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nomtterwhere · 2 years

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can’t handle it (4) || jake “hangman” seresin x reader

summary: things are getting real—the mission is in less than two weeks and you still haven’t been able to complete the course. you’re nearing your breaking point when, surprisingly, hangman steps in

word count: 3.1k

a/n: hi, sorry for the long wait! i ended up taking this chapter in a different direction, which in turn changed the next part as well. on that note, i wanted to let everyone know there are three parts left to this fic! parts 5, 6, and an epilogue. once again, thank you for all the love, and if you like this oen as well, don’t forget to like and reblog! and let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

part three // series masterlist

Failed. Again.

Tugging off your helmet, you stormed away from the lot where two more planes had just landed. Since so many of you were struggling with the course, a bunch of you had decided to have another late trial run. It was nearing ten o’clock and only you, Hangman, Phoenix, Yale, and Coyote were left. But you were ready to tap out for the night.

Barely two weeks. That was all you had left before you were shipped out to this mission and you were still screwing up. You were making it through the valley, hitting the target, but that steep climb out at the end had you doubting yourself. You leveled out too early, you knew you did. That’s why when you touched the ground, you knew you only had yourself to blame. You were already unzipping your flight suit as you headed straight for the dorms, eager to rid yourself of the uniform that reminded you of your failure.

There was no way Maverick would let you fly if this was all he saw of you.

“Twister!” You heard your callsign being called out but you ignored it, your legs determined to reach their destination. “Hey, Twister! Y/N!”

With the last call of your name, a hand wrapped around your wrist and spun you around, bringing you face to face with Hangman. Any other time you would have greeted him with a smile and a witty comment, but you had reached your limit for today. You wanted so badly to just lock yourself in your room and stay there until the dagger squad left—without you.

So, you avoided his eyes, instead choosing to look down at where your wrist was still enclosed in his hand. His grip loosened, but only slightly, opting to cradle your hand in his, his thumb rubbing soothing circles where your pulse beat.

“Can you look at me?” He asked, uncharacteristically quiet.

You shook your head, your focus on the circles he was absentmindedly rubbing into your skin. You could feel the burning in the back of your eyes, the tell-tale sign that tears were about to come, and you wanted to get out of the landing zone before anyone noticed. This wasn’t who you were. You didn’t want anyone to think you could be broken down so easily.

Apparently, Hangman had sensed this as well because the next thing you knew, you were being tugged forward, ahead of the slew of pilots that were about to come down from the course as well. As much as your mind was telling you to fight it, that you wanted to be alone, your body went willingly as you were walked back to your room.

You walked in silence the whole way there, Hangman knowing not to push just yet, but you could feel the nervous energy radiating from him. You didn’t lose your cool. Ever. You were positive he was eager to drop you off at your room and never speak of this moment again.

Except, when you reached your dorm, he opened the door to let you in and then entered after you. He let the door shut behind him while he flipped on the light switch.

You stood at the door as the room was illuminated under the weak fluorescent lighting, watching as Hangman walked through the room, adjusting your bedsheets, turning the bedside lamp on, and pulling out the desk chair. He took a seat and looked over at you still standing in the corner. You didn’t know what to say or do; you hadn’t anticipated him making it past your doorframe.

“Come sit.” He said, gently.

Somehow, you managed to get your feet moving and walked over to your bed, which you had left carelessly strewn about this morning. But after Hangman’s touch, the sheets were pulled back, pillows sat at the top the way they were meant to be. You still weren’t sure what to expect but maintained eye contact as you slowly sank onto the bed.

Hangman moved his chair slightly, so he was directly in front of you and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. He studied you for a moment, as you still hadn’t said anything, and his eyes were gentler and kinder than you had ever seen them.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He reached out and brushed a baby hair loose on your forehead back, so like the way you had done the same for him on the beach just a few nights ago.

I’m fine, you wanted to say. You wanted to laugh it off, anything to get him to leave the room. He would know you were lying but you didn’t care. You just wanted this pressure on your chest to be relieved in private.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words were all in your brain, but they refused to make it past that point. You didn’t know how to make them come out. For all the times you thought Hangman was hard to crack open, you should have been looking inwards.

Weak. Coward. Not good enough.

Never good enough.

Your eyes squeezed shut as your mind conjured an image of you smashing into the side of a mountain due to your inability to complete the mission.

A hand placed itself on your knee and squeezed, shaking you out of your thoughts. “Hey, come on. Let me in.” Your eyes opened slowly to look into green ones. “You’re not doing this alone.”

“Um…” You could already feel your voice beginning to crack, but Hangman’s steady hand kept you grounded. The truth, it is. “I just can’t seem to get it. I used to think I was invincible. But recently—” You stopped yourself. You had never said this aloud to anyone before, in fear of seeming weak.

“What is it?” Hangman encouraged you and when you looked in his eyes you saw them devoid of judgment or condemnation. He was simply there. It gave you the strength to continue.

“No matter what I do, there’s this voice in my head and it stops me. It’s like, I know I can do so much better, but my mind just won’t let me. And the more missions I fly, the louder the voice gets and if I can’t do it on this base, what makes me think I’ll be able to get it right come mission time?” You hadn’t realized you were crying until the salty taste of your tears reached your lips.

He was out of his chair in an instant, kneeling in front of you. One hand came and rested on top of both of your own, which you had clasped together tightly in your lap.

“Why haven’t you said anything? Why let this go on for so long?”

“I don’t want to be a burden on anyone else.”

“You have helped so many of us with our own shit. Hell, you were practically our class’s onsite therapist in Top Gun. Did you ever think of me as a burden? Or anyone else?” He asked.

“No.” You replied, immediately, repulsed by the thought. To think of your friends as burdens you had to carry when all they needed was someone to talk to? You loved being able to help in any way that you could.

“Then how could you think any of us could feel that way about you? Do you really think that little of us?” You noted the pain in his voice and understood what he was asking.

Did you really believe he was capable of being that selfish? Of course not. You had never thought of it that way, so consumed in your own negative thoughts. You found it easier to help others than it was to help yourself and threw yourself entirely into that.

“Never.” You said, looking at him now.

“So why is it any different when it comes to you?” His voice is gentle, but you can sense tension in his words.

It just is. You want to insist but know that won’t mean much here. You remain silent, letting your silence speak for itself.

“Look, I’m not as good as you at this. And I wish I knew the exact words to say, but I don’t. But I need you to know—look at me.” You had left your gaze drift away from his face but snapped back to him at his words. His gaze was strong, though you could see the slight worry lines on his forehead. You couldn’t help yourself as you reached up to lightly smooth it out.

“You look better without it.” You whispered.

He chuckled lightly. “So, help me. I’d be a lot less worried if you would talk to someone when you feel like this. None of us want you going through this alone, especially when so many of us feel that way from time to time. Promise me that you’ll talk to someone. Talk to me.” He said that last part so quietly if you weren’t directly in front of him you wouldn’t have heard it.

“Let me take care of you. The way you’ve taken care of everyone else.” Of me. You could read the unspoken words in the expression on his face.

The way he was looking at you with such a fierce determination made your heart want to claw its way out of your chest. Being on the receiving end of this affection was new to you, and despite giving it out for the better part of your life, you had no idea how to react. But you knew, right now, you wanted to give your pain and stress an outlet. One it had been trying desperately to reach, one you had been too selfless to give to it. But now, with Jake in front of you, it was clear that you needed to let go.

“Will you let me help you?” He asked again, squeezing your hand.

You nodded.

He moved from being in front of you to sitting beside you on your bed, one arm around your shoulders and the other cradling your head. His scent enveloped you, and though you had been hugged many times by Hangman, this time was different. This was pure Jake Seresin, giving you his body to lean on.

“Don’t hold back because I’m here. Let it all go.”

It was as if all you needed was permission to release all the tension you had been feeling, because at his words everything came out. It didn’t even come in waves, your tears were simply freefalling now, your words coming out whenever you took a breath. The fears that had plagued you ever since an almost failed mission four months ago, the feeling of being lost when you were used to being the best, the doubts you had about your own talents now being surrounded by others who had once been given the same title you had.

You couldn’t stop once you got started and Jake held you through it all, murmuring words of reassurance that he was still there. You sobbed into his shoulder, never before feeling the relief you felt then.

“Sometimes…being told you’re the best can do more harm than good. You’re constantly living up to a name someone else had placed on you.” Jake said, one hand stroking your back. You sat quietly in his arms, listening. “This kind of burnout happens to the best of us. Literally. And I know all you want to do is beat yourself up about it, but then you’re ever going to get past it. You keep moving through it.”

“Even if I manage to get out of my own head before training ends…it’s too late. There’s no way I’m going on that mission now and you know it.” You took a few deep breaths, suddenly exhausted with how much you’ve been crying.

Two hands came and cupped your face, bringing you eye level once again with the man before you. His thumbs wiped away the last of your tears, caressing the skin beneath.

“Forget about Maverick and the mission. And yes, I know that’s going to be hard. Trsut me, I get it more than anyone.” You knew he was telling the truth. “Do this for you. Prove to yourself that you’re the same pilot who kicked my ass in Top Gun the first time around.”

You laughed unexpectedly. His words were easier said than done, but God, it felt good to laugh about this.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to your forehead, then your cheek. You let your body sink into his, seeking comfort and protection. A single forehead kiss from this man and you were ready to spill all your secrets. He was dangerous.

“You should get some sleep.” He whispered against your skin.

You nodded, but for a few moments neither of you moved. You had always felt at your most vulnerable with Jake, which anyone else would find ironic, considering he gave the complete opposite vibe. But even this was different; you had never felt so open before. You couldn’t even remember the last time you cried in front of someone. For him to be the one you shared this weight with meant more to you than you could ever articulate.

Finally, Jake made a move to pull away, but your hands tightened around his arms, preventing him from moving any further.

“Will you stay here?” The words came before you could tell your brain what to do with them. But you knew it was what you wanted. You didn’t want to sleep alone tonight.

“Is that the best idea?” You knew what he was asking. As volatile as your relationship was—switching from sincere friendship to flirty banter—you had never spent a night in the same room. You always thought it was best not to tempt fate.

But tonight, you needed the companionship. You needed that feeling of not being alone just a little longer. You were both adults, you could handle one night together.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to be alone.”

And with that came a single nod from Jake.

“I’ll be right back.”

You stood up from your bed when you heard the door shut, expecting to feel shakier than you did right now. But you made your way to your dresser on steady legs, changing into comfortable clothes to sleep in. The base was always kept cold at night to battle the California heat, so you were wearing a pair of warm sweatpants with a T-shirt you’ve owned forever.

Looking into the mirror that hung above your clothes at your now-swollen face, you were hit with the realization of what you just did. Hangman was spending the night in your room. In your twin-sized bed. You let the idea wash over you and get settled…it was oddly comforting.

You felt uneasy about the next day and having the knowledge that someone else knew how you were feeling made you feel less alone. Going into tomorrow was not going to be easy, but it would be easier with Jake by your side. Why not start the day with him as well?

There were two knocks at your door, and you swallowed, not looking away from the mirror. “You can come in.”

Jake walked into the room and you immediately laughed out loud. Not only was he wearing a pair of sweatpants identical to yours, but the T-shirt he adorned had the same 80’s rock band emblazoned across the front.

The corners of his mouth turned up, watching you in the mirror. “Well, one of us is going to have to change.”

“Get in the bed, Seresin.”

“Oo, yes ma’am.” He flicked off the light switch, crossing the room in near darkness.

The smile was now permanent on your face. You had no idea how the two of you did it, but you had managed to slip right back into your comfort space with each other. The natural, easy laughter that always came with him wasn’t stalled, even after your roles had switched for a moment.

Looking at your bed, you saw Jake was already tucked in, watching as you switched off the desk lamp.

“Nice to see you’ve made yourself at home.” You teased, tugging on the sheets to give yourself some room to get in.

“Hey, I’m just following orders.”

You rolled your eyes, sinking into the bed, facing him. Now that you were here, it was impossible to ignore the way your pulse quickened. The subtle shift in Jake’s eyes as he watched you get comfortable; from care to…something stronger. Neither of you said a word and you didn’t think there was anything that could be said that was big enough to fill this space.

Though, you did want to say one thing before the night passed and you inevitably never brought it up again.

“Hey.”

Jake hummed, letting you know he was listening. You could just make out the outline of his face in the dark. His eyes were closed, but you knew he was far from sleeping.

“I know you said you weren’t good at this kind of thing. But I have to say, you managed to find the right words this time, Seresin.” You watched his eyes slowly flutter open. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

He let a small smile pass over his face. “Well, thank you.” Then he chuckled briefly. “How is it that you’re still managing to turn this around on me?”

“Can’t help it. I’m hardwired to look after other people.”

Moving forward, it was as if the imaginary barriers you had set up no longer existed, and he pressed his lips to your forehead once again. You could swear you felt the kiss in every one of your nerve endings. He shifted towards you, bringing an arm around your shoulders to allow you to rest your head on his chest—which you did, willingly.

“Take the night off.” He whispered into your ear, and this close to him you could hear how his breathing was irregular, his heartbeat just a beat faster than normal.

Take the night off. You could picture a lot more nights just like this. So, you allowed yourself the luxury of this becoming a reality. You knew in the morning you would go back to your regular friendship and that you would probably try to avoid any conversation about your meltdown earlier. But tonight, you wanted to live in your delusion. And Jake was giving you permission to do so.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Jake.”

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#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #top gun #top gun maverick #glen powell #jake seresin imagine #hangman imagine #jake seresin x you #hangman x you #cant handle it fic

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twiceasfrustrating · 1 year

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Somewhere in the Middle, We Will Meet

Rating: General Audience Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Relationships: Malleus Draconia & Yuu|Player Characters: Malleus, Yuu|Player Additional Tags: fluff, pining (depending on how you read their relationship) Summary: On a cold night in Ramshackle Dorm, Yuu sees a well known visitor arrive and goes to join him viewing the stars. A/N: I play the English version and don't know much of anything outside of that. Don't @ me if I contradict the Japanese release. I just liked the thought of this. Word Count: 951

The dark purples and blues and blacks of the night all blended together outside the rickety window of the Ramshackle dorm. A mild chill seeped through the cracks in the wood, forcing Yuu to readjust themselves in their blankets as they huddled near the lit fireplace for warmth. Nearby, buried under his own massive nest of blankets, Grim was snoring peacefully along with the crackling of flames.

They gave the scene a small smirk before turning to look out the window once more. Just out of the corner, they could see a faint yellow-green light flicker and twirl before fading away again. Then another and another.

They stood from the fireplace and quickly walked across the cold floor toward the front door. Somehow, the air that hit them in the face as they flung the door open was warmer than the dorm itself. It still wasn't warm by any means, but it was better than what they'd just come from.

The flickering light was gone by the time they finally stepped outside, but the arrival it promised had not been a lie. Standing at the edge of the surrounding trees was a man with a silhouette so unique that Yuu knew him as soon as they saw him. Only one man was so tall, proud, and came with horns.

"Hello, Malleus," they greeted him with a smile as they tightened their grip on the blanket around their shoulders. This real name still felt weird in their lips.

His glowing green eyes slowly turned to them. As he opened his mouth to speak, they could see his fangs trying not to peek out. "Hello, Child of Man." He looked at the blanket draped over them inquisitively. "Are you cold?"

"Less than I was." It really was strange how Ramshackle seemed to always be more chilly than simply going outside. "Did you come to get away again?"

"This place is special."

"Yeah, it is." The entirety of Night Raven College was special. A world similar enough to their own to be livable but foreign enough to be fantastic. It was strange how much they had adapted to it all. It was even more strange how much they missed their own world, but simultaneously had grown used to being in this one.

But he clearly meant Ramshackle more than the entire campus or world. For Malleus, this world was simply his home and this specific spot was where he escaped to when he started to falter in it.

"Are you cold?" Yuu asked as they caught him looking away from them, toward the sky.

He seemed to laugh softly from his chest, but didn't turn to look at them as she spoke. "This chill is nothing. I can tolerate much worse."

"I see," their voice went quiet as they once again readjusted their blanket to try and stay nestled in its limited warmth. Fairies were impressive in how much they could tolerate. "What are you looking at?"

"The stars," he said nonchalantly.

They followed his gaze toward the sky, unsure which of the many possible stars he could be staring at. There were so many; much more than they were used to seeing. It was like a sparkling sea of glitter.

"It's beautiful," they said in awe. "I've never seen so many in my life."

"Does the world you come from not have stars?"

They shook their head. "We do – lots of them in fact – but you can't see them very well."

"How peculiar. To have stars in your sky but unable to see them. How is such a thing possible?"

"Well," they thought of how to explain their world – something that was so mundane to them – but failed to find the right words, "it's complicated. In short, we don't have magic, so we have to make light at night in other ways, but because we make so much light on the land we can't see the light of the stars in the sky."

"Humans of your world have created a light so powerful it overtakes the stars? How impressive."

"Yeah, it is, but it's also sad. I never knew what I was missing before coming here. I didn't even know I was missing something, even though it was right in front of me."

"Then perhaps,” his eyes darted toward them, as if looking for their reaction, “you should stay now that you've found what you were missing."

At that, Yuu couldn't help but laugh. Not at him, but at the idea of staying in a completely foreign world just so they could start at the stars every night.

It was only his confused face that brought them back to the present moment. "Sorry. It's just a funny thought. It’s cool and all, but I wouldn’t trade my entire life for it.” After all, they still had other things in their world to get back to.

“I see. That is,” he paused to find the correct word, “fair.”

“But, you know,” they scuttled closer to him and followed his gaze to try and get a better idea of where in the vast night sky he could be looking, “I can appreciate the stars while I’m here. Especially if I’m not appreciating them alone.”

He stopped for a moment before lifting a single finger and pointing to a cluster of stars. “That constellation cannot be seen in Briar Valley at this time of year, so I am admiring it.”

“Oh? That’s pretty cool,” they said as they got comfortable on their feet and, for a moment, thought they understood how the world Malleus grew up in could still be strange and wonderful and different to him. “Would you mind telling me more while I’m here?”

#mine #twst fanfic #malleus draconia #twst yuu #fluff #twst fluff

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fansblogarchive · 1 year

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Trend-Servants (part 1 cuz it hit the text limit -mod)

Greetings to my loyal minions, I have held you captive for several weeks awaiting further commands by your leader! Haha, no, that's what I'd say if I was conceited enough to take advantage of my numerous adoring supporters. All seven of them! Yeah, I know… IT’S TOO MANY TO COUNT ON ONE HAND! But anyway, I started thinking about the concept of popularity in general. Y'know, the current “cool” standard, which I would, naturally, lift from a stage musical - “hanging with the right cohorts, being good at sports”. Despite Test Tube’s optimistic support (She tells me, “You could be a delightful asset to a checkers team!”), I unquestionably fail at both of these. It makes me question, do fame and notoriety really matter in the grand scheme of things? To answer in short: "Lolnope". Any sane figure would lecture you about these values, probably the same shreds of sentimentality I'd have shared with you before I joined this series. Would I be biased to claim popularity is irrelevant since I’ve never been too popular myself? Well, luckily we don’t have to worry about that. Like I said, seven whole people are reading this right now! Yet alas, you start to think outside the box once you're on a reality show where viewer vote dictates who stays and who goes. Seriously, the status quo around here is basically be well-liked or be forced to bid adieu prematurely. It makes you hold a lot more value in the things people say. I’d love to just write off users like Fanisworsethaneverything237, but his vote might be what stands between me and a million, life-changing dollars. Not to mention this game basically revolves around a series of social situations, which I'd much prefer to look for any reason to stay out of, for, well, obvious reasons (#self-deprecation). But even after volunteering to get away from the action and stay in the comfort of a soccer goal, the world seemed like it was still tearing me apart… literally. It’s really all too easy to fall into the trap of believing popularity is all that matters when you're trapped under the bubble of a reality show, or some high school, or heck, even box office totals. Yeah, the hilarious new installment in one of my favorite franchises was released last weekend, but made less green than from what I’ve been hearing is a poorly executed young adult novel adaptation. Yes, yet ANOTHER one of those, I mean, that market’s really starting to become bloated. To avoid possible fan outrage I'm not going to say any names, so I diverge, er, digress. It really goes to show, people only like what they've come to know. They want the same thing over and over again, like an assembly line. Or "__ Run" game apps, which ironically, are so numerous I find I can’t run FROM them. Sigh… not everything can be as unique as this book I’m planning involving a love triangle amidst an effort to survive a dystopian future! Working title is “The Disparate Games”, keep an eye on the shelves. When something fresh or original like that comes along, not many people care. That is, unless word of mouth kicks in from some well-respected sources that tell people what they should like. Then all of a sudden the initial popularity starts… I don’t know, compounding continuously, there's a math formula involved, it escapes me. And this “formula” changes every day. So if it's temporary, what does popularity really mean? Well while I'd love to say absolutely nothing, I must admit that is not the truth. Being popular means having connections and opportunities to have doors opened for you. But I can say that even if it’s not nothing, it’s also not everything. You'll be kicked out of those doors if it's made clear you're not actually as good those connections implied. There’s a big difference between these “coattail riders” and “climbing risers”, as I like to call them. Sure, you have limits now, and your outlook may seem hopeless, but carrying a sense of self-awareness is the key. Always be yourself, but try to be conscious of how others might react. Just don't let those reactions mold you into some convoluted mesh of various others’ expect

#FAN ILY BUT #HOKY SHIT #HOLY SHIT #SO MANY WORDS #inanimate insanity #fan ii #ii fan

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ghost-party · 1 year

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Pairing: All Might x OC Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: hurt/comfort, trauma, loss, brief swearing A/N: Thanks for commissioning me again, @little-miss-melanin! It means a lot that you trust me to write your OC, Ayumi Nashimoto. 💛

Toshinori Yagi considers himself a patient man. He realizes many things in life move at their own pace, and trying to hasten them often ends in pointless frustration.

But five weeks…

Yumi has been away for five weeks.

It was supposed to be two, at most. Then it became three. In the fourth week, he realized he wasn’t sleeping well, too distracted by the empty space beside him in their bed.

And in the fifth, he felt brittle with anxiety, as if a single blow might shatter him. Something had clearly gone wrong, but of course no one would tell him anything.

The thing about having once been All Might, the Symbol of Peace, is the past tense of it all. He was the number one hero. But not anymore. It’s an adjustment he’s still reconciling, even years after the fact.

It means that confidential missions organized by the Hero Commission are inaccessible to him. Instead, he’s had to subsist on infrequent texts from Yumi, assuring him she’s fine.

She’s not, though. He feels it with such a heavy certainty, it’s impossible to ignore.

All afternoon, he’s been compulsively checking his phone to make sure her flight landed on time, to reread her too-short texts, to double-check that dinner will be delivered later this evening, because there’s no way either of them will be in the mood to cook.

He’s been pacing the apartment so diligently, he wonders if he might wear a path in the living room rug.

And then finally — finally — the door opens.

“Hey, Toshi.” Yumi steps inside, dropping her heavy duffel onto the floor as she kicks off her boots. She manages a smile, but it’s small and wavering.

Her exhaustion bleeds through, from the way she carries herself to the faint dark circles under her eyes. Shuffling forward, she sighs deeply when Toshinori meets her halfway, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her into his chest.

“I’m home,” she weakly murmurs, and he kisses the top of her head, blinking back helpless tears of relief that have sprung to his eyes.

“You’re home.”

They stay like that for several long moments before Yumi finally pulls away, sighing yet again. “I’m sure you’re dying to know what happened.”

The way she says it — deadpan, with an almost bitter tone — has Toshinori frowning. But he places a hand on her back and leads her to the couch before answering with, “Let me make you some tea.”

When he returns from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with the tea set the two of them bought last Christmas, he takes in the way Yumi seems to have sunk into the couch cushions, hugging a pillow against her stomach.

Something went very, very wrong. His instincts have been saying so since that unplanned third week, but now they’re practically screaming it.

He places the tray on the coffee table and sits down beside her, resting a hand on her knee. “We can talk about it whenever you want. It doesn’t have to be right now.”

But it seems that his soft, warm words give her the encouragement she needs to speak, taking things slow as she explains the mission and why she was gone for so long.

The Hero Commission recruited her, along with many other local heroes, for a task force to handle a group of villains hiding out in a mountain ridge to the south. The two weeks they had planned out accounted for surveillance, planning, and then carrying out the mission.

But what they had been led to believe was a small group ended up being much bigger.

“Even our own surveillance failed us,” Yumi says, frustrated, as she takes a sip of tea. “Between our stupidly limited resources from the Commission and underground portions of the facility that we had no idea even existed…”

Toshinori’s lips press into a thin line as she goes on, explaining that the heroes were forced to retreat from that initial fight. And over the next several weeks, they all realized again and again that they did not have the upper hand.

“After one of the last fights, the villains retreated to a nearby city. A small one, thankfully. We evacuated as many civilians as we could, but in the end…”

Yumi’s teacup shakes in her hand, and she carefully sets it aside before telling him, “The structural damage was extensive. And we suffered too many casualties for me to think of this as a victory.”

Toshinori’s fists are clenched on his knees, his brow furrowed with concern. There’s more that she isn’t saying. What she’s told him is the bare bones of it. But what she went through, for five torturous weeks…

He knows that what she’s feeling must be overwhelming. So much so, that it’s probably hard to even know how to begin processing it all. But if she doesn’t, it will consume her. He’s seen it happen firsthand.

When it looks like she’s about to speak, he leans forward, encouraged. But then she bites out, her voice cracking with emotion, “It shouldn’t have happened. I should have been better.”

“Yumi, no. Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.” She looks up at him with eyes widened in an effort to keep her tears at bay. “If I had been better, good people would still be alive.”

Toshinori’s chest aches as he reaches out, trying to offer her some reassurance. “You did everything you could. I’m certain of that.”

“You weren’t there, Toshi. You don’t know.”

“But I know you,” he protests, feeling panicked when she simply huffs in response, pushing herself up off the couch.

He’s not finished. He needs to get through to her, somehow convince her that guilt isn’t the answer. She needs time to mourn and deal with everything that happened, no matter how painful that will be.

“You’re a good person, Yumi. A damn good hero. You give everything your all, always.” He reaches for her again as he tries to keep his voice even and calm. “I know what you’re feeling. But you can’t run from it or blame yourself. You need to —”

It’s in that moment that something snaps. Yumi turns to him, her gaze fierce, as she hisses, “You don’t know. You have no idea.”

Staring up at him, her bottom lip trembles even as she jabs a finger into his chest. “All Might always saved everyone. All Might was always the shining, golden hero who could do no wrong.”

Yumi takes another step towards him, and he can see that she’s trembling with anger. “All Might always won. And when he won, he never came home with his colleagues — his friends — in body bags.”

Her sharp words seem to hang in the air after she’s said them. Toshinori watches her expression crumble, shifting from heartbroken fury to shock and embarrassment, and then, finally, to shame, her tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Yumi —”

But before he can say anything, she turns and quickly walks down the hall. Toshinori feels rooted to the spot as he hears the bathroom door close and lock, followed by muffled sounds of sobbing.

He stares at nothing for a while, his mind trying to catch up to his heart — which, admittedly, is feeling somewhat bruised after Yumi’s verbal lashing.

He knows, though, that everything she said came from a place of fear and exhaustion and grief. None of it was personal. When Nana Shimura died, he was much the same way, taking out his messy, tangled emotions on Gran Torino.

And he remembers how his mentor reacted. Instead of fighting back or telling him to get out, he sat down. He looked at him — really looked at him, Toshinori, eighteen years old and terrified and lost, not simply the newest wielder of One for All.

And he listened.

Toshinori walks down the hall and sits with his back against the bathroom door. He can tell Yumi is sitting in a similar position on the other side, her sniffles subsiding enough for her to speak.

“I’m sorry. I f-feel awful…” Her head lifts and then settles back against the wood, and he can feel it. “I’m a terrible hero — a t-terrible partner, too.”

“We both know that’s not true.” He says it gently, turning his head towards the seam of the door against the frame. “I’m not upset, Yumi. I promise.”

When she doesn’t speak, he takes the opportunity to go on. “I meant what I said. If you’re not ready to talk about everything, you don’t have to. We can just sit here. Or I can hold you.

“But you can’t bury it all in guilt. You can’t pretend like you didn’t just go through incredible trauma.”

He turns around, sitting on his knees as he presses a hand to the door. “Don’t suppress your emotions like I did. A smile doesn’t fix everything, and neither does beating yourself up. You’re right, that I’ve never gone through something like this. But…”

But I’ve lost too many people anyway. You can’t win every battle.

Seeming to know what he’s thinking, Yumi finally opens the door. She’s kneeling on the tile floor, her cheeks wet with tears, her expression both knowing and sorrowful.

Without a word, she surges forward and throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly, as if he’s the only thing keeping her afloat.

But then she pulls away, looking almost embarrassed. “If you are upset, I wouldn’t blame you. What I said was —”

Toshinori doesn’t let her finish, pulling her back into his arms. “You didn’t mean it. I know that.”

It takes some maneuvering, but he joins her in the bathroom, legs spread wide so that she can sit between them. His back rests against the wall, while hers is pressed to his chest, his arms holding her close as her breathing continues to steady.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’m right here, sweetheart…”

He can feel her relaxing, and eventually, he’ll coax her into taking a bath, changing into pajamas, and letting him read to her for a while. They’ll eat dinner together and then fall asleep with their limbs tangled, like they usually do, and everything will be okay.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, Yumi will get there. And he’ll be by her side every step of the way.

All Might may be in his past now. But Toshinori can still be the hero she needs.

#ghost-party's commissions #my hero academia #mha #all might #toshinori yagi #all might x oc #toshinori x oc #toshinori yagi x oc

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cherriesncinnamon · 2 years

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the attachment / the desires of anakin skywalker

synopsis: jedi knight anakin skywalker disagrees with one particular rule written in the jedi code, still, he obeys like a jedi should. that is until he begins to struggle with burying his true desires, and a certain someone walks into his life who pushes him to his limit.

warnings/tags: sexual fantasies, sexual references.

word count: 1.0k.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧

Anakin Skywalker had the greatest power of any Jedi in the galaxy, and better yet, he devoted his life to the Order. As mundane as it may seem, he kept to himself, and followed every conduct and law in place for Jedi. He stated that such things wouldn't be practiced if they held no significance, or relevance. He believed they were keeping him safe in every which way. However, once the gruelling trials and tribulations of teenage-hood crashed down onto conservative Anakin, he began to think about one specific rule in the Jedi Code of conduct :

"Jedi are forbidden to form attachments."

Although his "attachments" never surpassed short, simple, shallow attractions to the opposite sex, the guilt coursed through his veins every time. He greatly feared the idea of falling in love, even more of becoming attached to said lover. Luckily, his insatiable appetite for validation from his fellow Knights would never allow something that outlandish to occur, Anakin could never disappoint his mentors. Not to mention, he had never fallen under the hypnotic spell of love, so who's to say he ever will? Albeit, when he finally had the chance to sit undisturbed with his own thoughts, the rule started to sound more frivolous the more he questioned it. Marriage, children, life experiences, and pure happiness with someone always appealed to him, but staying applied to the Jedi Code overpowered his sincere desires once again.

Instead, Skywalker chose a different route to relieve himself of his daily Jedi stresses. His favourite spot was the Outlander Club. Easy, undemanding women thrived in places like that, and he used that heavily to his advantage. Admittedly, doing such shameful activities didn't sit well with him, yet he couldn't stop. His seductive charm enchanted his target every time without fail, they'd be heavy breathed, and bare in his bedroom within the hour. The "shameful activities" he despised participating in so much weren't regarding the act itself, but how it made his fragile mind feel afterwards. Regret stayed buried deep inside of him while he fucked them, his ego boosting after every little moan and scream that poured out of their mouths. Anakin adored the euphoria that came with this, but he couldn't appreciate it enough due to the regret that followed. The straitjacket of prohibition suffocated him so powerfully that a previous quiet, compassionate Anakin transformed into a man of extensive authority, and dominance. He spat profanities at the sheer thought of the person he had become. Meaningless sex could never satisfy the pool of passion within his body, he had half the women of Coruscant wrapped around his finger with ease, but no. No. They could never be enough. And he shunned himself for believing so. Jedi are forbidden to form attachments, thus meaning Anakin Skywalker would fail to feel fulfilled.

It was a frightening reality until she showed up. She, with her intoxicating demeanour, and her immense bewitchery. He hated her at first, mostly because of how she erupted emotions he had never dealt with before. Attraction, hunger, lust. She'd sit completely relaxed in the Council chair, adjacent to her favoured brother, Obi-Wan Kenobi, hair softly draped over her shoulder, doe eyes staring passionately into Anakin's with no romantic intent. That's what sickened him the most. She had no idea about how she'd unleashed the suppressed thirst for true connection in Anakin, and how the seductive glimmer in her smile sent his nerves on fire. It remained a complete mystery to him as to why he felt so strongly about his master's sister, which is what seemed to worsen the situation. He could never be able to explain why to Obi-Wan, since he hadn't a clue himself. Perhaps his energetic feelings sprung from their close ages and overall similarities, or more likely, her rareness.

Across the galaxy, it came down to luck whether or not you get the opportunity to meet someone who mirrors your very being, and it was looking certain that lucky Anakin had earned that privilege. Her intellect was unique, and sharp, and she carried a deep understanding that enhanced physical intelligence. Anakin admired anyone who was strong willed, and daring, and with her every box was checked. He couldn't help but stare. Her confidence shone through when she walked, smiled, talked, especially when joining in with conversations spoken in the High Council Chamber. She had bold opinions that showed her suitability within the Senate, she had even expressed that it was her deepest ambition after conquering the ins and outs of the Jedi Order, then after that, she said she'd conquer the galaxy. Backtracking, it's evident that her determination, and thorough knowledge about herself and the things she longed to accomplish, were probably the qualities that Anakin felt drawn to. Despite their beauty, the women he had met with in bars were nothing in comparison to her. She had dreams, dreams so big they scared her.

He tried so very hard to get closer to her, closer than he already was as a previous apprentice to her senior brother. Obi-Wan would frequently bring her to visit Anakin in his apartment, which only frustrated him further. Her company in his space pushed him to a ledge, her nectarous scent coating the air. As she spoke her delicate words to him, he gazed from her vast eyes to her pink lips, wanting to kiss her so gently with the fixed decision to love her evermore. Unlike the others, he didn't want to fuck her and leave, he wanted to tell her he's hers while her voice whispers sweet nothings into his ear. The presence of these forbidden, unconventional thoughts confused Anakin, in short, he felt stuck, with no-one to turn to. Being frowned upon by the Order was one of his greatest fears, so that was never an option. Maker, he hadn't gotten a good nights rest in weeks, as he sat awake all throughout the darkness, his affections consuming everything he had. Reciprocation never wandered into his mind for more than a few seconds, his insecurity convinced him that it was impossible. Nevertheless, Anakin continued to hold onto the hope that he had crossed her mind at least once.

Little did he know, she stared out at Coruscant in anguish, knowing that her fate in the Order could be destroyed if she ever decided to pursue the one she'd dreamed about, Anakin Skywalker.

#anakin skywalker #star wars #star wars rots #hayden christensen #angst

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andysbubba · 3 years

Text

beginning, middle and end

-> the one where heating chicken soup takes 20 minutes… for chris

ultimate fluff because i miss chris ://

here’s a quick fluff fic because i also really wanted to get something out

-h

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

—

“Mr Evans. Has anyone ever told you that you have such a beautiful ass?” You point out because well— he does have an amazing ass and it’s your job to remind him of it every damn day.

Chris sighs, half turning to look at you before he shakes his head almost in disbelief. “Sweetheart, I’m losing count on how many times you’ve said that this morning.”

You simply grin as you sneaked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso, cheek pressed against his bare back. “Just doing my job to make your pretty ass feel appreciated, honey.”

“Your job—” He turns slowly in your embrace and firmly placed his palms on your shoulders before pushing you back to the dining table. “—is to stay here, wait, and look sexy while I try not to burn that damn chicken soup, okay?” He pointedly eyes you while pushing you down to sit.

“Christopher, you can’t burn soup.” You groan shrugging his hands off so you can stand, only to get pushed back down. “Chris, I’m seriously fine. I don’t feel sick. I don’t even feel like eating,”

“Hey.” He softly flicks your forehead making you whine and rub the spot while he just laughs at you. “C’mon, whatever I say goes, okay? Just let me take care of you. Plus— the last time you ate was yesterday afternoon, and your temperature’s still pretty high, honey.”

You frown, deciding to just settle down and make the poor man’s life easier. “Can I at least have apple juice, please?”

Knowing Chris, he’d probably take half an hour just to heat up the soup. And really- he only has to put it in a pot and bring it to a boil. God knows how your husband never fails to mess that up.

With a sigh, Chris steps to the fridge for the bottle of your apple juice. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder if I’m actually married to a kid…” He passes the bottle over to you.

“Sometimes I wonder why I married a guy who can’t cook.” You retort, snatching the bottle and sipping away on the straw.

Chris placed a hand on your shoulder, leaning down and leaving a kiss on the top of your head. “20 minutes tops. Promise.”

“That’s what you always say, Evans.”

Chris snorts, deciding to just ignore what you said. He goes into the kitchen and befor ehe actually startes ‘cooking’ he turns around and makes sure that you aren’t plotting anything. His lips curl when he sees that you’re just staring down at your crossword book with the butt of the pencil resting on your lips. Chris discreetly takes out his phone and snaps a picture of well— you.

Completely unaware of your husband antics and armed with your crossword book and apple juice you somehow decided to mute Chris and his clumsy ass out.

"Baby-"

Chris stops in his words as he catches you dozing off. He chuckles softly, watching your shoulders move the slightest bit as you breathe, the side of your face pressed against the crossword book and your fingers wrapped around the bottle of apple juice.

He glances at the clock. Well at least for once, he did stick to the 20 minute limit to get the soup heated. It’s a shame you’re busy drooling off to witness his new achievement.

Chris softly sets the bowl on the table, lips curling into a smile completely filled with adoration as he looks at you. He pulls his phone out, tapping on camera app and quickly snapping a picture of you sleeping. He slips the phone back just as quick as he got it out. Chris gently pries your fingers away from the bottle, trying his best not to wake you up. Though that was the easy part. He has no idea how to carry you from that damn position without being too much of a nuisance to your slumber.

He slides an arm right on the underside of your knees, the other tucking just around your shoulders. He carries you up as gently as he could, holding you close to his chest as he silently walks to the bedroom.

You stirred in your sleep, almost scaring Chris. But you just wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him closer and pressing your face into his chest.

He just lets out a breathy laugh, loving how you paid no mind and somehow just went back to sleep. Chris sets you on the bed, pulling the covers over you like he usually does.

Just as he makes sure you’re comfy and turns to leave, you absentmindedly cling on to his arm. “Stay wimme,”

Chris lets out a louder laugh this time. “You’ve been awake this whole time?”

“Maybe if you bothered to mute your phone and not wake me up with the shutter,” You retort, eyes opened just a tad bit. You tug on his hand. “C’mon just stay till I go back to sleep.”

Chris obliges and climbs in right beside you. His arm stretched out as he pulls you right into his chest. “You still gotta eat when you wake up, honey,” His fingers run through your hair, gently scratching your scalp.

You hum in reply, nose nuzzling into his bare chest as your eyes starts to close. “Congratulations on heating it in under 20 minutes, by the way,”

You feel his chest rumble with laughter before Chris leans down and presses a kiss on the top of your head. “G’night, sweetheart.”

It took a while before your breathing slowed down. Chris shifted slowly to pull his phone out, this time remembering to mute his phone before he taps on the camera app again. He flips to the front camera and angles it so both of you are in frame. He taps on the shutter once, getting the selfie he wants. It doesn’t even matter that the picture was pretty blurry. Everyone will just blame it on his phone being an iPhone 6s instead of blaming his shaky hands.

Chris goes on Instagram, the whole process even more delayed with how he’s just using one hand to tap on the screen.

[picture 1] [picture 2] [picture 3]

chrisevans Beginning, middle and end of dragging out the simple action of heating chicken soup.

tagged: y/nevans

As always! Reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated, my loves! <3

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #steve rogers #cevans #cevans x reader #chris evans one shot #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #chris evans angst #chris evans fan fic

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buryustogether · 3 years

Text

𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒔𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒂

summary : as a singer at an underground cantina in the lower levels of coruscant, you see sketchy figures come and go. however, it seems that one has been sticking around longer than the others.

pairing : crosshair x f!reader

word count : 6.3k

warnings : drinking, unwanted male advances, attempted assault, gun violence, smut, oral (f receiving), exhibitionism, semi-public sex, cum play, running away together, strangers to lovers

You saw them all.

You saw the good guys, the ones that subtly slipped you charming smirks across the room and only followed your sways and movements with their dagger-like eyes when they believed you were no longer looking. They were the ones that stayed after hours and politely asked you for your holocode so that they may take you out sometime; each time that you declined, they said that was fine, to have a good night. But they always came back, they always pushed again and again, and the golden facade they had once wore in the beginning ground away into something you no longer were able to tolerate.

You saw the rougher guys, the fellows that whistled when you turned or batted your eyes against the blinding lights bathing you in fluorescent beams. Those were the ones that did not push, rather than shove, in the way that they bought you drinks and asked the bartender when you got off and attempted to charm you into some half-filthy set of sheets that you would most likely be booted from come the next morning.

And, of course, you saw the worse men. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, given your sketchy and disreputable surroundings, they were the ones that had been convinced somewhere in their lives you were only there to serve and fulfill their drunken desires. They dared to push the limits and tried to touch you on and off of your stage, pour dissolving agents in your drinks suspecting the waitresses and tenders would be on their side, even went as far as to try to follow you out and tail you back to your apartment in Happyland just past the cantina’s territory in Slum District G17.

You had seen them all, and yet there was something about the man sitting in the far corner that failed to fit into any of the pre-assigned categories of your regulars - and not-so-regulars.

It was a usually packed night when you first saw him, sitting by his lonesome in the backmost booth secluded in the darkest nook of the cantina. From your spot on the stage, swarmed by men of all races and species that practically drooled over your shimmersilk dress and plush lips as they rode out the lyrics of your song, you were able to see every face that stared back at you. There were the single males, of course, cruising girls at the bar or watching your every movement; then there were the gaggles of women, a few of which also cast you longing glances; the couples, the drug dealers, the souls who simply came to have a drink and listen to the tunes… they all slipped under your radar, invisible to your trained eye that skillfully swept across the bar.

But he did not. You had never seen him before, never even once around in the back alleys or on your days off when you came for the free drinks and chats with your favorite bartenders. You were unable to make out too many distinguishable features from your spot on the stage, the glitter stuck in the corners of your eyes shining like the stars far above your head, but you could see the most defining aspects of the stranger. He was thin and wiry, a short bristle of stark white hair atop his head. At his feet beneath the table, he shielded a long, dark case with his ankles, nudging it further beneath the booth when he seemed to think anyone traveled too close to his little alcove. He held a round glass of amber liquid between his fingers on the table like it would escape should he let it go for even a moment.

From your position, you could not tell if he was looking at you, but his head was turned your way and failed to ever waver, even when the waitresses stopped to offer him a refill or a meal to go along with his drink. It seemed that he always declined, because no food ever arrived at his table, and his glass only ever emptied and never filled again.

Finally forcing yourself to pull your gaze from the curious guest, you guided your attention back to the rest of your audience and raised your voice to approach the end of the set you were performing. Your heart swelled with the resounding final notes and your fists raised above your head, your soul lost in the few last strums and thundering moments of the song. For some reason you could not place your finger on as you squeezed your eyes shut, you imagined yourself singing to only the single man in the corner, and him alone. You could practically feel his eyes on you as your wails turned to a curving note that ended the song, and your chest heaved for breath when the music came to a halt and the clapping began.

Your eyes opened again and the golden lights that bathed you in a sea of glory had brightened, giving you the full imagery of an angel that had come from a neighboring galaxy. The patrons clapped as if their lives depended on it, cheering and demanding more. Your gaze glided to the man that had so peculiarly caught your attention, and you found that he was, indeed, staring at you. He did not clap like the others, but once he knew he had your eyes, he courteously raised his glass and tipped it in your direction. In what you hoped was a rather smooth motion, you dipped your head in thanks and gave a small flicker of the shimmersilk of your dress that resembled a fan of starlight. In a sort of response, he nodded, then tossed back the rest of his drink.

The rest of the night paced onwards like a nervous droid at the Tipsy Tooka, and your songs eventually died down into low croons and murmurs to accompany the empty chairs and bare tables left behind in the wake of the rush. Only a number of patrons remained, and they didn’t seem to mind when you at last stepped off your stage to retire for the evening. Your heels clicked against the dark tiled floor as you approached the bar, where the tender already had your regular drink waiting for you.

It must have been the good voice day you’d just had, or perhaps the liquid courage that was currently slithering down your throat, but you found yourself approaching the booth in the corner. The sounds of clinking glasses and low, hushed murmurs surrounded you as you stopped at the table’s edge, your toes coming dangerously close to the sleek black case hiding behind the man’s ankles. He lifted his head to face you, and it was here up close that you were able to catch the more defining features of his face and appearance.

The few faded layers he wore only did so much to cover the slight bulge of muscle in his shoulders, disproving your earlier presumption he was all bone and no meat. The crosshairs tattoo circling his right eye complemented the fleshy scar that marred his temple, a patch of skin that looked as though it had once been boiled and stung before the healing process could have begun. A toothpick hung from his thin lips, switching sides of his mouth as if on its own accord as he glanced up at you like a rather bored-looking predator being confronted by his own prey.

“Care if I join you?” you asked, and your own voice startled you with how quiet and steady it was. After an evening of singing as if your life depended on it, speaking regularly was always a struggle of an adjustment. When he studied you for a long moment, you began to think that you had crossed a line. But then he nodded once, giving you the permission you were seeking.

Sliding into the booth across from him, you pulled the delicate material of your dress over your legs and leaned back to take a sip of your drink. The taste was lively and like fuel to the fire attempting to coax itself into a visible flame in the pit of your belly. “New down here, stranger?”

The man had returned his stern, ever watchful gaze to his drink, but it was evident that he was listening by the way he shifted himself into a position to mirror your own. “Just passing through,” he muttered shortly. His voice was cold and raspy, as if damaged by years of saving it until it truly mattered.

You gave a short little hum before taking another swig and running a fingertip over the rim of the glass. “You play music?” you asked innocently, gently tapping the toe of your shoe against the black case beneath the table. You thought it to be a case for carrying an instrument, a few tools, perhaps. You were surprised when the corner of his lip twitched in what could have been akin to the beginning of a smile.

“Something like that,” he said, tone wistful and dripping with sarcasm all at once. He trailed off into a comfortable silence that, at the same time, demanded to be filled. He glanced up at your now-dim stage. “Quite the show you put on. You entertain like that every night?”

An amused harrumph escaped your lips, and you found yourself still emboldened than you would have normally been. What was so different, so special about this man? You couldn’t place it just yet. “Only when I see someone I like in the crowd,” you said. His eyes flickered up to meet yours for just a fraction of a second before he dropped them again. You took a breath, and told him your name. The toothpick in his mouth switched sides again, and you thought for a moment you were mesmerized in the way you were unable to take your gaze off of it.

“Hmm,” he grunted in return, and you found it rather amusing, how guarded he was, and yet how enraptured you had become in just looking at this man for a single night. His slim fingers, covered with form-fitting gloves, were still snaked around his own glass, and every twitch and gentle movement they made grabbed your attention as if they had snapped themselves in front of your face. “See something you like, dollface?” he spoke again, pulling your attention back to his quirked expression.

Allowing a ‘you caught me’ sort of sound to drift from your lips, you crossed your legs and studied the nail polish on your fingertips that was beginning to chip. “I could have asked the same thing, the way you were watching me this evening.”

“What can I say? I’m a watcher. I observe.”

You sensed the truth in his words, and yet you were somehow able to pick up on the slight undertone of something else hidden in the subtext. It was lost to you, but for now, you supposed it didn’t matter that much. You finished your drink before sliding the empty glass to rest beside his at the edge of the table. “Forgive me, but I didn’t catch your name?”

His head tilted to the side, as if he found your question humorous, but he wasn’t allowing himself to show it. “I didn’t say it,” he hissed in a low, teasing way that ruptured a balloon of butterflies in your stomach. He seemed to think. “Crosshair. But I go by a couple titles down here in the dark.”

Attention snapping to the small tattoo marking the left side of his face, you felt your brow slink upwards into an expression of playful suspicion. “I thought you said you were just passing through.”

Crosshair did not look as though he regretted his slip of the tongue. Even if he did, he was a master of keeping his facade plain and neutral. “Who said I’m not?” he replied with a tilted smirk.

The next evening, he was there again. He sat in the same place and ordered the same thing, and he watched you sing. The night after that, he was also there. The long black case never failed to be at his feet or by his side on the cushion, but no matter how many times you asked him to see, he would not open the latches and give you a peek. He carried it with him everywhere, from the cantina to the streets where he disappeared after the bar closed, to your apartment door when he walked you home.

It could have been a matter of weeks - you really hadn’t been counting - when the thick tension between the pair of you at last came to a head.

Your arms raised above your head in a show of power and soul as your song reached its last final notes, and the audience was already bursting into an uproar of applause and cheers at your feet. It was a grand, marvelous feeling, being surrounded by those who looked at you like a goddess, like an otherworldly entity they only had the honor of even looking at. And yet, despite their hollers and whistles that fell upon deaf ears, you only had eyes for a single face far from the crowd before you. Crosshair’s gaze was set upon your languid movements and your heavenly figure as if you would disappear if he even dared to blink. He had long ago memorized your sets, and by the time you had curtseyed and started off stage, he had already moved his case to make room for you at his booth.

It had become a sort of rhythm the two of you fell into; you finished your show for the night, and he would allow you to sit with him and talk over drinks until the sun threatened to rise with the new day. A number of times had he walked you home - first to your building, then your floor, and finally your front door - but he never made any sort of move in the slightest. He kept close to you in the darkened streets of the Lower Levels, but he reserved the distance between you at the same time. It wasn’t as if you really cared at the moment; you couldn’t deny he was devilishly handsome, but you were content to continue your little ritual for the time being.

The neon lights of the cantina tossed shadows across your features as you made your way to the bar, where you waited patiently for the bartender to mix up your regular. Half-leaning against the glass surface of the bar, you dared a glance over your shoulder and found Crosshair already watching you with the eyes of a hawk. He blinked, then offered the ghost of a smirk. I’m waiting, the smile seemed to say.

You were just about to kick off the rather crowded countertop, seeing as the tender was struggling to keep up with the ten o’ clock crowd, when you felt the weight of a touch on your shoulder. Turning, you found a man standing behind you, baring his own flirtatious lip. He was considerably taller than you and wore fine materials that could have come from Naboo itself. He was handsome, yes, but you felt confident enough to declare you were no longer seeking a pretty face; you had one at the booth in the corner.

“I don’t mean to sound too forward,” said the man and swirled the teal liquid in his glass, “but I enjoyed your show tonight. Best joint I’ve been to in a while - especially down here, you know?”

Politely, you offered a halfassed smile and nodded your head once in some attempt to tell him you weren’t interested. “Thank you,” you said and turned back to the bar.

To your dismay, it seemed the unwanted attention was far from over. As he carried on, he managed to tiptoe a bit closer so that your chests were just inches apart and you were able to smell the alcohol on his breath when he spoke. “Say, what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ in a kriffhole like this? It’s dangerous down here; lots of sketchy people that wind up in these kinds of cantinas.”

“Well, you said, your voice teetering with impatience, “I suppose you would know, wouldn’t you?”

“Heh.” His plush lips - too plump, too innocent-looking - twisted upwards into what could have been akin to a cruel smile. “I like you, sweetheart.” He downed the rest of his drink, then jerked his head in the direction of the front doors. “What do you say we ditch it. You’re done for the night, aren’t you? I could show you a much better time than sitting in a lousy bar for the rest of night.”

“Not interested,” you replied, at last coming forth and smacking him with the blunt truth. Finally, the bartender slid you your regular drink across the glass and you accepted it, turning around to make for the booth in the corner.

There was a small part of you that began to panic when he followed you, stretching out an arm to snag your wrist before you could slink away. It wasn’t as if this hadn’t happened before, unfortunately. But you always escaped unharmed, thanks to the security prowling the perimeters and a few good samaritans; yet, that didn’t mean you didn’t get frightened when something threatened to start up.

“Oh, come on, baby, I stayed through the entire show just to ask you.” The man’s grip became tighter around your flesh, digging into the skin, and a jerk back towards him caused you to drop the glass and let it shatter beside your feet. It seemed that as soon as the shards scattered, a whirlwind of action set into startling motion. Just as he had reached out to take your shoulder in some dominant, threatening move of exasperation, a familiar figure entered your line of view and connected with him in a single fell swoop.

The stranger released you and you staggered back a few feet, teetering on your heels. Crosshair towered over the man, who now clutched a nose spewing blood, and raised his arms to heft a powerful-looking rifle inches from his face. In a moment’s time, you understood; that’s what he kept in that black case of his. He wasn’t passing through; he was hiding out. An assassin? A fugitive? You didn’t have time to consider the possibilities before he lowered the barrel to press against the assaulter’s fleshy cheek.

“Weren’t you taught to keep your hands to yourself, you shukking piece of scum?” he hissed, voice a low and dangerous octave that you had never heard before. He may have been intimidating simply sitting alone in a booth drinking, but here, in the middle of a silent cantina with a gun powerful enough to take off a man’s head, he was the definition of terrifying.

The man that had touched you waved his hands wildly in a gesture of surrender, blood still pouring down the side of his face from his broken nose, thanks to the stock of the modified weapon. “Dank farrik, okay, okay!” he howled, spreading his lips to show a display of scarlet painting his teeth, as well. “I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me, man, I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t gon’na do anythin’, please-“

Crosshair’s jowl twitched with what could have been irritation before he nudged the rifle over an inch or two and fired. The blast planted itself in the tile floor just beside the man’s ear, accompanied by a few shouts and yelps of surprise from the surrounding patrons. The stranger yelped and took the opportunity to scramble away, nearly tripping over himself in his mad dash to the door.

The patrons’ attention quickly fell back to what they had been doing before; this was the slums; they saw potential shootings every morning over where someone was standing on the street. But you remained frozen on the spot, even after Crosshair had settled the rifle back against his shoulder and turned his sharp gaze to yours. As if this was an everyday occurrence to him, he produced a fresh toothpick from a pouch on his hip and placed it between his lips.

Never before in your life had someone gone to such extreme measures to protect you from something as simple as a couple unwanted hands. You had seen much worse - being cornered in an alley, trailed home, nearly drugged - and no one had ever come close to defending you in the way he just had. It caused your chest to become laden with butterflies and lead all at once, and you found both elements slowly seeping their way into the pit of your lower belly, down to a place that caused your pupils to blow wide and your mouth to run dry.

Did he care about you in such a way he was prepared to kill a man over your safety?

Crosshair bit the end of the toothpick, then motioned for you to join him at his regular spot, as if nothing had happened. Forcing your legs to finally move, you stepped over the pieces of shattered glass at your feet and followed him. Then, at the table, he uncharacteristically took your hand in a gentle manner and pulled you to sit down beside him, instead of your usual spot across the tabletop. The shimmersilk of your dress brushed over the dark material of his pants and your thighs touched as he slowly began to disassemble the rifle and carefully place it back inside the case.

“Did he hurt you?” he grumbled shallowly.

Self consciously, you glanced down at the place on your wrist where the man has grabbed you. Red indents shaped like his fingers had been left behind, but it was nothing that wouldn’t disappear by the morning. “No,” you said quietly, as if your own voice would betray you if you spoke too loudly. You knew that you should have been terrified of sitting with this man now, scared he would do far worse than some creep in a bar half drunk and barely standing. But yet, you found yourself even more incredibly entranced by his persona, the enigma that he was. You found yourself imagining things that you shouldn’t have been - but what was the harm in entertaining your little fantasy for a while? It wasn’t as if he could read minds.

For the rest of the evening, you stayed by Crosshair’s side. He glared daggers at any man - or woman - that dared to get too close, and at one point he had wrapped his arm around the back of your seat to provide a sort of barrier between you and the rest of the cantina. Or, perhaps, he was claiming you as taken, as a goddess with an exclusive worshipper that would die defending his grace. No matter what the intention was, you didn’t mind. After having so many people hit on you with the sole purpose of trying to get some, it was refreshing, arousing, even to have someone hold you so close.

It was these thoughts, and the still-heavy thundering of your heart in the wake of what happened, that spurred on your next actions. One hand still grasping the new drink he had ordered you, your free hand traveled from your own lap to his. If he was surprised, or startled, he didn’t show it. He allowed your fingertips to graze from his knee to his waist before you would backtrack and do it all over again. The first sign of being even slightly fazed by your ministrations was a barely-audible exhale that was a little louder than the others. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were fixated on an empty spot on the ceiling. When you halted, you were pleased to find that his hips followed your hand, silently asking for more.

For what seemed like hours, as the cantina slowly emptied until it was just you pair and the rest of the closing staff, you continued to touch him up and down his leg. Never trailing too close to the place he obviously wanted it the most, you let yourself wander from the outside of his thigh to the curve that dipped inwards between the two. He sucked in a breath each time you did that, clutching his own glass so hard you thought he might have broken it with his bare hand.

You only stopped, much to his exasperation, when the bartender asked if you would be staying. You said only for a while longer. He left the keycard to the doors on the bar for you and left, and finally, the two of you were alone. The air was heavy with tension, seemingly of every kind you could think of, before he took a breath in an attempt to ground himself.

“Do you do this to every man that saves your skin, dollface?” he asked.

You gave a hum in response, not yet allowing your fingers to find his leg again. “As surprising as you may find it,” you murmured, “you’re the first that has.” He turned his head to look at you, eyes full of a muted wonder. “But even if you weren’t,” you went on, shifting so that you brought yourself closer to the side of his face, “nobody this planetside would compare to you, Crosshair.”

It seemed that his name upon your lips sent him over the edge, because the moment you uttered that single word, he pounced on you like he had been chasing you for miles and had at last caught up. His hand reached out to hold the side of your face as he pressed his lips against yours in a feverish way, like he hadn’t tasted anyone else his entire life. Your fingers found clutches on his top layer as you allowed him to pull you into his lap, thighs covering his own as you straddled his hips. Your eyes were closed, but you could feel every movement, every touch, like a light show of color and tricks before your very gaze. His other hand moved to grasp the back of your neck and bring your face even closer to his, if that was possible.

It wasn’t long before you felt the warm, slick sensation of his tongue prodding at your swollen lips, asking permission to enter. You granted him access at once, emitting a quiet groan at the feeling of his tongue exploring the roof of your mouth, your teeth, your own. The open-mouthed kiss felt as if a thousand blaster shots were being fired around you, surrounding you in a haze of red and blue, but you couldn’t have cared less. All there was, was this mysterious man, and the way his touch alone made your heart swell into something you had never felt before.

Crosshair’s patience for anything but the endgame seemed to be wearing thin, because one moment he had you in his lap, sucking your very soul from your mouth, and the next he had set you down on the cushion and shoved the table between the two seats out of the way. He stood straight again and stared down at you hungrily, eyes locked onto yours as both your chests heaved for breath you would never find.

“Do me a favor, mesh’la,” he crooned as he began to pull off the gloves covering his hands. “Take off that pretty dress for me, will you?”

You had never rushed to obey an order so fast in your life. Removing the offending garment with only enough care so that the expensive material wouldn’t rip, you slipped yourself out of it and set it off to the side. He seemed to be in awe over the fact that you were only left in a thin pair of panties, your breasts bare to him and his sinful gaze that wandered you like a coiled snake’s. Slowly, as if he were trying to tease you, he lowered himself to his knees before you and gripped your thighs tight. His hands were slim and his fingers long and calloused, aiding your filthy imagination as far as it dared to go.

“All those karking fleabags that frequent this place were right,” he said, obviously thinking aloud as he placed one hand over your right breast. A low moan escaped your throat when he rolled the sensitive bud between two fingers, testing your limits and noting your reactions. “You truly are to kill and die for.”

In one fluid motion, he ripped your panties down your legs and buried his face between your thighs, which had parted like the gates of heaven for him. You were unable to stop the piercing, practically pornographic moan that ripped through your vocal chords and echoed throughout the little bar. Arms wrapped around your legs to keep you open, he ate you out like he hadn’t eaten in days. His tongue licked stripe after stripe up and down and through your folds, garnering your slick on the link muscle and making a show and swallowing it with ease. Heading you chanting his name like a prayer led him to shift on his knees, propping one of your legs over his shoulder and attaching his lips to your clit.

“Oh, kriff! Oh, Maker, Crosshair. Just like that - ah!” The strings of curses and howls and moans ruptured from your throat like a lothcat in heat, and if anything, it only made him move faster. He eventually trailed his tongue down, down, down to your entrance, which he greedily licked before entering. You were sure you felt him smirking against you as he circled his tongue around inside of you, his sharp nose bumping against your clit and sending you hurtling towards the edge.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” he said, only removing his tongue long enough to command your release. “Let me see you tremble.”

For a moment, you believed yourself to have blacked out from the intense, searing pleasure that had suddenly snapped within you. Your body spasmed as if you were being electrocuted, thighs tightening around his head, nails running across his scalp and through his hair like your life depended on it. A wail accompanied his pleased grunts and huffs as he lapped up everything you gave him, his eyes never once leaving you as he coaxed the last bit of cum from you with the tip of his tongue. A thin sheen of sweat covered your face, your head lolled against your shoulder, and you only looked up when Crosshair stood to reveal the very prominent - and very bold - outline of his erection in his pants.

“You are,” he cooed in that low, downright sinful voice of his as he sat beside you and pulled you back into his lap, “the sweetest, most insatiable creature I’ve ever met.” He moved forward to kiss you again, and you were able to taste the tangy taste of yourself on his lips as he held you close. “Now,” he said when you broke apart, his hand fisted in your hair, “you’re going to sit here while I fuck you senseless, dollface. Understand?”

Unable to stop a shiver of excitement from coursing through your veins, you nodded your head and reached out to stroke his face, as if you couldn’t believe he was a real person. “Yes, sir,” you panted, clenching around nothing at the way his eyes darkened and his movements to free his cock quickened.

Crosshair pulled his pants down just enough for his dick to emerge, and you let out a mumbled groan at just the sight of it in his hand as he stroked its length a few times. The tip was swollen and already leaking a fair amount of precum, the color nearly matching the shade of the rosy tint that had taken over his slim cheekbones. “Be good girl,” he whispered, raising you up so that he could position himself just below you. You gasped when you felt the tip running through your soaked folds, and he gave a wicked chuckle at the way your hips involuntarily bucked against him. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

Returning his hands to your hips, he slowly guided you down onto himself. Latching yourself onto his shoulders, you tossed your head back to moan loudly, giving him the opportunity to attack your neck with relentless sucking and the gentle grazing of his teeth against particularly sensitive spots. Inch by inch he filled you, stretching you so deliciously you didn’t think it was possible. When he bottomed out, not even having begun to thrust, his cock brushed against that soft, spongy part of you that made you see stars before your eyes. Immediately, you began to ground your hips against his, only stopping when he grabbed your chin to hold between his thumb and index finger.

“Ah-ah,” he tisked, that alluring, dangerous smile of his contorting his lips. “What did I say?” Without waiting for an answer, he shifting his legs to spread even further apart - including your own, knees planted on either side of his thighs - and nearly pulled you off of him before ramming himself back into you. He possessed a strength you hadn’t even suspected, but it wasn’t as if you were complaining. A tidal wave of pleasure ran through you like a powerful shot as he dragged his dick through your walls, able to feel each and every vein and ridge across him. Again, he pulled away only to thrust back up into you, causing spots of black to dance in your vision.

Crosshair fucked you good and hard, his hips picking up speed before you were bouncing on top of him, cheeks tinted pink and mouth slack jawed at the intense power of pleasure he was making you feel. Again and again, he snapping up into you, his thighs hitting yours, and it was a wonder you didn’t fall off of him, how hard he was going at it. The sound of skin against skin was only complemented by the erotic pants and moans you both emitted, groaning one another’s names like a mantra.

Soon, just when you could feel that familiar coil beginning to tighten in your stomach, his hand trailed to the place where you were connected to press his thumb against the sensitive nub of your clit. You practically screamed against him, hands fisting in his short hair as he began to work tight circles on the bundle of nerves. Electricity shot through you like fire, from being fucked so wonderfully to the little motions of his finger, it was all so good, too good.

“Cross-s, please, I’m gon’na-“

“Do it, then,” he said between nips on your raw, fleshed neck. “Cum. Now.”

Between his hard, snapping, rocking motions, his thumb, and the achingly demanding nature of his tone, you felt yourself fly off the edge. The coil in your belly came undone again with a powerful snap, and you trembled wildly as you shook against him. He held you tightly as you came, kissing your neck, your chin, your lips, until you couldn’t figure where your orgasm ended and his kissed began. You felt your release pooling around his cock, but it wasn’t enough for him.

With a determined grunt, Crosshair snaked his arms under your thighs and lifted you just enough to lay you down on the cushion of the booth. Once situated, where he had himself caging your limp body under his, he went right back at it, pounding away in search of his own release. You whimpered and gasped, holding the back of his neck as his rhythm grew frantic and erratic, slamming into you with wild abandon. You reached up to place a feather-light kiss on his cheek, and it was all over.

With what seemed to be every ounce of his self restraint, he pulled out of you and desperately stroked his cock once, twice, before he came across your abdomen with a twisted shout. Spurts of cum painted your flushed, sweaty skin, and when he was spent, he watched in awe as you scooped it up with your fingers and placed it on your tongue. You even flicked it out to show him before closing your mouth and swallowing.

It was some time later when the two of you emerged from the Tipsy Tooka, looking a little more ragged than when you both went in. He carried his gun case in one hand, the other fishing a toothpick from his pouch. There seemed to be a silent question hanging between you that neither of you wanted to address.

What now? Would he continue coming to the bar? Would you fuck one another every night until one of you didn’t show up anymore?

“Listen, dollface,” Crosshair said finally. He leaned back against the wall of the narrow alleyway you stood in, glancing upwards at the highways above your heads. “I’ve been here too long. Got a few people I’m trying to shake.”

You felt your heart sink in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. He was… leaving? After all that?

“Can’t take you with me,” he said, as if going over his own thoughts aloud. He looked you over. “Don’t want to leave you here.” There was a long, long moment of stillness, of silence, while he weighed his options. “They’ll come for you if you stay,” he finally said. “That scene tonight let people see my face. I can’t have that.” In a smooth, almost loving motion, he reached out to cup the soft flesh of your cheek, smirking at the way you leaned into it. “Care to come along for the ride?”

“…Yes.”

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #bad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair #crosshair the bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #tbb smut #the bad batch smut #star wars smut #crosshair x y/n

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

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collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #villain!au #bnha fanfiction #tw blood #tw dubcon #hawks angst #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bee.writes

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latenitetea · 3 years

Text

what a shame it would be - rodrick heffley

in which rodrick takes a few too many shots...

cw: underage drinking, swearing

word count: 3,228

~~~

Great victories deserve great parties.

That was the way of thinking at Crossland High School when it came to homecoming. After weeks of anticipation from the entire student body, the Crossland football team had defeated their rivals with one touchdown in the last five minutes of the homecoming game. It didn’t matter that half the school didn’t care much about football to begin with - with a victory that big, there were bound to be parties all over town.

As a varsity cheerleader, you weren’t surprised that you were invited to the biggest homecoming party in town. And you weren’t surprised by the atmosphere when you arrived, either.

Music blasted in your ears as you entered through the backdoor of the crowded house. Cheerleaders were laughing so loud you could feel it in your whole body, people were drunkenly dancing and making out with each other on the dance floor, and the football team was taking a celebratory round of shots for their biggest win. Hell, you even saw the student body council and academic decathlon team on the dance floor. Bottles upon bottles of all kinds of alcohol were being pulled out at the bar - kegs of beer, bottles of tequila and vodka, and a giant bowl of punch that was being spiked with a frothing drink. Still, the abundance of alcohol wouldn’t last long at a party this big. But before you could get to the bar to get your pick, you heard your name being called from across the room.

“Y/N!”

There were too many people covering your view to see who called you when you turned around, but you knew exactly who it was coming from. It wasn’t too hard to weave your way through the drunken couples and football players to find him.

Rodrick was leaning against the basement’s doorframe, wearing his favorite Converse, a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, and his Loded Diper t-shirt with a cargo jacket. He ruffled his unkempt, raven hair and took a long swig from his solo cup.

“Give me your keys.”

You raised your eyebrows, stifling a laugh. “Well, hello to you, too.”

After taking another sip of his drink, he held out his hand. Rolling your eyes, you took your lanyard and dropped your keys in his hand, which he put in the pocket of his jacket.

“There we go.” His mouth quirked up into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d never go to another homecoming party again after last year. You still owe me for that, you know.”

Memories of Rodrick holding you steady as you stumbled to his van and slurred your words resurfaced in your mind. You couldn’t hide the tinge of embarrassment that crept up on your cheeks.

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Do you or do you not remember me having to brush your teeth because you forgot how to do it yourself?”

Your once pink cheeks now turned scarlet. Still, you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

“Fine. But I definitely don’t owe you anymore after being the only reason you didn’t fail physics last year.”

He paused, taking another drink from his cup. You could tell the alcohol was beginning to slow his thoughts already.

“I guess I stand corrected.”

You cursed yourself for being sober, wishing you had more confidence to flirt with him. You swallowed the forming lump in your throat and attempted a compliment.

“Look at you, making yourself look nice for homecoming. You even got the new converse and eyeliner and everything.”

God, that couldn’t have been worse. You mentally facepalmed yourself as the words left your mouth.

He chuckled. “Well, I’ve gotta make myself look nice if I’m gonna get one of these cheerleaders to go home with me, right?”

Your embarrassment dissipated into a twinge of disappointment. Quick to cover up any sort of reaction, you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna go get myself something to drink. See you around, Rodrick.”

You heard him call out a warning about “knowing your limits,” but you didn’t turn around or respond. At first, you were only planning to get buzzed tonight. Your disappointment, however, made a change to your plans.

“Hey, Y/N,” your friend, Allison, said from the bar with a wave. “What do you want to drink?”

“Something strong,” you insisted. With a nod, Allison filled a solo cup with vodka and topped it off with the frothing punch.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She asked as she handed you the cup. You took a swig, ignoring the way the alcohol burned your throat.

“Who knows,” you sighed. “I just got back from talking to Rodrick.”

Allison raised her eyebrows. You paused for a moment, but you gave in to the temptation of getting your feelings out. “Every time I try to flirt with him, I feel like he ignores it. Or worse, he just brings up other girls.”

“Maybe you’re just not flirting hard enough,” Allison suggested. Her comforting smile became smug, pointing to the solo cup in your hand. "Or maybe that liquid courage will finally get you to tell him how you feel.”

The taste in your mouth turned sour at her teasing. Last year’s drunken shenanigans seemed harmless compared to any hypotheticals of you blurting out “Hey Rodrick, I’ve had a crush on you since last homecoming!” and forgetting it by morning. You placed your cup on the bar, deciding that your original plan of a buzz was the safer option. “Actually, I think I’m gonna stick to beer tonight.”

Allison let out a laugh. “Whatever you say. But your feelings are gonna eat you alive at some point. You’re gonna have to tell him how you feel eventually.”

“Emphasis on eventually. See you, Allison.” You gave her a small wave and went out to the dance floor, hoping to find some of your friends and dance your way into forgetting about Rodrick.

~~~

As the wild night began to die down, waves of stumbling high schoolers started leaving the party. Watching the clock hit 3 AM, you decided that it was time for you to head home. Waving goodbye to your friends, you made your way out of the house and to your car, more than ready to open the door and practically fall asleep at the wheel and-

Damnit.

That asshole still had your keys, didn’t he?

Pulling out your phone, you called Rodrick, nearly praying that he didn’t already leave. As you put your phone to your ear, you heard another phone’s ringtone go off. Muttering a “what the hell?” under your breath, you looked up from your car.

Rodrick was standing on the sidewalk across the street, holding onto a streetlight pole as though it was taking everything in his power not to fall.

A noise of both amusement and concern left your lips, and you hung up the call and made your way over to him.

“Hi,” was all he said. His eyes were glazed over and a sheepish smile was spread across his face.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, how the tables turn, huh?”

“I don’t,” he paused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

“No, I’m not!” He blurted out defensively. You cocked your head, giving him a do-you-really-think-you’re-gonna-convince-me look. After a moment, he sighed. “Maybe I’m a little drunk.” He let out another sigh, but it quickly turned into a fit of giggles.

Suppressing the thought that his drunken giggles were extremely cute, you draped his arm over your shoulders. “Come on, drummer boy, let’s get you home.” Rodrick leaned his bodyweight into your side, trying not to fall in the middle of the street.

“I like that nickname.”

“Where’d you put my keys?” You asked him. Instead of answering, he broke into another fit of giggles. With a sigh, you pushed down your embarrassment and started rummaging through the pockets of his jacket. He leaned his head into the crook of your neck, making butterflies swarm in your gut. You tried your best to ignore them and finally pulled out your keys from his pocket, helping him into the passenger seat of your car.

“Wanna hear something funny? I wanted to take home the cheerleader with me. But now the cheerleader is taking me home.” His smile turned into a smirk as he buckled his seatbelt, and you reminded yourself that he was only joking.

“You’re a pervert.”

“You’re pretty.”

Your eyes widened at what Rodrick had just said. The next second, you couldn’t be more thankful that it was too dark to see the blush on your cheeks. You believed that he meant what he said for a second, but the smell of alcohol on his breath brought you back to reality.

“You’re really drunk.”

“You’re really pretty.”

Instead of responding, you started the car and turned on the radio, hoping that it would act as a distraction.

Pulling out of the driveway, you started the drive home. You heard Rodrick laugh again from the passenger’s seat. And then he placed his hand on your thigh.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you tried to stop your breathing from turning shallow. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting with you.”

Your cheeks burned at his direct manner, but you reluctantly took his hand off your thigh. “You can’t flirt with me when you’re drunk.” Pulling into his driveway, you helped him out of your car and to his front door. You grabbed the spare key from under the doormat and opened the door.

After helping him to his room, you filled up an empty glass with water and grabbed a bottle of pain medicine from his kitchen, bringing it upstairs and placing it on his nightstand.

“Here’s for tomorrow when you have a hang-“

“I don’t remember how to take off my shoes.” Rodrick looked up at you from where he was sitting on his bed, his blank stare turning into another eruption of laughter. “I sound like you right now.”

You sighed, letting out a chuckle. You took off his Converse and his jacket, placing them in his closet.

“Well, as long as you don’t need anything else I better get going-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Rodrick grabbed you and pulled you onto his bed. “Can you stay a little while?” Your cheeks burned even brighter, and you knew he knew it too. His flirting was overwhelming; you thought you were going to explode from the butterflies. Still, you managed to stay somewhat composed.

“You need to sleep.”

“I don't want to sleep.”

You shook your head, but the look on Rodrick’s pleading face was enough to convince you. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you let me flirt with you?”

“What?”

Rodrick was looking directly at you. “I always try to flirt with you. And then you act like I’m just joking.”

You wanted to tell him that he didn’t know what he was talking about, that he was just drunk and the alcohol was talking. But Allison’s words of advice were echoing in the back of your head.

You’re going to have to tell him how you feel eventually.

“Because I didn’t think you could ever be serious about actually liking me.”

His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Of course I’m serious. You’re the prettiest girl in school, you like good music, and you’re just so nice. And pretty.”

You let out a chuckle. “I bet you weren’t thinking those things when you were brushing my teeth for me last year.”

"Yes, I was," He moved a piece of hair from your face. “That’s when I realized I had feelings for you, Y/N.”

The smell of alcohol on his breath was enough to make you want to burst into tears. Here you were, laying on Rodrick Heffley’s bed, close enough to make out the dark outline of his pupils, and you were confessing how you felt for him. And he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning.

“Can I kiss you?”

His abrupt question silenced your thoughts. “What?”

He closed his eyes and started leaning in for the kiss, but once you processed what he had just asked, you pulled away. “Not right now.”

“Why not?”

You took a deep breath, trying to slow your racing heartbeat. “Tell you what. If you wake up tomorrow and you decide that you still want to kiss me, you can kiss me.”

He thought about your offer for a moment. “Okay. But tomorrow feels so far away.”

“Tomorrow won’t feel far if you go to sleep.”

He smiled and buried his head into your side. “You’ll stay until I fall asleep, right?”

“Right.”

“Promise?”

You felt the urge to cry again. You knew that every promise made tonight would be broken by tomorrow.

“Promise.”

You laid in his bed as his breathing slowed into soft snores. Taking one last look at him, you gently climbed out of his arms. As much as you wanted to stay, wanted to wake him up and confess every feeling you had for him, wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, you knew that would be wrong. You had to ease the inevitable future pain as much as you could.

So you grabbed your keys and left, not finding it in you to look back.

~~~

When Rodrick woke up, he could barely find the energy to open his eyes. The ache he felt across his entire body was throbbing, but he fought the urge to give in and go back to sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw a glass of water and pain medicine sitting on his nightstand.

Considering how awful he felt, there was no way he put that there. Taking two of the pills and downing the glass of water, he tried to connect some of his memories of the night before. As the medicine started to set in, some of his fuzzy memories began to clear. Taking a shot of tequila with his bandmate, taking another shot of tequila with his bandmate, your face turning bright red when he reminded you of when he took care of you last homecoming.

Even though he’d never find the courage to admit it, you looked cute when you blushed. And he always seemed to have butterflies in his stomach around you after last year's homecoming party. But there would be absolutely no way he would ever admit that.

You probably were the one that got him home last night. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that you saw him that drunk, even if he’s seen you even drunker before. He hoped he hadn’t said anything too humiliating to you last night.

His stomach twisted with another wave of embarrassment. What had he said last night?

He stood up, noticing your jacket laying on the other side of his bed. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and unknown embarrassment. He picked up your jacket and grabbed his keys to his van, ready to give it back and thank you for getting him home last night.

But when he picked up the jacket, more memories flooded his mind. You laying in his bed, him pulling the hair out of your face, you being close enough to him that he could have kissed you.

Oh, shit.

He ran to his closet and threw on his converse, too frantic to even tie them. Running out the door, he practically jumped into his van and started the drive to your house.

~~~

You sat on your porch, drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying that crisp October air on your cheeks. Thankful that you didn’t have even the remnants of a hangover, you were certain that every upperclassman at Crossland was sporting a massive one.

You opened your phone and anxiously twiddled your thumbs at the keyboard. You wanted to text Rodrick and ask him how he was feeling, but you were too nervous to contact him after last night. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you would ever be able to look him in the eyes again.

Your concern for him overshadowed your embarrassment. No matter where your relationship with him stood after last night, you still cared about him. Pulling his contact up on your phone, you typed a short message.

Morning, sleepyhead. You feeling ok after last night?

But just as you were about to hit send, you saw a van barreling down your street from your peripheral vision. You didn’t need to see the messy writing on its side to know who’s van it was, either.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Did Rodrick remember what happened last night? Was he here to reject you, to tell you that he couldn’t even be friends with you anymore? You wanted to run inside your house and pretend you weren’t home, but you felt frozen in place.

The van pulled into your driveway, and Rodrick stepped out from the driver’s seat. He was still wearing the same outfit from the night before, but he had his drumsticks in one hand and your jacket in the other. He ran up to your porch, almost frantically.

“Y/N?” He said.

You took a shaky breath, trying to act as casual as possible. “Hey, Rodrick, you feel okay after last night?”

“I’ve had worse hangovers. Er, you left my jacket at my house.” He handed you your jacket.

“Thanks.” You shifted on your feet nervously, looking for the right thing to say. See you Monday? Sorry I confessed my feelings to you last night?

Rodrick looked down at his feet. “Can we talk?” He blurted out.

A plethora of curses went through your head, and you felt the urge to run into your house and curl up in a fetal position until you disappeared. Still, you stayed standing where you were.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Last night, did we,” he anxiously twirled his drumsticks in his hands, “did we kiss?”

Your eyes widened. He did remember last night.

“Well, you wanted to kiss me.” Your stomach churned, and your head was swirling with so many thoughts that you couldn’t stop talking. “But we didn’t kiss because it was just the alcohol talking and I know you didn’t actually want to kiss me and that last night was just the alcohol and I get that you wouldn’t want to kiss me which is totally fine and really it’s no big deal-“

“It wasn’t the alcohol talking.”

Rodrick looked up from the ground and stepped closer to you. You had never seen him look more serious in your life.

“Y/N, everything I said last night. I meant it.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve... I’ve felt this way about you for a while. And I know I’m not a serious person, but I am really serious about this. And I really, really like you.” He took another step closer, and once again, he was close enough that you could see the outline of his pupils.

“So about that promise we made last night,” your breath hitched in your throat, “I think it would be a shame if we broke it.”

“You’re right,” Rodrick’s shy smile spread into a smug grin. He lifted your chin so your faces were barely inches apart.

“It'd really be a shame, wouldn't it?.” He said, closing the gap between your lips.

#Rodrick Heffley #Rodrick Heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #rodrick #rodrick rules #doawk #doawk rodrick rules #diary of a wimpy kid #not my rodrick #my rodrick #devon bostick #heffley #Rodrick Heffley one shot #rodrick one shot #rodrick x reader one shot #Rodrick Heffley x reader one shot

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

Note

Okay this may sound like an oddly detailed request but can you do a Laszlo x reader where Laszlo has been courting the reader for a while and has never met her father, because her father is dead or abandoned her at a young age or something like that and she never told Laszlo, but Laszlo is instant on meeting him for some reason or something like that?

Sorry if thats a weird request

Unofficial Meeting [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader]

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: a bit angsty, mention of old fashioned ideas

Author’s note: I hope you will like it and I respected your wishes <3

"Miss?"

The voice of your chamber maid called you distracting you from answering some correspondence.

"Yes?"

She smiled so widely as a bouquet of white roses and peonies was presented in front of you. She giggled as she was just so happy for you. You have been courted by Dr Laszlo Kreizler for some time now, but he never missed to send you flowers on a Saturday morning, it was his ritual since you two became serious.

"Those are so beautiful, miss"

She said excitedly before leaving you to read the note, she was probably living the romance through you which was quite weird but cute to witness.

You opened the card, Laszlo usually was a brief but intense poet, but this time the message was clear. Can I tempt you with a lunch at Delmonico's?

You frowned lightly before looking out of your window, his dark clothing making him strikingly visible in the greenery of the park in front of your house, he raised his hat for you and smiled.

Damn him and his top level courting.

You put your letters away and got ready spraying some perfume on you before going out, your maid helping you with your coat and hat.

When you stepped out of the front Door Laszlo was waiting in front of your gate.

"You could have called"

He smirked at you "it wouldn't have been a surprise" he concluded simply.

You smirked as it was true and you have also learned to admire the extent of Laszlo'd courtship. He was attentive and respectful, he knew when to trace a line to forbid any kind of bad talks. He was already famous for being a maverick and he didn't want to put that stigma on you too.

You obliged him as you walked your way together to the restaurant, he never failed to ask you about your day and your plans. he was very attentive and you reserved him the same tenderness asking him about his patients or latest articles.

Once you arrived at the restaurant you were brought to one of the best tables, Laszlo taking upon himself the honour to move your chair back behind you and then back toward you for you to sit comfortably.

"Thank you Laszlo"

He smiled proudly taking it as a compliment, but he looked rather stiff and tense for his usual mannerism toward you.

Once you ordered your meal he toyed with his glass of wine a bit attracting inevitably your attention.

"What is wrong?"

He looked at you surprised by your question, but he smiled because you sort of alleviated him from the weight of beginning what he wanted to ask.

"I was just wondering when I will be able to meet your father" he said just as directly as your question was "I met your grandmother and your uncles and aunts, I am missing somebody"

He said it quite easily as your mother had left this earth early for the standard and you regret she won't be able to see what an amazing man you met.

"You don't need to meet him"

He stared at you puzzled, what really concerned him wasn't your refusal, but more the hardness you showed into expressing it.

"I think I do"

You glared at him, your conversation briefly interrupted by the waiters landing the plates in front of the two of you.

He thanked them before looking back at you, your stern look still there.

You had discussions before but never of this size and also as much as he tried before to hint the theme of your father he wasn't acknowledged at all.

He also noticed how the rest of your family followed that same guideline, acting like they found you under a tree.

"I think it is something I have to do sooner or later"

You glared at him again.

"Stop it"

It was hard for him to stop. He was already launched on the theme and he was worse than a wild animal when he got fixated over a theme in particular.

You pushed some common ground theme while you ate. Like John or Sara's agency or other mundane things, but you hated to see the intensity in his look.

That question over and over into his mind.

You never hated to be with him as much as you did now.

You declined the offer of a dessert pretty quickly just wanting to go away.

Laszlo obliged and lead you back outside escorting you to your place.

"I don't mean to be invasive.."

"But you're" you confirmed to him "thank you for the lunch, I can walk myself home on my own”

You left him there moving after your house's gate.

He stood there biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

You didn't contact him any further on that day or the ones that followed, to be honest you avoided him and his flowers and attentions. You even stayed at home instead of attending places you were supposed to be, but where he also might find you.

Until your grandmother called you and you furiously ordered your maid to call the doctor and make him come at your place.

He arrived quicker than you expected. He was worried something happened, maybe you were ill and nobody told him.

When your maid showed him the way to your study and closed the door behind him he tried immediately to politely ask you about your state but your eyes burned holes like bullets in him.

“How dare you?” You growled at him. He stood still in front of you, his back straight even if you didn’t fail to notice the frown on his forehead.

“How dare you to call my grandmother? To ask her something I specifically told you I don’t want to share or talk or even mention? What is s hard about it? What makes you rightful to come bashing into my life asking for answers? “Y/N”

“No, no Y/N, you doctor, should learn to put a line between when you’re an alienist and when you’re a decent human being” you were being extra hard on him, but just earring your grandmother worried voice was enough to make you snap his neck.

He took your rage like a champion, even if he clearly was suffering it.

“Why is so important Laszlo? Why to see your mind at ease? It is just a man, somebody that doesn’t belong to my life, why you have to push it? Why you always have to push it?” “I just hoped..” “Hoped what? Hoped that a man that abandoned a pregnant woman while courting her was worth my time and thoughts? That I need to share my own life with somebody that wasn’t there? That never asked to meet me, or even see the woman he swore to every wind that he loved? That put my mother in the position of being considered a whore? How my grandma had to pretend I was hers to try give my mother a good shot at life?”

All those truths hit Laszlo like a bag of bricks, he was overwhelmed and saddened. Those situations were the ugliest in those times. Women always paying off the debts of the lust of men. The simple promise of a marriage just to gain something that could be tasted forever with a little more of wait. Just the human need to break a rule, just one, that revolutionary feeling that only losers at heart have. Because nobody makes a revolution over the expenses of a loved one.

“I had no idea” he concluded

“I hope you are satisfied now, your scientific mind has now all the puzzle pieces, now leave and let my family alone”

You could see his shoulders fall as you said that to him, his face paling in fear and sadness. He pressed his lips tight against each other, his jaw hurting as he didn’t know if at this point was really worth it to explain why he insisted so much. He ruined it, he tried to treat you with the white gloves and instead he hurt you even more.

“I apologise” he said staring at you, you letting him speak for the first time “I never meant to put you in such a position, I really just meant to be close to your family and I couldn’t see the fault in my own desires”

He admitted it but you didn’t wince, he crossed the line, he went too far and he needed to learn to respect the limits of others, not everyone needed to be under his care.

“I said you may leave”

He looked out of your window searching for words. Your anger was waving down as he looked so upset, and he should be.

“I am also a victim of our society in my own means, even if my behaviour is not excusable in any way, I stupidly fixated on the idea of doing things right with you and some things… Well, they teach us boys some things have to be asked to a father first”

You looked at him with a frown, you shook lightly your head as you didn’t understand his point and you were five seconds away from throwing him the vase with the latest flowers he sent you when you looked at him pul out a little velvet box from his inner pocket.

“The times are modern now, it was silly of me to try move past you like that” he leaned the box on your desk. He nodded at you respectfully leaving. You were left alone with that little box, you stared at it for a moment before moving closer to it.

You looked out of the window as you heard the gates closing and you watched Laszlo’s figure walk away.

Your eyes darted from his back to the box in front of you slowly opening it to find the ring of the dreams of any girl.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling

Let me know if you want to get tagged to my publications too <3

#laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler #dr kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #dr kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler x y/n #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you

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silkenstarlight · 3 years

Text

body is a temple

Summary: Bucky and reader are training when she finds him staring at her ass. She tries to rile him up, but quickly learns that he doesn’t tolerate teasing.

Pairing: Personal trainer!Bucky x reader

Warning/s (18+ only, minors dni): enemies to lovers, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, multiple orgasms

Word count: 2.8k

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Author’s note: i wrote this while wine-drunk, so if it’s extra horny, you know why

“Fuck!”

You tumbled onto the mat, back slamming against cool polyethylene. The breath whooshed from your body in a dramatic, crushing exhale, your lungs desperately trying to pull in air but failing beyond shallow, raspy puffs. Bucky looked down at you, the fluorescent lights of the gym feathering behind his head in a blinding halo, smirking as he drank in the image of you sprawled on the mat below him, completely at his mercy. He let you lie there for one, two, three seconds, before holding out his hand for you to grab onto. It was a kind gesture, something that completely contrasted with his previous rough treatment. You squinted and firmly grasped his hand, feeling your back leave the mat as he propped you upright again.

“Is that the best that you can do, (Y/N)?” He stepped back, walking to the edge of the mat and retrieving your water bottle for you.

You huffed, raspy breathing slowly returning to normal. “Is this really necessary?”

He handed you your water bottle, frowning. “Of course it’s necessary.”

“I was told that you would be my personal trainer. Nowhere in the program description did it say that you were going to beat my ass all day,” you shook your head, slightly incredulous, and took a few grateful gulps from the water bottle. You felt more comfortable talking back to him because you were the last ones left in the gym today, with no one but him to overhear your complaining. You had expected some light cardio, maybe some weight training, when you had signed up for individual sessions with a personal trainer at your new gym. You didn’t think you would be paired right away with Bucky, who seemed to exclusively work with experienced heavy lifters, and you definitely didn’t think he would take it upon himself to teach you self-defense, a skill which he was surprisingly extremely well-versed in. Every day for the past week, you had ended up in a similar supine position on the mat, beaten and scrambling for air, accumulating a mottled collection of nasty bruises and scrapes on your knees and elbows. The most frustrating part was that he remained unscathed through it all. Every time, it was you on your ass, and him helping you up. It made you want to scream.

Well, that actually wasn’t the only thing about this whole situation that made you want to scream. He was incredibly good-looking, exactly your type, all brooding looks and dark eyes. You actually had to pick your jaw up off of the floor when he walked in to your first session last week. But, the worst part was, he was a cocky bastard. He had to know the effect he had on you, and yet, he chose to do nothing about it.

“Well, you’ll just have to do better if you want me to stop crushin’ you every time.” He dabbed at his forehead with the hem of his shirt, and even though he frustrated you to no end, it took everything you had in you not to let your eyes drift down to look at his toned stomach.

“Now I think you’re just trying to make me mad.” You huffed, walking to the edge of the mat and returning your water bottle to its perch, preparing for another round.

“Well, if I’m pissing you off, why don’t you use that anger? Beat me. Just once,” he smirked, as if firmly believing that you couldn’t, that you didn’t have it in you. But, you were just stubborn enough to take the challenge.

“Fine.” You cocked your head and gritted your teeth, digging your heels into the mat and crouching in a ready position.

“3… 2… 1… start.” The ghost of a smirk still graced his face, but he was concentrating on your movements now, eyes darting as you approached.

Jab, cross, jab. Knee, high kick, and--

“Damn you, Barnes.”

One quick sweep, and he had you pinned. You wanted to scream, to thrash in frustration, but his body pressing against your back limited any movement on your part. Wonder if he likes having me pinned like this. You tried not to let that thought develop further, lest the heat you had worked up from sparring travelled up your neck for him to see, or worse, somewhere farther south--

“Why are you still panting, (Y/N)?” You could feel a puff of hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

Fuck. “My, uh… my asthma must be acting up again.”

“Didn’t think you had asthma.” He flipped off of you, arching a brow as you slowly stood.

“Forgot to tell you, then,” you fibbed, trying at all costs to avoid spilling the truth, that your panting was the effect of an illicit fantasy that you had thought about in bed, alone, on more than one occasion.

“Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced. You both got into a ready position again.

“3… 2… 1… start.”

This time, you took more of a defensive strategy, evaluating him before striking. Maybe, if you weren’t so focused on completing the flourishing movements, on hitting with perfect precision and strength, you could anticipate his attack instead. You circled around each other like sharks, his eyes glinting almost hungrily, but doing nothing to bely his next move. It was like trying to size up a brick wall.

Suddenly, he darted forward with a speed that no man his size should have, and he swept your legs from under you, flipping you with ease. You fell ungracefully in a prone position, cheek smacking the mat, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. You groaned, aching muscles begging for you to stop and rest instead of getting up and accepting his challenge. You pressed your forehead into the mat, weighing whether it was worth the hassle of asking him to cut your session short today, when you noticed that he was completely silent.

You furrowed your brows, eyes flying open. Every time he had defeated you in previous rounds, he had uttered some sarcastic, infuriating quip, trying to rub in his victory even more. But he hadn’t said anything yet.

You pushed your chest up off the mat, craning your neck to look back at him. He was obviously looking at your body, eyes transfixed on your lower half, but when he sensed your sudden movement, he broke out of his trance. He quickly got up from his kneeling position, clearing his throat and walking to the water jug on the far wall. A smile slowly grew on your face as you realized that he had been staring at your ass.

You stood up, slowly walking toward him, assessing him with a sly expression on your face. “Were-- were you doing what I think you were doing just then?”

His back was to you as he filled a little paper cup with water. “If you mean pummelling your sorry ass into the mat yet again, then yes.” His voice still carried its usual snarky tone, but it shook slightly, as if he were just caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Not exactly what I meant.” You stepped closer until a foot separated you, and he turned around to face you.

“Then what do you mean, doll?” He smiled smugly, but you noticed the pink blush that was creeping its way up his neck.

You hummed a laugh. “What I mean, Barnes,” you cocked your head, relishing how your sudden onset confidence wiped the smirk from his face, “is that you were enjoying the view back there. Isn’t that right?”

Now it was his turn to huff a laugh. “Well, what can I say? You’ve got a nice ass. Gotta get something out of these sparring sessions.”

You scoffed. “Fucking pervert.”

“Call me that again.” His tone was more serious, suddenly bereft of the saccharine sarcasm you were so used to.

You paused, weighing his tone against the risqué direction the conversation was heading, and you smirked, deciding to provoke him further. “You’re a fucking pervert. Beatin’ girls up, just so you have a chance to get a good, long look at their bodies. What the fuck is up with that? Can’t get some like a normal person, can you?”

He let that sink in, head dipped, eyebrows raised. But then, a thought seemed to cross his mind, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. He looked at you with hooded eyes, and your stomach flipped, unsure if you were extremely turned on by your sudden proximity to him, or if you were preparing to balk.

“You’re going to regret saying that.” His voice was low, rasping with something you’ve never heard from him. Your mind was telling you to back up, to leave this encounter before it got messy, but your feet stayed rooted in position as he bridged the gap between your bodies. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you around before pinning you roughly against the wall.

“You know,” he said, breath hot against your ear, “you really shouldn’t be calling me a perv, when I know exactly what goes on in that head of yours during our training.”

“Wh- what do you mean?” You decided to play dumb, hoping that he wasn’t astute enough to deduce your secret, licentious desires.

“Oh, you know. Whenever I pin you, you’re always blushing.” He laughed mockingly. “It’s cute. It’s like you secretly want to be dominated.”

You huffed a breath as his hands traveled down your waist, before settling gently on your hips. His lips dragged across the shell of your ear and down your neck, pressing against your pulse point. You arched your back, grinding against the hard bulge that was forming in his shorts.

“Is that right, (Y/N)? You want me to pin you down and fuck you dumb?” He mumbled against your neck.

A wanton moan tumbled from your lips in response, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His fingers dug harshly into your hips. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, p-please.” You hated how breathy your voice was, but you were too overtaken by desire to care whether he was just doing this to get a reaction from you.

“Please what?” You could feel his mouth curl into a smile as he reattached his lips to your neck, sucking lightly.

“Please, please, please, fuck me, Bucky.” Another moan slipped from your mouth.

“That’s better, baby.” His fingers relaxed against your hips, tracing upwards to the hem of your leggings. He tugged them down with your underwear so that they settled just below your ass, and he pulled back slightly to look at your bare backside.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice gravelly and low. He squeezed one cheek with his hand, kneading it slightly before letting it go and slapping it. “Been dreaming of this ass. It’s just as good as I imagined.”

You gasped, giggling. “So, I was right.”

“Right about what?” He asked, pulling down his shorts and freeing his cock before pressing it against your backside, hot length already dripping with precum.

“You’re a fucking perv, Bucky Barnes.” You smiled coquettishly.

He stilled behind you, and you could feel his glare burning a hole through the back of your neck. You kept smiling anyways-- this was the exact reaction you had hoped for.

He guided the tip of his member down to your slit, dragging it from your perineum to your clit and back again to gather your wetness, before completely sheathing himself inside of you in one motion. You moaned loudly in response to the harsh intrusion, body struggling to accommodate his size.

“Thought you learned not to call me that,” he said, voice level, unbothered by the fact that you were throbbing around him.

“Guess I n-never learn.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he began to move, slowly thrusting to allow your body a chance to adapt to the thrilling ache of being so completely full. It was a harsh sensation, but it felt good, each stroke dragging pleasantly against your tight walls.

“Oh, you’ll learn.” His left hand travelled up your body, drawing under your shirt and flipping the band of your sports bra up. Your breasts bounced free, full and heavy. “Let’s see those pretty little tits, huh?”

He pinched one nipple, rolling its rosy, peaked bud between his cool metal fingers and making you squeal in delight. You ground back against him, encouraging him to move faster inside of you.

“You like that?” He switched to the other nipple, kneading your breast gently in his hand, and you arched into the motion. “That feel good?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, trying to swallow your moans, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart so quickly and completely at his hands. “N-no.”

“You know,” he said, driving into you harder and harder with each thrust, but remaining frustratingly unperturbed and casual, “you don’t have to lie to me. I feel how drenched you are. You can admit how good it feels, baby.” His feigned affectionate tone, paired with the way that the tip of his cock was starting to brush against your g-spot, made you cry out. His permission to let go just made you want to disobey him even more, but the pleasure was slowly overtaking your body, overriding your sense of shame. You rocked on your heels, trying to take back some semblance of control, but when his left hand dragged from your breast to your neck, squeezing slightly, you were a goner. You shattered around him, your muscles fluttering around him and coaxing a gruff moan from his throat. But, he kept his focus, fucking you through your orgasm and watching your face as he did, your eyes scrunched shut and your lips dropped open in a soft “o.” He let go of your throat and you gasped.

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, he refused to slow down, his unrelenting pace repeatedly hitting your deepest point. You could feel him grinning stupidly at you, proud that he had already coaxed an orgasm out of you despite not cumming yet himself.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, your body limp against his. Though your first orgasm had abated, you quickly felt tension building again inside of you.

“Not so cocky now, are you, (Y/N)?” He said between heavy breaths. You knew he was close, just by the sound, but you also knew that he wouldn’t leave this room without teasing another orgasm from your body. “So docile once I put my dick in you.” He panted, laughing at the way you mewled and gasped around him.

His hand drifted down to where your bodies met, finding your clit in the slippery mess of your combined arousal. He pressed his fingers against it in erratic little circles, your body keening for him, completely at his mercy.

“Look at that, makin’ you gush around me again,” he said, almost to himself, reveling in your neediness. “Looks like I win at this, too.” And, with that, you were done for.

Your muscles squeezed around him in a sweet, warm vice, and he groaned at the sensation of you cumming around him a second time. You mewled pathetically, body spent with unabashed pleasure. He followed closely behind you, losing himself inside of you and spilling his arousal in hot, vulgar stripes. His head was thrown back, claiming your body as his in sweet, silent throes. Once his hips finally stilled, his body slumped against yours, completely and utterly spent. You stayed like that for a moment, leaning up against the wall, the battle between you clearly over. And then, he grasped your hips, his cock slipping out of you with a vulgar sucking sound.

You bent down, pulling up your pants, when you heard him clear his throat. You looked back, reaching underneath your shirt to pull your sports bra back down over your tits, when he chuckled. You arched a brow, but he just shook his head slightly. “That was… much more fun than beating you up.”

You frowned slightly, but when you saw his goofy smile and suddenly relaxed demeanor, you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Does that mean that we get to do that, instead of my training?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said sternly, crossing his arms but smiling slyly nonetheless. “But, we can do it outside of training. As long as I get to take you to dinner first,” he added quickly, his voice almost shy as he averted your gaze.

You smiled, laughing, and he looked up, expression nervous. Now, you shook your head. “Considering how good you just fucked me, I should be the one buying you dinner.”

He smirked, grabbing your water bottle and handing it to you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Now, that’s an offer that I can’t refuse.”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes drabble

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mellowyandere · 3 years

Text

This isn't something a healing quirk can fix

Reader: F

Characters: Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Summary: While out saving the day All Might is hit with a quirk that only you can cure. Upon finding him vulnerable, you really shouldn’t have pushed your luck.

Length: 4K oops

Warnings: non-con, aphrodisiac, yandere themes, size kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering.

You were in the kitchen making a snack when you heard the familiar clicking of locks on the front door. You tensed a bit at the sound, knowing it meant the arrival of your captor. All Might, or Toshinori as he insisted you called him, had abducted you about 3 months back. It had occurred after he had saved you from a horrific villain attack. You had no clue why he had chosen you out of the group of star struck civilians, but now you wish you had just walked away after your near death experience. How you wish you could take back the unused handkerchief you offered the pillar of peace that you had carried around due to your cold at the time. You just wanted to help in what little way you could, but somehow it was the catalyst for your new life.

Despite you being locked up in his home, Toshinori had yet to do anything you thought a kidnapper would do. He kept his hands to himself for the most part, and was somehow content with your silent and gloomy company. At first you had been confused but ecstatic to wake up to the hero, but the facade quickly wore off with a puff of smoke and a pathetic explanation for why you couldn’t leave. Anger had morphed into sorrow, and was now almost an empty feeling. He never pushed you for anything, except to ensure you stayed healthy. Despite his large frame the man was a shadow in his own home as he attempted to give you space to adjust.

But it had been 3 months and you were starting to go crazy from the lack of genuine contact. Alas your pride prevented you from reaching out to him for it.

The sound of the front door opening and heavy boots making their way inside pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. You paused, waiting for him to call out in greeting like he normally did, but nothing came. The door closed, locks clicked, and then some shuffling was heard before the creaking of the stairs indicated he was headed to his room.

It was odd. Very uncharacteristic of him. Even on his worst days he never failed to find you, ensuring you were still here and giving you a quick hug. You set down your snack materials and quietly walked out the kitchen towards the stairs near the front door.

Was he alright? Did you do something to upset him? Wait, why did you care? Pushing down your internal dilemma you found yourself at the bottom of the staircase. Looking up you could see he had a small amount of light bleeding out of his bedroom. And then you heard it, the rattling of metal. What the hell was he doing? You took slow anxious steps up the stairs, needing to know why he was acting so strange.

You stilled as you reached the landing. His bedroom was quiet now except for the occasional pained exhale of breath. If he didn’t want you to come in then he would have closed the door right? Your ears were ringing as you strained to hear anything else, but that was all.

Hesitantly you reached out, hand making contact with the cool wooden door as you gently pushed it open.

“Toshinori? Are you alrig-” The words died on your lips as the bed came into view. Toshinori was strapped down, odd blue restraints keeping him tethered to the bed. He was almost completely naked save for his boxer shorts, which looked to be on the brink of ripping due to his strained erection. His body was flushed red, with a thin layer of sweat coating him. His arms were bound to the headboard, and his feet to the end of the bed

“Y/N ple-please you have to leave.” The words coming out of his mouth did not match the desperation in his dark eyes. Your brain was stuttering as you attempted to figure out what was going on. Your feet shuffled you further into the room, taking advantage of your shock and overriding your more rational thoughts.

Peering over at his nightstand you noticed a counter ticking down. It currently had a little under 36 minutes on it. Toshinori jolted against his restraints causing you to jump a bit in surprise as you took note of him again.

“Please just leave for now, this will be over soon. I-I was hit by an unknown quirk, but the villain said that I wouldn’t feel like this after an hour. I just have to wait it out so ple-please..” You couldn’t tell if he wanted to ask you to stay or leave. His face was scrunched in pain as he began to cough a bit.

You weren’t exactly sure what the villains quirk had done to him, but judging by his strained boxers it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. The number one hero was completely vulnerable before you. When was the last time you had touched another person? Toshinori’s quick hugs hardly counted as human contact.

“How do you plan on getting out of this?” You approached the side of the bed as you questioned him, hand running against the soft fabric of his sheets. His eyes followed your every move, body beginning to strain against the blue ropes of light.

“When the timer is up these will automatically turn off..” Which means you had 33 minutes to do anything you wanted.

Slowly you began to crawl up on the bed. It was ridiculously large, but so was the man currently tied to it. You had no ill intentions for him. He might be your kidnapper, but he was also the number one hero. You couldn’t take him away from society, they needed him.

You were in complete control of this situation, to an extent, which was something you hadn’t felt for a long time. You made your way over to him, not missing his little groans of frustration as his wiry muscles flexed in anticipation. With his shirt off his prominent scar was on full display. Normally he did his best to hide it from you, but now he had no where to run.

You reached out and placed your hand on his abdomen, the edges of the large wound just under your fingertips. His flesh was hot. Toshinori let out a low whine at the contact, hips rutting upwards at the feeling of your cool fingers. His large frame trembled as you began to feather your fingers over his exposed flesh.

“Pri-princess please” Your hand stopped as you looked up into his vibrant blue eyes. The look he was giving you was absolutely searing. He had never called you that before. You were pushing your luck, but would he really punish you for anything once he was free?

You can recall the times where you used to spit venom, hands shaking with rage and the desire to hurt him as he calmly sat by, never so much as raising his voice at you. No, he wouldn’t punish you. You’d be fine to push it, to scratch the need for contact.

With your mind set you crawled closer to him, heart beating hard against your ribcage as you pushed down the voices telling you to stop. Throwing your leg over his lean torso you found yourself straddling him. You hovered over his immobile body, trailing your eyes up his sun kissed skin until finally reaching his blazing blue orbs.

You shrunk a bit at the intensity of his gaze. His jaw was clenched shut, you could almost hear his teeth grinding against each other. You needed to leave. And yet you couldn't find it within you to go. Breaking away from his heated stare you realized the timer was at 24 minutes. You didn’t want to be here when his restraints turned off so you best do what you wanted now.

You sat up, gently lowering yourself on his lower abdomen. You didn’t dare turn around, not keen on seeing his arousal. All you wanted was to feel the warmth of his body against you for just a little bit, not relieve whatever feeling he was going through. It was your way of punishing him for uprooting your life.

Your hands rested against his expansive pectoral muscles. Even in his smaller form he was so much larger than you. Despite the limited time you had you felt powerful like this. Toshinori's soft groans made heat rush to your face. Even injured he was still a very attractive, and currently helpless, man.

Your hands slid further upward, ghosting around his long neck, until you were softly cupping his hollow cheeks. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed as he moaned out. Toshinori was at a loss for words. Though his mind was foggy with lust he fought to cherish every touch you gave him.

As the timer continued to tick down you decided on one last thing before slinking off to your room. Leaning down you angled your head for his neck, soft lips meeting hot flesh. The blond bucked beneath you, deep groans of frustration rumbling through him.

You sucked on his neck gently, nipping at the flesh. His skin was a bit salty from sweat but you didn't mind. Pulling away with a satisfied hum you looked down at the small mark you had left on him. You were in control. His eyes were wide open, pupils fully dilated as he wriggled in his confinement. Peering over the timer read just under 11 minutes. It was time to go.

You made quick work of crawling off of him, ignoring his soft whines of protest.

“Goodnight Toshinori.” You didn’t want him to think this would extend any longer than it already had. Making your way off of the bed you scurried out the room, not paying him any mind as he called your name.

Fleeing to your room you closed the door behind you. Your stomach growled in annoyance due to your abandoned snack, but after what you had just done it would be wise to lay low. Grabbing one of the many books Toshinori had given you, you crawled onto your own ridiculously large bed and settled down. You tried to nurse the anxiety you felt clawing at your chest. Surely Toshinori wouldn't punish you right?

You stared at the page in front of you, incapable of reading a single word. As you continued to second guess your actions you yelped at the sound of a large crash. Clutching the book to your chest you held your breath in anticipation. The door to your room slammed open without warning.

Chucking the book in terror you tried to jump off the bed to put some distance between you and the crazed hero but you never stood a chance. His large frame was on you before you could even get your feet under you and you were immediately pressed into the plush mattress face down.

“I’m sorry, Toshinori I’m so sorry please!” Your cries fell on deaf ears. Toshinori couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to, which as of right now he didn’t. The burning in his veins was one hundred times worse once the timer ended. The villain was right, he didn’t feel the same as he did a little while ago. He felt feral, touch starved, and desperate to devour you.

Hooking an arm under your waist he hoisted you up so he could rut his large erection against your ass. Whimpers and groans tumbled past his thin lips.

“So-so perfect princess. So be-beautiful. Gonna take good care of you. Your hero is here.”

“Toshinori please! You’ll hurt me, you’re not in the right mind!” You needed to get through to him, judging by his hard length pressed against you there was no way he would be able to fit. The behemoth of a man above you stopped moving, though he didn’t release you from his grasp.

“Princess I’m so sorry, but I can’t stop.” In the blink of an eye he flipped you over so you were looking up at him. His long bangs hung down and you were surprised to feel wetness fall onto your cheeks. His bright blue eyes were swimming with tears.

“It hurts so badly, I’m so sorry.” His face was scrunched in pain as he stared down at you. The number one hero All Might couldn't handle the pain of this quirk? There was no way, he had to be using this as an excuse.

Which is exactly what he was doing, tears of pain and guilt raining down as he gave in to his pent up sexual frustration. He moved fast, picking up your body while sitting up and pulling you into his lap as he leaned back against the headboard. One of his lanky arms kept you firmly rooted against his chest despite your struggles. You were just so weak compared to him. Your ass was pressed right up against his monstrous hard on which filled you with dread. He was going to split you in half.

His free hand took up residence on your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh. His hot pants fanned out against your neck causing you to shiver. His large hand began to trail upwards before gently cupping your sex through your shorts. If it was even possible he pulled you even tighter against his chest, mouth coming down to nip and suck at your exposed neck. Revenge for the mark you left on him earlier.

“Fe-fear not my little princess, I am, shit, I am here.” He was babbling as he began to rub his fingers against your clothed core. Little groans and sniffles accompanying his rambling.

“N-no Toshinori, All Might, please.” But there was no getting through to him. He shredded your shorts with the flick of his wrist, exposing your underwear. He hummed lowly in contemplation at your lack of wetness, his fleeting rational thoughts knew you needed to be stretched and wet for him.

Your underwear soon fell to the same fate as your shorts, exposing your cunt to the cold air. His fingers returned, softly playing with your outer folds. You groaned at the contact. It had been so long since someone touched you there, or anywhere in general, that your body was more than happy to respond to the lean blond behind you.

Before long you both were more than aware of the wetness seeping out of your core. He had yet to dip a finger inside, instead opting to tease your entrance as more and more of your arousal slipped out. Your fear had now blossomed into intense sexual frustration. He was getting back at you for earlier.

You rutted your hips into his hand, ass grinding back against his cock as you whimpered out in frustration. His breathy laugh against your neck only serving to further annoy you. “You were a bad little girl running away earlier, I’ll have to teach you a lesson. I le-let you get away with too much.”

As he chided you his index finger slid down until it was over your hole, his thumb sliding up to nudge against your clit. His tears had long since dried as he allowed himself to fully indulge in his new found sexual courage.

Gently his long and thick digit began to breach you, your velvety walls clamping down eagerly after being teased for so long.

“Shit so tight princess,” he hissed into your ear, causing you to clamp down again as he slowly pumped his finger in. It took everything in him to not forgo preparing you and slam his aching cock into you, but he would never forgive himself for hurting you.

His thumb tweaked your clit as he continued to delve deeper until finally his knuckles were pressed up against your slick outer lips. The coil in your lower abdomen was tight as you desperately tried to keep it together. You didn’t want to cum because of him, your pride still shining through. That was until he pulled his finger out and added another.

It was too much and you whimpered and moaned as your hips bucked forwards, walls clamping down on his fingers that weren't even halfway in yet. His thumb kept up the assault on your clit as he groaned at the feeling of you cumming on his hand.

His length flexed eagerly against your back, but he knew you weren’t ready yet. Taking advantage of the wetness due to the after math of your orgasm he began to work a third finger in. At this you couldn’t help but cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Your cunt burned a bit at the stretch as you tried to escape his deft fingers.

“Sh-shh it’s okay princess, I’m here, don’t worry. You’re doing so, fuck, so good. Just a little bit m-more.” He peppered the side of your face with kisses as he continued to work you open. The pain began to melt away as he gently finger fucked you until yet again he was knuckle deep.

He didn’t move, holding his hand still inside you as he took labored breaths. This was the extent of his self control, you were as prepared as you were going to get. You cried out as he moved, yet again, faster than you could keep up with. His hand was gone and before you knew it he had you splayed out beneath him with your shirt no longer on.

Somehow he had managed to remove his boxers when he had shifted positions, his long erection bobbing proudly above you. His tip was drenched in pre cum, a testament to his will power. Thick veins lined his monstrous length. Curly blond pubic hair trailed up at the base before tapering off below his belly button. He licked your wetness off his fingers, humming in satisfaction before stabilizing himself above you.

There was no fucking way that was going in. But judging by the love sick and pained expression on his face, you didn’t have a choice. Toshinori felt like he was on fire, his insides were burning with pain and lust beyond anything he had ever experienced. Your skin was the only remedy from this madness, the velvety walls of your perfect cunt the cure.

Without wasting anymore time he lined his tip up and began to push in. Your hands came up and slammed against his chest, legs thrashing as you tried to stop him.

One large hand easily captured both of yours and pinned them above your head. He used his own body weight to pin your legs down, making sure to keep them spread as he kept his eyes transfixed on where you two were connected.

“Too much, you won’t fit please stop.”

He ignored you, too lost in his own lust as the aphrodisiac clouded his mind. His hips began to dip and retract with the slightest of movements as he opened you beyond what his fingers had been able to do. You gritted your teeth in frustration and pain, tears slipping out. He looked up and scrunched his face in worry at your expression. Leaning down he kissed your tears off your face while whispering his love and devotion to you.

He hated seeing you like this, hated doing this to you. But he couldn’t stop himself. Inch by inch he pumped into you, your tight walls every so slowly accommodating him. Licking his thumb, he brought it between your two bodies and gently began to stimulate your clit.

Despite how desperate he was to slam into you with reckless abandon he took his time working you open, he wasn’t the number one hero for nothing after all. Your groans of pain were beginning to be replace with whimpers and soft moans of pleasure, spurring him on until finally he was fully sheathed inside your tight pussy.

Never before had you felt this full. Looking up you were a bit taken aback to see a large and genuine smile plastered on Toshinori’s face. His perfect teeth gleamed in the dim light as his eyes shone with a sickening amount of love and adoration.

“So tight princess, let's see how well you take me. N-no crocodile tears to try and slow me down, after all I did say I was going to teach you a lesson.” It was a flimsy excuse to help him rationalize what he was doing, but for now it would do.

With that Toshinori began to increase his tempo, pulling halfway out before pressing all the way back in. His tip hit your cervix with every return, causing you to cry as discomfort and pleasure were rocked into you.

As he increased his tempo he leaned down, mouth claiming your own as he held you down beneath him. He was overwhelming you with his thumb working your clit while his tongue and cock plunged into you. Your walls fluttered around him as you felt another orgasm approaching.

His teeth gnashed against your own, moans mixing with yours as he felt the change in your body. You arched your back, hips rocking up to meet his own. Pride be damned, you needed this. You needed him. Releasing your hands Toshinori’s large hand gripped your hip, pushing you down as he angled his slim hips in search of what would push you over the edge.

Your newly freed hands grabbed fist fulls of his hair, tugging on his soft blond locks and eliciting a deep groan from the man. He knew you were close, there was no other way you would be so willing beneath him. A couple more pin point thrusts was all it took. Toshinori pulled away from you, fully sheathing himself inside your tight cunt as it clamped down on him.

You were beautiful. Eyes closed shut as moans tumbled passed your kiss swollen lips. He loved the way your body rocked against his, it was a sight he made sure to cherish. Who knew when he'd be able to do this again, to see you so emotive and vulnerable below him.

As you came down from your high you mind began to clear a bit. Your hands fell from his hair in exhaustion. Toshinori's thick cock was still buried inside you, twitching as if he was doing everything he could to hold out. But soon he began to move again, the aphrodisiac still controlling him.

He slammed into your spent body with renewed vigor, his only goal now to chase his own release. Your hands flew up, grasping his forearms as you braced yourself against him. His breathy groans of satisfaction and words of loving affirmation tumbled from his mouth as he watched himself fuck you.

It wasn’t much longer until he stilled again, this time for his own release. You could feel it. Thick ropes of cum released right against your battered cervix. He stayed that way for a while, relishing in not only post orgasmic bliss, but the disappearance of the burning from the aphrodisiac.

“Thank you princess, it seems today you got to save me.” Leaning down he peppered your face with kisses as he spoke.

You didn’t bother responding. You didn’t have it in you to do anything but wait for him to pull out. Eventually he did, and you couldn’t help but cringe a bit as he cum seeped out your abused hole. Toshinori flopped down to your left, slinging his arm over your waist and drawing you close, tucking your head under his chin.

Your stomach growled out in frustration, cutting through the silence, which pulled a hearty laugh from the hero. You couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Despite everything you had been through, the feeling of being lovingly touched had sparked something inside you. You knew it was wrong to feel this way, but right now it was easier to give in to this feeling of warmth than to fight it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and something to eat hmm princess?”

“Ye-yeah.. that sounds nice Toshi”

#yandere toshinori yagi #yandere all might #toshinori x reader #all might x reader #tw: noncon #aphrodisiac

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starks-hero · 3 years

Text

Bucky on Ice

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky spend a Christmas date ice skating. Hilarity ensues.

Word Count: 547

Warnings: none

16 Days of Christmas Masterlist

Bucky had always prized himself on his agility, his stealth, his ability to get from one point to another with minimal effort. Yet now he lay in a crumpled pile in the middle of an ice skating rink whilst children skated circles around him. Humiliation was putting it mildly.

You stood above him, perfectly still as the Christmas lights lining the rink cast a halo around your head. Bucky almost considered staying down in the icy cold if only to take in the sight a little longer.

But when you offered him your gloved hand, he took it.

“Come on.” Your voice was laced with laughter and amusement. “Let's try again.”

Bucky had just clambered back to his feet when the skates betrayed him and sent him stumbling into you again. He couldn't control his body or steady his feet. And as he battled to keep himself upright you couldn't help but laugh.

A new sense of determination filled Bucky's eyes and he attempted to skate towards you, if only to put an end to your mockery. But his attempt failed and his back greeted the ice once again. He sighed at the sound of your laughter.

“I'm starting to think you're enjoying this.”

“Enjoying what?” you asked.

“Watching me fall on my ass.”

“And what makes you think that?” You tried to mask your amusement as Bucky begrudgingly accepted your help up. Your hand remained on his arm, steadying him until he was somewhat upright.

From there you start slowly, kicking off one foot and inching forward. Bucky follows suit, but where your movements are elegant and refined, his are fruitless and ungraceful.

You practically dragged him around the rink, Bucky's feet continuously going from under him as if he were a fawn that had stumbled onto a frozen lake. The other skaters watched with a combination of amusement and judgement but you remain blissfully ignorant to their stares.

Laughter and jokes fill the limited space between you and Bucky and each time you pulled him up from the ice after yet another fall he'd place a chilled kiss to your cheek.

“I think I'm getting the hang of it,” Bucky quipped once he'd finally pushed away from you and managed to skate a few feet without biting the ice. And after another fifteen minutes of trial and error, he was, almost boastfully, skating right alongside you.

On your third lap of the rink together he offered you his hand and you humoured him. His confidence grew, and he had just begun to speed up when the blades of his skates sudden hit a nick in the ice.

Bucky planted with an undignified yelp and due to his hand remaining tightly around yours, you followed him. Unlike Bucky, you received the privilege of falling onto a sturdy chest rather than the freezing floor of the rink.

“Thanks for joining me, doll.” Bucky's lips turned up in a teasing smirk. He released your hand and rested his freezing cold glove against the side of your face.

You shrugged playfully. “You looked lonely.”

Bucky's amused chuckle was shortened as your lips pressed to his. Above you, someone made a fleeting complaint about the space you and Bucky were taking up. Neither of you paid them any attention.

tag list: @nahthanks, @doozywoozy, @dpaccione

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky imagine #16 days of christmas

106 notes · View notes

frankcastleissoft · 3 years

Text

Lover

Frank Castle x reader

Word Count: 4,431

Warnings: angst, attempted rape, conflict/tension, and fluff (( but that’s not a bad thing :) ))

This new life with Frank was very simple. Not much else to be said about it. You both went to work and came home. Day after day, week after week. Simple.

It had been almost five months since Frank had finished off the last of the people responsible for his late family’s death. You could tell it still hurt though. It stung deep in his core. Like there was a ton of bricks inside of his chest, weighing him down. It hurt you too, to see him like that. Work for him was just a way to let out everything he was holding deep inside of him. He worked at a construction site, tearing down an old building. Sometimes he didn’t come home till dark and that scared you.

You worked at a catering company. You would go to the companies and help cook and keep the food refreshed. Cooking was something you really loved to do, so when you were able to get this job it really helped the situation.

The situation:

Frank was dead. And technically you were too. Not really anyone knew about you, but you had to be dead too. Now you both were living in a small, one room apartment.

You would come home around 5:00pm every day. Frank never beat you home. The last five months had been rough to say the least. Your marriage felt like it was hanging by a thread. You hardly talked and there was always this tension between you two. Some days you wouldn’t see Frank at all. He would come home after you were asleep, take a quick shower, find the plate of dinner in the fridge, then go to bed. You always made him dinner. Without fail. Frank loved your cooking. He was always starving when he got home.

And by the time you woke up in the morning, he’d be gone. It gave you this ache in your heart when you woke up and he wasn’t beside you in the bed that was much too small for the two of you.

So you would get ready for the day, then head out the door for work. It was always the same. Unless on the rare occasion, Frank would be dead asleep next to you, breathing heavily. He slept so hard sometimes it made you worry about how intensely he worked.

Work was long today. It felt like everything was ten times harder than it usually was, so you were looking forward to getting off your feet and sipping some tea, while reading a book. The little things meant the most living like this. The air was cool as you walked along the busy, Brooklyn streets toward home. You pulled your coat collar up against your neck, attempting to warm yourself.

After a few flights of stairs, you pulled your keys out of your bag and unlocked the door. You set your things on the table in the middle of the room and put your coat in the wardrobe that was just small enough to fit in the room. You looked around the apartment. The bed was facing you, across from the door and the wardrobe. In the middle a table sat there with two chairs on each side. To the left was a door that led to the smallest bathroom in history. Then a doorway beside the bathroom led to the narrow kitchen. The cabinet space was limited and there was a small oven and only a little bit of counter space. The Fridge seemed to take up the most room. It wasn’t much, but you did your best to make it feel like a home. Flowers on the table— they were dried up and dead now. A rug in the kitchen, a knitted quilt on the bed, and a few books on the nightstands.

You made your tea, then made dinner soon after. Just like always, saving a plate for Frank. You had finished dinner, avoiding the mess, now sitting at the table, reading and indulging in another cup of tea to help you sleep well tonight. Then you heard a key slide into the lock and the door opened. Frank’s heavy boots stepped in, the weight of his feet sounded like he had had a long day too. He placed his metal lunch box on the table, and sat down to take off his shoes.

“Hey,” his deep voice whispered.

“Hey,” you said just as quietly.

He put his shoes by the door, then went to the bathroom to wash his hands. You watched him from where you sat. His dark hair was getting longer and his beard made him look so different. You didn’t mind it though. Your eyes traveled down to his hands. They were so calloused with so many welts and blistered. More proof he worked so hard.

“I wish you wouldn’t work so hard,” you said without even thinking about it.

Frank turned off the water and patted his hands dry. You knew he had heard you, but he pretended not to.

“I’ll heat up your dinner,” you said, setting down your book and heading for the fridge, avoiding eye contact.

As his plate made its way around the microwave, you stared at it intensely, lost in a jungle of thoughts.

You and Frank had met during his massacre in Hell’s Kitchen. One night (or early morning) you were walking home from your dead-end job at a crappy diner, when a strange man came up behind you, sticking a gun against your side. He casually told you under his breath to stay quiet or you were dead. You felt fear spread through your entire body, not one finger left without terror. You continued to walk, the panic making it hard to put one foot in front of the other. But the man helped you out by shoving you along.

“Wha-What do you want?” you managed to crack out.

“I haven’t quite decided yet,” his voice sounded evil and cold.

Your stomach fell through, your heart pounded even harder. You had hoped he had just wanted your wallet, but now it seemed he wanted more from you.

“Come here,” he growled, shoving you into an alley, no one around to possibly help you.

You let out a cry as he shoved you against the wall, your head felt like it could have split against the brick. You sobbed out little pleases and cries.

“Shut up!” the man yelled in your face.

You finally saw what he looked like and you almost wished you hadn’t. He began to pull off your coat with one hand, the other holding the gun at your stomach. You felt paralyzed. You wanted to fight back, to never let this man take this from you, but you just couldn’t. Once your coat was off, he started on your shirt, a white button down, your diner uniform.

“Oh, hello, Y/N,” he sneered, noticing your name tag. “It’s nice to meet you.” His voice echo through your head. You knew it would haunt you if you made it out of this alive.

At that moment, you heard heavy feet scuffing against the sidewalk outside of the alley.

“Please,” you said a little louder, hoping the person would hear you.

“Shut up!” the man yelled again, shoving the barrel of the gun into your stomach harder. And just then, a large man shoved into the man who had half unbuttoned your shirt, knocking him to the ground. You cried harder, relief washing over you. The big man got the gun from the criminal and began beating him with it. Repeatedly and with so much force, you couldn’t help but stare. When his head was much too beat in to be alive, the big man stood up, looking down at his work. You just stood, melting into the brick wall. Both of your breath was rapid and heavy.

“You okay, ma’am?” the big man’s raspy voice echoed in the alley.

You just nodded quickly, almost scared of your hero too. He turned to look at you, his face splattered with blood. This was all too much. You were just coming home from work, looking forward to sleeping for twelve hours. But there was something in his eyes. They were dark, but full of something you couldn’t quite place. Your mind began to fog up and you felt yourself lose control. Then your legs gave out and you began to lose consciousness. You felt strong hands catch you around your waist, then you were out.

It was dark and quiet except for the faint sounds of cars and sirens. You were laying down and staring up at the darkness, a small light illuminated the space around you. When you were fully awake, you shot up, looking around. For a second you thought you had been taken somewhere, kidnapped, but when you saw the man who had saved you, your fear subsided some; but still wary of your safety.

“Hey,” his voice just as gravelly as in the alley. “You’re safe.” He added, noticing your nervous eyes.

“Where are we?” you asked, looking around.

“An old building,” he replied. “You’re safe here.” He assured again.

You took in your surroundings again, lost in your fuzzy brain. Then something struck you, and you looked back at the man sitting on the floor. His face was stained with bruises. Dark ones around his eyes and lighter ones on his cheeks.

“Wait…” you spoke softly. “You’re Frank Castle. You’re The-The Punisher.”

“That’s what they’re calling me.” he said, almost pissed off at the mention of it.

You felt a bit of fear stir up inside of you again, but it quickly settled. He saved you.

“Why did you save me?” you asked.

“I wasn’t going to just keep walking when I heard you were in trouble.” his gruff voice replied.

You gave a slight smile, thinking.

“You’re not like what the news makes you out to be.” you started. “I mean, what you did to that man was pretty… intense, but you saved me. They make it seem like you’ll just kill anyone.”

“I only take out the ones that deserve it.” he said matter of factly.

You grimaced a little at that; you didn’t know how you felt about his morals. But you watched him from where you laid. There was something about him that was comforting. Maybe it was the fact that he had just saved you from something that would have stuck with you forever, or maybe it was that he seemed like he genuinely cared about your well being.

“Where’s my coat?” you sat up, feeling a little frantic. It was something that felt so important in the moment that it made you anxious.

“Oh, I- I didn’t get it. I didn’t see it,” Frank said, noticing your frazzled state.

“It’s okay,” you sighed. It was just a coat.

“Can I go home?” you asked, slightly pulling the blanket off of you.

“Yeah,” he stood up, a grunt of pain leaving his lips. “I’ll walk you back.”

At first you were going to decline for some reason, but then you realized that was the stupidest thing you could do. You stood up slowly, your head still fuzzy from the passing out.

“Here. You can use this.” Frank laid a big coat over your shoulders.

“Oh- thank you.” you said, caught off guard. You slipped your arms in the sleeves that were too long for your hands to poke through.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath.

As you walked home there was silence between you. You wanted to talk to him though. This all felt so surreal.

Then a loud noise, probably a motorcycle backfiring, came out of nowhere. You were still shaken up by what had happened maybe an hour before, so this sent fear through your body. You let out a fearful cry and grabbed onto Frank walking beside you.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He said calmly. “It’s nothing.” He held your wrists, taking your hands off of his arm.

“I’m sorry,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m so on edge. This isn’t my average night.”

Frank gave you a smile. His smiles were magic, his eyes smiled too.

“This isn’t too unusual for me,” he snickered. “Except for you.”

That made you smile a little wider. There was something about him. Had you known him for twenty seconds, or twenty years?

“Well, this is it.” You said, taking a step up to your apartment building, now more level with Frank’s eyes.

He stood there, stocky frame, both hands in his pockets.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked, a slight smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said quietly, almost blushing at the care in his voice. “Do you want your coat back?” You began pulling your arms out of the sleeves.

“No- you keep it,” he put a hand out in front of you in rejection. “I lost yours, so.”

You smiled again, putting your arms back in all the way. It was quiet for a little while, just standing in front of each other. The city was mild tonight- well, this morning. It had to be 3am by now.

“Thank you.. Frank.” You said his name, really felt the word, nervous what he would think that you used it. Names are weird to say sometimes… when you don’t know the person very well.

He didn’t respond right away, maybe you were overthinking and it hadn’t really been that long.

“—For the coat.” You giggled, holding the front of the coat with one hand like a model.

Frank snickered, shaking his head. “No problem.” He grinned.

The joke hung in the air for a while as an excuse to not leave each other. But then it left and you both stood there in the silence again.

“Good night… uh.” Frank said.

“Y/N,” you replied.

Frank had seen your name tag, but he didn’t want to sound creepy by knowing your name.

“Y/N.” He said back.

The way his voice carried your name gave you this feeling deep in your stomach.

“Good night.” You replied.

He took a step back and you took another step up.

“Be safe.” He said quickly, then turned away, walking back to where you both came from.

The next night, you were walking home from work again. This time with your pepper spray in hand. As you walked, you felt like someone was following you. You became very aware and walked a little quicker. Then you slightly turned your head and caught a glance of the person. You stopped in your tracks. That frame you knew anywhere.

“Are you trying to get pepper sprayed in the face?” You chuckled.

“Not what I was wanting to happen, but worth it just to know you’re taking safety precautions.” You heard a gruff voice say behind you.

You let yourself laugh out loud, turning around to see Frank in a baseball cap and coat. He was grinning from ear to ear too.

It continued like that. He would walk you home every night. “Just for his peace of mind” he would tell you. That made the butterflies in your stomach fly higher. Those butterflies wouldn’t calm down. Even when you were just at home or at work. Frank was all you could think about.

One night you were at the diner, pulling another graveyard shift. You were in the back filling up the salt and pepper shakers. It had been a slow night. The bell sounded, telling you someone had come in.

“One second!” You called, screwing the top back on a salt shaker. Then you went to the front and saw Frank. You both gave each other bright smiles.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, coming out from behind the counter.

“Had the night off, thought I’d pop by.” He shrugged.

“Oh, okay,” you replied, shrugging too, joking like this was a normal thing he did. “Coffee?” You asked, but already started pouring a mug.

“Thank you.” He nodded. “I’ll just wait over here till you get off.” He went over to a corner booth.

“Okay,” you ducked your head, smiling like a fool.

As things progressed in The Kitchen, Frank walked you home less and less. You knew what he was. You knew what he did. It scared you to think about sometimes. There was something so mysterious about him, but there was something rooted so deeply in him that was just simply good. That’s what you saw every time you looked at him. His goodness.

Frank didn’t tell you much about what was going on, he said he didn’t want you getting in the middle of it; you had a couple fights about that. But you knew about Karen and how she was trying to help him. You were thankful for her. That she was helping him in ways you couldn’t.

He told you about his family. You cried. It broke your heart to hear the way he talked about them. His eyes glossy, his voice growing raspier.

Then he got arrested. You were shocked as you watched the news on the tv in the diner.

As the days dragged along, you felt yourself start to think it wasn’t ever going to be what you wanted it to be with Frank. It was hard to come to that conclusion, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to stop caring about him.

One day, you tracked down Karen Page and told her who you were and you both talked for hours. She told you about how she was investigating his case. You told her what you knew about him, it wasn’t much at all, though.

She told you as much as she could about his case. It was nice to have her, you both got along so well.

You kept up with the trial through the news, it hurt to see the way he was handling it.

Then he broke out of jail. That scared you. You didn’t know what he was doing.

Then all of the shootings happened. Everyone was blaming him, and you didn’t know what to believe. Karen was quick to tell you that it wasn’t him and that he had saved her. Those few days you were a nervous wreck. Karen wasn’t answering your calls and you didn’t know what to do.

Then the next night— or very early morning, you were coming home from work. You dumped your coat (the one that was really Frank’s) and purse on your couch and headed for the fridge; you were starving. Then you heard a sound in the corner of your living room, causing your stomach to flip. You slammed the fridge door in fear. Then a figure stepping forward, into the moonlight coming through the window.

“Frank?” you dropped the apple, tears immediately flooding your eyes. “Wha-What is going on?” Your voice quivered with emotion. You noticed is bruised and bloody face.

“I gotta disappear for a while,” he said slowly.

“Frank,” you said again, running forward, into his arms.

This was the first time you two had had any physical contact like this. His arms wrapped around your waist so tightly, you thought he could break your ribs if he wanted to. Your arms were around his neck, your face in his shoulder. Blood was probably staining your shirt, but you didn’t care.

“Do you mind if I wash up a bit?” He asked after you had parted.

“No, of course,” you led him to the bathroom.

That was the last time you saw him. The news said he was dead. Some explosion. It broke your heart.

A few days after the news, you learned it wasn’t true. The experience in your living room when he showed up was heart stopping. You woke up around 11am after another late shift. You shuffled into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

“Can I get some of that?” You heard the familiar, gravelly voice say behind you.

You gave him the what-for for scaring you out of your skin. But it ended in tears and gratefulness that he was alive. You had to admit, you had a feeling he was.

He left the next day, saying he had to finish what he had started. You tried to convince him not to, but he was too stubborn.

About a week later, he came back. He told you he had to disappear, go underground. He had changed his name to Pete Castiglione and he said he couldn’t see you anymore since he was technically dead. It stung. It hurt him too, you could see it in his eyes. There was something about his eyes that always had you captivated.

“Frank,” you said quickly as he stood up to leave, after telling you all of this.

He froze.

“What if I came with you?” You knew it sounded crazy, but you felt like Frank was someone you couldn’t live without. You’d known each other maybe a month, but it felt like years. You had a feeling he felt the same way.

He didn’t move, holding his hat with both hands in front of him. You stood up from the couch, turning to face him.

“Tell me you don’t feel like you’ve known me for years, like we were meant to meet.” You said, your face burning with embarrassment as you spoke. “Tell me you want to leave and never see me again. That you could just leave and never look back.” Your voice got caught in your throat.

“Y/N…” Frank whispered, taking a step forward.

“Cause if you tell me that, I’ll let you go. It’ll break my heart, but… I’ll let you go.” You bowed your head, closing your eyes, tears streaming silently down your cheeks. You felt a warm hand grasp your face, so gently. You looked up and was met with those eyes. They were glossy and sad.

“Frank,” You said so quietly.

“I can’t tell you those things, Y/N,” he replied. “I can’t lie to you.”

Your heart sped up as you looked up at him, his thumb grazing your cheek, wiping away fallen tears. You leaned forward, your head resting on his, both of you holding onto the moment with everything you had inside of you.

“I can’t let you go.” You whispered.

“You don’t deserve to live like a dead woman.”

“I’ll be with you.”

“What about your life? Your friends and family?”

“I don’t have any of that.” You told him that your parents were both dead and you didn’t have any other family. And friends were never your strong suit.

“But I—“ Frank continued. “I can’t put you in danger and you deserve so much better than—“

“You deserve to be happy, Frank.” You interrupted. “I know you don’t think you do, but you do.”

He was quiet. Standing there, you in front of him, your hands now intertwined in between you, he was in awe of you. He never thought he would feel like this again about someone. To him, you were perfect in every sense of the word.

“Please, Frank,” You stood on your toes and place a kiss on his cheek. Your lips felt the tear that had run down his lightly bruised face.

“You’re gonna have to start calling me, Pete,” he said, and both of you broke into the biggest smiles.

You jumped up into his arms in the tightest hug. Then you pulled away, looking at his sweet face. You both dove in at the same time with a deep kiss. It was full of so much love you both felt like you could burst into a million pieces.

“You are everything, Frank Castle.”

A few weeks passed and you both decided to get married. It was scary and something that was difficult for Frank, you could tell, and you didn’t blame him. But he loved you, simply and hard, so he knew it was right.

You changed your last name and quit your job and began to live a different life. A life away from the internet and the outside world. It was difficult to have to forget about your old life. More difficult than you thought it was going to be. You moved into a much smaller apartment and left everything of yours behind. You were dead after all, and you can’t take your things with you when you die.

You had contacted Karen before everything. She was the only person Frank trusted and you wanted to make sure she knew that you were both okay. She was so happy for you both.

Now here you were, months later, that honestly felt like years. Frank had distanced himself from you and you had curled in on yourself too. Things were rough. The routine was the same and everything was stuck in a time loop.

Frank had cleared his plate, now taking a shower. You turned on the clock radio for some music while you tackled the messy kitchen. Music was a safe place for you and it was nice to at least have the radio to keep you company. Then a love song came on that you adored. It was one of those songs that you can’t help but sway to. Frank came out of the bathroom soon after it started, but you hardly noticed as you were lost in the tune. You were standing over the sink, washing a plate, swaying to the slow beat. You did notice Frank enter the small, kitchen area, but you were caught off guard when he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You were stiff for a moment, but quickly softened into his embrace. You laid your head back against his shoulder as you both swayed from side to side, lost in the lyrics.

“You’re my, my, my, my… Lover.”

You felt Frank’s warm breath against your neck. It was so comforting. His arms tightened around you and you dropped the plate in the dish water, moving your soapy hands to on top of Frank’s. This was everything.

The song ended, it wasn’t long enough. You turned to face Frank, looking into his eyes. His eyes. You hadn’t looked at them and gotten that feeling in so long.

“Frank,” you said with your breath, your hand grasping his bearded cheeks.

You felt his hands grasp your hips tightly, and you both leaned in, your lips pressing firmly against each other. Things got a little brighter as the night went on.

...

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glimmerglanger · 3 years

Note

One more Make Your Bed prompt for the road, because I have no shame: I'd love Cody's perspective on their first time. :D?

:DDDDDDDDD GUESS WHICH PROMPT I TOOK FIRST. I couldn’t resist, I suppose.

ANYWAY, this is obviously post-“Make Your Bed.” It’s a spicy time! Not safe for wizards fic about a couple figuring out how they might fit together. Mentions of canon events and trauma, but not very much. Codywan, first time, sweet and slow.

~~~~~~~~

Cody caught on to kissing quickly. They didn’t do much beyond that, not at first. They were both recovering from exhaustion and injuries. Grief. For the first few days, Cody’s body didn’t even really...respond in the way he expected.

He got no more than half-hard, despite the way his heart picked up and raced with the brush of Obi-Wan’s mouth against his. Apparently, there was only so far he could push his body. He’d reached a limit, somewhere along the way.

They healed, planned, and slept and at some point, he must have...recovered.

He woke up sprawled across Obi-Wan one morning, and it was such a relief, still, to wake up to the immediate reminder that Obi-Wan was alive, with him, and safe. Cody drew in a breath, shifting, and realized that he’d...woken up in a very familiar predicament.

His cock pressed against Obi-Wan’s hip, warm through the fabric of his sleeping clothes. He’d woken up in such a way...more times than he liked to think about. Usually, he rolled out of the bunk and went to handle it in the fresher.

But that had been before they discussed things. Before they kissed.

Cody felt hyper-aware, all at once, of the sprawl of his body against Obi-Wan’s. He recalled, with stunning clarity, the feeling of kissing him. He swallowed, loudly, and Obi-Wan rasped, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Cody murmured back, fleetingly grateful that Obi-Wan had said nothing about being, well. Up. He held himself very still. His hips wanted to roll, instinctively, but he’d long ago learned how to control that impulse.

They’d kissed. And now they were lying in bed together, both of them...hard, and he wanted.

He shifted. His mouth was very close to Obi-Wan’s throat, and he’d learned - already - that Obi-Wan liked to be kissed there. He slid closer, heart beating fast, and brushed his lips to soft skin, Obi-Wan making a low, welcoming sound.

Cody’s breath stuttered out at the response. Something ached in his gut, fast and hot. Obi-Wan slid a hand up his arm, tilting his head to one side on the pillow, and Cody forgot about why he wasn’t rolling his hips, shifting in a slow grind that sent a flare of pleasure up his spine and made him groan.

He realized, waking up faster by the moment, that he could slide his hand up Obi-Wan’s stomach, under the hem of his shirt, dragging the fabric up. Obi-Wan gasped, twitching under him, pressing into his hand, and--

That was, of course, when Bones commed them to let them know that Amidala was finally waking up.

Cody swore and sat up, half-ready to throttle Bones. Obi-Wan pushed up on an elbow, and Cody glanced at him. He looked… soft. Rumpled. Sad, still, but Cody could hardly fault him for that. Cody’s gaze slid further, quite without his permission, and he shivered at the stretch of fabric across Obi-Wan’s--

Hips.

Cody blinked hurriedly, looking away again, and rasped, “Kriff.”

“Almost, but not quite,” Obi-Wan chirped back at him, with a fast little smile, before rolling out of the bed. And Cody stared at the far wall after Obi-Wan disappeared in the fresher, aching.

Cody felt distracted throughout the day. He was sure that it had been easier to set aside the flares of want in his gut, before. Then again, things between them had...shifted. Just a little. He found himself thinking about that shift, again, after they returned to their quarters in the evening.

He set out the food he’d grabbed from the mess, and Obi-Wan brought over two cups full of tea. They ate, discussed their next move - they’d almost finished the de-chipping enough to consider going to Kamino - and through all of it, Cody’s gut felt tight.

He cut Obi-Wan a sideways look as they straightened away the remains of their meal. They’d lived together for so long, fallen long ago into ritual and pattern. Obi-Wan would, likely, go meditate after the meal. Cody would clean his blaster, review reports.

He had no idea how to...adjust that schedule, to fit in the other things he wanted.

Cody blew out a breath, watching Obi-Wan rinse out their cups in the kitchenette, the throb of want in his gut getting stronger. He flexed his hands out, and, when Obi-Wan turned, washing up finished, Cody put a hand on his shoulder and rocked up against him, brushing a kiss to his mouth.

Obi-Wan made a sweet sound, hand settling at Cody’s hip, tugging him a little closer, so apparently he wasn’t terribly put out by having his meditation delayed. Cody slid fingers back into Obi-Wan’s hair, neck protesting the angle for a tinging moment, before Obi-Wan let himself slouch, leaning a hip against the counter, diminishing the difference in their height.

Cody groaned, because the shift in positions left them pressed together, and he couldn’t stop the roll of his hips. It felt good, and--

And Obi-Wan drew back from the kiss, nuzzling back towards Cody’s ear, and murmured, “I could give you a hand with that, if you like.”

The words made Cody’s hips shift again, and his voice sounded strange when he said, “Yes. I’d like--yes.”

He felt the curve of Obi-Wan’s mouth into a smile against his jaw. “Alright,” Obi-Wan said, and nudged him, coaxing him across the room and to their little bunk. Cody had vague ideas about how - this kind of thing was supposed to go, gathered here and there over the years, but they’d all of them fled his head as he eased down onto the mattress, Obi-Wan joining him a moment later.

He pulled Obi-Wan back into a kiss, pressing against him. It was second nature to press close to him in their bed, after all. Obi-Wan murmured against his mouth, a moment later, “It’s often nicer, without fabric in the way.”

Cody tried and failed to bite back the sound in his throat. He shifted, twisting up enough to pull his shirt off and toss it somewhere far away. He reached for the waistband of his pants and froze as Obi-Wan pushed off his undertunic, and--

Obi-Wan was still too thin. The remains of the damage to his shoulder and back hadn’t completely disappeared, the black and purple color a reminder of what Cody had ordered done to him, and--

“Cody?” Obi-Wan asked, quietly, tunic halfway down his arms, something tense in his voice. “Ah,” he said, a beat later, and started to tug the fabric up again.

“Don’t,” Cody blurted, reaching out to catch his hands, to arrest the movement. “I just.” He shook himself and, still squeezing Obi-Wan’s hands, leaned down into him, pressing a kiss to the edge of the purple mark, hearing Obi-Wan suck in a sharp breath at the touch.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, faintly, as Cody brushed kisses around the edges of the mark. He sank back against the mattress, and Cody followed along, releasing his hands to tug at the tunic, easing fabric out of the way. Obi-Wan ran hands over his skin, in return, touching here and there, everywhere.

Cody half-expected a comm to go off, as Obi-Wan tugged him up to kiss him again, but they stayed blessedly silent.

They stayed silent even as Obi-Wan nudged him over onto his side and slid a hand down his stomach, pausing at the edge of his pants to raise an eyebrow, to say, gently, “We don’t have to.”

Cody jerked out a nod. They’d had...an awkward conversation a few days past, during which Obi-Wan had felt the need to make it very clear that he was not simply expecting sex and would happily go without indefinitely, if Cody had no interest in it. Some people didn’t, he’d said.

Cody felt like he might perish if they didn’t proceed past the current moment. He lost patience and reached down, undoing the latches on his pants himself, and Obi-Wan grinned at him, leaning in to kiss him again, sliding his hand past the waistband and--

Cody had taken himself in hand too many times to count. He’d suspected, vaguely, that it would feel much the same to have someone else touch him. He groaned in pleasure and shock at the first brush of Obi-Wan’s fingers along his aching cock.

Obi-Wan’s fingers were long and slightly cool, callused here and there from years of lightsaber use. But he was so gentle. He stroked carefully, so different from the often perfunctory way Cody touched himself, just trying to bring himself off so he could get back to the rest of the day.

Cody groaned when Obi-Wan finally curled his hand. He pushed his hips up into the circle of Obi-Wan’s fingers, holding onto Obi-Wan’s forearm with one hand, some part of his brain desperate to make sure that Obi-Wan didn’t stop or go anywhere.

Obi-Wan pressed kisses to his jaw and throat as he moved his hand, not going fast as all. He shifted, and Cody gripped at his shoulder, well-aware that he’d...stalled out, almost, that he was just lying there and getting touched and perhaps he should--

“Hm,” Obi-Wan murmured, kissing his chest and shifting again. “I’m going to try something. I suspect you’ll rather like it.”

“What--” Cody started and stopped as Obi-Wan slid down his body, still moving his hand, shoulders bowing over and--

Cody made a strange, ragged sound, all the thoughts running out of his head at once. Obi-Wan had--curled over and licked him, hot and wet, lips just sliding over the tip of Cody’s cock and--

Obi-Wan made a sound that was almost a cough, strange and muffled, because he didn’t lift his mouth away when Cody’s body bowed up and he came, just like that, the touch so surprising and good. He’d had no defenses against it.

It felt--amazing. Cody slumped fully back against the mattress, breathing hard, pleasure radiating up through his gut and leaving him dazed. It was, he thought, not really comparable to what he’d been doing to himself in the fresher for years.

Obi-Wan leaned up, after only a moment, dragging his thumb across his wet bottom lip, a smile crooking up the corners of his mouth. There was no sign of a mess, and Cody groaned again, because - because he was used to the sonic blasting away any evidence, but Obi-Wan had swallowed it, it was inside of him, and--

“I’ll take that as a ringing endorsement of--” Obi-Wan started, and Cody grabbed him, pulling him down to kiss his mouth and shoving him, at the same moment, getting him sprawled on the bed. “Oh,” Obi-Wan said, a moment later, and then, voice getting breathier as Cody focused, “Oh.”

And, after, they curled together just as they’d always done at night, except without any clothes in the way. Skin pressed to skin, Obi-Wan’s back cradled against his chest. Cody let out a shuddery breath, tracing his fingers down the line of Obi-Wan’s side and back up again.

He...hadn’t known what to expect from sex. He’d heard plenty of his brothers talk about it and he’d seen some pornography. But-- he’d been unsure if it would--change things, or…

He slid his hand down Obi-Wan’s side again, around to his stomach, moving his palm up until it rested over Obi-Wan’s heart, beating steady and strong. He blinked his suddenly stinging eyes, burying his face against the back of Obi-Wan’s shoulder, realizing that it hadn’t, really, changed much of anything.

It hadn’t changed how he felt, or - or rewritten the stars. It was just...another little piece of their lives together, slotting into a new shape, a piece of pleasure they could share together and--

“Rest,” Obi-Wan said, softly, covering Cody’s hand with his own, warm and soft and safe in their bed, where he belonged.

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #make your bed lie in it #snippets #codywan #spicy #not safe for wizards #soft and sweet

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