it, seeing as he is the only one with super strength here,” Sam says while looking behind him to find Cas who is nowhere to be seen. “Yeah so, did anyone see where he went?”

“Nope,” you and Dean say in unison.

“Okay,” you start, “you guys might as well help me with the ornaments to go with the tree. While you're at it, I’ll grab some beer eggnog that I hid away in the fridge.”

Sam looks at you in disgust. “That sounds revolting,” at about the same time Dean says “as long as it's beer.” They look at each other and look like they are about to initiate a staring contest. These two are absolutely ridiculous sometimes.

You giggle, “Well c’mon, I’m cold and we can look for Cas later to get him to bring the tree in.”

Sam and Dean follow you down the stairs to the kitchen for a much needed refreshing drink of what may or may not be the most disgusting beer they will have. They all pop open the beer after grabbing it from the fridge and are about to have a swig when they hear a loud crash from the general direction in which the library is.

“We should probably go check that out,” Sam says, attempting to conceal his happiness now that he has an excuse not to try the beer.

“Yeah fine, I wasn’t exactly digging the idea of eggnog beer.” Dean says while looking back at you like you had made a mistake. Traitors.

“Fine, be that way then,” you pout as you put the beer down and walk away from the counter, Sam and Dean hot on your tail out of the kitchen.

When you guys get to the library, Cas has already got the 10 foot christmas tree in the door and has set it upright on a makeshift base made out of wood he got from who-knows-where. The tree itself proves too tall for the library and is tilted at an odd angle to make up for the height. The whole thing looks to defy the laws of physics, but it works, and no one questions the being who has been on this earth for longer than all of them and their family trees combined.

Cas himself is still nowhere to be found for some strange reason.

“What’s with the disappearing act again?” Dean says, “how did no one see or hear Cas bring this in and set it up? And how the fuck did he get it through the door?”

“Beats me,” you start, “maybe it was because you and Sam wouldn’t stop bitching about the beer.”

“I never bitched about the beer!” Dean says, “That was all Sam.” He points at Sam to make his point.

“Well, I mean, no offense Y/N but it is a weird flavour.” Sam says and backs up at the same time, thinking that you are about to make a deal about the beer. Which you are. Before you get the chance however, Cas speaks up from behind the tree.

“My apologies everyone, but it seems I have found myself to be in a predicament.”

“What the hell Cas. Why are you behind the tree?” Dean says while making his way to Cas. “Holy shit, guys look at what Cas did.”

Feeling a sense of dread, you and Sam peer around the tree to take a look at Cas. The sight itself is hilarious. It is funny enough to make you forget about the beer no one wants to drink.

Cas seems to have managed to tangle himself in multiple lights that suspiciously look like the ones you spent hours setting up outside. You would be pissed about the fact that Cas took them down, but he looks like a kicked cat right now because he is bending over with a hand at his feet trying to untangle himself, and another stuck to his side by the lights. Serves him right.

“Cas, buddy, what did you do?” Dean says while making a very large effort to not laugh.

“I seem to have tangled myself in some Christmas lights,” Cas says like he’s stating the obvious.

“Yeah, Cas we know, but how?” Sam adds. He, unlike Dean, is already chuckling.

“I thought the lights on the bunker would look nice on the tree, so I took them down after carrying the tree in.” Cas continues to claw at the lights at his feet while simultaneously trying to stand upright. “I didn’t realize that the lights did not come apart and were instead made to be one long string of small bulbs and got tangled. I fell over soon after and now seem to be stuck int his position.” Cas looks to have given up on the lights and just stares at all of them.

“Well, I’m up for that beer now.” Dean says.

“Me two,” you add.

“Me three,” Sam says.

“I would like to point out that I am still stuck,” Cas continues to stare at them like he can commune you guys to help him out of his predicament.

“Buddy, I think we all need a beer before we help you out of that crap.” Dean says while making his way to the kitchen.

“I second that.” you began to say, “you guys really know how to spice up a Christmas eve eve.”

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suna-reversed · 4 years

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𝐩𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

toji fushiguro x reader

You could have anyone you want

Why would you want to be with me?

I’m nothing special

WC- 8k+ || MINORS DNI !!

my fic for the “great conjunction collab”

Warnings/tags- (unprotected sex, oral sex, slight voyeurism, choking, nipple play, mating press, size kink, slight breeding kink) (historical AU, non-canon timeline, greek mythology, hades-persephone retelling, mentions of misogyny/sexism, depression, religion, hurt/comfort, angst, heartbreak, major character injury, descriptions of blood, violence and death, manipulation)

𝙀𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙖 - 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙

It would be an understatement to say that Toji, despite being one of them, had never felt like part of the clan and had hated the whole Zenin bloodline through all his years of suffering.

And the only thing he hated more than his own blood? It was the damned nobles who looked down upon him- mocking his lack of power under whispers and rumours. The spineless cowards didn’t even have the courage to spit those venomous words at his face.

He kept note of every single one of them- it was hard not to with how their laughs echoed in his mind each night as he dug his nails into his palms. So of course his attention was bound to drift towards the mother and daughter from a titled family that happened to take residence in the Zenin estate when they got news that their home down-south had been attacked.

𝘼𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙚𝙖- 𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮

Your home had not been attacked. It was all planned of course- your travel to the mountains up north that crossed the Zenin abode, your mother having fabricated the news so that she had an excuse to find an honourable match for you from one of the most powerful clans. Her sly spies had already done the dirty work, providing you with two suitable men- even if one of them was twice your own age and the other known for his aggressiveness.

The white gown your mother had dolled you in and the orchids she had braided into your hair had every single eye focused on you as you made your way up to your chambers. You kept your head down, too nervous to meet the eye of anyone- hoping no older man took an interest in your facade of purity and innocence and decided to stake his claim on your body. Oh, how you wished you could get away from this life, get away from the wretched woman you had to call your mother, get away from all of it- the stupid clan- the stupid suitors- the stupi-

“Ah!”

You yelped as your body crashed into what seemed to be a rock hard wall of muscles, the scent of night chilled mist and cedar taking over your senses. You blinked.

Gulping, you moved back a step, ready to start sputtering apologies before your mother peeled your skin off for already having embarrassed yourself. Instead, your words stayed stuck in your throat as your gaze met with an intense pair of orbs- filled to the brim with the rage of achilles, but somehow also his sorrow. Your breath hitched in your throat, and in the back of your mind, you knew you should do something- move, apologise, scowl like a noble lady would if nothing else- but all you could do was stand there stunned, the man’s stance mirroring your own.

You flinched as the pot-bellied butler who was leading you down the hallway came back, and you thought the dark haired man might kill him right there for interrupting the burning moment between you two. Instead, you were shocked as he let himself get pushed to the side, stuffing his hands into his pockets, head down as he made a beeline towards the exit.

You barely felt the crescent moons being engraved into your skin as your mother dragged you to your room by the arm, a clipped smile on her face.

𝙊𝙧𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙪𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙀𝙪𝙧𝙮𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙚- 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

“Toji”

He continued walking, even as his eyes held a warning look. Gritting his teeth, he increased his pace.

“Toji-”

He shuddered. Say it again, he wanted to command, instead he turned the corner, hands curling into tight fists.

He had been confused at first, almost appalled, at you- at your audacity to try and act like he wasn’t who he was- a piece of scum, the lowest of the lowly in the clan. But it seemed like this is how you had decided to spend the rest of your time whenever you weren’t being flagged by suitors or being paraded around your mother as the ideal of a chaste loyal wife.

He had indulged you the first time you had struck up a conversation. Perhaps that was his initial mistake. His second being committed just now as he turned to you, the glee on your face making bile rise up to his throat. He had seen women like you before- well born “ladies” of the court in dire need of a good fuck, before they were packaged off like objects to a husband who’d only ever look at them as a vessel for carrying his children. Toji huffed in annoyance, eyes doing a quick scan of his surroundings before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into one of the storage rooms right around the corner.

“Look-”

Toji cut himself off as he saw the baffled look on your face, your eyes starting to fill up with fear and panic. Somehow, he found himself speechless, the bitter words of telling you to go look for pleasure in a whorehouse now dissolving on the tip of his tongue.

He knew who you were being considered as a match for- having overheard the conversation during a clan meeting- it was supposed to be the sons of one of the higher ups and he could already picture the half wilted life you’d be living. And right then, something clicked in Toji’s mind- all those years of hatred and resentment flashing before his eyes as you hesitantly stepped back, tears welling up in your eyes, and right there, Toji knew what he wanted to do- what he had to.

He took a deep breath and your heart hammered even harder in your chest. He had been different from the rest of them- you had known it from the first time. However, now you doubted your own wits, trying to recall the ways of combat you had seen the soldiers back home perform- even though you didn’t quite see how you’d succeed against the tall burly mass of flesh that towered above you. You jumped back as he strode right towards you- eyes clenched shut, hands raised in front of your face ready for the impact and pain.

You were met with nothingness, barely feeling the light brush of his arm as he moved past you.

Toji sighed at your almost childish antics, even though he agreed your actions would have been justifiable if it was any other man having pulled you into such a secluded place. He waited for you to calm down, lazily looking for the latch of the huge glass window situated on the other side of the room. He easily lifted it open, biceps flexing as he did so- placing his hands on the ledge before pulling himself to the other side.

He turned back towards your gawking figure, rolling his eyes, ready to put forward the offer that would decide if you were worth his time and effort or not. He extended his hand, trying to ignore the heat crawling up to the tip of his ears at the giddy relief-filled grin that spread across your face as he asked,

“You ever visited the countryside princess?”

You must be an angel in disguise, he finds himself thinking. It terrified him- the time he had spent staring at the column of your neck, watching your chest fall and rise with every breath- and the time he could have spent simply admiring every crook and nook of your body.

You looked serene in the golden hour of the afternoon, lying on the grass with your eyes shut, sunlight cascading down your figure making it seem as if you carried your own halo. Toji was afraid you’d sprout wings any second now, disappearing away to someplace heavenly- someplace better than the hell you were about to be condemned to- someplace that didn’t have monsters like him. But at last, you were only a human- soon to be one of the Zenins if nothing else.

The time you had sneaked out to the lake in the countryside with him had not been the last of your rendezvous. You had been quite different from what Toji had expected. You hadn’t made any advances towards him but you weren’t the pure little thing everyone believed you to be either.

You were smart to say the least- a trait that families often suppressed in women of your status, trying to force them into nothing but submissive concubines for their future husband. You were oddly aware of it- had mentioned your doomed fate quite a few times now, and he was struck by how you always laughed, as if your own self being stripped away was a joke. You seemed to do that quite a bit, and he understood it in some twisted way of his own plight.

Even as his mind kept reminding him that you had still grown up being pampered, being spoiled, having others do your work for you- others like him. But conversation had flowed so naturally with you, he found himself showing you more and more of his places of solitude he had found all over the village through his years of misery.

You were also naive in many ways, but still blunt in twice as many. Toji had rolled his eyes as he had asked you what you did with your free time back home- the answer was expected- it always had to be something related to the arts and education, trying to pump the ladies full of culture so that they have something to talk about at the dozen balls and galas they’d be attending every month. However, he had almost choked on the pear he chewed as you had started listing names of erotica after erotica- the titles being lewd enough to let him know just how filthy the content inside would be.

You had burst into laughter at the look on his face, crumbs of fruit left on the side of his mouth making him look even more bizarre. You had reached up your fingers almost instinctively, eyes widening as you realised you had brushed them over the scar he never seemed to talk about. His hand was wrapped around your wrist in less than a second, halting it in place.

He had stared right back at you, breaths heavy, eyes calculating as he loosened the grip around your skin, but not before he lifted your fingers to press against the mark once more. You swore you could have heard the drumming of your heart, and perhaps he did too.

As you brushed away the remaining bit of the sweet fruit, you couldn’t help but notice the flush that had formed on his cheeks, even as he scowled.

𝙀𝙧𝙤𝙨- 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚.

“You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”

You’re bent over the table in the storage room that has somehow become your portal of escape from the person you have to pretend to be. It’s not the first time Toji has whispered his filthy administrations into your ear, but he’s never done it quite so close to where anyone could walk in and catch you red handed.

Perhaps it was the fact that his face had turned a sick shade of green at the sight of your suitor tucking your hair behind your ear, your lips twitching upwards at something he said- the same way they had twitched up the night before when he had risen from in between your legs, the taste of yourself flooding your mouth as he had pressed his lips to yours.

This is exactly what you were here for, and despite it, Toji knew who’s name you screamed at the end of every day. So then why did another hand on you ignite a bestial flame inside his chest? Why did he feel the need to pull you away in the dead of the night amongst the crowd of tipsy people, ridding you of the fabric of your dress in one swift movement as he had pressed you against the nearest surface.

You didn't panic for even a moment, you knew it was his hand just from the touch of it, his hot breath against the shell of your ear, and his throbbing member pressed against the curve of your behind as a thumb rubbed circles into your hip bone.

You throw your head back against his muscular chest, craning your neck upwards till you meet his eyes- they soften for the briefest of moments, but the way his tip brushes against your underwear-clad core seems to fill them with raw electricity once more. And you think he’s going to fuck you right there- make you cry out his name for letting another man so close to you. Instead, you gasp as his rough hands grab the flesh of your thighs, kneading the muscle as he spins you around, a smirk being flashed your way as he gets on his knees.

He looks ethereal in that moment. And your breath hitches in your throat as you realise you’ve made a fallen angel bow before you- have tricked him into thinking you can cleanse him of his deeds when the only sinner in this room was you. The way his lips press against the inside of your thighs, nose rubbing against your freshly flowing juices- it’s tantalising, even worse when he takes both your hands in his as they try to find solace in his locks, pinning them to your sides onto the table instead.

He rests his chin right below the apex of your mound, eyes wandering to your face as he sighs, the lazy but smug curve of his lips accentuating the scar you had grown to cherish as much as your own heartbeat.

Your chest is heaving, the sound of your heavy breathing hanging in the silence of the room as you look down at him. If this was to be his ruination- his fall from grace- Toji would die a happy man. The scent of you is lingering right below his nose, his mouth watering alone at the thought, but he cannot seem to pull away his eyes from your beguiling face, bathed in the moonlight. The words seem to escape him before he can think twice of them.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

You’ve barely let his words settle in before he presses his thumb right against your wet heat, rubbing small circles onto your sensitive bud. You don’t have a chance to respond as he proceeds to dive into your drenched cunt- his tongue giving kitten-licks to your clit, lapping up any wetness that dares to drip down. You cry out loud as two of his fingers join his mouth’s onslaught, slapping a hand against your own mouth remembering where you were.

The sounds filling the room as he suctions your clit in between his lips are filthy- arms wrapping around and under your thighs, pulling your arousal even closer to his starving mouth, the new angle of your leg being thrown over his shoulder letting his fingers rub against the spongy spot inside your walls that makes the coil in your stomach snap. You’re grinding against his face and he’s letting you, nose pressing onto your clit as he licks up the remnants of your juices, fingers continuing to fuck you through your climax as they quiver and shake around his head.

You’re still coming down from your high, body hanging limp at an awkward angle against the hard wooden surface. His strong burly arms are easily lifting you up, carrying you towards the other side of the room- right towards the glass window. Your eyes widen as you realise the malicious idea that has popped up into your lover’s head, but you’re barely able to put in two words of protest before your feet are hitting the ground, the cold surface making you gasp as your tits are pushed against it. You’re crying out loud as he rubs his thick length against your soppy folds.

“Toji- someone could see us- we shouldn’t- ah!”

You’re cut off as he lines himself up at your entrance, a pleasurable burn down in your core as his girth stretches your walls. It always hurts. No matter how many times he’s made you cum on his fingers and tongue or prepped you up with an ointment- his size is something no one would ever get accustomed to. He knows it too, but tonight he seems to care less about taking it slow and letting you adjust. You honestly cannot care less too, not when you're gushing around him as such when he’s barely even halfway inside.

“Too big Toji- too much.” You’re mewling, hands trying to grip onto something.

“You can take it- fuck just let me-”

He’s hastily moving his fingers across your stomach to rub your pulsing bud, groaning lewdly at the way your cunt flutters around him, letting him move deeper inside of you.

The growl that leaves him as his tip hits your cervix is grossly animalistic, making you moan loudly. His other hand is coming up to grip your jaw, cheek pressed against the glass as he lifts up one of your legs, the angle letting him thrust in and out of your poor drenched hole even deeper. His thrusts turn sloppy, eyes clenched shut above you as the sounds of his balls slapping against your flesh with each thrust fill the room.

You’re both groaning in unison, his strokes getting faster as he feels your walls clamping down on him. You’re choking on a breath as his hand moves to wrap around your throat, the sensation making you moan even louder.

“Call me selfish-”

A sharp smack is delivered against the flesh of your ass causing you to arch your back, the action making your tits press up against the window even more,

“... but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.”

His lips have been suctioned to your neck, your delightful noises being muffled as he’s turning your head to the side till his tongue slips into your mouth. He tightens his grip around your neck and you’re seeing stars, along with the pace of his fingers on your clit and his rapid thrusts making the well in the bottom of your stomach come apart, tears of pleasure slipping your eyes, the feeling of his seed painting your walls making you clench against him amidst your own orgasm.

You barely feel the arms cradling your body, carrying you to set you down on the table. You furrow your brows as Toji strips himself of his shirt, and your eyes widen at the thought of him ravishing you once more so soon. Instead, you shudder as he swipes it against your sex, cleaning up his mess.

The way you beam at him, even in your exhausted state, is honestly worth the ruined shirt- he finds himself thinking as he moves to pick up your dress from the ground. He clicks his tongue as he realises just how much of shreds he had ripped it into in his feral daze. He’s lifting his head to meet your eyes, wondering how he’ll tell you that you have to find a way to get back to your chambers in this state-

“Oh-”

Your saccharine voice is pulling Toji out of his thoughts, surprise forming across his face as you burst into laughter at the sight of what he’s sure has cost twice as much as all the clothes he’d ever owned combined.

“How well do you think I’d fare going out in one of the potato sacks?”

How could he have not smiled right back at you.

𝘿𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙨- 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙚

Toji had never wanted to rip his own heart out so badly before, inject his blood with ambrosia so that he could be worthy enough for the goddess that was ready to abandon her sanctity- her piece of heaven- for him. He had always known how it would end- in an empty heath of a fire gone out long ago, the only thing keeping it burning now regret and sorrow.

Love could not have sustained you when there was barely enough space to breathe, when there was barely enough food for your kids to live off of. Once the love faded, all that’d remain would be your wish to go back to the past, getting drunk on forgetfulness so that you can survive within the stone cold walls of a house- not a home.

Once again, Toji knew what he had to do- knew he willingly stepped into this hoping to ruin what was supposed to be the prize of his own blood- in order to humiliate them and fulfill his revenge.

He also knew he was the ruined one now as thoughts of you plagued his mind day and night- how his tactful game of cat and mouse had turned into sweet kisses and hushed giggles, and how all he wanted was to find a pit stop in time where his blood did not matter, where the sins of his past did not matter. But despite it all, he knew he couldn’t have dragged you into his own hell, even if you begged him to take you.

He sighs.

You had recited the exact conversation you had with your mother- laid yourself bare before him as you poured out your heart- letting him know that it’d be worth tasting the 7 seeds of evil even if it meant living in hell for half your life.

He had thrown his head back and laughed.

“You really thought our little getaways meant anything more than a fling to me? More than just a decent fuck?”

You stood still, mouth agape at the words that had slipped past his lips, a hand fisting the fabric of his shirt right above his heart, desperately searching for the pulse of the man you’d grown to adore over the past few weeks.

He had looked down at you, the scar you had so tenderly ran your fingers over twitching upwards- in amusement- in laughter, face contorting into one of resentment- of revulsion before he had suddenly stilled.

“Did you forget your place princess? Pretty little head got too lost in a fool’s paradise- did you forget you are one of them- always have been one of them.”

He had spat the last words at you and you wanted to shake your head, wanted to tell him he was utterly wrong, but all you could do was clutch on even tighter to him.

He had put his hand over yours and you had almost begged for him to tell you that this was a sick joke- almost pleaded for him to intertwine his calloused warm hands with yours as he always did- as he had when he made you scream his name, instead you had found yourself gasping at the icy touch as he flicked away your wrist, brows furrowing in repulsion at the contact- at you.

The tears that had slipped through your eyes had only worked to make him throw his head back like a giddy child once more. He had looked up at the sky as if he was mocking the gods in Olympus - look at how I’ve so beautifully wrecked what you created,

while you had stood there looking up at him as if he was your religion, mouthing,

this is not a joke, love me, love me.

𝙊ï𝙯ú𝙨- 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙭𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛

You felt raw. But you did not fight the black hole opening up in your chest. You let it settle into your bones, nurtured the hollowness- ignited it until you felt it turn into flames instead.

You couldn’t have let the ice creep into your heart- it would mean giving up the tears, giving up the feeling of wanting to be swallowed whole by the ground beneath, and that would mean you no longer felt- no longer harboured the only thing that made you feel alive in the cage of bones and flesh your troubled mind resided in.

There was a heavy pain in between the arch of your shoulder blades- like your wings had been clipped and your halo ripped away.

You ignored the scowl that rose to her face, the way she flinched as you leaned over to rest your head in her lap. You couldn’t tell if the wetness on your cheeks was yours or hers- mourning the daughter she was going to lose. You felt your mother’s burning gaze through the back of your head all throughout the journey back home- could already feel the wrath of your father and the nasty bruises that were to come as her hand came down to rest on your head.

You instead found yourself being locked away immediately- not a single word from anyone. The only time your door opened was for a maid to serve you your half portioned meals. Not like you had an appetite or a will to do anything else.

Days passed by, perhaps weeks or months, and you counted the scattered marks on the wall beside your bed like you had done once with the freckles across his back, and you waited- for what? You weren’t quite sure yourself. You waited and waited until the day your door opened, but it wasn’t the regular pitter patter of steps of the maid who served the food.

Instead, your eyes met the raging ones of the head of your clan, and for the first time in days, an icy shiver creeped up your spine.

----

The torment you’re put through is much worse than expected. You were well aware you were to be disgraced, to be stripped of your title, but somehow the gaze of your own friends and family avoiding your beaten bloody form and ignoring your whimpers and cries of agony was what had stung the most.

The world seemed to be upside down, fading in and out of hues of colour and greys and blinding lights. You could barely feel the blood dripping down the back of your head and into your shirt as your gaze managed to remain focused on the window outside of the rattling carriage you lay in, panic rising in your chest as you recognised the familiar scenery.

You fought your hardest to stay awake, but you lost to the increasingly heavy pressure against your head, hoping your blood would run dry before you had to face the hell you were being thrown into. As your head lolled to the side, you wondered if satiating the hunger within you was worth the price you were paying- if this was what happened to every soul that had brought the god of the dead to his knees, wondered if you were the first to do so- wondered if you’d be the last.

𝙃𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙨- 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩

Toji had left the clan- made a living of his own by doing what he did best, by doing what he was made to- destroying and causing wreckage till there was no piece of his soul left to be salvaged.

He had avoided news about you like the plague, and had still ended up finding out that you were locked away back at your home from the gossiping servants. He had chuckled bitterly, what had he been expecting? He was right after all, you'd never have to face any consequences in life, and soon this whole scandal would be swept under the rug and you would be well on your way to marrying another wealthy brat, having filthy little kids with him who’d have the same luxuries in life and-

Toji found his heart dropping, the axe along with the freshly chopped wood he carried thumping down against the forest floor as he reached the entrance of the wooden cabin he had taken residence in. He saw the pool of blood first- the familiar mop of hair later.

No-

He must be hallucinating-

But he still found himself moving out of his own accord, gathering the crumpled figure into his arms, feeling a thick fluid drip down his skin- stain through his shirt as he tried to pick you up. A chill ran down his spine as he realised what those savages had done for your body to resist even in an unconscious state-

And that’s when his eyes slid to the nails in the ground, the sharp metal going right through the flesh of your fingertips, a note pinned to your abdomen in between your shredded dirtied clothes-

“We don’t want the gross wreckage of your perverse ruination. Keep the whore since you wanted her so much.”

A sea of rage rose in the back of Toji’s mind but it stilled, the vicerating waves crashing against the shore that was the barely noticeable action of your chest heaving. He held back what was a choked sob, mind barely sane as he took out the nails as gently as possible- a man so familiar with death yet utterly horrified by it as he counted your laboured breaths, thanked every deity out in the universe for every huff of air that he could feel against his chest as he carried you inside.

—

How do you kill a god?

You had asked him once. He had raised his brow, ruffling your hair before pushing you down onto the bed once more, intent on at least letting you know how you got to heaven.

How do you kill a god?

It now echoed in his mind as he watched your broken body lay on his bed, having done everything he could have to fix you up even though he feared there would be wounds more than just the physical ones when you gained consciousness- if you gained consciousness.

How do you kill a god?

Pit him against another god. Let him stare at his own reflection and see all his glorious flaws until he’s falling to his knees, begging for the taste of ichor to be washed out from his mouth, begging to be stripped of his damned divinity- because the curse of immortality is a heavier burden to carry than the curse of mundane suffering- because it’s easier to drown in a sea full of blood than live with it staining your hands.

𝘼𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙚- 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

“How do you kill a god?” You had asked him once.

Afterwards, you had lain awake late into the night as he had given you a taste of his own holiness, bare in his arms as he had muttered the words into your hair, barely a whisper as they escaped past his bleeding lips,

How do you become a god?

The burning light attacked your eyes and you flinched loud enough for your own ears to ring, and then flinched even harder as the hot searing pain spread through your body, especially across the tips of your bandage covered fingers. You tried to use your voice but your throat was like a desert and your own harsh whisper scraped against your sensitive ears.

All you could do was stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling, lying numb, waiting for your saviour- or perhaps your torturer to come.

All had gone still once the door opened, your gaze falling onto the familiar hands that carried a bowl of water and about a dozen different small bottles in a basket. You stared through him, through his wide blown eyes and through the sigh of relief that left his mouth as he rushed towards you.

How do you become a god?

There was much more you had wanted to tell your mother. You had told her you were sick of pretending, sick of being the goddess of spring when everything you touched died in your hands- how every beam of light you emitted was a stolen one from another soul. Perhaps, you had always craved pomegranates and death - had always willingly walked into the darkness with a smile and open arms.

How do you become a god?

You let him plead and writhe to have a taste of your lips - make him believe it is his only salvation. And right when his lips meet yours, you dig your teeth in deep and not let go, even as his fingers grip the column of your throat and his growls rumble inside your mouth. You let the trail of crimson coat your tongue and feel his tears burn your flesh- you make him taste your blood and take his throne.

—

He says your name like it’s a prayer and you want to rip out his heart.

Instead, you turn your head towards the wall opposite to where he stands, clenching your eyes shut, hoping the next time you wake up it won’t be here.

Still, you can hear his voice. Every single day of every waking moment- even as you sleep- even as you wake up in cold sweat haunted by the bittersweet melody of his laughter the day he crushed your heart in two, or the time your own blood nailed you down into the earth.

But most of all, you hate it when you can hear the gruffness of his voice, still heavy from sleep as you let him cradle your head, shushing you- letting you know it was just a nightmare- but it was a nightmare you had lived through- a nightmare he had put you through.

Not that he didn’t acknowledge it equally as much. It was odd- almost laughable the way he was so desperate to bring even just a flicker of the light back inside your eyes, breaking free from his stoic and tight lipped demeanour to whisper grossly sweet nothings into your hair.

He had explained his regrets the first few days that you had refused to even look at him, simply staring at the wall as he stripped you of your clothes to redo your bandages, not even the barest of reaction visible across your face. He had caused this.

The first words you had muttered to him weren’t of hatred or anger or sadness- they were said into the heavy air, late into the hours before dusk at a point in time where your bones still couldn't support the burden of your body,

“I need to pee.”

You had said it through gritted teeth, had scowled throughout the process of him picking you up and carrying you into the bathroom, giving you privacy to do your business.

The second time you had spoken to him was right after and it had somehow dented itself much deeper than he had expected it to, even as it was all he had been preparing himself for in the past few days,

“I hate you.”

You had said it with no anger, no poison in your words- had simply stated it like it was a mere fact.

“I know.”

—

It was weeks later and you seemed to have fallen into a strange routine.

He’d go out to do his filthy work, come back bathed in blood and dirt, even as he washed himself off outside thinking he was sly with it. You’d pretend not to notice as you’d cook for yourself, sometimes leaving bits behind as leftovers even if you had purposely spilled the extra bit of rice- had regretted it as soon as you had realised you had done it because he hadn’t had dinner in three days.

Perhaps it was the irony of the situation, and maybe even the cold winter air creeping into your bones that let him move from simply holding you when you woke from your nightmares- to him warming your bed at night even when you dreamed of nothing but the scar beside his lip.

Still, you let him know you despised him every night that he pulled your body against his chest and every morning that he rubbed his warm hands up and down your arms. Even as you felt yourself leaning into his touch, felt your heart softening at how he’d mutter apologies into your hair while he thought you were asleep, how he’d pay attention to the foods you took more of and made sure to get twice the amount next time, how he’d shred his own shirts to provide you with cloth for when you got your monthly cycles. Yet, you couldn’t find any other words to say to him.

𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚- 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙐𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

You had woken up alone as you did on most mornings, grateful that you wouldn’t have to face the shame that came with having your limbs tangled with him. The day was like any other yet different, perhaps it was the monotonous dread of living a life such as this- of having to live at all after being stripped of everything you had called yours.

You had somehow ended up taking steps outside of the wooden door, outside of the small garden the burly man used to grow his own vegetables, and even farther outside the vines and shrubs that kept the cabin hidden from any unwanted visitors.

You had walked and walked till your feet carried you to the edge of the world, a never ending fall down below from where you stared at, the sound of water flowing signalling the presence of a river running deep under the steep cliff.

You had stopped walking, the silence of the forest being the only noise to have outdone the heavy emptiness in your heart in months. And you simply continued to stand there, bare feet digging into the dirt and grass and stone, barely realising when the light faded away and darkness took over. Hadn’t it always been like this?

It had taken no more than two rounds of the house and the trail of footsteps in the garden out back for Toji to realise you had left. His heart had dropped into his chest as he had followed the dents of your feet in the ground, careful not to step on them as his mind bitterly reminded him that it may be the last of what’s left of you by now.

He knew where the trail you had walked along led- had himself sat on the edge of it once, legs dangling off as he his mind had replayed the memory of your glossy eyes and crestfallen face when he had hit you with those fatal words months ago. Toji’s breath hitches in his throat, hands shaking as he pulls away the last branch blocking the view of the edge of the cliff.

His feet are moving faster than his mind can think as he all but falls onto his knees, clutching your abdomen as if you’d disappear forever if he let you go now. You turn around in his arms, a look of confusion on your face, your eyes still as hollow as a void but all he cares about right now is the steady thumping he can feel with his chest pressed to yours. He’s clenching his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before he’s sliding his hand into yours. You don’t protest- letting him lead you back into the warm safety of his house and he’s too relieved to consider whether your lack of resistance is a good thing or not.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and you can hear him ruffling through something in the bathroom, door ajar, eyes glancing towards you every two seconds as if he’s expecting you to bolt out the door any second now. For once, you don’t want to stare at the wall as he walks towards you, getting down on his knees- making a blow of nostalgia hit you right in the gut. But your eyes remain fixed at the top of his head, at the dark locks that had grown out much more since the last time you had let yourself gaze at him.

You only realise what he’s been doing as you notice the bowl of water kept on the floor, hands gently lifting up your dirty feet, cleaning them of the mud and the blood from small scrapes. He’s lifting up your legs onto the bed once he’s done, adjusting your pillow as a gesture for you to lay down. He’s blowing out the lamps and soon enough you feel the mattress dip, his arms engulfing you tighter than ever before. You can feel the slight tremble in them and you feel guilty for the small pinch in your chest. You wait for his breathing to steady, head to fall limp into the crook of your neck before you roll over towards him in the dark, eyes set on the small crinkle between his forehead and brow.

The warm hand that cups Toji’s cheek has him convinced that he may have lost his mind. Opening his eyes, he knows for sure that you have. Especially as you slide your other hand into his, pulling it till it’s placed onto the crest between your collarbone and chest, adjusting it a little more towards the left. Toji’s staring intently at you, wondering if this is your way of telling him that you’re still alive- that even though you’ve been cursed and damned to living in this hell, your heart still beats- it still fights.

Toji bares his own emotions through a gesture- pulling the small hand that holds his to the apex between his upper ribs- pressing it till your fingers feel like they might just pass through his flesh. He hopes you know that if he could, he’d snap each one of his ribs open so that you can reach inside and press the palm of your hand against his beating heart, rip it right out of his body and spit inside the hollow space of his ribs with contempt- even then he’d survive on your hatred alone if it means surviving with you for the rest of his life.

“I don’t hate you.”

The words are whispered in the dead of the night with no emotion, no trace of forgiveness or affection- simply stated as if they are common knowledge.

The soft lips coming down on his own have his mind spinning. He realises what it is you wish for- to be able to live once again as a human, to feel once again as a mortal- he can almost almost hear you saying the words into his mouth as your fist bunches up the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m tired of being a god.”

He can feel his own sentiment being passed right through as his hands slide under the cloth of his shirt that you wore, exploring the expanse of your reverenced skin, mouthing his response against your cupid’s bow.

“I’ll worship you even after you fall from grace.”

And he does, pulling himself up on arms above you, dipping his fingers into your soaking sex, making quick work of ridding you and himself of your clothes. He’s tucking your legs against your chest, feet dangling over his broad shoulders as he comes forward to meet your lips. He’s pulling away and you’re mewling at the loss of contact- the loss of his taste.

“Do you want this? Do you want-” He takes a deep breath, forehead coming forward to press against yours till your noses brush against each other, “...me?”

Your response comes in the form of sliding your hands to the back of his head, pulling him forward till his lips crash against yours once more- bucking your hips up till the tip of his massive girth is brushing against your heat. He doesn’t miss the moan that escapes you, eagerly kissing you back, moving to litter a plethora of kisses against your jaw- your neck- your collarbone. When he comes back up to your face, he’s well aware of the effect he’s had on you- the want in your eyes as you lift your hips against his once more, a small plea leaving your mouth.

The need that comes over him is animalistic as he moves a hand down to position himself before sliding into your soppy hole, he swears he can see stars with how hungrily you swallow him in. You’re gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he strokes your insides so languidly. Your faces are close enough for you to feel his breath on your mouth, to feel the fall of the hot droplets on your cheeks, your own tears of grief- of freedom- of a love gone to waste so long ago combining as he continues to thrust in and out of you deeply.

He’s dipping his head and the tears are being kissed away as his hand moves down to play with your over sensitive bud. You can't stop peppering kisses against his lips, moaning his name in his ear as he hits a particular spot inside you. He can feel you getting closer with how your breaths get deeper, fingers moving faster, strokes getting sloppier.

You feel the tight coil in your stomach start to unravel, and all it takes is for him to lower his head and suction his lips around one of your nipples for you to come apart underneath him. He’s reaching his own arousal soon after, pulling out to spray his seed onto your stomach. He all but collapses on top of you, rolling over to his side once he catches his breath, another hitching in his throat as he finds you crawling onto his lap, legs straddling his waist as you bury your face into his naked chest.

This is what being a god feels like. The taste of wine coating your tongue and the way his lips meld with yours- swallow you whole and then spit you out. You reach for him again in the dark, his chest panting against yours as the moonlight cascading from the window hits his face. You rest your chin against the centre of his chest, looking up at him with droopy eyes, his own stare right back at you- filled with tenderness and affection.

“No one will ever hurt you again, I promise.”

His voice is gruff and heavy, but carries a sincerity warm enough to send tingles down your back. You can’t quite place the look on his face, it's determined- pointed. You can feel the unravelling of the violence beneath his skin as his hand comes to cradle your jaw, and you wonder just what kind of monsters the god of the underworld plans to unleash.

His hand moves to caress the back of your head, adoration-filled eyes raking over your still panting figure. He presses his lips to your temple and says your name like a prayer. It all floods in- the pain- the love- the sorrow- the joy- you’re sobbing and he’s holding you like he has time and again. Only this time, he finds himself awestruck by the spark of ember that comes alive in your eyes, even if just for a second, he knows you’re going to be fine.

The god of the dead had bowed before you, offered you his crown, his throne- would have ripped off the flesh from his own back and handed it to you without any hesitation if only you asked.

You were the goddess of spring and everyone had loved your life and light, but who except him had acknowledged the death and destruction that came along- had reached out their hands into the rotten parts of your flesh and kissed every bruise and scar?

This was Toji Fushiguro’s life now, coming back home to his precious darling each day- the only burst of spring in his everlasting winter, the only ray of light in his world swallowed by darkness.

Tonight, as you lay on him bare-bodied and covered in sweat from your previous feat, he finds you asking him about the season, about how far the harvest festival was. He’s confused at your sudden curiosity but answers you nonetheless, telling you it’s in a fortnight. He finds himself asking why.

“Every single member of our blood attends the festival- they had waited for it while they kept me away.”

It’s the first time you’re talking about the incident and he can feel you quiver in his arms. It makes his blood boil, and he finds himself protectively pulling you even closer into him.

“...they had wanted each and every single one of them to get a chance to cut through my skin.”

That’s all you say before falling asleep, the tears on Toji’s chest making a storm of anger rage inside his mind.

It’s a fortnight later and Toji watches the red and orange hues of the flames making your face glow brighter than the sun.

You’re standing there hand-in-hand with him, looking over the half wrecked ruins of the village, the screams of the people you had grown up with- who had taken no less than a second to turn their backs on you- who had left you to die- now echoing in your ears. Right on the edge of the hilltop you stand on, you see a small figure running towards the slope, clothes burnt, high pitched sobs filling the air as it succumbs to the heat that had spread through it’s bones.

She must’ve been eight or nine years old judging from her size and half burnt frills of the frock she wore. You know she’s at peace, much like the many others who would’ve faced nothing but agonising hardships being raised in the hands of your cruel persecutors- all of whom lay as nothing but bones and ash and dust now.

Toji’s worried that he’ll find the same emptiness he’s spent months breaking through as he glances over at your face. Instead, there’s a fire being reflected in your eyes, a sadistically deliciously smile stretched across your supple cheeks. He finds his own lips curving as he grips your jaw to turn your head and press his lips to yours, the screams and shouts of your monsters merely anything but white noise as your fingers come to tangle in his hair.

After all, Hades may have been the god of the dead, but it was Persephone’s wrath which brought upon the destruction.

credit- prompt list

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#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk smut #jjk tw #jjk angst #jjk hcs #toji angst #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji fluff #gojo smut #sukuna smut #hades persephone retelling

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missluckycharms · 3 years

Text

These small moments.

Single Dad!Harry and his little love, Honey.

Summary: mornings with Honey are Harrys favourite, small chats with blurry eyes and lazy smiles is what makes him feel closer to his little lady.

A/N: ahhh they’re so 🥺 enjoy !!

Click *** for visuals throughout the story.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff and dad jokes.

Word Count: 2.1K

Masterlist.

It’s nearly seven in the morning.

The sunrise shining through the windows and casting a bright warm hue onto Harry’s sleeping body in his bed. The white sheets tossed about and his head buried in the pillow, his cheek smushed to up and his lips slightly parted letting out small snores.

The only sound throughout the whole house is the sound of birds chirping about outside and the engines of cars on their way down the roads, the morning rush nearly upon the streets as people make their way to their nine till five jobs. The house has a slight breeze throughout due to Harry always sleeping with his window cracked open, and his door cracked open also to allow honey to walk in when she needed her Papa.

Speaking of the little love, she’s already awake, in her own small pink coloured bed, many pillows around her and her stuffies lined up against the wall, her favourite stuffie in her hand — Pascal from Tangled is her favourite stuffie, she brings him everywhere, even sneaks him into school in her back pack when Harrys not looking. She does this every morning, she lays in bed and talks to her stuffie or just stares at the ceiling, her glow in the dark stars now white and barely noticeable in the bright room, her pink curtains casting a pink hue around the room.

She waits five minutes before she’s hopping out of her bed and padding along towards her door, she pulls it open as it’s only closed a little, allowing enough of a gap for her small body to fit through. She snuggles pascal as she walks, looking around and noticing her Papa must still be asleep, she immediately darts for his room, peeping her curly head in and looking at his sleeping body, his back facing her and his bed messy as usual, but there’s always enough space for her to snuggle up next to him.

She doesn’t wake him, she tip toes towards the side he’s not laying on, throwing pascal up first before she’s hiking herself up on the large bed, a small groan when she has to put more strength into getting up than usual due to her sleepy state. When she’s up, she brushes the curls from her face with a harsh swipe, her blue doe eyes looking at her Papa, his hair messy like hers. She lays down on the pillow, looking at her Papa as she softly taps his cheek and pushes pascal towards him.

“G’morning button” he grumbles when he hears a small giggle, pascal now on his back as her dimples pop out at how ridiculous the man looks with a small green chameleon stuffie on his bare back. He smiles when he hears her hearty laugh, instantly wrapping his tattooed arm around her and squishing her into his chest.

“Papa! Cant see!” She laughs loudly, her small body being caged by her Dad’s broad muscular one, his own laughs filling the room as she peeps her head up at him, a small pout on her lips which causes him to lean down and peck her lips lightly.

“Have a good sleep? Yeah?” He asks when she nods happily, her small hand playing with his cross necklace as he shuts his eyes for a few more minutes, face buried in her chestnut curls as she talks to him and pascal, Harry never knowing which one she’s actually talking to sometimes.

“Papa? Pancakes now?” She asks after another five minutes, her small attention span running out which causes Harry to wake up from resting his eyes, smile back on his face as he turns them over so he’s laying on his back and Honey is sat on his stomach slapping his chest looking at his tattoos — she loves his tattoos or his “paintings” as she calls them.

“Papa, your pearlies are gone” she says disappointed looking to see that her favourite necklace of his which is his Pearl one, is missing. She loves to run her small hands over it, the feeling and look of it making her eyes wide in awe at the beauty of it.

“Should I wear them today?” He asks with a smile, watching as she rubs her eyes a little, slowly waking herself up as she lets out a small yawn, her small pouty lips returning as she babbles on nonsense as Harry tries to tame her hair a little before he has to style it for her today.

“Love your pearlies Papa” she says brightly, laying down on his chest, her curls tickling his chin as he wraps and arm around her back, rubbing small circles on it as she relaxes a little, her small body still trying to wake up as Harry softly kisses her head.

It’s when his alarm rings when the two actually peel themselves from bed, Honey immediately springing up and slapping his phone to turn off the sound, it’s her favourite thing to do for some reason, she always shouts “I did it Papa!” Which makes him laugh and nod kissing her head proudly. They’re both in the kitchen now, the early start allowing them to lounge about in their comfy clothes for awhile while they make breakfast. Harry is only in a pair of grey joggers while Honey sits on the counter, helping him add in flour and sugar to the pancake batter in her baby pink bunny printed silk pyjama set *** the darker complexion of her skin standing out against the pale pink, Harry was overjoyed when he seen she had the same skin tone as her Mum, her darker skin causing her blue eyes to be brighter.

“Wanna help crack an egg button? Need t’be careful though, don’t want crunch pancakes now do we?” He asks with a grin as she pulls a disgusted face shaking her head. Her small palm helps her Papa’s hand crack the egg and she giggles watching it plop down into the dry mixture.

They scarf down their banana pancakes through small chats and giggles, Harry cracking his usual jokes that have Honey giggling loudly as she shovelled her pancakes into her mouth, their faces hurting from laughing by the time they’re up in her bedroom, Harry standing at her drawers, holding up small outfits as Honey sits like the diva she is on her bed, giving him a thumbs down when she doesn’t like an outfit he picks. She’s so stubborn, but she gets that from him.

“I do it Papa!” She says annoyed now, marching over to him as she picks her up with a laugh, her small hands rooting about until she pulls out a white cable knit jumper with a few frills on the sleeves and a baby pink velvet pinafore to go over it. She smiles up at him as he nods, happy with her choice. ***

“Did good button, need to put some tights on you though, getting a bit nippy out” he says as she nods, walking towards her sock drawer and pulling out some white knitted tights with an smile as Harry gives her a thumbs up, causing her to laugh loudly.

“Why Papa shave?” She asks sitting on the sink, her small outfit on her and her brown boots swinging on her feet as she dangles them off the counter beside the sink watching as Harry applies his shaving foam and wets his razor under the water, he’s still shirtless and only in his joggers as Honey watches on — she loves watching him, when he’s shaving his face or when he’s cooking, even when he does something a small as put her DVD in the player, she’s fascinated by him and Harry thinks it’s because he’s all she has, and he doesn’t mind being the centre of her attention as she is his.

“Papa has hair on his face, sometimes it gets itchy when it lets long. You don’t like it sure you don’t, always complaining it tickles when I kiss ya” he says with a laugh, his hand gliding the razor over his face as he inspects himself in the mirror, trying not to nick himself as Honey watches on curiously.

“Yuck! Hate Papas beard, gross!” She says as Harry looks at her, his face shaven and the foam gone, he picks up his curl cream and scrunches it through his hair a little.

“S’not nice to say gross button, remember? Cant say things are gross” he warns her, her small face falling but nodding as she takes the small scolding from her Papa, he rarely scolds her and when he does, he feels guilty but he knows it’s for her own good. Apart from a few slip ups here and there, she’s the most well mannered toddler ever, everyone that meets her complements Harry on his good parenting which means so much to him due to what he’s been through to get to where he is now.

It’s another few minutes before Harry is fully dressed, a baby blue striped grey suit *** on his body and his usual gucci heeled boots that Honey loves the sound of, she instantly perks up at the sound knowing her Papa is near. She claps when he walks out from the bathroom, it’s her new thing, she claps like he’s putting on a fashion show, causing him to strike a pose which causes her to fall back onto the bed in fits of laughter.

“Alright button, hair time!” He says as she widens her eyes, trying to wriggle off his bed and run away. She hates her hair being combed due to her curls being unruly and always tangled on her head. He grabs her and makes monster noises at her, tickling her belly as she screams out a laugh, nearly falling from his arms as he places her down on the counter by the sink, she spins around and watches herself in the mirror.

“What are we going for today Miss Styles?” He asks her like a professional hair stylist, her smile wide as she grabs a pink hair tie with small butterfly clips also, she shows them to him in the mirror as he smiles, taking her hair brush and de tangling spray. He struggles a little but he gets there in the end, her hair tied up in a pony tail and the small butterfly clips all around her head as she smiles brightly at herself.

“Did good job Papa!” She says clapping her hands, seeing how her Dad is improving, he’s been watching tutorials nightly and even trying some on himself as he gets used to braiding and all that stuff for when she starts asking for more complex styles in her curly hair.

He packs her bag and they’re both out the door quickly, he straps her into her booster seat in his black Range Rover, her legs dangling about as she rings and dances to the song on the radio, Harry keeping his eyes on the road but they flicker to hers in the rear view mirror when she speaks to him. Honey loves school, she loves her teacher and she loves making new friends due to her out going personality that she definitely got from her Mum, she could make friends with a tree if she was near one.

She’s holding his hand as he walks her in the gates, the other kids all lining up on their designated class spot on the ground, a yellow circle painted on the tarmac signalling the younger class. The Mums are all there with their kids, the odd few Dads there also but it’s always the Mums who are smiling and speaking to Harry as they watch their kids walk into their classroom, small hands waving as they excitedly march into the school. He doesn’t stay long after she’s gone in, mainly because the Mums have no filter and would publicly flirt with the single Dad even when they have wedding bands on their fingers.

He brushes off all the women, smiling at them as he runs out the gate, hearing them all whisper amongst themselves as they excitedly look on as he pulls away in his expensive car heading towards his work building. Harry feels empty when Honey is gone, he loves mornings with her, just him and her going about their mornings, making breakfast and cracking up at jokes they tell one another back and forth over banana pancakes every morning, some mornings they have cereal if they wake up late and sometimes if they wake up extra early and can’t go back asleep, they get ready and Harry brings her out for breakfast before dropping her off at school.

It’s the little moments with Honey that Harry cherishes, knowing she won’t be his little love for very long, but doesn’t think about that. He lives in the present with her and he loves how they are now, he loves his little lady with all his heart.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles fandom #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #singledad!harry #single dad au #fanfic authors #fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader

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gotnofucks · 3 years

Text

A Man’s World

Pairing: soft!dark!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: To advance in a man’s world, you must allow one to own you. He promises you success, as long as you give yourself to him.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Dub-con (at the beginning), smut, language, implied age gap, poor knowledge of law and legal system, 18+ ONLY

A/N: This is my late entry to Berry’s Sugary 4k Challenge (everyone go and send some love to @donutloverxo for being so awesome. I am also dedicating this fic to Lexi ( @bluemusickid ) who’s had a difficult few weeks recently. I hope you feel better my love.

Sweat was building under your top hat, the urge to itch making you frustrated with the delay. The officer before you was young, probably your age and fumbled with the papers you had handed to him. You tried to relax, almost as nervous as the man in front of you and tried to console yourself with the fact that he was far too jittery to look at you long.

No one will find out, you’re safe.

“Sir?”

You chewed your chip, feet tapping irregularly on the ground in agitation.

“Sir?” The officer said again, peering at you worriedly. You quickly pulled down the rim of your hat, still not used to being called ‘sir’.

“Uh, yeah. Yes.” You said, clearing your throat and trying for a deeper voice. The officer handed you your papers back, all signed and stamped. “Thank you.”

He nodded slightly and motioned for you to wait while your client was brought out. This was the first time you’d been out in the open alone, the fear of discovery clashing with the freedom that ran in your veins.

“Did you bail me out?” A rough voice asked. You looked up at Mr. Lane, a huge mountain of a man who towered over you. You nodded and offered him your hand to shake, wincing as his rough palms scratched against your soft ones. He looked doubtfully at you and you could understand why. You barely looked like a person who belonged in the police station, no matter as a man or woman.

“I am Mr. Barber’s assistant. He was busy with a hearing and sent me to bail you out. If you’d follow me to his office, he’d like a word before we proceed to your trial next week.” You explained, a little more confident. You knew the work, you knew the ways. You only needed to sell your lies to make your truth valid.

Mr. Lane nodded, following and entering the coach outside the station after you. He sat across from you, eyes narrowing as he ran over your soft features, the clip clop of the horses the only sound within.

“You old enough to be an assistant, boy?” Mr. Lane asked, and you scowled. Oh, how you’d like to tell him you were old enough and good enough to be not just an assistant but also a lawyer. You could be the one representing him in court and making him a free man. You should be that one. But, alas, this world doesn’t see women doing much rather than peeling potatoes and popping out a child every second year.

“I am.” You replied in a gruff tone that made it clear you weren’t about to entertain more questions. Your companion nodded, looking out the window and into the streets where peddlers screamed about discounted watches and handkerchiefs and buttons. Not many people had cushioned coaches like this, but Mr. Barber insisted one for your travels.

The journey to the office was quick and silent and you gestured Mr. Lane to follow you up to the top floor where your boss sat in his office. Some people nodded at you, now getting used to seeing you here though they didn’t stop to talk. You had never spoken much to anyone here outside of the receptionist who was deaf in one ear and considered every man under the age of 40 was a boy.

“Wait here, I’ll let you in in a moment.” You said and had Mr. Lane take a seat on the benches outside. Then, you knocked softly and entered, shutting the door after you. Andy was sat behind his desk, frowning at some paper, and beckoned you closer without looking up from them. You walked over to him, licking you lips softly.

“Sit.” He said, taking your hand and pulling you into his lap. You positioned yourself on his thigh, squirming a little. He scribbled something in the corner of his paper before pushing it away with a sigh, turning his face to you. His eyes, bluer than the ocean at the docks, glittered at you and a small smile curled on his lips. With a practiced move, he removed your top hat and released the band that held your long locks tied together at the top.

Running his fingers through your hair, he leaned closer to press a kiss on your lips. You instinctively kissed back, holding onto his shoulder and moulding your lips to fit his.

“How did it go?” He asked, caressing your cheek softly. You fingered his collar, not looking in his eyes.

“I was worried someone will see through me.” You softly murmured. “There were so many men out there.”

Andy chuckled, pressing another kiss on your lips as his hand sneaked around your waist to bring you closer.

“There are always going to be men around. But you must remember you’re better than them. Better than any other son of a dick out there pretending he is the boss.”

You looked at him at that, taking in his beautiful face that had you smiling and crying in equal parts. You could tell exactly how that well-groomed beard felt between your legs, how those lips could make you utter the filthiest of sounds and curses and how those large hands touched you in the dark of the night.

“Better than even you?” You tentatively asked and Andy smiled, taking your hand and bringing it to his mouth.

“You’ve always been better than me.” He said. You blinked and looked away, his gaze far too intimate to hold. Try as you might, you could not figure this man out. Months you’d spent with him, living, and working and being his any way he asked, and yet he was as much a mystery as he’d been the first time you met.

“Uh, Mr. Lane is waiting outside. Should I call him in?” You asked and he nodded, squeezing your side before releasing you. You put your hair up again and wore your hat, hiding your face under its shadows and calling the client in.

When a girl turns a certain age, she is expected to find the most eligible bachelor and flutter her eyelashes in a bid to secure a match. Your mother threw grand balls for your sisters and was planning an even grander one for your introduction to the society. But you had had enough of dancing with lecherous bastards with as wandering hands as their eyes. You couldn’t stomach the thought of being bound to one of them, so you took your chance and ran.

Leaving behind your quaint town, you entered the bustling city with an assortment of clothes and a heart full of hope. It took you a week to understand that this was no place for you, no place for a lady who dreamt of being her own person. No one wished to employ you, a young girl who had no business demanding pay and rights.

However, in this bustling city of strangers, you found a man who wished to own you. Andy Barber told you in no uncertain terms that he would not hire you as long as you dressed like a woman, but he also promised that he could train you to be better than any other man. Provided, you give yourself to him. You weren’t naïve enough to pretend to not know what he was asking for, but you were desperate enough to say yes. This was better than a marriage anyway. There too, a man would have parched his thirst over your naked chest, but at least here you could learn and get paid for it without being bound to him.

Andy was not unkind. As a mentor, he was strict and meticulous. He worked you hard, taught you well, gave bitter feedback but praised you just the same. As a lover, he was exacting, exploring your chaste body with touches rough and soft, demanding response and reverence. The first night you laid with him, he spent hours worshiping you. His lips, lined by his bushy mustache, traced your face and neck, roving over each contour of your body until his mouth had tasted all.

The modesty you had guarded forever was bare to his gaze, but he didn’t lust like a man who cornered women in dark alleys. He had knelt before your open legs like men of cloth did at the lord’s altar, kissing the dewy folds of your sex with so much passion and delicacy that you had indeed felt like a goddess. Never had you imagined a man to put his mouth there, not when your mother had told you it was unclean. Andy, on the other hand, tasted it like he tasted absolution in your nectar.

He taught you more than simply law. The pleasures of flesh, of learning to please yourself and your companion were lessons that took place in the dark of night. He whispered things that Satan preached in your ear, seducing you into sin that you soon came to crave.

“Touch yourself”, a command he gave often. Nothing pleased him more than seeing you bring yourself to completion with your eyes trained on him, thoughts full only of him and how his body rocked yours.

You had done a great many things with him, things that had you flustered for days on end whenever your thoughts would turn to him, but what you were doing now was nothing short of scandal. It was blasphemous, something that would ruin you way more than if people found you falsely parading as a man in the city.

“Andy!” You hissed, pushing against him to no avail. He had dragged you into the men’s room inside the courthouse, cornering you against the wall and pressing his body flush to yours. He was wearing his best clothes today, about to represent an important man in a case that had made the front page for two weeks straight. Time together had been more work than pleasure, and it seemed Andy had reached his breaking point right before the trial started.

He started working on the buttons of your waistcoat, a frenzy in his eyes. “I need to take you now. This might as well be the most important case of my career, and I’ll begin it by being inside you, and end it just the same!”

You moaned, letting your hands roam his body as he finally undid your waistcoat and shirt, frantically ripping away at the bandages that bound your breasts. As he took one of your hardened nipples in his mouth, you palmed his pulsing hardness from over his pants, shivering at the thought of feeling it inside you again.

He scared you like this, for someone could walk in and see the illustrated Andrew Barber making a beast with two backs in the male room with someone who greatly resembled a man. He will be ruined. You would be ruined. And as of now, the very thought of that caused wetness to pool in your underpants.

“Get on your knees and taste me.” He urged, pulling out his cock and pumping it. “As you sit beside me today, I want you to have my taste in your mouth. One day, I’ll sit beside you too.”

You were a gently bred lady of impeccable reputation, but you sunk to your knees with the practiced move of a street woman to take him eagerly in your mouth. Oh, if your proper mother could see you, sucking a man like a whore in the damp men’s room, her teachings of propriety and modesty all but forgotten. But nothing made you feel more than a woman that receiving Andy like this. His desire, his need for you burned in his eyes and you lapped on those flames to quench the thirst in your heart.

His hand moved behind your head, easing you into taking him deeper. “Look at me” He whispered, and your eyes met his, shining with unshed tears. He did this to you, reduced you to who you loathed to be and yet loved. Swirling your tongue over his soft skin, you bobbed over his length, the squelching sounds filling the small room.

Just like always, you tasted his power and his yearning. The milky drops of precum coated your tongue, your nose taking in the smell of his musk as he groaned above you. He reduced you, but then why did you feel raised?

“Touch yourself, let me taste you too.” He ordered, and you complied. Your hand slipped inside your pants, finding your moist core. Generously lubing your fingers in your slick, you rose on shaky knees and presented your wet fingers to Andy who sucked them eagerly in his mouth. Warm, wet, his tongue took in your taste with relish.

You couldn’t stop but stare into his blue eyes, eyes that should have haunted your nightmares, but you only saw them in sweet dreams. “Kiss me” You begged, and he did. He kissed you like a man starved, like a man who could suck out your soul and draw it in himself. He kissed you like dew kissed the morning grass, like the colours of rainbow that scattered in the sky to paint it pretty.

“Tell me where you want me, how you want me.” He said, surrendering control. You stilled, hands resting on his chest. How were you to lead him when he was infinitely more experienced about the art of making love?

“I – I want you inside me.” You softly said, eyes fluttering as you shy looked away. Why was saying what you do so many times so difficult.

“Inside where?” Andy asked, tilting your chin up again. You gulped, your face and chest flushed.

“In my – in my” You stuttered, fearing to speak the word he spoke often. “In my pussy.”

You would have thought he would ravish you as soon as you said the words, instead he brought you closer and nudged your nose with his. His breath came out in erratic spurts, his need evident in his gaze. “You will put me inside you, however you want. It’s time I let you take some lead.”

Holding his gaze, you pumped his length gently before turning around and presenting him your ass. You struggled to position him, trying to place his tip at your opening. He didn’t move an inch to help you, only chuckling slightly when you huffed in frustration. Finally, you felt him at your slit, and you slid him between your folds carefully, trying to coat him in your wetness like you’d seen him do.

“What if someone walks in?” You asked, hesitating for just one moment.

“They’ll have to wait while we finish. You’re not walking out of here unsullied, so how about we hurry up?”

You pushed back into him, taking him inside your pulsing sleeve with ease. The stretch of his cock had always felt good, a pain that had a lasting effect and reminded you of him. As you moved back and forth, urging him to meet you halfway, you wondered why the self loathing never came. Andy had a way of making you feel like a queen when others may suspect you of nothing more than a whore.

“Andy” You brokenly said as he thrust inside you faster, “I want more. Please.”

He gave you more. He took over, holding onto your waist and sliding home inside you in deep, powerful strokes. You whined under his assault, jerking when his fingers found your nub and mashed it. Praises, curses, words of love and lust that had the power to destroy hearts and armies flowed freely from his mouth, as if the only thing tethering him to this earth was your body.

Your hands went to play with your breasts, a strangled moan caught in your chest. Suddenly, even when he moved inside you with such passion, you craved more intimacy than his cock could offer. You tilted your head to the side, offering him your mouth that he took in a sensual kiss. You were so close that you couldn’t decide what limb was yours and which was his anymore. In the age old dance of sensual love, you became one.

“What do you want?” He asked, and your eyes met his. He asked you this every time, and you had always answered the same thing. But today, this felt different. You were in the courthouse, a lawyer’s battleground and also the place of worship. He was more than your mentor and boss, he was also the man who you had grown to care for so deeply it could only be called one feeling.

“Inside me. I want you to finish inside me today.” You answered and his hands clutched you tighter. You’d never allowed that before, never allowed him to call you his so completely. But you felt compelled by his heat today, by the desperation he never bothered hiding from you. Once, this may have felt like a chore. Today, it was your blessing. “Andy, make me yours.”

He groaned, pumping in you with abandon and bringing you over the edge with his fingers that were running circles around your clit. You moaned loud, blubbering in pleasure that spilled from you, uncaring if someone were to walk in. His thrusts were getting irregular, hips jerking until you felt him twitch and release inside you in hot spurts. Warmth bloomed in your core, your essence mixing with his.

He hugged your sweaty body to his, the wool of his coat scratchy against your flesh. “You were mine, even before. Now, more so than ever. And one day, when you’re ready, I’ll claim you in front of the world as fully as my heart has done in private.”

You felt him run his thumb over your ring finger and licked your lips. He wasn’t asking, and you weren’t answering. But one day, maybe you will. Until then, you were happy to be his beautiful secret, posing as his assistant and learning from him.

“Don’t,” He whispered hotly in your ear, turning you around swiftly. “Don’t think too much. We’ve got a case to win.”

He helped you dress again, buttoning your shirt and waistcoat with nimble fingers. He was getting back to being your boss, and you couldn’t have been prouder of him at this moment. One day it will be you in his spot, you knew it.

“Just one question.” You said, fixing his tie and smoothening the wrinkles on his clothes. He raised an eyebrow at you, softly smiling at the mischievous look in his eyes. “What will happen once I am a lawyer too?”

Andy chuckled, pressing the softest of kisses on your lips. “Whoever wins more cases gets to be on top of course.”

You exited the men’s room with him, head high as any other man’s. As you entered the courtroom, you licked your lips and smiled as you tasted him on your tongue.

#sugary4kchallenge #soft!dark andy barber x reader #andy barber x reader #andy x reader #soft!dark andy barber #andy barber

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polaroid15 · 3 years

Text

Parker Luck

Summary: Two weeks after the Vulture-incident, Tony buys a parenting book. Too bad there isn't a chapter on Parker luck.

Read on Ao3 HERE :)

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Two weeks after the Vulture fiasco, Tony buys a book called ‘Parenting for Dummies’.

He almost immediately regrets the purchase and hides it in a drawer in the lab, not yet brave enough to face it. Then one day he spends three hours squished against Peter’s side, listening to the boy ramble about everything under the sun while they adjust his web shooters. It hits Tony like a brick wall, and when Peter bounces out of the lab after teaching Tony a complicated handshake he knows he’ll never remember, he swears under his breath.

He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He had known it from that very first moment in the kid’s bedroom in Queens.

For once, denial has gotten him nowhere.

After his eyes ache from staring at the door Peter had disappeared from, Tony stands, stretches out a kink in his lower back, and grabs the book from the drawer before he can lose his nerve. Still standing, he traces his thumb over the word Parenting on the cover.

Retreat, his mind begs. Stop. Before it’s too late.

But deep down, he knows he’s already in too deep.

With a heavy sigh and a pressing warmth in his chest, Tony flips the pages to chapter one.

--------

Peter calls it ‘Parker luck’.

Tony calls it the source of his ever-increasing gray hair.

When Peter stumbles into the Tower covered in blood and delirious from a nasty hit to the head, Tony thinks he’ll pass out from the sudden weight of his worry. It only takes some gentle coaxing and seven stitches to make it better, but the unease sits in Tony’s gut long after Peter falls asleep. When the boy wakes up, he apologizes until Tony snaps at him not too.

“It’s the Parker luck, Mr. Stark,” Peter tells him, his head wrapped like a mummy on halloween. “It gets me everytime.”

Parenting for Dummies Chapter Three: Listen. “A nasty concussion doesn’t exactly sound like luck to me, kid.”

“Oh, well it’s not good luck,” Peter clarifies with a weak smile. “In fact it’s really bad luck. Exceptionally bad.”

“You’re killing me here.”

“Did you know that I slipped on a banana peel once? A banana peel. I was on crutches for three weeks in middle school.”

Tony’s worry melts into a hesitant amusement. He sits back on his stiff medbay chair and makes a distant note to invest in a better one. “That is pretty lousy luck, kiddo.”

“And it just keeps getting worse,” Peter says. “Getting bitten by a radioactive spider, crashing Flash’s car, or the fact that I spent homecoming destroying a plane while fighting my date’s dad.”

“I hope this Parker luck of yours isn’t contagious,” Tony jokes, but something in Peter’s eyes darkens. He leans back against the white sheets, chewing on his bottom lip. Tony thinks again of chapter three, of the subtitle that prompts to push at the right times, and takes the liberty. “What is it, kid?”

Peter closes his eyes and gives a watery smile. “Nothing, Mr. Stark. Sorry.”

And because he’s an idiot, Tony believes him. Something tells him he needs to buy Parenting for Dummies 2.

--------

When Peter saves a school bus full of third graders from a thirteen car pileup at the expense of his collar bone, Tony rereads his book, this time with a highlighter in hand.

He wishes there was a section on Parker luck.

This time, he’s less careful about where he reads. Pepper catches him one night, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs in her surprise. Her smile is genuine. “Is that what I think it is?” she asks.

“Maybe.”

“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

Tony rolls his eyes and dog ears his page before setting it aside. “I am, actually. And sorry to break it to you, but you’re not the father.”

Pepper laughs and sits on the arm of the couch. She runs her hand through his hair and he can’t help but lean into her touch. “This is about Peter,” she says.

His first instinct is to deny it. He feels vulnerable in a way he isn’t used to. “So what if it is?”

“He’s a good kid.”

“I know.”

“He’s making you soft.”

Tony scoffs, but doesn’t deny it. Not with Parenting for Dummies on his lap. “He’s stressing me out, is what he’s doing.”

“He really cares about you, Tony. I see it every time he’s over here.”

His body betrays him by the gentle swoop in his stomach. His mouth twitches in a smile. “I care about him too.”

“You’re a good example to him. He needs someone like you in his life. Especially after what happened to his parents. And his Uncle.”

And then it clicks. Parker luck. Tony’s mouth goes dry.

“I’m trying,” is all he manages to whisper. The book in his lap seems to increase by ten.

Pepper leans over him, pressing her lips into his hair. “I know.”

---------

It’s his and Peter’s fifth mission together.

Today, they’re going up against “the Detonator”, a crazed woman with an affinity for making bombs and setting them off in busy neighbourhoods. She’s armed with a team of rocket-launcher-wielding henchmen, and it’s taking every effort to keep the city in one piece.

Most of the block has been evacuated, thanks to Peter. Tony remembers chapter seven and shoots the boy some praise over their coms. Steve, who’s joined them for the day’s fight, agrees with clipped enthusiasm.

“Thanks guys!” Peter says in his usual animation. “These rocket launchers are no joke. Have you ever seen the movie-”

But whatever it is, it’s lost in the deafening sound of an explosion. He hears Peter swear over the com and Tony’s blood runs cold. Three blocks down, an orange fireball balloons into the air. Steve is already running, his shield tucked into his chest.

Tony shoots off into the sky.

---------

Peter thought they had everything under control.

Until rocket launcher man number 3 decided to explode the bank off 47th street, that is.

He feels the heat from the explosion before he can process what happened. It rips across his back and throws him off his feet into a hot dog cart across the street. Rubble and ash rain down on parked cars and their alarms begin to sound.

“Crap,” Peter groans, shoving away the dented cart and stumbling to his feet. His ears are ringing.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice cuts through the haze. “We’re on our way. You alright?”

“Yeah,” he responds, breathless. His shoulder aches. “These guys are not in a good mood.”

“You can say that again.”

The man who had fired the shot runs up the steps of the bank, bypassing chunks of concrete. Peter limps after him.

“Sorry man,” Peter says when his opponent’s back is still turned. “It’s after hours.”

Startled, the man spins. Peter fires a web to disarm him and it only takes one swift punch to finish the job. He webs him to the floor and kicks the rocket launcher into the corner.

“Kid?” Tony lands beside him, faceplate lifting and his hands reaching to grab onto him. His grip is tight on Peter’s arms, and Peter is unsure which one of them Tony is trying to comfort. “You still in one piece?”

Peter’s ears are still ringing, a high pitched whine that makes his eye twitch. His ankle throbs and he can feel warmth spreading down his back from a cut on his shoulder. He nods anyway. “Are you?”

“Better now that I see you haven’t been barbecued.”

Steve joins them as Peter laughs off Tony’s worry. He’s breathing heavy, his forehead streaked with ash. “Someone sighted the Detonator. She’s heading east towards the Empire State Building.”

“Of course she is,” Tony sighs. Finally, he lets Peter go. “Ready for a field trip?”

But just as he says it, another violent explosion lights up the street across from them. Peter stumbles against the force. Tony grabs his arm, and Steve his shoulder, and he steadies. Through the black smoke, a child cries.

Chest tight, Peter takes a step forward before he’s yanked back. It’s Tony. His helmet hides his expression, but Peter can tell from his stiff posture that he’s worried. That he doesn’t want to separate.

As if sensing it too, Steve places a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Peter and I will clear the rocket launchers. You go take care of the Detonator.”

“But-”

“She can’t get to it first, Tony. You’ll be the fastest.”

The crying continues, and Peter takes another step. This time, the metal fingers wrapped around his elbow loosen, letting him go. “You better watch him, Rogers.”

“Mr. Stark-”

“Don’t do anything stupid, kid.”

And then Tony is off, blasting off into the sky. Peter shivers against the hot air his exit leaves before turning to run towards the smoke and debris, Steve hot on his heels. Without hesitation, he jumps over the small flames and emerges on the other side, his throat closing up against the smoke.

The first thing Peter sees is the child, snot-nosed and hidden underneath the bed of a truck. His eyes widen when he sees them, a cry stopped short. “Spider-Man!” he yells.

“Get the kid,” Steve says. “I think I see our guy.”

And then he’s gone.

Peter doesn’t dwell on it, vaulting over a smashed mailbox and a stretch of broken glass to reach the kid’s side. He’s trembling, but his hands reach out. Trusting him.

“It’s alright,” Peter says, accepting the kid’s outstretched hands. “We’re okay. Do you know where your family is?”

The boy shakes his head, lip wobbling but obviously trying to be brave. “N-no. I lost them over there,” he says pointing down the street.

“Okay. No problem. Let’s go find them.”

He doesn’t give the boy an option to walk, but instead guides him to rest against his back. Small fingers lock together at the base of Peter’s throat, holding tight.

“What’s your name?” Peter asks as he heads in the direction the boy had pointed. Keep him distracted.

“Benny.”

Peter’s breath catches. “Nice to meet you, Benny. I’m Spider-Man.”

“I- I know.”

“Oh yeah?”

The boy’s head bobs against his back. “I see you on TV. And on the newspapers on the street. You fight bad guys.”

“I try too.”

“You’re awesome,” Benny says, and the shaking quality to his voice recedes.

“I think you’re the awesome one. You’re being so brave.”

“Brave?”

“Yeah, Benny. Even though it’s scary right now you’re still going.”

Benny sniffles. “Are you scared?”

“Nah,” Peter says. “I’ve got you to protect me.”

Against his back, Benny’s chest swells with a breath of a response, but before he can let the words lose a relieved cry erupts from their left. A woman in a pastel headscarf runs towards them, her arms outstretched. “Benny! My little Ben-”

“Mom!”

Peter maneuvers him to the ground and as soon as his small feet hit the ground he’s running. The pair meet in the middle of the street, their arms wrapping tight and their tears mixing. The mother’s eyes meet him from over Benny’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she says, every ounce of her emotion leaking into her words.

“Of course,” is all he can manage.

Once he’s sure they're safe and off the street, he deviates his attention to his coms. “Steve?” he asks over a private channel. “Where are you?”

For a long time, Steve doesn’t respond. Then just as Peter’s worry spikes the man’s voice fills his ears, pinched and strained. “By the river. I’m cornered.”

“Karen-” Peter starts, but Steve’s location pops up on his screen before he can ask further. He changes the trajectory of his swing and just barely avoids clipping his hip on the corner of a building. Then, to Steve, “I’m on my way!”

He finds the Captain in worse shape than he had expected. He’s hunched against an upturned car, it’s tires melted from the sheer heat of the destruction on the street. His shield is raised over his head to protect him from debris raining from the crumbling buildings.

Across the road, three of Detonator's accomplices are shooting the buildings around him, shrieking with glee whenever new glass shatters. Peter glides between the chaos before landing beside Steve. He scrapes his hands on the landing.

“Oh my god,” Peter says, flinching from another loud explosion. “What do we do?”

Steve grimaces, and it’s only now that Peter sees how messed up his leg is. It’s twisted at an unnatural angle, the material of his suit singed and still smoking around it.

“What the hell happened?” Peter gasps, feeling sick.

“It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here.”

“Not with those crazy rocket guys standing guard. You can’t walk!”

“I can try.”

Adrenaline courses hot through Peter’s bloodstream. He peaks over the car and reassesses their opponents. “I can take them.”

“No. Tony said-”

“Tony isn’t here,” Peter argues. “Besides, I have my Peter tingle. I’ll be fine.”

“Peter tingle?”

“Be right back.”

“Wait!”

But Peter ducks out of cover, knowing that Steve won’t be able to stop him. He runs towards the one closest to him and hopes the element of surprise will be enough to take them down. It is, but barely, and now his cover is blown. The other two turn their weapons towards him and before he can suck in a breath, fire.

Peter swears and jumps high, the rockets whistling as they pass under his feet. They hit the edge of the sidewalk by the river, blowing it open and skipping chunks of debris into the water. Not wanting to wait for them to reload, Peter swings and takes them both out with a single kick. He lands in a messy roll, disoriented by the quickness of the fight.

“We’re clear!” he yells over to Steve, but even as he says it dread sits heavy in his gut. He takes one step towards the car before he hears it- a sharp release of air.

Fire blooms up at the base of the building closest to Steve, the crack of the impact enough to rattle Peter’s teeth and throw him to his knees. It’s the last straw. The building makes a horrible noise of grinding cement, like a scream, and Peter knows enough from experience that it’s close to collapse.

“Steve!”

He sprints to where the man is trying to limp away. His eyes find him, their blue shocking through the dust and smoke. “Peter. You have to get out of here-”

“Not without you.”

Before the man can object, Peter pulls his weight over his shoulder and makes it his burden. He wonders distantly where the fourth rocket launcher is and why they haven’t been blown sky high yet.

But then glass and cement falls down around them like rain, and Peter realizes. Because the building will finish the job for them.

“We’re not going to make it,” Steve says through ground teeth. His hold on Peter’s shoulder is bruising. “Peter, please.”

The building sways again. They have a couple seconds. Nothing more.

Then Peter sees it. A manhole.

“Here,” he gasps, dropping to his knees and tearing off the cover. Every alarm bell in his head is screaming, but it’s the only option. The only way they’ll both have a chance. “Go.”

Steve drops in, disappearing into darkness and landing below with an aborted shout. Peter kicks his legs in just as the building crumbles. Fear stops the breath in his chest and he slides the rest of the way in. He falls and lands hard, head spinning, before finding Steve’s arm in the darkness and pulling him deeper into the sewer.

There’s a couple moments of silence.

And then the world erupts.

Peter will remember later how the force of the impact threw both of them off their feet and how it was impossible to keep his grip on Steve’s arm. He’ll remember the deafening noise of the building smashing onto the street above them, of the great plume of dust that filled the tunnel and blinded him.

He’ll remember falling, his legs jelly, and struggling to his knees.

He’ll remember wishing he had called Tony.

But none of it registers in the moment. There’s only terror.

And then there’s nothing.

----------

“Peter. Come on. Work with me here.”

Awareness brings pain. He strays.

“Nope. No. Peter. Open your eyes.”

The voice belongs to Steve, Peter realizes in a stilted disorientation. Steve, who had been hurt. Steve, who sounds very much alive.

It’s enough for Peter to lift his heavy eyelids. His surroundings are dark, but he can see the Captain’s worried face swimming in front of him, warping in and out of focus as both of them release a breath of relief.

“Thank God,” Steve says.

“Are you okay?” Peter murmurs, surprised for a moment by how unwilling his vocal cords are to cooperate. There’s new blood on Steve’s face and the torso on his suit is torn.

“It’s you I’m more worried about.”

“Mm. Why?”

Steve might respond, but Peter doesn’t hear it, his awareness slipping like the close of a stage curtain. Strong hands shake him and the sting of his injuries are enough for him to struggle back into wakefulness.

“Stay awake, kid. Alright? Tony is on his way. Keep your eyes open.”

Peter didn’t remember closing his eyes, but sure enough, when he tries they open. “Tony?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

There’s a tightness in his chest, and Peter coughs against it. It sparks a sharp pain behind his ribs and he curls his fingers into the ground as Steve braces him by his shoulder. His ribs are definitely broken. His leg throbs and the skin on the right side of his face itches terribly with drying blood. He blinks a couple times to try and alleviate his double vision, but it does nothing.

“What happened?” Peter asks.

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really.”

Steve’s expression pinches like he’s just eaten something sour. “The building above us collapsed, but don’t worry about it too much. Tony will be here in a flash.”

Collapse. Peter sucks in a panicked breath and it makes him cough again. It hurts worse this time, and his vision goes gray. He comes back to himself in Steve’s lap, his whole body shuddering and then man’s hand clamped protectively against his back.

The new perspective shows Peter a growing red stain on the Captain’s side.

“Steve,” he gasps, uncoordinated fingers reaching out to press against the wound.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not- it’s not nothing-”

Before Steve can retaliate further, their coms crack back to life. Peter winces against it, his fingers reaching up to struggle with the edges of his mask. Steve pushes his hand away. “Leave it. It’s helping filter your air.”

“Peter? Rogers?” Tony’s voice comes through in a mess of static. It reminds Peter of Ben’s favorite radio station that had been broadcasted too far to have a good connection. “I’m here. Oh Christ, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Steve’s hurt,” Peter mumbles. It’s important Tony knows.

“Rogers?”

“Just hurry, Tony,” Steve says. There’s a pressure in his voice that Peter’s too tired to translate.

“The explosion caused the river to flood. You’re under about three feet of water right now.”

“We’re airtight.”

“For now.”

Peter feels himself dip further into Steve’s lap and the man’s steadying hand is delayed. Weaker. “Peter? What did I tell you about staying awake.”

“What’s wrong with Peter?”

“Queens. I need you to put pressure on this for me. Don’t give up on me now.”

Peter groans. For once, he doesn’t care how young it makes him sound. He struggles up anyways and replaces his hand obediently over Steve’s side. It paints his hands red and he tries desperately not to think of Ben.

“Rogers-”

“I got it, Tony.”

There’s a weighted silence. Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself lucid. The static in his brain reminds him of the time he had gotten stabbed, and wonders if he’s bleeding somewhere too.

“Okay. I found a weak spot. It shouldn’t cause too much damage. Are you ready?”

“Go for it.”

There’s another lurch of shifting rock. Peter can’t help but cry out, his muddled brain struggling to comprehend that this time, it’s to help. Then there’s a loud crash, a weak beam of sunlight, and the rush of water.

Within seconds, the cold spray is up to their waists. Peter grinds his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut against reflexive tears the biting temperature brings. It gives him a boost of adrenaline, and when he opens his eyes again, his vision is more clear.

Tony is with them moments later, hovering above the water. His hands reach for Peter, but Peter shys away. “Steve first,” he pleads. “He’s bleeding-”

“You’re bleeding too-” Tony starts, but even as he says it, Steve lists dangerously to the side. His face is pale, his breathing shallow. Tony catches him by the shoulder. “Don’t move,” he tells Peter, and works to lift Steve up towards the hole.

The water is up to Peter's chest now. It steals the breath from his lungs and he scrambles to stand. Somewhere in the journey the ground above him groans and he loses his footing. He hears Tony yell out for him, feels metal hands push him hard, and then he’s completely underwater. There’s more noise. More pain.

He breaks the surface, stuttering on his breath and his teeth clattering. More sunlight has entered the tunnel, and it’s easy to piece together what had happened.

“Tony!”

Peter fights against the current to reach his mentor’s side. His suit is pinned under a large slab of concrete by his left leg, the water already sloshing up to his neck. Peter practically collapses beside him and digs his fingers under the weight, but his ribs scream in protest so violently that his vision goes white.

“Easy!” Tony yells, catching him by his arms when he falters. “Kiddo, listen to me. The suit will let me breathe for a while. You need to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to. FRIDAY took some damage, but she’s recalibrating my boosters. I’ll be able to get out.”

“No,” Peter chokes, trying again to lift the concrete keeping Tony pinned. “I won’t leave without you.”

“Peter-”

“I’m not losing you too. I can’t- I can’t-”

Tony’s voice is more gentle, his hand reaching to cradle the side of Peter’s face. “Listen to me, bud. I know this is scary. But you have to trust me. You have to go. For me.”

Peter shudders. Feels hot tears pool under the tight confines of his mask. “Told you I have Parker luck,” he says.

Tony finds it within himself to laugh. The water is at their chins. “I know, kiddo. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ve got each other now.”

“Tony-”

“Go.”

The water rises over his mouth. He wouldn’t be able to answer even if he wanted to. Then Tony’s head is submerged, and icy terror closes around Peter’s heart.

He dives under and reaches once more for the weight on Tony’s leg. He pulls and struggles and feels Tony’s hands on his arms, trying to pry him off and pull him away. The light is gone in the murky water.

Please. Please.

The concrete shifts. It takes everything in Peter not to gasp out at the pain it causes, to waste the precious air he has left.

Please.

It shifts again. Tony has given up on trying to push him off and is instead helping to lift the weight. Just a little bit more.

Peter screams, tiny bubbles escaping and carrying whatever he had left away. His body loses strength just as the concrete is alleviated. He thinks he feels Tony’s hands close around his numb body. But really he can’t be sure.

Tony is safe.

And it’s all that matters.

-------

“Peter. Don’t do this.”

“Breathe, Queens. Oh God-”

“Steve. What do I- I can’t- I can’t-”

“Keep the compressions going, Tony. Keep going okay? Don’t stop.”

“I can’t do it without him. I need him, Steve. I need-”

“Keep it together. He’s going to be fine. Right, Peter? You’re going to be fine. You just have to breathe for us.”

“Kiddo. Baby. Please.”

It’s all water down a drain.

A swirling, murky mess.

And it takes Peter with it.

-------

Parenting for Dummies: Chapter 12.

Love them unconditionally.

Tony hasn’t left his kid’s side for hours. He’s been glued to him, the boy’s limp hand pressed between his own like a lifeline even when the doctor’s had worked to splint his leg. Every breath, every rise and fall of Peter’s chest is a miracle, and Tony stares at the heart monitor until his eyes burn.

May is dozing in a recliner in the corner, her glasses crooked on her face. It’s just nearing three in the morning.

There’s movement behind him, and Tony turns to find Steve. He’s traded his hospital gown for a pair of loose sweats and a white shirt, the skin on his arms wrapped with thick bandages. The Captain turns and sees May. When he speaks, his words are almost a whisper. “How is he?”

Tony shrugs, a sudden lump monopolizing in his throat. “He’ll be okay.”

“Has he woken up yet?”

“No.”

Steve sighs. He limps to Tony’s side, but still manages to keep some distance. “He was brave today.”

“If by brave you mean dumb, then yes.”

“He saved our lives. We both know that you wouldn’t have been able to blast out of there by yourself.”

Dread sits heavy in Tony’s gut, because it’s true. He would’ve said anything to get Peter to safety. His blasters weren’t recharging. Weren’t even close to functioning.

But the kid had been too selfless for his lie. Really, Tony shouldn’t be surprised.

And now every time he closes his eyes he sees Peter. Hurt, small, Peter. Jerking with the last of his energy to free Tony. Of going limp in the water, no more air leaving his lips and remaining totally unresponsive as Tony fought to return the life to him.

“I wish it didn’t have to be him,” Tony says.

“But it is. It was.”

“I know.”

Steve lays a hand on Tony’s shoulder. He’s too tired to flinch away from it. “Let me know when he wakes up.”

And then he leaves.

Tony runs his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “Wake up,” he says. Pleads.

But with his usual stubbornness, Peter doesn’t show signs of waking for another hour. First his fingers twitch. Then he groans. His eyelids flutter and Tony nearly collapses in his relief. Soft and weary eyes turn to find him, and Peter’s lips turn into a smile.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs.

“You have no idea how angry I am with you right now,” Tony says, but any heat behind his words is lost behind his relief. Peter must see it because his smile only widens.

“You don’ look angry.”

“Furious?”

“Nope.”

“Enraged?”

Peter laughs, then winces. He looks down and notices Tony’s hand clamped on his own. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Peter looks up. Tony tightens his hold.

“Maybe I don’t have Parker luck after all.”

“We’re breaking the cycle,” Tony agrees. He lifts Peter’s hand and presses a firm kiss to the back of his hand. Peter smiles again.

“Pepper told me you bought a parenting book,” he says, eyes drooping.

“That woman is nothing but a liar.”

“Mm. I believe her.”

“Sorry to break it to you kid, but whoever would want to willingly parent a danger seeking, heart attack inducing kid like you would have to be crazy.”

Peter squeezes Tony’s hand. “Sorry to break it to you, but I guess that means you're crazy.”

Tony’s heart compresses with warmth. “Yeah kid,” he says, “I guess I am.”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#peter parker #spider-man #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #hurt peter parker #peter parker whump #protective peter parker #bamf peter parker #protective tony stark #steve rogers #captain america

161 notes · View notes

that-was-anticlimactic · 3 years

Text

sk8 headcanons because i am Bored

autistic langa likes frozen fruit a lot—strawberries are his favorite—because he likes the cool texture

reki has lip freckles that really stand out after he’s been in the sun a lot ! there’s like four or five of them :)

just thinking about “all those friday nights / under the lights / under the bleachers together / you and i were meant to be something more than a faded memory / till you and i / something divided us” but matchablossom,,,

“but i’ve already lost it once / what i already won / i’ve lost too much now to care / but i know that something’s still there” ,,, matchablossom,,, ahhhhh

miya and shadow being besties,,, shadow being miya’s parental figure and miya being his adopted nb child,,,

shadow being the first person miya comes out as nonbinary to,,,

adam going to jail,,,

reki having a stuffed animal collection and letting miya name some and then realizing that miya never had a stuffed animal growing up so reki gives miya one of his older ones that he loved as a child and then buys them a new one too… and miya asks reki to name it for them because sentiments,,,

after seeing the girl he had a crush on kiss someone else, shadow takes out his feelings on the only thing he knows how to—skating at s but he’s not in a good mind and he feels sick because he thought he thought he thought he had a chance and he doesn’t pay close enough attention and gets hurt and miya calls him an idiot and patches him up and shadow feels like a kid again but it’s kind of nice to have someone else actually help with his wounds instead of just attempting to wash them and then cover them with makeup by himself,,,

joe and shadow bonding over hating the feeling of loneliness so they make up for it the only way they know how which is being loud and being extra because they don’t feel as lonely if they’re loud

reki, miya, and cherry = adhd club

cherry and reki drawing together… and reki teaching cherry how to be more loose and carefree when he draws and cherry teaching reki how to add more structure to his art,,,

langa stealing and wearing reki’s headbands,,,

langa with glasses

reki’s sisters doing cherry and joe’s hair,,, or even reki, langa, and miya doing their hair and shadow just watches and takes pictures and reki puts cherry’s hair in fishtails because he had practice with his sisters and cherry secretly likes it (and so does joe) and miya and langa just. completely messing up joe’s hair and putting hair clips in it and langa attempts a ponytail kind of like how cherry does his hair at s (and no cherry did Not find it very attractive shut up)

shadow being a scrapbooker and having like ten scrapbooks from his life,,,

shadow not being as good of an artist as cherry or reki but he does it because he enjoys it and when cherry and reki find out they invite him to draw with them

the crew / sk8 fam all going to shadow’s house and doing a couple scrapbook pages together and it’s a mess but it’s them and it’s one of shadow’s favorite pages because he’s never scrapbooked with anyone before

langa is just naturally beautiful and photogenic so the art squad always asks him to model for them if they want to draw people

joe has depression because i want him to

and shadow has anxiety

because i do Not want any of them to be neurotypical

yeah so joe has depression, shadow has anxiety, cherry has add and anxiety, miya had adhd and separation anxiety, langa is autistic, reki has tourette’s and adhd and depression ✌🏻

when miya gets old enough, shadow gets them a part time job at the flower shop

miya likes a lot of pillows

langa sleeps with no pillows (unless reki is partially his pillow)

thinking about after reki’s second beef with adam,,, joe after he tells adam off and they’re away from the crowd, he passes out because let’s be real—there is absolutely no way he didn’t get injured and the worse one is probably a broken nose and a huge gash at the back of his head with like skin peeling and stuff like need stitches so the gang all goes to cherry’s and they help patch reki up

somewhere in that time the love hotel gets brought up and by extension getting hit by the car and getting beat up and joe and shadow are on the verge of slamming their heads against the wall at reki’s nonchalantness

and reki’s p injured so he’s laying in the couch with his head resting in langa’s lap,,,

joe tells everyone embarrassing cherry stories from school like all the time (but joe was a foolish child so cherry gets revenge)

miya likes crime documentaries

joe unironically watched supernatural and that’s part of the reason why he and cherry broke up

(maybe joe just thought dean was attractive—sue him!)

lol wait what if cherry sued adam to pay for reki’s medical bills since they inevitably had to take him to the hospital

cherry constantly tells joe that he will sue him

joe may unironically watched spn, but cherry unironically watched glee

langa wrote destiel fanfiction once upon a time

langa wrote cas bakes dean a pie--

miya is carla’s favorite (after cherry)

cherry and langa with weighted blankets also

sometimes reki steals langa’s but only if he stays the night or langa brings it over and usually if he “steals” it, it’s them sharing it or reki needs the comfort of the weight if he’s not having a good time mentally lol

joe with depression,,, i just think about that a lot sometimes,,, sometimes cooking feels meaningless and, like langa, he only feels something when he skates but it’s only this temporary feeling of joy and life,,,

and shadow with anxiety,,, over-compensating his anxiety by being shadow at night and being over the top and sometimes mean because internalized ableism,,, and if he pretends he doesn’t have anxiety then maybe he won’t feel it late at night or when everything seems to go wrong during a shift at work and he keeps dropping flowers because his hands are shaking and girls don’t like guys with anxiety, right ??? so shadow thinks that he CAN’T have anxiety :/// poor dude

miya with separation anxiety pushing people away before they get attached because if they push them away before they become friends, then they wouldn’t be able to leave them,,,

langa always bouncing his foot in class and all the time because it’s his main form of stimming (look at that boy and try to tell me he doesn’t bounce his legs like there’s no tomorrow i dare you) and sometimes it makes his legs sore and cherry and joe once recommended using a heating pad if it got really sore and langa does sometimes and it makes him happy

reki with ts having anxiety when he has to speak in front of the class / do presentations because he’s hyper-aware of his tics,,, so he always meets langa’s eyes and watches langa the whole time and langa sometimes mimes taking deep breaths which really helps but honestly just seeing langa makes reki feel like he can do anything (because he would do anything for langa)

cherry doodling to stim as a child and always getting in trouble for it because teachers used to like get pissed when students doodled (or maybe they still do and it’s just always been pissy teachers and not specifically teachers when our parents were kids) and eventually cherry got fed up with getting points docked for doodling so he started writing lists and stuff and been realized he had impeccable handwriting (also joe let cherry doodle on his hand during classes they had together so cherry wouldn’t get in trouble)

cherry once had a dream that he was rachel berry and joe was finn uhh *insert last name here* from glee and joe had a beautiful voice when they sang duets in his dream so he managed to convince joe to sing in reality and turns out joe cannot sing and cherry’s glee dreams were never the same (look i am tired lol)

joe likes being the strong one in the group and he enjoys being able to mess around / show off by just casually picking people up (he also does it as an expression of love because they’re basically hugs depending on how he holds you) and one day cherry is like… done with it ??? and just strolls up to joe and just throws him over his shoulder or something and joe combusts because he did Not know cherry can do that and no his face isn’t red shut up he doesn’t find this attractive what’re you talking about

miya wants a sword and keeps trying to convince everyone to get them one for their birthday but no one will agree because ‘they’ll hurt themselves and everyone else it does not matter that all your favorite characters have swords that does not mean You should have one’

langa is the kind of person that puts peanut butter on a cheeseburger

reki’s love language is a mix of gift giving and acts of service, but he tends to lean more towards giving gifts. his receiving love language is words of affirmation but he does Not know that yet (langa does—hence his constant “you’re amazing, reki”—and eventually so does the rest of their gang lol)

shadow likes theatre

miya has internet friends,,, so does cherry,,,

joe posts those affirmations on his story all the time

reki’s texts are sometime hard to read because a) his hands get injured a lot and b) tourette’s but langa (and soon the others) learn how to read reki texts

langa sleeps with a fan on for white noise

shadow was worried (and feeling a little left out but if he doesn’t acknowledge it, then that emotion is not real… that’s how that works, right???) since he was in the hospital when reki skated against adam the second time, so when they all went back to cherry’s to tend to reki’s numerous wounds and also celebrate friendship, miya kept shadow on a face time call the entire evening

langa has an android phone

reki is super comfortable with periods because he lives with five girls—he also usually has a couple of pads and tampons on him at all times because he’s the older sibling lol

langa wears socks with sandals,,, so does shadow,,,

shadow’s feet get cold easily so he wears fluffy socks a lot

cherry keeps his fingernails at the perfect length to dramatically tap them against the table (also to freak people out by doing that)

miya is Not a morning person

miya also likes having the windows to shadow’s car rolled up because their hair gets in their face otherwise but shadow likes them down so it’s this constant struggle

i still stand by cherry suing ad*m and using the money he won to pay for reki’s medical bills (… and shadow’s… and langa’s if he needs any)

i just feel like many people have reason to sue ad*m

ponytail langa rights

joe had really bad acne as a child and teen and cherry helped him feel less self-conscious about it and helped him embrace having acne and that’s one reason why he exposes so much skin as joe because it’s a reminder of personal growth <3

also joe has acne scars on his chin and cheeks

joe has cherry’s calligraphy all over his walls

ik i already said so in reki with ts headcanons but he doodles pictures for everyone in the sk8 fam and they all keep each and every one and shadow even puts them in his scrapbook

let langa punch adam 2k21

let reki punch adam 2k21

actually they All deserve to punch adam 2k21

miya’s favorite movie is coraline

langa can’t snap his fingers

joe and cherry always argue over whether even numbers or odd numbers are best

miya does esports

joe was in marching band and was in drumline

cherry stays up late to look at the stars and he had those plastic stars taped to his ceiling as a child

reki eats tomatoes like apples and it makes joe want to cry

okay if the atla & and the sk8 characters became internet friends… these are who i think they’d be internet friends with…

cherry: katara

joe: suki

langa: sokka

miya: aang

reki: zuko

shadow: toph

note: suki, joe, miya, and aang are all actually besties. aang is the kind of person that would usually annoy miya but they just can’t dislike aang no matter how much he may want to and they somehow find themselves attached

but suki and miya would also get along really well because I know they would and aang and joe would just have fun and like it’s what they deserve so they are interchangeable / all besties

also sk8 characters if they were benders...

cherry: fire or waterbender,,, cannot decide

joe: earthbender

langa: waterbender

miya: firebender

reki: resident nonbender

shadow: earthbender

#corey rambles:)#i have a lot of feelings #also i am really bored #no i totally didn't spend like a half hour going through texts with grace just to find all the sk8 headcanons i sent her wHAT #i should be doing homework but uhhh instead i am thinking about Them #it's fine everything is fine the day isn't over yet but it will be over soon keep it together twilight keep it together--#anyways this was brought to you by corey = bored #sk8 headcanons #kyan reki with tourette’s #kyan reki #hasegawa langa #higa hiromi #chinen miya #sakurayashiki kaoru #nanjo kojiro #sk8 langa #sk8 reki #sk8shadow #sk8 miya #sk8 cherry #sk8 joe #y'all idk what to do i might just write fanfiction #at least i'm bored in my apt and not in the er hahhahhahhhahahahha wednesday #maybe i'll make some tater tots #oh and i stand by the glee and spn one #i am not wrong #joe had a crush on dean winchester #anyways i'll stop talking to myself in the tags #lol #wait i will also die on scrapbooking shadow hill

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tedesquire · 4 years

Note

Hey I saw your requests were open! I was wondering if you could do a gender neutral reader insert for Bill? Like the reader is more punk/goth and paints their nails and Bill is curious about it so they paint their nails together? Thanks for taking the time to write and take requests! :)

Bring Back Manly Men (Headcanon)

Gender Neutral! Reader/Bill

Typical to 80′s fashion, nail polish ads targeted towards women usually ranged from a spectrum of nudes, peaches, bronze, bronze, light pinks, hot pinks, violets, reds, maroons, purples.

These were the colors Missy often seemed to go for on the Preston family’s rare outings, so Bill hadn’t really given deep thought to the possibilities of other colors.

Nevermind the fact that Bill doesn’t really think deeply about anything other than Wyld Stallyns and his friendship with Ted.

However, he suddenly started paying attention when Best’s Magazine came out with a new issue that featured Steven Tyler with painted nails on the cover.

If an absolute rock legend such as Steven Tyler could wear nail polish, why couldn’t he?

Of course, he wasn’t sure where to go to buy black nail polish and if Ted couldn’t tell him (which he couldn’t) then Bill was out of luck.

That is, until he saw you.

Bill noticed the dark tint of your nails and it took him a moment to come up with enough courage to ask you where you got the polish.

You wanted to be skeptical... Why was Bill Preston of all people talking to you, let alone asking about your nail polish?

“Mervyn’s.” You replied. “...Why?”

“To have the best band in the world.” Bill answered, as if it was obvious. You weren’t able to make the connection and let the conversation end there.

The next day at school, you noticed Bill stumbling late for your shared class together, acting nervous with his hands held firmly in his pockets.

“Mr. Preston, would you like to participate in class today?” Your history teacher snidely remarked, much to Bill’s chagrin. The boy hesitantly took his hands out of his pocket, revealing a pair of thin, winter gloves.

“Mr. Preston, would you like to take off the gloves?” Bill huffed, his cheeks pinking as all eyes met his figure. One the offending items were removed your teacher sighed heavily, eyes raking over the bandages wrapped all around his hands.

“Get into an accident, Mr. Preston?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how exactly did you manage to injure both your hands?”

“He cut them!” Ted offered, making Bill’s eyes twitch. “On the washing machine?”

“Trying to fix the washing machine.” Bill tried to correct.

“And no blood on your bandages? Well Mr. Preston, I think your injury has distracted the class long enough. I expect these worksheets to be done by the end of class.”

“Yes, sir.” You saw Ted pick up Bill’s paper, trying his best to follow along and help his friend out.

“Hey,” you whispered, having finally found a moment in the lecture to try and talk to Bill. “What really happened to your hands?”

Bill looked around, making sure no one was looking to peel some of the bandages back to reveal black paint stained on his fingernails down to his middle knuckles.

“I tried to paint them but my hands were too shaky but then it wouldn’t come off.” He fidgeted, looking shameful. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

Your heart went out to the dim blonde, and you sighed, wondering if you were going to regret what you were about to say.

“Swing by my house after school, I can fix them for you.”

“Really?” You nodded, eyeing your teacher’s back to make sure you weren’t going to get caught. You scribbled your address on a piece of paper for him.

You weren’t sure why he wanted to paint his nails so badly, but nonetheless, you felt the urge to help him.

As much as Ted wished to tag along, he knew his dad would kill him if he so much saw a drop of paint on his son’s nails, and he didn’t mind some alone time with Missy as she dropped him off, so he opted out of the experience.

“Oh god.” You mumbled as you peeled off the last layer of bandages. It really was a mess. The two of you sat on your bed, soft music playing through your radio.

“So,” You opened your bottle of acetate, a chemical scent sweeping through your nostrils. “Why do you want to paint your nails anyway?” You worked on cleaning the goop off his nails.

Trying not to move his hand, he gently leaned over to the side of your bed and unzipping his backpack, revealing the rolled up copy of Best.

“Oh! Is that what you were trying to go for?”

“Trying, at least. Ted tried to help as well but...” His free hand went to scratch the back of his neck.

“It takes a bit of practice.” You patted his hand, trying to encourage him. “It’s nice, every once and a while, to try and treat yourself by painting your nails.” He hummed in agreement.

“You know, It’s not just Steven Tyler,” you mention, ignoring his wincing as you pushed his cuticles back. “David Bowie paints his nails, Ozzy Osbourne, and so does Freddie Mercury! Although, he only paints his left hand since he’s right-handed.”

“Most excellent.” Bill was caught off guard. He supposed he wasn’t as caught up with the rock world as he thought.

“I’m surprised you wanted to do this.” You mumbled, clipping his nails. “Most guys wouldn’t be caught dead. And.. aren’t you afraid that people will call you.. names? Most of our classmates may not be as progressive as you are.” You unscrewed the nail polish cap

“Well... Ted is the only person I hang out with, and you’re my friend now, right? For doing this?” You met his gaze and nodded, enjoying his candor. “So if I only care about you two, then what does it matter? The only negative consequence I can think of is how it will affect our band, but if anything, we’ll be even more bodacious than we already are!” He concluded.

“I think you’re on to something there, Preston. Most of those guys became famous because they didn’t let bias or other people’s judgement define them. They were just themselves. You finally finished, picking up his palm and admiring the work.

“What do you think?” You asked.

“Wow. I- This is most resplendent.” He gushed, lifting his hands to get a better look.

“Be careful not to touch anything, the paint still isn’t dry.” He nodded, slowly getting off your bed to head to the mirror in your room.

He almost forgot you were there, getting so engrossed in posing his hands and recreating the magazine’s picture, until you awkwardly cleared your throat.

“You.... want a picture? Like Steven’s?” You asked, opening one of your drawers to reveal a polaroid.

“Really?”

“Yeah, for your band, right?”

“O..okay.” Bill couldn’t suppress the smile, backing up towards your wall and lying his hands on his face.

“3...2...1...” click. “There you go.” Bill looked quite nice, and you couldn’t help but feel proud that you helped him be able to feel this way.

“Here, you keep it.” Bill handed the picture back to you. “You can be the first.”

“First?” You questioned. “First what? First fan?”

“No! The first stylist! We’ll be sure to mention you when we go on talk shows and perform concerts.” He answered, his confidence making you smile.

The moment was broken by the honking of a car outside.

“Oh! That’s probably Missy. Thank you for helping me! I’ll see you tomorrow?” Bill gently but quickly gathered his stuff, standing by your doorway.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow Bill.” He smiled, leaving your eyeline as he traversed downstairs.

You looked down at the polaroid, still in your hands and smiled softly. You had a feeling you weren’t going to regret being Bill’s friend.

#bill and ted #bill and teds bogus journey #keanu reeves #ted theodore logan #bill and ted face the music #gender nuetral reader #bill x reader #bill and ted fanfiction #bill s preston esquire #bill s preston esquire/reader #bill preston x reader #bill Preston/reader #bill s Preston esquire x reader #bill and ted imagines #bill and ted imagine

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joannasteez · 3 years

Note

Hey lovely! Could I request a little something for Jax? It could be a headcanon or imagine, it’s up to you. But could it be about the reader is Angel and Ez’s little sister, and she’s in love with Jax?

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 {𝐇.𝐂}

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Jax Teller x Reyes!Reader

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: The emotional direction wasn’t specified so I kind of just went with what came to me, by the way, This is my very first request!!, so hope whoever sent it in enjoys ❤️

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Angst. Fluff. I also suck at simplifying things so this is another long head canon, apologies if that sort of thing bothers you all lol.

Credits to the gif maker @tragertrap

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @nutterbu @withmyteeth

If you’d like to be tagged for Mayans MC fics ONLY let me know!!

☠︎

It amazed Felipe at times, scared him even, at how similar you looked to your mother Marisol. The spitting image of her; a younger, but slightly taller, reincarnation. But you were your fathers child through and through. The toothless yet warm endearing smile, the sharp intuitiveness, placid nature, and just through the black center of your eyes, enough experience to cover a few lifetimes. It’s what the Reyes men feared the most, that uncanny familial trait that forces you to bury such soul crushing pain, to turn cold to things that warrant warmth. Your father has it, your brothers as well, Ezekiel more than Angel, and so do you.

You had it now, that calm, collected demeanor, as the guys brought in a bleeding Jax Teller through the entry doors of the lodge. He was barely conscious, eyes dim, limbs heavy, and blood staining all along his color drained skin and the aged leather of his kutte. If you were anyone else you’d be alarmed, startled by the amount of blood and frantic men, but you were you, having seen too many things that resembled such a scene to let even a shudder pass through you.

“Get the kit, we need you to sew him up but he’s lost a lot of blood.”, Bishop says briskly, filled with worry, and your feet move faster than your mind can comprehend, snatching the kit laying near by and pacing to the bedroom where they have Jax. His head elevated by pillows, Both Ezekiel and Angel hot on your tail waiting for you to give them directions.

There’s a poorly wrapped cloth that lays against the wound, and just as you peel it back you pressurize the wound with a gauze. “I need gloves”, you say.

Angel’s a bit taken back, the President of the Sons original charter is on the precipice of death and you’re talking about gloves. “We don’t have time for that”.

“Just get the fucking gloves Angel”, you clip. Tone harsher than it’s meant to be, but he takes no offense and moves quick for the gloves before coming back.

You’re cleaning Jax’s skin once there on, wiping away all the blood that pours from him. A needle in your hand, eyes steady. “This is gonna hurt”.

Jax is sweating, teeth clenched at the piercing sting of the needle. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Did he really just ask you that? “I guess we’ll just have to find out”, you deadpan.

“Y/N”, Ezekiel warns.

The situation isn’t funny, a man’s life is on the line but still, you want to laugh at the audacity. “What?! He’s got a bullet in his abdomen and he’s worried about if I know what I’m doing”.

There’s silence now, a heaviness that settles to suffocate the whole lodge it seems. A dread of existential proportions that looms like a phantom in the waning rusted gold of the setting sun. The stillness is calming as you work, slipping the fine needle through his paling skin with a frightening ease that forces a worried look to Ezekiel’s face, Angel’s as well. Mayhem has consumed them all, men who laugh in the face of death everyday are doubling over, overwrought with fear, and here you are, unaware of the dark silhouette that threatens to form over Jax’s body, inching over the walls, creeping slowly as they tease whispers of death through the wispy blow of the wind.

Your brothers leave after while, called out by Bishop and Chibs who are talking over possible scenarios for revenge.

“Can you stay after this......... please?” It’s barely a whisper, and it’s drawled, but you hear the need in his voice.

It compels you to say “Okay”.

When you’re finished you wipe at Jax’s skin again, fingers trembling just the slightest as your mind catches up with your body, or is it the other way around? You’re not sure, but the two have surely had a crashing reunion and now you’re exhausted at such a fast build and fall of adrenaline. You’re thinking now, at the side of the bed, of deeply buried memories because the blood reminds you, it always does. All you see is Marisol, and your vision is blurred, eyes glistening with warm tears that comfort your skin, thumb shaking as you push the wetness away. She’s so lovely in your mind, a bright silhouette framing her and she’s so beautiful, so light and gentle. The aura of her, just from a thought, it makes her presence palpable again, till you remember she isn’t really there. Because it’s just a memory. A timeless mirage of sorts that ungrounds you from reality.

You breath, looking to the clock to find that it’s been three hours already. Three hours of you looking through your memories for your mother, Marisol. It’s purposeful, must be, why the need to think of her is so strong in this moment of all moments.

It’s infuriating, that you weren’t there, you couldn’t save her, but you were here now and you saved Jax. That counts for something right? It had to.

He’s awake again, and you’re not sure how but he is. Must be the force of his will that has his eyes opening, fighting against a sleep that feels too much like forever. “You alright?”

His eyes are a near lifeless blue but still they’ve got shine to them. “I should be asking you that, you’re the one that got shot”.

“Why the tears darlin’ ?”

You’re not up for a personal deep dive, never have been really. “Don’t know what you’re talking about”.

He smiled, noticing your reserved demeanor. “They we’re probably tears for me, I saw how worried you were earlier”, he jokes sarcastically.

You roll your eyes. “Why’d you want me to stay?”

“Didn’t want to die alone, if I did”.

You shake your head, fully convinced of otherwise. “You weren’t gonna die”.

He gives a weak smile. “I know that now since we’re talking, unless this is a dream, or some purgatory shit then I’m screwed”.

You chuckle at his dazed rambling and it makes his weak smile a little stronger as it spreads. Amusement looks good on you. Pretty. “There it is”, he says. Talking about your little smile.

There’s a stretch of silence, and it’s contemplative for Jax. Flashes of the incident from moments prior running through his mind. He’d just met Galindo for the first time, shook his hand, exchanging pleasantries. They’d talked business and at the end all parties seemed happy with the results, but it made him wary. How well everything was going, something somewhere was bound to go wrong, and yeah maybe he was a bit too pessimistic in the moment but it proved him right. The Sons and The Mayans were riding back to the lodge when the Lobos attacked and he can’t remember much after that, just feeling more than alive and then a little ways from death. His father calling him and then his mother, and he almost answered. He’s glad he didn’t.

“I’m sure you know as much as I do, you see a lot of shit when you live this life. Seen more guys than I can count take a bullet, and more times than none I’ve been the one to give it to them”. He’s quiet, contemplative. On the rise of something that resembles an epiphany. “After a while they just become faceless y’know, nameless, just kill #52 on someone’s list. That’s what it felt like, I was about to be on somebody’s fucking list and that shit is scary”. He turns to you then. “And then the next thing I know I’m in here, with your pretty ass standing over me saving my life. I thought I was in heaven”.

You roll your eyes, it’s delirium from the blood loss, making him say things he doesn’t mean. “Even with a bullet wound, flattery gets you no where Teller”.

“Tell me what does”.

———————————————————

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 & 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

He’s warm under your skin, heartbeat a sweet song that pulses a quiet steady rhythm into your ears. It’s a comforting thing, soothing and mellow like the fiery cool blend of a setting summer sun.

You feel his hand, cool rings caressing the nape of your neck. “You awake baby?”

You move against him, to let him know that you are and a hand pulls gentle at your chin. “Let me see you darlin’ ”

Your body pulls up atop of his, bare chest moving along his and toward him so that you’re face to face, legs tangled together. His hands reach to caress your face, touch a gentle flame that burns to light your skin. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in the morning for weeks, the club stealing him away every moment it could, screwing around with the days you’d set aside to see each other. He grins, loving the dim set of your sleepy eyes. “Hi”.

“Hi”, you say. Tone rasped, sleepy.

There’s a glimmer in his stare, a dazzling sparkle that lives just over the grayish blue of his irises. You don’t identify it, what the warm glint means, for fear of being wrong, but somewhere inside, you know it’s love. It looks to pure to be anything else. He’s grinning again, all nostalgic like. “I was thinking just now, about that day when you patched me up. Best day of my life”.

You scoff. “You almost died”.

“But I got to meet you”.

You’re shaking your head at how lovey dovey he’s being. “Always with the flattery”.

“I’m serious, I fuckin’ love you. More than I ever thought I could”. He rolls you both over easy, his lean build on top surrounding you, fingers still caressing idly against your face and yours drawing along his tattooed back. He kisses you, patient and deep, as if to savor this moment. Staining his memory with the soft pliant flesh of your lips, the airy moan that resonates from your chest, and the lulling skim your nails give the gold of his hair. Forget the Irish and their guns, the Cartel and their H and everything that isn’t this. If he could, he’d stay with you here. Just like this. Forever.

He’s at your neck now, teasing you with tongue wet kisses and stingless nips, but something comes to mind. A wary thought that’s bugged you for a while. “When are we gonna tell my father about us. I want you to meet him”.

He looks to you, confused. “You don’t wanna tell your brothers first?”

“Ezekiel already knows. Found out the first time we met back up to see each other”. You’d thought you’d been sneaky enough that night, leaving after everyone fell asleep, but Ezekiel was always a couple steps ahead it seemed, following you out of Santo Padre a few hours to a bar where you’d met up with Jax. The conversation with him was easier than you expected, but still he was wary, and how couldn’t he be. You were his baby sister. He’d worry till his last breath. “... and I told Angel a couple of weeks ago. Couldn’t really get out of explaining how I had your rings laying around”. You couldn’t remember much of what that admission to him entailed, besides the look of disbelief he had, and then the screaming, and then eventually the forced calm of his expression when he realized that there was nothing he could do about it. It was still unbelievable to him, you weren’t that little girl anymore, no matter how much he wanted you to be.

You were grown, beyond capable of making your own decisions. But boy did it scare you having to tell Felipe.

“Whenever you want to tell him I’m ready”.

His sureness makes you smile, wide and bright, laying a kiss to his rosy lips. “I love you too Jackson”.

#mayans mc #ez reyes #angel reyes #jax teller x reader #soa #jax teller #long headcanon #joannasteez #reyes!reader #jax teller x reyes!reader

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aellynera · 3 years

Text

Word of Mouth (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

WORD OF MOUTH

(This has been sitting in my WIPs for-ev-errrrr and I finally got in the mood to finish it, since I haven’t written Santi in a while and I missed him. It’s nothing too involved, just a slice-of-life kind of deal, but I do like the way it turned out. Comments, likes, and reblogs always appreciated!)

I think this one came out as GN!Reader (I’ve read over it a few times but if I’m wrong please let me know.)

Word Count: 2340

Summary: It’s not that Santiago is mad about it, exactly; it’s more that he doesn’t like the way it happened.

Warnings: Some cursing. Some angst. Some fluff. Argument. Two people being stubborn. As always possible lack of proofreading.

Santiago comes off duty and returns to your on-base housing, and he stays quiet for far too long. Usually he greets you with a kiss, or at least a hello, but this time he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t say a word as he goes into the bedroom, peels off his fatigues, and changes into a plain black t-shirt and plain khaki cargo pants.

He doesn’t say a single word.

“Um, hello to you too,” you call out, getting up to follow him. “How was your day?”

He just shrugs and shakes his head slightly. You get the same response when you ask him if anything interesting happened today, how training went, or if he’s hungry.

You haven’t seen him for most of the day, different assignments and different meetings keeping you apart while on duty, but you just know. From his silence and the way he’s acting, you just know. You’ve been trying to find the right way to bring it up, the right time to mention it, and clearly, that time is going to be now whether you like it or not.

He’s found out.

Even when different assignments keep you apart, you do work on the same base and everyone knows you’re together, even if you never officially said anything. It’s really no one’s business but it’s not really a secret, and you live together, so people just assume. And anything work-related was never unknown for long. Word has gotten back to Santiago, and from the looks of it, it has also gotten to him.

The fact that you can’t actually read his expression is what concerns you the most.

You sit down on the side of the bed and sigh again. “Frankie told you.”

Someone who had been in that early morning meeting with you, a particular someone Santiago identified as a best friend, certainty couldn’t keep it to himself. You make a mental note to have a very, very strict conversation with one Francisco “Catfish” Morales the next time you see him.

Santiago considers calling Frankie, so he can repeat exactly what he told Santiago this afternoon, after you’d already gone back home for the day. Instead he finally decides to answer you, his voice flat and dangerous.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s my job,” you reply evenly.

“It’s your job if you get assigned to it,” he runs a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not your job if you volunteer for it. That’s a choice.”

You furrow your brow at him. “Semantics.”

“Selection,” he responds, voice clipped.

You rest your head on your fingertips, four on your forehead and thumb on your cheekbone. “I’m the best person for this mission. and.. it’s not like it’s never come up before. We’ve had this conversation, Santi, we’ve talked about this exact scenario, and you even said that no one was more…”

Santiago raises an eyebrow. “Hypothetical and actual are not the same thing.”

“So, hypothetically, I’m not actually qualified to do this?”

“Actually, you should let someone else be the flag-waver this time.”

“The flag-waver?”

“What, now this hypothetically has nothing to do with being a goddamn hero?”

Your head snaps up and your eyes narrow at him. He glares in return.

“Actually,” you start, but Santiago’s short, humorless laugh cuts you off.

This time, your words drag through the tension like dull razors through styrofoam. “Actually,” you repeat, “this has zero to do with being a fucking hero and everything to do with the fact that no one else could get this done the right way and it is my goddamn duty to do what I signed up for.”

“There is no right way that this isn’t going to be an absolute shitshow.” The venom in his voice is like ice in your veins.

“Thank you for having so much faith in me and my abilities, Santiago.”

Silence falls on the room for a few long minutes as you both fight to check your emotions. You understand he’s angry - and maybe scared, although he’ll never admit it - and he knows you’re absolutely right on all accounts - although he is not ready to admit it.

You break the silence, voice tuned down and level. “Look, I wanted to tell you myself, but I didn’t see you all day. I didn’t want you to find out like this. Frankie shouldn’t have gotten involved. But I am going on this mission. I...I don’t want you to be mad about it.”

He looks at you for a moment, and this time you can read his expression, but it almost makes it worse. It’s a combination of worry, sadness, understanding, and yes, traces of anger. It’s not a look that suits him.

You shift in your spot on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed,” he says softly, then turns and walks from the room.

Oh. Shit.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a thick, uncomfortable silence. It’s been hours since your confrontation in the bedroom, and the fullness of night has fallen without a single other word being spoken between you.

You spend the night in bed alone, and Santiago makes himself mostly uncomfortable on the couch.

Morning breaks and you pull yourself from the confines of the comforter. Not that you had been sleeping very well anyway. It was warm under the covers, temperature wise, but it somehow felt so cold, and you haven't slept well. Your mind refused to calm down.

You shower and dress, going through your morning routine almost on autopilot. As you wash your face and glance into the mirror, one side of your mouth pulls up into a sad smirk as you recall Santiago’s last words from the night before.

Not mad, disappointed.

Your parents used to say that, when you’d done something against the rules, potentially stupid, and possibly morally questionable. It always seemed to hurt more than actually having them be mad at you, and you wince as you realize adulthood has done nothing to change that feeling.

You and Santiago have your fair share of arguments. Usually they’re not serious, even kind of playful. You both like to talk and you both like to be right, so a little verbal battle isn’t uncommon. But you’re still running the previous night’s...it wasn’t a conversation, but was it really a fight? Was it even an argument? No category really seems to fit, and this one just feels different.

You go downstairs and expect to find Santi on the couch, it’s still early, but as soon as you hit the bottom of the steps, the smell of freshly brewed coffee assaults your nose.

He hands you a mug full of the dark brown liquid as you enter the kitchen. You take it with a nod of thanks and he nods back. But he still doesn’t say a word.

It’s a good sign though. At least, you hope it is, anyway.

You sip from your mug as he turns back to the stove, pushing some stuff around in a frying pan. It smells like bacon and potatoes and your stomach grumbles in protest, and you’re not sure but you think you can see the corners of Santi’s mouth turn up just a little.

Also a good sign. Maybe.

You sit down at your usual spot at the table and play with the handle on the mug. You offer him a singular glance and then stare back into your drink. Clearly he’s not going to be the one to talk first. You sigh.

This is not the first time he’s done this. Santiago is a good man, the best you know, and he’s honorable and decent and so fucking kind, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned since living with him, it’s he’s damn stubborn and can be a petulant brat when he wants to. And in typical macho hero Santiago Garcia style, he will not be the first one to cave after an argument, especially when he thinks he’s right.

You’ll give him shit for it later, when all the animosity has worn off, but for now, you’re going to have to cut the tension. You’ve never been good with silence and it’s only been one night and now this brief bit of morning and it’s starting to get to you.

And okay, maybe you’re not always the best at communicating with him, either. So you’ll be the first to break, this time.

You sigh again. “Santi…”

He turns his head slightly, away from his work at the stove, and glances at you. An eyebrow goes up.

“Are we going to talk about this? For real?” you ask.

He shrugs and turns back to the contents of the pan.

A frustrated growl erupts from your chest as you push your chair back and take the three steps over to the stove. You grab the handle and push the pan off the heat, snapping the burner off as you do, and then whirl and stare at Santi. He narrows his eyes and takes a step back, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter by the sink.

“Please say something to me,” you bite out. God, he’s so frustrating sometimes. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first, but you cannot be upset with me for doing my goddamn job. For doing what I signed up to do. Just...fucking talk to me. Please.”

This time it’s Santi who sighs, and he runs a hand through his hair and massages a spot on the back of his neck. “I told you, I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” you nod, “but you really also can’t be disappointed.”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t just be...wait, what?”

“I said,” he says, uncrossing his arms slowly and reaching for one of your hands, “I’m not.”

You just blink at him and bite your bottom lip.

“I just...I don’t like the thought of you being out there without me.” Your mouth opens to retort but he holds up a hand to stop you, and you close it again and he continues. “I know you can do this, I know you’re totally capable and you can handle yourself, you could probably kick my ass on any given day in sparring, but...I just…” his voice trails off and he turns to stare out the kitchen window.

You squeeze his hand firmly and pull his attention back to you. He looks so handsome, his hair still tousled slightly from sleep and his t-shirt wrinkled from being on the couch all night, but he also really does look troubled and it makes your heart drop. “What is it, Santi?”

“There’s always a danger with any mission,” he says softly. “And it just kills me that I can’t protect you. I just want to protect you and have you come back safe.”

Then he’s pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your neck, and you feel wet spots on your collarbone and it makes tears prick at your eyes too. Santi shakes slightly in your arms and you whisper soft, soothing words into his hair.

He’ll never admit it, but you know. He’s scared.

Because he’s not wrong. This mission has the potential to go sideways and tits-up at the same time, and then flip over backwards for good measure. And you have to admit, although you’re not going to admit it to him because that would likely make it so much worse, that you’d give anything to have him on this mission with you. But you can’t. You can just do your job and do it well, prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

A common mantra in your line of work. One that you always stick to.

But you have so much more to lose this time, and Santi does too, and your breakfast is forgotten as you take him by the hand and drag him back up to your bedroom. You lead him to the bed and lie down on your side, pull him down with you, and curl up into his side. He just wraps his arms around you and holds on like you’re a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to come back to you,” you trace your fingers over his dog tags.

“I know,” he kisses under your ear.

You hope you’re telling the truth. He hopes you’re telling the truth. You both hold each other like it might be the last time, even though it won’t because you’re not leaving for several days, but you’re both acutely aware that you have no way of actually knowing when it might really be the last time.

So you just hold each other silently for a while, until a thought occurs to you and you huff out a gentle laugh.

“What?” Santi asks you, peering at you with heavy lids and stupidly long lashes.

You lean up to kiss him on the nose. “Wanna help me run some strategy?”

His answer is cut off by the very insistent complaint from your stomach. He quirks an eyebrow. “Wanna have a breakfast meeting?”

You giggle. “Probably a good idea.”

Santi plants a kiss on your lips and then gets up, holding out a hand to pull you off the bed and you stand, stretching your arms over your head. He goes to the doorway and says, “I’ll go finish making the food. Meet you at the table in 20, Lieutenant.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” you smile at him.

He moves to leave, and then calls out, “Oh, and Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Santiago?” you roll your eyes, another giggle escaping your lips.

He sticks his head back in the door, just for a moment, just long enough to take all of you in with a look of adoration, and mouths the words “I love you.” Then he turns and goes downstairs.

And you know you can handle - no, you will handle - anything that might happen, and your heart soars.

~end~

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yunhoiseyecandy · 4 years

Text

✕ 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞; 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞

✕ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

✕ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 ◆ 𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✕ 𝐰/𝐜𝐨��𝐧𝐭; 𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧

✕ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥- 𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞

[𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭]

happy birthday, @hanatiny !!! a big thanks to @barnesbabee for giving me the plot for this story

─────

it was like a constant cycle

he goes to work, deems his workers' articles unworthy of being published, and then drives home late in the night only to be greeted by the emptiness of his home.

and he was starting to lose his mind

he needed a change in his schedule, like an escape from the real world. it’s normal to grow a need to leave a place you’ve grown to get tired from after so long.

the only thing closest to an escape for him would have to be sarah, his assistant at work. but he can’t remember the last time she’s made him feel something.

it started out as fuck buddies, but hongjoong soon got bored of her. she wasn’t into the things that he was, which made hongjoong confused because she said she liked it rough.

and it’s not like he did anything that she wouldn’t want, he made sure to respect her boundaries. but he was tired of being vanilla, so he opted to do the one thing he never thought he’d do,

“mingi, are you sure this is a good idea?” hongjoong said, his thumbs swiping up and down the screen of his phone. they’ve had no luck so far, only finding sketchy accounts that seem to be run by bots. “Yeah, I mean I got olivia from this app.”

“that doesn’t mean shit, dude.” san chuckled, slapping mingi upside the head. online dating is one thing, but finding a sugar baby who only really wants money is another.

it was hard finding someone who wasn’t only there for money, and he knew it would probably take a while before he found someone, considering money is the only reason they even had an account.

he wanted someone to take care of, to get his mind away from work and only focus on the way she felt wrapped around him, focusing on the sharp gasps for air that left her mouth.

“guys, I think we should just give up alread-”

san snatched hongjoong’s phone from mingi’s hand, motioning towards him with a wide smirk on his face. “I think you’ll like her. read the description.”

hongjoong laughed, surprised at how excited san seemed to be. he looked down at his phone, mouth agape at the words on screen. he’d never seen someone as intriguing as you, and the white lace you had on only made it harder for him to not press message right then and there.

introduction

hey baby, my name’s rose. are you my next sugar daddy? I’m 22 years old, and I’m looking for someone who always has time for me.

what are my interests?

I love painting, and photography is a close second on my favorites. I’m open to just about anything, so I don’t mind it if we have different hobbies.

hard no’s in bed?

nope, I’m open to anything and everything. maybe even a little bit of pain..

"you can breath if you want." san said, and hongjoong scoffed at the younger ones words.

he couldn't peel his eyes away from the screen, you were just too pretty. and he knew he had to have you.

"you guys can leave now, I think we're done here."

—

as soon as he saw you walk into the restaurant, he knew this was going to be a long night.

you had on a black dress with small slits on the side of it that made him want to bend you over the table you two were about to eat on.

he stood up from his seat to greet you, pulling out your chair and gesturing you to sit. "you look beautiful, rose."

he really didn't know what else to say, and the words left his mouth so effortlessly.

you couldn't lie that he looked more than handsome, and you felt slightly intimidated by the look in his eyes.

"thank you. and you look really nice, too."

it was a long and comfortable evening, but you couldn't help but tease him every now and then.

sometimes by going to "grab a napkin", but just using it as an excuse to show off your cleavage. or even going as far as to flirt with the waiter, slightly touched their arm when they would bring a new glass of water.

hongjoong lost it when you both had ordered dessert, and you decided it would be a good idea to suck the chocolate off the spoon while looking right in his eyes.

you loved his reactions, and you could tell you'd be in for it tonight. but after all, that was your whole plan.

this seemed different than all of your other sugar daddy's. he was genuinely interested in you, and not only for the sex. even though, you wouldn't mind it if he was.

"I can tell what you're doing, and you might want to stop while you can," he said, leaning in towards you.

you smirked at him, tilting your head to the side. "I don't think I understand what you mean, hongjoong."

scoffing, he waved down the host to bring the check. "I doubt that, sweetheart."

—

maybe teasing him was a bad idea. because as soon as you walked through the front door of his apartment he had your clothes scattered across the floor, already leading you to his room and on the bed.

“what’s your name, baby?” his voice was deep as he whispered into your ear, biting down on the shell of it as he sat you on his lap.

you leaned back, hands resting on his chest. “rose, I thought you knew?”

he chuckled, “no, you’re real name.”

you didn’t know what to say to him. no one has ever asked you for your real name, let alone care enough to ask if rose was your actual one. you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face when he brushed his hand against your cheek, feeling the warmth through his actions.

you hesitated, leaning back into his touch. “it’s y/n..”

your lips brushed against his as you spoke, and you could taste the chocolate ice cream from earlier on them.

he hummed, his hands running up and down your body before he placed his thumb on your lip, trapping your jaw between his pointer finger and thumb. it was a soft movement, and it took your body by surprise when he tilted your head to the side so he could place wet, hot kisses all over your chest.

no one has ever done that before, and you loved the rush it gave your body. you tried your hardest to keep your legs from closing around his waist, but your underwear was starting to rub against you in a way that had your mouth closing to keep any noises from escaping your mouth.

“mhm, y/n,” he groaned into your skin. it was a beautiful name, and he thought it fit you all too well.

maybe it was the way he felt your wetness when you brushed against his shirt that had him flip you over, or it could’ve been because of the lingerie you had on. but he needed to hear you, taste you, anything that would have you screaming his name over and over again.

you gasped when he un-clipped your bra and pulled it off, tossing it on the ground and getting on his knees in front of you.

“I’ve been trying to picture how you’d look like this,” his hands ran up your legs, pushing them apart, “but nothing that I’ve imagined could ever compare to the view I have right now.”

your hands gripped the sheets beneath you as you took in everything. his lips as he dragged them up your thighs, the way his fingers teased the hem of your panties. and the way his eyes never once left yours.

“hongjoong,” you moaned as you felt him pull your underwear from your body as he returned back to his previous place. “please just do something already.”

he teased you, kissing right above where you needed him the most. he'd usually tease you since that's what you'd done to him. but right now there's no time for that.

he pressed the flat of his tongue against your clit, flicking up into it and moaning around you. your head dropped back, and you couldn't help the whine the left your mouth.

"fuck, right there."

he made sure to take his time with you, wanting to make you come more than once tonight. his movements were slow at first, but they got faster with every moan you let past your lips.

his lips parted from your core, slipping a finger in you and groaning at how wet you were. "you taste so good,"

he felt you clench around him, and he easily slipped in another finger while watching your mouth drop open again.

his mouth found its way back to your clit as he sucked on it hard, curling his fingers to push you over the edge.

"h-hongjoong!" you clenched one last time around his fingers, feeling yourself tense up when his teeth grazed your clit.

he sat up slowly, enjoying your fucked out face more than he should. and as pretty as you looked right now, he wanted to see tears streaming down your face while making you come.

you were already tired and he hasn't even fucked you yet, so to say you were excited would be an understatement.

without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach and spread your thighs apart, pulling his boxers down.

his hand grabbed the base of his cock and he dragged it up your core, his knees digging into the matress behind you.

he pushed in slowly, making sure you were comfortable and not in pain. your eyes fluttered closed at your good he felt, and you clenched tightly around him when his finger moved to draw circles around your clit.

just like earlier, his strokes were slow. but with every passing moment his hips seemed to have a mind of their own and his place quickened.

you felt one of his hands press on the small of your back, pushing you into the matress.

the angle that you were at now had you screaming his name, and you could feel his cock hit all the places your fingers never could.

he made a warmth spread through your body when he angled his hips a certain way, hitting that one spot inside of you that made a silent scream come out.

"you close, baby? gonna make a mess on my cock?"

you couldn't tell if it was because of your previous orgasm, but you came as soon as those words left his mouth, nail ripping the bed sheets as you came around him.

hongjoong's head fell back as you came, his bangs sticking to his forehead from all the sweat he's built up.

it wasn't long after you came that he pulled out, ropes of his cum lining your back as he took in the view.

you slumped onto the bed legs giving out while he went to the bathroom and turned the shower on.

never in his life has he ever taken a shower with someone, only grabbing a wet towel to clean them up. but this felt different, and he felt the need to pamper you after all the stress he's put on your body.

"can you walk, baby, or do you want me to carry you?"

─────

#hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong angst #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez fluff #kpop smut #kpop fluff #kpop angst #ateez scenarios #kpop boy group #kpop fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez #kpop #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #kpopidol

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

Text

Kinktober #5: Pretty Please? - Hawks

In which you and Keigo coin a few new petnames for one another.

Characters: Takami Keigo (Hawks) / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), daddy kink, dom!Hawks, vaginal sex, a touch of begging, inappropriate use of gen Z social media apps

Notes: This man is getting dangerously close to the top of my simp list. It’s really becoming an issue. Today’s prompt is ‘Daddy Kink.’ Also, I didn’t come up with ‘kid’ as a nickname that Hawks uses... if u know, u know

Kinktober Masterlist

“How long have you been here?”

Keigo’s voice echoes in the hallway of his little apartment soon after you hear the jingle of his keys in the lock. While it certainly isn’t your first time coming to his place without him, you’re still not quite used to the appearance of that silvery little key dangling from your key ring.

Nor are you used to hanging around the place by yourself. You spent the morning in a coffee shop around the corner, working away- popping by the agency to see Keigo over lunch. He’d told you to come back here if you needed somewhere quiet to work- bonus points, since you’d be here waiting when he got home.

“Came straight after lunch,” you call absently. Your eyes are glued to the screen as you finish your thought, typing out your last email of the day. As soon as you hit send you snap the laptop shut, pushing it gently across the kitchen counter while climbing out of your chair.

“Hi,” you purr, catching up to him in the hallway. You grab his hand and he pauses, leaning in to peck your lips. When he pulls back, he’s got a lazy smirk drawn across his mouth.

“How you been, kid? Sure feels good comin’ home to you at the end of the day.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you tease, pushing your shoulder against his. You lean down and nuzzle his jaw, letting your cheek scrape against his scruff. “I’m a strong, independent woman.”

“Which is exactly why I love you,” he replies. He grabs your chin and pulls your mouth back to his, catching it in a kiss that would have surprised you with its tenderness, if you didn’t know him so well.

When you first met, he played the Cheshire Cat role eagerly. Smirking at you, pulling lines on you, making you think he was the laid-back hero that everybody knew him as. But the more time you spend with him, the more he opens up. The more he lets himself be vulnerable to you. And you him. You’d never meant to let him in so easily, but…

Here you are.

You flop down on the couch together, Keigo leaning against one arm while you keep your head cradled in his lap. He’s happy to fold his wings over the back of the couch and absently stroke your hair while you catch up a little. It’s only been a few hours since you’ve last seen one another, so you settle quickly into comfortable silence.

That’s when you open your phone, idly opening Tik Tok and starting to scroll. Every so often you come across a video related to Hawks. He’s got a lot of fans out there- and a lot of fangirls, too. You don’t mind, though. Sometimes they get a little too personal, however, and you like to scroll.

This time around, you don’t scroll fast enough.

You don’t catch the whole video, but it’s a clip of Keigo that somebody took on their phone. Suddenly, the audio cuts out and it’s interrupted by the sound of a female voice, moaning more obscenely than you could ever hope to.

“Daddy,” it mewls, and you scroll so fast the phone almost topples out of your fingers.

Frozen, you pull your eyes carefully up to meet the gaze of your boyfriend. He definitely heard. And while he knows that Tik Tok can pull up some random videos at times, you can see the flush spreading across his cheeks.

He shifts a little underneath you, hand paused on top of your head. He clears his throat.

“What was that?”

You consider your next words carefully.

“…A video.”

He swallows hard and licks his lips.

“What kind of video?”

Suddenly, it hits you. You have the reins. You realize exactly what’s going through his head. And the next time you look up at him, it’s with a wicked smirk stretching your lips.

“Why do you want to know?” You ask, and your voice has taken on the low sort of drawl that makes him shift again underneath you. “Don’t tell me you like the sound of that… Daddy.”

You feel the barest vibration in his chest as a tiny groan escapes him. He doesn’t move, but you can see the way his wings bristle, the joints stiffening a little as his feathers spread. Your stomach jolts excitedly.

“Don’t call me that,” he grunts, but you know he doesn’t mean it.

The two of you are far from vanilla most nights. You’re definitely up for a little experimentation. And pet names flow between you like water. But this feels… different. This feels controversial.

Oh, fuck. You’re into it, too.

“You do.” You scramble into a sitting position, swinging one knee over his thighs. He looks up at you with a pair of lidded tawny eyes, his jaw drawn slack in an expression that spells sheer arousal to you. You know that face well, and it makes your body ache.

“Do you want me to call you Daddy from now on?” You’re not letting up, and as you lean forward, his hands find your hips. They squeeze. Hard. His wings fan a gentle breeze over your face, and you love the way his breath hitches in your ear.

“Fuck, stop,” he groans. It’s more desperate this time, and as his hips keen against yours you can tell just how hard this is hitting him. He’s half-hard already, straining against the thick denim between you.

“Maybe now’s the time to tell you,” you whisper, “how bad I’ve wanted you all day, Daddy. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all afternoon. I even thought about ducking into your room before-”

That breaks him, and he snatches your hips and stands abruptly. He’s strong enough to carry you easily, and he lifts your thighs securely around his hips before beelining for the bedroom.

When you get there, instead of being spread on your back like the pillow princess he’ll normally let you pretend to be, he pushes you face-down into the pillows, letting your hips hang off the edge of his wide bed. He bends close, his chest brushing the column of your spine as his jaw brushes your ear.

“You brought this on yourself, kid,” he gruffs. He’s already working your sweater up your back. You lift your torso enough for him to wedge it off of you, but he doesn’t wait for you to do the same before he’s peeling your leggings down your thighs and taking your thong with it. The second your ass is bare he brings his palm down across it with a resounding snap.

“Kei-” you start to gasp, but he quickly silences you with another spank that draws a yelp from your throat.

“You started this,” he grunts, “you’re gonna finish it. What’s that you were gonna call me?”

You suck in a shaky breath and let your eyes flutter shut. You deserve this. You want it. All you have to do is take the plunge. The rest will follow. That breath you drew before gets held for a moment. And then you jump.

“Daddy,” you whimper, throwing an extra edge of desperation into it, “don’t tease me.”

“Shit, kid,” he grunts. His belt jingles as he gets his pants undone, and you hear them hit the floor. A breeze from his wings and another pile of fabric hitting the carpet determines that he’s naked now. He’s left your leggings partially on, though, keeping your legs pressed tightly together at the knees.

He knows what he’s doing.

When he steps up behind you again it’s with the warm presence of his bare skin on yours, and you feel the brush of his hand against the back of your thigh, gentle and rhythmic. He’s stroking his cock and you want more than anything to turn your head and sneak a peek, but you know that doesn’t fit into the game you’re playing.

“You ready for me, sweetness?”

He slips a hand between your legs, drawing his thumb along your slit and making you shiver. You could use a little more time, but you’re wet already. He drags his slick thumb down to the swell of your clit and circles it. The tender nerves are already pinched between your thighs, and the sensation is enough to make your hips buck harshly back against him.

Your ass connects with his thighs and he steps back a little, chuckling as he lays one hand in the small of your back to steady you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted something,” he drawls, continuing to circle your clit with that lazy thumb. It’s making your toes curl against the wood floor as stars explode behind your eyelids.

He leans in close. “Why don’t you tell me what it is?”

“You know what it is,” you choke, because it won’t be any fun at all if you fold right away.

“I know,” he quips, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “I just wanna hear you say it.” He draws his thumb across your clit in a sudden swipe, making your whole body jump. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you plead, and he chuckles so low and feral it sends vibrations up your spine. He shifts forward again, hand still pushing you into the mattress. His thumb leaves your clit, but it’s soon replaced by the head of his cock, pressing flush against your slick pussy. You can feel it now that he’s touching you- you’re soaked.

“Now how am I s’posed to say no, baby, when you ask so- ah- nicely?”

His voice breaks as he pushes in, and your whine comes in sync with it. You’re always amazed at how perfectly the two of you seem to fit together. There’s a stretch, but no pain. There’s never been pain. And on top of that, the thirsty Twitter accounts are right.

Your man knows how to fuck.

He bottoms out inside you, sliding a palm to your ass, and lets out a breathy groan. But he’s grinning. You can tell. It’s been a long day for both of you.

For a man who talks so much during foreplay he’s relatively quiet- or, wordless, at least. There’s nothing quiet about the way he grunts as he draws himself back and pumps slowly into you again. He’s testing the waters, but with your thighs pressed together the way they are you’re even tighter than usual.

“Not gonna last long,” he warns headily, and that’s the last thing you hear before he starts to fuck you properly and all your senses go haywire.

When you swim back to the surface, the only sounds in the room are your mingled, laboured breathing, and the rhythmic slap slap slap of his thighs against your ass. There’s something about the angle he’s taking you from- he’s hitting you just right, and you squirm in front of him with a desperate mewl.

“Daddy,” you whine, taking the game and running with it, “daddy, please, I wanna cum.”

“Don’t you worry, sweetness,” he growls behind you, breathless and feral. “Daddy’s not gonna leave you hangin’.”

It sounds different coming out of his mouth. The appeal was already there- anything that turns him on turns you on, too, almost as a direct result. But when you hear it coming from him, it flips your stomach in a way that you could get used to.

He slides an arm beneath your waist and hauls you off the bed, pulling you back against his chest as he continues to fuck up into you. His right hand dances down your hip and between your legs, finding the swollen nub of your clit. He strums it deftly, making you squeal.

“Yeah,” you whimper, letting your head fall back against his shoulder as he holds you close. “Fuck, I’m getting there.”

“Me too, kid,” he pants into your ear. “So damned tight. Fuck, you’re suckin’ the life outta me.”

In another half-dozen thrusts you’re dangling precariously on the edge. He’s still going, hitting you just right and pushing you there one inch at a time. Suddenly he re-centers his grip on you and comes back with renewed ferocity. His rhythm doubles.

You fall.

Your orgasm is particularly spectacular this time around. Your spine goes concave as your legs go fluid. You reach back and grab at his hips as you keen and twitch and rock through the pleasure. Your pussy convulses around his cock and his hips stutter. He grabs you hard, holding you up as he explodes, warm and liquid inside you.

When it’s over, you both collapse onto the mattress. Outside, the sun is painting brilliant streaks of apricot across the sky. A gentle autumn breeze flutters the curtains. You finally catch your breath.

“So,” you sigh, turning your head where it’s cradled on his chest. His body is beautiful, and now that you’ve finally got the chance to look you don’t take it for granted. He’s all long lines and clean muscle, dusted over with tawny hair and the last kisses of the summer sun.

He’s kissing your shoulder as you speak up, one scarlet wing folded neatly at his shoulder, the other fanned out across the bed.

“It’s gonna be Daddy, then, is it?”

He snorts, smirking against your skin.

“Sure didn’t sound like you had a problem with it two minutes ago.”

“I don’t,” you quip, tracing a finger down his sternum. “I liked it. I…” You trail off, and your ears warm. “I liked it.”

He pulls back from your shoulder and rests his head against the pillow beneath him, his eyes casting over your face. Warm and loving and heartbreakingly genuine despite the… sensitive nature of your conversation.

“So did I,” he purrs, and you fall silent for another few minutes. Decompressing. Basking, he’ll say later on. Inevitably, the needs of the evening step in, and as the last rays of light fade from the city you lift your head.

“Dinner?”

His eyes were closed, but they slide slowly open again at the sound of your voice. In the dim like this, they’re the colour of almonds, always soft when they’re looking you over. You fall a little more in love with him every time he looks at you like that.

Then he shoots you a near-boyish crooked grin and your heart warms all over again.

“Whatever you want, kid.”

#hawks x reader #hawks/reader #hawks/you #takami keigo/reader #takami keigo smut #my hero academia #kinktober #jbbKinktober2020 #mha fanfiction #bnha #bnha fanfiction #reader insert #female reader

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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

fuck me happy

(r18+)

dabi x reader

ao3

word count: 3.6k

You couldn’t fuck someone into happiness, but it did take the edge off with him. Being fucked and shown that you were a being worthy of care rather than just an object was not close to a cure, but damn, was it a reminder.

warnings: hurt/comfort smut, sad reader, soft gooey dabi, dom/sub undertones if you squint

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just some fluffy ass, feel good, but feel a lil sad type of smut. please 2 not attempt to fuck away your depression, just read and enjoy :’^)

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Dabi smelt like cigarettes, wood-smoke and cheap incense. It was an intoxicating cologne that you’d long been conditioned into thinking was the hottest smell in the world. Like, drop your panties and bend over the nearest surface and let him rail you without a single question asked.

Not that day, though.

Despite the fact you heard the apartment door open, you didn’t so much as greet Dabi. Your mind felt muddy and slow, addled with things you didn’t want to think about it. It was easier to burrow in blankets, clutching a pillow and pretend it would go away.

The bedroom door creaked open, light spilling in from the hallway.

“Aw, napping? Cute.” Dabi’s smoke-burned voice drawled. You were very awake, but you didn’t have it in you to tell him otherwise.

You felt the bed shift, one of his hands falling over your hip through the covers. The gesture was comforting, but it hardly helped to unknot the pressure in your chest. You rubbed your wet face on the pillow in your arms.

“Hi,” Your voice was small, muffled by the covers held over your head.

Dabi hummed, rubbing slowly at your waist and thighs. You twitched.

“I didn't think you were awake,” Dabi hummed, pausing. “Are you trying to sleep?”

“Nope.”

You hated how your words clipped. You really, really appreciated Dabi being there, you just didn’t know how to move or think correctly. You just felt like shit. You wanted to stew in your shit and self-hatred until it was a little more bearable. “Just feeling bad.”

Dabi wasn’t one to ask questions, not unless you started talking. For how much he monologued, he also could listen when given the opportunity. Though, you weren’t much for talking. Dabi had seen you like this before, and he knew enough of you to proceed somewhat gingerly.

His weight shifted from the bed, rustling sounding from around the room. You heard the unzipping of his boots, the heavy sound of his jacket dropping to the carpet. You sniffled. You hated being this pathetic, unable to face someone you were supposed to trust, but it was inevitable sometimes.

The comforter was peeled away, his familiar, strong scent nearly burning your nose. Part of your brain got at least a little suggestive, but most of it was just comfort. You sank deeper into the blankets.

Dabi slid in behind you, quickly rewrapping the two of you in the softness of the covers. The heat of his chest radiated through your back as you held your pillow tighter.

“This alright?” His voice was low against your ear, hot breath tickling your ear.

“Yeah.” You spoke softly, pulling your legs from their near fetal position to stretch out a bit more, “Sorry.”

You heard him half-scoff behind you, pressing the most gentle kiss against the side of your head, “You don’t need to apologize. I’m here.”

‘I’m here.’

It was a mutual sentiment. Demons attracted demons, that’s how things worked sometimes. Dabi had plenty of horrifying nightmares and many bad days just as you had your own moods. You both had learned some time ago, you just needed another person there to lean on, whatever that meant. Sometimes, the most important thing about helping each other was just being there no matter what weather raged unseen.

Dabi’s arm slowly curled over your waist, pulling you closer as new tears built in your eyes. It was subtle, but you could feel the soft squeeze of his scarred hand over your hip, dipping just under your shirt to touch your bare skin.

You didn’t say anything for a while, shaking the slightest bit and just letting yourself rewet the pillow in your arms. Dabi’s grip eventually drifted under your shirt to your midriff, his thumb rubbing little circles over your tummy.

“I just feel like garbage,” You finally broke the silence, voice trembling. “I know it’ll stop and get a little better at some point. I just want that point to be now.”

Dabi nuzzled into the back of your head, pressing languid kiss after kiss over the back of your neck, “That’s understandable. Shit hasn’t been easy lately.”

You sniffled, nodding and acknowledging the fact that circumstances could’ve been better. Bouncing back seemed like a far-off concept in the middle of your metaphorical, mental storm, right?

“It h-hasn’t,” You hated how weak your voice came out, how quiet and strained it was. “But like, you’d just figure I’d learn how to be better, you know?”

“Learning to cope is hard, most people suck at it and hide it,” Dabi reminded you, though the sentiment was only partially comforting. “I think you do a pretty good job.”

“How can you say that?” There’s an annoyed edge to your tone. “I’ve been hiding in bed literally under the covers since noon. I can’t even think about anything else other than how fucking awful I feel.”

Dabi didn’t like that answer too much, it seemed. A little grumble sounded in his throat, pads of his fingers digging into the flesh of your stomach.

“That’s how it works, you know that. You can’t get away from it and that’s why it sucks,” Dabi punctuated his words with an extra wave of heat from his body. “Besides, staying in bed all day is better than it could be. You could be being reckless, but instead—”

His fingers twitched at your sides as he left a quick smattering of kisses across your shoulders, hair, ears, and anything else he could reach. The feeling of his breath on the sensitive skin made a giggle burst from your mouth. You squirmed against him, pressing back into him and relishing in his warmth.

It was nice, how he provided some sort of reprieve.

“I get to find you, all snuggled up in bed, only in a t-shirt and panties? I don’t know, this is a treat.” Dabi snickered, pinching your thigh for emphasis.

Maybe his sexual appetites were a little misplaced when you weren’t feeling better, but his particular heat and touch were comfortable attention. You ate it up.

You gave him a hesitant smile, pressing your ass into his growing bulge, “I see where your head’s at, hm?”

“Can you blame me?” Dabi tilted his head to press a hot kiss to your jaw. “There’s nothing better than getting to spend time with you. I just want to help you feel better, whatever that may be.”

It was a rare moment of genuine vulnerability from him, but you’d take it.

You let go of your pillow, flipping to turn towards Dabi. His hands followed your motion, pulling you close again as you tangled your legs with his.

You hadn’t fully processed it before, but he also wasn’t wearing pants.

Looking up at him with shiny, gooey eyes, you cupped his jaw and rubbed at the gnarled skin.

“Thank you, for always being here, you know?” You avert your gaze you spoke, refusing to look at his bright eyes and instead tracing the contours and shadows of his collarbones through the wide neck of his long sleeve.

Carefully, he pulled your hands to his lips, pressing his lips to the meat of your thumbs, “Do you want me to ‘distract’ you?”

You rolled your eyes, “I knew it. Horny.”

“Like I said, ‘can you blame me’?”

Truth be told, a bit of a sexual distraction sounded nice. Very nice. It made the heat Dabi was emanating seem ever sweeter, something to fall into and ease your aches in more ways than one.

Dabi nudged your nose with his own, “Do you want me to help you feel good?”

“Please.”

It was the same small voice from before.

Dabi didn’t mind, he knew how to coax out better far more pleasurable feelings from you. Lazily, he dragged you even closer, latching your lips together in a breath of near-steam.

He licked into your mouth, unashamed in the hunger in his actions. You didn’t mind. It felt good to be desired, especially in the gooey way you knew Dabi would indulge you.

Your shirt was already rucked up, making it that much easier for him to press the fullness of his hand against the small of your back. You arched all for him and the show of it. Nothing more for how tired you were, but the small circles and mindless brushes of his fingers over your rapidly-heating skin were more than enough motivation for you to give into him.

Dabi liked a bit of control.

(A bit was an understatement, but he wouldn’t push you, not on your shittier days anyways.)

He tangled a hand into your hair, angling your head to better slot your lips together. The bareness of his knee pressed against your covered cunt. A small moan muffling into Dabi’s mouth as you rolled into his subtle actions. You heard a throaty chuckle vibrate from his chest.

He pulled away, his hand gripping your jaw with enough strength to warn you not to try and look away. The yolks of his azure eyes looked dazzling despite the darkness of the room as he met your gaze. There was a bit of mischief in their depths and the lazy motion of his knee against your clothed sex. You knew that Dabi wouldn’t push you, but he did know exactly what parts of you to push and pull to make you melt away in his natural fever.

His low voice washed over you, the tone itself alluring but his words dragging you deeper.

“Let me take care of you, princess, how about that?”

You were a puddle for him, sadness pushed back as you nodded desperately, “Please.”

Dabi’s thumb ran over your lip, a gentle smile with a playful lilt gracing his face.

Coaxing you into a state of softness for him wasn’t hard, but it must’ve been satisfying, based on the sweet smugness in his eyes.

He pressed two fingers against your lips as sweetly as one could, eyes going half-lidded, “Suck.”

You nodded, compliant and boneless. You parted your lips and let the fingers to slide back on your tongue. They pressed down, but not enough to gag you, just enough to make you drool over the digits.

The knee flush with your sex moved away, Dabi’s available hand pulling down the elastic waistband of your panties, helping you slide them off and kick them somewhere under the covers. It was all slow, no rushing or pressing in the way Dabi moved against you. It might’ve even been going too slow, but you weren’t in any place to do anything other than crave more.

With Dabi’s elevated and steadily rising temperature, your place under the comforter was growing increasingly warmer to the point of being stifling. Fucking around with Dabi always meant getting a bit too sweaty, but you didn’t want to get heat exhaustion before he had even properly gotten to your cunt.

You opened your mouth a bit wider to speak, but the narrowing of Dabi’s eyes cut you off.

“Good girls don’t speak with their mouths full, do they?” He asked with a tilt of his head. He spoke with the same smug grin as before, fingers almost pushing too far back in your throat.

You nodded, sniffling.

Dabi must’ve caught your cues to get some relief from the heat of the blankets and his sweltering body as he sat up, only to pull the blankets to the ground, sans a single thin sheet.

It felt a bit revealing, to be so suddenly disheveled and half-naked. You pulled the sheet up and over your legs as Dabi drew his fingers from your mouth. You sucked in a large breath, tucking yourself closer to him as he adjusted back down to the mattress.

He met your gaze as he sucked the fingers into his own mouth, pulling them away moments later with a percussive pop. The fingers slipped under the sheets, teasing along your hips and dipping to your thighs.

“Want me to fuck you like this, sweetness?” Dabi’s gravelly voice was sweet sin in your ears, washing over your like honeyed wine. “All nice and slow, show you how good you can feel?”

“Please.”

For one word, it held plenty of pleading it in.

You wanted nothing more than for his hand to keep on its bath, your thighs squishing together and shifting as slick and sweat wetted your thighs.

A husky chuckle and a kiss to the top of your head were all the confirmation you needed from him, but he gave you a bit more, “I got you, princess. Just keep being a good girl for me.”

Oh, you would be. Anything to get him to keep saying such sweet things.

You melted in him, wedging your face into him at his collar bones as he propped himself up on an arm.

Your gooey mind wanted him even closer, despite how perfectly tucked and nestled into him you were. You just wanted more. And, his shirt was certainly getting in the way. You pulled at the hem of it, helping Dabi pull over his head, dropping a few of your own kisses over the rough skin of his throat.

Dabi gently patted you back down, his palm drifting to lay flat against your sex, spit-soaked fingers grazing your slit. You keened, even at the barest contact. You muffled your moans against his chest, his soft chuckles sounding in tandem. The meat of his hand slowly circled over your clit, one finger dipping into your cunt without pause.

Your hips met his motions, desperate already and greedy, the syrupy pleasure his hot palms giving your clit slow circles just not being enough. Dabi must’ve noticed your insistence, spotting it in the way you clutched at his waist and tried to drag him even closer. With a kiss to your crown, he pressed another finger into your slick-soaked cunt, crooking the fingers just right.

You couldn’t help the warbling moan that broke from your throat as your nails dug into the unscarred skin of Dabi’s hips. Despite his smug laughter, he was quick to lavish you sweet nothings as he continued his slow, soft finger-fucking with a reverie that he would only ever let you feel and see.

“How does it feel, sweetness?” His lips were at your ear, gooseflesh rising on your arms.

“R-really nice,” you moaned, toes curling as hot pleasure runs you up and down. The chemical additive that was his voice was like high-proof whiskey on embers— it only stood to make you burn.

“You’re so good for me,” His words rumble from his chest to yours, his sweet heat spicing your mind even more.

Some days, Dabi might’ve made you grovel for touch like this. He liked pushing you, making you pliant and compliant with words and touch. Though, he wasn’t needlessly cruel. He was oddly fair for being a villain. Especially on your bad days, he gave what he could to ease your aches.

You took it greedily.

As your breaths got a little deeper, harsher, puffing against Dabi’s skin as you clung to him, Dabi’s bulge began to lightly rock against your leg, fully hard and undoubtedly aching in the same way that you were.

He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to make you squirm, even in your mutually heated states.

“You want more, princess? Tell me what you want.” His fingers pulled out of you, a new rush of slick wetting your thighs.

“You— you know what.” You huffed, breathless.

Dabi mused for a moment, clicking his tongue. He shifted above you, pulling off his boxer briefs in the process.

“I suppose I do. You are nice and wet for me, huh?” He asked you, urging you flat onto your back. He dragged one of his fingers from your hole to your clit, swirling at the nub. You arched your back and cried for him, pressing into the wire of his scarred arms.

He sat back on his knees, pumping his cock slowly. In the faint light of the bedroom, you could see the balls of his piercings almost flush with his cock. Your mouth watered. The feeling of the hot metal against the back of your throat would’ve been heaven.

As you started to rise, tugging at Dabi’s hips for him to come closer, he just as quickly pushed you back down.

“Let me take care of you, sweetness,” He kept his voice so soft, it nearly hurt.

You nodded, settling back down onto the mattress and bending at the knees. Dabi was hardly reverent, not in the way he slicked his cock with preek, but somehow to the look of love he was giving you was.

You relaxed into the mattress, half-boneless before even being boned.

Dabi smiled, watching your complacency. He loved using smooth words on you to get you to rest. You just needed a bit of coaxing.

A lazy ball of spittle dripped from his lips to his cock. You watched, mesmerized as he slicked himself down, his thick cock contrasting with the burns over the rest of his body.

Dabi was very beautiful, though he’d never accept it.

He looked even prettier on top of you, easily bringing your legs up to rest over his shoulder. Angling your hips up meant he would reach the perfect parts of your inside, ram you just right.

He teased the head of his cock against your cunt, running it up and down with almost torturous slowness.

“Please,” It was another plea, something desperate from your lips as you gripped at his thin hips and squeezed.

He didn’t ask you for any more, just leaning down to give you soft kiss after kiss all across your cheeks and jaw.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” His voice shook as he slowly fucked into you, letting you adjust to the girth of his cock. It wasn’t a long wait, you were basically meant for it, your pussy long since memorizing even the specific feeling of the metal of his piercings. You could feel him shake against you, slowly exhaling as he filled you up.

There was a subtle burn, but nothing that didn’t bring you some pleasure. Dabi knew just the pace to go to keep you yearning and doughy in his hands, cock head brushing that sweet spot inside you as he bottomed out.

The urgent look you shot him and the whine that sounded from the back of your throat was more than enough for him. You didn’t need to beg to feel good.

As your breaths aligned, Dabi braced his arms around your head, nearly steaming breath puffing against your neck. You matched him, hands flying to his hair as he slowly pulled out of you, only to fuck into you once more.

It was something slow and unhurried, but not at all lazy. Dabi was simply taking his time, each cant of his hips deliberate and unrushed. With each thrust back to your cunt, you gushed around his cock as Dabi grinded and circled his hips. You fell into his motions, fully rolling your body and chest in time with his own.

It was a gentle dance, one that was accented by sweet words and light bites to your neck. All you could do what moan and cry with his gently burning motions, sputtering at each sweet phrase that drifted from his lips.

Your breasts rolled against the metallic heat of Dabi’s nipple piercings as he pressed so tightly to you. You could tell he was getting close, and you weren’t far off either, especially as he dipped a hand to roll over your clit to replace the barest friction that his thrust provided.

“You close, princess?” Dabi cooed into your ear, his cock jamming into your insides particularly hard. “Want to come for me?”

You nodded, a few babbling affirmations spilling from your bitten lips.

“Come when you need to, sweetness. Come on my cock like you do so well,” The command was all you needed to be sent over the edge.

His fingers sped up on your clit, honey-warm pleasure rolling over you as you crested over Dabi’s cock.

It was slow and almost unbearably warm as you tensed, arching your back and wailing into Dabi’s shoulder as he fucked you through your orgasm. He thrust into you harder, faster, losing rhythm just before seizing and spilling into you. Dabi was always quick to follow when he got you so melted. Who knew being nice turned him on?

All the while, your body curled for him, tension rolling and breaking as you clung to him and kissed him mindlessly. You both came down, groans, and cries falling away.

Finally, you both came to a stillness.

Dabi pulled back from your neck, meeting your sleepy gaze to rub at your cheeks and kiss some sweat from your brow, “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better,” Hoarse voice gleaming with a smile. “But, I think I want that nap now.”

“Easy.” Dabi rolled to his side, never letting you get too far before pulling you close again.

The slowly cooling slick and cum wetting your thighs sticky was forgotten as your gooey mind allowed you some rest. Against Dabi’s still trembling form, his arms wrapped snuggling around your waist and idly rubbing circles as he was before, it was easy to fall into a light, contented sleep.

#salem writes #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #dabi reader insert #dabi smut #mha smut #mha reader insert #unbeta'ed

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littleoldrachel · 3 years

Text

"well, it's the thought that counts"

for the wonderful @rachfielden-xo who literally sent this in a month ago (sorrrrry and thank you!!) and asked for well, it's the thought that counts with scott and alan from this prompt list.

this legit turned into scott teaching alan to make pancakes and i'm not even mad about it. the recipe the boys are using is [here].

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu!]

*~*~*~*~*

There are lots of things Alan doesn’t understand.

Black holes. Why his momma isn’t coming back ever again. The reason a Mars sunset streaks blue. Why Virgil has become some soulless cavity and John won’t say a word. How, despite year after year of technological advances, there’s still no evidence of alien lifeforms out there.

Why Scott never has time for him anymore.

It’s been days since Scott even said more than a few words to Alan, weeks since he last crushed Scott at videogames - he hasn’t even taken him to the park since -

Well.

And it’s not that he doesn’t love spending time with his other brothers; Gordon annoys the heck out of him on a daily basis but makes him laugh till it hurts far more. John is the one who gets him, who refuses to dumb down scientific explanations, who shares his passion for all things space. And Virgil - Virgil Before, that is - is the only person who knows how to hug him just right, who listens no matter how banal Alan’s worries are.

He loves them so much his heart might explode apart like a zombie’s head meeting his videogame character’s bazooka - except Alan’s not ever leaving them, not ever, not now he knows what that does to them all.

It’s just that Scott is fast turning into Dad, notable only by his absence.

And Alan doesn’t need another one of those.

More than that though, he can see the way his brother is running himself ragged trying to be mother and father and everything in between, and despite Virgil’s interventions and John’s best efforts, it’s not getting any better.

Which is where Alan comes in.

Alan is going to save his brother because he’s no baby, despite what everyone thinks.

What he lands on is simple but effective: he’s going to make Scott his favourite breakfast and draw him a card to say thank you, because he wants Scott to know Alan sees everything he’s doing to keep them afloat.

The card is straightforward enough - he’s no Virgil, but he’s pretty sure it’s clearly a rocket that he’s drawn. His tongue pokes out as he colours in as carefully as he can, only going over the lines a few times. He draws himself and Scott in the window of the rocket, grinning wildly (perhaps a little manically if he’s being honest) and adds Mars to the background.

Inside, in wobbly, looping script he prints:

Deer Scotty

Thanks for bing the best. I love you.

Love

Alan

Mission: Amazing Card - completed.

Now he just needs to make the pancakes.

Right then. First step is the ingredients.

In theory, this should be straightforward enough. Alan has seen Scott do this numerous times, had half-listened when Virgil taught John, and has eaten more of these pancakes than he can begin to count (but never enough!).

Alan pushes a chair against the counter, uses it to hoist himself onto the surface, and scrambles to the cupboard.

He knows that there’s a mountain of flour involved, because the little puffs of white powder always fluff through the sieve and make him sneeze. What he didn’t anticipate was that there would be different types of flour, in neat colour coded packages. He picks red, because it’s his favourite colour, and dumps as much of it as he can through the sieve, poking at it with his fingers to push it through.

It doesn’t look as neat as when Scott does it, and the entire surface is already dusted with flour, but most of it is in the bowl, so he’s doing okay.

He goes for brute strength with the eggs, smashing them into the side of the bowl. Little pieces of shell slide into the mixture with the yolk, but it’s so slippery he can’t get them out. Fingers coated in sloppy flour, he retreats. Maybe Scott won’t mind the crunchiness.

The milk carton is far heavier than Alan anticipated, and he loses his grip on the condensation-slick handle, watching in slo-mo horror as a glug of milk hits the side of the bowl, ricochets off it -

And splat!

It lands straight on top of Alan’s card, and Alan -

He’s not going to cry, he’s not -

His mom always said he shouldn’t cry over spilt milk, except this time it’s ruined everything.

Milk drips off the counter and Alan clenches his fists, willing the baby inside him to shut up. Eventually, the upset reassembles itself into a grumpiness that has him whisking furiously. The mixture slops all over the place, decorating the floor, countertop and his too-big apron with splatters of batter. It’s a lot runnier than Scott’s usually is, but by now Alan Does Not Care, he just wants to get this done and hug Scotty.

He’s just standing in front of the oven, wondering which dial is for which of the flame things, when the kitchen door opens.

Sixteen-year-old Scott, whose eyes have circles far deeper and greyer than they have any right to be, is standing there, and Alan becomes Very Aware all of a sudden of what the kitchen must look like through Scott’s eyes:

Flour absolutely everywhere (he can feel on his eyelashes and tickling his nose), little pools of batter all over the floor, Alan with his hand on the stove to work out how to make the fire come out -

“What the hell.”

Scott takes a deep breath, presses the heel of his hand to his eyes and says, “what are you doing, Alan?”

Alan forces himself to stand up tall like Dad always says. “Making you breakfast.”

There’s a pause, and Scott surveys the disaster zone once more. “I can see that,” he says finally, voice a little faint.

Alan swallows because this isn’t at all like he wanted it to go, but he brandishes the bowl of batter and does his best to peel the card from the surface. “For you!”

Scott stares, but takes the bowl. “Is this.... pancake mix?”

Alan nods eagerly, “your favourite! And here.”

The cursed milk smudged his amazing drawing, but it’s still sort of a rocket. Scott carefully prises open the card, and his whole body softens as he reads the message inside. “Allie,” he manages, “Allie, this is so -”

He presses a fist to his mouth and Alan watches in horror as his Neptune eyes shine overly-bright. This was supposed to be a nice thing, but he got it all wrong -

“I’m sorry,” Alan cries, flinging himself at Scott in a hug. “Don’t cry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make such a mess -”

“Allie, no -” Scott’s voice is firmer now, but Alan can’t bear to look at him falling apart like Virgil and John and Dad, because Scott is Scott and he can’t fall apart. It will obliterate Alan’s heart like a grenade in a zombie hideout if he has to see Scott cry.

Scott crouches though, and Alan’s forced to make eye contact. He’s relieved to see that Scott’s face has lost its sadness.

“Thank you so much for all of this, Allie,” Scott says, so sincere and so strongly, it washes something warm and safe over Alan’s shoulders.

“But it’s t-t-terrible! The pancakes are all wrong and I don’t know how to cook them and the card got milked and - and -” Alan can hear the wail in his voice and he resents it; it knocks hard into the defiant figure inside him that insists I’m not a baby!

“It’s not terrible, Allie. It’s - it’s lovely.”

“You’re saying that to make me feel better.” He can’t help but pout.

“No, I mean it. I love it - all of it.”

“Even the mess?”

“Even the mess.”

“Why?”

“Because… Well, it’s the thought that counts, Allie.”

Alan wrinkles his nose and Scott grins, using his sleeve to wipe off some of the stray flour. “I mean it. The fact that you wanted to do something nice for me makes me really happy.”

Alan hmphs, but tucks himself into Scott’s side and Scott obliges, squeezing him tight in one of those cuddles Alan has missed so much.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, Allie, but I love you and I’m gonna do better, ‘kay?”

Alan stiffens and pulls away. “Wait no! That’s what this was for, Scotty.” He wants to stamp his foot in frustration so bad, but knows that’s Baby Behaviour and so he settles for a scowl. “I don’t want you trying to do more when you already do everything! I just miss you, I don’t need you to do anything better. I just need Scotty.”

Scott is blinking too fast for the second time in ten minutes. “Did Virg put you up to this?” he says a little hoarsely.

Alan frowns. “No. But if he thinks the same thing, shouldn’t you be listening?”

Scott’s eyes widen, and he ducks his head, covers his eyes again.

Alan goes back in for a hug, presses his cheek into Scott’s chest and listens to the steady thump-thump of his heart. He feels Scott take a deep breath and put his armour back up, and Alan’s heart makes a sad little clench.

“What do you say we make some pancakes together? Ones that are actually edible?” Scott clambers to his feet with a grin.

“Hey! They would be!” Alan protests, but then he looks back at the mixture, which is congealing in watery lumps and he fights a smile.

“But first,” Scott flattens the card and clips it to the fridge with a magnet, and Alan -

Alan’s heart skips.

It’s been a long time since any of them - even Virgil - have had anything hung on the fridge. But his little card - his silly, ruined card - is up there in pride of place and that means more to him than he knows what to do with.

Scott ruffles his hair, dislodging the flour that’s gathered itself there, and for once Alan doesn’t have the words to protest. Scott half-turns, catches Alan’s lost expression, and shoots him the gentlest of smiles.

“Ready to make the best pancakes in the world?”

As if he even needs to ask.

Scott easily sorts through the cupboard, drawing out the blue flour, a pot of baking powder, and some sugar. It’s all white.

“Why do they have to make all the important stuff the same colour?” Alan complains, and Scott laughs, loudly and easily. It’s a wonderful sound.

“Here’s something that’s a different colour,” Scott says, tossing eggs between his palms with an assured ease. “It’s egg time.”

He passes one to Alan, and Alan goes to smash it against the bowl, when -

“Wait!”

Alan pauses, mid-swing, and Scott plucks the egg from him.

“Gently, Allie. Like this.”

Scott repositions his hands so that his grip on the egg is looser, then gently moves his wrist to give one sharp tap against the side of the bowl. The egg breaks, golden yolk dripping out, but miraculously, no shell escapes.

“Reckon you can do the next one on your own?” Scott asks, and Alan nods at once. He looks to Scott to check he’s doing it right, and every time Scott is there to meet his gaze.

(As he always is, always will be).

Scott helps him to lift the milk carton, and between them, they pour it into a little well that Scott instructs him to dig in the mixture. Scott hands Alan a whisk with a solemnity that Alan recognises from Gordon’s pranks, and sure enough, no sooner than he’s taken it, Scott is brandishing a spatula and yelling “en garde!” and then it’s all out war.

“Loser has to whisk the mixture!” Scott says between parries, and Alan knows he’s being deliberately slow and clumsy but if that’s how he wants to play, then so be it. Alan blocks a few of Scott’s easy strikes, and feigns left, before darting right to jab him in the ribs.

“Victory!” he yells.

Scott crashes to his knees in mock agony. “You got me!”

Alan pushes the bowl towards him smugly. “Your punishment.”

“So merciful.”

“No talking! Only whisking!”

With Scott’s expert hands, the batter turns into a smooth, creamy mixture, and he guides Alan as the chocolate chips are poured in. “And now we fold.”

“Fold? Like paper?”

Scott grins, and Alan scowls. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Sorry kiddo. Like this.” Scott shows Alan a gentle scraping motion that turns the mixture towards the centre of the bowl.

“Are we there yet?” The chocolate chips are making Alan’s mouth water, and as messy and inaccurate as his recipe might have been, it was at least quicker.

“Nearly. Let me just heat the pan.”

Scott dashes the pan with a blob of butter, and smiles softly as it begins to sizzle and melt, before he turns sharply to Alan.

“Hey, Allie?”

“Mm?”

“Please don’t use the stove without me or Virg there, okay?”

A ladle of pancake batter goes into the pan, and Alan stares at it in anticipation.

“But it was an emergency.”

“And you could have asked Virg, even if you wanted to surprise me.”

Alan frowns, crosses his arms. “He wouldn’t have helped, he’s always in bed these days.” Scott swallows, the crease of concern back between his eyebrows and Alan’s heart sinks. “I didn’t mean that. He would help, really.”

“He’s just really sad, Allie. Give him some time.”

“We’re all really sad,” Alan says, in a smaller voice than he intends.

There’s a pause, and Scott says, equally small, “I know.”

Scott removes the pan, passes it to Alan, and gently adjusts his grip, until -

“One, two, three, flip!”

The pancake does a perfect somersault, landing uncooked side down in the pan, and Scott beams, even though his eyes look so sad.

Silence falls once more, and Alan finally looks up at Scott, surprised when he’s already watching him.

“I love you, Allie. So much.”

Alan blinks, but the words come easily - he’s not yet at Gordon’s age where such declarations are Deeply Embarrassing. “Love you, Scotty.”

“I know the last few months have been really rough,” Scott says slowly, as though he’s measuring each word out like ingredients. “But never forget that I love you and all of us love you. It’s okay to be sad, but you don’t need to deal with it on your own, okay?”

Alan nods, tucks himself into Scott’s side once more, because the contact feels more important than words right now. Heck, he doesn’t even know what he could say to that. It’s everything he knows technically, but hearing it said out loud? It hits different in a way that knocks all the words right out of his head.

On cue, the pancake has turned into a golden-brown puffed up beauty, and Scott grins widely.

“Bets on who’ll be the first to smell this and make their way down to join in?”

Alan laughs. “Definitely Gordon.”

“Nah, Virg has a weird sixth sense about pancakes.”

*~*~*~*~*

They’re both wrong as it turns out.

John slinks into the kitchen, followed shortly after by a bright-eyed Gordon (“that doesn’t count, Allie!” “Does too!” “Does not!”) and a dull-eyed Virgil.

Whilst Scott and Alan stack up the pancakes, Scott corrals the others into beginning the clean-up process. There’s some good-natured ribbing about the Disaster pancake mixture, which has started solidifying alarmingly quickly, and Virgil spots the card on the fridge, turning to Alan with the first genuine smile he’s seen from him in so long.

Everyone is ravenous by the time there are a sufficient amount of pancakes for them all, and then it’s every man for himself as they wrestle for sauces and squabble over the last pancakes.

It’s the first time they’ve all eaten a meal together in so long, and it’s the best gift he could have ever given Scott, even though he couldn’t have planned the highs and lows of this particular adventure. Virgil is actually laughing about something with Gordon, and John is inserting the occasional comment with a smile, and Scott -

Scott meets Alan’s eyes with a proud smile.

Alan’s heart feels like it’s actually glowing, a soft, golden light in his chest, because he did that - he and Scott.

They make a good team.

And they always will.

#thunderbirds are go #littleoldrachel writes #scott tracy #alan tracy #fluff

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nerdycanible1 · 3 years

Text

Kya's Confusing

A small one shot. It be one sided love, have hurt and of course broken hearts. But of course a sexy Lin Beifong and a sexc Kya Water Tribe.

I hope you enjoy OwO

Lin suddenly leant in and kissed Kya, her hands clasped around her shirt tightly. Kya had frozen under her touch and Lin had her eyes squeezed shut.

The feeling of finally being able to tell Kya she liked her and the way her heart raced when she kissed her all felt perfect. She could feel Kya grab her shoulders and Lin's heart raced wondering if Kya was going to deepen it.

Slowly Kya pulled away from the kiss pushing Lin away slowly. Lin opened her eyes, her eyes dark and her face flushed. It took her years to finally tell her and what more perfect way to tell her then under the cherry blossoms on the island.

Kya looked at her and several emotions flashed over her face. Surprise, shock confusion, hurt, pain and even a small bit of... disgust. Lin swallowed roughly as she saw Kya slowly peel her hands away as she pressed a hand to her own lips.

"Kya?" Lin asked with a tremble in her voice. Her heart was pounding and she began to feel anxious. She would have thought Kya would have kissed her back or even smile but now she saw millions of things fly through Kya's mind. "Kya." She said more firmly.

Kya flicked her eyes to Lin finally seeing her again and she watched Kya rub the back of her neck. "Lin." She grimaced as she felt her eye brows furrow together. "I'm sorry but... I-I don't feel the same way."

Lin could feel her eyes water and she clenched her jaw lightly. Her gut twisted and fell to the ground, her heart constricted and her breathing began to grow heavier. "W-What?" Lin said with a choked voice.

"Lin, I've met someone on the road. I-I'm sorry but I can't." Kya watched as Lin's lower lip wobbled. She reached out to touch her but Lin stepped back and wiped her tears away hastily. "Lin-" Kya began.

Lin shook her head and held her hand up. Embarrassment, rage, anger, hurt flashed over her face. All emotions Kya has never seen before.

"It's fine." Lin said clenching her fists. "Really." Kya watched her best friend break and she reached out again and Lin smacked her hand away. "Please just go." Lin said as her voice cracked.

Kya swallowed roughly not knowing what to do. Torn between comforting her friend or running away from this awkward encounter. Just how did she not notice Lin's crush on her? With one last look at the woman Kya turned and left.

Lin's mind began to race as well as her heart. Just where did she go wrong? She thought that Kya had liked her. All the hand holding, the late night talks, the drinks and the secrets, even the soft look in her eyes as they stared at each other? Just everything. Lin felt her tears continue to come and she growled as she hated it.

A sob slipped slipped through her lips as she didn't expect this to happen. She thought-- just why couldn't-- why didn't she see this coming?! Lin sat on the ground and stared off towards the ocean and at the setting sun. Her heart was ripped out and destroyed.

All she can see in her mind was Kya's face of disgusted face and how her words echoed through her mind. The way she looked at Lin with pity. Lin hugged her legs and sniffled as her fingers were pulling at the grass.

After hours and hours of thinking and replaying everything in her mind she began to notice that they were friend things to do. She never saw the way Kya would pull her hand away after a couple seconds, or the way she would stare at the ocean with dreamy eyes.

Lin shouldn't have ever tried. The sun was down and the moon up, the moon only half filled so everything was relatively dark. She sighed heavily as she wiped her tears away and shook her head. She shouldn't have never listened to Saikhan.

After awhile she could hear the crunching of footsteps coming and the vibrations of their footsteps through her fingers. "Hey." Bumi said carrying a tray filled with food and tea, even a small candle.

Lin didn't look up as she turned her head and faced away from him. She didn't want to see the pity in his face. "H--Hey." Her voice cracked. She coughed lightly to try and clear it out.

Bumi sat down next to her and smiled softly. "Beautiful moon ain't it? Kinda looks like half a pizza if you ask me." The sounds of him pouring tea made Lin slowly look at him.

He was in his uniform, probably meaning he'd leave in a few hours. His jaw line to kill for, the straight teeth he had not to mention his handsome face was sure a lady killer.

His smile friendly and inviting and his hair brushed back but wild in the back. He was rather a goofy and a comforting man.

Her face on the other hand was different. Her jaw softer, her nose small and face shape fox like. Her eyes puffy and red but still holding the sharp look all Beifong's have.

"You always say the moons pizza." She said as she took the offered tea. She held it in her hands as she stared down into the cup, feeling her eyes water once more. "Was I the only one that... didn't know she had someone?" Lin asked softly. "I thought... I thought she liked me too."

Bumi looked at her and sighed softly. "I didn't even know she had a girlfriend." His tone deep but true. It held hurt for his friend. "I always assumed she liked you."

Lin sniffled and wiped her nose as she sipped her tea. "I thought so too." She murmured. "She was my best friend." Lin whispered. "Aren't I supposed to know important things like that?" Lin asked took another drink.

Bumi began to pile Lin's plate up with food and handed it to her. "I don't think she was ready yet." He reached over and gently squeezed her knee. "Please don't hate Kya." He said softly. "I don't think Kya would live with herself if you did."

Lin stared at him and then at her food. A small sad laugh left her lips as she shook her head. "I could never hate her." Lin whispered. "She's my friend."

She looked up at him and gave him a watery smile while tears slid down her cheeks. "I'll always be there for her." Snot began to glide out of her nose as she began to break and she covered her mouth. "Why couldn't she like me?" She cried.

Bumi immediately wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. "I don't know." He whispered into her ear. "I just don't know."

•••

Lin stared at the ring in her box as she ran her thumb over it. The ring obviously being larger than her actual size. Years ago she was going to ask Tenzin to marry her but of course that relationship didn't work out.

Lin was currently in her office looking over paper work. She sighed softly as she placed the ring back and stood up. She stared out the window and looked across her city.

After years of heart break Lin called it quits and gave up on dating. It was no biggy really. She loved her job, loved scaring rookies and jailers and even liked the Avatar gang.

They were growing on her. She would listen to Korra's relationship problems, Asam's new inventions and thoughts about the city, Bolin's random chatter and even Mako's awkward moments.

These kids were all under her watch and she had a soft spot for them. She looked at the picture she had of all for of them, they were her responsibility. Even if she didn't want it in the first place.

Lin looked at the time and furrowed her brows seeing that it was 4 o'clock. She swore she didn't have anything planned but her instincts told her other wise.

She furrowed her brows and walked to her desk to look at her calendar. Then her eyes zeroed in down at the date and she could see the familiar scrawl of Kya.

The message, "Don't forget our date! 4:15 p.m. sharp!"

Lin could feel herself panic for a second seeing that it was 4:05 now and traffic was heaviest during rush hour.

She cursed under her breath and gathered her papers and rushed out. She locked her door and placed the papers down on Mako's desk. "Take care of these." She ordered as she hurried out.

How can she forget that Kya was back in town and most likely wanted to go out fo a drink with her?

•••

Upon arrival she realized she was 15 minutes late. She only hoped Kya didn't leave with some floozy. She entered inside, was met with the waiter and soon was brought back to Kya.

Kya looked bored and appeared to be on her fourth cup. "Kya?" Lin called as she thanked the waiter and sat.

Kya perked up and smiled as she waved. "Linny. I didn't think you were coming." She said looking away from the woman she was obviously ogling.

Lin nodded and sat down as she placed her coat down. "Sorry. Was working." Lin said as she flagged down the waitress.

Kya snorted and rolled her eyes. "When are you not working?" She mumbled. It appeared Kya was a bit too relaxed due to her drinks, meaning Lin would probably have to drive her back to the temple.

"Sadly that's what people do when they have jobs Kya." Lin grabbed the clip in her hair and pulled it out. Her hair soon flipped down and unfurled and soon her curls were free.

Kya looked her up and down, going unnoticed by Lin whom was currently looking at the menu. "Sorry for not being employed at the moment cranky pants." She giggled and crossed her leg, her foot sliding up Lin's leg.

Lin gave her a weird look and scooted her legs back a bit to give the woman with longer legs more room and then looked back at the menu. "Did you order yet? Think I'll get the teriyaki beef and misu soup. Maybe even dumplings."

Kya frowned feeling Lin pull her legs away. "I didn't order yet. You can order me something." She said as she hand reached over and began to play with Lin's fingers.

Lin let her be and felt Kya intertwine their fingers together. Lin read over the menu and nodded as she looked up at the waitress.

Lin smiled at her and pulled her hand away to point at the menu. She made the waitress blush and Lin laughed softly. Kya could feel the jealousy burning inside of her. She's been flirting with Lin for months now. Lin soon nodded and soon the waitress was walking away.

Lin looked over and watched as Kya pouted. She raised her brows and looked at the waitress and then behind her. "What? Something on my face?" She asked as she rubbed at her face.

Kya sighed and shook her head. "Nothing's on your face." Kya said holding her hand out to Lin.

Lin looked at it and furrowed her brows. "How drunk are you?" Lin asked looking at the cups. "Did you order a strong drink or something."

Kya huffed and grabbed her hand. "Noooo... hold my hand." Kya whined.

Lin rolled her eyes and intertwine them again. She grabbed her drink from the same waitress and the waitress placed down a paper with her number and Lin blushed. And before she could grab it, Kya grabbed it and placed it in her mouth.

"What the heck Kya." She snapped. Kya began to eat the paper and stuck her tongue out.

"Oh please you'd thank me. She probably wanted a one night stand." Kya said rolling her eyes.

Lin frowned and pulled her hand out of hers. "You don't need to be a jerk." She muttered. She grabbed her soda and angrily sipped it.

Kya stared at her and sighed softly. "Sorry. Want me to ask her for her number for you?" Kya began to raise her hand and Lin grabbed her hand to stop her.

"Its fine Kya. Just numbers." She looked at her and crossed her arms. "So how have you been? I've heard you went to the Fire Nation to see Izumi. Is she okay? How is she?"

Kya waved her off. "She's fine, just said shes tired of the meetings and such."

She smiled up at Lin. "So how about you Lin? Any girlfriend or boyfriend?" She prodded.

Lin rolled her eyes and waved her off. "You know me." She mumbled. "Not looking forward to dating and such. I find it useless. After all I'm 54, I should start looking forward to retiring or something." She muttered knowing she won't be retiring soon.

Kya beamed at the news and smiled as she gently squeezed her hand. "Anyone you have your eye on?"

Lin furrowed her brows, she just told her she wasn't looking for a relationship but she felt her eyes wonder over to the waitress. "Well if someone didn't eat the paper I would've been seeing someone tonight."

Kya tightened her hold on Lin's hand and clenched her jaw. "Well sorry. I'll be sure to ask her."

All throughout dinner it was Kya asking Lin her favourite colour, her favourite hobby to do now, how was she and the kids. All sorts of things. By the end of the night Lin and Kya were stuffed with the delicious food and both buzzed, well Kya drunk.

Lin and her were stumbling to Lin's apartment since both were too drunk to drive and Lin not having the energy to deal with Tenzin.

She plopped Kya on the couch and groaned as she stretched her back. She bonded her armour off and stumbled to her room to change and get ready for bed.

She began to brush her teeth in the bathroom and mindlessly brushed them. Suddenly a pair of arms snaked around her waist and kisses began to align her neck. Lin jumped startled and quickly turned around to be met with the pout face of Kya.

"Kya?" She asked with furrowed brows. She pressed a hand to her neck and watched as Kya grabbed her and tried to kiss her again. Lin frowned and pushed her face away. "Kya." She snapped.

Kya paused and looked at her hurt. "What are you doing? You're drunk. Go back to bed." Lin said as she tried to fix her shirt.

"I don't want to." Kya huffed. "Please Lin let me kiss you." Kya whispered as she reached out to her.

Lin smacked her hand away, her eyes flashing in anger. "I'm not going to tell you again. Go to bed." Kya tried to fight the pain she felt knowing the only reason Kya is trying to kiss her is because she's drunk and doesn't know what's she's doing.

Kya placed her hands on her hip and glared at Lin. "No." She said clearer this time. "Can't you see I like you Lin?" She stepped forward and pressed her agssint the counter. "I've liked you for awhile." She said with a smile. "You don't know how hard it was watching you flirt with her tonight." She whispered.

Lin watched as anger and hurt flash over Kya's face. A red hugh over her nose and cheeks meaning she was buzzed. Lin grabbed her hands and pushed her away.

"You don't know what you're talking about Kya." She grabbed her hand and began to lead her to bed trying not to blow a fuse at her friend who didn't understand what she was saying.

Before Lin could pull her out of the bathroom she felt Kya pull her hand out of Lin's. "I know what I talking about!" She yelled. "Lin you have no idea hoe long I've been having these feelings. You're all I think about, I can't get you out of my head. The way my heart races when I see you, can't you feel it?" She whispered.

Lin furrowed her brows and shook her head. Her heart began to speed up as she began to feel overwhelmed. "Wait Kya hold on-"

"Lin I love you." Kya stressed as she shook her head. "I want to spend my life here with you." Lin tightened her hands on her door frame, the metal slowly warping under her hand. "Lin I-"

Kya didn't understand as suddenly the door was tore wide open and splinters of wood flew all over the place. "Get out." Lin growled. Her face in anger, her eyes closed and her scowl on full display.

Kya jumped and she shook her head. "Lin I don't understand." She whispered. "Didn't you like me-"

"Agni! Kya!" Lin said looking up at her. Her eyes watered but were filled with rage. "What's not to understand Kya?" She breathed still trying to control her temper.

She looked up at her. "That was more than 3 decades ago." Lin said with a strained voice. "Over 30 years ago!" She pressed a hand to her chest, splinters in her finger tips along with small cuts from the metal.

"Don't you remember?" She snapped. "I kissed you, you looked at me as if I'm gross and then tell me you don't like me!" She laughed breathlessly and shook her head.

Kya winced and stepped forward and tried to touch her. Lin smacked her hand away and stepped aside. "Please Kya just... sleep before I hit you." She clenched her fists. "I can't deal with you when you're drunk."

Kya looked at her sadly and stood her ground. "I was a kid Lin. I thought that I met the love of my life." She breathed. "Surely you can't hold that against me."

Lin looked at her and looked away. "You're not the only to say you loved me and you won't be the last." She whispered. "Can't you see I'm tired?"

"Lin please, let me prove to you how much I've changed. I swear I love y-"

Lin reached over and covered her lips. "Stop saying that." She grabbed her arm and began to pull her towards the couch. "Go to bed before I toss you out on the street." She pushed her down on the couch.

Kya gripped onto her hand before she was able to leave. "Give me a chance." She whispered hoping Lin could give her it.

Lin didn't look back at her and closed her eyes. "Goodnight Kya." Lin's voice thick with anger and sadness. And with that Kya let her go and watched as the woman tiredly walked to her room. Tossing the door into the bathroom and closing her bedroom door behind her.

Kya swore to the spirits she'd try her absolute best to be there for Lin. She had to be.

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