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guro-giri-letters · 3 years

Note

imagine... the dabi hair dye scenario but one of the league finds/sees him and decides to help? my heart

(SO, I totally meant this to be shorter but I got a little in my feels. Plus the lowkey Dabi and Mr Compress friendship is so underrated, I adore it. Anyway, here it is, a little comfort fic.)

The Boy Can't Cry - By Guro. ♡

/Dabi gets overwhelmed dying his hair to cover up his past and Mr Compress comes to his aid. Any fics like this where it’s just the league interacting together I’m going to lovingly tag ‘League of Family’. Hope you enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; Dabi being emotionally unstable, some cursing, Mr Compress being fatherly, friendship, league of family. ♡/

“How can a man head a group of villains…” Sako murmurs aloud to himself, pulling another card from the messy pile upon the small table between his knees. Sighing, he flicks it into one of several other smaller piles he’s made around the main one, tsk-ing to himself quietly. “...but he can’t keep a pack of cards together. Really.”

Pure boredom, and an inability to get himself over to sleep, is what inspired one Mr Compress to take up and look through Shigaraki’s deck. It’s late in the night now, maybe early morning, and he’s sorting each of the cards into their respective groups by lamplight. It’s a comfortable, mindless task, the showman dressed down to his shirtsleeves and balaclava. In the rare quiet he lets his mind wander, and wonders where Shigaraki had gotten the cards from.

Had he stolen them? Or were they given to him? Gifts from his master, maybe. Either way dearly cherished, he decides, running his thumb over the faded face of an ace of hearts. He’s pondering still when the quick tip-tap of feet on metal steps reaches his ears.

“Mr Compress!”

Blinking, he lays down his hand and turns to find Toga halfway down the rickety staircase, hand cupped around her mouth dramatically as she whisper-yells. Her eyes are big and wide in the dim light, uncharacteristically appearing almost… frightened? What? Right away Sako is on edge, cards forgotten. “What is it dear?” He asks, lowering his own voice in response to her whispers. His worry only grows as Toga’s lips seem to tremble, looking over her shoulder before back to her elder.

“It’s Dabi…” She replies quietly, hugging her arms around her nightdress-clad self. “Somethings wrong with Dabi.”

Sako isn’t sure what he’s seeing at first as he nudges in the bathroom door. Toga is at his back, gripping his sleeve and peering around his side as the door falls slowly open. The old tiled room is lit by dim, yellowed light, and he can just make out Dabi’s shape hunched over the tub at the far end. “He keeps talking to himself-” She murmurs, only to jump at the sound of an open growl, Dabi’s form twisting to glare over his shoulder in their direction from the shadows.

“Get out, Toga.” The burnt man snarls, sending the girl flying away without hesitation. Sako watches her go, a little shocked at her fear in the face of her own comrade. Dabi doesn’t even seem to be looking right at the doorway, stark blue eyes wide and lost. Vacant. Thick, inky black lines run down his face and throat, dripping off of his chin. What the hell is he doing?

“What’s going on, man?” Sako demands, crossing the threshold and approaching Dabi where he kneels. “What’s gotten into you? You’re scaring Toga.”

“Fuck you.” Dabi snaps back, fingers digging into his hair. The same black sits in smudges over the back of his neck, staining his pale fingers. In the dark it almost seems like the villain has been infected, taken over by some dark, miasmic mess. Squinting up, Sako reaches and with a gloved hand, twists the hanging bulb around in it’s socket. Suddenly the room is filled with brighter light, everything coming into focus, and he looks down at Dabi.

His eyes widen a fraction.

Dabi’s coat lies discarded on the dingy floor at his side, the villain kneeling, almost unnaturally bent over the shallow bathtub. His body is shaking, chest expanding and falling rapidly as he scrapes at his own scalp. His hands are trembling, veins visibly risen up on their backs. It seems like he’s working the blackness into his hair almost desperately, hushed words falling barely audible from his lips. “-away. Get away.”

“Dabi?” Sako tries again. And this time he gets a reaction; Dabi’s head twisting to glare in a manner almost animalistic. The black has run in streams down his face and into his eyes, scleras bloodshot deep red and burning. He can’t even see right now, Sako realises, without the ability to produce tears to get rid of the chemicals. Being so close for the first time, he takes note of the sparse, white hairs appearing in his league-mates' thin brows. Oh.

“Get out, Compress. Get out-”

“Do you need help?” He ignores Dabi’s demands easily. The young man isn’t himself right now, and his voice is hoarse, even more gravelly than usual. In response to his question Dabi’s hands clench in his hair, tight, tendons bulging as his knuckles turn white. Sako can hear the strands tearing and grabs for Dabi’s quivering hands. “Good God, man. Stop it!”

“Get off of me!” Dabi practically howls, twisting out of the older man’s grip and slipping, slumping shoulder-first against the side of the tub. He seems to deflate all at once, his head hanging low. Sako can only stare at him, his heart pounding with adrenaline and hands still outstretched, Dabi’s breath comes quick and loud, his own hands coming up to cover his face. He’s an utter mess, what Sako has now deduced to be black dye staining his hands, shirt. Everything. A stretch of silence passes between them, and then Dabi makes the last noise his companion expected to hear.

For a moment he thinks Dabi is laughing, finding some kind of twisted amusement in all of this. But then it starts coming louder, his shoulders shaking, chest and throat convulsing uncontrollably. A dry, hacking cough leaves his throat before he presses his palms harder against his face, knees pulling in close to his body. A noise like barely concealed sobbing reaches Sako’s ears.

He’s crying.

Well… no, the boy can’t cry. He knows this; Dabi’s tear ducts have been damaged beyond repair for years now. But his body still betrays him, shuddering through bouts of broken weeping, dredged up from somewhere deep inside of him. It feels almost wrong, Sako thinks, to see him so vulnerable. It’s clear he’s witnessing something deeply personal. A moment of distress so jarring that Dabi holds fast onto his own arms and curls in on himself, almost like he’s trying to comfort himself.

Almost like he’s done this a hundred times before.

The feeling of Sako’s arm wrapping around his shoulders makes Dabi jerk, looking up with bleary eyes as he stoops down to his level. “What are you doing?” He snaps weakly, but there’s no real conviction in it. His nose is running, his voice broken up. Whatever kind of mental breakdown Dabi is currently having, the older man simply can’t bring himself to leave him. Doesn’t want to leave him to fall apart on his own.

“Quiet.” He admonishes, crouching before Dabi and pulling him closer bodily, so that his head comes to rest on Sako’s shoulder. Still breathing raggedly, Dabi stares at a space somewhere on the wall beyond Sako’s shoulder for a while before his eyes close, a worn out sigh leaving his lungs in pieces. No attempt is made to shove him away this time. He gives in.

At one point in his life, another entertainer had told Sako that when a child hugged them, they should never be the first to let go. ‘Because you never know how badly they might need it’, they had said. Keeping his arms around Dabi and remembering that message, he tightens his grip a touch, resigning himself to remaining in a crouch and getting sore knees. Not that Dabi is willing to be held for very long. He pulls away with a sniff, hand on Sako’s shoulder to keep himself steady. “Fuck- my eyes.”

He’s not wrong. His eyelids are irritated and swollen, both his regular skin and the grafts beneath. Sighing, Sako loosens his grip and lets Dabi lean back, against the side of the tub. “Put your head over.” He advises, straightening to his feet and pulling off his ruined gloves.

“Why?” Dabi rasps.

“To wash the chemicals out of your eyes, Dabi.”

Dabi considers this with a glance at the dirty tiles then nods his head once. He looks, to put it in a word, drained, straightening himself up and turning to rest his elbows on the tub's edge. Sako watches him as he finishes rolling up his sleeves, shaking his head slightly.

“Where on earth do you young people find the energy to get so worked up?” He chides, not cruelly, turning the faucet and cupping his hand beneath the sluggish flow of water. With his free hand he brings Dabi’s head over the lip of the tub with a nudge, and brings his cupped hand to the fire-user's face. Dabi hisses but doesn’t recoil as Sako rinses the remnants of dye from his face and eyes, pausing only to say; “I’ll do your hair.” and washing the remainder from his unruly mane. His skin will stain for a while, but it’ll wash away in time. He’ll be alright.

To his credit, Dabi has stopped shuddering and seems to be slowly coming down. Slumped against the lip of the tub he lets out a long, slow breath, sniffing and wiping his nose on his forearm. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Hold it, I’m almost done.”

With the sting in his eyes finally dulling, Dabi cracks them open halfway to watch the blue-black water flow down the drain. His throat feels suddenly raw, aching. His face hurts.

“Compress.” It hurts to talk. Jesus.

Sako shuts the water off when Dabi’s hair is running mostly clear, a brow arching beneath his balaclava. “Yes?”

“...don’t- Don’t go telling them.” He manages, fingers twitching where he holds the edge of the tub. “I don’t-”

“I understand.” Offering the cleanest looking towel in the room, Sako gives Dabi a faint smile, nodding when he pulls it from his grip. “It’s not for us to know… Are you alright?”

Dabi rises slowly, using the ledge to pull himself up before rubbing at his freshly dyed hair. There’s a moment of hesitation, then; “Yeah… thanks, Compress.”

Sako smiles fully now, spreading his arms and giving a short bow. “I do what I can.”

Dabi snorts, pulls the towel down around his shoulders. “I owe you, I guess.”

“Well… how do you fancy aiding my endeavours to organize Shigaraki’s card collection?”

“No thanks.”

“Understandable.”

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ladyfloriographist · 4 years

Text

Promises

Pairing: Luca Changretta (Peaky Blinders) x femme!Reader

Warnings: attempts at Italian, pet names galore, feelings of neglect, a small verbal fight, raised voices, Daddy Kink, Mafia Themes(?), mentions of marriage/children, is Reader Lady Macbeth-ing Luca?, vaginal sex, translations at the end

XXXX

He calls your name from the other room—from the main living area, with the fireplace and the velvet brocade armchairs and the piano in the corner.

“Come ‘ere a minute, would ya doll?”

He’s just arrived back at the hotel, and you’ve been waiting all day for him.

“Lemme look at my gal.”

You hear him rattling on as you slip into your silky robe. Something about how he hasn’t seen ya all day and how he’ll wring the fuckin’ neck of the next pezzo di merda* who—

“What’s wrong, baby?” You appear in the doorway, leaning on the frame provocatively. “You miss me real bad or somethin’?” It had been a struggle for you, too: locked up in this beautiful prison with nothing to do but put another record on and read through the local papers. Again.

To keep you safe, Luca assures you.

To protect you, he tells you, every morning before he leaves to go attend to his business.

“Dolcezza*,” Luca sighs, enraptured, looking over your form from his position in one of the armchairs. “Come to me, baby.”

You slink over to him, swaying your hips and rolling your shoulders just so, just enough—and gently pulling at the sash that holds your gown together.

“My God you’re a sight for sore eyes, dame.”

You hold back your smile, and come to a stop before him. You let your robe fall open, revealing your light, thin, peachy silk chemise, but you make no moves to get closer to him.

“Why the frown, dolce*? Huh?” He leans forward in the armchair, grabbing one end of your sash and toying with it as he looks up at you. “You don’t look too happy to see me. Do I gotta be worried?”

You draw in a breath and push it out in an unhappy sigh. “I wish you’d take me with you, Luchone*.”

Luca’s face falls into a glower, despite your use of one of his favourite nicknames. Big Luca.

His voice is raspy with weariness when he replies. “You know I can’t do that, doll.”

“Just for one day, baby. Just to lunch or somethin’, nothin’ big,” you bargain. “Nothin’ important.” You take a step closer, and drop your features into a subtle pout. “It’s like I’m trapped in here all day long and I hardly ever get to see my papino*.”

“Cazzo*!” he curses, tossing your sash away and throwing himself back into the chair. He takes a few angry breathes, staring at you. “You put me in an impossible fuckin’ position, you know that? I put you up in a beautiful fuckin’ hotel, fuckin’, look at this,” he gestures around him, “fuckin’ piano, radio, send a girl up for your fuckin’ hair—I give you everything, no? What do you want from me, huh?”

You take a step back and stun him with a hurt and pleading look, pulling your gown back around yourself.

Luca’s eyes fall softly closed as he collects himself. If only you knew the shitstorm he was trying to keep at bay—trying to keep from your door. “Ngah fuck, baby,” he sighs with exasperation, sitting forward in the armchair again and looking up at you imploringly. “I didn’t mean that.” He holds out a hand. “Come ‘ere, dollface.”

You resist, flashing wounded eyes at him. He can work a little harder for you than this.

“Come on, dolcissima*,” he croons softly, shifting forward some and pulling at your gown, “come to Daddy, yeah baby?”

You shuffle a little closer, standing between his knees. Luca hums and reaches up, slowly slipping your robe down your shoulders.

“You know I like ya, don’t you?” he murmurs.

You tilt your head to the side as Luca brings your gown lower and lower down your arms and almost off. “Do you, Daddy?”

“Mmm,” he groans, letting your robe pool in a puddle of silk around your ankles. He trails the tips of his fingers slowly up your outer thigh. “Think I like ya so much I wanna make you,” he cinches hold of your hip, “Mrs Luca Changretta.”

You step into him, pressing him back against the back of the armchair as you straddle his hips, sitting down on his thighs. “You wanna marry me, papino? Hm?” You press your groin to his and put one hand on his chest, and Luca’s eyes go dreamy and soft with desire. “You’d have to come see me more, Luchotto.” You slide your other palm down to his crotch and lean in close to his face to murmur onto his lips, “Think I’m forgettin’ you like me that much.”

Luca breathes deep through his nose as your hand glides back and forth over his stiffening cock. “’s at so?” he murmurs lowly, his eyes a dark blend of anger and arousal. “You tryna get a rise outta me, doll?”

“One you’ll like, baby,” you smile seductively as you tease his erection through his trousers, “promise.”

Luca blinks slowly, breathes deeply, giving himself over to the pleasure at every pass of your hand.

“I’ll be yours…” you pop the buttons on his fly and slip your hand inside, seeking out his stiff need, “…when they bow…” you start to stroke him, “…and call you…” you lean close to whisper in his ear, “…Don Changretta.” You let your lips linger against the shell of his ear, and Luca groans.

You take his right hand in yours and draw it to your mouth. “When they,” your hot breath ghosts over his fingers, “kiss your rings.” You look deeply into his eyes, still stroking his cock with a slow, consistent pace and firm grip, and press kisses to the rings on his second and fifth digits.

Luca shudders. “God Almighty,” he sighs with bared teeth, brow creasing, “mi stai facendo morire*.” He dips two fingers into your mouth, “You’ll be the fuckin’ end of me, you,” and drags the pads of them along your tongue and down your lower lip.

You nod and flick your tongue over his fingertips, murmuring, “Sì, papino,” before you press a kiss to them.

“Mother of God,” he breathes, eyes heavy-lidded. He dips beneath your chemise and teases your pussy with his wet fingers, stroking along your sensitive lips before slipping inside your honeyed core with ease.

You gasp, your grip on Luca’s thick length faltering as he pumps his digits into you. “Luchotto,” you sigh, and Luca’s lips break into a big, open-mouthed grin.

You spit into your palm and give his dick a generous swipe, and then you lift up, lifting off Luca’s fingers, and line yourself up with the swollen head of this thick cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Luca murmurs, “you miss Daddy, huh baby?”

You lower down, sinking onto his dick slowly as if in answer. Luca’s lips drop into an ‘o’ as he groans croakily and sighs breathily at the tight, wet, warmth wrapping around his cock.

Fully seated, you sit all the way down on his thighs again. He fills you beautifully, long and thick and pulsing with need. It makes you sigh, and Luca’s eyes water a little, lids fluttering.

“Fuck me, dolcezza,” he gasps, ringed fingers wrapping around the back of your neck, “do it now.”

He pulls you close to him, forehead to forehead, as you start to bounce and grind on his cock. The blessed blissful beautiful friction draws a moan from your throat—and Luca swallows it, groaning as he catches your lips in a hungry kiss.

He holds you to his body with one hand at your nape and slides the other down your back to squeeze and knead one of your ass cheeks.

You break the kiss to sigh into his open mouth. You lift for more height, lengthening the drag of your wet pussy over his hard cock.

“Uhmfh, bella figa*, baby,” he murmurs, deep and breathy like from deep in his gut.

“Mmhh,” you hum, “papino,” you sigh, “when you’re the most powerful man in all Italia,” you lift and drop, lift and drop, rolling your hips now to fuck him even deeper, “I’ll be your wife, Luchone.”

“Fuuck!” Luca growls. He yanks your silky slip off and dives your for breasts, holding them, squeezing, kissing your nipples. He wraps his arms around your ribs and splays his fingers over your back, holding you to him so he can devour your tits while you ride him.

“Baby,” you moan, the pleasure sparking right the way through your core. You keep lifting, rolling, dropping, bouncing on him, huffs and puffs of exertion and pleasure falling from your lips.

“You’ll be my wife,” Luca says, voice muffled by your soft flesh as he licks and sucks at your nipples, “you’ll take my name.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You’ll bear my children.”

“Yes, Luca,” you groan—and pleasure jolts up his spine and shoots through his throbbing cock.

Luca starts to thrust up into you. He plants his feet firmly on the floor and meets your downward pushes with quick snaps of his hips. Your bodies smack together now, slapping pops of flesh-to-flesh only just heard over the louder, deeper, more guttural grunts and moans from your throats.

“Ahhffuck,” he sighs, one hand going to your waist and the other dipping down to rub your clit, “I’m close, dolce.” Luca rubs at your engorged bud and looses a ragged sigh when your pussy reacts to the touch, clenching and squeezing his cock. “Get ready to cum for me, doll.”

You toss your head back and cry out, holding fast to his shoulders for leverage.

Luca can’t take his eyes off you. “Yes, yes, yes,” he coos through clenched teeth, cupping one of your bouncing breasts and tweaking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s it,” he croons, “that’s fuckin’ it. Right there, baby.”

Your pleasure rises: the feel of him inside you, rubbing your clit, and rolling your nipple all bring you hurtling towards your peak. To soon, because Luca plays your body like a fiddle, the sensations overwhelm you.

“Papino,” you gasp, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Hmmh,” he grunts a hum, “dolcissima. I know, baby. Can fuckin’ feel it.”

It blooms and tightens and crests, all at once. You moan, a rough and guttural sound as his cock hits against all the right spots deep inside you.

“Come on,” Luca growls lowly. “Give it to me, ‘n’ I’m gonna fuckin’ fill you up.”

You break, falling apart on his cock as your orgasm floods your body with liquid bliss. Your pussy spasms and seizes around Luca’s dick.

He keeps bouncing you—“fuucking wet,”—keeps lifting you up and pulling you down as you moan and wail through the pleasure, until he can’t hold on any longer.

Luca groans as his orgasm overwhelms him, holding your tremor-wracked body to his as your clenching, convulsing pussy milks every last drop of cum from his balls.

He shudders through it, moaning and groaning into your neck as the spasms taper off and you both float back down to Earth together.

For a long moment you hold each other close, and you’re nestled into the slope of his neck when he turns and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Hey, doll,” he murmurs huskily, “come out with me tonight.”

You lift up, the pair of you hissing and gasping from the sensitivity down below. “You mean it?” you say, your gaze flitting between his hazel orbs.

“Yeah,” a small smile breaks slowly across his face, “lemme take my gal to dinner.”

XXXX

Translations (questionable, I am not a native speaker)

pezzo di merda – piece of shit

dolce, dolcezza, dolcissima – sweet, sweetheart, the sweetest

papino – Daddy

cazzo – dick/fuck/shit (a curse word)

mi stai facendo morire – you’re killing me

bella figa – beautiful cunt

#luca changretta #luca changretta x reader #g writes

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years

Note

What will daddy Henry do if his little is sad because someone took something valuable from her?

So i wanst sure what to base this on entirely, so I'm going to go with something I went through over the last few weeks. I had a little bit of anon hate, which I deleted but the words stuck with me making me second guess everything i was working on and the confidence i had in my writing was taken away. so this is like a shameful self indulgent fantasy that im going to read to myself when ever im down.

Warnings: Pretty Personal For Me, Angsty, Fluffy, Self Doubt, Happy Ending, DDLG, Long!!

Tagging: @viking-raider @isitmine @tinabean37 @loserrlauraa @msblkfire84 @henrythickcavill @plainbrunettelbl @dummiesshort @cynic-spirit @pandaxnienke @two-unbeatable-beaters @libbymouse @wolfieash @eldarwen333 @princesssterek @mom2000aggie @blackestpinkworld

(not sure who to tag in headcannons? these are the ones on my everything taglist)

Henry watched quietly with a frown as you sat down in the living room, eyes cast down at the tablet in front of you shoulders slumped.

"poppet what's wrong love?"

"n-nothing da-addy" you said with a small stutter

Henry shifted on his feet looking at you critically before coming over to you.

"nothing? So your sitting here almost in tears over nothing" he stated sceptically rounding the sofa sitting next to you.

"I'm not cryin" you sniffled trying to bite your lower lip to stop it from wobbling.

"not yet, but close enough poppet, hand it over" he said holding out his hand waiting for the tablet.

You whined not wanting to hand it to him at first but after a mini battle of wills you placed the colourful tablet in his hand.

Your head was cast down and you rubbed your eyes trying to catch the tears before they were noticeable.

"okay then, so this is your new story?" he asked scrolling through the page not reading it all but scanning the words, it was well written like always.

At the beginning of the pandemic he suggested you started a blog, and you had. A writing blog all full of fanfictions of... Him.

He didn't mind he actually love you doing something constructive, it kept you happy and busy which helped him because there wasn't many free days even in lockdown. He was working out, reading scripts or rearranging covid tests and travel.

Plus knew these smut blogs existed, even lurked on a few.

"y-yeah" you mumbled leaning on him hugging his arm scanning the page as he scrolled, you knew he wasn't reading everything maybe every few lines

"sooo what's the problem?" he said not finding an issue with the writing.

"i... I cant post it" you muttered looking down avoiding his gaze

"why?" he asked frowning not liking the defeated tone you had.

"j-just because..."

"ah I see, you have lost your confidence" he said quickly figuring out the problem, the downside to writing was everything was personal preference so tiny comments could knock your confidence.

In a way it was like his work, you put your heart and soul into it and then people don't like it? It was always a bummer. But he was used to it, you were not.

You nodded to him it was true you'd lost your confidence, you hadn't wrote for a while.

You couldn't seem to find the words to fit together anymore.

You felt silly, they were just a few mean comments, words from a nasty troll who didn't have anything better to do but it hurt, you poured your heart into every chapter and then for people to rip it to shreds? It stung.

"y-yes I... They didn't like it" you hummed fiddling with your fingers, drawing deep breaths trying not to cry

"and so what?" he said shrugging making you snap your gaze to him.

"wha?"

"it doesn't matter love, so a few people didn't like it, lots of people do, I love your stories"

"you have to your my daddy"

Henry huffed and shook his head at you ruffling your hair pressing a kiss to your head amused that you thought that's the only reason he liked your writing.

"don't stop writing just because of a few mean people nugget, it takes a lot of skill to write and a lot of bravery to share it. Your a brave talented little baby and I'm very proud of you"

He said cooing as that seemed to be the final push sending you over the edge making you burst out into tears.

He hugged you moving the tablet out of the way before pulling you to his lap, unbuttoning his shirt half way and squished you into his bare chest knowing you needed to feel him, not a shirt.

"shh its okay babygirl, your stories are wonderful, and you have fun writing them don't you baby?"

You nodded crying harder trying to get the words out but you just couldn't instead whining incoherently into him.

"and you enjoy making the little banners? And collect all your photos and gifs?"

"y-yeah but they di-dn't like it last time!"

"they don't have to like everything you do sweety"

"but I don't wana upset them!"

"did you do the warnings?" he asked knowing all about the do's and don'ts of posting your erotica.

You nodded whining you always did warnings on stuff to be safe.

"and make the little cut thingy you were telling me about?" again you nodded at him

"so your telling me they read the warnings, clicked to see it and then were mean?" you sniffled biting your lip trying to calm down but nodded to him humming quietly.

"well then it sounds to me like they were going out of their way, looking for someone to pick on" he said slowly rocking you slightly.

You fell quiet resting your head on his chest as he rubbed your back and patted your bottom soothing you.

"but what if they wasn't? What if my stories are bad- and encourage bad stuff!" you cried tucking yourself into him tighter.

"no-no you repeat after me, fiction is fiction" he said pulling you back wiping your tears waiting for you to say it out loud.

"fic-tion is f-fiction" you repeated

"I did everything I could to warn people"

"I-I did everyth-ing I could to w-warn people" he smiled at you as you drew a huge breath calming yourself down.

"and they are jealous because I'm an adorable, smart, funny kind and caring babygirl who has the cutest little peach butt in the world~" he said smirking at you from above holding you tightly to him pressing a kiss to your head.

"and they- daddy! Noo! I can't say that~" you gasped flushing as you realised what he had said

"oh yes you can because its the truth now come here let daddy bite that peach~" he growled playfully snapping his jaws at you.

"ah-no!" you screeched giggleing as he began tickling you all over wrestling you playfully trying to lean over and bite your but through your shorts.

He landed two solid bite's on your bottom before pulling back. Even though he had cheered you up he could see you were still doubting yourself.

Henry cast a glance to the tablet and smirked forming a plan that might just get you back on track. He was not going to let anyone steal your sparkle.

"come on you you've spent enough time writing go play in the garden with Kal"

Once you left henry got to work swiping up the tablet and going on your one drive seeing the meticulously organized notebooks, recognising a few by name.

A few weeks later Henry came in to the living room with a medium size box and plopped it on the sofa next to you.

"here we go nugget!" he said placing the gift next to you, they couldn't have come quickly enough, he had noticed you hadn't been writing at all, which upset him because he knew how much you loved it.

"what's that daddy?" you asked peering over the box not expecting any gifts.

"why don't you open it and find out?" he said sitting the other side of the box handing you a pair of scissors to slice the tape.

You moved slowly cutting it open and pulled the box open then froze.

"d-daddy? What thats my..." you trailed off pulling out the hard back books your banner on the front cover.

"your stories? Yes poppet, I realised that you were putting so much work into these things but could loose them, they are soo good that daddy wanted to read them over and over and now we can!" he said pleased with himself as you sat there shocked looking at the small collection of a5 books.

"but their- i dont..." you said happy but completely shocked, flicking through the pages, there were even a few comments in the margins from henry pointing out the pits he liked making your heart swell with pride.

Henry moved to stand behind you pressing a kiss to your hair.

"They are brilliant! So good I'm so proud of every thing you have achieved and I want them on our book shelf, in the living room" he said making you tear up.

"Really? You... You think their that good?" you whined eyes blurring with tears as you hugged the first book to your chest.

"absolutely poppet now go on, you do the honours~" he said pressing your shoulder urging you to go to the cube bookshelf.

You tiptoed over to it and slowly pulled out each little custom book with your banner on the front.

You sat down placing each one delicately on the shelf the five books each lining up with one another half filling the empty cube shelf.

"oh no baby look? The shelf isn't full is it? You know what that means" he said standing looking

"I-I've gotta write?" you asked sniffling weeping softly but this time because you were happy.

"exactly! You need to fill the whole shelf, so you keep up the good work and tell daddy when you finish your next story and we can keep adding to it!" he said cheerfully walking over handing you the tablet.

You smiled to yourself and looked to the books, your books- actual real life books on a shelf!

You grinned throwing yourself at him latching onto him feeling your confidence come back just from seeing how much you had done.

Suddenly the hate didn't matter, your daddy like them enough to make them into real life books! And even annotated them himself?

And if your writing was good enough for your daddy then it was good enough for you.

"daddy, can I have my screen time now, I want to write!!" you said jumping up and down on the spot excited to start your next chapter.

Henry grinned nodding deciding you can have as much screen time today as you wanted as long as it meant you wasn't giving up your new hobby.

#oh-for-fic-sake ask #oh for fic sake ask #oh for fic sake headcannon #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill x little!reader

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elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Weather the Storm

An Overboard Addition

For @the-darkdragonfly because it’s her birthday!!!!!!!

What started as a fluffy little addition to Overboard, one of my more popular fics that Kay loves, became something… angsty as heck. But not to worry, there’s more where this came from.

There are brief mentions of miscarriage in this piece. Please take care of yourself and remember you’re always welcome to message me with questions.

Thank you endlessly to @donteattheappleshook for beta-ing this

Rated E

~8600 words

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Emma pulls the cable knit sweater over her head and smoothes it over her hips, noting the way it falls perfectly just above her ass in her tight jeans and smirking at her reflection in the mirror. Killian loves when she wears his clothes, and she can’t wait to drive him mad in front of his crew for the entire day.

“ Bloody hell ,” he breathes as he walks into their bedroom, stopping short with his hand on the door handle. She smirks again, turning to face him with a smile.

“Like my outfit?”

“You stole my sweater,” he accuses, although she can see the way the corner of his lips tick up with a small smile he tries to fight off.

“The cream color matches so well with these black jeans. Don’t you think?”

Stepping towards her, he shakes his head as he eyes her up and down. “I must say, I agree.”

“Hmm,” she hums with false pensivity, pouting her lip. “You don’t look very happy.”

Wrapping his hands over her waist, he pulls her close to himself until his hips press against hers and she can feel that he is, in fact, quite happy. “Perhaps that’s because my beautiful wife is trying to make me late for work.”

She giggles as their lips collide, his hands sliding up the back of her sweater so that she can feel the cold metal of his new wedding band chilling her skin. Her giggling subsides when his tongue slides against her, the sweet, bitter taste of his morning coffee waking her senses and making her fingers tighten around the hair at the nape of his neck.

She grinds her hips against his hardening length, causing him to groan as his grip on her tightens, bringing her even closer to him and making her want to shed the cozy sweater she borrowed and toss him onto the bed they share. “Killian,” she breathes into his mouth desperately, scratching her fingers down into the black and silver hair on his chest.

He bites on her bottom lip before pulling away, effectively making her head spin at the loss of contact between them. “You can’t trick me again, temptress. It’s time to leave.”

“ Trick you?! When have I ever tricked you?”

Pointing a finger at her, he eyes her down suspiciously and says, “A lady as tantalizing and mysterious as you must certainly be some manner of siren, or vixen, or--”

She cuts him off with a kiss, pulling at the collar of his sweater with her greedy fingers. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a bloody mermaid. I love you. ”

She feels him sigh, his breath washing over her face in a soothing warmth, and he nods. “Aye. I suppose I sometimes just can’t wrap my head around how lucky I am to be married to the most beautiful woman in the world.”

With another hum, she closes her eyes and presses a final, soft kiss to his lips. “Well, get used to it, buddy. You’re never getting rid of me.”

“Good.”

“Now, hurry up. You’ve made us late.”

~~~~

“Good morning, wife,” Will greets cheerfully, dropping a chaste kiss to Emma’s cheek and shooting Killian a smirk and waggling brows. “I sure am excited to have you on board with us.”

“Me too,” Emma smiles. “I think I’ll be your good luck charm. How many are we catching?”

“If we don’t catch three, you may not be invited back,” Robin jokes.

With a scoff and a roll to her eyes, she says, “Please. As if you have any say. My husband can’t say no to me.”

“Can’t blame him,” Will agrees.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Killian mumbles as he drops the bag they brought into his quarters. “There’d better be bait on this deck.”

“Aye, Captain. Caught it meself this morning while you and the wife were--“

Killian laughs when he realizes what’s happened; when he sees the small heron flopping across the deck upon Emma throwing it at Will, successfully shutting him up.

The sun shines brightly against her skin, causing her cheeks to pink as she lounges on the bow, giving him a distracting view as he tries to navigate through the sea of weekend fishermen to his favorite secluded spot. Sure, she’s still fully dressed, but something about seeing her in his sweater makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his jeans feel tight.

“No funny business while we’re on board, aye Captain?”

Killian grumbles inaudibly in Will’s direction, rolling his eyes, and demands, “All the lines had best be out, Scarlet.”

“Aye, all but the ones on the bow. Don’t want to disturb the beauty.”

“Stop looking at my bloody wife,” he grumbles, earning a smirk from his deckhand.

He meets her later, when Will and Robin have completed their tasks and find themselves lounging on the deck waiting for a bite. His heart flutters when he watches her turn towards him, a beaming smile decorating her face and the color of her eyes catching the sun. He smiles back, crawling across the small, slightly slippery expanse of the deck. “You look nice and warm.”

“You look nice.”

He chuckles softly at her blatant flirting as he moves to lie beside her on the deck. “May I join you?”

“Please do.”

She’s quick to move beside him, the towel she brought to lounge on scrunching between them as she curls up to his side. She smells of sea and sunscreen and something that’s so painfully her that his arms move involuntarily to wrap around her, his lips pressing a firm and longing kiss to her temple. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible to even himself over the sound of the crashing waves.

“Me too,” she agrees. “It’s nice. Your job doesn’t seem too hard.”

“Oh, aye?” he laughs, rolling her so that she’s on her back beneath him, cognizant not to throw them overboard. He knows she’s joking; she knows how difficult and dangerous his work can be. But her playfulness is impossible to ignore. “About as easy as being the Sheriff, I’m sure.”

She giggles under the weight of him, her grin beaming in the sun until he consumes it with his own lips. He slides his tongue along her bottom lip, suddenly taken by the comfort that being with her brings him. The gentle touch of her wandering hands sliding up his back, pushing his sweater away, sends a shiver down his spine. The cold weight of the white gold rings on her finger reminds him of how far they’ve come. She’s his wife .

“You know,” she growls against his mouth, “The waves will probably have a very interesting effect when we do it later.”

He bites down on her bottom lip, just a bit harder than he means to and drawing from her a whine and giggle all at once. “And what have you done to deserve that?”

“I’m your good luck charm,” she says confidently against the shell of his ear, one hand sliding from his rear to the front of his trousers and squeezing until he breathlessly ruts against her palm. He’s always awestruck by her, but the way she can make him behave like this despite knowing that his mates are just on the other deck makes him feel like a teenager again. “You’re gonna catch big today, baby. I can feel it.”

“Aye, you’ll feel it alright.”

Her laughter rings through his ears again, but the blissful sound is interrupted by the raucous shouts of his mates announcing the small blips on their radar. They’re marking fish, several tuna swimming beneath his boat, and it kills him to pull away from her in favor of checking the bait and praying for a hookup.

“We’re on!” Will screams excitedly, and he can hear the scream of the reel being pulled out by a sea monster.

Emma scurries from beneath him, hastily hurrying towards the starboard side so that she can head back towards the deck. She’s always excited to see him work, to see what goes into his livelihood, and she’s made him promise to let her reel at least once.

Will jumps on the reel while Robin pulls in the others, careful not to allow the lines to tangle, and Emma stands beside the wheel while Killian steers. He needs to stay on top of the fish so that they don’t run out of line, he explains, and she watches his careful and diligent movements, his sweater dampened by the ocean spray and clinging to the muscles in his shoulders. She can’t help but bite her lip.

He asks her to take the wheel and she’s nervous, worried that her screwup could mean their loss. But he directs her perfectly, telling her when to put the boat into neutral and when to reverse, where to steer and when. Eventually, Robin shouts that he can see the fish, and her eyes bug out of her head at the sheer size of it. She’s seen plenty of tuna at the docks, many of them several feet longer than she is tall, but to see one in the water is stunning.

Killian takes the harpoon in his grip, lining it up and setting his jaw tightly in concentration. His brows draw close together, his empty arm lifting in front of him so that he can visualize the course to his target, and in a move that’s almost too quick to comprehend, he draws his chest and shoulder back and launches the harpoon into the water, grunting deeply as he strikes.

Her cheeks go red.

Her husband is so damn hot.

They work together to hoist the beast onto the deck, it’s sheer size and weight overpowering and breathtaking. They measure its length, and Robin calls out that the fish is 112 inches, a record for the Jolly Roger .

“You are lucky,” Killian laughs, pointing at her playfully as he stands. He bounds towards her, scooping her up and spinning her carefully as Will and Robin groan quietly. She giggles as he kisses her everywhere, his lips landing on her cheeks, her nose, her lips… she can’t get enough of the love he has for her.

They catch one more fish while she’s sunbathing, their joyous, celebratory shouting music to her ears as she listens to the sounds of her husband’s success. Neither of them have very conventional jobs, but she couldn’t be prouder of him, of them , for making a life together that they can both take pride in.

He worried when she took the job as sheriff, the last one being killed in the line of duty not settling his nerves one bit. It was the fuel for one of their first fights as a couple, a few months before their intimate beach wedding. And although the argument was difficult, she never once doubted that they would work through it.

They’ve worked through plenty of things, hardly any of them actual disagreements. The one thing she worried may have caused turmoil between them turned out to be nothing at all. Her shy confession that she’s never desired to have children was met with unconditional understanding and kindness, his words nearly drawing tears to her eyes each time she thinks back on them.

“ I planned on spending the remainder of my life alone. I never really had an opinion either way. I’ll be the happiest man alive if I just get to spend the rest of my days with you.”

They married mere months later, her parents and brother on her side and his mates on his. She would’ve been happy enough to have it just be them and them alone, but he reminded her of what being there would mean for her family. Calling them that still sits strangely with her to this day, but ever since she and her father opened up to one another, her relationship with her parents has been much improved.

All she ever wanted was love and understanding. She has that, and so much more, with her husband, and there’s really nothing more she could ask for.

~~~~

The sun’s nearly set by the time they make it to the docks, Emma’s father waiting for them and giving a friendly wave when he sees them approaching. Her arms slink around his middle while he steers them towards the dock, head resting on the sore space between his shoulder blades. She pushes a firm kiss there, then another, her fingers clinging to his sweater as he shuts off the engine.

He lets out a soft, gentle chuckle when she kisses his neck just below his ear, knowing she must be on her toes and just barely able to reach. She isn’t especially short, not much shorter than he is, but the way he can envelope her in his arms sends happy warmth through his veins. She kisses the space between his shoulder blades and scratches against his stomach as he navigates next to the dock and waits for Will to tie them off.

“Got two big ones for ya, Dave!” Will shouts when they arrive, and Emma kisses his back once more before pulling away to greet her father. Standing at the wheel, they aren't in David’s direct line of sight, and for that, Killian’s grateful. He can’t ever get enough of his wife’s touch, but he also doesn’t love the idea of her father watching them. “112 incher! Gotta be a thousand pounder!”

“Let’s see,” he returns as Emma steps onto the dock, taking her father’s hand for support.

“Hey,” she says as she leans in for a hug. It’s taken her a while, but she’s known her parents for over a year now, and she’s finally starting to become more comfortable with them. It was difficult at first, knowing that she was given up and replaced by her younger brother a few years later. But she and her parents have had a series of eye-opening conversations, and she’s found herself more and more willing to accept the love that they want to give her with each passing day.

She’s grown increasingly closer to her father over the last few months, finding that his unconditional acceptance of her warms her heart in ways that she never expected. Truthfully, despite being raised by a mother who loved her endlessly, having her father in her life changed everything. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Good day?” he asks when he releases her.

“Very good. I’m good luck.”

“Of course you are,” he chuckles, turning on the crane so that they can lift the massive fish out of the boat. Once it’s dressed, it weighs in at just over 800 pounds, Will and Robin shouting and high fiving each other and Killian gently resting his chin on her shoulder from behind to press a kiss to her cheek in quiet celebration. She doesn’t miss his grin, the one that carves deep lines into his cheeks and the sides of his eyes, and all she wants to do is turn around and hold him tight, never content to let him go.

They’re offered a hefty price tag for their catch, the smaller of the two weighing almost 500 pounds, and each of them celebrate with more high fives and hugs. Once the boat is cleaned, Killian sends Robin and Will home early for their hard work. She finds her place behind him again as he drives the boat through the harbor, navigating expertly through other boats and docks until he finds his place at the dock just outside of the home they share.

“We have to go to dinner tonight,” she remarks when the engine stops and a calm silence settles over them both. “My mom is cooking.”

“Aye, love,” he agrees softly, turning to face her and placing both hands on her hips. She lets her fingers trail along his jaw, combing gently through the hair spread across his face that’s getting too long to be considered stubble.

“I like this,” she whispers.

“You don’t think it makes me look like an old man? I haven't shaved in days.”

With a coy smile, she says, “I didn't say it doesn't make you look like an old man, I just happen to like my silver fox of a husband.”

He hums doubtfully, rolling his eyes and giving her a shy smirk that makes it impossible for her to stop herself from pressing onto her toes and kissing him. His beard scratches against her chin when they deepen it simultaneously, the burn delicious and enough for her to crave his mouth everywhere , but they don’t have time. He has to finish putting the boat away and she has to head to her parent’s house to help with dinner. The knowledge that the honeymoon is truly over sets in, and she pouts when they break apart.

“I love you,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to hers and his breath washing over tingling lips.

He can never fail to make her heart race in her chest, beating so forcefully against her ribs that she’s relying on the strength of his arms to hold her up. “I love you, too,” she whispers back, letting her eyes flutter shut against the wind whipping against their hair and in response to the sudden and palpable tension between them. It’s begging to be broken, each of them craving the touch of the other, needing to express their love for each other however they can, but there’s no time. “How long will it take you to clean up here?”

“No more than an hour.”

“We don’t have to stay at my parents’ long,” she murmurs, her lips nearly touching his with each word. All she wants is to be with him. It isn’t just a sexaul desire that she has for him; she needs to be with him. She needs to be touching him. She can’t stand to be apart from him, or to sit in a room with him and not be touching him.

“It’s alright, my love,” he whispers. “Being with your family is important. Despite how desperately I crave you, I'm willing to wait.”

“You might be, but I'm certainly not.”

He laughs loudly, the sound of his glee cutting through the noisy waves and making her heart soar and her grin grow painfully. “I’ll meet you there. I won’t be long; I promise to make quick work of the old girl.”

She nods, kissing him chastely despite her desires and humming in agreement. “As long as you promise not to make quick work of your decidedly much younger girl.”

“You make me sound like a predator,” he laughs.

“No, I told you: you’re my sexy silver fox husband and I'm your young, gorgeous trophy wife.”

“Of course, my love. Whatever you say.”

She lets out a giggle, a sound that would have been so unlike her a year ago, kisses him once more, and regretfully pulls away from him. “I love you,” she says again. “I’ll see you in an hour. I’ll be the one looking devastatingly beautiful.”

“As usual.”

~~~~

“Your dad called,” Mary Margaret announced once they had gotten settled, each of them standing side by side preparing dinner. Emma has been put on chopping duty, and she’s decidedly avoiding the onions. “He said Killian made out very well today. That’s great.”

“Yeah, they did really well. Two fish were over a thousand pounds.”

“Wow,” she smiles, stirring the pasta after pouring it into the boiling water. “That’s impressive. You guys will have a nice nest egg soon enough.”

Emma purses her lips as she finishes chopping a carrot, nodding slowly and unsurely. “I guess. I mean, we both have savings.”

“Oh, I know,” her mother says, taking the chopped carrot and tossing it into a skillet as Emma starts working on the cursed onion. “I meant more for… extra expenses,” she clarifies unhelpfully, giving Emma a presumptuous smile.

She stays quiet for a few moments, trying to consider her mother’s words but letting confusion take over as she tosses the onion into the skillet and Mary Margaret adds olive oil. Moving to the sink to wash her hands, she says, “I mean, we’re happy at the cottage. Maybe Killian would want a new boat soon.”

With a soft giggle as she tosses the vegetables together, Marg Margaret adds a can of tomatoes, causing a raucous sizzle. “Honey, I was referring to… I mean… maybe a baby is in our future? I can’t wait to be a grandma!”

Emma chokes on her own breath, reaching for her glass of wine and taking a generous swig. “Well, grandma, we’ll have to ask Leo to hurry up.”

“Leo,” she laughs, shaking her head. “He’s too young. You, on the other hand, are happily married and at prime child bearing age.”

“Mom…” Emma starts, laughing awkwardly. “I’m not having kids.”

The horror with which she drops her spatula into the skillet, as if what Emma just said is the most unbelievable piece of information she’s ever heard, sends a wave of anger through her veins. The complete shock in her mother’s face at her desire not to bring a child into this world makes Emma’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

Mary Margaret had a baby and gave her away. How could she expect her daughter, the very one who was left abandoned for years, to have a child herself?

Emma’s never wanted kids. She’s always felt this way, like if she had a baby and something happened to her, they would grow up exactly like she did. How could she bring a baby into the world and risk putting them through what she went through?

How could her own mother not understand that?

“You’re not?”

“No,” she answers definitively, the set of her jaw almost painful.

“Oh,” she says with a soft nod. She adds beef to her bolognese in silence, a thick tension settling in the room.

The quiet is awkward, and the longer it lasts, the angrier Emma feels. It’s because she knows what Mary Margaret is thinking. She knows that she’s hurt by Emma’s announcement that she doesn’t plan on having children with her husband. She’s having trouble believing it; she’s struggling to see why Emma wouldn’t want to experience the joys of motherhood.

It’s annoying, and it’s making Emma angry, but nothing compares to the rage that waves through her when Mary Margaret speaks again.

“Does Killian know?”

Her eyes bug out of her head, the glass she was holding dropping onto the countertop too loudly. “ What?”

“I just… I wondered if he agreed…”

“We’re married, ” she answers immediately. Her voice is low, almost a growl in her throat as she tries to stay calm.

“I know, I just…”

“You just thought that maybe I tricked him into marrying me? Maybe I didn’t tell him my foolish idea to stay childless until after we’d tied the knot? You thought that my desire to spend the rest of my life with my husband and with the freedom of not having kids comes second to a man wanting an heir?”

“ Emma, I never--”

“You didn’t have to! You didn’t have to say a thing. Did you really think we wouldn’t discuss something like this before we even got engaged?”

With a sigh, she says, “Sweetheart, of course. I misspoke. I’m sorry. I was just surprised.”

“Surprised?” she asks, trying to calm her voice.

“I mean… I just figured you two would want that. It seems like a natural next step.” Emma’s quiet for a moment, making herself even out her breath and preparing to respond calmly before her mother speaks again. “And I’ve seen how happy Killian seems to be around little Alexandra.”

She feels her heart rate picking up again, and she forces herself to take a moment, having a sip of wine before responding. “So, you’re saying he couldn’t possibly be happy unless I pop out a few kids?”

“Oh, honey… that’s not--”

Her answer is too slow. She can’t defend herself immediately or easily, and that’s all Emma needed to know.

“Okay, I get it,” she says quietly just as David opens the door followed closely by Leo.

“Everything okay?” her father asks

“Great,” she grumbles sarcastically. “Enjoy dinner.”

“Emma!”

She doesn’t turn back, grabbing her wallet and moving past her brother without so much as a word, ignoring her mother’s pleas for her to stay with them. With her family. She can’t.

~~~~

It had only been forty minutes by the time he finished, proud of himself for making such quick work of cleaning his vessel. The image of his stunning wife sitting across from him at the dinner table, surrounded by the family she never thought she’d have, was enough motivation for him to hurry up and meet her.

At least, he thought that was his plan, until he hears angry footsteps stalking against his dock and he knows there’s no other person they can belong to other than his fiery wife. She has a penchant for heated anger, and the sounds she’s making are unmistakable. He only pities whomever put her in such a state, and prays that it wasn’t him.

She reaches the edge of the dock, hands in fists on her hips and jaw set tensely as she stares down at him. “What’s wrong, my love?” he asks, hearing her barely-audible growl in response.

She stalks onto the boat, jumping the few feet onto the deck, and approaches him quickly. Before he knows what hits him, her lips are on his, tackling him against the wheel of the boat and making him thankful that the engine is off.

Her fingers find the hem of his sweater, easily tugging it over his head and exposing his bare arms to the chilly harbor air. He lets out a surprised grunt when her hands land on his stomach under his shirt, scratching through the smattering of hair lower and lower until she grasps his belt and pulls his hips against hers. “Love,” he grumbles against her mouth, and as he opens his lips to speak, her tongue finds his.

She deftly undoes his buckle, humming into his mouth and pushing him until his back is against the exterior wall of the cabin, her hands moving from his belt up to his chest beneath his shirt. A groan escapes her throat through their tangled lips as she lets her palms explore, moving from his chest around to his back and sliding down until she can tug his shirt off, too. He shivers, partially against the cold but mostly in response to her.

“Emma,” he tries again as she drops lower, her tongue swirling against his nipple as her fingers undo the button and zipper of his jeans. “Baby--”

She bites him, making him hiss and surely leaving a mark. “I need you,” she says once she’s looking up at him, her eyes dark and desperate. “Now.”

“Bloody hell,” he breathes as she drops to her knees, lifting her own shirt off and exposing her hardened nipples to the bite of the evening air. She pulls his jeans down effortlessly, his cock springing to attention responsively despite her surprise attack, and he feels his pulse quickening as she bites her lip at the sight of him.

“Fuck,” she says before licking a long strip up to the tip, sucking it into the heat of her mouth. He shudders, his hands finding her hair and tangling into it, trying hard not to take control. She whimpers when he hits the back of her throat, her eyes meeting his in the dim moonlight.

His head falls back against the window when he sees her stirring on her knees, tucking a hand into her leggings and swirling it over her clit. He’s suddenly consumed with a need for her, a need to taste her, to hear her sing for him. He pulls on her hair and she moans around him, making him pant and tug once more before she releases him with a smirk on her swollen lips. “What is it?” she asks, her voice rough in her throat.

Breathless, he shakes his head minutely, intent to find out what’s gotten into her eventually, but also just as intent to be the thing that’s gotten into her and suddenly not feeling very patient about it. He releases his grip on her hair and moves his palms to her cheeks, brushing them with his thumbs before encouraging her to stand again. “Off with these,” he insists in a growl, pulling on the elastic waistband of her leggings as she stands and letting it snap against the small of her back. She yelps playfully, finally smiling and letting out the soft giggle that he always craves, pushing her obvious anger to the side for a moment.

“Aye aye, Captain,” she murmurs, catching his lips with hers again and swirling her tongue against his just as she had done against the tip of his cock. It makes a shiver run up his spine.

He hums, the sound rumbling through his chest, and says, “Ah, so it’s the Captain you want?” as his fingers find her sopping core.

“I need you,” she returns desperately. Her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as he spins her, pushing her back against the wall he was leaning on and dropping quickly to his knees before her. He couldn’t even begin to consider not giving in to her. He needs her more than he needs to breathe, ready to drop anything at a moment's notice to pleasure her if only to be rewarded with the sinful, intoxicating sound of her moaning his name.

Her fingers cling to his hair, her hips bucking forward towards him as soon as his mouth latches onto her swollen clit, and he says exactly what he knows will make her squirm. Pushing her hips back, he chastises, “Behave, love.”

He’s met with a breathless, desperate whimper, Emma dropping her head back against the window behind her as he swirls his tongue over her. Her hips continue to dance over his mouth as if it’s impossible for her to remain still, and she pulls his hair particularly hard when he hums against her sensitive flesh. “Don’t stop,” she begs, one hand in his hair and the other bracing herself against the wheel tower. When he curls a finger into her, dragging it out against her tight walls and then thrusting back in, she lets out a shout and bucks her hips again.

He bites the flesh of her inner thigh as punishment and moves his mouth back to her core before mumbling, “Be good for me, that’s it,” and earning another moan and shudder. He feels her tightening around his finger and takes it as a cue to add another, making her cry out his name.

With a few more thrusts and strokes of his tongue, he feels her tense, her legs quivering under her own weight as she lets out a high pitched, nearly silent scream, her brows woven tightly together and her jaw dropped. She’s so stunning like this, his wife, and he has to slow his ministrations over her clit so that he can get a good look at her falling apart above him.

There’s nowhere he’d rather be.

“There’s a good girl,” he says into her sensitive flesh, earning a full-body shiver and another soft, needy hum. “Alright?”

Her chest is heaving, her breasts glowing in the moonlight under a sheen of sweat, and she shakes her head. “I need you,” she says again, dragging him up to her and falling back against the wall when he stands against her. His lips find hers easily when she drags him to her, and she hums against his mouth as her tongue explores against his.

“You’re very needy,” he agrees into her mouth, earning a nod. “And I perish the thought of not delivering.”

“Good,” she mumbles. The gasp that escapes her lips when he picks her up doesn’t stop her from locking her ankles around his hips. She groans when he slides into her, and it feels like coming home. They fit so flawlessly together, he can’t help but to groan as well and drop his head to the window she’s pressed against, his lips pressing to the top of her shoulder. “ Fuck. Don’t stop.”

This is never an easy position to be in, especially with his age and with the waves of the harbor making him unsteady on his feet. Needing to support the weight of the both of them is difficult, but the way she clenched around him makes it infinitely worth it. He’s still rather fit for his age, exercising daily through his job, and he’s always glad for it when he can elicit these sounds from his wife.

She claws at his back desperately, begging to get closer to him despite it being impossible. With each thrust, she bites onto his shoulder or sucks on the lobe of his ear or kisses his neck, a moan that must be too loud meeting each drive of his hips. He pivots his hips just slightly so that he’s certain he’s supporting her weight, then moves one hand from the back of her thigh and presses his fingers to where he knows she needs him. The action earns another clench of her muscles and a cry of pleasure, his name ringing in his ear as she calls for him and tells him she’s close.

“Harder,” she begs, and it’s a clear indication that something’s happened to upset her. She doesn’t want it like this unless she’s bothered by something. Unless she’s hurt by something. He obliges, content to let her use him for the comfort that she needs as he drives into her harder, making the boat rock and creak against the dock. He’s only glad that it’s his own private property, lest the whole town hear them.

“Killian, I’m--” her words catch in her throat as the circles he draws quicken.

“Come on, angel, come for me. I want to feel you come on my cock,” he says into her ear, knowing that his words and the whispering breath on her skin will bring her to the edge.

She bites his shoulder, most definitely leaving a mark but successfully stifling her cry as she shudders around him. He feels her muscles tensing with her orgasm and he continues his ministrations on her clit for as long as he can, reveling in the jerking movements that her release is eliciting before he can’t hold on any longer. He spills into her, cursing as he does, at the feeling of her taking everything he has to offer and clinging to him as if seeking more.

They stay still for a while, longer than he can keep track of, until his legs begin to shake under the weight of the both of them and he has to release her thigh from his grip. She drops down to the deck but doesn’t let him go, continuing to hug him close to her and nestling her head into the crook of his neck. He lifts his hand to cradle her gently against him.

“I love you,” he reminds her pointlessly. She already knows.

She hums, nodding against his neck and pressing a soft kiss there, one that drastically contrasted the way she was touching him moments ago. “Sorry for jumping you. I love you, too.”

“Aye,” he laughs, scratching his fingers over her scalp in the way he knows she loves. He feels her shudder against him, either because of the sensation or because of the evening breeze blowing over her bare skin. “Is that something you’re ready to talk about?”

He feels her shaking her head immediately, before he even finishes his question, and he fights off the urge to sigh, choosing instead to hold her closer to himself and press a kiss to the top of her head. He knows if he waits long enough, she’ll sigh and give in, but at this second, she isn’t ready to talk. He’ll wait for her.

After a few moments of calming silence, the only sound between them the gentle waves lapping against the boat and the wind swirling around them, she lets out a frustrated groan and lifts her head. She stares into his eyes, the emerald jewels difficult to read. “You’re too emotionally mature for me,” she finally says as she walks into the cabin in search of a tissue.

He laughs lightly, following her closely, and responds, “You know the deal, my love. You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards.”

Rolling her eyes, she turns towards him, shamelessly exposing her nude form to him and making him wonder how it’s even possible for a man his age to shorten his refractory time. “ Way too mature.”

“Come,” he requests, holding out his hand to her once they’re cleaned up.

“I just did, thank you very much,” she responds with a smirk, one that tells him that she’s fighting tooth and nail against any conversation remotely related to her feelings.

“Twice, if I recall.” He grabs a knit blanket from the small tattered couch in the cabin and takes her hand, guiding her outside and towards the starboard side of the boat. He climbs up and onto the bow, Emma following him closely until they’re lounging in each other’s arms and he’s able to wrap the thick blanket over them. He loves her confidence, her complete comfort with herself evidenced by her silent refusal to get dressed despite them being out in the open, and he’s happy to stay naked with her if only to feel her soft skin against his.

“I love you,” she finally whispers into the quiet settled between them. “A lot.”

He pulls her impossibly closer, every part of him touching every part of her, and responds, “I know you do, darling. I’ve never doubted that.”

“I just--” she sighs, dropping her head dramatically against his chest. The moonlight shines against her hair, making it appear even more platinum than usual. “I love you. I love our life together.”

“Angel,” he breathes, “I wouldn’t trade our life together for anything, you know that.”

“I need to tell you something,” she whispers against his skin. “Something about my past… when I was young.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Emma. I’ll never judge you, especially not for something that happened when you were young.”

She stays quiet for a moment longer, her fingers gently tracing patterns over his chest and through the black and silver hair peppering over his skin. She’s always had a fascination with his chest hair, never able to keep herself from touching it when it’s exposed to her. Aside from the comfort it brings her to comb through the soft, thick hair with her fingertips, it also serves as an effective distraction against her nausea at the thought of opening up to him.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s her husband, for goodness sake. She’s never felt this comfortable around anyone in her entire life; not her parents, not the woman who raised her. He’s successfully broken down nearly every wall she put up, and she feels the guilt settling deep in her gut as she considers breaking down this one and letting him see her whole truth.

“Killian,” she whispers against the gentle sea breeze. “I’m… I’ve never wanted kids.”

She feels him breathe out softly and nod, and she wonders what he’s thinking. Is it relief? Is it regret?

“I know, my love,” he comforts. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, I just… I never told you…”

“Emma, your reasonings are entirely understandable. I respect the decision you’ve made, and, as I've told you, I’m perfectly content to live out the rest of my days with you as my wife, with or without a child.”

“But would you be happier if we did have one?” she asks, suddenly needing to look him in the eyes as she presses up onto her elbows and stares. The moon glistens off of his deep irises, the darkness making them appear as though they’re the color of the ocean tonight. The way they shimmer makes her fall in love with him even more.

“What is this about?” he asks, his hand lifting to cradle her cheek, and she leans against his palm and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. His answer isn’t an answer, not really, and it serves only to drag out her feelings of guilt and insecurity.

She sighs and closes her eyes, entirely unable to look at him when she finally admits the truth. “When I was 16, I had a boyfriend. He was a real piece of work… I think it was part of my teenage rebellion phase.” He laughs softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek and letting her continue without interruption. “He and I… I mean… he was my first. It sucked, every time, but… I got pregnant.”

She bites her lip and opens her eyes, and she’s met with unconditional understanding.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, easily able to read the emotion she feels as she opens up to him.

“I didn’t want it; I’ve never wanted kids. And when I got pregnant at sixteen by someone who was no good for me-- not to mention too old for me at the time-- I knew that I really didn’t want kids. And I planned on giving it up for adoption because I knew I couldn’t handle raising it.” She bites her lip again, sighing and lying back down onto his chest. “I never told anyone. I thought, maybe I could hide it,” she laughs. “I never told Ingrid or Neal. I just found out and waited a few weeks and hid how shitty I felt. I just kept hoping that it wasn’t happening to me; that it was a dream and I’d wake up soon. And then…”

She gulps, tugging on the blanket so that it’s tucked under her chin, needing to be covered and held together. He reads her again and pulls her closer to him, squeezing his arms around her back and providing her with comforting pressure. “It’s alright, my love,” he repeats in a whisper.

She doesn't even realize that the tears have started to fall until she feels a warm wetness on her cheek against his chest. With a sudden sniffle, one that catches her off guard, she says, “And then one day I woke up and… it was gone. It was like I wished it away and it worked. I don’t even know how far along I was because I never went to the doctor, but it was… It was gone.”

He sighs again, his hands running up and down along her spine to gently soothe her as she breaks, crying into his chest and whimpering at the loss of something she didn’t even want in the first place. “I wanted it gone and it… I did that. It’s my fault.”

She never wanted to have children. That fact hasn’t changed. But when she found herself pregnant and wished that she wasn’t, her wish came true. And she’s never stopped regretting it.

“Emma,” he whispers, “I'm so sorry.”

“I didn’t want it,” she says again. “I wanted it to go away and then…”

“That doesn’t make your loss any less painful, love. Even though you weren’t ready to have a child, you still suffered a loss. That was still something terribly difficult that you had to go through alone.”

She nods, because he’s right. It was impossible, and she’ll never forget the feelings of guilt and regret and complete failure. With another sniffle, she says, “and today my mom asked when we’re having kids, like it's something we should be doing, and I just…”

“It made you angry. And hurt? Misunderstood, perhaps?”

“Yes,” she breathes in relief. He’s always understood her, unlike anyone she’s ever known. “And she talked about how happy Alexandra makes you and it was like she thinks I'm hurting you by not wanting kids.”

“You’re not, Emma. I promise you, you can never hurt me.”

They’re quiet for another few moments, and she lets his gentle breathing and his soothing strokes up her back and the soft waves beneath them lull her into a sense of calm. Being with him never fails to bring her back down to earth, guiding her from her fear and anger and pain and into a place of love and consolation. She can weather any storm if he’s with her.

“I never… I never want to feel like that again. I always knew that I didn’t want children, but that experience really… I mean, it really solidified that for me.”

“I know what you mean, darling. I never had a specific desire to have children myself. I would have, if you’d wanted to, but it’s never been something that I’ve found myself needing.”

She nods and wipes a rogue tear away. “I sure am lucky,” she remarks, caught in a sense of disbelief at the fact that she gets to call herself his.

“Aye, about as lucky as I am.”

“I just can’t,” she whispers after a moment. “I never wanted to, and now I just… I can’t do it.”

“I know, angel. And you never have to feel that way again, I promise.”

“I can’t,” she repeats pleadingly, her arms tightening around his middle and her nose pushing impossibly further into his neck. She’s desperate to turn it off, the anguish that tortures her too great, and he’s desperate to help her. But there’s nothing he can do but hold her and let her cry in his arms until she’s spent, powerless to stop her pain. It kills him.

He whispers that he loves her into her hair, letting anger consume him for a moment as he considers her words and the fact that her terrible, too-old-for-her boyfriend did this to her. He wants to find the man and make him pay for the sobs wracking his wife. For taking advantage of her when she was just a child and making scars that still seem fresh a decade later. It’s unfair, and he feels his anger through the tips of his fingers as he tries to console her with gentle touches and soft words, unsure of what else he could possibly do.

He’s angry with her mother, too, for the things she said. The words that reopened an old wound when it could’ve stayed closed off in the deep pits of her mind. But he knows that the only way for her to heal is to feel, despite how difficult it clearly is for her.

It’s an experience that has haunted her for years, something she won’t easily move past and may never fully get over. He understands that, can empathize with her torment and guilt over her loss, and he only hopes that being here for her is enough.

When she calms, her breathing steady again and the tears no longer dampening his skin, he feels her let out a heaving sigh and press a kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice croaking after her sobs.

“Please never apologize,” he begs. All he wants is for her to be open with him, something he’s requested countless times. Now she has, and he can never express to her what it means that she trusts him. “Thank you for telling me.”

She nods into his chest and hugs him close to her. “Thanks for letting me blubber,” she answers sarcastically.

“Emma,” he starts. “You know you can blubber to me about anything.”

It earns him a soft giggle, the sound ricocheting off the water and the smooth surface of the boat and landing in the cockles of his heart, warming him from the inside out.

“I know. It’s just that… Well, I know this is nothing like your brother…”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads. “We can’t compare our losses or the pain they bring us. This was painful for you. You’re allowed to feel that no matter what anyone around you has gone through.”

She nods with a dejected sigh, obviously letting exhaustion overtake her after the long day that they’ve had. Between leaving before dawn, spending the day wrestling sea monsters, and the emotional and physical activity in which they’ve just partaken, he doesn’t blame her. He feels it too, although she would point out that she’s much younger and more energetic than he is.

“You missed dinner, my love,” he points out. “Why don’t we order in? Head home and have a shower?”

“A bath,” she says softly. It’s a brilliant idea; being on the water is certainly settling a chill in their bones.

“A bath, then,” he agrees.

She remains still for a minute more before shuffling over him, lifting onto her elbows and showing him her face. She looks stunning, blackened tear tracks and swollen eyes and all. He gives her a smile, one that’s genuine and reserved only for her, and cups her cheek with his palm. She leans into it immediately and kisses the inside of his wrist again, making his heart skip a beat.

“I love you,” she whispers. “More than anything or anyone. You’re perfect.”

“If you feel that way about me, then you better not argue when I tell you I feel exactly the same about you.”

She smiles, finally, and nods into his palm. “Okay,” she concedes softly. “Can we get onion rings?”

“Naturally,” he agrees.

When they get home, he tucks her into the couch under a warm blanket, endlessly dedicated to her comfort. He presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for just a moment before a knock on the door interrupts them and draws him away. He answers, Ruby delivering their dinner and smirking knowingly at his disheveled sweater. They’d dressed quickly after he’d placed the order, needing to hurry home with the knowledge of how quickly Granny works.

He places the bags on the coffee table before her, removing two grilled cheeses and a large order of onion rings and giving her a smile as he returns to the kitchen to fetch some drinks. She can’t imagine their life not being like this. She can’t even begin to picture a scenario that would make her happier than this. It’s taken her plenty of time to come to terms with her feelings, the realization that not every woman needs to crave raising a child of her own. She’s realized that it doesn’t make her broken, thinking like this. It doesn’t make her a bad woman, or a bad wife.

“There we are,” he says gently when he sits beside her, leaning toward her and pressing a long kiss to her temple. “My beautiful wife and my onion rings. What could be better?” he asks sarcastically, making her chuckle and snuggle into his side.

“Nothing, I hope,” she murmurs insecurely.

“Absolutely nothing.”

Eventually, she’ll go back to her parent’s house and apologize for her rude exit. She’ll apologize to her mother for her sudden and unexplained outburst. Maybe she’ll even explain her reasoning, although she doesn’t really feel that she should need to.

But for now, she’s perfectly content to sit here on the couch with her husband, enjoying their takeout and trash TV if only because it means that they get to spend this time with one another. That’s the only thing that matters to her.

~~~~

Tagging:

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx

#Captain swan fanfic #Overboard ff #Weather the Storm #cs ff #captain swan fluff #captain swan smut #captain swan angst #tw miscarriage

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comrade-kenobi · 4 years

Text

Un Poco Loco- Frankie Morales x Reader (Daycare!AU)

My coworker has played the Coco soundtrack every say this week, and this is the result of that

No warnings just fluff. Frankie catches you and his daughter in an adorable moment and he decides to join in.

Un Poco Loco

Frankie had worked up the nerve to ask you to watch Ellie one Saturday while he picked up an extra shift. Much to his relief you said yes; and it wasn’t just because he was harboring the world's most major crush on you. But because he didn’t trust many other people with Ellie. She was a clingy baby, and the only person she’d ever allow him to hand her off to without making a fuss was you.

You showed up 20 minutes before he asked you to, in a way too big for you flannel, and leggings that fit you in all the right places. Frankie willed himself not to stare, the last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, especially in his house. He wanted you to feel at home here; and he told you as much before he left. It took every ounce of will he had to pry himself away from you and Ellie, who was nestled happily in your arms playing with the buttons on your shirt like he wasn’t even there.

He’d spent the whole day at work dying to get home. 6 o’ clock couldn’t come fast enough. Traffic was light on the way home and Frankie was thankful. He could hear familiar music playing from inside the house when he got to the front door.

The music was too loud for you to hear when he opened the door. He found you jumping around his living room, Ellie held tightly in your arms, belting out the lyrics to a song from Coco as loud as you could muster.

Frankie felt his heart flutter in his chest as he watched, Ellie was smiling bigger than he’d ever seen, giggling her little head off. The smile that painted your face was just as beautiful, and the way your eyes sparkled with joy warmed him to his very soul.

The soundtrack quickly switched over to Un Poco Loco, and Ellie let out an excited squeal. It was her favorite song, he sang it to her often. Sometimes it was the only thing he could do to stop her crying.

You’d grabbed Ellie’s hand and began dancing with her as you sang.

“What color is the sky? Ay, mi amor, ay, mi amor. You tell me that it's red, ay, mi amor, ay, mi amor.” Your voice wasn’t perfect, and your attempt at an accent made him chuckle, but Frankie swore he’d never heard a more heavenly sound than your singing and his daughter's laughter.

“Where should I put my shoes? Ay, mi amor, ay, mi amor.” You continued, still completely unaware of Frankie’s presence. When you sang the next lyric you ruffled Ellie’s hair. “You say, "Put them on your head!" Ay, mi amor, ay, mi amor.”

Frankie finally let out the laugh he’d been holding and you looked up to meet his eyes. He thought it might throw you off your game, but it didn’t sway you in the least. If anything knowing he was there seemed to make you perform harder. Frankie thought, perhaps foolishly, that now you were trying to make him laugh.

“You make me un poco loco, un poquititito loco. The way you keep me guessing, I'm nodding and I'm yes-ing. I'll count it as a blessing that I'm only un poco loco.” You trotted your way towards him and his breath stilled when you grabbed his hand to lead him into the house. He couldn’t help the smile on his face, or the fire he felt in his heart when you didn’t let go.

“The loco that you make me, it is just un poco crazy. The sense that you're not making.” He sang happily as he spun you around, making you laugh. What he wouldn’t give to hear that sound every day.

“The liberties you're taking.” You joined in, leaning your head against his shoulder as Ellie reached for him.

“Leaves my cabeza shaking. You're just un poco loco.” Frankie leaned his head against yours as you sang together. Taking Ellie into his arms as she clapped her chubby little hands together. Her soft brown curls tickling at his nose when she rested her forehead against his.

You and Frankie wrapped your arms around each other as you finished singing the song. Trapping Ellie, who seemed to be in her glory, between her two favorite people as you clumsily danced around.

When the song ended both you and Frankie were laughing and panting. It took a moment before either of you realized you were still holding on to each other. Both of your faces reddened when you noticed your position. You backed away reluctantly and rubbed the back of your neck, trying in vain to will away the embarrassment.

“I didn’t know you could sing?” Frankie joked awkwardly, breaking the short silence between you.

“I wouldn’t call that singing.” You replied with a laugh that was like music to Frankie’s ears.

“I liked it” he admitted, feeling his face redden again. He looked at the floor, trying to hide his face and retain some kind of dignity.

“Thanks” you replied with a shy chuckle and bit your lip.

“Thank you” he said back, his eyes meeting yours once more. “For watching Ellie.”

“Of course” you responded quickly, “I love her. Honestly she’s my favorite kid. I’m more than happy to help you out.”

The room got quiet again as Frankie tried to think of excuses to get you to stay, even just a little longer. As if by miracle that’s when Frankie heard your stomach growl.

“You want to stay for dinner?” He asked, unable to hide the hopeful glint in his eye. “I can order us a pizza.”

“I’d love to!” You responded a little more quickly than you intended to and Frankie’s heart jumped with excitement.

Frankie handed Ellie off to you and excused himself to order the pizza. He took a second to himself just to take in the previous moment, commit it to memory. Being so close to you made his head spin. He had to admit, you made him un poco loco and he’d give almost anything to have this with you everyday.

Tags: @mrpascals

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #Pedro Pascal #daycare!au

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evolsinner · 3 years

Text

⊱┊27

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL ASSAULT. READER DISCRETION ADVISED.

-ˋˏ ༻🍷༺ ˎˊ-

theo pushes me against the door and smashes his lips onto mine. at the same time, he slides my denim spaghetti strap dress down my chest, exposing my bare chest to his full view.

“damn,” he admires them hungrily, “look at ‘em built~in stress balls.”

“take a picture, lasts longer,” i tilt his head back up to eye level with me.

“oh, don’t worry, i’m intending to,” and he crushes his lips back onto mine.

he grabs one of my boobs in his palms and squeezes before pinching my swollen nipple. soft moans flow out from my mouth and my wetness down there increases.

🎶my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and they’re like, it’s better than yours damn right it’s better than yours

“nice ringtone,” theo smirks.

“shut up.”

he chuckles. “aye, let’s see if your milkshake really does bring all the boys to the yard,” he smugly raises his eyebrows and lowers his mouth to the bud he had been torturing seconds before. he begins to suck on it whilst kneading the other one.

“ohhh,” i moan. “yesss.”

his tongue circles my areola, nibbling, slurping and lapping up his drools. after pretty much mutilating my nipple, he lands a cute peck on top of it like that’s somehow gonna heal every nasty thing he did to it. “tell me how you like it done, babygirl.”

“touch me.”

he pulls the rest of my dress below my waist and skims his hand down my stomach to my core. if i keep my eyes shut for long enough, i could pretend it’s not him. i’m torn between wanting to remember and forget. i want to remember how it felt when isaac touched me, but i want to forget how it felt when he broke me...

“damn, you’re so wet.”

my phone goes off again but this time it reminds me of reality. it reminds me of how my life was once a dream these past few months and now it has gone to literal shit. getting irritated, i lift theo’s shirt up and drag him into myself, desperately tugging at his zipper.

“alrighty then,” he grins. “my babygirl is one greedy little bitch, ‘cept imma spoil her like her daddy couldn’t.”

the dress slides off my body entirely and pools around my ankles. i wriggle out of my underwear. he gets rid of his pants and boxers. then he picks me up by the thighs and walks backward to his bed. he falls onto the bouncy mattress. i get on top and dry grind on him. he grips my waist like he’s got claws for nails.

“fuck, you’re good!” he groans.

i push myself further down onto his erection, the wetness of my core spreading to other parts. “ooh, theo.. “

“that’s it, baby, just like that,” he lifts his head up to watch me rub my kitty on him. “keep it go..ing..mm..oo..yeah..” he exhales deeply, dropping his head back down on the pillow.

i lower my hand, further massaging his bulge with my palm and pressing it into myself. more grunts escape from his mouth and it looks like he’s in a paradise of his own. my phone, yet again, goes off. i glance over my shoulder to where it’s placed on the far back cupboard.

theo yanks me down. “eyes on me, slut!”

his lips are so sour. i try to find the sweetness within them, but it’s difficult. it’s unlike the first time we kissed and unquestionably unlike mr killian’s, nowhere near.

isaac’s was a whole nother valhalla.

theo changes position, getting on top of me. he reaches over and pulls back the top drawer from his nightstand. everything is happening so fast. i am getting dazed and confused even faster. i lean up on my elbows, watching him rip up the silver packet with his teeth and rolling the rubber on.

he returns, caging me.

my respiration becomes dense and i kinda become uncomfortable, a bit claustrophobic. my ringtone continues on and off in the background and it really does bring me back to reality. the hell am i doing with the school’s pitcher??

“theo,” i calmly lay my hand on his abdomen, “i..i don’t think we should do this anymore.”

“c’mon, rosé,” he jeers. “what happened to that girl who was all over me in the boys’ locker room? surely, she’s in there somewhere. maybe i can help bring her out?”

“no, really, theo,” i reach my hand down, ceasing him from entering, “i want you to stop.”

i’ve made a mistake. this whole thing is a mistake. it was like a bandaid on the crack of my healing heart. only now that it’s beating again, all i wanna see is lime green eyes greeting me, not the blue that i’m drowning in.

“no, you don’t,” he decides for me and plants a rough kiss on my lips.

i press my head back, getting his tongue out of my mouth. “yes, i, fucking, do.”

“rosé, you can’t just fucking do that,” he snaps. “you can’t just get me hyped up like this and then not go through with it.”

i sigh, “i’m sorry. i just..i just thought i was ready, but i’m not.”

“it’s too late, you said yes already so quit being a pussy with that ‘i’m not ready’ shit girls do, and let me do my thing. i ain’t stopping.”

“but i’ve changed my mind, i don’t want to anymore. i’m sorry.”

“try to relax for me, okay?” he gets rid of the interference on behalf of my hand by gently placing it beside me. “i won’t hurt you.”

i stubbornly place that same hand at my entrance.

theo heaves, “well, what the hell do you suppose i do with my hard as fuck dick then?”

“fuck if i know. jerk off or something?”

“you’re shitting me, right?” he raises his eyebrows.

why is he being so demanding?! i’ve never seen this side of him.

a forced homely smile appears on his face. “...just relax.” he pretty much snatches my hand up and away. “and breathe, okay?”

before i can stop him again, he’s already inserting himself inside of me. i make an effort in relaxing, i really do, but my body just won’t have it.

“see, ain’t that bad,” his voice toys with me. “i’d ask if this is your first time, but i know it’s not.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“whatever you make of it,” he avoids answering the question. “you good? i’m gonna start moving now.”

“please, baby, let’s just do this another day,” i push my hands up on his chest like i’m bench pressing him, but of course it does nothing. “promise i’ll make it worth your while?”

“for fuck’s sake, stop fucking resisting!” he lashes out. “it won’t do you any good but make it hurt more!”

i flinch at his sudden outburst and fear creeps up on me like slow molten lava. patience is wearing thin from both sides. i need it to stop, but i’m petrified of the monster this will unleash, this monster right in front of me. all the way in he goes and all the way out i feel utter disgust.

“you are tight as fuck, rosé,” he grunts. “almost like you’re milking me.”

“..theo.. maybe..i..we..”

“shhh, baby,” he whispers. “it’s okay.”

sickening aftertaste merges in with my saliva, my lips quiver.

he extracts, “you taste nice.”

i look to the side so that his gaze meets my cheek. he exists out of me slowly, then back in he goes. i try to move underneath his body, but he has me cemented in such a form where comfort is not an option, let alone the chance of escaping.

“don’t cry, rosé, please.”

at this, a dozen silent tears escape from my watery eyes. hostility is the only word that comes to my head. hostility in his eyes, hostility in his tone, hostility in his biceps. it’s like the smell of cigarettes, intoxicating, and that’s what scares me the most.

“i’m only giving you what you want, rosé.”

i can’t answer him.

“this is what you want, right?” he looks me dead in the eye.

i nod...

“good girl.”

the droplets trickle off the side of my temples and land on the plush pillow. i just want isaac. i need him. i miss him...his dimple, his half~smiles, his tired blinks...i miss him a lot.

“you’re doing great. just a little while longer, i promise.”

i dry my tears with his neck because i’m too scared to move my hands.

“hey, hey?” theo brushes the hair off my face. “shh, shhh,” he coos. “why you crying for, baby? you’re doing amazing, okay?”

there’s a sudden shift from soft to rough. it’s like he wants a taste of both worlds. his thrusting has intensified and his audible satisfaction has grown louder. the fear in me, well, that disappears. i don’t like being used in this way. taken advantage of.

“hones..honestly! you’re hurting me so please just get the fuck off me!”

he pins me down fully, almost like dead weight on top of me. he digs sharply into me like a shovel, tearing away at my insides a gluttonous thrust at a time. my tears crystallise, my body aches. it’s as if my heart is in the place of my brain; the pulses banging on my skull. i throw a series of blows to his chest, but even that works against me.

“don’t fight it. the only thing that’ll do is make me fuck you harder!”

my heart is thundering, there’s an apocalypse going on in each of the chambers and it’s taking everything in me to focus through the rumble. my hand despairingly searches for something on the nightstand, anything.

amongst the lamp, the tissue box, an opened marlboro pack, a lighter, a vape pen and some empty red bull cans, i finally hit jackpot. insanely tight, my fingers encircle themselves around the glass body of a corona extra.

1, 2, 3.

“fucking bitch!” he roars, clasping his head.

this gives me enough time to escape from underneath him. i fall out of the bed, slide back into my dress and leave everything else behind.

“rosé!!” theo growls after me, grabbing his boxers.

barefoot, i run to the stairs. only a meter away from the staircase when a hand latches onto my ankle, tripping me over. theo cusses and tries to claw his way atop of me, but i flip over and kick him in the nose. he groans loudly and releases me, cupping his nose.

i run down the stairs, feeling him only a step or two behind me. i slam into the door and begin desperately unhinging each lock in a row. fuck, how many goddamn locks does this guy have?! when the last one gets undone, i pull down on the handle only to be ruthlessly pulled right back with my fucking hair.

“where the fuck do you think you’re going, huh?!” theo snarls. “i ain’t done with you yet, babygirl.”

i scream, holding onto his hands holding my hair. he sickly inhales the scent of my neck and places his palm over my mouth. i bite down immensely hard. he rips his hand free and stumbles back.

silence.

i’m just so scared.

so, so scared.

i don’t see blue eyes anymore. i see grey. pure grey. they stare right through my soul, irises of like hurricanes trapped in tiny snow globes. the globes begin to crack, bit by bit... there will be an avalanche in just milliseconds.

i open the door, stumbling out onto the lawn before regaining my balance and breaking into a sprint. i look over my shoulder when suddenly i bump into a wall right in front of me, forcing me to arrive at a standstill.

glancing up, it’s not…a wall but..

isaac killian.

#teacher x student #romance #love #teacher #student #words #quotes #poems #poetry #sad #couples #relationship #escape

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scribbling-stiks · 4 years

Text

AAR - XXII - Buried Alive

Russia's shivering became more like convulsions, and he struggles to keep his hands on the wheels.

"Meri," Russia stutters out in between his chattering teeth, "close the window. Please."

"But I- oh my God. Yeah, hold on," America says, the second part injected with panic.

"Russ, are you okay?" Arizona asks.

America pulled himself back into the car and rolls up the window as fast as he can. Russia tries to keep himself from biting his tongue.

"Are you okay? F***! Why didn't I notice?" America exclaims.

Russia's legs cramps horribly, but he can't risk stalling the truck. He forces his legs to push against the gas and clutch, and the truck jerks. Luckily though, the car continues moving, even if the movement is stuttered and unsteady.

"Russ?"

"We can't stop," Russia stammers, "have to keep going."

"I know, but you're shaking like a f***ing leaf!" America exclaims, "is there any way I can help?"

Russia shrugs stiffly. America turns up the heat and takes off his jacket. Then something warm is laid on Russia's lap. He nearly melts into it. His shivering calms enough for him to control the truck to keep it on the road.

"Very cold," Russia mumbles.

"I know. I'm sorry," America replies.

Russia just shivers.

He hears it shriek a blood-curdling scream before emitting a loud, low clicking. It sounded almost like grinding gears. A look in the mirror confirms his fears.

It's getting closer.

He looks back to the road for a moment and the radio screams with static. Russia's head pops up and he looks in the side mirror.

He panics.

The thing had caught up to New Hampshire's car and had rammed into a back tire. New Hampshire's car begins to spin. Russia puts the truck out of gear and prepares to slam on the brakes.

"What?" America demands.

Russia points to the rear window and America lets out a strangled gasp. Russia pulls over as fast as the truck would allow and without turning it off, he tosses America his jacket and hops out, not even sure if he had closed the door.

Russia sprints forward, wielding the knife and a flashlight in one hand and grabbing a rock with the other. He throws the rock as high as his numb hands would allow, and it hits the monster on the shoulder blade. The thing opens its mouth, projecting static, and Russia shouts as loud as he can manage.

"Over here!" he screams, his voice cracking.

The thing spins around on its heels and sniffs the air before dropping to all fours, its joints contorting and twisting out of sockets. It clicks loudly before shrieking. It sails through the air as it leaps toward him, its mouth open and ready to rip him to shreds.

Russia lunges out of the way, rolling to a stop in the snow. It skids to a stop and spins around, growling in a way that seemed to shake the ground itself. Russia's hair stands up.

The numb feeling spreads and gets worse with the snow, but Russia couldn't care less.

It charges back at him, and Russia lurches away, only to be caught by the gaunt hands. He clutches his knife and slashes at the thing's wrist before it can get a tight enough grip on him.

The thing screams, and Russia's ears ring.

The thing lunches over mountains of snow and grabs him again by the ankle. It drags him closer to fast for him to sit up and attack it, opening its mouth. Russia tries his best to kick it away, and snow fills his sweater. The shocking cold freezes him in place for a moment.

Bright orange flies into view and the thing's mouth is filled with fire. It recoils and screams.

"Back off F***ER!" Arizona cackles.

Then ropes go flying around its face and Wyoming and Texas yank down once the lassos get around its head and mouth.

America pulls Russia to his feet, and Russia's legs nearly give out.

'Getting too cold,' he realizes numbly, 'joints don't work right.'

"You shouldn't be out here!" America screams.

Russia hastily pulls away, clumsily watching the monster thrash.

'I am not... I am not leaving you alone,' his mind recites dully.

Texas and Wyoming wrestle the monster, pulling its head back and roping its mouth shut. The thing starts clawing at the ropes, only for it to get rammed into by Alabama and Mississippi sprinting into its legs, leaving it sprawled in the snow.

America runs out from behind Russia summoning his scythe. America takes a few running steps before jumping into the air. America soars, a dark look on his face, and his good eye glowing with magic. He landing hard on the monster's chest, knocking it to the ground. America quickly adjusts his stance, and before the monster has a chance to react, America strikes, bringing the scythe down in a powerful arch of death and destruction.

The strike drives itself deep into the creature's chest, and muffled screams burrow themselves into Russia's memories.

The monster throws America off, and America rolls before stopping on his knees.

"Hey motherf***er!" New Hampshire yells, gun drawn.

The beast turns toward her as much as its restraints would allow. New Hampshire fires into its head as soon as she has a clear shot.

Instead of killing it, however, it only made the beast angry. It thrashes around, and Texas and Wyoming lose their grips. The lassos come loose and it throws its head back, screaming into the sky.

Russia stumbles in pain, his ears throbbing from the noise.

Philippines rushes at it, pipe in hand. The thing reaches for him, and Philippines deflects it. The freak reaches again, and America jumps onto its back.

America draws the scythe high in the air before swinging it down fast enough for it to leave an afterimage of blue in the winter air.

California grabs Russia from under his left arm, he about collapsed on top of her. She seemed to have a hard time getting ahold of him. It takes Russia a moment to figure out why. He looks down at his arms and sees them shaking violently.

'Oh.'

"Come on!"

The words sound muffled and hard to understand.

California begins dragging him back to the truck. Russia sluggishly pulls away and turns around. His eyes snap open when he meets the gaze of the creature.

It darts at them, black seeping from several holes on its forehead.

Russia grabs California in a bearhug and falls back. He lands on his back into a mound of snow that engulfs them. He shoves California up and out of the snowdrift with all the strength he can gather. He feels her fall away from him as soon as he kicks, but the force pushed him deeper into the mound. The snow above him tumbles over, burying him alive in a frozen tomb.

Russia claws at the snow with numb fingers and struggles for air.

The cold saps his energy away and his eyelids droop.

'No! No sleep. No sleep. Can't go to sleep. Can't.'

He forces his eyes open and forces his sore limbs to move, to cooperate, to do anything, because if he can't, if he doesn't move, he'll be stuck here until spring.

He digs upward and doesn't register the muffled screaming around him.

'Need to go. Go. Keep going. No sleep. Not sleepy. No sleep.

'So cold.'

The snow pressed the shape of Katya in his hat against his head.

'Have to get out,' he thinks, determined, 'for him. For America.'

Russia shoves snow around in a panic, trying desperately to make sure it doesn't get the chance to completely pin him down. He throws his arms up through the loosest of the piles of snow and claws at it, knocking it down onto his face and down the front of the sweater. Some of it packs around his chest. He shakes uncontrollably.

'So cold.'

'So tired.'

His breathing comes in shallow gasps, and he tries to focus on which way is up, but his mind is filled with a buzzing static.

The small amount of heat from his body disappears instantly and melts some of the snow around him, leaving him soaking wet. The water soaks into his clothes and begins weighing him down.

Russia kicks wildly, and light peaks through from above. It's dull, but it's close. The light grey above him proves a source of hope. His will power surges, and he flails against the barriers of ice and snow.

He throws handfuls of snowfall to his feet, some of it coating the insides of his boots. No longer having anything insulated or warm anymore forces his movements to slow. But he still struggles, throwing it out of his way as fast as his arms could, he tries to shove himself upward.

'I will not die here. I will not die under here.'

'I will not.'

'I can't.'

'I can't leave my family behind. I can't leave the kids behind. I can't leave America behind.'

The snow above him begins to fall apart under his hands, and Russia plants his feet into the snow under him.

'I have to get out.'

He shoves his feet down as hard as he could.

The snow underneath him gives out under his legs. The snow swallows his boots His arms jerk around against the edges of the death trap and blood rushes through his ears. Snow starts packing around his shoulder, taking hold of him. The brumal hands of sleet slowly start pulling him under.

He frantically tries to keep his head above the snowy abyss.

Then the window lights up bright orange, and water begins dripping ontop of him. The dripping turns into a waterfall. Russia reaches up as far as he can. He faintly feels someone take his hand and pull.

He flies out of the snow and crashes into his rescuer. They tumble to the ground and Russia ends up on top of something puffy and warm.

He gasps as the pressure on his chest finally releases. He drowsily opens his eyes and sees America's coat under him.

"Come to Russia! Don't go to sleep!" California yells.

'I'm so tired.'

"Don't you dare! Don't you f***ing dare!" America demands, "look at me!"

Russia's eyes droop.

"I said LOOK AT ME!"

Russia's eyes lazily open and move to meet America's.

"Why the f*** did you f***ing do that you absolute f***ing dumba**!?" America screams.

Russia smiles softly with cracked lips.

'I'm happy I get to hear your voice again.'

Then America sits up and pulls Russia into a desperate hug. Russia gasps at the tight grip. America starts shaking even harder than he is, and Russia sees him sob, snot and tears pouring down his face.

'No. Didn't want you sad.'

America hiccups before pulling Russia up. America sprints with him and shoves him roughly into the backseat of the truck. The heat hits his skin like a blast from a hairdryer. The dizziness nearly pulls him into sleep, but he forces himself to look up at America, who sobs from above him.

"You better stay awake," America begs, "please, Rue. You know you can't go to sleep like this."

'No sleep,' Russia dully agrees. He slowly nods his head.

The truck starts rocking, and it slowly drifts around on the road before gliding forward. The motion is relaxing. America shakes him awake.

"Come on, you have to stay awake. If you don't, I'm going to put you on the phone with your dad. And he's already hella mad at me hanging up on him."

Russia smiles up at him.

America jostles him around, stripping him down and dropping the wet fabric to the ground. America brushes off the snow and water the best he can. Then he takes off his coat and wraps it around Russia as tight as he can, almost pinning his arms to his sides.

A small noise escapes the back of Russia's throat and he snuggles into it.

"You are still not allowed to sleep."

'But I want to.'

America continues shuffling things away before dropping his arms down.

"Stop the car. I need one of y'all to get blankets out of the trunk."

The truck slows to a stop, and he hears two people jump out from the front passenger side. Foggy confusion fills his mind, but he shakes it off.

America quickly swaddles him in dry blankets. They're cold, but don't stay cold for long. America holds him close and the vents fill the backseat with dry heat. Russia's violent shivering finally begins to subside. Now he vibrates under the fabric and prickly feelings reenter his fingers. He winces.

"Don't ever do something that f***ing stupid ever again," America demands, sniffling and wiping at his face with napkins from the center console.

"I won't," Russia rasps.

America sniffles before trapping Russia in a hug.

"You scared me so f***ing bad, you a**hat," America mumbles, shoving Russia's shoulder, "we thought everything was fine when the monster ran off and Cali got out before it collapsed. But when she screamed you were trapped in there, God, I didn't even know what to do."

"Sorry."

"Don't even start that with me, douche-bag. I always thought the kids would be the death of me, but you might just have to take that title."

"Thanks," Russia says with a smirk.

"That's not a good thing, d***head," America growls, smacking Russia's chest.

Russia laughs.

"You're such an a**hole," America grumbles, kissing Russia's forehead.

Russia smiles at the warmth on his face.

Table of Contents

#rusame #ch russia #ch america #statehumans #countryhumans

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bakugouscentedcaramel · 5 years

Text

🍋🍋hhh se x..y🍋🍋

🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~

“AGH. Hah. Hah. Hah. Pleeease, DaB-I!! AHH GAHHH!” You moaned, the noises being ripped from your mouth. Chuckling as he pulled away from your drenched and wrecked pussy. “Ah, ah, ah sweetheart,” He tutted, pressing a kiss to your swollen clit, making your body jerk upwards. “What did I say?” He asked, his burning irises looking up at you expectantly.

“To be- hah, quiet.” You huffed, your breath slowing. As sweat fell from your forehead as you press your head against the cool brick behind you. “Very good sweetie…” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath fanning over your cheek. Returning back to his pace between your thighs he kissed down your thighs, leaving lovebites and hickeys down. Teasingly he licked a stripe up your pussy. Enjoying watching your body twitch and writhe for him

Swirling his tongue around, it was hard to keep quiet. That pleasurable twinge ripped its way through your body. Making your toes curl as your breathing picked up. Dabi hummed between your legs, slipping two of his long fingers into your wet and begging hole. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you closed your eyes tightly as he ate you, you grabbed a fistful of his hair as he curled his fingers up against your sweet spot.

Twitching and writing against him. You could feel your orgasm coming on fast. Feeling your mind fog with want, you grabbed two fistfuls of hair as he continued to suck and eat you out like your body was made of milk and honey. Moaning and bucking your hips against his face, he tightened his grip on your thighs. “Thought I told you to be quiet.” He tutted, pulling out his fingers.

“I don’t care! I just want you to fuck me please!”

You could see small blue flames licking the stitches of his hand. “You’re making it sooo hard to not fuck you into the wall sweetheart. To ruin you.” He groaned huskily, his hot breath fanning over your womanhood, leaving you whimpering in response.

“You wouldn’t care would you? Heh, you’d love it. You’d love me, fucking you into oblivion with my cock.” He chuckled huskily, standing with your legs over his shoulders. Rubbing his cock against your slit, you gasped out a moan. “Out in the open where everyone can see who you belong to…” He whispered.

“What do you want sweetheart?” He practically growled, biting your earlobe and kissing down your neck. “Hh- I want you…” You whimpered lowly, feeling hot and humid. Pulling his cock away from your sopping wet cunt, you groaned in protest. “What. Do. You. Want?” He hissed, gripping your ass tighter as he burned holes into you with his eyes.

“I want you to fuck me please Dabi!! Please! I want you!!” You cried, feeling your body burning and wanting to be filled, it was too much. “So needy for me, you’re practically dripping...” He said, slamming himself into while covering your mouth. Moaning into his hand as he set a brutal pace.

“You get off on me, AGhhh, fucking you where anyone could find us?” He panted, hand falling from your mouth to hold up your ass. Pants and moans fell like the sweetest nectar from your mouth, “Ahh you do, such ahh, a good girl, taking my cock. God… you’re a mess.” He chuckled darkly, reaching a hand down to toy with your clit. “Hah, I’m gonna cum!!” You moaned out, feeling yourself reach your peak.

Your back arching off the wall, and gasping moans drowning out the rest of the world as your eyes rolled back into your head. Pulling out his cock, the emptiness it left made you whimper with need. “Shh, turn around.” He said, stroking his slicked up dick. “Arms against the wall, ass out.” He chuckled, guiding your hips to jut out. Spreading your legs he rubbed his dick against your slit.

Sliding the tip in and out, he teased you. Before sliding in fully with a grunt. It hit deeper inside of you, working up you back up to your edge. “I feel you tightening around me, you gonna cum again?” He teased leaning over your back, reaching his hand down and toying with your clit.

With a few flicks of his fingers, you came, your knees buckling underneath you. “Please Dabi! It’s too- hah ha h hah, muuUUuch!” You moaned out shakily as he continued to plow into you while rubbing your abused clit. “Yeah? hah, Is me fucking you like this to much?” He panted into your ear, his hot breath making goosebumps erupt over your skin. Enunciating his statement by snapping his hips forward harder.

The lewd of skin slapping together, and the moans and groans was all that filled your lust filled mind. “Hah hah babygirl, you’re so good for me. So- good.” He moaned his hips jerking, “Ahah ughh-oh god fuuuuck!” He growled out, his hot seed shooting into you. Leaning against you, you both panted as his cock softened inside of you.

Pulling out of you, he crouched down spreading apart your pussy lips as he watched his cum flow out of you. “You’re so fucking hot babygirl.” He whispered, rubbing his hand over your ass. Whimpering you stood from the walls with shaky legs. “I better be, I can’t walk.” You groaned, pulling up your pants. Tsk-ing at you he walked over to you, throwing his arm around your waist. “You love it.”

🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~🍋~

OOF OOOO BOI

How tf am I supposed to follow that up omg y'all

#valvent #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #ask val #mha x reader #mha imagines #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #submission #bnha dabi #dabi lemon #dabi x reader #lemon #🍋#HCJDJFJDJ #im WEAK

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theskeletongames · 6 years

Photo

Little Story 8

First

<--Previous

Next-->

You stand in front of the dumpster for a second longer, before squatting down, and looking at the gap beneath it.

“H-Hey… uh… Little skeleton dude…?” You call.

Low voices whisper back and forth under the dumpster, before two pinpricks of red surface from within the gap.

“I thought I told’ja ta beat it, dumb ass…” The little skeleton growls. His sockets catch you cupping your injured hand, and he grins proudly. “‘Less yer interested in another hands on experience with me…” He snickers.

“Ah… no…” You answer, moving your hand further away from him. “It’s just… I knocked your food over earlier… right? So you’re still hungry?”

The little skeleton glares back. “I ain’t gonna be all warm n’ buddy buddy wit’cha! I told’ja I didn’t want’cher help, n’ then ya fucken’ manhandled me! If ya think I’m gonna suddenly n’ wanna come inside n’ be yer cute fuckin’ pet, then yer a bigger dumb ass than I thought.”

“No… um… I was thinking more like… What if I bring out some food for you instead. It was my fault it got knocked over, and I live in the apartments here, so I can bring it out pretty quickly.”

“I already told’ja I don’t need’jer help!” The little skeleton snarls back.

He no sooner states his refusal for your offer, than his stomach area gives a loud growl. Red blossoms across his face, and you have to hide your smirk as he tries to cover the sound with his own animistic growl.

“Are you sure…?” You ask. “It’ll be warm and fresh. Not some half frozen moldy leftovers.”

“I already said no!” He snarls.

“Do I hear someone refuse-ing free food?” Another low voice calls, and a moment later a pair of white pinpricks slide up in the darkness beside the red ones. “Cause that sounds like an offer we shouldn’t throw away lightly…”

The red skeleton’s eyelights dart toward the new voice. “I thought I told’ja ta stay back.” He attempts to whisper, moving to block him from your view.

“We need the food.” The other skeleton whispers back, before coughing heavily and shaking a little as he struggles to take in air. “This dumpster’s practically overflowin’ with shit! I’ll find more food once they leave!” The red eyed skeleton snaps.

You smirk, bending over as you prepare your offer. “It’s leftover pizza.” You say temptingly.

“Oh god…” The second skeleton murmurs.

“And I can microwave it for you so it’s hot.”

“OH GOD!” He says louder, and the red eyed skeleton looks away, struggling to make eye contact.

“It’s delicious, and extra greasy.”

“You’re meeting all my standards!” The white eyed skeleton moans, before going into a coughing fit once again.

“D-Don’t fall fer that, stupid!” The other skeleton growls back, but you can already tell you’ve won. His usual frown has morphed into a relaxed grin, and he stares off in a daze just thinking about your words.

“Wait right here and I’ll be right back with it.”

“I… wh-what!... I told’ja I ain’t-” He stutters.

“It’s pizza, Edgy!” The other skeleton cuts in, leaning against the other skeleton. “And we need a pizza it!”

You go back inside and find the leftover pizza sitting in a box in your fridge. You’re not sure how much those little skeletons eat, they’re pretty small, but they’re also starving. You decide to heat the entire leftover half pizza and let them have as much as they want.

While you wait for the pizza to heat the microwave, you run your throbbing hand under warm water, inspecting the fresh circular mark of raised flesh. That little skeleton bit you pretty hard, and you’ve drawn blood on both your palm, and the top of your hand. You take a moment to grab a box of medical wraps from a first aid kit, and bandage yourself as best you can. As you’re walking back out to the kitchen, you get another idea, and dodge into a closet to grab a large fluffy blanket.

“I brought the pizza.” You say once you’ve made it back into the freezing air in front of the dumpster.

For a moment, there’s no response, and you become worried the bitties ran away during the short time you were gone. Then, from beneath the gap under the dumpster, two pinpricks of red surface once again and glare up at you.

“Tch… jus’ open the box’n leave it there.” He growls.

You hesitate. “I brought you a blanket as well.” You state. “It’s supposed to get really cold out tonight.”

“Heh… Don’t worry… The cold’l go right through us.” The other skeleton answers.

“Like we’re gonna stay under a filthy dumpster all night anyway!!!” The red eyed bitty growls.

“Oh…” You say, a little dejected. You’re worried about them walking around in the cold all night, and the coughing that keeps coming from the white eyed bitty doesn’t sound good at all. “Are you sure… we’re supposed to get over a foot of snow. It might get too deep for you to walk around in.”

The red eyed glares, before leaning out of the gap under the dumpster to watch the snow fall.

“How bout I just leave this here for you and you can decide...?” You say, finding a cardboard box, and pushing it against the other wall. You bunch the blanket into a nest like shape and push it into the box before setting the open pizza box on the ground next to everything.

The two pairs of eyelights watch you work, and once you’re finished, you stand for a moment looking at each other awkwardly. More coughing comes from under the dumpster.

“Goodnight, then…” You say, before walking off.

As you turn the corner to your apartment, you hear scuttles from the two bitties, and one long mouth filled moan as one of them takes their first bite of hot pizza.

The next day, you have class in the morning, and you come outside early, before the sun has yet to fully rise in the sky. It’s still snowing, and you squint your eyes looking for the box under the fresh blanket of snow.

You’re carrying a bowl of hot oatmeal you’d prepared this morning. If the bitties were still there, then they might appreciate another hot meal after a cold night outside.

You find the box still leaning against the wall covered with snow. The pizza box sits next to it, empty. Your somewhat surprised they ate all of it. that was a lot of pizza for someone so small. You brush the snow off the blanket, hoping they’re somewhere inside, when suddenly the blanket explodes sending snow flying everywhere.

“G-Get back asshole! R’ I’ll fuckin’ kill ya!” The red eyed bitty snarls, bearing his claws and teeth up at you. When he finally gets a good look at your face, recognition dawns on him, and he relaxes, settling into an icy cold glare.

“Oh… s’jus’ you…” He says, sitting back in the blanket. He wraps it around himself, his breath dancing in the cold morning air. “The fuck’s yer problem? Don’t go wakin’ me up like that, idiot!” He growls, before looking at your hands and grinning. “Or are ya lookin’ ta get some fresh frost bite first thing inna mornin’...?”

“I’ll pass...” You answer, squatting down and holding the steaming bowl out. “Um… I thought you’d like something to eat in the morning...”

The red eyed bitty looks at it bordly before ducking back under the blanket. “Hey… Get up lazybones, the idiot brought us more food.” You hear him say gruffly.

There’s a moment of silence as you wait, but nothing happens.

“Hey… I said there's more food.” He growls again.

Nothing moves from the blanket, and you hear him sigh.

“Why do peppers hate winter so much…?” He asks, waiting as though expecting an answer. More silence passes, before you hear his voice again. “H-Hey…” He says urgently, and this time he sounds worried. “Wake up!”

You place the bowl of oatmeal down in the snow, waiting as well. What’s going on under there?

“H-Hey…” The bitty says again, and this time his voice cracks.

You find your hand moving on it’s own, pushing the top of the blanket up and out of the way, before finding the red eyed bitty sitting distraught over his friend. For the first time, you get a good look at the other bitty’s face. His sockets are ringed with dark bags, and they’ve accumulated some kind of thick blue crust around the edges. Unlike the red eyed skeleton, his bones are grayed, and dull, like the life has been sucked out of him. He doesn’t wear any shoes, and his feet are marred with dark scratches, covered in more of that thick blue crust.

“S’ cause it makes them chilli…” The red eyed skeleton says, shaking the other bitty as he finishes the pun. “H-Hey… W-Wake up…?” He shakes the bitty harder. “Why are ya so cold? S’ supposed ta go through us… remember? Hey… Hey...”

“Um…” You say, watching as red tears form in the red eyed skeleton’s sockets.

“Go away!” He snarls, hugging the other bitty into himself. “Leave us alone... Jus’.... leave us alone...” He says quietly.

Leaving the bitties outside overnight may have been a bad idea. It must have been really cold last night.

As you kneel in front of the box with the two bitties, you try and think about what to do next. You don’t have a lot of options, and the red eyed bitty is still being stubborn about letting you near them.

1 (Comfort the red eyed bitty first) The slowest option, but you need to get him on your side before you make another move.

2 (Try and persuade the red eyed bitty to come inside) Spend a little time convincing him to work with you. If he agrees, it’ll be easier for you to get things done.

3 (Pick up the entire blanket with them both in it, and carry them inside) This is an emergency. Even if he doesn’t want you to, you’re taking them inside, now!

Vote Here

#undertale #underfell #sans #bittybones #uf sans #ut sans #little shit #poetaxart #choose your own adventure #littlestory #edgy #sansy

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

Text

Day 28: “Enough! I heard enough.”

Fandom: Destiny

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Excessive Dinging, The Vanguard & The Drifter

Notes: For @dredgen-ding, who is the only person who may use that infernal emote while playing with me (without me being immediately triggered). <3

Zavala’s jaw ticks, only once. He remains perfectly still for an indeterminable number of moments. Before him, the City continues on, the Traveler’s fragments making a smooth, rapid orbit around it above them.

Behind him, Tower life continues.

The flavor of the week is always something. For the longest time, it had been strange dance-offs in long forgotten styles, with no real winner following the proceedings. In fact, only exact replication by others was considered to be superior to any outlandish new rhythmic expressions.

This time, the latest craze has (seemingly) nothing to do with Eververse.

Now, it’s no secret that the Vanguard has “benevolently” allowed the Drifter lease within the annex, in a shady hallway, away from prying eyes. And it’s no secret that the Drifter’s game catches the attention of many. Including some that don’t exactly appreciate it.

If Zavala has to hear Shaxx’s ramblings about how someone ought to throw Drifter off the Tower one more time, he might consider throwing the both of them over a railing to see if they’ll unite against him instead. It might be easier that what he’s presently forced to endure.

Actually, that isn’t quite right. The Shaxx-Drifter non-rivalry (but yes, it’s a rivalry, even if no party will admit it), isn’t the thing most obnoxious to Commander Zavala at this present moment.

Ding.

Argh. Zavala is not the kind of man who would outwardly scoff, so instead his eye twitches. Which is just as well, because he has his back to the wayward (he’s suspecting Hunter) Guardian. No one has to know.

But then, as is true to form in the Tower, another Guardian joins the fray. Based on what intel the Commander has from his periphery, they’re both standing just far enough back that he can’t reach behind himself to take the coins from their hands.

And, because the fates clearly design to torture him this day, they’re just ever so slightly out of sync.

Di-ding!

Di-Ding!

He bangs his fists just the slightest bit harder against the smooth steel of the railing. He is a pillar. A rock. He has endured the utmost torment from a bored Cayde-6. He should be prepared for this.

Several minutes later, when it hasn’t stopped, he bangs his gloved fists against the railing and feels the steel bend. It’s a momentary distraction. Later, when no one is looking he’ll heat the steel and even it back out. No one will ever know.

One of his Titans approaches and it gives him a proper look at the Guardians dinging. He assists his subordinate quickly - he might be a touch shorter than usual, but unfortunately even he has his limits, and they are rapidly approaching.

Resisting the urge to tap his foot, which is strange enough for a man who is usually so still, Commander Zavala asks, “Do you really have to keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” The Hunters tilt their heads, never once stopping what they’re doing.

Zavala does groan, well, it’s more like a sigh and an exasperated one at that. “As you were,” He finally says, as if this is a battle and he’s settled on his opponent.

The Hunters do their best not to laugh, even though they’re going to hear about this for the next hundred years from their Ghosts, and continue.

Di-ding!

Di-Ding!

He tries to hold out, he really, really does. It’s been four hours of incessant ‘ding’-ing and quite frankly, he’s going to hear this in his sleep tonight, assuming no unavoidable emergency robs him of that in addition to his sanity.

“Enough!” He finally growls, whirling around. Regaining a modicum of control, he clears his throat. “I have heard enough.”

Though startled, the Hunters do not stop, and thus Zavala grabs them by the scruff of their cloaks and drags them through the Tower proper. Shaxx bellows something approving, Rahool nods politely, Banshee is too busy trying to locate a part he’s forgotten he’d put on the desk already to notice.

In the Bazaar, Zavala slows for a brief moment to share an unimpressed glance with the Warlock Vanguard, ignoring Suraya Hawthorne’s rather amused pose in the meantime, then makes an abrupt right and begins the descent into the Annex, the errant Hunters in tow.

“Uh, Zavala, where are we-”

The good Commander thrusts the two of them through the doorway and clears his throat. Three Guardians in the corner transmat away immediately, for fear of being spotted, but it’s already too late. “Drifter,” Zavala says, in that cool tone, as if he’s meeting the rogue Lightbearer for a business meeting, as if... they know each other, “I believe these two belong to you.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’,” Drifter says, hands up, a snarling look upon his face.

“Do it,” he says to the two Hunters, and the Drifter flinches.

“Do what-” He takes a swaggering step forward, “I don’t want no trouble, certainly not with the Vanguard. Whatever these two did it wasn’t-”

Ding.

Drifter waves his hands, jerky and disgruntled, realization hitting him like a whip-crack. “Oh no, you can have them. I finally just got them t’leave me the hell alone.” He makes a shoo-ing motion with his hands and the Hunters get the idea that they better take a hike.

The Commander’s piercing gaze renders them still mid-escape. “Wait,” The one says to the other, “He knows about the Drifter?”

Zavala chuckles. That’s not good. “Bold of you to assume I don’t know what happens in my house.” He gestures with a wide hand to the assortment of them littered across the workbench and floor. “I wonder who gave you those shiny coins, hm?”

He makes an about face and heads through the doorway. They take a shaky step forward, toward the exit as well, and the Commander freezes, as if he has eyes in the back of his head. “I don’t hear any dinging,” He comments idly.

“No. You two even think about flipping a coin and-”

Ding!

“We technically work for him, Drifter.” One of them says, remorsefully.

“You pledged yourselves to me,” He reminds them.

“And you wanted us to play nice, remember?” The other quips back, flicking their coin as well.

Ding!

“You’re the sorriest Dregdens I ever saw,” He says, flicking a coin into the Cabal helm on his workbench. “See if I ever send you back to Emerald Cove.”

Ding!

He shakes his head. Bad move for them. “Somethin’ tells me you two are gonna be gettin’ ol’ Drifter a whole lotta motes on Titan.”

The Hunters groan in tandem. Good, Drifter thinks. Maybe they’ll cut the nonsense.

Ding!

… Wishful thinkin’.

#destiny fanfiction #the drifter #commander zavala #destiny #destiny stories #ding

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proherostories · 5 years

Text

Lying on my back, watching stars (watching stars collide)

Ao3 Linkaroo

Dabi/Takami Keigo | Hawks

Dabi (My Hero Academia)

Takami Keigo | Hawks

Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Self-Hatred

Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Past Child Abuse

Dabi is Todoroki Touya

Dabi is Bad at Feelings (My Hero Academia)

Soft Dabi (My Hero Academia)

POV Dabi (My Hero Academia)

Rated M for Swearing, because Dabi has a potty mouth.

Stars danced and he inhaled at how lovely they were, hissing at the pain in his chest and he winced. There was a shooting star, but what would he wish for? What could he wish for that hadn’t come true before? Why waste his time on something so trivial and stupid and useless?

‘Someone to take the pain away...yeah, that seems reasonable enough…’ he mused in spite of himself, then cursed his own weakness.

Turquoise blues opened because the light from the sun had shifted into the broken window during its travel through the blue sky above. His eyes stung and it hurt to breathe. Yet everything was hazy. He could only blink slow, lids heavy. A bird flew by, far away, too far to tell what kind it even was. Fingers twitched, but he couldn’t move.

A shadow appeared and there was a flash of what he thought were red feathers, but he was already closing his eyes.

When turquoise blues opened again, there was no sun outside, but the sky was still clear. Stars danced and he inhaled at how lovely they were, hissing at the pain in his chest and he winced. There was a shooting star, but what would he wish for? What could he wish for that hadn’t come true before? Why waste his time on something so trivial and stupid and useless ?

‘Someone to take the pain away...yeah, that seems reasonable enough…’ he mused in spite of himself, then cursed his own weakness.

Fuck, now was the time to question why everything hurt so fucking bad . What had happened? Last thing he remembered before waking up in this dingy warehouse was...oh. Blue fire. His.

Crap.

His hand moved, ignoring the pain that shot through his body at the movement, and was going to run lanky fingers through black locks. Only his hand was stopped. A gentle grasp of a gloved hand around his wrist, surprisingly mindful of the staples there. Blinking and narrowing his eyes, he caught sight of... Hawks .

Of all people.

“What are you doing here, birdy?” Dabi rasped and coughed, gritting his teeth at the rattle in his chest.

“I had to make sure you didn’t die of smoke inhalation, you fucker.” Hawks retorted and Dabi froze as the bird tilted his head and...rest it over his sternum. “Breathe for me.” It was a command, but it was quiet. It took a moment, but Dabi couldn’t stay stock still even if he wanted to. Reluctantly, he breathed in as deep as he possibly could, and let it out only to cough again. Grumbling, Hawks pulled back and golden slitted orbs looked down at him. He still hadn’t let go of his wrist. “It still sucks, but it doesn’t sound like you need me to get the breathing machine again. I’d hope not, I used it a lot the first few hours. Your lungs must normally be like that and it’s going to take a while to recover. You sure did a number on yourself, Dabs. I can get you an inhaler and give it to you later, if you have asthma.”

Asthma? What a stupid notion… he refused to admit that may even be the case. Hawks was annoying him, but he didn’t have the energy to bitch at him. “How did we even wind up here? Shouldn’t you be out Hero-ing or some shit?”

“I got a report this morning at the ass-crack of dawn, right after I even got to work, that a building was on fire. Blue flames that no one could put out, and they sent me in to see if anyone was trapped inside.” Hawks’ hand squeezed his wrist and Dabi hated how tender he was putting it on his chest. “I found you inside. I guess you were squatting there? There was a ring around you, like your own fire wasn’t touching you. It was difficult, but I managed to get you out. Endeavor ended up taming the flames, and I left him to it while bringing you here. I had to steal a breathing machine from the ambulance, are you proud of me?” he gave a lopsided smile.

Damn him, trying to be funny. Dabi snorted and kicked himself mentally for even smirking. It was dumb. “You coulda let me die.”

“I couldn’t do that!” Hawks’ gasp was incredulous, exaggerated, but Dabi narrowed his eyes at the flash of real concern in those stupid gold eyes. “Who else would I go to to tell it to me straight, huh? No one’s as brutally honest as you are, Dabs, and I appreciate it.”

“So you like it when I hurt your pretty birdy feelings?” Dabi sassed, rolling his eyes, “You’re such a freak.”

“See? That’s the spirit.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Fuck him for sing-songing that, like some sort of songbird instead of a predator.

Fuck him...for being right. Dabi scoffed and looked away, back out the broken window. “I want to go back to fucking sleep, birdy. Clearly I’m not dead yet, so you can just leave me here. I’ll wobble out of here in the morning.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not tonight.”

“Aren’t there people wondering where you went off to so suddenly after something like that? Dear ol’ Endeavor knows who those blue flames belong to.”

“Geez, sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me. Did I strike a nerve?” Hawks tilted his head at him.

How dare he.

How fucking dare he...be so fucking cute when he did that.

“You’re insufferable. What do you want, Hawks? Some goddamn reward for saving my stupid ass pathetic life?” Dabi sat up so suddenly that it startled Hawks and knocked him on his ass. Good. Dabi felt the burn through his body but he had his hands planted on the concrete below him...wait no. That was? Hawks’...jacket. His fingers brushed against the suede interior and the fuzzy tufts of the lining. It was the first time he noticed Hawks...indeed had bare arms and he could see the design on his flight suit unhindered. Fascinating.

“What was your nightmare?”

Now it was his turn to be startled, this time by the question. Hawks’ previously wide eyes from his surge were watching him. Curiosity, concern, knowing ...all of it drove Dabi up the wall. He wanted to strangle the bird. “If I tell you, will you fucking leave me alone?”

“No promises.”

Wow, he was such a shit. Dabi scoffed. “It was about the abuse from my dear ol’ dad. There, ya happy? Now get the fuck out of here and go back to being a Hero. I don’t need you .”

Dabi’s tongue felt like ash as he watched Hawks’ expressive face shut down right before his very eyes. There was that weird thing birds’ eyes do, going big and small a few times, and blood red feathers ruffled, but there was no other indication that his words did anything to him.

No, his chest shouldn’t hurt like this. He shouldn’t want to take the words back. He was a goddamn villain and Hawks shouldn’t be here. If he had a bad enough nightmare he set the building he was in on fire, then he should’ve died in that fire like he should’ve died years ago.

So he locked his jaw as he watched Hawks shuffle so he could get to his feet, fists clenching so tight the rough nails of his fingers bit into his palms. He wouldn’t take it back.

“You’ve made your point.” Hawks’ voice wasn’t cold, but Dabi’s stomach still felt like ice at the tone of it and the sigh that followed. What the fire user wasn’t expecting was for Hawks to just...walk on by.

“Don’t you want your stupid jacket?” Dabi moved, refusing to hiss at the action, and tried to get off of it, tugging it from under his ass and rolled to get onto his knees so he could also stand up.

“I got more where that came from.” Hawks didn’t stop walking towards the door.

Dabi finally looked up, hand on his knee to support himself as he grunted to get to his feet. Immediately he sucked a breath in. There were...there were scars all over Hawks’ back, concentrated around his shoulder blades where the wings protruded. Eyes wide and no breath in his lungs, he clutched the jacket and reached out without thinking, “Hawks, what…? What are those scars?”

“Nothing for you to be concerned about. Not that you even care to begin with, yeah?” Hawks shrugged, not turning around and not stopping.

“Wait, damn it,” Dabi all but growled. It hurt, it hurt so much, but he managed to cross the room as Hawks’ hand landed on the doorknob, his hand landing on Hawks’ shoulder and yanking him back. Heaving, lungs protesting, his hand tightened. “Who did that to you?”

“I did.”

The deadpan of it, without missing a beat and not looking back, Dabi was floored. It was like he had been struck with a lightning bolt. Everything tingled, and he reflexively let go of Hawks as if he had been electrocuted. “Hawks…”

Why did it feel like everything shifted in that moment?

Snapping out of his daze as the squeak of the door reached his ears, Dabi placed his hand on Hawks’ back, right over the scars and between the wings...only to shout as he was thrown back halfway across the room when he was smacked full force with one of them. Flight or fight came in, and Dabi didn’t even feel the pain or burn in his chest as he hopped back onto his feet, teeth bared, but Hawks was starting to head out the door, “Hawks!” He was across the room in no time flat, throwing the jacket which gave him time.

Just enough time, a couple seconds, for Hawks to reach back and smack it away, but it was all a distraction. Dabi’s hand found its way in Hawks’ windswept stupidly soft hair, yanking him back into the room and he whipped him around. Shoving him against the wall, kicking the door shut, Dabi didn’t know what else to do to get him to stay …

So he kissed him.

Something snapped.

It was hot and rough and full of angry teeth, but Hawks was gripping his scarred arms, pressing into him as much as Dabi was giving it. Considering Dabi couldn’t breathe too well, he broke the kiss sooner than he wanted to and panted harder than he normally would, “Hawks, I’m…”

“Keigo.”

Dabi stared at him, blinking slowly. “Excuse me?"

“You don’t have to force yourself to apologize to me, Dabi. Call me Keigo. That’s my name.” He rubbed his hands up Dabi’s arms and cupped his face, putting their foreheads together, “I was abused, too. I never wanted to be a Hero. Did I have a choice? No. I tried to cut out my own wings, hoping that would work, but they simply grew back. There, that’s the short of my story. You don’t have to tell me yours, I get it. Now...do you still not need me?”

Now Dabi hated the barest hint of hope, desperation, hurt and need in Hawks’...Keigo’s voice. He swallowed hard. “I might’ve been lying about that.” Fingers smoothing tenderly over Keigo’s hair, soothing where he’d pulled earlier. “You might’ve also been right.”

Keigo arched a stupid feathery brow at him, “Right about what, Dabs?”

“I don’t hate you. Maybe. Only sometimes. You’re still insufferable.”

Dabi...didn’t hate how warm his chest felt when he was given the brightest, most honest smile from Keigo. “You love me.” It wasn’t said jokingly this time, and Dabi arched his brow at the most interesting birdlike coo at the tail end of that.

“Like I said. Maybe."

The echoing laugh from Keigo made Dabi suddenly think of that goddamn shooting star.

For a moment, he didn’t feel any pain.

#keigo takami #they still say I'm a dreamer ( Keigo )#are you a saint or sinner ( hawks )#if loves a fight then I shall die ( hotwings )#When you feel my heat look into my eyes ( Dabi )#hotwings #dabi bnha #ao3 #fanfic #my writing #bnha writing #mha writing

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quiddy-writes · 7 years

Text

Overtime

So, this is a sequel to my one and only Sam GIF drabble, which is being written because I’m a slut and wanted to write some smut and I was originally gonna write smut in that gif drabble until my wrist bitched out. So now that I have no excuse, here we go.

And shout-out to the ever-wonderful @saxxxology and @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid for reading and beta-ing this when I became convinced that it was shit. They’re the best ladies in the entire world.

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Detective!Sam x Secretary!Reader Inspiration: A GIF drabble inspired by a GIF from @sgarrett49 Words: 2,759 Summary: Sam and the reader finally act on all that unresolved sexual tension, and his desk suffers for it Warnings: Pure, unadulterated desk fucking. There’s no plot. Plot has died. Plot has no place here. Only porn.

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

“Hey, Y/N, where’s the file on—?” Sam shouted without looking up.

A thin manilla envelope slapped down beside his hands.

His tired hazel eyes roamed up the body of his secretary, wrapped lusciously in a tight button up shirt and dark pencil skirt. Her heels had long since been kicked off, which explained how she had snuck up on him. She smiled, looking as exhausted as he felt.

Finally, she spoke. “You gotta sleep sometime, detective.”

He fell back in his chair, straightening out his back for the first time in hours. His back burned in a sort of pleasurable pain, not used to a non-hunched over position. He pushed his long chestnut locks out of his eyes with his equally long fingers and smiled up at her. “I’ll sleep when we catch this guy.”

“You’ve not slept for days,” she chastised, her voice soft.

“I’ll sleep—”

“When you catch this guy.”

They chuckled at that. Then silence fell over them. He aimed a small smile up at Y/N. “You don’t have to stay. Go home.”

She shook her head, seemingly amused by the very idea. “Like I’m gonna leave you.”

His smile got a bit bigger, and he laughed breathlessly. “Thank you.”

She shifted in her spot for a moment before picking up the envelope again. “I’m gonna go put this away, and we’ll pick this up in the morning.”

Sam stood to his full height, reaching for the file. “No, c’mon—”

She dodged out of his way, going around him and back behind the desk, laughter bubbling from within her. “No, you c’mon detective! You’ve gotta rest.”

A playful grin made its way onto Sam’s face, his dimples coming out in full force. “Y/N, give me the file.”

She shook her head. “Nope!” she answered, popping the p.

Without thinking, he caged her in, putting one hand on the desk on either side of her. His chest was centimeters from hers, and, suddenly, the tone went from playful to seductive .

They were silent for a moment before Y/N placed the envelope on the table. Then, her fingers danced up his arms, locking around his neck. With a voice only slight with a teeter, she said, “Maybe…I could convince you to at least take a break?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed and he took a deep breath.

She was his secretary, had been since he opened his agency with his brother Dean. There had always been tension simmering under the surface between him and Y/N, but this was a whole different animal from their usual lingering stares and flirting.

And, if he was honest with himself, it was a whole different animal he was ready to take on.

The tension broke and he crashed his lips against hers. Her fingers gripped his long locks, holding him in place.

They only broke apart when Sam’s giant hands grabbed her and roughly picked her up, placing her down on the desk.

She squeaked, throwing her arms around his neck for leverage. She laughed against his lips as she spoke, “Well, I dunno about you, but the earth literally moved for me.”

Sam chuckled, silencing her with another bruising kiss. Only two kisses in, and he knew that he was addicted. Her soft lips were pliant and she tasted like the mint gum she so obsessively chewed.

Her fingers left his hair, attaching to his tie as she practically ripped it apart before throwing it haphazardly over her shoulder before trying her best with shaky fingers to unbutton his shirt.

Sam’s hands ran down to caress her thighs, skimming back up pushing her tight pencil skirt further and further up her legs and opening them so he could stand comfortably between her knees. He nipped roughly at her bottom lip, which made her gasp. He immediately pulled away. “I’m sorry, is that—”

Y/N shook her head. “No, no, don’t you fucking dare,” she said as her soft hands grabbed each side of his face and pulled his lips back to hers.

He groaned, and his hands grabbed her hips to drag her closer to him. She answered with a moan of her own, especially as his fingers found the top of her pantyhose and began peeling them off.

“Lift your hips,” he commanded as he tugged on the tights. She finished unbuttoning his shirt before putting her hands on the desk behind her for leverage, shoving a few things to the side to make room. Sam heard fabric rip as he shoved it down her legs and off.

She took in a deep breath, maybe to complain or maybe because she hadn’t breathed in a while, but he was already on his knees in front of her, exploring the new expanse of skin as he shucked off his shirt. “Fuck, Sam,” she whined, one hand grabbing a fistful of his hair as the other barely kept her up. “You don’t have to do any—”

He answered her with a kiss to her inner thigh. “I’ve been wondering what you taste like for years.”

“Oh fuck, Sam,” she answered, leaning back onto her elbow.

His gigantic hands pushed her skirt all the way up to her waist, revelling in the softness of her skin against his calloused hands, as he gripped her by the hips to pull her to the edge of the desk. As she got closer, his lips kissed and nipped along her inner thighs, closer and closer to her core.

She pulled a little harder on his hair, and his cock twitched in response as a groan escaped him.

“Do you like your hair being pulled?”

He nodded against her, not stopping in his noble quest.

“Good to know,” she laughed breathlessly. Then she pulled a little harder on his hair, her blunt fingernails scratching slightly along his scalp.

His left hand left her hips to push and hold her plain cotton panties to the side. His prize in sight, he dove in.

He might’ve lost a chunk of hair when his tongue hit her folds, but that didn’t matter. She was one of the most delicious things he’d ever tasted, and he devoured her like a starving man.

His tongue began exploring, finding every single spot that made her cry out or pull him closer. Finally, his other hand came up to his mouth. He pulled away for a moment to stick his finger in his mouth. He looked up at the flushed woman breathing heavily above him, making eye contact as he suckled on his finger a moment, then pulled it out.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pushed one long finger into her.

She nearly bit through her bottom lip as his slowly worked his finger inside of her. “Fuck me, Sam.”

He smiled. “I’m working on it.”

“No, get your ass up here and fuck me,” she huffed.

“Trust me, we need to get you ready,” he said as he found a spot inside her that made her cry out.

“I don’t care.”

Another finger entered her, and she was still so fucking tight. “I won’t fit unless we get you ready.”

She laughed. “Oh, someone has a high opinion of themselves.”

He flushed slightly. His thumb found her clit and began rubbing it before he continued. “It’s not opinion, it’s fact.”

“You,” she tried to get out. “You’re worrying me now.”

He leaned forward as a third finger slipped inside her (with a little work) and found her clit with his lips.

She screamed. Loudly. Loud enough that, had they been thinking clearly, they might’ve been worried about someone hearing them, even though they knew that the last employee had left them alone hours earlier, when the night had been young.

Instead, however, Sam’s fingers worked inside her as he assaulted her clit and outer lips with his own lips and tongue. She was beginning to taste slightly saltier as sweat began to build on her flushed skin, but that only enhanced her natural flavor in his opinion.

In what felt like no time at all, she was coming all over his fingers, her back arching almost comically. Her hand finally left his hair, needing purchase on the desk.

Sam slipped his fingers out of her, moving to stand up between her legs once more. He sucked his fingers into his mouth once more, getting all of her wetness off of them.

Her pupils were blown, the black almost completely destroying the color in her eyes. She was breathing heavily and looked not unlike the woman on the cover of a dime-store erotic novel.

His fingers, now pretty clean, began unbuttoning her shirt, desperate to reveal more of her skin to him.

Once she came down properly, she began undoing his belt, a cheshire grin settling over her features.

They finished at the same time, then moved on to more important matters. For him, it was getting rid of the light pink bra that was the best wrapping paper he’d ever seen, and, for her, it was pushing his dark slacks down long enough to get a good look at what he was packing.

“H-Holy…” she began when she saw the bulge in his boxers.

Sam grinned. “I told you.”

“Shut up,” Y/N stuck her tongue out at him. “Let’s see if you know what you’re doing with it.”

He practically growled at her challenge, leaning down to kiss at her breasts.

She reached down and grabbed his cock, stroking it roughly from her awkward angle. “Do you want me to—?”

He groaned, resting his head against her sternum as he tried to get himself under control. “That sounds…amazing. But this’ll be over before we start if you do.”

Y/N leaned down, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Well, after all this time, I guess that’d be a disappointment. Maybe…maybe next time?”

“Yes!” He pulled back, looking like an excited puppy. “I, uh, I mean…if you want there to be a next time.”

“Promise me that you’ll stay this adorable, and you’ve got a deal,” she beamed.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief, not realizing that he had been worried about this being a one-time thing. Their lips crashed against each other, trying to not have an inch of space between them.

Her hands once again found Sam’s dick, and they fumbled together until the wide head of him was pushing into her.

She took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to relax enough to let him inside. “Okay, so maybe you weren’t lying. I take it back.”

Sam’s forehead fell against her shoulder and he was currently trying to remember how to breathe like a normal human being. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

They had to go slowly. It was rare that he found a partner that could take him in all the way and he really wanted to do so with Y/N. He gave her all the time in the world that she needed.

After a moment that felt like eternity, his pelvic bone hit hers, and she keened.

“Holy shit,” she laughed. “Didn’t, uh…didn’t think we’d make it.”

He kissed her softly. “Neither did I.”

“Put it on my gravestone: ‘Got all of Sam Winchester's monster cock in me.’”

“I don’t have a monster cock.”

“I beg to differ, Sam,” she breathed out, letting herself fall back onto her elbows. “Holy fuck.”

“You okay?”

She waved him off. “Just, uh…just gimme a minute. I’ll be fine.”

His hands rubbed circles into her hips and he tried really hard not to come.

Finally, she took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Alright, let’s do this.”

“You sure?”

“Sam Winchester, let’s break this desk.”

That was all he needed.

He began with a smooth, slow pace, rolling his hips and pushing in and out of her. She was so unbelievably tight, so warm and wet and he could die a happy man now that he had been inside of her. He was positive that he’d never felt anything better and he wasn’t sure if she was just exceptional or if his own feelings for her made her special.

Her head was thrown back as she panted. Her breasts bounced with every thrust. She looked like a porn star, and nothing was as beautiful as she was right then.

When her legs wrapped around his slim hips and she began pushing back onto him, he stopped. His hands left her hips to disentangle the two of them. “Turn over.”

Y/N pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, but she silently hopped down off of the desk. She turned around, her eyes only leaving him when she physically wouldn’t be able to see him anymore. She then placed her hands down on the desk and stuck her ass out; wiggling her hips back and forth for effect.

Sam groaned and immediately slammed back in her.

She fell to her elbows at the sudden intrusion, gripping tight to the edge of the desk. A cry left her and her head fell forward, nearly touching the dark oak that was holding her up.

He began pounding into her, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her to him. She pushed back against him as best she could, thankful for his help since she was having trouble remembering her own name right at that moment.

The desk creaking under them, sliding ever so slightly on the floor. The scraping sound of wood against laminate filled the room, along with the usual grunts, groans, and wet slapping of skin that comes with a good fucking.

“Damn, Y/N,” he grunted. “You take my cock so good.”

She let out a strangled whine that was probably his name.

“Such a pretty little pussy, so fucking tight. I'm gonna wreck you for everyone else, make you mine.”

“'m yours, Sam, promise.”

Sam felt his balls drawing up tight at her words and he was desperate to satisfy her. His long fingers trailed down to her mound, its travel made easier by the sweat-slicked skin, searching once more for her clit. He fumbled around, losing his place from the vigorous thrusting. Finally, a smaller hand joined his and led him to the right place.

He looked up to see Y/N smiling kindly at him.

Without thinking, his other arm pulled her up and he leaned down, desperate to kiss her.

“Sam,” she panted. “I-I think I—”

“Come for me, Y/N. Need to feel you come.”

She shook her head, struggling with her words. “Need you to-to…with me.”

“I'm right behind you, baby,” he promised. “Just need to see you first, need to feel you come on my cock.”

A few more thrusts, his deft hand working its magic, and she was coming. She fell forward, back onto the desk, arching her back like a cat as she chased every wave of pleasure as it created.

A dozen more thrusts, the fluttering of her walls constricting around him, and Sam joined her over the precipice, filling her with thick ropes of his seed. He barely caught himself before he fell on top of her.

After a moment’s rest, Y/N turned as much as she could with the giant detective almost crushing her. A tired smile crossed her features, which Sam eagerly returned. They shared a quick, awkward kiss before he pushed himself off of her and pulling free from her sated body.

Sam awkwardly tucked himself back into his boxers and pants, which hadn’t gone lower than his knees during this entire encounter. Y/N stood on shaky legs and slipped her now-ruined panties off before pulling down her skirt.

They collected their clothes in absolute silence. They didn’t speak until they were mostly dressed.

Finally, Y/N turned to her boss and giggled. “You look like you went ten rounds against a washing machine.”

He laughed, pulling his bottom lip between his perfect teeth. “Well, I was distracted,” he said as he walked closer to her, his barefeet padding across the laminate floor.

“Oh, really?” her smile got even bigger.

He nodded, leaning down to kiss her softly.

When he pulled away, she stared up at him, taking a deep breath. “Probably not worth noting or anything,” she began. “But I’m in love with you.”

Sam’s smile nearly broke his face in two and he responded by grabbing her face and pulling her back into a searing kiss.

And the next morning, when his desk was suddenly wobbly, he’d deal with a hundred Deans teasing him and regret nothing.

Everything Tags: @carrollmomx3 @raylin19 @spnhybrid @wayward-marvel-and-more @writingbeautifulmen @xfanqirlinq

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 8 years

Text

A Blind Path Home, Part 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: angst, a scene where reader get’s physically harassed.

A/N: A huge thank you to @yourtropegirl & @heyitssilverwolf for beta-ing this first part. You’ve helped so much!

Summary: It started with a blind date. A date you had skipped out on, but fate had led you right to the man you stood up. Steve Rogers, a man small in stature but big in heart. A chance meeting set everything in motion, but decades later when he is unfrozen, he has been told you have died. But when a mission to retrieve Hydra plans turned up some interesting information, Steve’s left to wonder whether you are still alive. Or is this all just false hope?

Masterlist

The air was cold and dampened as the group infiltrated the small Hydra bunker. Their recon mission was to retrieve Hydra’s plans for a new facility that was to be built somewhere in Bulgaria. Steve ordered a quick sweep of the place, each one of them taking a different room. Bucky had gone into the room to the right of him and immediately came face to face with a small- framed man, who threw his hands up in the air. Bucky grabbed him by the throat and pushed him down on a chair. Seeing the man in a Hydra facility only fueled the pent up anger in Bucky. He squeezed his titanium hand tighter around the man's throat, the inner ruthless soldier within him starting to come out.

“Please!” the man croaked out desperately, his hands thrashed against Bucky’s chest. “I-I have vital information.”

Bucky grunted and squeezed harder, "What do you know?" "Y/N Rogers, I know where she is."

The Winter Soldier's eyes went wide as he let the man fall to the ground, watching the man as he rubbed his throat to soothe the bruises that were forming. Bucky yelled out to Steve, who was in another room interrogating a Hydra personnel.

"What it is, Buck?" He called out.

Bucky yelled his name again, his voice weak and tight, the feeling of uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach. Immediately, Steve ran into the room and looked at Bucky’s pale face and the gasping man on the ground. Steve hesitated as he walked closer, afraid Bucky had taken it too far and now was in distress.

"Are you okay?” Steve asked with a look of compassion taking over his normal, stern look.

"Tell him," Bucky growled, looking down at the frightened looking man on the floor. But the man stayed silent, so Bucky grabbed him roughly by the arm and hoisted him up. "Tell him, now." The threat in Bucky voice was all the encouragement the man needed. He cleared his throat and looked up at Steve, opening his mouth to say the words not even Captain America would be prepared for. "I know where your wife is." Steve glared into the man's eyes,chest heaving up and down. "Yeah, I do too," Steve's eyes flickered to his friend’s and back to the man. "She's buried in Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, New York. I bring her favorite flowers to her, purple tulips every Sunday." He does his best to keep his voice from trembling and to mask the pain he felt, the pain that kept him awake almost every night.

"No, she was never buried there," the man stated. "She's alive, you’ve been wasting your Sundays, bringing flowers to an empty grave."

Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder as the he lunged at the man. "Steve," he said calmly, trying to get his friend’s attention. "He's lying!" Steve yelled at Bucky, his hand reaching for the man's throat, but a metal hand held Steve back from the man who was cowering back.

“You go sit in the next room, do not move a damn muscle."

Steve watched as Bucky spoke into his comm, telling Natasha to make sure the man didn’t leave her sight. She questioned why, but Bucky just groaned and told her, "Just do it, we need him." Bucky released his grip from Steve's shoulder and sighed, "What do you think?" "Come on, Buck. He's lying, Y/N is- she's gone," Steve resigned with his eyes closed. He could still picture the day the two of you met, one of Bucky's double dates fiascos back in 1940.

"Chin up, kid," Buck patted Steve's back. "She's going to like you." "I'll be glad if she just doesn't run away," Steve tucked his hands into his trousers pockets. "She's a real fool if she doesn't like you," Bucky smiled at his friend. "Let's go, don't want to keep the girls waiting." "I don't want to do this, Rose," you complained slowing down behind your friend, her brown locks bounced as she halted and turned to you. “Don't you dare back out now, Y/N!”

“I'm sorry, I just can't,” you held up your hands in defeat. “Tell this Bucky guy I'm sorry, his friend too.” You spun around and walked toward the subway. Rose called out your name but you kept walking.

“I'm sorry Steve, she wasn't feeling well,” Rose said sympathetically.

Steve smiled softly and shrugged. “It's not because she saw me, is it?”

“No! Honest! She sends her apologies,” Rose insisted bringing a hand to Steve’s shoulder before looking to Bucky. “We can arrange this for another time.”

Steve watched Bucky’s face drop but quickly recover, “Yeah, sounds good.”

“No, you two go on. I'm going to head home,” Steve urged the pair but Bucky hesitated.

“Sorry Rose, how about tomorrow night? Me and you, doll?”

Rose smiled widely, “It's a date, I better go check on Y/N. See you fellas.”

The two men watched Rose stroll off, Steve smiled to himself, “Y/N’s a nice name.”

“She sounds like a damn fool, if she passed up a date with you. Come on kid, let's go watch a movie.”

You were taking the trash out from the bakery where you worked. It was the last duty of your shift. You wanted to go home, but as soon as you stepped foot in the alley behind the bakery; you knew trouble was brewing. A young man was leaned against the opposite wall, smoking a cigarette. Eyes watched you as you disposed of the trash. You held your breathe, hoping to go unaccosted. Throwing the trash in the bin, you quickly turned to head back through the bakery's back exit, but two pair of hands grabbed at you.

“Come here, beautiful,” the man's voice was deep, gravely, and filled with venom. You tried to scream but he clapped his hand over your mouth. “Oh come on. Be nice.”

He pushed you up against a wall, as you tried to fight him off. You kicked his shins, causing him to jerk back.

“Get away from me!” You screamed edging toward the door, but he lunged at you.

“HEY! LEAVE HER ALONE!”

A man’s voice grabbed your attention, it was a small-framed fella. His fist up in the air, as though he was ready to fight. Your heart dropped, afraid your assailant would hurt the fragile looking man.

“Mind your own business, kid,” the man yelled, moving toward you once again. You stepped backwards into the trash bin, your eyes flickered to the blond man. His eyes were filled with confidence as he stepped toward the other man.

“Leave the lady alone,” he demanded.

“What’s a stick like you going to do?” The man sneered, looking the young opposer up and down.

“You’d be surprised,” he answered with a smirk that angered your attacker.

“You little shit,” he growled as he landed a punch on the blond man’s face. You yelled and jumped on the back of the attacker, trying to pull him away from the young man.

“HEY!” A loud voice had you whipping your head up, a handsome brown haired man ran toward the commotion. He grabbed you off the man and quickly punched the man in the face twice.

“Get the hell out of here, before I call the police!” His voice was strong, filled with anger. You watched as the man scurried away, pushing the blond man out of the way. Immediately you ran to him and cupped his face.

“Are you okay?” your eyebrows furrowed in concern.

His blue eyes looked at you and something clicked inside you, he winced when you touched his bruising cheek.

“Couldn’t be better,” he joked, wincing when you touched his cheek.

“Listen,” you looked over to the brown haired man. “Give me a minute, to get my things. My apartment is a few blocks away, I have a medical kit at home.”

Both men nodded and watched you run into the bakery. You clocked out, grabbed your coat and purse; you were afraid the blond man would be gone, so you smiled when he stood there next to the other man.

“Come on, it’s the least I can do,” you motioned for the two men to follow you., each flanked you at your side.

“Y-you don’t have to,” the blond mumbled.

“Come on Steve, let the pretty lady take care of you,” the brown haired man chuckled. Your eyes flew to the blond man, he gave you a small smile.

“Listen to your smart friend, Steve,” you nudged him lightly. His piercing blue eyes gazed at you, causing warmth to blanket over your body.

Within a few minutes, the three of you were inside your small basement apartment. You told the two men to make themselves at home, while you went to get your kit. Steve looked to his friend, who was walking around the apartment. There were canvases everywhere, beautifully painted. Steve walked over to a canvas that was leaned against the window, it was a portrait of an older woman; her green eyes were bright and her smile soft. Steve’s hand moved toward the painting, his fingers inched from touching it when you walked in.

“It’s still wet,” you smiled at Steve and held up the first aide kit. Bucky stood by as you motioned for Steve to take a seat on the blue couch.

“It’s my mother,” you touched his chin and turned his head slightly. “She passed a few years ago.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You rubbed gently at his cheek and let out a soft sigh, “Thanks, but I don’t wallow. She taught me better.”

He smirked, trying to think of something clever to say, but instead remained silent. You took out a cotton ball and dabbled at the blood on his cheek, he winced and you couldn’t help but laugh. Steve’s eyes moved to his friend, who was looking at his watch.

“Got somewhere to be, Bucky?” he questioned.

Your eyes shoot over to the man standing, “Barnes? Bucky Barnes?”

“Guilty,” he smirked.

“You never called my friend Rose back,” you stated. Steve grinned up at his friend, eager to witness how he would see his way out of this one.

“Well-” he started but you shook your head.

“She was so devastated, she ran into the arms of Todd Johnson,” you placed a small band aide on Steve’s face and closed the kit.

Bucky sighed, “I guess it’s my loss.”

“Well,” you admitted, “It’s probably my fault, I was suppose to go on that double date she had set up with you. But I don’t like blind dates, they make me nervous and insecure.”

Steve’s eyes widen to his friend, who smiled like a big goof.

You looked from Steve to Bucky, “What?”

“You’re Y/N,” Steve spoke softly.

“How did you..”

“I was your blind date,” he confessed quietly, hoping you wouldn’t be disappointed.

You looked to Bucky for confirmation and he gave you a curt nod.

“Wow,” you sighed out loudly and reached out for Steve’s hand. “I’m a damn fool.”

The team was back on the aircraft headed back to the States, after completing the mission. Steve was staring out the window, thinking about the day he had met you. The way you looked at him in your small apartment, it had shaken him to his core. And when you asked if he would like to go on a date, he thought you were kidding. You laughed and told him if he didn’t want to, it was fine. Of course he practically jumped out of his seat and told you that he’d love to take you out. He remembered the walk home after he left your apartment with Bucky, he felt like a million bucks. Like the luckiest man alive and he was, because you had loved him in a way no one ever did, or could. The clouds cleared and he watched the world down below him, wondering if what the man had said was true.That you were out there somewhere alive. Guilt betrayed him, when he thought for a moment how maybe he didn’t want to see you. You’d be at least 99 years old now, would you even know who he was? Could he face you, after all this time? Would you be angry?

“Steve, what should we do? ” Bucky placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know Bucky,” he sighed. “How do we know he’s telling the truth?”

“We don’t, but don’t you think we owe it to Y/N to find out?”

“You were always on her side,” Steve replied trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, well she was cuter than you,” Bucky smacked Steve on the back playfully.

“She was amazing,” Steve whispered out, his eyes locked on the Earth down below. He felt determined then, to find out if you truly were alive somewhere. And even if it meant that he’d only get a small amount of time with you, he’d take anything. If it meant seeing your beautiful face again.

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