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sirowsky · 1 year

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--Judgement--

--Part 2--

Description: Marcus' declaration doesn't take him where he might've expected. So, he now has to try again. Marcus Moreno x Original Female Character named Lucy.

Rating: Mature Warnings: Angst, longing, just very strong emotions, Marcus POV. Word Count: 3100 Author's Masterlist

Link to Part 1

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For a long moment, she merely stares at him. Making him wait, although not deliberately. She carries so much pain, which makes her cautious, needing to shield her heart as much as she can. Plus, she has every reason not to believe his words, after so much time spent being friends, with not one hint ever given to suggest that he might want more. But he does, which is why he waits so patiently.

He doesn’t move, despite how much he wants to pull her into his arms and hold her close where she’ll be safe, and he’ll be able to feel how alive and warm she is. The memories of her too cold skin and unresponsive, heavy limbs will never leave his mind for as long as he lives, but that’s also why he now appreciates her warmth and restored strength so very much.

She meets his eyes without faltering, and he tries to show her only how much he cares for her, how important she is and how deep his affection really goes. But her gaze is still pained. Still so disbelieving. And he doesn’t know what he could possibly say that would help her hear the truth of his words. He can’t make her believe it. She must come to that realization herself, even if it means that he has to step back for now.

However, it doesn’t mean that he can’t continue trying.

“Why don’t we have dinner on Friday,” he suggests, unwilling to let her slip away without committing to seeing him again.

It’s a bit manipulative, perhaps, but he feels like she might need some help to remember that she can always trust Marcus. They used to always have dinner together on Fridays, before the attack. It was their time to hang out, the three of them, and he knows that Missy’s been longing to pick it up again. That she misses her terribly.

“Pizza-night?” she finally asks, confirming that she’s onboard, which makes him smile.

“Absolutely. Why don’t you come to our house this time?” he offers, because he knows that she’s trying to sell her house and that she hasn’t been staying there for the past year.

“Sure, that sounds good,” she tries to smile, but it comes out a little wonky.

“Great. Then I’ll let you get back to work.”

He smiles as he begins to back away, and seeing that seems to put her at ease somehow, because suddenly her smile turns into a real one, although he feels certain that there’s a smidgeon of relief in it as well. As if she really needs him to leave right now. A thought which isn’t all that strange, considering what just happened between them, but it still tugs at his heart to see it.

She needs space. He keeps telling himself that as he heads back to Ops, trying not to let himself consider this a rejection, because it technically wasn’t. Just give her some space, let her come to it on her terms. Don’t panic.

“Hey man, that took forever,” Miracle complains as soon as he steps into the control room again. “So, what’d she say?”

Marcus just stares dumbly at him, because he’s completely forgotten that he actually did have a reason for bothering Lucy in the first place that morning. Seeing the confusion on his face, the other Heroic rolls his eyes in annoyance, and for once, it’s a justified gesture.

“Seriously? You forgot to ask about it? Damned it, Moreno, you were the one who delayed the briefing to go talk to her!”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry… We’ll make do without it.”

“Dude-…”

“Miracle, shut the fuck up!” he cuts him off, a lot more forcibly than he’d intended.

He rarely cusses, and almost never at people, which everyone at HQ knows, and which is why the entire room is suddenly staring at him with nervously darting eyes. Marcus is the leader of the team for a number of reasons, but one of them is that his electromagnetic abilities are sensitive enough that he can vibrate molecules apart for short bursts at a time, making him one of the most powerful supers to ever have lived.

He tries to avoid that level of destruction as much as possible, but when he loses his temper, it can happen against his will. And everyone at HQ knows that too.

“I’m sorry…” he says while trying to calm himself, abruptly wondering if maybe he shouldn’t be working right now at all.

He didn’t think that Lucy’s reaction to his declaration had upset him this much, but clearly, he’s not as serene at heart as he should be for an operation. Closing his eyes, he puts his hands down on the desk before him, leaning heavily on it while he tries to come to his senses and focus on his job. Friday is two days away. He has to be able to work until then.

“Would you please go and ask for the missing data?” he asks Miracle, who can’t help but scoff with irritation.

“You mean, the same data that you just wasted thirty minutes not getting?”

“Yes. Please,” Marcus answers between gritted teeth.

Without another word, his colleague stomps out of the room, and the leader sighs deeply at himself. It’s gonna be a long two days.

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He hasn’t seen Missy this excited about anything in quite a while, and it makes him happy to know that she’s looking forward to spending time with one of her oldest friends again. But the man himself is mostly just nervous. The conversation that Wednesday seems like it happened weeks ago, at this point, and he can’t help but wonder if tonight is simply going to confirm what he’s begun to fear.

That she might just try to pretend that that conversation never happened.

She certainly has every time that he’s run into her at work for these two days. And yeah, it’s probably just because she’s being professional, but he can’t keep from worrying that it might be because she’s trying to turn him down easy. It makes him terribly uneasy, and his daughter can tell. She knows that it’s more than just about having someone over, which doesn’t happen often.

“Did something happen between you two?” she asks while he’s setting the table, and her tone is more concerned than nosy.

“Honestly… I don’t know,” he replies, feeling strangely disoriented about the entire subject.

“How do you mean?” she presses, undoubtedly trying to help him get his thoughts in order before she gets here, but he really doesn’t know how to explain it.

“Uh… I may have… confessed something to her, but I-…” he starts, but then Missy’s sharp intake of breath cuts him off.

“You told her, didn’t you?!” she almost squeals. “You told her that you love her.”

Oddly enough, he’s not at all surprised that she’s picked up on his affection for the woman, what shocks him is hearing how happy it makes her. He can’t think of anything to say, but he also doesn’t get the chance before she’s suddenly running to the kitchen counter, grabbing a plate and throwing three slices of pizza on it before darting off towards the stairs.

“Have fun, dad! I’ll be in my room all night with a movie on!” she calls out while she disappears around the corner, leaving him stunned into silence as he dumbly stares at her now redundant cutlery on the table.

And of course, before he’s even begun to recover, the doorbell rings.

“God damned it, Missy. You were supposed to be my wing woman…” he mutters under his breath while nervously wiping his hands on the seams that run down the sides of his jeans.

On the way to get the door, he needlessly fiddles with his hair and tugs on his dark green shirt, even though it’s already smooth. Get a grip, man. You’ve met her a thousand times before.

“Hey, come on in,” he greets with a smile once the door falls open.

And it’s a good thing he started talking before he’d had a chance to really look at her, because once he does, his tongue goes dry. Not because she’s dressed all fancy, but because she’s wearing a summer dress, something he’s never seen her in before. Not once in over ten years of friendship has he ever seen her in anything but trousers, shorts, or the occasional skirt for a party.

Her preferences at home are soft leggings and big hoodies, or if it’s too warm for that, shorts and well-worn t-shirts or tank tops. For a moment, he wonders how he can remember those kinds of details about her, but then she’s inside and he has to remind himself to close the door behind her before he invites her to the kitchen.

“Uh, have a seat anywhere. Missy ducked out at the last minute, so it’s just the two of us,” he admits, feeling extremely exposed suddenly, so he busies himself with the pizzas that are still sitting on the kitchen counter, allowing him to keep his back to her for a few moments longer.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to seeing her, it’s been a while,” she says, and her voice is soft and steady, not at all as nervous as his own probably is.

“I’m sure she won’t mind you poking your head in later,” he suggests, hoping to keep the conversation flowing because that’s likely the only thing that’s gonna keep his nerves in check tonight.

He brings the plates to the table, having loaded two slices onto each for starters, and before he takes his seat, he goes to the fridge to take out the pitcher of water he put in there earlier. She doesn’t like soda, or any kind of fizzy drink, preferring water or juice to her meals. If he’d had the time after work, he would’ve made her some lemonade. She loves that.

“Thank you,” she smiles at his thoughtfulness, before picking up a slice.

But Marcus is gonna need help to calm his nerves tonight, so he grabs a beer from the fridge too, and then he finally sits down at the rounded little table.

“How’d it go with the whales today?” she asks, knowing that the team had been sent on an emergency call, to rescue an entire pod of beached north Atlantic right whales, while Marcus had stayed behind, monitoring the mission from Ops.

“It went well. They were able to save all of them,” he answers, and then tries to think of something to add to keep the conversation flowing, but his head is filled with nothing but the question that she has yet to answer, and he can’t just barrel right in with that one.

“Oh, good. I’m glad to hear that,” she says between bites, and then seemingly effortlessly jumps to another subject. “Hey, if it’s not too much trouble, I could use your help with something.”

“Helping you is never trouble, Luce,” he warmly admonishes, knowing that he doesn’t need to remind her of how much she’s helped him over the years.

“No, I know, it’s just that I also know you’re a busy guy and I don’t w-…”

“Stop that right now,” he cuts her off, but not harshly. “Just tell me what you need.”

She cocks her head to the side in an expression which means that she’s amused but annoyed. A look that he’s well familiar with.

“I need a new car. And I’m too trusting to trust myself not to let a car salesman talk me into buying something that isn’t right for me.”

“Oh, I can definitely help you with that. Most salesmen get really flustered around Heroics,” he smiles and winks at her, and she huffs a laugh.

“Don’t we all?”

She says it softly, but he can hear nervousness in there, and it makes him wonder if perhaps she’s not at all as relaxed about this evening as she’s making it appear. He could let it pass without remarking on it, but pretending that everything’s fine between them isn’t going to work much longer. So, he decides to let the fake ease fall away, and let her see how nervous he is at just having her there beside him.

“Do I make you flustered?” he asks quietly, knowing how loaded that question is, given what he’s already told her about his feelings.

He just hopes that whatever happens, she’ll leave this house feeling happy.

“Yes…” she admits, just as quietly, but doesn’t offer anything more, and he can’t leave it like that.

He has to know.

“Please, Lucy… Just tell me how you feel. Tell me what you’re thinking. It’s driving me crazy not knowing if I should just let it go, or try harder. I’ll do whatever you want me to, just tell me what that is?” he pleads, unable to hold back any longer, because he really is losing it.

She puts her slice back down on the plate then, and like before, in her office, she suddenly won’t look at him. As though she’s ashamed of something, and he can’t fathom what that could possibly be.

“You’ve been such a good friend to me, Marcus. All these years. I’ve always been able to count on you. But… that’s not why I called you that night,” she starts, and hearing that surprises him.

He doesn’t interrupt, though. No matter how much he wants to beg for the answers, for her to just let him know if he should give up and let his heart break into a million pieces and go hide away for the rest of eternity… he simply waits. Because even now, she needs space. She needs to find the answers on her own and if he pushes, she’ll recoil, and then he might never know.

“Anyone from HQ would’ve reacted to help me, had I called them. But the only number I could see was yours. And that wasn’t because of the trauma or anything that had happened that night. You’re always the one I want to call.”

Trying so hard not to run away with those words, Marcus forcibly reminds himself that she could mean any number of things, that her mind might not at all go in the same direction as his, hearing that. He freezes in his seat, staring at her bowed head, unknowingly holding his breath through the purgatory that is the waiting game.

“Every time I’m sad, or angry, or happy… it’s always you I think of. Your company I wish for. And it always has been, from the very first day I met you… when Maribel was still here.”

The trapped breath falls over his lips in a silent and sort of de-energized huff. All the nervous energy in his body is suddenly just not there anymore, because in those last five words, she’s changed everything, and he’s now struggling to rethink their entire relationship.

The first day they’d met had been over three years before his wife had died. Back when Missy was just a baby. If she’s had romantic feelings towards him from the start, then chances are, she feels undeserving of his affection now, which would explain her shame. But she’s wrong. So utterly wrong…

Because she never did anything. She never once did anything inappropriate, before or after Mirabel. Never made him feel uncomfortable, never even hinted that she might like him as more than a friend. In her infinite kindness, she’s kept every grain of her passion hidden, even when she was broken and had lost hope, trapped in a hospital bed with little chance of making a full recovery.

She’s locked that part of her heart away so completely that even now, when he is the one asking for it, she can’t bring herself to give him her love.

“Lucy…” he beckons, reaching for her hand on the table, and she lets him take it, but she doesn’t raise her head. “Look at me, please.”

When she does, her expression is exactly the same as it was in her office. So filled with pain that it stabs at his chest to see it. Because that pain is her absolute belief in her own inadequacy. The conviction that she can never be good enough. And finally, he sees that it was never about the scars. That it’s her entire being that she feels is ugly, all for a forbidden love that she never had any control over.

“I want your heart. All of it. Set it free and let me have it, and I promise that you will stop feeling like this,” he says, while gently tugging her hand closer.

He feels her fingers tighten around his, and a moment later, her eyes fill with tears. It quickly becomes a torrent of them, but he doesn’t ask her to stop. Instead, he rises to his feet and pulls her up into his arms, holding her firmly against his chest while the pain flees through the ducts in her eyes. And as soon as she begins to still, he pulls back and captures her lips.

In her surprise, she tries to break away, but he doesn’t allow that, because he can’t let her be ruled by her fears this time. The only way that she’s going to accept his love, is if he makes her feel it in a way that her mind can’t rationalize or explain away. So, into that one long kiss, he floods her senses with himself, making her not only feel, but hear, smell and taste only him.

And it works.

It takes only seconds before she succumbs, too desperate to feel something good after all these years of longing, yearning for the impossible, to have any hope of keeping those walls up against this torrent of adoration.

He keeps her mouth too preoccupied with the need to breathe in between kisses throughout that night, for her to have any chance to say it, but she does the next morning.

“I love you.”

Three little words. Simple, yet infinitely complicated. And so beautiful. They’re the first thing he hears as he wakes up with her warm body against his, and it makes him so happy that he wants to dance on the ceiling. But instead, he asks her if she’ll say those words to him every day from now on. If she’ll promise to let her heart stay free and open for him and Missy, forever.

And without hesitation, she agrees.

THE END

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Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

Tags: @startrekkingaroundasgard @deadhumourist @tintinn16 @suttonspuds @tanzthompson @shsoba05 @f0rever15elf @justnat15 @lowlights @spishsstuff @harriedandharassed @i-love-movies @tiffanypooh @chaoticfestninja @insomniamamma @pedrostories @littlemisspascal @bilibiche @hnt-escape

#sirowsky's birthday celebration #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno x orignal female character #marcus moreno x ofc #we can be heroes au #we can be heroes fanficiton #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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the-cult-of-riley · 7 months

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Sleeping With Ghosts (Act One: Chapter Ten)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female OC

[[Masterlist]]

A/N: This chapter has a bit of everything. A pinch of sadness, a dash of Riley family bonding, a heaping of fluff and a generous cup of smut.

Nine Inch Nails - The Fragile

She shines in a world full of ugliness

She matters when everything is meaningless

Fragile, she doesn't see her beauty

She tries to get away

Sometimes it's just that nothing seems worth saving

I can't watch her slip away

I won't let you fall apart

She reads the minds of all the people as they pass her by

Hoping someone can see

If I could fix myself I'd

But it's too late for me

I won't let you fall apart

We'll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide

I'll build a wall and we can keep them on the other side

...but they keep waiting

...and picking

It's something I have to do

(I won't let you fall apart)

I was there, too

(I won't let you fall apart)

Before everything else

(I won't let you fall apart)

I was like you

(I won't let you fall apart)

Simon trudged up Charlotte's steps slowly, certainly not his usual gait when he was on his way to visit her but the reason he was here, what he had to tell her, was weighing him down. He’d been gutted himself when he’d gotten the news that morning and now he had to break the news to her. He wasn't sure if she’d even be bothered or not, although there was a small voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Tommy telling him he was being a twat. Of course she’d be upset. He hadn't really come to terms with it himself which had never happened when he’d gotten the news before. This was different though, his whole life was different now.

He inhaled a deep steadying breath before he knocked, still in his fatigues as he came here straight from base. It was a Thursday and he would usually meet her at work and go back with her, but he’d texted her earlier after he found out he'd be leaving later than normal to tell her he wouldn't be able to make it. The door opened and surprised flit across her face before a beaming smile spread on her lips. The sight was breathtaking and always made his insides feel all wonky, but this time it was accompanied by a deep ache in his chest, a yearning he knew was only going to get worse.

“Simon! What are you doing here?” she asked happily, opening the door to let him in. Little thing was in her pyjamas already which was basically one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Her hair was tossed up in a messy bun, revealing more of that sweet face to him. He looked around, that heavy feeling in his stomach getting worse as she hurried to the kitchen to click the kettle on. Always thinking of him and his comfort, always wanting to take care of him.

“I can't stay, love,” he said regretfully. She turned to face him then, a worried look on her face that felt like a kick to the gut.

“Everything alright?” She asked warily as she toyed with her fingers. He walked over to her, inhaling a deep breath.

“I uh… I'm bein’ deployed again,” he admitted. The pure disappointment that washed over her face made him feel sick. He never wanted to see that look on her face, loathed the fact he was the one to put it there. She caught herself, blinking rapidly before she forced her face to look more neutral, but it was too late. He'd seen it.

“I'm sorry, love. Wasn't supposed to be for another few months but… they need me there,” he added, not that it soothed the burning in his chest. He'd be away from her for far too long and he hated it. They'd only just started to find their feet, didn't even have a fucking label for whatever this was and now he was fucking off overseas.

“Um… how-how long for?” She asked and her voice was smaller than he'd ever heard it. It clenched at his heart and his body moved all on its own. He cupped her cheeks, frowning when she refused to meet his gaze.

“Six months,” he answered. Six months was better than something like a year but it was still a long fucking time to be separated from her. Half a fucking year that he'd miss being with her. 182 days.

He was still cupping her cheeks, giving her nowhere to go, so he saw the hurt that shone behind her eyes as they suddenly became glassy and emotion clogged his throat. She gripped his jumper with her hands, blinking quickly as if to stop her tears from breaking free and he leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against her forehead as he soaked her in.

“When do you leave?” She asked sadly and he swallowed thickly.

“Saturday,” he admitted hesitantly and a deep frown settled on her face.

“Two days?” She lamented and fuck if it didn't hurt. He hated this as much as she did. Usually had more time to prepare for deployment but he'd been called into a meeting earlier that day and told they needed him and his squad back. She pulled away from him, sniffling quickly and his throat tightened feeling like she was pulling away.

“Are you… is this goodbye? Will I not see you ‘til you come back, then? You've probably got things you need to do before you leave,” she murmured, eyes on everything but him as she folded her arms across her chest. It felt like a physical barrier between them and he tried to ignore the pinch in his chest.

“Gonna spend the rest of day with mum and Tommy and that, make sure they're all set for when I’m gone. But then… I’d like to spend tomorrow with you, stay the night. Have to leave early Saturday mornin’ but…” he trailed off uncertainly, eyes watching her carefully as she shifted on her feet. Her blue hues finally landed on him then, a hopeful glint in them.

“Are you sure? You don't have to-” she started, that fucking instinct she had to always put others first, never herself. Always seeing herself as a burden.

“I want to,” he said firmly, giving her no doubt that he wanted to spend his last day and night here in Manchester with her. While her eyes still held a sadness that would haunt him for the rest of his days, a smile lit up her face that felt like a soothing balm to his soul.

“I'd like that,” she admitted, her cheeks tinging pink.

His lips tugged up a little as he pulled her towards him, capturing her lips with his. She melted into him as she always did, her body melding to his perfectly like she was made to fit right against him. Fuck, he was gonna miss this. How the bloody hell was he supposed to survive six months without her? His kiss was slow and tender as he took his time, wanting to memorise every part of her. When he pulled away, she smiled up at him and his heart felt like it was a fish that was out of water, flip flopping around.

“I'll come by here after you've finished work tomorrow, yeah?” He asked, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. She nodded, taking one of his large hands in both of her smaller ones. He watched with rapt interest as she nuzzled it, placing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Made him feel breathless. Made him feel a lot of things.

“I'll see you tomorrow, then,” she murmured, releasing his hand and leaving it feeling cold and bereft.

She walked him to the door like she did every time and he lingered like it was the routine they shared, because it was. He never wanted to leave, especially not now with the heaviness that loomed over them. He had no words so he just placed a sweet kiss to her lips once more, giving her a little smile before he left. His heart felt heavy as he walked down the steps. He'd never been upset with deployment before, it never bothered him. Yet now, he felt like he had ants under his skin as they burrowed deeper and deeper and deeper.

He tried to push it from his mind as he walked to the bus stop. He'd try to make the most of the next day with her, wanted to soak her up in every way possible before he had to leave. He loved his mum and Tommy and Beth, he really did, but not in the way that he found himself missing them too much when he was deployed. This was different though. He missed her already and he’d not even gone yet which only told him he was in for a hellish six months. What if she got bored of waiting for him? What if she decided she didn't want to be tied down to a soldier? What if he came back and she didn't care? What if he came back and she wasn't there? What if something happened to her while he was gone?

His thoughts were rapidly spiralling and he blew out a breath, knuckles turning white as he waited at the bus stop. He needed to get a grip, he needed to get his fucking head on right. He’d do no good to anyone, least of all himself if he went overseas with his head all a jumble. Was likely to get himself killed, or worse, someone else. He just had to trust that stuff would work out in the end. Having faith never came easy to him but it was sheer luck she liked him enough in the first place. He’d just have to show her tomorrow that he was worth sticking around for.

His mum was at Tommy and Beth’s and she was cooking a roast. A tradition they did every time he was going away even if he told her it was fine. Ironically, the first thing he’d done was call his mum when he got news of being deployed out of habit, he knew she worried about him and he didn't want her to so he always tried to break the news as gently as possible to her. So he’d let her fuss over him with a fucking roast even if it wasn’t a Sunday because it helped her keep her sanity.

The food was good as it always was, his mum was a good cook and the conversation was easy. He’d never been a jolly man by any means but with his mum constantly asking him if he was alright every two fucking minutes, he started to realise he needed a better poker face. It was obvious something was bothering him.

“I met someone,” he blurted as they all sat at the dining table after finishing their food. He wasn't sure why he told everyone but as the days wore on, he found himself feeling like a dam was going to burst if he didn’t. It stopped feeling okay to keep Charlotte from people and he had the mighty urge to just confess. He was fucking happy and he wanted people to know.

The table went deathly silent and Tommy, being the only one who already knew, had a shit eating grin on his face. Beth and his mum started talking at once and he could barely make out their questions as they talked over each other excitedly. He felt his face heat up and he groaned, rubbing at his face as he questioned why he didn't just do this on the phone and save himself the embarrassment. He never liked being the centre of attention. His mum grabbed his hand then, so tightly he thought she was about to break his fucking hand.

“Tell us about her!” she urged. He had to admit, despite his discomfort, it was quite lovely seeing that smile on his mum's face. Didn’t happen often and last time had been when she found out she was going to be a grandma. His mouth floundered a little, feeling so uncomfortable and out of place with eyes glued to him like this, but Tommy decided to take one for the team and help him out.

“Her name’s Charlotte and she works at Cafe Metro in town. They’ve been together for… what, like almost two months now?” Tommy asked, his face scrunching up as he tried to do maths. But Simon wasn't focused on the maths of the time he’d known Charlotte, his mind instead honed in to something else he said.

“You knew?!” Beth asked accusingly as she smacked Tommy across the chest harshly and he winced, rubbing it as he pouted at her.

“Baby brother privilege,” he muttered sulkily.

“We’re not together… officially,” Simon admitted, still thinking about Tommy's words. Three pairs of eyes went back to him again then and he squirmed in his seat. Would he learn to just keep his mouth shut? Could it be that he needed his family's support on this? That he’d desperately needed to tell them so they could help him and his inexperience?

“What does that mean? You've not asked her out?” Tommy asked incredulously and Simon felt the tips of his ears burning.

“Oh, Simon, you silly sod,” his mum sighed, patting the hand she’d been gripping.

“Why haven't you asked her?” Beth asked, looking at him like he had three heads.

“I just… I dunno. Things just progressed with us and I never thought to ask. But now I’m fuckin’ off overseas and…” he trailed off, the worry he felt in his chest clearly coming out in his words and he didn’t think he’d ever let anyone see him so vulnerable, including his family.

He feared if he wasn't clear with her about where he stood then she wouldn't be waiting for him when he got back. He wanted her to wait for him, wanted to call her when he got the rare chance to, wanted her to send him letters. He’d often see his comrades getting letters from their partners or spouses, getting little care packages. He wanted that, something that wasn't off his mum, even though he loved the woman.

“Why are you here? You should be spending time with her before you leave!” his mum chided, a frown on her face that took him back to when he’d broken one of her vases as a kid.

“We always have dinner before I go, and I’m spendin’ the day tomorrow with her,” he murmured.

“You should have brought her here! She could have had dinner with us, like a real family,” his mum seemed disappointed and it only made the aching in his chest worse.

“Leave him alone, mum. He's just admitted he hasn’t even asked her out properly, I don't think he’s ready for all that just yet,” Tommy spoke up and Simon shot him a grateful look across the table.

“Well, can we at least meet her when you get back? You've never been interested in relationships before, so I know she must be special. Dont keep her from me,” his mothers voice was pleading and his throat tightened.

“When I get back, yeah? I promise. I’m not keepin’ her from you, just tryin’ to find my feet,” he implored.

He’d always felt like a disappointment to his dear old mum and their relationship had always had a dark cloud looming over them after the childhood he’d had. They both tried to act like it wasn’t there but he knew they both felt it. He didn't like the idea that his mum thought he was purposely keeping his girl from her for whatever reason. Part of him really wanted her to meet his family. She already knew all about them by now, spending countless nights after blowing each other's minds laying in bed and talking about anything and everything. He knew she’d love them and he thought she and Beth would get along nicely. Part of him hoped they’d even become good friends.

Thankfully, after that, the rest of the day and night was spent rather chilled out as they all just spent some quality time together. When he got home, he wondered if he should just turn up to Charlotte’s and spend the night with her, to have more time with her. He knew she wouldn't mind after how she’d acted when he told her he had to go. He didn't though, because he’d started to develop a plan in his mind for the day after, one that would hopefully let her know that this was serious with them. He couldn’t take credit for the plan, it was his mother’s idea, and although he should have been a bit embarrassed that he was taking dating advice of his fucking mum, it seemed like solid advice.

Simon didn't do nerves, it wasn't usually a feeling he was familiar with. Yet here he was, feeling like his nerves were being fried as he paced at the bottom of Charlotte's stairs. He hadn't even had the balls to go up them yet in fear she'd open her door and see him. So he paced in the alley clutching a bouquet of flowers in his hands like a fucking knobhead. He'd bought flowers before, for his mum on her birthday or to cheer her up when she was sick, for Beth when he found out she was expecting. But never for this reason, never for someone who wasn't family.

It had been strange to stand in the florist’s right under her apartment, wondering what she was doing in that moment above him. Made it worse when the man behind the counter seemed to recognize him, making a remark about how he was ‘the fella with the girl upstairs’. He'd tried to hide his embarrassment and just bit the fucking bullet, told the man he was deploying and needed to get flowers for his girl.

Red roses seemed a bit cliche for his liking and if Simon hated anything, it was being cliche. And so he listened to the man's excited rambling as he put together a bespoke bouquet for her. Cost a lot more than he thought flowers would be but that was mostly ‘cause his experience had been buying flowers from fucking Asda. But she was worth it. She was worth more.

And so here he stood clutching a bunch of flowers. Yellow sunflowers, orange roses and some pink, green and yellow flowers he couldn't remember the name of. All he knew was it looked nice and he hoped to fuck she’d like it. The sunflowers felt fitting for her since she was his light, brightening up his dark life from the inside out. It suited her, but he had no idea if she'd like them or not.

After a few calming breaths, he realised he was wasting precious time dawdling out here like this and he stomped up the stairs. His hand hesitated before he knocked firmly, rolling his shoulders and standing up taller. She opened the door and his poor excuse of a heart stuttered in his chest. She looked ethereal. She'd done her hair nicely, half of it up with some bits framing her face. She was wearing a pretty black dress. Not the one she wore the day they met, this one looked cosier, sleeves coming to her elbows and it flared out at her waist before falling to just above her knee. She beamed a smile at him, it somehow becoming brighter as her bright blue eyes landed on the flowers. She looked stunned for a moment, gaping at him like a fish.

“Are those… are they for me?” She asked and it was endearing how she couldn't hide the excitement from her tone. He could only presume her arsehole ex hadn't ever bothered getting her flowers and he told himself he needed to do it more often if it made her this happy.

“Nah… bought ‘em for myself,” he replied dryly and she squinted at him, making him grin before he handed them out to her. She squealed, grabbing them and shoving her face into them.

“I love them! Thank you, Simon,” the smile she gave him was absolutely radiant and if he died right then, he'd be the happiest fucker alive.

She used her free hand to grab his own, pulling him inside and he almost stumbled as it caught him off guard. But then she was running off to the kitchen to put them in water. No vase it seemed, confirming his suspicions that she wasn't used to receiving flowers. She settled with putting them in a large glass. As soon as the plants were well nourished, she moved to put them on her bedside table before bounding over to him like an excited puppy. Before he knew what was happening, her arms were wrapped around his middle in a death grip as she hugged him so tight, he was sure she was going to kill him.

“You like ‘em, love? I didn’t know wha-” his unsure words were cut off as he grunted, being squeezed even harder by her. He had no idea she had the strength in her.

“I love them! They're perfect!” she was positively radiant as she smiled up at him. She released her death grip and leaned up on her tiptoes to steal a kiss. His heart thumped wildly as he kissed her back, feeling her hand bunch into his jumper. He’d worn it because she’d told him she liked this one on him the most. A bloke doesn't forget something like that.

“Somethin’ smells good,” he remarked once his senses came back to him, no longer muted by his anxiety. He glanced into her small kitchen to see pans steaming away and every surface covered.

“Thought I’d cook you a nice meal. I would have done steak but I have no idea how to cook it so…” she trailed off with a sheepish smile and he felt the spark of fondness heat up inside of him. No, it wasn't just fondness was it? It was far more than that.

“Bolognese, yeah?” he asked knowingly, watching as her cheeks turned pink and she nodded. He smiled and took her hand, bringing it to his mouth and placing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Bet I’ll love it,” he murmured and she relaxed, giving him a pretty smile.

“It won't be long, just waiting on the spaghetti,” she informed him before whisking back off into the kitchen area.

He watched as she moved around, stirring in one of the pans before she started getting the plates ready. He couldn't help himself when he walked up behind her, snaking his arms around her. She was so warm and soft and he knew how cold and lonely he was about to be for six months. She hummed, leaning back into him as she continued with her tasks like she didn't have a giant hanging off her. His nose rubbed the side of her face sweetly and the little laugh she let out filled him with an inexplicable warmth.

“I’ll just plate it up if you wanna go put something on tv,” she suggested and he figured it was the polite way of saying piss off and let her get on with it. Maybe not though given how his sweet girl hadn't a mean bone in her body.

He nodded, kissing her cheek before he walked over and plonked onto the couch. This place might as well be a second home to him now and it felt normal for him to relax as he flicked through the channels. There wasn't much on but he found some obscure channel playing I Know What You Did Last Summer. He knew she liked scary movies from that era so he left it on.

She came in not long after and the pair sat next to one another, cushions in their laps with the plates on. He didn't mind not sitting at a table, he never did at home when he ate there anyway. His dining table was pointless, or maybe not completely pointless now he'd found a use for it.

“Fuck, this is good,” he murmured, eating his food eagerly. He knew she wouldn't be a bad cook but he hadn't expected her to be this good. He shouldn't have been too surprised, it was her favourite food after all.

“You really like it or you just saying that?” she asked suspiciously and he watched as she expertly twirled her spaghetti around her fork.

“I love it, Lottie. I’m startin’ to see why it's your favourite,” he answered sincerely. Her face lit up with pure delight, whether at him liking her food or about converting him to bolognese, he didn't know, but he loved that look on her face.

As they ate their food and watched people get murdered on screen, his brain was in overdrive for what he wanted to say to her before the night was over. He wasn't about to confess his love for her, that would be ridiculous. It was still a big step for him though and there was still a chance that rocking the boat was going to blow up in his face, something he really didn't want to happen before he got shipped off. He’d never experienced having his heart broken in that way before and he didn't fancy having to go though that while deployed. When the food was done, Lottie went to grab the plates but he stopped her.

“I’ll do it, love. You cooked,” he said softly, delighting in her little grateful smile as he took the plates to the kitchen. He used the time to try and clear his head, not only cleaning the plates but all the pots and pans and the counter too. Her kitchen was spotless by the time he was done.

“You didn't have to do all that,” she frowned, materialising from seemingly nowhere. Or maybe he’d been too in his own head to notice her come over.

“Wanted to, sweetheart. Like I said, you cooked for us. We’re a team,” he shrugged and her eyes sparkled at his words, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I um… I wanted to talk to you,” he breathed, nerves twisting his stomach in a way that made him feel like the spag bol was about to repeat on him.

“... Okay,” she murmured anxiously, eyes darting all over his face. “Are you… is this where you tell me I won’t be seeing you again or something?” she blurted, a guarded edge to her voice that slapped him across the face.

He blinked at her for a few seconds, wondering what on earth would give her that impression, but then he realised he was being a bit ominous and she had a tendency to think the worst, especially about herself.

“It's not bad, Lottie. I… Let's just sit down, yeah?” he asked, feeling slightly panicked. Her eyes narrowed like she was trying to see inside of his skull, but thankfully she nodded and they both moved to sit back on the couch. He angled his body to face her better and she copied him, chewing on her lower lip so hard he was sure she’d break skin.

“We’ve been doin’... this now for a bit. Almost two months and I…” he trailed off with his thoughts all jumbled up. He tried to pull the words he’d practised all morning from his head but they wouldn't materialise and he cursed himself for being so inept.

“Six months is a long time to be apart and I just… I wanted to… fuckin’ hell,” he growled at himself, shaking his head angrily. He was making a proper tit of himself and she was just watching him like she was sure he was about to explode into a million pieces.

“Simon?” she asked with an unsure tone, blue eyes soft, warm and worried. He needed to just get the fucking words out of his mouth to make her understand.

“I’m yours, yeah? I have been since the moment you sat next to me in that bus stop. And I want… I want you to be mine too,” he admitted shakily, brown eyes big and wide as he blinked at her. He felt like he couldn't tear his eyes away despite being the most vulnerable he’d been with her. She didn't move for more than a second and dread trickled down his spine.

“You want… you want me to be your girlfriend? Like proper girlfriend?” she asked carefully. She sounded like she was convinced she’d gotten it wrong.

“Yeah… if you want,” he swallowed thickly. He could feel his pulse in his neck and he was worried he was about to keel over, but those pretty blue eyes crinkled with the force of her smile. She looked like a kid on Christmas and it was so endearing it made his bones ache.

“So you're my super hot military boyfriend?” she asked cheekily and all his nerves flew right out of the window. He suddenly felt like jelly.

“Guess so,” he snorted, feeling his cheeks heat up. She let out a little happy noise, moving to climb in his lap so fast, he hadn't anticipated it.

His hands flew to her hips instinctively and he let out a surprised moan as she kissed him fiercely. It was far more demanding than what he was used to with her, almost like she was staking her claim and the thought made him hard in seconds. One of his hands dug into the flesh of her arse cheek under her dress, the other smoothing up her back as he pressed her flush against him. A shudder got ripped from him when she raked her nails across his scalp near the nape of his neck and she moaned into the kiss, grinding against him.

She pulled away breathless and he could do little else but look up at her in adoration with her pink cheeks and swollen lips. There was something flickering behind her eyes that he couldn't quite catch but he knew she was up to something. She bit her lower lip, a sly smile creeping on her face as her hands smoothed up inside on his jumper. His muscles jumped under her touch, his skin lighting up with a thousand sparks and she leaned into his ear, her breath tickling him and sending a jolt right to his dick.

“As my boyfriend, I think you should cum inside of me,” she purred and he felt his whole body stiffen. The desire shot through him like a bullet at the idea of filling her up with his cum, the primal possessive part of him snarling at him to do it. His breathing became laboured and she moved away to eye him, a devilish smirk on that angelic face.

“You sure about that?” he asked slowly, watching as her smirk grew.

“I’ve thought about it… a lot. I’m on the pill so we don't need to worry,” she tilted her head, fluttering those long lashes at him like butter wouldn’t fucking melt and he couldn't take it.

“Clothes off and get on the bed,” he growled and her eyes sparkled in delight at the commanding tone he used on her. She was off him in a blink, tugging at her dress and underwear like they'd personally offended her.

Fuckin’ hell, he was worried he won’t last with her being so eager and being able to cum in that tight sweet cunt of hers. He’d be able to claim it, paint it with his cum and mark it as his. He stood up, his cock aching against his jeans before he started to rid himself of his own clothes.

“How do you want me, sir?” she asked sweetly and he groaned, looking at that perfect naked body as she stood waiting for his command. He prowled over to her, stark naked and cock erect and angry for her attention and he cupped her cheek softly, a contrast to the dark and heated look burning behind his dark eyes. His thumb swiped over her cheek as he watched her eyes dart to his weeping cock before back to his face.

“Such a good girl, love. Wanna see your face when I fill you up good,” he praised, his hand spreading out over her stomach.

Her eyes flared, tongue darting out to swipe over her lower lip as she nodded. His whole body felt like it was on fire as she climbed onto her bed, laying on her back. The cheeky minx shot him a sultry smile, spreading her legs for him and giving him a good show of how soaked she already was for him. He almost snarled at the sight and he got on the bed, settling between those ready and willing thighs.

His large hands smoothed up her thighs and then her hips, then her tiny waist before coming back down her body and she arched up, a sweet smile on her face at his touch. She was fucking perfect, lay there waiting for him to fill her up like some dark angel. He was sure she was some kind of goddess or ethereal being and he was more than happy to devote his entire life to worshipping her.

He grabbed his straining cock with one hand, teasing her waiting hole with it and moaning at feeling her with no barrier. He’d fucked her once with no condom but it had been so animalistic, he hadn't had time to really appreciate it and he’d had to pull out to cum. This was different and he planned on taking his time to savour it. His teeth sunk into his lower lip, eyes glued to that drenched cunt as he rubbed himself against her, making her mewl and arch up at him.

“Simon, please,” she whined, too worked up for his teasing. He decided to take pity on her. He pushed the tip in with a strained gasp, eyes almost rolling to the back of his head at how tight, wet and warm she was hugging him. She moaned, wriggling against him as he slowly eased into her. This is where he wanted to spend the rest of his days.

“Feel so good, love,” he moaned, breathing deeply as he tried to calm himself. Didn't need to go off like a teenager.

She hummed softly, reaching out to him and he came willingly. The movement pushed him in deeper as he hovered over her, propped up by one arm as the other grabbed her hip. She kissed him deeply and his tongue massaged hers slowly, tasting her, exploring her, wanting every little bit of her she was willing to give him. The pace he set wasn't slow but not too fast. It was enough for him to really feel her without being a tease. He might have been embarrassed by the needy moans leaving his lips if his brain hadn't been half off to fucking Nirvana from her pussy.

He rested his forehead on hers, their breaths and moans mingling together as he pushed in and out of her thoroughly, making sure she’d feel him for days even after he’d gone. He knew he’d hit that spot inside of her when she almost went cross eyed, head falling back as her body started shaking. God it felt fucking divine how she fluttered around him like that, how soaked she was so he could easily slide in and out of her. She moulded around his cock perfectly like two jigsaw puzzle pieces and he felt the tell tale signs of his orgasm fast approaching.

“You want me to fill you up, Lottie?” he asked roughly, brian half riddled with lust; dopamine, endorphins and oxytocin flooding his system. He needed her to cum first, he couldn’t abide by finishing before her.

“Yes… please, Simon,” she moaned in that perfect high pitch that told him she was right where he wanted her.

He angled his hips just right and she went plummeting over the edge. He watched her face with rapt interest as her eyes rolled back, her mouth open and wide as loud moans got ripped from her. She looked like she was being exorcised with how her back bowed and seeing the state he got her in pushed him right over the edge with her. He muttered a slew of curse words, his brain blanking blissfully as he came hard with a guttural moan. He looked down as he thrust into her roughly a few more times, watching some of his cum leak around his cock. The feeling he felt seeing that was like nothing else. He’d be thinking of that for years to come, be thinking of it overseas while he fucked his hand furiously and missed her.

He pulled out slowly, making her whine and his dark eyes shimmered with delight as he watched his cum seeping out of her cunt. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight and he brought his hands to her, pushing them inside of her and making her gasp. He pulled them out, admiring how slick they were with a mix of their bodily fluids before he hovered over her again. He raised a brow at her, offering his two fingers to her. Her cheeks were dusted with pink as she obediently opened her mouth, making him groan as he slid them into her mouth. She sucked on them greedily with a soft hum, her lashes fluttering shut and he moaned.

Fuck, she was gonna be the death of him. He removed his fingers with a pop before he leaned in and kissed her desperately. He could taste himself on her tongue and it didn't bother him, it stirred something primal inside of him he’d never felt before. A possessiveness like nothing he’d ever quite experienced.

“You're sleepin’ with my cum in you tonight,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. She blinked up lazily at him, her fingers stroking the back of his neck.

“It’ll get on the sheets,” she argued weakly and he smiled wickedly at her.

“I’ll change ‘em in the mornin’,” he replied with a shrug, kissing her lips once more before he moved off her and collapsed beside her. She rolled on her side, wrapping herself around him like she always did.

“That was… really hot,” she murmured shyly as she traced patterns on his chest. He smiled to himself, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Yeah? You like the idea of me claimin’ you that way?” he asked her, feeling tiredness start to take hold. He knew she felt the same when she yawned and snuggled into him more.

“Mhm… I like it when you get possessive,” she admitted and he snorted. He’d have no problem with that. She was his in every sense of the word. She was in his bones, in his blood, in his fucking DNA at this point. She was the air that he breathed, she was the life force that pumped through his veins. He was sure if he didn't have her in his life anymore, he'd cease to exist. These next six months were going to be pure hell and he knew it, but he’d at least have her to cling onto. At seeing her when he came home, of having her back in his arms where she belonged.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc

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priortoallthoughts · 3 years

Text

Don’t Mess With the Commander’s Caf

(or do, because it’s gotten you this far)

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.6k

Pairing: Commander Fox x afab!reader

Warnings: Mild swearing; gets a bit spicy at the end but nothing explicit.

Summary: What is supposed to be a night out at 79s turns into a night in the drunk tank, and the morning starts a startling new relationship with a certain Coruscant Guard Commander. All over a cup of caf.

// [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Masterlist

A night out in Coruscant is never complete for you without going to the clone bar, 79s. You may pre-game somewhere else, but you always end up there, recognizable as one of their regulars. You love the atmosphere, honestly. It’s so jovial, just vode – and weren’t you surprised when you found out that clones spoke a different language with each other – coming to forget the war for a night. Living life as much as they could. You’ve picked up a few words of theirs purely because you hear them so often. Many a curse word too, which are your favorites.

And they were about to be put to good use.

You’re already buzzed and walking with a group of grey-clad troopers that had pulled you into their group when they saw you walking alone. You chat easily with them even though you never met them before. That’s the funny thing about being sociable when you’re sober – you’re even more chatty when you drink. And giggly apparently, considering you couldn’t stop laughing at the mission gone wonky they were telling you about.

When 79s came into view your smile widens. There really is nothing like the neon lights and bass you can already hear resonating from inside. Were there probably millions of places just like in on Coruscant already? Sure. But there isn’t anywhere aside from 79s you could find this kind of ambiance.

There is one downside that pisses you off like no other though.

There’s yelling coming from over by the speeder-way and when you look over, another civilian is getting in the face of a Coruscant guard member. The frown the graces your face feels wrong after laughing so much, but you can’t help it. You pause in your tracks. Usually when you see this kinda shit it deescalates fairly quickly, but this civilian is getting louder and more violent the more the (admittedly nervous acting) guard tried to calm him down.

“Hey.” A hand lands on your shoulder and you look up to see one of your group. “We can’t do anything. The punishment would be too harsh and that civvie chakaar won’t even get a slap on the wrist.”

Your frown turns into a snarl. “You can’t do anything.”

Fishing your flask out of your jacket pocket you take a swig before shoving it into the chest of the closest trooper. The steady click of your heels is the only thing you can hear over the growing volume of yelling.

“Hey! Shabuir in the stupid shirt!” Your own yell interrupts.

You have exactly one second to reconsider things before you think about all the vitriol this jackass is spewing at the guard for nothing. The sound of your fist hitting his face is the most satisfying thing you’ve heard tonight, along with the yelp he lets out when he hits the ground.

“What the kriff is your problem, bitch?!”

“You talking shit about this trooper is my problem!”

He turns towards the guard again and the trooper flinches. “I want her arrested for battery!”

You lean down to grab his collar and shake him out. “Oh, so now you want him to do his job? The one you were just belittling him for? Can’t have it both ways, chakaar!”

“Let go of me!”

You drop him so suddenly that his head cracks against the ground. He scrambles to his feet and points a finger at you. “You’ll regret this! They’re nothing but meat-droids!”

“Say that again, you little pissant. I dare you.” You go to take a step forward but he’s already running away. A hand on your shoulder again makes you look over to the one you defended.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” And he does sound sorry. “I will have to take you in tonight. I… can’t ignore you attacking someone right in front of me.”

You smile at him. “No problem, trooper. Do your job; I don’t want you getting in trouble.” You offer your wrists to him and next thing you know they’re in a pair of binders behind your back and you’re being placed in the back of a speeder.

“A night in the drunk tank should sort you out.”

The smile you give him is blinding, because not only do you know that’s not the proper booking for what you just did, at least you look cute while you’re being taken away.

---

When you wake up in your cell (lucky you’re the only one there) you’re beyond tired and in desperate need of some caf. You can’t function without it in the morning.

There’s a guard member who lets you out not long after you get up. You follow him like a zombie. Presumably he’s leading you out of all the twisting hallways, but you stop short when your nose picks up the distinct smell of caf.

But not just any caf. You know the smell of Death Wish anywhere.

Your favorite.

You follow your nose to a mess hall – sparsely populated but still enough that everyone stops what they’re doing to look at you as you make your way to the caf machines in the back. You’re basically falling asleep as you walk so you don’t notice. Maybe you should care, considering you’re still wearing your clubbing outfit from last night, but no, you don’t actually care.

When you get there you see two different machines. One is labeled with some cheap, generic caf name and the other is simply “Fox’s Starfighter Fuel.”

You grab a flimsi cup and fill it with the second one. No cream. No sugar.

No life, only caf.

You finally notice how deathly quite it is as you take your first sip and turn around. There’s one trooper standing in front of you, helmet tucked under his arm, and the most severe look you’ve ever seen before gracing his features. You look him over with half-lidded eyes, noticing he’s dressed differently than the others, and casually take another sip of caf.

“You must be Fox.”

“Civilians aren’t allowed in this part of the building, who let you in here?”

Still waiting for the caf to kick in, you shrug. “Spent the night in the tank. No one stopped me when I walked in.”

Fox turns to glare at everyone sitting at the tables. They all look down at their food like they weren’t obviously watching and someone starts whistling.

“You need to leave,” he says when he turns back around.

“Can I finish my caf first?” You ask, taking more sips hoping to stall.

He glowers even more. “That’s not even your caf!”

“Shame.” You chug the rest of the still mostly full cup and coughs wrack your chest when you finish. “I think I just burned my esophagus,” you rasp.

“Get out.”

“That’s completely fair.”

You toss your cup in the trash on the way out. Turning the way you were going before you got distracted, you make your way to the exit; no need to bring the wrath of Fox down on you for sticking around. You feel like, once again, you get off light and dont’t want to press your luck. The smile that graces your face as you step outside is probably a strange thing for anyone else to see considering you’re walking out of jail, but you had a good night, and the morning is shaping up to follow suit.

---

The next day you walk into the caf shop you normally stop at on the way to work. The barista behind the counter waves as you walk up. “Your usual, hun?”

“You know me,” you smile brightly, “but, uh, can you make it two?”

Her eyes widen. “I can’t imagine the morning you’re expecting to have!”

You laugh and wave her off. “Nothing bad. I owe someone a cup.”

“You mean someone else drinks this sludge?”

“Imagine my surprise. And it’s not that bad!”

She places two large flimsi cups in front of you. Your hands rub together nervously before you get your thoughts together. “Can I borrow your marker?”

She hands it to you with a raised eyebrow and you quickly scribble a few words on one of the cups. It isn’t a lot, and it completely gives away who you are without having to sign your name, so you hope it’s okay.

“Thanks, gotta run!” You scurry out of the door before the barista can ask anything about what you’re doing.

You aren’t even sure yourself if you were being completely honest. The Coruscant Guard building is a little out of your way from your route to work, but you leave early in the mornings anyway, so you can still make it in time even with the detour. You feel a bit nervous walking in this time. Where did all your confidence from yesterday go?

You flag down the first trooper you see that doesn’t look busy.

“Can you give this to Fox, please?” You hold out the cup for him to take.

He doesn’t.

He only stands there, and you imagine he’s making a face behind his helmet because he doesn’t say anything either.

After a few seconds of silence you lower the cup awkwardly. “Uhh, oh, sorry, am I allowed to bring caf?”

“Why are you bringing the Commander caf?” He finally asks.

You squeeze the cups so much the tops almost pops off. “Fox is a commander?”

“Commander Fox is head of the Coruscant Guard, ma’am.”

The top of your own cup does pop off this time, but nothing spills.

“The entire guard?” You squeak.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Heat is quick to crawl up your face. “Oh stars, I can’t believe I took his caf.” Your internal panic is quickly becoming external as you try not to drop either cup. You hid your face behind one in embarrassment.

“Wait.” The guard member tilts his head. “You’re the one they were talking about yesterday? The girl from the mess hall?”

There’s a few second where nothing but incomprehensible noises come out of your mouth, but you finally get out, “how many people know about that?!”

“It’s made its way around.”

“I’m gonna - kriff - go throw myself off the senate building I swear-“

You’re cut off by the sound of a chuckle and you snap your head up to see the guard member’s shoulders shaking. “So you’re not trying to poison the Commander, huh?”

“No!” You yelp, but quiet down after you see others turn to look at you. “I was just trying to repay the caf I drank! We like the same kind!”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Can you please just give this to him before I die of embarrassment? You’re killing me here!”

He laughs again and finally takes the cup from your shaking hands. “Who should I say it’s from?”

You slap a hand over your face to hide your grimace. “At this point I’d rather not tell you. I want to keep some of my dignity intact,” you mutter.

“Nobody’s dignity is intact here, ma’am.”

“Oh… joy.”

“You best be on your way then.”

He is giving you an out and you’re taking it in full.

“Have a good day,” you say as you turn, the only proof you’ve been there being one guard member and a note on a flimsi cup.

“Sorry for taking your caf yesterday.”

---

One week later you find yourself standing outside of the caf shop, once again with two cups in hand through no fault of your own. It makes you think that maybe another trip to the Coruscant Guard building wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Why waste a perfectly good drink after all?

You pause immediately when you step through the door, because the man you’re looking for is standing across the room talking to someone with a datapad in hand. The decision on whether to interrupt is made for you when the person he’s talking to looks over and spots you.

He waves and Fox finally looks over as well, tilting his head as he does so. You take a deep breath before walking over to them.

“Caf girl!”

You raised your eyebrow at the other trooper. “I really am known around here for that, aren’t I?” You say as you stop in front of them. You have a sneaking suspicion that he is the same one you talked to last week.

“Well you never gave me your name,” he shrugs.

Yeah, it’s him.

Your head snaps to Fox, however, when he addresses you.

“You know my name?”

“Your information was processed and put into the system when you spent the night in the tank.”

“Osik,” you mutter.

“Did you need something?” He asks.

You perk up some, and hold out the second drink in your hand. “Right, there was a mixup at the caf shop, and I got an extra drink. I thought you might like it.”

He takes it carefully, but your bare fingers still brush against his gloved ones. They tingle when you pull away, and while the heat on your palm from holding the hot cup fades, the heat in your fingertips does not. You have the sudden urge to find out what holding his hand feels like, but you push that thought down along with the blush you can feel rising. Now isn’t the time. You have to get to work. Maybe if you come by earlier next time….. would there be a next time?

“Thank you. I… appreciate the thought.” You think you hear him trip over his words, but there’s no way.

You smile brightly at him. “You’re welcome!” You check the time on your chrono. “Looks like I gotta bounce. Enjoy your caf, Commander!”

Your retreat is quick, but hells if you don’t add a little extra sway to your hips as you walk out the doors.

And scribbled on the cup now in Fox’s hand is:

“I know day old caf when I taste it. Fresh is better.”

---

You start to bring Fox caf every week.

“This has become part of my routine, so I hope you don’t mind.”

Every week turns into every few days.

“Your filing system is horrifying but at least your chair is comfy.”

Every few days turns into every day.

“Tell Thorn that if he sees me at 79s tonight, he can’t arrest me just so I’ll hang out with him.”

And leaving early just to see Fox is the best part of your day no matter what. You hope you’re not the only one who feels like this. That maybe as you walk to the Guard building in the morning, you’re not the only one smiling and counting down the minutes until you get to Fox’s office. He never turns you away, and he’s always there to take the extra caf from your hands if he can be. Sometimes you have to leave it on his desk if he’s not in, but you understand that his job isn’t easy by any stretch of the word.

He is in this morning, however, seeing as the door opens promptly at your knock. He sits behind his desk, a few data pads already stacked next to him and a frown marring his face. That won’t do.

“Credit for your thoughts?” You say as you set his caf down next to his helmet and lean against his desk.

Fox looks up and gives you a tired smile, unaware of how it makes your stomach flutter. “Shaping up to be a long day.”

“Giving yourself more grey hairs already?” You say, giving a pointed look to his already greying sides.

“Like I need any more,” he huffs.

“I dunno,” you reach up and run your fingers lightly through his short curls, “I think they make you look distinguished.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t know he had been holding. “At least one of us thinks so.”

“It’s okay, I can like it enough for the both of us.”

“Should I count myself lucky then?” He smirks, finally taking a sip of his caf and sighing contently into the cup.

You give him a cheeky grin. “You should.”

He looks at you then, not saying anything, and you can’t help the flush you feel crawling up your face. You swear, you had never blushed so much around anyone before you met him. You distract yourself by drinking your own caf, the liquid welcome to your suddenly dry mouth.

“I do.”

“What?” Your head snaps back up to him and he’s still looking at you, but not in a way you’ve seen before.

“I do count myself lucky.”

You look away shyly, a small smile forming at the corners of your mouth. Sure, you two have been lightly flirting with each other, or at at least you’re definitely flirting with him, but this is the most straight-forward thing he’s ever said to you.

“It’s a good thing I got myself arrested that night then, isn’t it?”

It’s uncharted territory, where this conversation is heading. The thought of what it could be sits low in your belly and causes you to let out a shakey breath.

“It’s quite the holovid to watch,” he says offhandedly.

You’re lucky you aren’t drinking your caf, otherwise you would have spit it everywhere. You turn your head so hard you think you give yourself whiplash, mouth agape, looking at him in wide-eyed mortification.

“There’s a holo of that?!” The pitch of your voice would be embarrassing if you weren’t in the middle of spontaneously combusting on the inside.

He nods empathetically, which is shit because you know for damn sure he’s not empathetic about it; he’s having too much fun with this. You know he is, with that stupid, heart-stopping smirk playing on his face.

“Our HUDs record each incident for our files to make sure everything matches up with the reports.”

“Nooooooooooooo,” you whine quietly into your hands that now cover your face. You hear him get up and move to stand in front of you, but you don’t react. Mainly because you have no idea what he’s doing, but also he’s so kriffing close you can barely handle it.

His pries your hands from your face and presses them to his desk, effectively caging you in. He’s even closer now, and you’re hyper aware of how hard your heart is pounding even though you stop breathing. It’s the last thing from threatening, but you’re still frozen.

He leans in so his mouth is right next to your ear. “You look good in that little red dress of yours,” he whispers, his voice octaves lower than before. “Especially when you’re beating the kark out of a civvie – standing up for my vod.” It sends a pleasurable shiver down your spine and straight to your ovaries.

You suck in a breath when he pulls away. This is much more than you could have expected. “You’re not giving me much incentive to not be arrested again,” you tilt your head, “now that I know you’d be watching.”

“Always watching you, cyare.”

You hum, pulling one hand away from his to run up his armor and trace lightly over his jaw. “Gonna have to try harder to get a pair of binders on me next time, then.”

“Would you run?”

“Only if you’re the one chasing me.”

You move your hand from his jaw to the back of his neck and scratch lightly, feeling more than seeing him shiver under your fingertips.

“I’d find you.”

“Oh, I’d be counting on it, Commander.”

It’s a mutual surge that leads you two to lean in, culminating in the most charged kiss you’ve ever received. You throw your other hand around his neck, holding him as close as you can, while his hands latch onto your hips, pulling you up and into his embrace. He leads you back until he’s sitting in his chair and the next thing you know you’re falling into his lap to straddle him. You break for air, and to process that yes, this is happening, before you’re kissing again. A little slower; a little deeper.

You moan quietly into his mouth, and his hands move to your ass so he can pull you even closer.

There’s a chime from your chrono and you pull away, panting.

Fox’s eyes are dark and hungry when he looks at you. “You have to go soon.”

You nod, not breaking eye contact, and not moving either.

He grins, and it looks absolutely predatory. He slides the top of your blouse down slowly, just enough for his mouth to latch on to you right above your collarbone. You let out another breathy moan, and his teeth graze your skin in response as he sucks harder. His tongue soothes the area over when he lets go, and he looks at the quickly darkening spot with what you can only assume is possessive pride.

“For you to remember,” he says huskily.

Knowing he’s just staked his claim on you stokes the fire inside you even more. You give him your own feral grin, and pull down the collar of his blacks as he stiffens. “Who am I to allow you to forget, then?”

You suck hard at the column of his throat, higher than he did on you, knowing it would still be covered. You taste the sweat that had been building up, and his skin which you can’t even describe except that it tastes like him.

He groans lowly into your ear and you shiver when you pull away. You drag your nail lightly over the dark bruise in satisfaction before pulling his collar back up.

You slide off his armored thighs slowly. He follows you to stand, and gives you one last, long, kiss.

“Until next time, cyare.”

When you leave his office, you wish you had written something more on his cup than a crudely drawn fox with a smiley face next to it. Tomorrow though, you wonder what you can get away with saying.

“Next time I’m wearing that little red dress, feel free to search me. Who knows what I could be hiding.”

#prior writes #star wars #swtcw #clone wars #the clone wars #commander fox #cc 1010 #commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #afab!reader #coruscant guard #writing #fanfic

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hansensgirl · 4 years

Text

here, kitty kitty.

summary | Your sugar daddy wants his wildest dreams to come to life. You, on the other hand, aren’t really into it.

warnings | Dubcon, dark themes, pet play, Dark!Sebastian Stan, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby relationship, degrading, praise, humiliation, spanking, overstimulation, use of a leash, spanking via a paddle, butt plugs, no this isn’t beastiality; pet play is a kink, she’s not a furry, public sex? (the reader takes her panties off in the car), tail plug, dildos, vibrators, kneeling, cat ears (headband), smut, rough sex, anal play, dacryphilia?, use of a vibrating butt plug, double vaginal, finger sucking, crawling, + more!! this is a dark fic!! if you aren’t comfortable with reading any of these things, then don’t read this fic!! i am not responsible for your media consumption. +18!!!

pairings | Dark!Sugar Daddy!Sebastian Stan x Shy!Reader.

authors note | this is a birthday drabble for the lovely @peachyteabuck. happy birthday bb! i hope your day is amazing, wonderful, special and full of love and happiness!! you’re such an amazing person and friend, and even though i don’t know much about you, i can tell you’re an even more amazing person in real life. happy birthday, ily! also, this is a dark!sebastian stan fic. i am not implying that sebastian would do this, it’s basically an au. it’s fiction, and fiction isn’t real! any hate comments will be deleted and you’ll be kindly blocked, even if you’re a mutual <3 also i am not trying to wipe the existence of alejandra, once again, it’s fiction! it ain’t real. gif credit to my special baby @mypoisonedvine !! ily!

Your dainty fingers flittered over price tags carelessly. Dollar signs filled your eyes, gleaming and glittering with awe and shock. You couldn’t believe yourself. Once upon a time you used to stare at clearance tags over and over, wondering how gravely it would affect your financial situation. Trips to the bank grew frequently and so did the pile of job applications on the wonky kitchen table you owned. You grimaced at the painful memory, there was no way you’d ever be able to go back to that living nightmare. You sighed as you couldn’t find anything you liked in the store. Associates decked down in all black stood in the back of the store, per your sugar daddy’s request. Sebastian Stan, one of the highest paid actors and a complete heartthrob. You remembered how you both had met, you were his waitress at some expensive French restaurant. You were getting an earful from one of his team members and he had swooped in and saved the day. Soon after that came lavish dates and gifts, and eventually the ultimate proposition that changed your life in the blink of an eye.

He made quick work of moving you out of your cardboard box of an apartment and into his regal condo that laid in the Upper Eastside of New York. Your wardrobe was wiped clean with name brands that made your heart flutter. Decadent jewelry was donned as he liked it -- simple, yet elegant. Pearls laid on your clavicle, not too tight yet not too loose. He dressed you himself that day, as he did everyday. He took care of you like a little pet, one that he was very proud of. He stood right behind you, eyes trailing up and down your body as he admired you. You felt shy under his stoic gaze, ducking your head down. “Babydoll, did you see anything you liked?” He asked, placed his hand on the small of your back. You hesitatingly relaxed into it, nervous yet comforted at the same time. He always kept you on your toes. One minute, his hands would be constantly roaming your body, and the next, they’d be gone.

He had done a marvellous job at keeping your relationship private. You knew how paparazzi would camp outside his many residentials, vying for a simple snap of the actor. But he was smart, always one step ahead. “No, Daddy…” You trailed off, your voice no more than a quiet whisper. You were always shy towards him, especially in public. Quite frankly, you were intimidated. And he loved that about you. You always worried that the other workers in the store would judge you, envy you, sneer at you, or even take pictures of you and him. They were paid hush money, a crisp Benjamin would be slipped into their hands discreetly and sometimes along with a ticket to his latest movie or an autograph. An Italian suit framed his body perfectly, slicked back hair and a strong jawline that made your mouth water. It was grey, almost like the muted tones his eyes held in the midst of cerulean. “Poor baby, you want Daddy to choose something for you?” He asked, the name making you whimper.

You nodded timidly, the heat of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks as shame crawled up your body. His large hand came up and rubbed your bottom lip gently, loving the way it had a slight pout to it. “Go to the dressing room, baby.” He decreed, making you nod and walk over to the room that was closed off with velvet curtains. As soon as he heard your footsteps recede farther, his voice boomed around the store. He had heard the workers talking about you, saying degrading things that would undoubtedly make you cry. He was protective, and he wasn’t going to let some measly, ill-mannered people dishearten you. Maybe you did hear their words, that’s why you couldn’t find anything. “I swear to god, I’ll make sure none of you get a proper job for the rest of your lives! You’ll live in your families’ basements and you’ll neve be happy for the rest of your lives. I’ll ruin you all.” He yelled, revelling in the way they all had tears in their eyes. He dismissed them calling the owner to make sure they got fired.

Veins popped out and his face turned red as he desperately tried to calm down. He searched the store for something for his baby, but prevailed with nothing. He stormed to a mirror and smoothed his hair down, checking his suit for wrinkles and swallowed thickly. He walked through the velvet curtains and spotted you sitting on one of the leather ottomans, one leg bouncing with anxiety and your lip between your teeth. You were lost in the deep sea that was your thoughts, not even noticing that your sugar daddy came for you. Strong hands weighed down on your droopy shoulders, squeezing them slightly to disrupt your far too long thought train. “Did you hear anything, baby?” He asked, leaning closer to you. His warm breath fanned against the back of your neck, lips soft against your ear. You furrowed your brows and turned to look at him.

Worry, fury and dominance etched his features. “Hear what?” You asked, pure naivety lacing your tone. Worry morphed into relief, and his frown turned into a small smile. “Nothing, we’re gonna go now. This store is quite -- how must I put it? -- lackluster.” He smiled, ushering you to get up. You followed him like a little puppy, latching onto the bottom sleeve of his suit. The clicking of your heels on the floor were almost in rhythm with your breathing. Long strides managed to keep you up and deep breaths calmed your nerves. You knew anyone could be watching, phones out as they readied to expose you. You could never brace yourself from the sharp teeth of the internet, as they were always ready to tear you both apart. You ducked your head down and cowered behind him as he led you away from the preposterous mall.

He turned around and looked down at you, sternly telling you something. But you don’t pay attention. Instead you chose to ignore him and marvel at the small dog in a stroller. Sure, it was flamboyant in it’s own way, but how could anyone ignore the sight? The dog is a mix between a shih-tzu and something else that you couldn’t quite figure out. You watched as the stroller passed you and headed into the mall, getting lost somewhere in there. “...Are you even listening to me, kitten?” He asked dubiously, raising one of his eyebrows. “Hmm?” You hummed, turning to look at your Daddy. “Sorry, Daddy, there was just a cute dog in a stroller that I saw!” You exclaimed, pouting slightly out of habit. Sebastian took a deep breath before sighing heavily. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried his hardest to not lose his cool.

He had given you a set of rules when your relationship started. They toed at the line of strict and controlling, but after he explained every single kink and reward they were reasonable in your naive, doe-like eyes. You didn’t dare to question them or his authority, knowing that would only end with him engulfing in flames of rage and fury. He had a short temper, one that he had developed over time. Maybe it was the stress and the pressure of his privileged, well-earned life, but you’ll never know. Listening to him was one of those rules, high on the list that he always prioritized over most things. He loathed it when you didn’t listen to him. “I said, go sit and wait in the car. Oh, also, ditch the panties.” He snapped, making you whimper. In the two years of your relationship, you were never fond of his harsh tone. “Yes, Daddy.” You squeaked, walking away to the sleek Jaguar that was parked along with the other luxurious cars. You bit your tongue as you weaved your way through millions of dollars that were on wheels.

You carefully opened the passenger door and sat in the leather seat that had a pink, fluffy blanket covering it. You closed the door and set your small, round, pink Chanel handbag under your seat. Hesitatingly, you reached up your dress and your fingers blindly found your panties. You hooked your thumbs around the lace fabric that was a bit too expensive for your taste. You lifted your lower body up and slowly pulled the fabric down, falling into a jumble at your feet. You struggled to untangle them from your heels, before finally triumphing with a small grunt. You shoved the panties into your purse and bit your lip. Embarrassment gnawed at you as you saw people walking by. But they couldn’t see you at all. The darkly tinted glass was like flimsy armour for you in your eyes. Nobody saw through them, but it still made you feel like you were being watched. Leisurely, you began to get lost in that deep sea of thoughts again.

What would he do? Was he going to take you to another mall? You picked at the ends of your Kate Spade dress. It was fancy, dainty, something a princess would wear once and throw away. It made you look classy and tasteful. Underneath it, though, was a different story. Numerous hickeys, bruises and bite marks littered your skin. The marks made you feel small, submissive and owned. Possessed like a play thing, like his pet. Sebastian loved to see you all marked up, it was like you were his work of art and he was the artist. You shyly spread your legs and felt a sweat beginning to form on your back. Your palms began to sweat too, out of pure nervousness of course. You gripped the seats and sighed, before wiping your hands on the blanket. You looked up and saw Sebastian walking out with two bags in his hands. He clutched the silky handles of the bags and walked in long, harsh strides. A small scowl was on his face, seemingly displeased with the day so far.

He weaved his way through the cars as did you. He harshly opened the door for the driver’s seat as if it wouldn’t cost a fortune to repair. He sat down and sighed, shoving the Tiffany & Co. bag in the backseat. You pouted, feeling the anger radiating off of him like heat. The other bag remained in his hands, but you couldn’t recognize the store name. “Daddy got you a few gifts, okay kitten?” He handed the bag over to you as he spoke. You nodded but didn’t dare to open the bag as he hadn’t given you permission. “Thank you, Daddy!” You giggled, your voice holding innocence He smirked at you and crept his hand up your thigh, slowly but surely. Ring-donned knuckles grazed against your wet folds, bumping up against your swollen, sensitive clit. You let out a whimper at the feeling and slick drooled out of you from his touch.

“Daddy…” You whined, looking down at your lap. “Yeah baby?” He asked, playing dumb to the fact that he was toying with your sensitive pussy. You bit your tongue before you could beg and plead for more. You knew he didn’t like it when you were greedy for more. He pulled his hand away from your pussy and you both admired the way his fingers glistened with your arousal. He shoved the same fingers into your mouth, making you gag and drool. You sucked on them as if you were starved, the sweet yet slightly bitter taste of your slick filling your mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a sounding ‘pop’ that made you giggle. “Good kitten, guess you’re not so dumb after all.” He husked, the mix of praise and degradation making you wetter. He revved the engine of his car and began to pull out of the parking lot, driving ensuite to his Upper Eastside home.

The rumble and vibrations of his car went straight to your pussy, reminding you of the time where he sat you stark-naked on the hood of his car and revved the engine just to tease you. Later that night, he chided and punished you for being a messy little kitten. The vivid, lewd memory made you clench your thighs as you were desperate for some sort of friction. Sebastain’s right hand danced all over your body as his left hand gripped the steering wheel tightly. You both got lucky that afternoon, as rush hour traffic had yet to start. Smoothly, he parked in the private garage that housed some of his other cars. They were all worth more than anything, probably hundreds of thousands of dollars. He led you out of the garage and into the elevator, a sweet jazz tune playing at a low hum that was almost missable. You still held onto the bag that he gifted you and you even dared to try and take a peek inside.

The sparkly tissue hid the gift well from your intrusive, detective eyes. You bounced on your feet as you wondered what it could possibly be. It was slightly heavy, but you partially blamed your weak muscles for that. Sebastian never let you lift a finger when it came to hard work. You barely paid attention to the ding of the elevator as you had reached the floor of his penthouse. Sebastian gently dragged you out, your short steps barely keeping up with his long strides. The click of your heels no longer made a sound as the carpet of the hallways muted them gently. “Now when we get inside, I want you to strip everything and kneel on the floor.” He ordered, voice at a low baritone that made you even wetter. Your noticed that your inner thighs were slightly damp with arousal, your pussy leaking with want.

“Yes, Daddy.” You smiled, easily obeying him. You could already feel the ache in your knees that would come with kneeling on the floor. He opened the door and you swiftly made your way to the bedroom. You swung the door open and was met with the room that you spent most of your time in. Grey hues illuminated under the brightness of the chandelier. You gently kicked your shoes into a corner and quickly shed all your clothes off, gently laying them onto the white divan that was at the feet of your bed. You bit your lip as you wondered whether or not you should take a peak in the bag. But you reminded yourself of the consequences your curiosity always brought you. He knew, he always knew when you let your hands and eyes wandered like tourists in Venice. You hesitatingly set the bag onto the dresser, before clumsily unclasping your pearl necklace. You were out of breath at that point, chest heaving like you had just ran a marathon. You hugged your naked body as you moved back to the divan, kneeling in front of it. On the floor, the fluffy carpet dug into your knees slightly, making you wince.

You looked down at the ground and clasped your hands behind your back. The cool air made goosebumps rise like the dead rising from their graves. Your cunt throbbed with anticipation and neediness, you just couldn’t wait for him. Your heart clamoured wildly as you heard him walk closer to the bedroom, opening the door to be pleased by the sight of you on your knees. “Such a good little kitten.” He praised, loosening the expensive tie around his neck. The blazer of the Armani suit was strewn somewhere in the kitchen and all Sebastian was left with was his dress pants and dress shirt. He rolled his sleeves up as he walked around you, making the hairs on the back of your neck raise. You were undoubtedly nervous for what was about to come. You heard the rustling of the bag from the dresser, the sound reverberating throughout the room. “You’d let Daddy do anything to you, right?” He asked, pulling out the bottle of lube from the bag.

“Of course, Daddy!” You exclaimed, knowing it was another one of his rules. Let daddy do whatever he wants to you. He smirked as he pulled the glittery box out of the bag, carefully setting it down next to the bottle of lube. He grabbed everything else from the bag, leaving only the tissue paper. “Close your eyes, kitten.” He demanded, and you listened easily. You slowled your erratic breaths down and furrowed your eyebrows at a foreign feeling. A headband laid on your head and was tucked behind your ears. Then you felt his hands ghosting around your neck, followed by the feeling of cool leather. Sebastian fastened the collar together and tightened it just enough to have you slightly gasping for air. His hands left your neck and his fingers played with the little bell on the front of the collar.

The sound made you even more confused and lost. But you didn’t dare to open your mouth. “Such a cute little kitten.” He cooed, walking back to the dresser. He hastily opened the box with a loud rip and marvelled at its contents. Headbands, tails, buttplugs, paddles, handcuffs, ball gags, dildo gags, dildos, vibrators, leashes, and nipple clamps of all kinds were at his disposal, all for his little kitten - you. He grabbed the pink leash and unwrapped, it carefully, opening its clasp to attach to your collar. “Now open your eyes, kitten.” He instructed, gripping the leash tightly. You opened your eyes and gasped, panic taking over your body. “Sebastian, what’s this?” You nervously questioned, your bottom lip quivering. The smile on his lips quickly turned into a scowl, as you had broken a rule. Never, ever call him Sebastian. He tugged on the leash harshly, pulling you up. “What the fuck did you just call me?” He growled, clearly in no mood for you to act out.

“S- Sorry, Daddy.” You quickly apologized, terrified of his hell-sent wrath. You hesitatingly reached up to touch the headband. Your eyes went wide as you felt ears that would resemble cat ears. Cat ears, the leash and the collar… You added it all up and gasped as it dawned on you, he was into pet play. “Now listen, kitten. You gotta listen to the rules, and if you don’t listen then I could punish you by ending this little relationship, okay? I know you can’t survive without me, and you should remember that.” He spat, making your throat tighten up with an impending sob. You swallowed it down and nodded, deciding to listen to him. “Good kitten.” He praised, smiling once again. He pushed you down and pulled your ass up into the air, and you let him manhandle you. Your dripping pussy was exposed to him and shame bit you like a snake.

He let go of the leash and walked to the dresser, and for a split second you thought you could have ran away. But as soon as he turned back around, those thoughts went away. The coolness of the lub made you flinch as he poured some onto your ass hole. He carefully spread it around but didn’t bother to warm you up. You shouted when you felt the tip of the tail plug push into your puckered hole. It stretched your ass out painfully and you couldn’t bear the pain. It shot up your spine and made you feel dizzy. You thought you were going to pass out as the large part of the plug forced its way into you. Finally, the excruciating pain stopped increasing. Into died down to a low thrumming and throbbing and soon dwindled into an aching pleasure. You felt full yet empty, which only made you whine pathetically.

“Poor kitten, so desperate for your Daddy, hm?” He snickered, making you shy away from him. Your wetness coated your inner thighs and began to drip from your cunt, the sweet scent of it making him moan. “Before I fuck that tight little pussy of yours, I believe I have to punish you.” He spoke, shrugging his shirt off. You watched from the corner of your eyes as he stripped down to his birthday suit that was always a delectable sight for your eyes only. Your mouth salivated as you saw his large, hard cock in his boxers. You couldn't fight the urge to rub your thighs together at all. The slight friction was euphoric, but it just wasn’t enough. Sebastian picked up the paddle that had the word ‘mine’ engraved on it. He walked back to your bent over form and soothingly rubbed your ass before speaking.

“Count them, and don’t forget to thank me.” He implored, smacking the paddle harshly on your right ass cheek. “One, thank you Daddy.” You squeaked out. He took turns on each cheek, hitting you with the same amount of agonizing strength. Tears streamed down your face as you sobbed after each spank. Your ass was bruised, the word ‘mine’ indented all over it. “Twenty, thank you Daddy!” You whimpered. “You like this, don’t you? Such a good little kitten, all slutty and dripping for your Daddy.” He gently barked, making you nod. His words only added gasoline to the fire that was your shame and arousal. You felt a harsh tug from the leash and suddenly you were on your hands and knees, just like a kitten. Your mascara was leaking, smeared on your face like in those angsty-heartbreak movies.

Sebastian wiped the tears and ruined mascara away, but he only made you l;ook more pathetic than before. He’d love to fuck your beautiful face until you passed out, or to slap your little cheeks until you begged for more. He wanted to break you, to turn you into his little kitten. You gulped down your fear as you waited for what he’d gladly give you next. Your eyes fell to his hard cock, still stuck in its confinement that was his Hugo Boss boxers. They hung right where his intriguing v-line was, the same path that would lead you to your treasure -- his cock. You looked up at him, watching as he sucked his bottom lip between his pearly whites. “Beg for it.” He growled. You knew how much he loved to hear you beg. It made him feel superior, it fed his ego but it made you feel submissive and desperate. But oh, the rewarding praise it would come with was so addictive, like ecstasy.

“Please daddy? I’ll be a good little kitten! I need your big cock daddy, please?” You begged, your voice slightly strained from the screaming and yelling. You looked up at him and unintentionally gave him those puppy eyes that always made him weak in the knees. Glazed over orbs that were slightly sad, begging in their own language that was silence. Sebastian let go of the leash and stalked away from you, keeping his predatory eyes trained on you. You admired the scratches that were stained on his back that your well manicured nails left behind. Just like a kitten. He sits on the bed and crosses his arms, large muscles bulging and the sight makes you whimper -- loudly. You loved the way your small hands would struggle to grip his large biceps as you’d scramble for purchase whilst he’d rail into you.

The phantom feeling of his cock driving in and out of you sparks something inside of you, pushing you into a light, floaty headspace. The loud snap of his fingers made you jump with fear. He pointed at the floor next to him and you furrowed your eyebrows with mystification. You knew he wasn’t going to help you out then, no. You were all on your own. Sebastian raised his eyebrow as he waited for you to crawl towards him, just like how a kitten should. He wasn’t going to help you out, you needed to learn on your own. He longed for you to fully fall into the headspace that would make you all dumb and stupid. He loved to break you, to see you depend on him for everything. “D- Daddy?” You called out, waiting for him to tell you to do something. But he remained as silent as a stone. “Here, kitty, kitty...” The snapping, the pointing, and the waiting… He wanted you to crawl, didn’t he?

You gulped and winced as you put one knee before the other, one hand before the other. You soon met Sebastian's bouncing feet, before looking up at him. All your arousal leaked all over you, and as much as you hated to admit it, the whole thing turned you on even more. The dominance, the degrading, the feeling of needing him, it all made the passionate fire in your abdomen continue to burn. Sebastian turned to face you and ran his thumb across your lips, smearing your saliva around. He pushed his thumb in your mouth and you eagerly sucked on it as if it were his cock. He abruptly pulled it out, making you put. “Nuh uh, none of that.” He chided, feeling his cock stirring in his pants. “Such a good, dumb little kitten. Take daddy’s cock out.” He jeered, and you nearly sobbed. Finally, finally. You swiftly pulled his boxers down, watching as his large cock bounced up and hit his lower abdomen. Thick ropes of pre-cum leaked down the shaft of his cock and you never wanted to suck him off more in your life.

You involuntarily darted your tongue out to lap up all the pre-cum, but a harsh tug on the pink leather leash halted you. “As much as I’d love to stuff your cute, slutty little mouth with my cock, I’m in the mood to fuck you until you’re just a braindead kitten.” He belted, leaving no room for argument or begging. He leans down and captures your lips in a heated, rough kiss. You can barely keep up with the Greek God-esque man. The kiss is dominating; arduous and vehement. His teeth nipped at your wet lips and you whimper into the kiss, only adding gasoline to the fire. He forcefully pushed his tongue into your mouth and you let it explore everywhere. You sucked out it softly, rubbing your thighs together to alleviate the burning ache that just seems to only intensify. He pulled away from you all at once and you felt dizzy. Your lips were throbbing and suddenly you’re thrown onto the bed.

You felt the plug push farther into you -- further shocking you as it already was so deep. It grazed against each and every one of your sensitive spots, making you cry out. It was the kind of pleasure that was also painful, but the kind of pain that made you want to be hurt more and more. You wondered if you were a masochist, if Sebastian had turned you into a masochist. But at that time, that was the least of your worries. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the glint from the glittery box that Sebastian had purchased. He flipped you onto your stomach and slowly pulled the tail out, stroking it every now and then. “Ngh.” You moaned out it was pulled out all the way. Sebastian stared at your gaping hole, wishing he could just stick his cock in you and fuck you into oblivion. He could, but he shouldn’t; not yet at least.

You gripped the sheets tightly, silk slightly slipping from your sweaty hands. A gasp flew past your lips as Sebastian puckered his lips and spat on your puckered hole, before rubbing it in. You fought the need to push your hips back against his thumb, slowly pushing into you. The stretch was just as painful as the plug, your poor ass burning. He pulled his thumb back out before grabbing another plug, one that had a pink tail. He swiftly pushed it in and your eyes rolled back into your skull at the feeling. It wasn’t as painful as before, it was actually pleasurable. You swore you lost your vision for a brief second, and even your breath as well as your morals. Well, you lost your morals a long time ago, to be frank.

You felt him stroke the fluffy part of the tail again, almost trying to soothe you. He fiddled with the base of the plug, trying to find the little nub that was supposed to be there. His fingers flipped it and suddenly the plug began to vibrate. Muted, strong vibrations radiated throughout your ass and up your spine, even reaching to your poor little pussy. You moaned pornographically, bucking your hip involuntarily, humping the air. “Aw, poor little kitten is so needy.” He taunted, even though it was the same case for him. He was harder than anything and it was almost painful. Pre-cum leaked from his aching, silky and dripped down to his swollen balls.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled your hips back towards his and grinded his cock against your dripping pussy. You were so wet that you could smell the slightly bitter scent of your arousal in the air. It was muted, faint, but anybody would have noticed. Sebastian grabbed the base of his cock and bumped the silky, bulbous head of his cock against your clit. You cried out, “Please daddy!” But he only turned up the vibrations and continued to rub the tip against your pearl of nerves. His cock teased your drooling hole, and you just couldn’t take it anymore. “Please fuck me, daddy!” You pleaded. Sebastian sheathed his cock into your wet pussy, impaling you. You wheezed as he slowly bottomed out, his cock slightly grazing your cervix.

You didn’t mind it, though. He stayed still, his cock throbbing inside your core. He reached for the pink hitachi wand and turned it on, pressing it onto your poor little clit. You shrieked at the abrupt amount of pleasure, your hand darting down to where the wand was. You held it in place even though your hands were shaking. Your body held a slight tremor and Sebastian began to pound into your pussy. The sound of skin slapping, both of your moans and the obscene squelching from your pussy filled the room. “Oh fuck!” You yelled, feeling your orgasm building up already. “Fuck, so tight.” Sebastian groaned, thrusting into you even harder. His cock kept nudging against your g-spot, each time making you dizzier.

“D- Daddy… Can I cum? Please?!” You squealed, your voice louder than the banging that came from the bed headboard against the wall. “Fuck- No, hold it.” He growled, before moaning loudly, You clenched around his cock, the pleasure pushing you closer and closer to your release. Sebastian watched as your juices coated his cock, glistening with your arousal. “Please daddy?” You begged, knowing all too well that you might pass out if you don’t cum — at least that’s what it felt like. Your pussy squeezed him with all it’s mine, wetness dripping all over the sheets and you struggled to stop screaming. “Oh!” You gasp as he pushed the plug into you deeper. “Yeah, take in deep in your slutty, tight little pussy. You gonna cum, kitten? Such a good little pet!” He shouted, and you wailed. “Cum, cum all over my cock.” He commanded. The dam inside you broke as you came all over his cock, milking him. “Thank you, Daddy!” You mewled, bucking against his cock.

You babbled dumbly as you soon became overstimulated. Sebastian tugged on your leash and the bell on it rang non-stop. You tried to run away from him, the pleasure becoming too much. But you soon found yourself moving back against his cock, fucking yourself. “Poor kitten, can’t take my cock now even though you fuckin’ begged for it.” He spat, his thrusts growing sloppy. Your pussy spasmed as you came for the second time, your vision becoming darker than usual. You fell against the bed but you didn’t relent your grip on the wand. Your body was on fire, heart clamouring at such a rate that you couldn’t calm it down. “Oh fuck…” He groaned, pulling out of your pussy to stave off his orgasm. Your cum dripped from his cock as he flipped you onto your back and spread your legs wide.

Sebastian plummeted his cock back into your pussy and grabbed the sparkly dildo in the box. Before you could ask him what he was about to do, he slowly pushed the dildo alongside his cock. It wasn’t as big as his cock, no, but it was enough to have you screaming at him to stop. You pushed at his hard chest but he didn’t budge. Instead, he growled at you to stop. “...If you don’t listen then I could punish you by ending this little relationship, okay? I know you can’t survive without me, and you should remember that.” His words echoed in your mind like a memory that you wanted to forget but you were always reminded of it. You both moaned once he stopped pushing the dildo into your stretched out pussy. You were sure that he ruined you for anyone else.

He slowly began to thrust both his cock and the dildo in and out of you. His thrusts were slow but sharp and hard, even though they were slightly sloppy. You came for a third time, your mouth falling open as you let out a silent scream. Tears streamed down your cheeks again and you couldn’t take it anymore. “One more, kitten.” He bargained even though you knew you couldn’t object. His cock and the dildo hitting your g-spot over and over, the butt plug, and the hitachi wand were all too much for you. But they all ruined you over and over, and they all made you cum over and over. “Oh- Oh my god! ‘M gonna cum so fucking hard!” You preened, arching your back off the bed. You unintentionally pressed the hitachi wand harder against your clit, only intensifying your orgasm.

You gushed around Sebastian’s cock as thick, white, hot ropes of cum painted your walls. His cock pulsed in your pussy as he continued to fill you up. Shockwaves were sent throughout your body and you left the conscious world for a few seconds — making a quick trip to heaven. Or hell. Sebastian pulled out and watched as his cum followed both his cock and the dildo. Your sore hole gaped slightly, all fucked out and ruined. He turned the vibrators off and you curled up into a ball. You slowly descended from your powerful high, sighing heavily. You shut your eyes as you ushered Sebastian to cuddle you. But he just chuckled like a sadist. “Oh no kitten, did you think we were done?”

3K notes · View notes

softyoongiionly · 4 years

Text

BlackHeart Bakery

Who says Halloween can’t be romantic?

Pairing: Emo! Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Genre: fluff

A/N: HI OMG IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I love you, I hope you like it. I’m sorry it isn’t longer but, I still can’t wait for you to read it.

-you never imagined that the quirky lil bakery down the street from your university would change your life

-But it did

-“Omg shut up, you’re so dumb.”

-“Rawr xD”

-“Did you just say rawr xD out loud??? That totally defeats the purpose of its existence...”

-“Don’t cite the deep magic to me witch, I was there when it was written.”

-“And now you’re quoting the chronicles of narnia- alright just go back to sleep you big dummy...”

-“Mmm but you married a big dummy so what does that say about you”

-“Jungkook don't spoil it oh my god!”

-“Like they don’t know what’s coming already- spoiler alert losers! I get the girl.”

-“I hate you...”

-“Mm yeah- I love it when you talk dirty to me baby. The last time you said that- we ended up fuc-“

-“Ok! That’s enough! Our story begins...”

-Jungkook’s bakery was quite famous around your city

-If people didn’t come for the gaudy Halloween decorations

-They came for the music

-Exclusively pop punk, if you’re wondering

-It was like 2009 everyday

-Which was comforting, considering the world has gotten a little

-Tricky

-Since then

-But anyways

-If they didn’t come for the music or the decorations

-They came for the AMAZING espresso

-And the spooky themed treats

-But if you’re being honest

-You think the main thing that keeps them coming back

-Is Jungkook

-If his sweeping black hair didn’t get you

-Or the adorable cheeky twinkle in his eyes

-It was the tattoos and the piercings

-He looked like he walked right off of a black veil brides music video set

-He was hot

-This was obvious

-But he didn’t seem to think so

-You had come to the conclusion that he was oblivious

-he shoved his feet into his big black doc martens every morning

-Slipped on his beaded bracelets and studded chokers

-Pulled his fall out boy t-shirt over his

-Massive

-Tattooed

-Biceps

-And just thought hm

-I’m pretty average I guess (lol)

-That’s a direct quote from him btw

-Men truly are hopeless

-Jungkook opened the bakery two years ago

-He had mentioned to you that he had saved up money from his 3 part time jobs to put a down payment on the building

-Which was wedged between a sex shop

-And a thrift store

-And honestly his bakery

-Blackheart Bakery, if you’re being specific

-Fits right in

-Jungkook refuses to hire new staff

-“They won’t do it right.” He whined to you one day

-“One time I tried to hire this guy and he put the sugared googly eyes on the cookie skeletons ALL WRONG”

-“How do you put googly eyes on wrong?” You had giggled

-“you just do- i- See? This is exactly why I can’t hire anyone...”

-You had started chewing on the end of your pencil in the midst of your laughter

-It was an unconscious habit

-And it makes Jungkook shift uncomfortably, his hands moving off of the top of your table

-“Don’t do that...” he had muttered, smirking to himself as he walked back behind the counter

-he did that a lot

-He’d mutter something

-Mildly flirtatious under his breath and then

-Just walk away

-It was quite confusing

-But honestly you had a feeling he was just a filrty person

-You certainly weren’t the only girl he smirked at

-Not that you pay attention

-Ok

-Maybe you do

-Kinda

-Pay attention

-but it’s not your fault!!!!

-You just

-Can’t help but feel a little jealous

-You kiiiiiinda have a little thing for him

-Ok

-Maybe it’s a big thing

-Maybe it’s a massive

-Gigantic

-Towering

-Crush

-But look at him!!!

-You simply couldn’t be blamed

-It was his fault

-Yep

-That’s what you’re going with

-It was Jungkook

-And his tight t shirts

-His ripped jeans

-His dangly earrings

-His tattoos

-His big

-Stupid boots

-Ugh ok

-Focus

-You have work to do

-The whole reason you began coming to Jungkook's cafe was so you -could find a consistent place to study for your exams

-You were in school to become a teacher :)

-And teachers have to study very very hard

-Educating the youth is no easy feat

-Jungkook had asked what you were studying during the first week you arrived at his spooky house of baked goods

-“Oh I’m an education major”

-“Ahh so you’re getting an education about...education.” He concludes

-“I love it.”

-“So meta.”

-“Are they educating you on the disparities between impoverished children and wealthier children?”

-His wide eyes were brimming with genuine curiosity

-You kind of got a kick out of how candid he was about such heavy conversation topics

-“Not as much as they should be but, I’m actually writing a paper on a similar topic right now...”

-This caused a brilliant grin to come over his face

-It was almost blinding really

-And it made your heartbeat all wonky

-“Of course you are. You look smart like that...”

-He had backed away from your table then, seemingly satisfied

-Had you passed the vibe check?

-“I’ll leave you to your paper.” He nodded to your laptop but as he walked away, he pivoted back towards you on and the heel of his combat boot, “welcome to Blackheart Bakery by the way, let me know if I can get you anything.”

-Another brilliant smile is sent your way

-“Thank you.” You had smiled back, sending a tiny wave his way

-Which in turn, made HIS heartbeat all wonky

-You’re cute

-Like really cute

-And despite how often it may seem like his eyes are elsewhere

-They are ALWAYS on you

-Every chance he gets he is glancing your way

-Smirking to himself at how endearing you are

-Brow furrowed

-Lips pouted in concentration

-Completely oblivious to his gaze

-He has to remind himself to look away

-He doesn’t want to be a creep

-“Creepy men deserved to get kicked in the teeth...”

-He’s said this to you before when another patron had made you uncomfortable

-Jungkook kicked him out immediately

-“If you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to kick you in the teeth. One, because I can’t compromise my personal philosophy and two because you’re making my favorite customer uncomfortable.”

-Oh look there goes your heartbeat again

-WONKY

-The guy leaves in an angry rush, flipping Jungkook off in the process

-Saying something about leaving a bad Yelp review

-He doesn’t care tho

-He definitely doesn’t want to be a creep

-You’re just so

-Pretty

-Ugh

-He rolls his eyes at himself behind the espresso bar

-The latte in front of him neglected

-In need of a bit of foam

-“Focus Jeon, she’s just a chick...”

No wait

-“She’s just a woman. A woman who I respect, like I respect all women...”

-He’s been watching a lot of feminist theory on YouTube

-He likes staying educated

-And also fuck the patriarchy

-The man waiting for his drink has arched a brow at this point, wondering if his barista has lost his mind

-“Uhhh medium...” he checks the cup for his awful hand writing, “ghostly toasted marshmallow latte!”

-“Thanks.” The guy mutters, throwing a judging look Jungkook's way

-He gives him a lazy salute as the guy struts away with a briefcase in tow

-“Thaaanks.” Jungkook mocks him, his face scrunching up in annoyance

-Stupid man

-With his stupid briefcase

-As Jungkook is pulling out a batch of cream cheese frosting stuffed pumpkin muffins

-Or as Jungkook calls them

-PUNK-in Muffins

-Movement at the counter catches his eye

-is that

-”oh shit...” He grunts, hastily wiping his hands on his apron and rushing over to the counter

-normally he would meander

-stroll

-or even slump to greet any new guests at this hour

-and by this hour

-he means 45 minutes before closing

-Jungkook’s bakery is open til midnight on weeknights

-9pm on Sundays

-and 3am on Saturdays (for the culture of course, gotta keep it spooky)

-tonight happens to be a Friday night and the person awaiting his assistance is

-you

-”You’re still here?” He gawks, the black polish on his nails glimmering as he punches in a few keys on the register

-You offer him a tired and slightly amused smile, “No. Y/N died around 4:30, you’re speaking to her ghost. Please leave your message after the tone.”

-Jungkook cracks a smile, his palms resting on flat on the counter, “Do ghosts check their voicemails?”

-“Oh of course not but, I will be checking yours because you have access to caffeine.”

-Jungkook laughs

-no...he giggles

-and it’s fucking cute

-but you digress

-“I feel like I should cut you off...this is your 4th latte; I’m pretty sure you’re 80% caffeine at this point...”

-“Noooo, don’t do that.” You whine slumping against the counter, “I just need to finish this one page...”

-He quirks a brow as he scribbles something on your cup, unimpressed with your statement, “You said that three hours ago. I’ll make you another one but I’m not putting an extra shot in.”

-Your face turns up in protest but he click his tongue against his teeth , shaking a manicured finger at you

-“Ah ah- nope. I don’t want to hear it. You either take that or I’m making you a hot chocolate and shutting the buildings power off.”

-With a dramatic sigh, you concede

-“Ugh fine. Here-” You go to hand him your debit card but he shakes his head

-“Put that away.”

-You want to protest but given the fact that he’s made the rules thus far during this interaction, you doubt you’d be able to stop him.

-A smile appears on your face then, appreciative of his generosity

-“Thank you.”

-He merely grins, waving you off before rolling up the sleeves of his black Blink 182 shirt

-as soon as his tattoos are out

-all the moisture leaves your mouth

-you try your hardest not to stare at him

-expertly, he eases the espresso shots into the milk, tongue poking between his lips in concentration

-and you

-being sleep-deprived

-and a little loopy

-decide to

-flirt????????

-if you could even call it that

-which you could but you shouldn’t

-“For the record, when I finally dig my way out of this of mountain of death I’m stuck in, I will definitely take you up on that hot chocolate...”

-Jungkook’s brow quirks at the tone of your voice, his hands suddenly itching with nerves

-was that

-was that flirty?

-should he flirt back?

-“My hot chocolate is legendary. You won’t be disappointed.” His lips display a small grin as he places the lid atop your finished latte, “Also mountain of death is a great name and I WILL be stealing it.”

-You giggle

-again

-“and I WILL be suing you for copyright.”

-He laughs now, wiping up the bit of milk he spilled

-the sinewy muscles in his forearm tensing and untensing

“Good luck getting me to show up to court.”

-and that’s kinda how it was between you and Jungkook

-for like six months

-it was a little bit flirty but never anything to push either over you over the edge.

-and speaking of being on edge

-recently, you had gone from vacationing in your timeshare on the edge

-to signing a 35 year mortgage contract

-4 bedrooms

-2.5 bathrooms

-of pure

-unrelenting

-stress

-you could feel it in the middle of your back

-shoving itself up between your shoulder blades

-your body seemed to ache with it

-the worst part being

-it was Halloween

-You should be out with your friends, having fun

-wearing itchy costumes and drinking sugary drinks

-but instead, your headed towards the bakery to work

-Jungkook was behind the counter, smiling happily at a family dressed like the cast of scooby doo

-from what you could see he was wearing a skeleton onesie

-his jet black hair tousled perfectly above his head

-he looked adorable

-(and hot)

-He notices you instantly, his face turning up in surprise

-you offer up a small wave and head over to your table

-you know he’s going to say something about you being there but

-you don’t really have much of a choice

-this work has to be done

-it takes him a second to spot you but when he does

-he seems to perk up

-his smile brightening as he looks back towards his customer

-as you’re setting everything up, you feel a presence (not the spooky kind) at the end of your table

-it’s Jungkook and he has your regular order in one hand, along with something wrapped in skeleton-patterned parchment paper

-“I know, I know.” You acknowledge before he’s even able to chide you for being here

-He smirks “What are you doing studying on the holiest day of the year??”

-You giggle

-“The holiest day of the year huh?”

-“Of course. Halloween is the one night a year that the homies can dress like total -sluts and no one can say anything about it.”

-This makes you giggle again

-“And you went with slutty skeleton huh? I love it- it’s like as naked as you can possibly get.”

-He chuckles, gesturing to his costume

-His floppy black hair getting in his face

-“Damn right baby.”

-The way he grins tells you the pet name is a joke

-But the deepening of his voice gets to you anyway

-“Thank you for this. I promise I’ll get out of your hair early tonight.”

-“The only thing I’m worried about getting out of my hair is this white spray paint. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

-He’s put a streak of white spray paint in his raven locks

-Why? You’re not certain

-Does it look good on him, like everything else does?

-Absolutely

-Its been a few hours since your night of studying began

-Jungkook’s dropped off two free lattes since you’ve arrived

-As well as a slice of his ‘I write cinnamon not tragedies’ bread

-Which was equally hilarious and delicious

-You caught him glancing over at your table a few times but you didn’t think anything of it

-He’s probably just checking to make sure that no one needs your table

-His bakery is packed most nights but Halloween is a special night at Blackheart Bakery

-He has a trick or treat counter set up with free (homemade) candy

-A photo op complete with a fake haunted house backdrop

-A Halloween playlist

-And a bunch of discounts on his signature lattes and food

-you watch him amongst the chaos

-He is completely unfazed

-He seems elated at the amount of customers he has

-he grins and laughs at something a man dressed like Thor says at his counter

-he seems entirely in his element

-you realize that the denial tactics you’ve been trying out haven’t been working

-because this floppy haired, tattooed, slutty skeleton/baker kind of has a hold on your heart

-you’ve been friends for a long time now

-he always makes sure you’re taken care of

-he always asks if you’re ok

-he always gives you this little grin

-it feels like a secret sometimes

-but maybe it’s been his way of letting you know where he stands

-he’s been bringing you lattes and pastries for months now

-he never charges you full-price

-he always reminds you not to work too hard

-he

-fuck

-he likes you doesn’t he?

-you look back over at the counter to see him bending over and handing a skeleton cookie to a little girl dressed like Captain Marvel

-he laughs at something she says

-his eyes focused entirely on her and whatever she seems to be proclaiming to him

-your heart goes wonky again

-alright

-enough is enough

-you’re doing this

-Jungkook’s done so much of the work thus far

-it’s time for you to seal the deal

-and if he rejects you, well…

-you can just crawl into a hole and never come out again

-easy peasy

-You can feel his eyes on you as you get up to take your place in line

-luckily there isn’t anyone else behind you

-rejection with an audience would certainly be worse

-Jungkook has his witty comment ready for you as you approach the register

-“I know for a fact you haven’t finished your third latte and I’m not making you another one until-“

-“I’m not here for another latte.” You laugh, trying to ignore the thrashing of your heartbeat

-“No? Well, are you finally going to try my Welcome to the Blackened Chicken Parade Burger then? I’ve been asking you for like three weeks…”

-god he’s fucking cute

-“I’m here to ask you out.”

-Jungkook swears he feels his heart stop

-“You’re here to…”

-He repeats the first part of your response as his he didn’t hear you

-his black fingernails anxiously tapping against the countertop

-“I’m here to ask you out- on a date.”

-Jungkooks face seems to go through various stages of confusion before a shy smirk presents itself on his pretty mouth

-“Me? You’re asking me-“ He places a hand on his chest, “-out on a date?”

-“Yes!” You laugh, slapping the counter a bit too hard, your nerves getting the best of you, “Are you down?”

-He shakes his head but his answer contradicts his movements

-“So down, beyond down. There is no one on Earth who is more DOWN than I am. Yes. My answer is yes. 50000% yes.”

-you can’t help the smile on your lips

-“great. So are you free next Friday then?”

-He grins with his teeth this time, nodding emphatically

-“Consider the shop closed.”

-and so it was

-you returned to your table moments later

-feeling on top of the world

-you did it

-you asked Jungkook out

-and he said yes

-and now you

-NOW YOU HAVE A DATE WITH JUNGKOOK

-LOOK AT YOU GO

-TAKING CHARGE

-you try your best to engage with your studies but with Jungkook on your mind

-its really hard

-roughly two hours later, things at the bakery have finally started to slow down

-“Hey uh- Y/N?”

-Jungkook's voice that pulls you out of your studying trance

-he’s standing at the entrance of his back room, waving you over with his hand

-and who are you to deny him?

-you make your way over there, annoyed at the instant increase in your heartrate

-he stands awkwardly to the side and gestures to the boxes on the metal rack

-“I just remembered that I’ve never given you a tour of the place. I give all my regulars a tour of the stockroom and my office and uh-”

-he cuts himself off and clumsily cups your cheek

-he pulls you into a kiss

-a really good kiss

-his lips are so warm

-he smells like cinnamon

-you could literally die happy

-The ridiculous nature of his first attempt to kiss you, makes you giggle into his mouth

-you feel him smile, his hands smushing your cheeks together as he pulls away

-“Ok I lied. There is no tour. I’ve just been watching you focus on your computer for the last two hours and you’re just really fucking cute and-”

-this time, it’s you who cuts him off

-“You better give me an actual tour next time. How else am I going to steal your secret recipes?”

-he scoffs in mock offense

-“Ah ha! So that’s the only reason you asked me out huh? Should I be calling you Plankton instead of Y/N? Ew no wait- that would make me Mr. Krabs and he’s a dirty capitalist...”

-You laugh, “Oooh good point. Guess you’ll just have to be Karen, my computer wife.”

-This makes him laugh now and the sound warms your soul

-“I could live with that- I like your last name better anyways.”

-with another kiss, your adventure with the emo baker of your dreams begins

-It may have been Halloween but it sure felt like Christmas to you

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meetmymouth · 4 years

Note

An angst blurb where y/n caught Harry in a terrible lie and how he tries to fix everything

thank you for the request mwah hope you like this :’)

1.8k below the cut!!!!!

(there might be some typos and stuff like that but i’ll fix them later sorry)

Y/N took a deep breath as she closed the front door behind her. It was Thursday which meant happy hour at the pub near their flat so she was excited for cider after cider and well, to see her friends. Despite feeling drained from the week’s workload and her boss cornering her about the next week’s article, a tired smile appeared on her lips at the thought of letting loose with the people she loved the most.

She took her Adidas trainers off and placed them next to Harry’s Nikes while tying her hair into a messy bun. After doing her ‘after-work’ routine in the bathroom (washing her hands, taking her rings and earrings off...), she made her way towards the stairs that led up to the bedrooms, passing the quiet living room in which the telly showed Nigella on mute.

Since Harry was having time-off from work, she knew he was either in the bathroom or doing something in their bedroom upstairs. Since he wasn’t anywhere to be found downstairs, she made her way up to their bedroom, noting to fix the wonky photo frames on the walls that welcomed her as she took each step. When she came to the last step, she called his name.

“Harry?”

When no one replied, she opened the slightly ajar door to find a tall body sleeping between the covers. As she made her way towards him, she smiled at his lack of clothes and damp hair which caused a dark patch on his pillow.

Taking a look at the digital clock on the bedside table, she patted the area where Harry was laying to make sure she wouldn’t sit on his legs.

“Baby,” she whispered while she gently petted his cheek. She couldn’t help but feel tingly when her palm made contact with his growing scruff.

Harry nuzzled his cheek into Y/N’s palm and slowly opened his eyes which showed he couldn’t have been asleep for more than half an hour.

She smiled at the sleepy boy and gave a kiss to her nose.

“You OK babe?”

“Yeah, just passing time while you’re being a boss ass babe at work” he murmured and lifted himself on the bed, getting closer to her. “Missed youuuu,”

“Missed you more” it was true. Ever since Harry started spending most of his time at her flat since he was taking some time off from recording and meetings, they both became somewhat clingy and needy for each other which- she didn’t even care to be honest.

They were always together. They woke up to each other. They cooked together. They had sex at least twice a day. They touched each other like they were teenagers and they went to sleep after they read their books in bed, side by side. Sometimes she offered to read him if she thought the book was something that would interest him while Harry too loved reading bits from his book because he knew she liked collecting quotes in her notes app.

While she was daydreaming about their routine, Harry got up from the bed and made his way to the wardrobe.

She looked at his pale bum and chuckled.

“Doing squats lately?” she asked, knowing how he kept complaining about his bum getting bigger because he couldn’t stop eating too much carbohydrates (she caught him stealing bread numerous times from the bread bin before bed).

He scoffed as he struggled to put his boxers on and Y/N went to hug him from behind and she kissed his shoulders which were still warm from his nap.

“You’re so cosy. Mmm, look at these broad shoulders. You’re well fit, aren’t you,”

“Yeah, mock me arse and then compliment me shoulders. That won’t work”

She smirked at the way he leaned back on her body and how he stopped trying to get her boxers on as they stayed very low on his hips.

“Why you leaning back on me then huh?” She touched her lips to his left shoulder again and blew a raspberry as he wiggled his shoulders in hopes of breaking free.

He turned and surged forwards, capturing her lips in a needy kiss. As she opened her mouth, he immediately went for her tongue. She chuckled at the spit running down his chin and wiped it off with the palm of her hand.

“Messy”

“I like it messy”

“Yeah you’re such a boy,” she kissed the side of his mouth and they parted.

“You coming with? To the pub?” she asked and watched as he took her beige trousers and a white t-shirt from the wardrobe.

Satisfied with his nod, Y/N placed one last kiss between his shoulder blades and left the room, wanting to take a quick shower before changing into her most comfortable jeans- if there was such thing.

Remembering the forgotten toiletry bag downstairs beside where she threw her bag on the sofa, she left the bathroom without his trousers on and went down the stairs, laughing at Harry who sent her a wink from where he was seated on the bed.

It was nearly seven which left her an hour to get ready. It was fine, she thought and spared a glance at her legs while she walked, noticing the little growing hairs. When she arrived where her makeup bag was, the letters on the coffee table caught her eye.

Piled up letters and parcels weren’t anything unusual for their household though Y/N made sure to open everything in time in case they got anything urgent like bills and stuff like that. Since there was one teared open, she put the makeup bag back and took the rectangular envelope in her hands.

They weren’t a sneaky couple: neither Y/N or Harry ever went through each others’ phones or went behind each others’ backs in any way. Hence why she felt like she could take a look inside the envelope since she didn’t even read the name on it first.

She unfolded the paper which looked like it’s been read before and started reading it herself. It was obviously a legal letter of sorts but she didn’t know much about those so she didn’t care much until she went to put the paper back to where it was that she stopped abruptly. A name caught her eye and she re-opened the paper.

There it was, in bold, both Harry’s and Camille’s full names.

She didn’t know any legal terms but what she’d gathered from the letter was that Harry waiving something something house something something and lots of numbers.

At that moment, Y/N pierced everything together and her body felt like it was on fire.

Harry, her boyfriend of two years, who was also upstairs in their shared bedroom, had paid for Miss Rowe’s Los Angeles mansion.

Now, she didn’t know what her house looked like but according to the numbers on the letter, it wasn’t a simple three bedroom house.

She threw the letter on the sofa and ran upstairs. Part of her was trying to be calm because you know what, she was an adult! That being said, this was massive. Huge! Her boyfriend was paying for her ex girlfriend’s house.

She didn’t care that it was his ex girlfriend. She just hated the fact that he never ever thought of mentioning this to her. Because he knew how crazy it would sound.

“Y/N? It’s nearly seven,” Harry caught her from her shoulders before they came toe to toe.

She shrugged his hands off and took a second before deciding on how to go from there.

Harry watched her with curiosity since she looked like she was holding back an ear piercing scream which- she somehow was. Her mouth was twitching and he could tell that she was grinding her teeth.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” she asked but didn’t stop there:

“No, fuck it. When were you going to tell me how much of a sneaky bastard you were?” she watched as his mouth opened and closed in shock.

“What?”

Y/N wanted to slap herself. She wanted to stump her feet and cry and she wanted to puke.

“You’re a sneaky bastard. You paid for her house?” a sarcastic laugh left her mouth as she kept going.

“You actually paid for her house and you didn’t think of mentioning it to me? I mean, I don’t even give a fuck if you were still friends with her. Or met up with her. You know I’m fine with it. I don’t give a fuck. But paying for her house?”

“Y/N-”

“No. Don’t. This is big, Harry. This is fucked up. You went behind my-”

“It’s not like we’re poor so we won’t have any money left!” his tone matched hers now and it made Y/N angrier.

They were stood in the middle of their corridor, Y/N in nothing but her knickers and the blouse she wore to work today and Harry with only his trousers on.

She felt herself getting sweatier by the second.

“You’re a fucking joke. You think I’m angry because you spent money? I’m not your mother, I don’t care what you spend your money on, you muppet. It’s the fact that you never mentioned this to me. You realise how big this is?” She tried passing his lanky body but he grabbed her arm.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was going to mention it to you, I was waiting for the appropriate time!”

“Appropriate time?! Are you fucking with me? There’s nothing you could say to make this better, just get out of my face. I don’t want to look at you. I’m serious”

“Y/N, please. Just- let’s just sit down and talk-”

She finally went past him, right into the bedroom as she looked for something to cover her bare legs. Harry didn’t make any sound as he possibly waited for her to come out and have a ‘proper’ chat but it wasn’t going to be that easy. She didn’t even want to hear his voice. After she was successfully dressed in a pair of old joggers, she grabbed Harry’s checkered jacket from the rack, opened the door and passed Harry as he followed her like a puppy down the stairs.

His silence spoke volumes; he knew he was guilty so he opt for silently following his girlfriend around as she collected her phone and her bag.

“Where are you going? You know we never leave this house without talking it out!” He finally spoke, his voice cracking a tad.

She scoffed and put her trainers on. As she took the car keys to Harry’s Mercedes, he caught her arm again.

“Leave it, Harry”

“No, look at me,”

“Fucking leave it! Go and have a look at your other documents in case you find another statement that shows how much you paid for her car. Don’t call me”

***

this is SO long for a blurb so i might make a part 2! didn’t proofread but will do later tonight.

send me more blurbs i will write shorter ones i promise lol x

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry x reader #my writing #harrysgucciloafers #harry styles x y/n #harry smut #harry styles writing #ask #anonymous #blurb asks

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clanoffetts · 3 years

Text

Like Real People Do, Part 3

series summary: Kyra Esson, a pilot trying to forget her past, takes Jango Fett up on an offer. It's supposed to be her last hurrah before she settles down, but she can't seem to leave the bounty hunter, no matter how hard they both try.

word count: 2k

warnings: 18+, NSFW. Fluff; Eventual Smut maybe; Slow Burn; uh oh jango catches feelings; Yearning; Dirty Thoughts; ; severe misunderstanding of Slave I’s layout; (M) masturbation

The ship’s hum lulled Kyra to sleep that night and gently brought her out of it the next morning. When she sat up in the cot, her neck was stiff and her back desperately needed to be popped. How the actual fuck did this man sleep here every night? Maybe that’s why he was eager to sleep in the pilot’s seat.

“You awake?” He calls up the ladder.

“Barely,” Kyra calls back, standing and stretching her limbs.

Jango hadn’t been awake long, it seemed, as his voice was gruff and his curly hair was a mess atop his head. “You want one?” He asks as Kyra makes her way down into the main hole. He’s holding up some kind of bread in his hand, and it’s half eaten.

“What is it?”

“Bread.”

Kyra nods. “Sure.”

Jango grabs a pack of something from a crate and a bowl that he fills with water. He rips the packet open with his teeth, and Kyra sucks in a breath, the action hitting her straight in her stomach. She exhales shakily, watching Jango dump the contents of the packet into the bowl.

“Like magic,” he says, watching the powder soak the water until it forms a roll of bread, just like his own. “There you go.”

Kyra bites into it, instantly regretting the size of her bite. “It tastes like nothing.”

“Rather it tastes like nothing than taste like bantha shit,” Jango shrugs.

The rest of the day is boring. Jango isn’t much of a talker, Kyra realizes, and their banter is an exception not a rule for the Mandalorian. Jango had sat silently across the room in his armor, sans helmet, tinkering with something on his workbench.

Jango grunts every time he tightens a bolt, putting all his force into it, making the bolt almost impossible to loosen. And his grunts pry into Kyra’s mind, through the novel she’s trying to read on her ‘pad.

Jango watches her in his peripheral, shifting in her seat while her eyes keep steady on the words in front of her. Her hair isn’t up today, he notices, instead it’s in long black waves down her back, almost reaching the swell of her-

Stop , he brings his attention back to the weapon he’s working on. The damned thing doesn’t even need to be fixed, but he’s never met someone that makes it hard to talk. Usually, it’s a choice for Jango to withdraw, but this woman has him unable . It’s not that she matches him in his banter, at least not in a way he can understand, but it’s her nonchalance. He’s a kriffing Mandalorian, and she didn’t care. It’s the Pamarthe in her, he thinks. That’s what it is. It has to be.

Dinner goes the same. Jango’s teeth rip open two packets at once, and Kyra gulps. Her roll comes out wonky, slightly soggy.

“Here,” Jango says, holding out his. “Have mine, that one looks awful.”

“I’m sure it’s fine-“

“Kyra,” Jango says her name for the first time. “Take mine, it’s the least I can do.”

“You’re letting me stay on your ship and use your bed, the least I can do is eat soggy bread,” she replies, but he still sits across from her, hand out. “Fine.” Their hands brush slightly with the exchange, and both finish their dinner fairly quickly.

The evening is boring, as hyperspace often is, but Jango doesn’t help. He answers questions with short answers, and he doesn’t ask any in return. Finally, Kyra excuses herself.

“Goodnight, Jango,” she says, her voice coasting over his name like no one else’s.

All he can muster is a curt nod.

When Jango steps into the ‘fresher a few hours later, he stares at himself in the small mirror. He examines his skin, where the scars cut deep and where a little bit of bacta could’ve prevented scarring, if he hadn’t been stubborn.

Jango grabs his shirt by the collar, pulling it over his head. His chest is littered with small scratches, too, and his arms, where there aren’t tattoos. The middle of his chest has a bacta bandage on it, right between his pectorals. He’d applied it that morning, hoping it would ease the ache left behind there. He was wrong.

Jango pulls it off quickly, depositing it in a wastebasket. The scar is still pronounced, he knew it would be, he’s never taken care of wounds very well.

The water of the shower is hot, numbing the pain on Jango’s sternum. The water runs down his body, over the curve of his muscles and through the curls of his hair.

Jango’s mind wanders to the woman sleeping in his bunk. She seems to only have the one scar across her left brow, and her porcelain skin was covered in scratches from the sand, but no scars of Jango’s caliber.

He thinks back to her long hair, it looked so soft , reaching the soft curve of her ass while she read. Stop , he scolds himself. But it’s too late, his cock is hardening under the stream of water.

He pushes any thought of Kyra out of his head, You fucking creep, he thinks, and instead pulls disembodied images of women and men from various holoporn videos he’s seen over his years. Jango’s rough hand grasps his cock, tugging fast and hard, trying to get this over with.

Jango hopes his stray groans and swears are covered by the stream of water from the showerhead. “Kriffing hells,” he groans as he comes, the final image that flashes in his head is Kyra, sitting reading in the hold of his ship with that hair of hers down.

“Fucking creep,” Jango tells himself as he washes his release from his hand.

When he steps out of the shower, wrapping his towel around his waist he steps back in front of the mirror. Jango wipes the fog from the mirror, and stares at himself again. He then reaches to a cabinet, pulling another bacta patch and unwrapping it. He lays it across his sternum, pushing gently to get it to stick. Kriffing things aren’t working, he thinks. They said they’ll work and I’ll be able to hunt-

There’s a thud from the front of the ship, and Jango rushes from the ‘fresher. “Are you ok?” He calls up to the bunk.

“Yeah, yeah sorry,” Kyra replies. “Dropped my datapad, sorry.”

She’s in her pajamas, her hair is in a loose braid from the nape of her neck. She’s reaching to the floor from the bunk, grabbing the ‘pad from the floor. “Oh,” Jango says. “Ok.”

Kyra watches him watching her, her eyes wander to the dark hair at his navel, the towel dangerously low. And then she notices the bacta patch. “Are you ok?”

“Hmm?”

“The bacta patch, are you ok?”

He lays a hand over his chest. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Kyra stares at his large hand, covering his toned chest, and tries her hardest to mask it as concern for the bacta patch.

“Good,” she says. “I’m glad.”

It’s awkward for a moment, the two just looking at each other. “Well,” Jango says, turning back. “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Jango.”

Why’d she have to say my kriffing name again, he thinks as he makes his way back to the ‘fresher. Many people don’t say his first name, and if they do, it’s because they’re pleading. Otherwise, he’s just “Fett”. But not to her .

Jango steps into sweatpants and then pulls a matching black t-shirt over his head. He climbs into the cockpit, hissing at the pain in his chest. The chair isn’t comfortable, not to sleep in, and he almost wishes he had taken Kyra up on her offer to sleep in the pilot’s seat instead. Almost.

The next day is much of the same, ration packets distributed and made, small talk avoided by Jango.

“Are you sure you’re alright? If you’re injured you should be sleeping in your own bed,” Kyra says, taking their bowls from breakfast to wash in the kitchenette.

Jango nods. “I’m fine, Kyra, I promise.” Jango is taken by surprise by saying her name, and he can’t see it, but she is too. Her name feels foreign on his tongue, but he likes it. Almost like the first time he tasted a foreign whiskey, but this was better.

“Well then, Jango,” Kyra says, her voice breathier than normal, hoping Jango can’t pick up on it. And in his own frenzy, he doesn’t. “If you change your mind just tell me. No hard feelings.”

Jango says nothing, instead he just watches her. “Why do you do lekku braids everyday?”

“Lekku braids?” “Isn’t that what those are called?” He gestures to the two braids on her head, starting at her forehead and weaving all the way down to the nape of her neck and then some. “Or do you call them something different on Pamarthe?”

“I think I’ve heard them called that before,” she replies, shocked that Jango has entered a talkative mood again. “I’ve never really called them anything. They make my long hair easier to manage, that’s why I like them.”

“Why don’t you just cut it, then?” Jango knew many women who cut their hair short, making life under a helmet easier. It was part of many Mandalorians’ show of discipline.

Kyra shrugs. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes we have to do many things we don’t want to.”

Kyra looks at him. Was he trying to be profound? “Yes,” she agrees. “But I don’t have to. Are you trying to say I’d look better with short hair?”

Jango shakes his head. Kriffing hells, you’ve fumbled it. “No, no, not at all,” he says. “I- I quite like your hair, really. I was just curious, that's all.”

“Mm,” Kyra hums, drying the breakfast bowls trying to make sense of the man sitting behind her.

Jango watches her, her braids swishing with every movement. He tries his hardest to keep his gaze from her thighs in her leggings, and when he can’t he stands, clearing his throat. “I’ll be in the cockpit.”

“Are you sure? We could always hang out a little, you know, and watch a holo. It won’t kill you.”

With you, it might, he thinks. So he pushes himself away. A talent of his, really. “Quite sure.”

He’s back with the short sentences, the curt nods, and the quick turns. Kyra watches him climb up to the cockpit, her brows furrowed. Odd man, she thinks as she makes her way back to a chair, setting up her ‘pad to watch a show.

The whole day is just that, Kyra in the hold watching a holodrama and Jango in the cockpit listening to the holodrama. He wants to go down there, he wants to see the story between the Twi’leki man and the Pantoran woman unfold, their fighting families keeping them apart for the sake of their businesses- Jango feels quite stupid for being so invested, but he is. He’s put his helmet on to listen better, so he can hear every dramatic gasp leave every character’s mouth.

“We’ll land tomorrow at…” he checks a screen, “2100 hours, Pamarthe time.”

“We won’t be landing at 2100 hours,” Kyra says. “I’m not flying into Pamarthe in the dark. Not on a foreign ship.”

“Why?”

“You should do more research,” she tells him. “Pamarthens are very particular on who can land. There are stories of ancient warriors that will come back to attack. And, well, Pamarthe is always ready for their return. It’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“That’s stupid,” Jango says.

Kyra’s face contorts with offense. “Amaxine warriors were very real on Pamarthe. It’s no more stupid than Mandalore exiling Mandalorian-”

“Do not speak about Mandalore,” Jango snaps, his finger pointing at her as she sits in the co-pilot’s seat. “Do not speak about something you do not know.” He stands, retreating down from the cockpit and into the hold.

“Then don’t be a hypocrite and do the same, Fett.”

#kyra esson #jango fett x oc #jango fett fanfiction #jango fett smut

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

Note

Hello, I like it when you write angst, I would like to request a scenario. Chisaki and angel have a daughter, so one day while Chisaki works, his wife and daughter decide to go out because it is a good day. When his wife and daughter go back home, both dead, the author of his death was a leader of a rival yakuza.

Angsty yes, yes, YESSSSSSSS

Warnings: mentions of rape, beating, blood. Carefull. Really. Dont read this was one I detailed.

I blame Law and Order for this.

"Papa!" To anyone else whose saw Chisaki pn that specific moment, they would think that he had an annoyed look towards the little girl running after him. But not even his wife could spot the smile and the fondness at the girl whose attached to his leg.

"Hey brat. Your mother got tired of you already?" He asked in a nonchantly tone but ruffled the dark brow hair his daughter had, messing the pigtails she was wearing as she scolded.

"Papa no! My hair!" She whined as she, with a pout on her lips, took off the hair bows. Giggling at when Chisaki messed her hair with two of his gloved hands now.

"Mama!" She squealed your name out loud while giggling, going to you and being picked up as she showed her tongue to her father who's wonky arched one eyebrow at her childishness.

"Cant anyone of you take a break on getting onto each other's nerves?" You giggled as Yua mumbled in a pout that if her dad attacked then she would do the same.

"You cant complain since she got your attitude." He sighed as if it wa a bother, but you knew exactly how much your husband held pure love and affection towards that little smart little girl.

That's what her name was about...binding love and affection. Chisaki himself chose the name after Yua was born.

"Did you told tell daddy what we are doing today?" You put Yua down as she gasped.

"Girls day!!!" She extended her arms open as Kai only raised an eyebrow again.

"We will go shopping, just that." You giggled "Yua needs some new clothes anyway, and she was begging me to take her to enjoy some new strawberry flavored ice cream or something." You sighed. "Wanna come with us honey?"

"No. Papa cant go, is only girls night mama." Yua spoke nonchantly as you gasped preparing to lecture her but Chisaki beated you on that.

"Can't deny that I was wounded by this brat words but I have work to do anyways." He sighed with crossed arms and closed eyes, opening them a bit when he felt his daughter hug his legs and tugging on his jacket.

"I'm sowwy papa..." her golden eyes locked with his as he sighed and crouched down to flip her forehead, one which she learned that was one of the most affectionate things her father was able to do.

"After lunch I guess you both will be going out then?" He asked with a grunt when he got up as you nodded.

"Nemoto agreed to leave us on the shopping and pick up us both later."

"I will call uncle Nemoto right now." Nefore you or your husband could say something, Yua ran before tripping and falling on the ground... Mumbling insults towards the "Bad dirty floor" before walking away.

"She got my attitude but the rest is all "kai chisaki energy" on my opinion." You giggled as Kai chuffed.

"Wouldn't it be my daughter if she hadn't something from me. At least she knows the importance of cleaning."

"Sure. Threw a fit when Rappa dropped chips on the floor, and I thought she was going to do the same thing as you do with the poor guy."

"... That's my daughter." You laughed at the bit of pride he carried on the sentence as he chuckled and accompanied you to lunch.

"Yua." He called "Come here."

The said girl come in one blink of a eye, asking cutely what was it.

"There." He crouched down to show a a flower she hadn't know of.

"What flower is that Papa?"

"Is a lilie." He twirled the flower on his gloved fingers with boredoom "I gave once a rose to your mother, and now I am giving you this one simply because represents purity of the soul, innocence and intelligence. It is said, therefore, that nothing better than a lily to tell a woman that she is ideal and superior to all others.... So I am giving this one to you." He put the flower on a little box of glass and closed it, using his quirk to prevent close and pressed against the flower to not decay.

"You and your mother are above of all things and people on the world for me." He smirked at the adoration on her little golden eyes as she jumped on him to give him a hug.

"I knew it you loved us!" She squealed when he pinched her to get off of him.

"Go with your mother already you brat." He ruffled her hair with a nonchantly look as Yua stormes off "Hey put that flower on your room dont carry it everywhere you go!"

Soon you entered his office to give him your good byes and wishes of a good day. Begrudily he allowed to a simple kiss, not ever admiring how he usually craved for those as he wished a good day for you as well... jumping on a pile of work and waiting for the hour both of his girls would be back.

"Slow down pumpkin!" You giggled as you walked hand on hand with Yua... well, actually you were being dragged by the little girl.

"The ice cream stand will close mama if we slow down." She looked up at you with the same look Chisaki gave to you when you asked "stupid things" as he said.

"Fine fine." You picked her up with a huff before nuzzling your nose agaisnt her, making her giggle "Straberey flavor huh?"

"Yep!" She nodded "Just like daddy!"

You smiled at sign as she talked politely with the man whose was selling the ice cream.

"My my." You yelped and twirled around, scaring your daughter accidentaly without wanting "Isn't this a pretty sign my boys?"

A man with a tuxedo was surrounded by younger males as you brought your daughter closer to you as she wrapped her arms around your neck, sensing that this was not a start of a good talk.

"Is not everyday we get to see Overhaul's plaything and a failed abortion walking around." You growles at them as Yua clinged to you tighter.

"If you wouldn't mind sir. We are doing nothing to annoy you or your minor gang. So excuse me and let me and my Yua alone, will you?" You give your back to then with a huff, thanking the man and handing the ice cream to your daughter, whose was playing with the little molded flower she had just been gifted by her father.

The man took his cigarette out of his mouth with a huff. The other males staring at him expectantly before he chuckled.

"Get them."

"No master Overhaul. They didn't come back yet."

"Sorry man. Hadn't see them all day."

"Didn't saw (Y/n)-sama neither Yua-chan all day sir."

"I'm sorry master but (Y/n)-sama didn't called me back."

He was almost going crazy. Your phone went straight to the mail. Nemoto hadn't gotten a message for him to pick you up and Yua... Heavens what the hell happened with his wife and girl?

"Chisaki stay calm my boy. Maybe they just are enjoying some time between mother and daughter." Pops tried to calm his sucessor down, trying his nest to not freak out as well at his daughter in law and granddaughter dissapearing.

"(Y/n) is not one to turn off her phone Pops." He got up abruptly and picked his jacket and tossing over his shoulder "I will go look for then, call me if anything old man."

"Will do my boy. If anything I will send some of the guys to look after these two."

With one nod he got out, not caring if it was starting to rain...

"We searched the whole place Chisaki they're not here." Chrono pointed out regretfully as Kai checked his phone at each two minutes.

"If not here then where would these two would have gotten..?" He mumbled under hsi breath while walking. His phone buzzed on hsi pocket and hsi heart skipped a beat at the thought of finally being you to tell him you were okay, that Yua was okay, to hear his little blgirl chip in the phone to tell him about the walk like she usually did despites his scoldings to not interrupt his mother.

Although when he took off the phone of his pocket there was only two messages. One of Mimic and one of Pops.

Mimic

Dont come here dude... for your sake.

Pops

Kid... please come back home.

What the hell happened...?

The moment his car was turning on the street he braked brutally when he saw police cars parked in front of Shie Hassaikai.

"FUCK THAT BITCH KNOCKED ME WHAT WAS THAT K ... Kai ..?" when Chrono recovered from the fright of the friar he was able to see the face of his childhood friend, pale as a ghost.

Not only police cars but he had a car that he would never think of seeing in his life ... a funeral card.

He accidentaly overhauled the door of the car. Ignoring the calls of the cops and hurting one that got in his process where he was walking...

He then saw a black send toilet loaded on a table and another but much smaller ... Pops arrived at him but what he said did not make sense ... he barely knew what to do or look until he saw a little arm outside bag ... dropping something very familiar to him.

The flower he picked up. The lily he gave to his daughter ...

He let out a scary scream that even scared the police after he accidentally overhauled the guard's arm that was preventing him from passing

When he used his quirk to open the two bags and his golden eyes widened on the almost unrecognizable faces of his wife and daughter.

They broke your nose ... you was stabbed and he wanted to vomit when he heard from a coroner that you were raped ... while his poor daughter had her body burned and beaten ... also with evidence of rape.

"NO!" he cried and screamed. an act of despair when using the overhaul to at least try but the guards caught him just when he was going to use touching the dead body of his child and wife.

"LEAVE ME YOUR DISCRAFTS IS MY DAUGHTER AND MY WIFE THERE FOR GOD'S SAKE FUCK-!" He cried as Pops almost begged him to calm down while the coroners took the bodies to the funeral van and closed the doors.

The screams and cries echoing of Overhaul were able to even leave each policeman, hero dying the death of a mother and child.

He was sitted with his head in his hands, eyes still wide open as Pops talked with the officer.

"We will do our best to discover whose were responsible for-"

"WHAT FOR SINCE NONE OF YOU DO SHIT ON YOUR LIFES?!" he punched the wall behind him as he glared daggers at the young hero.

"Forgive my-"

"NO. DONT "forgive my son" BULLSHIT POPS! I WILL FIND MYSELF THE RESPONSIBLES AND THEY WILL FUCKING PAY FOR EVEN TOUCHING ONE FINGER ON MY WIFE! MY DAUGHTER! MY FAMILY!"

Nd with that he stormed out of the room...

He stood on a pile of blood soaked floor with bodies around him... the fluid of the bastards dripping from his hands and face... he panted tiredly as he kicked with enough force, to send the mafia boss's head flying to the wall of the place.

He brought his hands to see the mess he had made... sobs got stuck on his throat. Flashbacks of his daughter and wife's smiles and laughter.

His throat was sore... yet he didn't cared anymore when he shouted until he had no voice anymore...

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki kai #overhaul #bnha villain #bnha villains #bnha villains x reader #bnha characters x villains #zuffer writings #bnha fanfiction

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peterspideyy · 4 years

Text

chapter 1 | safe

series masterlist

————

newt sat up, inhaling as much air as he could manage, as his eyes shot open. he felt a pain soar through his body, causing him to groan at the feeling. his ears rang with each heavy beat of his heart, as he allowed himself to look around and gather his bearings.

he was in a hut of some sort. it was old and basic. an oak table, with two chairs tucked underneath it. dusty windows, causing newt to hardly see anything out of it. a vase on the window sill, with dead flowers in it. there’s a cupboard above a sink in the corner, with the door broken off the hinges, causing newt just to see half of a blue box, with the letters ‘cd’ on it. wooden walls decaying surrounded him, with parts of it broken, allowing newt just the chance to see through the tiny cracks.

he saw the scorch. he could recognise that dreadful sand from a mile away. he still remembers that walk to the right arm, like the back of his hand. and how thomas said-

newt gasped.

thomas. minho. gally. frypan.

where was his friends?

and then, all the memories of that night came back.

he was dead. a knife was plunged in his chest. he still remembers the excruciating pain he felt, yet he still smiled at his tommy, before all the life was drained out of him. they must of left him to burn as the last city crumbled down. he doesn’t feel angry at them, for leaving him. he would of done the same. it would of been extra baggage.

but, if he was dead, then why is he alive? he can see the room he is in. he can hear the distant winds of the scorch. he can feel the hard floor beneath him. he wouldn’t of been able to do that, if he was bloody dead.

newt looked down, brining his hands up into his vision. as well as noticing how clean they were, the veins were gone. he scrambled his t-shirt sleeve up, to see his infected scar- gone. it was like it never existed in the first place.

“what the...” newt thought to himself, looking at his other arm, remembering the dark veins covering it, but instead saw his own skin starring back at him.

what happened to him?

suddenly, the front door slammed open, causing the british boy to jump to his feet, but he instantly regretted that thanks to the thumping pain in his brain, as all the blood rushed to his head. but, he stopped wincing, as a figure walked into the hut.

newt immediately noticed the rifle, leaning on there left shoulder. the person stood still, just starring at the quivering boy, before walking into the light. the woman was a bit taller than newt but looked around the same age as him, with dark brown hair, tied messily into a pony tail. some strands still fell in front of her face though, hiding her hazel eyes and blank expression. but, she suddenly chuckled slightly, walking to the table, throwing the gun on top of it, causing a loud bang that made newt flinch.

“thought you would never wake up.” she spoke, still not turning to face newt, as she placed a bullet onto the side. her voice was petite, that surprised newt a lot.

“well,” newt coughed, clearing his through, “well, i-i have now.”

she turned to face him, “no shit.”

newt gulped.

“got a name?” she inquired.

“newt.”

she raised her eyebrows, “newt?”

he nodded.

after a couple minutes of silence passed, and as newt watched the woman put the rifle away, he cleared his through again.

“what‘s...your name?”

“doesn’t matter,” she walked towards him, “what matters is that you get out of my house.”

“what?”

“you heard me.” she sighed, walking away to open the door, gesturing for him to walk through it.

newt couldn’t leave now. he needed answers.

“no, i’m not going.”

“what?!” she shouted, eyes wide.

“the last thing i remember, is me dying. and now i’m alive? it’s not everyday that you die and come bloody back to life?!”

the woman froze, taking in his words.

“so, you either tell me why i’m alive or i’m not leaving.”

————

thomas shot up, breathing out heavily, sweat dripping off his forehead as his eyes shot open. tears fell down his cheek, at the nightmare he just visualised. well, it wasn’t a nightmare. he actually watched his best friend die in his arms.

he chocked back a sob, as it hit in, nearly knocking him unconscious.

newt’s dead. and it’s all his fault.

if only he fought harder for newt to stay with gally and wait for the serum, instead of listening to his ‘you can’t do it on your own.’ if only he didn’t get distracted for wanting to kill ava paige, he could of instead focused of saving newt and minho. if only-

“hey, thomas.”

he looked up to see minho, stood in the doorway of the tent. he smiled, but it never met his eyes. thomas returned to gesture back slightly, as they both silently mourned there friend. guilt still eats away at thomas. he caused minho to loose the only person he trusts and cares about, since the maze.

“hey, minho. what’s up?” thomas asked, standing up out of his bed, rubbing his eyes.

minho stood silently, watching his actions, noticing the dark bags underneath his eyes, “just letting you know that frypan has cooked breakfast.”

“oh, erm...i’ll be right out.” thomas mumbled.

“okay.” minho nodded, but neither of them moved.

“are you okay?”

minho’s question caused thomas’ heart to pang in pain, as his breaths got caught up in his throat. tears welled up in his eyes at the most simple question in the world. how could he be okay, after loosing the one thing that meant so much to him?

“yeah, i’m fine.” he lied, while minho raised his eyebrows, not fully convinced.

“well, hurry up...bet you’re starving.”

thomas laughed slightly, as minho chuckled too, before walking away to the other gladers. and as soon as minho walked away, thomas buried his head into his hands, as a heavy cry racketed out of his body, causing him to completely break down into sobs.

————

“tell me everything.” newt demanded, as the woman gave him a glass of water, as they both sat across from each other, on the wonky oak table.

she sighed, sipping her drink, before starting.

“the whole city was burning down, because-“

“of the people outside the walls.”

she stopped, “yeah, don’t interrupt me though.”

“sorry.”

“anyway, me and a couple of my friends were running to safety, and then...i saw you, on the floor. dead.”

“wait! stop!” she screamed to her friends, over the loud sounds of gunshots and explosions.

“that’s a-a person.” she shouted, running over to the figure on the ground.

she didn’t bother to see if her friends followed her or not, to bothered at the man with a knife plunged in his chest. she didn’t know him. she’s never seen him in his life. but, a sudden feeling of sorrow overcome her body, causing her to kneel down beside him.

“he’s not worth it.” her friend breathed out, standing just behind her.

“everyone is worth it.”

she heard a sigh, “he’s a crank. he’s far to gone. and we won’t be much better if we stay here, mourning over someone we barely know!”

she shook her head, placing her fingers on his cold neck to try and find a pulse. but failed.

“you’re not a doctor anymore. you can’t save everyone. so let’s go!” her friend shouted, turning to run away.

but, she didn’t follow, still starring at the lifeless eyes of the young boy.

“he probably deserved the world.” she thought, still hoping to feel a pulse. but, it never happened.

breathing out heavily, she was going to stand up, and follow her friends, but froze as she felt a small vibration in her finger. she starred at the boy, who wasn’t moving as the vibrations increased. it was a heartbeat.

“oh my god!” she whispered.

he was alive. but, only just.

and then the boy’s body stirred, as a small groan left his cracked lips. she kneeled beside him, eyes wide at the sight of a person literally coming back from the dead. she’s never seen this happen. never the less with a crank.

“hello? can you hear me?” she asked, hoping the boy would reply. praying he would. even just a little ‘yes.’

and he did. but, he replied with something she would never expect.

with a small hoarse voice he whispered, ‘tommy.’

and passed out again.

————

thomas eventually left his tent, after double checking all signs of him crying were not visible, he followed the smells of frypans cooking. he smiled at people he passed, not knowing half of them, but still felt responsible to do so. he was responsible for everyone’s freedom.

then how come he couldn’t save newt?

walking to the kitchen, he smiled as frypan already handed him a plate of food, that made his mouth water.

he’s not surprised at how hungry he is. he hasn’t eaten in days.

“thanks fry.” he mumbled, while the cook nodded at him sadly.

thomas walked away from the kitchen, walking past his group of friends by the bonfire, to sit on the ground infront of the stone. sitting down, he starred up at the stone glancing at names carved into it. he looked at names he didn’t know, but still felt remorse for them. but, then he saw names he did know.

and it hurt.

chuck. little chuck didn’t deserve to go. they finally escaped the maze. but, he’s not here anymore. he made a promise to chuck. and he broke it.

alby. god. out of everyone from the maze, he was one of the people who truely deserved to be free. he was the first one up after all. and thomas failed him.

winston. he tried to take care of his friends like he promised him in the scorch. he still remembers the sound of the gunshot engulfing him as they walked away from their dying friend.

teresa. he knows what she was trying to do. she was trying to help. she thought she was helping. he never loved teresa. sure they kissed before she fell to her death, but he never loved her.

and then his eyes landed on newt’s.

thomas couldn’t bare to look at his name anymore, as tears blocked his vision.

————

newt looked through one of the the gaps in the wall, after the woman stopped talking a couple of minutes ago. to say he was confused was an understatement. he coughed, glancing at her who was leaning back in her chair, already starring at him.

“how did you save me then? theres no cure.”

“i know,” the girl nodded, “b-but, somehow the knife missed your heart. and as i removed it when you were unconscious, there was someone else’s blood on it? i think that blood saved you. and i’m a doctor, i have erm...resources that can help you.”

“who’s blood was it?”

“i’m not sure.” she looked away, almost seeming nervous suddenly, “but, it seems like whoever’s blood that was, was already on the knife before it-“

“was stabbed into me?” newt finished.

the woman nodded, “yeah.”

and then it hit newt. just out the blue. he remembered.

“i know who’s blood it is.”

she turned to face him, “who?”

“it’s thomas’ blood.” he cringed.

newt remembers when he pierced his skin, just slightly. but, even though he had no control over his actions, he still remembers the amount of guilt he felt as he heard thomas’ pained screams fall from his lips.

he wish thomas never saw him like that. so animalistic and aggressive.

“oh, the person you say in your sleep. what is he your boyfriend or something?”

newt chocked on his water, “what?!”

“you heard me,” she winked, laughing at the stuttering mess infront of her, “well, it seems like your boyfriend is the cure. do you know where he is?”

newt tried not to blush at the word ‘boyfriend’ before replying.

“unless he’s dead, then he’ll be at the safe haven.”

dead? if tommy is dead then...

no, he can’t be dead. h-he shouldn’t think of the worse.

he has to be alive.

“the safe haven?”

“yeah, it’s where everyone goes when they want to be free of wckd and cranks and-“

“i know what it is,” she cut off, standing up with a wide smile of her face, “i’ve been trying to find that for years. i didn’t think it was real!”

“i haven’t been but...i-i assume it’s real. why are you laughing so much?” newt questioned, gesturing the woman laughing her head off that was once harsh to him.

“because newt, we’re going.”

“g-going where?”

“the safe haven you div!” she shouted, clapping her hands together.

“i don’t even know where it is! all i know is that it’s on a beach! do you realise how many beaches there are in the world?! and beside i hardly know anything about you-“

“my name’s kira. and that’s all you need to know about me.” she mumbled, causing newt to gulp.

“o-okay kira, well i have no bloody idea on how to get to it anyway!”

“that’s why we’ll go together.”

newt sighed. he did want to find the safe haven, and be reunited with his friends. he misses them all so much. and it pains him to think that they all believe he’s dead, when he isn’t.

but, he has no idea where it is. for all he knows, the safe haven could of moved away from a beach. like into the mountains. or into a city. newt and kira could just be going on a wild goose chase.

“don’t you want to see all the people you know? like your boyfriend.” she teased, causing newt to roll his eyes.

“he’s not my boyfriend. he’s just a close friend.” he snapped.

kira sat down again, her smile falling into an expression of seriousness.

“newt, you have a second chance of living. if i never found you, you would be dead right now. so, take this opportunity and come with me to find the safe haven. and live the life you are supposed to have. the life what your friends would want you to have.”

newt sat still, taking in her words. she was true. harsh, but true. he does have a second chance of living. and he shouldn’t waste it on thinking of the worse possible scenarios.

“okay.”

“wait really?!”

“yes,” he looked up, smiling, as he was suddenly overcome with a feeling of urgency.

“let’s go and find the safe haven, kira.”

————

a/n- thank you for reading chapter 1! it’s quite short, but hopefully as the story goes on the chapters will be longer :)

————

taglist-

@parkersbliss @liberty-barnes @harry-hollands @lookatallthosefandoms @venjicuddles @a-sarcastic-lil-shit @insonianna

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reddeadrevolutionn · 4 years

Note

hey there! i looove your work and i was wondering if you write for eagle flies? tbh i've been obsessed with him ever since i first played the story mode like a year ago and wish there was more work that includes him 🤣 so if you do, may i request ef being in a relationship with a girl from the vdl gang and eventually she leaves the gang for him and starts living with the tribe? 😏 have a great day 💕

Hey! So I’ve never written for eagle flies before but I’ll give it a go! I’m sorry if I don’t have his character down to a T yet xo also, I don’t know a lot about the native-American culture so I tried not to include too much about it! I included dreamcatchers because I know in rdr2 they’re placed by the native-Americans :)

Stay with me • Eagle Flies (Part 1)

You smiled to yourself as you looked over to your side, watching the man you love work quickly on a dreamcatcher. You loved watching him make them. The way his fingers spun the intricate knots together, and the way he chewed the inside of his cheek in concentration. The sun was beating down on you both, emitting a small layer of sweat on his honey coloured skin, and allowing the gold flecks in his eyes to shine through.

“What are you staring at?” He grinned over at you “you’ve seen me make these hundreds of times,”

You shook your head, and rolled onto your side, allowing your head to rest on your hand “it’s interesting,” you laughed “God knows the only entertainment at camp is Javier playing his guitar, and there’s only so many songs he can sing!”

He chuckled lightly “do you want to try?” He held out the half finished product “I’ll teach you,”

You looked down at the work, and nodded happily “I’d love to,” you paused “but I don’t want to ruin it,”

He scooted closer to you and laid the dream-Catcher in your lap and took a gentle hold of your wrists “you won’t ruin it. Here, look, just like this,” he showed you how to move your hands just right to twist the yarn together. He smiled down at you as you chewed your lip in concentration. He laughed lightly as you cursed under your breath when you noticed your work was all wonky.

“Damn it,” you sighed “this is hard,”

He nodded “it is at first, but the more you do it, the easier it gets,” he paused “can I talk to you about something?”

You set the dream catcher to your side and turned to face him. You smiled softly into his eyes and nodded “you can talk to me about anything,”

He fiddled with his hair and took a breath, looking into your eyes before saying what he wanted to say, “I’ve been thinking...and I want to spend as much time as possible with you, and it’s been hard with how much you move around...And there’s gonna come a time where you move so far I won’t be able to see you anymore,” he bit his lip “and that would be the worst thing to happen to me...so, I wanted to ask you would you ever considering staying with me at the reservation?”

Your eyes widen and you suck in a breath. You paused before smiling slightly “I’d love that. I could think of nothing better,”

He grinned widely “really? That’s amazing, y/n,” he placed a large hand on your cheek and brought your lips to his “I love you, so much,”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly “I love you too,” you breathed in his earthy scent and relaxed into him.

“Let’s just stay here for a while,” he whispered “forget the world,”

You nodded in agreement and kept your head rested in the crook of his neck.

So you both stayed there that night. You didn’t even bother to set up a tent, the stars were comfort enough. You were positive that this would be the best decision you had made, and you were sure Dutch wouldn’t mind.

#rdr2 headcanons #rdr #rdr2 #eagle flies #red dead redemption two #rdr2 fanfic #rdr imagine #eagle flies imagine #arthur morgan headcanon #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #van der linde gang #charles smith x reader #rockstar #red dead redemption hosea

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piracytheorist · 4 years

Text

A Kiss for Good Luck (13/16)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: With this chapter, two more and the epilogue left, I decided to post them day by day! You can expect the next and final updates on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday :D

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)

Word count for this chapter: 3.6k (51k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 13: Emma Swan, May 25th – June 22nd 2016

Emma smiles wide as she watches Killian go to the end of the now huge line to the airport checkpoint. He went back just to give her a kiss, and a part of her is delighted to realize she adores this hopelessly romantic side of him.

He doesn't turn to look at her, but the place is too crowded anyway, and she decides to go back, grab a coffee and wait to watch his plane leave. Instead, Killian's flight is delayed for a few hours. She texts him about it, whether he wants to cross back and join her, but he simply tells her to not worry and go back home.

It sours her mood a little; it may be a bit late in the day, but there's no reason for him to spend all this time alone, and if she judges by the plain tone of his message he doesn't even want to chat until he leaves.

Odd. First he gives up being first in a long line just to kiss her, then he doesn't even want to talk to her.

Perhaps he just wants to rest or sleep until his flight leaves. Emma tries to ignore the insistent little voice in her head that has never truly disappeared since Neal left her.

She turns the radio on while in her car and catches a blues station. The slow music and the complete lack of traffic back to her place calm her thoughts.

She stays up, checking on Killian's flight until it departs, hoping it doesn't mean a thing that Killian himself didn't tell her that his plane was finally leaving.

The next day is easy, checking off a few good cases, and in the evening she meets Ruby for a few drinks.

“So,” Ruby says with a meaningful look, “how was your week?”

Emma sighs happily, and it's with Ruby's smile turning warmer that she remembers she actually had a fantastic time. She's worrying too much.

“It was great. It felt... right, you know? I was a bit scared, but the moment we met at the airport made everything else not matter. He was here, and we could really enjoy our time together...”

Ruby's nodding enthusiastically. “And? How was it?”

“It was... warm and fuzzy...” Emma gives a good look at Ruby, suddenly realizing what she's asking about. “I told you we weren't ready for that.”

“Even after the whole week?”

“I mean, I spent most of my nights looking at my bedroom door and wondering whether I should go and ask him... but it wasn't just me.”

“I admire your patience. And his. And how about him? What do you think it was like for him?”

“I'm not sure, honestly.” Her face falls.

“What happened?”

“Up until the last day, I could swear it was as good for him as it was for me. I mean, he came, right? He chose to. And he looked happy to be here, with me. But a few hours before he had to leave, he seemed restless and anxious.”

“Because he was leaving?”

“I don't know. I...” She sighs. “He hasn't contacted me to let me know he's arrived safely. But I checked Messenger a few hours ago and it said he's been active today.”

“Did you send him a text about it? It would be weird for him to just forget but sometimes it just happens.”

“Should I send one, you think?”

“Yeah. Maybe he was really busy today. What did you say his job is?”

“His father has a boat rental, and sometimes he takes passengers on cruises.”

“Well, tourist season is kinda starting. Send him a message. But, you know, try to not sound desperate.”

“Ugh. I feel as if I'm in a teenage rom-com.”

She sends her message. Early the next morning, she sees his reply; a plain “Aye, I was busy, sorry for not letting you know,” and compared to his message from before his flight right above that, she can't help wondering.

She didn't have a cell phone as a teenager, and she hadn't allowed herself anything longer than one-night stands after Neal, so it's the first time in her life she has to look at her phone and keep telling herself to not call first.

She takes walks by the sea, seeing the yachts and boats and thinking of Killian. He mentioned how it had been his choice to work on his father's boats, how he loved that job where there's always a view of the sea.

Having practically grown up in Boston, Emma knows well the feelings that endless blue can bring. For Killian, they must be even stronger. The feeling of freedom and calmness and strength at the same time...

She knows he's facing his own issues, he's been open to her about them. His lonely adolescence, his grief, his drinking problem.

She decides to take a walk there every day, to remind herself to give Killian the same space that the sea gives him. Maybe he's out there at the same time, looking at the sea the same way she does.

He manages to call her within a week, though due to his bad connection, they don't share video this time. Or the next. Or the next.

“Remember how I told you I felt I was in a rom-com?” she tells Ruby when they meet one day for coffee. “I hope that at least I'm the protagonist and not the third wheel.”

“What's going on?”

“I worry too much about his calls. We used to talk every day, from five minutes to whole hours on end. And now he's just too busy, or his connection is bad, or his camera isn't working and I'm not seeing his face. But he keeps calling me back, not as often, and not as much, and he doesn't even say as much as he used to, but he's initiating calls on his part. Sometimes he doesn't reply when I call him...” She covers her face with her hands.

Ruby is patiently waiting for more, and Emma isn't sure which more to choose. Killian had trusted her with his history about getting involved with a married woman and she's not ready to betray that just to provide a possible proof that he may be cheating on her.

“We decided to take things slow,” Emma said. “We weren't shy on kisses while he was here, but it didn't go further than that. Do you think he may not consider it cheating, if...”

“If he didn't consider it cheating – if he even is cheating on you – he wouldn't be hiding like that. And taking things slow is different than having an open relationship.”

“I don't know.”

“Emma, if he didn't see it so seriously, would he have come all this way just to spend a week with you? While respecting your wish to not get intimate?”

“He said that's what he wanted as well.”

“So what, is his masculinity so fragile that instead of respecting your wishes, he would fake not being ready for sex? Is he that kind of person?”

Emma is silent.

“You do realize it would take a deep kind of crazy to only want to get laid, then come all this way and agree to not get laid.”

Fair point. “I just wish I knew what it was that tipped him that way. It's... you know, on his last day here, we were talking about our first kisses, and we realized we actually were each other's first kiss.”

“What? You're serious?”

“I know, of all people, right? And I have an inkling he might have been freaked out by that.”

“How did it happen?”

“It was a game of spin the bottle. It was as innocent as it could get at eleven.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Yeah. When he was still here, though. I mean, at first he laughed, just as I did, then his face fell, and I asked him if he felt weird about it, and he said no, just that he didn't want to leave. Ugh.” She hangs her head. “That's not a rom-com. That's a soap opera.”

“Maybe he's going through something? Problems with work, family?”

“He hasn't mentioned anything. He said he hasn't talked to his fathers in a while. But, he's shared more serious stuff with me. If something was upsetting him so much... I can't imagine how serious something must be for him to not want to share it with me. And I don't know how much time to give him. Will I sound desperate? Like a stalker? If I take too long, will I seem insensitive?”

“I'm sorry, honey.”

“He's calling me, Ruby. He's not trying to cut off, and he's not trying to appease me either. I'm sure he knows I can hear that he's hiding something. What am I meant to make out from that?”

“Maybe confront him with the fact that you know something is up. Just put it on the table. Say that he doesn't have to explain it to you if it doesn't involve or concern you, just to stop pretending there's no elephant in the room.”

“Sounds simple enough, I guess.” She sighs. “Perhaps it was too early? We've only known each other for seven months.”

“Too early for what? You're not engaged or something. You can work things out.”

Emma nods. “Thank you. Sorry for unloading all that on you.”

“That's what friends are for.” She takes her hands in hers. “I've got lots to talk about, if you want a distraction.”

Emma has had a wonky fortune in her life; she's glad she happened to meet Ruby during one of the good times.

The next day, while she's still growing the courage to confront Killian about acknowledging at least that there's something going on, Ingrid calls her. She's joined by Elsa, who excitedly tells Emma she wants to join Ingrid in her next trip to Boston that summer – they will, of course, stay in a hotel close by so she won't be a bother.

“Maybe we'll go somewhere nice all three of us,” Emma says. “I actually bought a lottery ticket and I have a good feeling about it.”

“Oh, if you have a good feeling about it,” Ingrid says, then turns to Elsa. “You cannot imagine how lucky she was as a teenager.” She then bursts into chatter in Norwegian, and even if Emma could understand more than a few words here and there, she would still be lost in thought.

She was indeed quite lucky as a teen. In fact, the luckiest day of her life, as she'd described it to Killian, had been just the beginning of five great years.

Until her first trip to England, where she met the pirate boy.

Wait...

“Emma?”

She starts, looking back at her camera.

“Sorry, dear, I got carried away,” Ingrid says.

“We will try to use more English when we're there,” Elsa says with an apologetic smile.

“No, it's alright. Ingrid, can you remind me when you actually got your first visa? I mean, in the recent years.”

“Uh, a few days before I contacted you. The first time.”

“Do you remember how many days?”

Ingrid huffs in thought, but turns to her with a smile. “Such sudden curiosity. I'm not sure exactly, three? Four? Less than a week, for sure.”

Too close to the day she kissed that stranger at the club... the only one she didn't see around when the police was asking for witnesses, if they saw who shot that man at the hand and killed his lover.

“Emma?”

Emma takes a deep breath and does her hardest to fake a smile. “Nothing. It's... something about work.”

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing to worry about. When do you think about visiting?”

After a short chat, Ingrid gets the message and leaves Emma with her thoughts. Emma's hands are shaking; the lottery results will be out in two days and they can't come fast enough.

She runs out, resorting to buying a scratch ticket from a nearby kiosk. She scratches it and stares at it, nearly frozen.

Five dollars.

Emma looks around, looks at the sky, then at her phone. Her weather app clearly shows rain, but there's not a single cloud in the sky.

She is lucky. Things have been going quite well for her. Suddenly so, in fact. Just a month or so ago, she would be getting splashed by cars and losing spare change and...

And then Killian visited her.

She walks slowly back to her apartment, and somehow it doesn't come as a surprise that thunder rumbles outside right as she closes her door.

She sits on her couch, watching the rain pour outside her window.

She had a serving of quite a bad luck the first eleven years of her life. Then she met Killian at that birthday party, they shared an innocent kiss, and that very same evening Ingrid told her she would be adopting her.

Shortly after that Killian's mother died, his father left them, and his brother passed too a few years later.

She stands up, pacing around her living room.

He lived in London at the time. At the exact time she visited for Halloween, that fateful year, that she was left alone and Killian... was adopted? He had mentioned being almost too old to be adopted.

He said it hadn't been him at that party, but he didn't sound convincing, and at the time Emma brushed it off, but... if it really had been him...

Then the night of the shooting at the club. She doesn't remember that stranger's face, but their kiss was too close to him getting shot and Ingrid's visa getting accepted.

A shiver runs down her spine as she remembers the screams of that night. The screams of a man who got shot in the hand... a hand that Killian doesn't have.

Emma's nearly gasping for breath, her hands shaking again as she forces herself to sit back down at the couch.

After that, it was some good years for her, and Killian was lost in his grief, alcohol, and a bad relationship later on.

Then they met at the concert, where right after their kiss, she dropped her phone, cracking its screen.

She looks at it now. The crack is still there, but something tells her getting a new phone screen – or a whole new phone – won't be a problem a few days from now.

She feels a weight set on her shoulders as she goes back to Killian trying to convince her it wasn't him at the Halloween party.

He knows. Somehow, he does, though she doubts he found out much earlier than the moment they realized they were each other's first kiss.

And second.

The weight becomes a sudden void; the pirate boy's look nearly haunted her for years; fifteen years later, she felt a similar sensation at the way Killian looked at her in the concert.

It was the same look, by the same person.

She shakes her head. It's silly. Can it truly be, that they brought good and bad luck to each other, just by kissing?

Then she remembers how he left, when there was no-one in front of him at the queue, to get back to her and give her a last kiss, and didn't come back to join her when his flight was being delayed, because he knew there would be kissing involved if he did.

Tears fill her eyes. He left his luck with her.

And things have been going well for her. How has he been... when both times he got unlucky, people he loved died?

She keeps looking at her phone, wondering if she should call Killian about it, ask him if everything's okay.

Instead, she picks it up and starts looking for the cheapest flight to England she can afford, as soon as possible.

She can't tell Killian; he'll try to stop her, pretend that he's not in Brighton, that he'll be busy...

She finds the envelope with which he'd sent her her Christmas present; she'd kept it in case she'd want to surprise him with a gift back. The return address doesn't include the apartment number, but surprising him in the building entrance will have to do.

She books a flight for three days from now, and of course is not surprised to earn two thousand dollars at the lottery, nor to be promoted to a business class seat thanks to travel miles.

She's grown used to really enjoying flights, but this time she's too nervous to sit back and relax.

He figured out everything before she did. All he had to do was time their kisses right, then leave with his luck on his side. Forever.

But he didn't. He wouldn't. Emma may not know him that long, but she doesn't think he's capable of that. And that's why she's in this plane now.

There's a small part of her that wonders what she's going to do when she comes back. Will Killian actually let her leave without his luck? Will he follow her back? Will they just spend all their money in the effort to be the most selfless one?

She sighs in frustration. That's not something she took into consideration when she agreed to start such a long-distance relationship.

As her luck would have it, everything goes better than smoothly, and courtesy of having slept on her comfortable seat, she doesn't even feel tired from the trip.

It's just starting to get dark when she arrives in Brighton, and she contemplates going straight for her hotel and 'confronting' Killian the next day. But her note with Killian's address on it is right inside her jacket pocket when she gets in the cab, and she can't help herself. The moment she approaches his apartment block, someone happens to exit and smiles to her as he holds the door open for her.

Of course he would. She settles herself and her holdall on the stairs, sends one 'Hey, call me when you see this' to Killian, and waits.

After a couple of hours she starts wondering whether she really is all that lucky, or if it was all in her imagination. The stairs aren't too comfortable and she's slowly getting bored. There's only so much Candy Crush she can handle.

Her eyes look up every single time she sees someone even approach the entrance from outside, and again, everyone who enters or exits simply smiles at her and goes on their way.

She's about ready to give up and head for her hotel when he finally appears. He's looking down, his visibly longer hair falling in front of his face as he takes a bit too long to open the door. She contemplates going to open it herself, but he makes it and starts for the stairs, stopping at the first step and looking up slowly.

His slow reflexes, his slightly staggering step, his tired, sad face...

He was out drinking.

Coming like this was a horrible idea.

“Killian...” she says, making sure her voice sounds worried and not judgmental.

He just stares at her, looking confused and very tired.

“I know this looks weird,” she says. “I've had some time to think and... I'm not stalking you.”

“Wha-” he starts. “How...”

“I'm sorry.” She toys with her hands nervously. “I should have let you know earlier. It was...” Not just impulsive. “Very impulsive. But I would've come soon anyway.”

“How did you know where...” His voice trails off, but she gets the point.

“The gift you sent me for Christmas. The package had your address on it.”

He blinks slowly, and she's not sure he's registering everything she's saying. “Come upstairs,” he says eventually, starting to walk up the steps.

“Wait, really?” She stands up and grabs her bag. “I've booked a hotel-”

“You can take the bed,” he interrupts her. “It's got clean sheets.”

“Killian-”

He gives her a stern look that shuts her up. He's clearly not in the mood for more than just getting to a bed. “Just come.”

She smells the alcohol off of him when he steps closer to her and she wonders whether she should comment on it. Maybe she can ask, somehow, there must have been something that pushed him over.

His apartment looks tidy and smells clean. He sets himself down on the couch, taking off his brace and shoes.

“Is something wrong?” Emma says. “You're...” She pauses. How can she say it?

“Relapsing,” he says plainly. “Why is everyone avoiding that word?”

“Are you okay?”

He shrugs. “Not much to say. I'm tired.”

So hopefully, nothing horrible happened to him or his family.

“I'm sorry,” Emma says again. “I should have let you know I'm coming. I... I'd thought I could surprise you...” What else can she say to excuse such a sudden visit?

Killian lets out a cold, soulless laugh. “Lucky me,” he says, then lies down, eyes closing and breath quickly getting deeper.

His words pull at her heart, confirming that he knows of their mingled fates. She approaches him, kneeling down next to him and touching his hair. It's only been a month and she's already missed feeling how soft his hair is. How she'd love to keep brushing her fingers through it, and not just tonight.

A soft snore comes from him, and she leans forward to leave a kiss on his forehead.

#Emma Swan #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #ouat ff #akfgl #captain swan movie marathon #piracytheorist writes

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years

Text

Jason Voorhees x Freddy’sDaughter!Reader || Oneshot

Title: They Cuddles; Him, Her, and her Bottle of Hypnocil.

Notes:

‘-There was something in her, something that was… pure horror. Everything you were supposed to watch out for. Heights, fire, shards of glass, snakes. Everything that his mom tried so hard to keep him safe from.’ - John Ajvide Lindqvist.

Inspired by the above quote.

Quick Background of Reader: You’re Maggies younger (Only a little) half-sister. (You were conceived and born shortly after he killed Loretta and your mother didn’t want you so you were pawned off to him so you were living with him until he was burnt by the Springwood Parents, whereas Maggie was of course taken away) (Pretend it was years between the time he was caught and the time he was killed)

Tried to write in Jasons POV, not sure how good it is, hah.

I miiiiiiight have some ideas for future parts of this, this was adorable and sweet.

Plot:

Just, Jason falling in so love with the enemies daughter who is so like her father - she’s loud, she’s hurt, she makes s t u p i d jokes and then laughs way too hard at them, she’s dangerous, - but who is gentle with him and kind. (She’s basically the type of girl Pam wouldn’t approve of at first but is so honest and kind that Pam cant help but begrudgingly like her eventually XD )

Warnings: Age gap? I mean it’s not a main plot point so you could ignore it but Jason and Freddy are similar in age so you’re young enough to be Jason’s kid too- but you’re in your 30’s-40’s so its okie. Fatherly trauma (Is that the right phrase?? Hah. You know what I mean) / Nightmare on elm Street survivor trauma also. Panic attack I think? Ends in fluff ^^

~~~

When you stayed a night in your van at that old, abandoned camp, you certainly didn’t expect to meet Jason. I mean, you weren’t surprised by his… abnormalities -referring to the fact that he’s dead. Not his deformities, - as much as you were how cute and sweet he was. And how well you two got on, after he tried to kill you.

And you don’t blame him for that! You trespassed; you get it. If you had known he was there and he had taken ownership of the area, then you would have asked before parking there.

When Jason had found a girl hidden away, sleeping in the back of a yellow van, he certainly didn’t expect that she would soon become so important to him. She was just another trespasser acting like a hoodlum -living! In! A! Van?! – in his general vicinity and of course, he didn’t like that.

Boring chase story short; He pushed your van over and there was a chase through the forest (You’ve never run that fast in your life, jesus christ. You can still feel the wind burn on your cheeks, that one rock under your bare feet that cut you and the energy rushing through your body pushing you forward anyway) and you leapt into the lake- waiting until he came in after you. And then when he did, you just screamed random nonsense, splashing around spastically at him until you hit a nerve that sobered him (Something about his mother). This is a technique you developed after you were given up to various foster homes after your father was burnt to death (And then also when he found you again) when stinky foster parents, foster siblings, bullies at school rando’s off the street wanted to put their hands on you, and that you mastered since. It works, evidently, with asexual zombie monsters too.

After that, you went back to your van and rap up your foot, thinking that at least the lake water cleaned up the cut on your foot, and then grumpily set up your bed on your window now since the van (Poor, dear Mandy) is now on its side thanks to the local undead jerk!

You hadn’t slept a wink the rest of that night, not because of the hulking mass of rotten flesh and a hockey mask that you knew was lurking somewhere close by, watching you, but because you weren’t about to waste an extra Hypnocil pill in one night. You just laid there, pillows propping you up and being bored. Staring at the ceiling, smearing various ugly pastel shades onto a page in your sketchbook, listening to the woods and imagining getting rawed by Danny Zuko were highlights. Then, when daylight finally broke out, you were finally, unhappily wondering how you were going to get Mandy back on her wheels, zipping up your jacket and looking at your beautiful pale-yellow Volkswagen.

You thinking what pain this would be to correct… and then having turned on your heel and went on a trek to the closest town to get some kind of breakfast. Procrastinating the inevitable.

When you had returned, a bag of groceries in your arms -drink propped on top of everything else so you could sip through the straw as you walked,- , your van was back on her wheels.

You don’t know what it was about you that made him do that, that made him stop and not kill you, and its likely you’ll never find out since he doesn’t talk, after that you had gone directly to find the - cute, now, -behemoth you knew fixed it for you, to make and give him fairy bread to say thank you and sorry for what happened last night- and honestly you’ve been friendly ever since. More then friendly, after a while, but never less then.

___TIME SKIP: Current time now. Months and months after you met___

~ POV Change~

Oh my god.

The second I see that the familiar bottle, the one from Typo with the Coca Cola logo on it that reminds me absolutely zero percent of my father that I keep Hypnocil pills in is not where I left it, a deep sense of dread and anxiety fills me up to the brim- only proceeding to grow outwards to the air around me as I search in an increasingly more panicked fashion for the thing. Where is it!? Where is it, where is it, where is it. “Where, where, where, where, where, where- “

I fling a pillow out the back of the van and am just bundling up the blankets, not caring what else goes with it to push out as well so I can find that fucking bottle when I notice Jason standing there at the back doors watching me, head tilted. I immediately stop what I’m doing, heart stopping for a second. “Lost something.” Is all I can squeak out.

He leans forward and I watch as I bends down so his head and upper body are in here with me and looks around, then up at me again as if to ask what I’m looking for so he can help me. “I-Its, um… “ My voice trembles. I need to find that bottle- the fact that Jason is being so sweet and offering to help me look just makes me feel even less together. I could cry. “A r-red bottle with umm, curly writing on it?” He probably doesn’t remember what coke is, much less the logo…

He nods, and starts looking around, eyes focused and slow as the graze along everything in the van so studiously that I stay extra still instead of helping- so he doesn’t miss anything with that super-vision he’s acting like he must have. The vans a mess and I’m just kneeling in the corner, against the driver’s seat with the blankets all bundles up in my lap, worrying my bottom lip and waiting for this man to save me. Please, jesus- help me. Save me.

A moment later and I’m about to slowly move from my place and Jason suddenly moves. His heavy arm shoots forward and pulls the bottle, a tubular shock of red, out of a nook between my portable DVD player/screen and some books and I was showing him earlier, offering it to me.

Dropping the blankets and sitting on them instead, feeling the softness on my bare legs and taking the bottle from him before hugging it to my chest and covering my face with my hands, silently.

Oh my god.

~POV Change~

Y/N curls up on herself, hiding her face and the bottle between her legs and her tummy and doesn’t make much noise except a quick, quiet whimper. She’s acting different, in a bad way. Why isn’t she talking to him, Jason wonders? Why isn’t she being loud? Is she okay?

Looking around the van, because he has to go in there and see if she’s okay- get her out of that body-cocoon, Jason crawls into the vehicle that he’s never dared to touch since the first night they met, and it breathes under his weight a little bit. He sits down next to her, crossing his legs and watching her for a while. What… to do… now… hmm…

Finally, he decides putting his hand on her shoulder might work to get her attention at least, and she does relax her shoulders quickly at the contact. Then looks up, face red, at him before wiping her face again and crawling suddenly into his lap. She takes a deep breath, regaining some of her usual colour and composure as Jason just sits solid and c o m p l e t e l y still beneath her, flashing him a quick, toothless smile. “Thank you for finding this Jason, it’s important to me.” She looks at the bottle in her hands, not wanting to put it down and risk losing it again even as she knows its irrational that she would do it twice in a row. “Its… how I keep him away… “

Y/N looks up at Jason, eyebrows risen up her forehead to watch him cautiously, worriedly, looking for signs. Did he understand what you were talking about? And if so, is he okay at the mention of your father?

He’s just completely unmoving still. Y/N blinks at the utter lack of responce. “Jason?”

When she still doesn’t receive a response, she taps his mask gently. “Jaaaason?”

That gets his attention, as he looks down at her face… and nods. A wonky smile that makes his somehow-still-beating heart flutter weirdly appears on her face and she looks outside instead. “So, what did you come to see me for? Ya just missed me? Hah, I missed you too cutie. How about we go for a walk? Its pretty today- ah.” When Jason’s big arms suddenly, slowly take action and wrap heavily around her, she’s pleasantly surprised. Her anxieties and panic from earlier all but slip from their knot in her chest and disappear at the action, and she responds by turning properly to her side in his lap so she can lean into his chest. “Oor we could cuddle. That sounds better anyway!~”

She taps the side of his face affectionately before closing her eyes, and he lets his own half lid themselves at the feeling of her so close to him. She’s so cute and warm. Its weird, but he thinks- if someone were to come right now in this moment, and not be loud and not do anything to Y/N or him… he would probably let them go.

(Well at least until he let her go.)

#Jason Voorhees x Reader Oneshot #Oneshot #Jason Voorhees #Freddy Krueger #Oneshots #Jason Voorhees x Reader

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imgoingtocrash · 4 years

Text

I Want to Go

by @imgoingtocrash for @slothbeans

Rating: G

Word Count: 5,179

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker (mentioned), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (mentioned), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark (mentioned), Ben Parker & Peter Parker & Tony Stark (mentioned)

Summary:

““There he is.”

It’s Tony. Anthony Edward Stark. Mister Stark. His Mister Stark, his mentor, his friend, his could-have-been father figure if only they had more time together, if Peter hadn’t wasted it, if Tony hadn’t—

Not-dead Tony whirls around on a rolling stool, his arms propped against his knees. Peter can’t move his eyes off of the man in front of him, but he knows the space well enough to recognize where he is: the lab. Tony’s old lab at the Avengers Compound. The lab that doesn’t exist anymore. It was obliterated in the battle with Thanos and replaced with a new one that only Bruce, Doctor Cho, and Peter himself seemed to get any use out of.

This is the Tony he never got to know, inhabiting the familiar space.”

Tony Stark becomes a guardian angel after his death, and his task is watching out for Peter. After a harried run-in with the Green Goblin leaves Peter on the brink between life and death, Tony and Peter get the chance to talk about Peter's recent less-than-stellar life choices that led him to this point.

Read on Ao3

My gift for the second @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! I hope you enjoy it! Full fic also under the cut as requested by the exchange!

Peter really should have expected something like this to happen.

There are a lot of sayings about it: burning the candle at both ends, biting off more than you can chew, too many irons in the fire…he’s got melted wax all over a heaping plate of food and—okay, yep, this metaphor is going nowhere.

He’s a disaster lately, is what he’s getting at. And proving it by using too many turns of phrase at the same time in his head when it doesn’t really matter.

What even is his head, right now?

He doesn’t remember falling. Getting the tar kicked out of him…well, it’s more likely, but he still doesn’t actually remember it.

Everything is hazy. It’s like looking into his camera when the lens is unfocused. And everything is bright—oversensitive to his already wonky spider-senses, bright.

Is that a concussion symptom? He can’t remember that either.

“Karen?” he tries, but it comes out as a bit of a slur. The AI doesn’t respond, so he tries again. “Kare-bear, you up?”

Then he realizes his vision is certainly not being obscured by the lenses of his mask. He’s not wearing it.

Moving doesn’t hurt like he thought it would. He expected that gut-bombing feeling that comes with nausea, a pull of muscle against his spine or ribs, maybe the feeling of blood trickling down after a bullet or knife pierced something it shouldn’t have.

Instead it’s—fine. The blur of his vision clears as soon as he sits up and he’s…on the floor.

More senses come back with his eyes. The floor underneath him is cold. There’s a smell of oil and something just slightly burnt in the air, flaring his nostrils.

He’s not in an embarrassing dream where he’s naked, at least. He’s clothed in…no, that can’t be right. He hasn’t worn Tony’s old MIT sweatshirt in years. Not since…

“There he is.”

This is the Tony he never got to know, inhabiting the familiar space.

The older man is wearing dark jeans and t-shirt color expertly matched with the grey cardigan that completes the outfit. It’s a warm ensemble. It’s like the picture he always finds himself looking at when he visits the Stark cabin: Tony and Pepper on a hospital bed, exhausted but holding their new baby girl like she’s the only thing in the world.

Welcoming.

Loving.

Soft.

He wanted that Tony too. He wanted Tony back in any form most days, period.

Tony watches Peter examine him head to toe before continuing to speak.

“I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wake you up or not. And not that I don’t love you, kiddo, but I’m more of a hugger than a Prince Charming type.”

Tony had hugged him. In the middle of a battle to save the universe, Tony took those ten seconds and hugged him and maybe if he hadn’t there would have been more time, another way, anything but watching Tony’s light go out.

“I am so glad Morgan’s finally growing out of her Disney Princesses phase, by the way. Aren’t you?” Tony says, like it’s just another Tuesday instead of whatever day of the week it is where Peter’s seeing things and losing his goddamn mind.

“Not that her running around screaming The Next Right Thing wasn’t cute and all. It’s just like—we all have our limits and I reached mine two Disneyland vacations ago."

Tony tilts his head.

“If you and MJ ever have kids, though.” Tony whistles. “Ben’s told me stories about your obsession with Kidz Bop songs. I hate to say it, but I think you two are in for it worse than Pepper and I ever were. I mean, at least Morgan has taste.”

“Mister—Tony, I—Ben—what?”

“Oh. Yeah, shit, sorry to spring all of that on you at once. I get carried away, you know me. Here, take your seat. We have time.”

Tony rolls over the other stool with his foot, patting the leather in invitation.

Peter keeps staring.

Tony gives a put-upon sigh. “Alright, let’s get this out of the way, then. No, I’m not one of Beck’s illusions, or one of Doctor Ocavious’ serums, or—what other reality-bending bad guys have you messed with lately. Did I cover them all yet?”

“Chameleon.”

“Oh, right, yeah. He had the gall to impersonate me and Michelle. That was rough on you, I’m sure.” Tony scratches his beard. “Though your last toss up certainly wasn’t better, considering.”

“Considering?” Peter asks. Curiosity has always been his problem. Right next to talking too much, which he’s currently doing very well with.

“One thing at a time, web-head. We’re certainly going to get to that.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Hm?”

“A new nickname. For me.”

“Huh.” Tony smiles to himself. “Guess so. Nice. I really thought I’d run the gamut. You know, that fire kid pisses me off to no end, but he’s really creative with the names. Makes me really aspirational about your generation.”

“How do you know Johnny?“ Peter shakes his head. Just another thing that needs explaining. “I think I’d really like to know what’s going on now, Mister Stark.”

“Fair enough. Alright, J, let’s get metaphysical.”

“Certainly, sir,” a prim, robotic voice replies.

With a resounding clap of Tony’s hands, the room descends into darkness before a set of holograms lights up around them, depicting a map of stars that expands around their heads.

“Let’s start with the facts: some people were right and some people were wrong. I wasn’t ever a very religious guy, but that doesn’t matter so much. All I know is that this is…whatever you want to call the afterlife part. The end after the end. What comes next, and so on. Well, an extension of it. Specifically from me to you.”

“How does that work?”

Tony snorts. “That, kiddo, is one of the few things I don’t know. There’s less all-knowing after death than I thought there’d be. Thor’s people have some theories—they call it Valhalla, theorize about their god-types—but I’ve yet to meet any kind of Grand Poobah as of yet.”

“But you did. Die, I mean.”

“Yeah, I did.” Tony sighs, placing a hand on Peter’s knee. “It was a tough choice, sacrificing myself. Strange thought it was the only one and I…” He swallows. “I would have done anything it took to make sure that you and everyone else in the universe got to live. So I made that call. And I accepted that it meant I would be out of the picture for the foreseeable future.”

There are a lot of things Peter wants to say, but doesn’t. I wish you hadn’t. We weren’t worth it. I’m not worth it.

Tony clears his throat, trying to breathe levity back into the atmosphere.

“But apparently, while we’re all here waiting for the rest of our loved ones to join in…we get perks.” Tony gestures to the room around them, an exact replica down to DUM-E and U rolling around in the corners instead of where they’re currently sitting in Tony’s dusty garage.

“It turns out the end isn’t totally the end. We get to watch and wait in style—go to old haunts, see old friends and family. Sometimes lend a hand, push away a bullet or two.” He nudges Peter’s shoulder on that one. “Specifically, I was offered the very coveted position of being the spiritual watchdog for a very special Spiderling.”

“So you’ve been watching,” Peter summates. “That’s how you know about—about Morgan and Johnny and everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone.”

Tony nods. “Your Uncle Ben had the job first. Maybe he took turns with your parents, I never asked. But what I do know is that you made that excellently unflappable man…well, stressed out to no end. We can only do so much from here, and you were throwing yourself headfirst into danger every other day. Before I entered the picture as your mentor, he was worried you’d join him sooner rather than later.”

Peter looks down at his lap, guilty. He can’t deny it—after Ben’s death, Peter was determined to use his powers for good instead of flipping around the streets entertaining himself as he pleased. That meant wearing himself thin on sleep, skipping classes, and being a little less careful about avoiding rather than attacking. Every robber from bank to bike thief got their punishment. Knife wounds didn’t matter, turning his skin black and blue didn’t either. Guns, he was particularly unforgiving about.

He had already faced what he thought was the worst trauma of his life at that point. He could afford an injury or two, and May was so blindsided with grief that she let him get away with leaving blood on the bathroom sink from doing his own stitches or waking up with a black eye for long enough that he got better at covering it up.

How could he have ever considered that Ben would be watching? He doesn’t want to think about all of the scrapes Tony’s now seen him get into.

“When I came up here…well, he and Nat were my welcoming party. Those two get along like old drinking buddies, actually. Weirds me out.” Tony scrunches his nose in what is likely false distaste.

He softens, though, moving his hand from Peter’s knee to cup his cheek. It’s something Tony’s never done, but Peter feels like he’s melting. Tony’s skin is warm. His fingers are still just a little callused and scarred.

Tony must get the impression that he doesn’t like it, but before he can move away, Peter traps his hand there, bristling his smooth fingers against the still-present wrinkles of Tony's skin.

Would Ben still look exactly as Peter last remembers him? Dressed in a button down with that stupid Giants baseball cap that’s still buried in a box somewhere at May’s place? Would he be fully grey now, or would it still be that salt-and-peppering brown? Does he need his glasses here?

“He’s so proud of you. Seriously, Pete, hearing him talk about you…well, he sounds like me. Just a couple of old saps between the two of us, I guess.”

Tony is smiling, but Peter wants to see it, he wants to hear it. He wants Ben and he wants to keep Tony here and never let him go again.

Tony swipes a fallen tear from Peter’s cheek with his thumb.

“He knew I wasn’t really…satisfied with how we left things. I spent five years missing you and all I got was a hug before I…” Tony clears his throat, looking away uncomfortably.

All this time and the first snap still haunts Tony. All this time, and Peter still dreams of ash.

“He offered to look after Morgan for me instead, considering it’s a bit of an easier job. I’m hoping he can coast on easy mode until she hits her teen years.”

“I still get to see her, too—and Pepper. God, all of you in the same room at Christmas is just—“ He shakes his head reverently. “That’s my day. My perfect day. I never thought.”

“She misses you,” Peter says. He doesn’t want to be mad at Tony, but sometimes he is, and he knows that Morgan is getting old enough to forget more about her dad than she remembers. He tries to tell stories, tries to explain pictures and videos but it’s just…not the same. It’s not enough. It’s not what she deserves.

“I know. I miss her too. I can watch you guys all day, but talking to you,“ Tony shakes Peter’s shoulder. “Touching you…there’s no replacement for it. I’m watching her grow up, but I don’t get to be a part of it like I used to. It just—sucks.”

Tony sighs again, but seems to rejuvenate with it, clapping and turning the lights of the lab back on.

“But that’s not important right now. We’re here because of you.”

“Me? What—?”

“Don’t what me, Pete. The only reason you’re here with me right now is because you’re close enough to death. Your body is in a hospital bed in the compound because you were reckless, and I brought your mind here to snap you out of it before you take the final step to this side of the spiritual plane!”

It seems otherworldly, the idea of his body currently being separated from his mind. Supernatural. Definitely something he’d usually associate with Doctor Strange.

As for his possible death...he doesn’t remember it. His more recent memories seem lost in a fog, and the welcoming warmth of this place makes the loss of them feel a lot less important.

“You’ve been—god, you’ve been beating yourself up for months. Ever since Gwen Stacy died—“

“Don’t.” Peter swallows back a sudden lump in his throat. “Please, don’t.”

“You’ve been running from it for months.” Tony replies. “Peter, you’ve been running from your life for months. You broke up with Michelle when I know for a fact that you have a ring made for her in your underwear drawer, you let things fall out with Harry when you never blamed him for everything that happened with his father, you don’t go see Pepper and Morgan anymore—“

“Because they’re not safe!” Peter finds himself standing, suddenly, string-tense and angry.

Tony doesn’t look surprised at the outburst, just sad.

“Don’t you get it?! No one is safe around me! It doesn’t matter if they’re heroes or civilians! It’s my fault that Gwen died! It’s my fault that you—” Peter shakes his head. “I can’t let that happen to anyone else. I won’t.”

“Peter, it is not your fault that I used the infinity stones.”

Peter stares at the ground and thinks about all of the ways he could have changed what happened during the battle with Thanos. He could have made that sacrifice instead. Anyone else on the battlefield could have. Some of them had the power to do it and survive. But it was Tony that came up with the idea to build a gauntlet of his own into his suit, Tony that made that choice with exactly one thing on his mind.

“Pepper told me about the picture. She said that you’d spent all those years caring about me, that you only considered time travel because of me. That makes it my fault.”

“No,” Tony insists. “It was my choice. That’s it. You were an influence, yes, but not the only one. I wanted a better world for my entire family—I did it Morgan and Pepper too. I wanted the rest of the world to have their families back because I finally realized how much I treasured my own. You are not to blame for my decisions. Period.”

“That doesn’t change what happened with Gwen! With Doctor Octavious! With Beck!”

He doesn’t let Tony interrupt again.

“Every time I try and do the right thing, bad stuff happens to the people I care about. So I cut them all away and according to you, I still ended up almost dead.”

“That was the Green Goblin’s fault. He escaped the Raft and went on a revenge-fueled rampage against you. You were overwhelmed. If you had help—”

“I don’t want help!” Peter shouts. Tony is always trying to fix Peter’s problems, a habit Peter knows he shares from his attempts to constantly fix New York. Tony just can’t fix Peter—who he is, what his life does to the people he loves. It’s never going to stop. Peter’s never going to stop. Not while he’s alive and has the means to keep trying.

“Then what do you want?” Tony asks, standing up himself and taking Peter’s shoulder in his hand. “I just want to make things better, buddy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Tell me what I can do.”

Peter looks at Tony, thinking of all the mistakes he could have helped correct, every missed birthday and holiday.

“I want to stay here.”

There’s a clear beat of silence. Tony’s face morphs from empathetic softness to a hardened frown.

“Peter, no—“

“Yes! Out there I can’t stop myself from—ruining my life all the time, no matter what I do. I can’t be Spider-Man the way everyone wants me to, I can’t be Peter Parker because I am Spider-Man, and everyone is looking at me to lead Stark Industries when I don’t even work there anymore!”

Working at SI had been what he thought he was supposed to do. Go to MIT. Graduate. Work for Pepper. Fulfill the legacy. Make Tony proud. Make everyone proud. Be the smartest and Spider-Man and a good boyfriend all at the same time.

But then Gwen died and he was already struggling to fill his mentor’s shoes and he’d just—surrendered to the part of himself that always doubted, that could never reconcile Tony’s belief in him and the way he often saw himself.

“Here I could be with you and Ben and my parents,” Peter reasons. “Tony, I lost them when I was five! I could finally see them again—“

Peter grabs for Tony in an attempt to reason with him, but Tony shakes it off.

“Peter, this was supposed to be a mission to make you snap out of it. You’re teetering between dead and alive right now and you need to go back.”

“No, please,” Peter begs. “Please, Mister Stark, please. I want to go. I want to go with you. I don’t want to leave you again. Ever since you died everything’s been—everything just keeps going wrong. Maybe this is a sign. I can never make the right choices, maybe it’s time for me to—“

“No.” Tony is looking down at him, like Peter is fifteen and naive and the world would be so much simpler if only Peter would listen to Tony.

“Don’t you dare try to act like your life out there doesn’t matter, like this is the better option.” Tony shakes his head back and forth. “The point of this place is to be after your life. I know that you’ve been through a lot already, but you’re not done yet. You’re not.”

Peter buries himself into Tony’s chest, desperate. He grew taller in the last few years but here in this lab, in this place that doesn’t exist, he is the boy Tony remembers, the boy he misses getting to be.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony echoes Peter’s last words on Titan, and he knows it, he must, to still be so affected by losing Peter in the first place. He keeps Peter encased in his arms, rubbing his back over and over in a soothing gesture.

“I’m sorry things have been so hard without me. I’m sorry that you’ve missed me so much, and that I can’t be there. I’m sorry that the only way I could figure out to save the world didn’t include saving myself.”

Tony pulls away slightly, enough so that he can catch Peter’s watery gaze.

“But Peter, that is no excuse to think your life should be over. You know I have always encouraged you to be more selfish. I spent so long telling you to go after the things you wanted—the parts of a normal life that you deserve—because you are an incredible, empathic, intelligent kid. But for once I am begging you to think about other people. You have responsibilities, Pete. You have people that love you down there. You know that.”

“And think of everything that’s happened to them because of me! I—I’ve given May more grey hairs than you, I’ve put MJ in danger—I’m the reason Harry’s dad went away! Without me…without Spider-Man…maybe they’d be better. Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen!”

Tony doesn’t respond to this, but Peter can read his face. He doesn’t believe Peter at all.

“Let me show you something.” It’s a complete diversion, and Tony relies on Peter’s silent surprise, leaving their loose embrace and tapping at a set of holograms in front of him until a feed appears.

It’s an alley.

Somehow, Peter knows it’s in New York. Maybe it’s all of the time he’s spent in dumpsters—both searching for old technology in his youth and getting his ass kicked into them—that allows him to recognize that.

It’s not the most interesting footage—the most activity on screen for a minute is a mangy tabby cat scampering by.

Then a masked man comes running by the camera, a leather purse in hand and darting glances behind him.

A string of familiar webbing comes on screen, followed by a lithe, masked figure whose body slams into the robber’s, knocking the man down before sticking him to the ground with a layer of webbing. The masked figure takes the purse and swings away, back toward the mouth of the alley.

“Tony, what is this?” Peter asks.

“That is Miles Morales. Fourteen. Brooklyn native. Remind you of anyone?” Tony rolls his eyes at Peter’s unamused face. “Yeah, you get it. Anyway, two months ago, Mister Morales was bit by another one of Oscorp’s freaky mutant spiders. He didn’t tell anyone, but when Spider-Man was put into a coma fighting the Green Goblin and he didn’t help…”

The clip loops again, repeating the swing and kick of Miles’ body slamming into the robber.

“He became Spider-Man.”

Tony nods. “A cheap copy, though, of course. Underoos 2.0, you might say.”

“Only you would.”

“Ouch,” Tony hums. “I’m just saying, without Spider-Man, without you, someone else is always going to step up. It might be Miles, or the Avengers, or that little group of vigilantes near Hell’s Kitchen…”

“Then you’re just proving my point, they don’t need me to—!”

Tony holds his hand up.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t still needed. You—Peter Parker, Spider-Man—are the person that knows the streets of New York’s boroughs better than anyone else. You’re the same person that helped take down Thanos and fought against Beck and the rest of his little Sinister Six friends. You’re the only Peter Parker that Michelle wants. You’re the only best friend that Ned Leeds wants. You’re the only nephew your Aunt May has. You’re Morgan’s only big brother, Petey."

The warmth that was surrounding Peter until that moment fades slightly. Here, the world that he came from seems so far away. It was easy to say he wanted to stay when the most important thing was right in front of him.

But Tony isn't the most important thing in Peter’s life. Peter's grief seemed to be important for years after. It felt heavy, all-consuming, a weight he was backpacking around on the top of all the good things because the world wouldn’t let him forget. From the murals and statues to Beck’s raging hunger for revenge, Peter felt the ache of Tony’s loss much like he had for Ben—acute and piercing his life with holes.

The thing is—Peter still grieves. All of Tony’s loved ones do. They wish he was there at birthdays and barbecues, reminisce about this story or that, tell Peter and Morgan of his love for them, his pride.

It just doesn’t hurt the same, these reminders. It doesn’t hurt as consistently. His sadness ebbs and flows, bleeds and stems, metaphors on metaphors on metaphors.

“You’re the only you that there is, kiddo," Tony continues. "You need to stop blaming yourself for everything that hasn’t worked out and start realizing that you’ve done a lot of things right. You’re allowed to grieve the past, but you can’t stay here. You need to move forward. That doesn’t have to mean letting go. It means taking us with you, and continuing to make us proud, just like you have been, even when everything is going wrong.”

Tony's eyes are expectant. He wants Peter to really listen to what he's saying, to believe it.

Peter nods, even as some part of him doesn't want to. Tony is right, and Peter is old enough to admit it, to want to believe it. Tony’s death is not as fresh as Gwen’s, and still newer than the death of his uncle, but he is allowed to hold his loss as he moves on from it. He knows that. He was trying for so long, but the losses kept piling up, and he’d forgotten because it was easier to wallow in his grief than try and recover for the umpteenth time.

It’s tiring.

As if Tony can see as much in Peter’s eyes—because he has seen it all, because he knows what Peter’s gone through without him all the time—he finishes his speech.

“Peter, I know you’re doubting yourself and your abilities. I know it’s hard. But you don’t need someone else to fix that for you—not me, or Ben, or your parents. It’s okay to miss us—you know that we miss you. But you don’t need me around to be a great hero or a good person. You’re all of those things on your own.”

Tony puts a hand on Peter’s head, pulling back his curls and looking directly into his eyes. “But if you need the assurance…you’re everything I could have hoped for and more. I love you, and I’m so proud of you, okay? No matter what.”

"I still want to stay," Peter admits, his voice quiet. There's a difference in knowing he can't and wanting. It's a childish part of himself that he's allowing to be obstinate.

Tony only smiles, though, understanding when he admits, "And some part of me wants to keep you here. But it's not your time. Not yet, okay? You have apologies to make to a very pretty girl, an aunt that would break the rules of spacetime to kick my ass if you died in your twenties, a kid that needs your mentorship…"

"What if I get him killed?" Peter asks abruptly. He hadn't even considered what mentorship would mean, in the long run. "Tony, how many times did I almost die before I turned eighteen? I did die, on an alien world. How can I promise that won't happen to him?"

"You can't," Tony chuckles. "There are no guarantees in any part of life, kid, you know that. He could get taken down by a supervillain or a car in equal measure. But one way he's fighting for the city—for the people he believes in. One way makes him the hero that he is."

Tony shrugs. "That's why I never stopped you."

"You couldn't stop me."

"That too. But that fear? That's what is going to make you better. It made me better."

Peter nods, understanding. His fear for a kid he doesn't even know is just the same as Tony's fear was for him in the beginning.

But look at what grew out of that: he and Tony freakin' Stark, standing here in the afterlife filled with love for each other, planning to continue their lifelong legacy of work to make the world a better place.

Peter would argue that alone is worth it.

Peter steps forward, bringing Tony into another hug—a final hug. "I love you."

Tony's thumb finds the back of Peter's neck, gently stroking. "I love you too, kiddo."

"You'll keep watching over me? Just in case?"

"Of course. I'll let Ben take a turn too, invite your parents into the Spidey Protection Program."

"I'd really like that." He backs up to look at Tony. "And when May gets here, could you—"

"We'll take care of her." In exchange, Tony asks, "Can you tell Pepper and Morgan—oh, and Rhodey and Happy, and don't forget Bruce—"

"I'll tell everyone that you miss them. That you're waiting."

"Such a good kid," Tony remarks, running a hand through Peter’s hair again before landing to cup his cheek again, like he’s treasuring the new gesture before it’s taken from him. "Be safe...well, as much as you can. More family vacations and less hospital visits, okay?"

"Yeah, okay,” Peter agrees, twitching up a real smile through the last of his tears. “Goodbye, Tony."

"Bye, Pete. I'll see you soon. Just—not too soon! And I want to see any future grand-babies all the time, you hear me? No absentee fathering! And—"

The world around Peter grows blurred again, taking him out the same way he came in.

The sound of Tony’s voice echoes into the beeping of a heart monitor.

The ethereal warmth fades into the reality of cold air conditioning—a scratchy hospital blanket is the only shield from the cold. A tube is uncomfortably jammed down his throat.

The life in front of him is no more enticing than it was before, with Tony. It will be weeks spent in recovery despite his healing powers, groveling at Michelle’s feet to make up for leaving her in the first place, apology after apology to his aunt for not calling. He’ll owe Morgan at least a week at the cabin, if not more treats to be exploited from his wallet later. Most importantly—at the risk of Miles Morales’ life—he has to track down a reckless kid and try to teach him to be a better hero when Peter himself is a five alarm tire fire and a half.

But there is also a lot of life still out there that he doesn’t want to forget about:

Aunt May’s one and only good recipe—sweet potato pie. She always flits around their tiny apartment covered in flour and smelling of spices, slapping his hands away from the counter with a firm, “Don’t you dare.”

MJ’s drawings from years past taped to the walls of his bedroom, her unread stacks of hardcovers littering every empty surface, and the way she always stops reading to kiss him goodnight before he goes out on patrol.

Morgan and Pepper, the cabin, the memories he wants to forget and all of the new ones he’s made there next to his little pseudo-sister that have helped make her into the kind, empathetic kid that he would do anything for in a heartbeat.

Peter still has a lot to tell all of them, the words he promised Tony he’d relay.

Peter opens his eyes.

#irondad #spiderson #marvel #friendly neighborhood exchange #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #my writing

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multifandomhaven · 5 years

Text

Tip V

Pairing: Nacho Varga x OC

There is one Spanish word in this chapter, and I'm painfully white and don't know anything other than hillbilly English, so I apologize if I butcher anything from this point forward. I did use Google translate and I know sometimes it's a little wonky, so please don't flame me too hard if it's complete nonsense.

As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Nacho didn't know whether to be concerned or furious at the hysterics he found Sarah in when he pulled into the parking lot across the street.

She stood in the grass, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, shoulders quaking as she sobbed. Her head was bowed, but even from the road he could see the tears streaming down her face. She stayed still as he pulled up in front of her, unflinching as the headlights bathed her in their harsh, artificial light.

Nacho cursed, quickly throwing the van in park before he jumped out and ran over to her. His hands shot out before his mind could catch up, frantically inspecting her for any visible sign of injury. When he found none he breathed a sigh of relief and placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing lightly, trying to soothe her cries. "Hey, what happened? What can I do?"

Sarah stayed silent, her tearful gaze still trained onto the ground by his feet. Nacho crouched slightly and bent his neck in an attempt to meet her eyes. She sniffed and shook her head, mumbling so low he could barely make out her words. "T-Take me home. Please."

"Okay," Nacho agreed. "Okay, come on. I'll take you home."

He led her to the passenger side of his van, his hands hovering just by her sides, ready to catch her if she were to stumble. He buckled her in, glancing between her face and her hands, his confusion only growing when he saw how they violently trembled. He gingerly caught one between his own hands and lifted it to his lips, pressing a small kiss to her knuckles.

Sarah offered a forced, tearful half-grin and the action threatened to tear his heart straight from his chest. What the fuck happened to her?

Nacho gave her hand a light, reassuring squeeze before he dropped it back onto her lap and shut her door. He jogged around the van, made quick work of his seat belt and then pulled out onto the road, Sarah's plea of 'Take me home' droning in his mind.

The pair made no attempt to fill the silence with meaningless words - Nacho could still see the fear in her eyes as clear as day - but the urge to comfort her nearly consumed him. He slowly reach hand over to her, gauging her reaction through the corner of his eye, and when she didn't flinch away from his touch he let his hand fall to rest on her knee. Sarah sniffed loudly and leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes and taking in slow, barely controlled breaths.

The rest of the ride to her apartment was uneventful. Sarah's tears had finally subsided, but Nacho kept his hand on her leg, his fingers always grazing or squeezing - anything to let her know that he was still there. That he would protect her.

He pulled into the spot designated for Sarah's car and killed the engine. With a final squeeze of her knee he got out and walked Sarah to the door.

Sarah tried to open the apartment, but her unsteady hands only proved to frustrated her further. She dropped the key on the third attempt to push it into the door and Nacho bent to grab it, sliding it in and holding the door open for her. As they stepped into the living area they were instantly greeted with Lola's whines and pleas for attention. The small dog jumped around them with glee, pawing and yipping with excitement. Sarah bent to grab her and placed a kiss to her ear and rubbing her hands along her back and clutching her to her chest.

Nacho watched them patiently, and after she placed the dog back on the ground, he guided Sarah into her small bedroom.

"A shower might help you feel better," he suggested as he rifled through her dresser, pulling out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt he thought she might be comfortable sleeping in. If it were a different time he'd laugh at the insane amount of graphic t-shirts she owned. Instead, he simply tried to tidy what he'd torn through in his haste to find a change of clothes.

He felt her hand on his shoulder before her voice, strained and distraught, called out to him. "Nacho."

He lay the clothes on the top of the dark dresser before turning to face her. He opened his mouth to respond, but instead felt her hands grip him and pull him against her with a strength he didn't know she possessed. She kissed him urgently, pressing her lips against his with a bruising force. Her hands caressed the sides of his face and neck, desperate to touch and feel him. Nacho sucked a breath in through his nose and kissed her back just as urgently.

He felt her hands reach frantically for the buttons on his shirt and he brought his own up to grip her wrists, halting her efforts with a gentle squeeze. He pulled away from her, holding her glassy gaze.

"Let's get you into that shower," his voice was soft. "Then we'll talk. Is that okay?"

Sarah looked betrayed, or angry, he couldn't tell. "Y-You don't want to?"

"Have sex with you?" He clarified.

Sarah's facade faltered a bit, but she straightened her back and nodded. "Yes."

:Sarah," Nacho brought his hand to the nape of her neck, staring into her eyes with unwavering sincerity. "Of course I do, cariño. I'd be crazy not to. But right now I want to take care of you. Is that okay?"

Guilt flashed over her face before she hung her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Nacho, I'm so sorry."

Nacho sighed softly and pulled her into him with the hand that rested on the back of her neck. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face into his chest. He felt her fist his shirt in her hands, pulling him further against her, her tears soaking through his shirt in a matter of seconds. He tangled his hand in her hair, his fingers rubbing along her scalp as he whispered soothing words into her ear. His other hand made it's way up and down her back softly.

Sarah pulled back after a while, her eyes puffy and lined with red. She frowned down at the wet spot on his shoulder, "I didn't mean to-"

"Shh," Nacho shushed her. "There's nothing you need to apologize for."

Sarah nodded and lay her head back on his shoulder.

"Now," Nacho began again. "You go take a shower and I'll make you something to eat, okay?"

Sarah nodded and leaned up to press a chaste, quick kiss to his jaw. She grabbed the clothes he'd picked for her and disappeared into the bathroom.

Nacho ambled around the kitchen, opening doors and searching through the fridge to no avail. Eventually ended up throwing a tv dinner into the microwave, wrinkling his nose at the smell as it heated - it never failed to bring him back to his childhood. His father always did the best he could with the resources he had, and sometimes working long hours meant that he didn't have time to cook a complete meal, so the pair depended on the convenience meals from time to time.

Nacho never liked them much and it made him miss his Mama's cooking even more, but he always ate them without complaint.

He stirred the sauce into the dry looking noodles with a sigh, and then sat the plastic tray onto the table. He found a couple of glasses in the cabinet beside the sink and filled both with water, then sat down and waited for Sarah to return.

It wasn't long before he heard the soft padding of bare feet on the floor and he glanced up from his folded hands to see Sarah coming back toward him, drying her hair as best she could with a fluffy towel. The black shirt he picked for her was loose and very clearly well worn, one side falling to expose her bare shoulder. Her darkened, damp hair hung loose, plastered to the side her neck, and Nacho couldn't help but admire her, red nose and all.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Sarah asked as she sat in her seat.

Nacho shook his head. "I'm good."

"Okay," Sarah said quietly, pushing the food around the plastic container with her fork. "And thank you, for everything."

"Of course." Nacho offered a quick quirk of his lips in response. He watched her twirl her fork around, never taking a bite of food, for what seemed like an hour. She made little conversation with him, obviously avoiding the elephant in the room for as long as she could, and he allowed it until the conclusions he kept drawing in his head nearly drove him to insanity. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for her response before he bit the bullet and asked, "You want to tell me what happened?"

Sarah inhaled shakily, halting her movement completely. She dropped her fork and mumbled her response. "Doug."

Nacho blinked, soaking in the single word. Rage burned his chest and he untangled his hands and leaned further onto the table, trying to catch her eye. "The owner's kid?"

"Yeah," Sarah confirmed quietly. "He... he-"

Nacho waited patiently for her to elaborate, but instead she simply stared ahead, her face completely void of emotion. Images of the man back at the diner forcing unspeakable things on Sarah clouded his mind and he suddenly had the urge to drive back down there and take matters into his own hands. Nacho raised from his chair, the sheer force of his movement caused it to clatter to the floor on it's side, but he paid it no mind.

Instead, he stalked around the table and knelt down beside Sarah, his hands finding hers in her lap. "Are you hurt? Did he-"

"No. No, he didn't - I wasn't," Sarah closed her eyes and sighed. "There's just some bruises... on my hip."

Nacho released her and pulled her shirt up her side gently, zeroing in on the small splattering of bruises just above her hipbone. He traced his fingertips over them, his touch feather light. "What'd he do to you, Sarah?"

Sarah turned her body toward him, putting her hands on his shoulders before she started to speak. "Before I tell you you have to promise you won't do anything."

"Sarah," Nacho warned. "That piece of shit put his hands on you."

"I know," Sarah admitted quietly. "But Nacho you have to understand, I need this job. The diner is my only source of income, if I lose it I don't know what I'll do. I'll lose my apartment! I won't be able to pay for school or food."

Nacho shook his head. "Let me worry about that."

"Nacho - "

"I'll find you another job," Nacho offered quickly. "I know a place."

cariño - sweetie, honey, dear. A sweet term of endearment.

#nacho varga #nacho varga x oc #nacho varga fanfiction #better call saul #better call saul fanfiction #ignacio varga #ignacio varga fanfiction #ignacio varga x oc

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