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tenpintsofsundrop · 10 months

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Not A Good Time

Gar Logan x Gender Neutral Reader Smut Blurb

Concept: You witness Gar using his fighting skills while on a mission, and you can't wait to get home to show him just how turned on you are by him.

Word Count: 2,000

Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

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This fic contains (Slightly) Dubious Consent. Both characters are feeling lustful and want to have sex, but one of them is feeling hesitant about having sex in a semi-public location where they could get caught. The other person has to convince them to have sex while these risks are at play. If this makes you uncomfortable, please choose one of my other fics to read.

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: smut, semi-public sex (with a risk of getting caught), slightly dubious consent/coercion (see the above explanation for details), Gar gets a blowjob, the reader swallows Gar's cum, switch!Gar, the reader is more dominant in this, fuck-drunk Gar, the reader is completely gender neutral/there are no specifics mentions of genitals for the reader, nipple play (Gar receiving), Gar calls reader ‘my love’ and ‘lover’ (cause that is my new obsession), dirty talk (kind of), slight scent kink/sweat kink, mentions of choking/gagging on a dick and slight breath restriction because of it. Hmmm I think that’s it? this is short and sweet. could be set outside the canon, or between season 2 and season 3.

A/N: This is another repost - because I am trying to break up the Titans Blurb Collection. I still love this one just as much as when I first wrote it, because every time I watch Gar fight/spar, I go batshit. He is so hot while doing it. I am pretty sure that my next post is gonna be the sequel to Missing You (I hope so) - but I have so much stuff in my drafts that needs to get done lmao. Anyway, please enjoy, whether you are reading this for the first time or re-reading it.

...

“Now is… now is so not the time for this!”

Gar’s declaration came out broken, thanks to his breath wavering with a gasp as your teeth nipped along his stomach. You were mouthing right on the hem of his jeans, knowing it was a place that he was the most sensitive. His muscles jumped and jolted under your touch, a sure sign that he was getting wound up, even if he was attempting to verbally deny you.

You definitely enjoyed the taste of his skin, especially seeing as a light sheen of sweat had gathered on him during the fight. It was a natural musk that you found absolutely delicious under your tongue, something so Gar that it almost hurt. If you had been in your bedroom at home with him, you would have been tempted to strip him down and lick every inch of him, practically give him a tongue bath and tease him for hours before finally letting him cum.

You loved to drink up the sounds he made when he was fully at your mercy, loved seeing his muscles quiver when he was desperate for release. You loved making him beg for you.

But he was right. Now was not the ideal time for this.

Police sirens rang in your ears and you heard the distant chatter of Kory’s voice as she talked to the cops and likely to some reporters as well. Dick was off somewhere avoiding the reporters, and Conner was helping a crew lift some heavy barrels of some toxic chemical to load them onto a truck and get them away from the scene.

Once the rest of the team had all the loose ends tied up, they would eventually come looking for you and Gar.

But for now, you were on your knees in front of Gar - and you had no plans of giving the position up just yet. You had him pinned against a concrete wall inside the winding warehouse that the Titans had just cleared out. It was secluded enough that you didn’t think you would get caught.

You just had to convince Gar of that.

“Tell me ‘no’.” You announced boldly to him, mostly for the fact that you knew that this would be very hard for him. “Say the word and I’ll wait til we get home.”

You looked up at Gar through your lashes, tempting him as best you could with a bite to your lip and a lustful glow in your eyes. You gave another sharp nip to his exposed skin, digging your teeth into the soft flesh with taut muscles underneath. He drew in a sharp breath at this - clearly you were heavily testing his patience.

You had his shirt raked halfway up his body and held there by your hand, because surprisingly, all of his clothes were still on. You crept your grip under the fabric and blindly felt around until you got your fingers on his nipple. You gave it a sharp tweak as you sucked a visible reddish mark beside his belly button.

“Y/N!” He yelped out your name at this unexpected burst of pleasure-pain, his body jolting under your touch. “Wait-”

His protests dissolved into a needy whine as you continued to roll his nipple between your fingers and tongue wetly along his skin.

His fists were curled tight at his sides, clearly trying to keep some semblance of self control. Obviously, he was using every ounce of willpower not to bend you over the nearest object (which appeared to be a large chemical drum that was an ingredient for the mass chemical weapon the Titans had just disturbed the plot of) - and fuck you senseless. But he wasn’t pushing you away. The temptation was just as big for him.

Especially if the thick bulge sitting under your chin was any indication.

He was just as enthralled by the idea of possibly getting caught. He was intensely turned on at the idea that you couldn’t wait to get him home.

“Someone is gonna come by-” He argued, his voice almost breathless.

“That’s not a ‘no’.” You replied, your voice a melodic taunt as you reached for his zipper.

Watching Gar fight always got you horny. It was a simple, but firm fact of life.

You did love the Tiger. It was something you found oddly cute where others considered it terrifying, and you loved to pet him and cuddle with him while he was in the Tiger form, given any opportunity to do so.

But you loved to watch Gar fight when he was his normal human self infinitely more.

Back when the two of you had started training at Titans Tower, you were quickly struck with the realization that Gar wasn’t adorable when he fought in his human form - he was downright filthy hot. The two of you almost never practiced sparring together, because if you did, you became far too distracted by the sight of him. You always left wet spots on your underwear and spent many minutes staring at him gape-mouthed as he moved with athleticism and increasing skill.

Seeing Gar Logan covered in sweat, seeing his muscles flex and stretch as he moved to defeat an enemy - in practice or with purpose - was always the highlight of your day.

And Gar knew this.

It’s probably why he had chosen no to utilize the Tiger for the mission that night. He would tell Dick it was because he wanted to put his fighting skills to good use. But in reality, he had wanted to turn you on. He had tempted you into this.

Gar took one last haste look around.

Of course, you had pulled him away to a somewhat secluded area. You weren’t that dumb. You weren’t in the direct eyeline of any of the other Titans, and you would definitely be finished by the time someone thought to come looking for you.

“Fuck it.” Gar sighed. “Go ahead.”

“Ask me nicely,” You dared to tease him further.

You began to pull down the zipper anyway, the metal teeth moving loudly and slowly as you looked up at him with a coy, almost bratty expression.

You had won. That’s all that mattered.

“Suck my cock.”

Gar replied, the words ripe and full of want on his tongue.

It was something that instantly made heat bloom between your thighs.

“Please.”

Then he added this on - almost sarcastically, with that entitled, witty little smile.

You could have devoured him whole.

Instead, you chose to suck his soul out through his dick until he was absolutely dizzy. You wanted to make him regret being so snarky.

You took the zipper down the rest of the way and popped the button on his jeans, knowing that his mighty cock would need the extra room to escape. As per usual, he wasn’t wearing any underwear, which only made things more convenient for you. His long, thick cock, hard and ready for you, was exposed to the chill of the air for a fraction of a second before you had him in your mouth. You sucked him halfway down with enthusiastic determination.

He let out a downright needy whine - something so utterly beautiful coming from him. The sound was unhinged, bouncing off the concrete walls as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes with pleasure. If he was worried about getting caught before, then he very quickly forgot about it.

Luckily, all the bustle of shifting off the criminals and quiet whoop of police sirens securing the scene easily drowned out any of his sounds for other ears. You were the only one able to hear his sweet little whines and desperate huffs as you fucked him with your mouth.

You were lucky to have your hands on his hips because it meant you were prepared for the motion of him bucking forward into your lips. And although he had enhanced strength from his powers, you were able to hold him back somewhat and keep him from choking you. You weren’t a stranger to choking on Gar’s cock, and it was something you equally loved.

But this time, you were going to be in control.

“Fuck, Y/N, your mouth is so fucking good,”

He jumped into lust-mumbling, something he often did when your mouth was on his cock. It wasn’t intentional dirty talk, so much as it was a hazy, lust drunk set of words that fell from his mouth without much thought to it. It was something about him that you found to be entirely endearing.

“God, you’re so perfect, oh! Your fucking tongue-”

You pulled back slightly and shoved your tongue into his slit. You licked up the precum that was freely leaking from him as you pumped the rest of his cock with your hand. His dick felt wonderful and thick and pulsed in your hand, and you took a glance upwards at him. His chest heaved from your efforts already and he looked so fucked out, his head leaned back against the concrete wall while his mouth was wide open in a beautiful, pornographic O.

“Fuck, I love it. I love the way you suck me off, lover. You’re so fucking good at this.” Gar continued, his breath stolen by you already.

You loved it, too.

You pressed your fingers to the base of his dick and held him steady for your mouth as you sunk down on him again. And then, with the time constraint in mind, you began bobbing your head, keeping a tight suction on your lips and flattening your tongue against him. You turned your mouth into a perfect, wet little place for his cock, sucking him off with vigor - eager to drink his cum.

“Ah!” Gar cried out, moving to buck his hips again.

With only one hand holding him down, he was successful this time. He inadvertently made you gag as the head of his dick poked at the back of your throat. It spurned tears from the corners of your eyes, but you loved it. He heard the gag and immediately felt guilty for his uncontrollable muscles, driven by his wild lust for you.

“Sorry, my love, I - oh, fuck!”

You simply doubled down and sucked harder on him. You hollowed your cheeks and intentionally let the head of his cock slip back into your throat, cutting off your air supply for a dizzying moment before you pulled yourself back.

That really got to him. The feeling of his ultra sensitive cockhead being completely surrounded by your tight, hot throat - that was what truly pushed him over the edge.

“Fuck, ‘m cumming,” He moaned, reaching out and taking a tight grip on the fabric at your shoulder, digging his fingers in there and holding onto you tight. “Cumming, oh fuck, oh Y/N, fu-”

He cut himself off with another moan, the words completely choked off in his throat as he delivered on that promise.

You had to put both your forearms firmly across his stomach to pin him against the wall with all your might to keep him from bruising your throat mindlessly with his hips as his orgasm rocked his body. You kept bobbing your head, lovingly drinking his cum down as it shot into your mouth in thick, hot spurts.

As you swallowed the last of it, you continued to vigorously suck around him - you were feeling a little bit spiteful that he had tried to deny you. It was a small, petty revenge. The action caused him to whine and shake from the overstimulation - one of your favorite sensations with him.

“You’re a menace.” Gar huffed out, now entirely breathless as you pulled off his softening cock and wiped your mouth.

“I’m your menace.” You easily corrected as you tucked him back into his pants.

When you found your way back to the others, Gar was still dizzy in his post-orgasm haze, leaning on you for support, and Dick questioned if the criminals you had arrested had drugged him with something. Oops.

#sundrop writes #gar logan #gar logan x reader #garfield logan x reader #garfield logan #gar logan x gender neutral reader #dc titans x reader #dc fanfiction #dc titans #dc titans x you #dc titans fanfiction #titans fanfiction #titans x reader #beast boy x reader

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notsowrites · 6 months

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i'll save you a seat

Summary: Alex has something important to tell Maria about Michael.

A/N: more from my "in a sky built before us" verse, which is basically my re-imagined S3/S4 and everything going forward.

[Read on AO3]

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“What was so important we needed to meet up here?” Maria asks as she approaches where he's sitting on the steps of the gazebo in the middle of town.

Alex doesn't reply right away, just pats the space next to him, and waits for her to sit.

“Alex-” she whines, glancing around before finally relenting, and falling into the spot next to him.

“I asked Michael to marry me.”

He knows he's dropping a bombshell on her, because they've technically only just started dating officially and publicly for the first time ever. No one really knows about the years of back and forth between them, and how hard they'd been trying to get to a place to be together. And Alex knows that part of that is his own fault, for keeping Michael his own closely guarded secret.

But he's never going to regret the things he's done to keep Michael safe.

He doesn't know what to expect in regards to a reaction from her, so the initial shock that crosses her face isn't a surprise.But as the words sink in, she hits him on the arm, her shock quickly morphing into something else.

“When?”

“While I was stuck in that alternate dimension.”

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, and he immediately wonders if she's doing the math.

“That was weeks ago!”

And she's right, it was weeks ago. During that fit of desperation where for a moment Alex believed he wasn't going to survive whatever health issues the alternate dimension was causing him. It had been a dying wish at the time, to make sure he got to at least ask Michael to marry him before he died.

But as the black fractals burns receded, eventually disappearing completely, Alex had understood what an emotional and rash decision it had been. It wasn't that he wanted to take it back - he refused to see a downside in being engaged to Michael - but at least now they had time.

Time to date, properly. Time to do all the things they'd never gotten a chance before.

“It wasn't important with all that other stuff going on-”

“Yes it was!”

“-but I wanted you to know because I have a favor to ask.”

“I don't know,” Maria immediately replies, turning away from him. “I'm kinda mad at you right now.”

He knows she's lying.

“We want to get married here,” he continues, motioning around to the gazebo and the town square, “and have the reception at the Pony.”

She finally looks back at him, as if considering. “Did you talk to Isobel? She's the one with all the town events planning background.”

“Michael's telling her.”

Alex can't remember what made them decide today, of all days, was the one they were going to start telling people about the engagement and their plans for the wedding. There's been weeks now of dates to the Crashdown, and Planet 7, and even to the Pony. They've taken walks around town together, holding hands and letting everyone see. He's even pushed Michael against the bricks on the side of the Crashdown to kiss him when he's been overcome with the urge to feel his lips.

And then there's been watching Michael slowly move into the house. The way it was clear that he'd been trying in those days Alex had been trapped in the alternate dimension, but clearly still had trouble with moving completely out of the junkyard. It'd been slow - some clothes first, Alex making space in the closet and letting Michael choose which side he wanted. The slow appearance of Michael's textbooks and research materials from his trailer had Alex reconsidering the set up in the study. Quiet mornings waking up together, having breakfast on the terrace together or long showers after a round of slow morning sex.

But in the end, Michael agreed to break the news to Isobel, and Max. And Alex got Maria, Liz, and Kyle.

He knew Isobel would be the tougher work, because Michael would have to reel in her attempts at planning some big fancy event. Neither of them wanted it, they'd talked a bit about it already - Michael agreeing that small and simple was enough for them. He'd even made a comment that if Isobel wants to plan a big wedding, she can do it for Liz, or Maria - or even her own.

“I'm so happy for you,” Maria finally replies, leaning forward and wrapping him in her arms. Alex immediately relaxes into her embrace, feeling the tension that has settled into his shoulders earlier melt away. He can't explain why he was nervous to tell her, only that he worried she'd say it was too soon.

A fear that he knows is mostly unfounded - Maria has always been, and still is, one of his biggest supporters in life.

When she pulls back, he watches as she glances around, as if taking the gazebo in with a new perspective, turning back to look at him. “You really meant it, didn't you? That you wanted to get married here.”

Of course she remembered that day between them, Alex doesn't know why he's surprised.

“You know I didn't like to dream too hard about things,” he replies, knowing she understands his old good enough dreams, “but everything feels different now.”

She nods along as he speaks, taking hold of his hands, her attention turning to his fingers.

“No ring?”

Alex laughs at that, because it hadn't really crossed his mind that they'd need any sort of engagement rings. It's such a normative tradition - but then again, there is something that perhaps could mean the same thing.

Freeing one of his hands, Alex reaches up and pulls out the alien glass pendant necklace from where it's tucked beneath his shirt, holding it out for Maria to see.

“Michael gave me this, right before I left on the trip with Forrest,” he explains, holding the pendant in between his fingers. “I almost lost it in that other dimension, but Michael found it.”

Maria smiles, rolling her eyes just a bit. “Guerin really just became a jewelry maker overnight, didn't he?”

The question makes him realize she's not wearing her bracelet, which means the injections of the cure that Liz developed seem to be holding. He's heard Kyle talk about how there's been some small changes to her brain scans, perhaps an effect of the protein being reintroduced into her system.

But it means that he's not going to have to watch her slip away. That she's not going to become lost, like Mimi has.

“No more bracelet?” He asks, sliding his hand down to her wrist.

She shakes her head in response. “Doesn't seem to be a point now.”

He supposes that's true as well.

“So,” Maria says after a moment, smiling back at him. “Are we going to be strong arming Arturo to cook for this thing?”

Alex smiles back, because that's the next order of business today. But telling her, making sure she was the first one to find out, that mattered most to him.

#roswell new mexico #malex #alex manes #maria deluca #malex fic #notso writes fanfic

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goldakiras · 6 years

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hmmmm if i were to....how do you say..... write some horrifically self-indulgent serpiguts hatesmut, how many of yall would be into that???

#my t #ive written a good handful of smut before so i'd like to say youre in good hands fdjghdkfg #berserk #itd have some personal headcanons in it #meaning trans headcanons...cause im trans and i like projecting onto everything i touch #but if yall are cool with that i'd be totally happy to post it here!#and on ao3 eventually cause my ao3 needs new stuff desperately #lemme know what you think!#in the meantime im gonna write this fdjkghfkd

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thefairyletters · 3 years

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I saw you rb a SaiSaku post and was curious if you had any fanfic recs for this rarepair?!

Do I have?!!!!! I am currently binging this ship so you couldn't have asked this at better time.

This pair is not a crack ship! Crack would mean they have not shared more than two words with each other. But SaiSaku interactions always bordered on romance and best friends who don't act like it. Not only Sakura was the first person to acknowledge Sai had human side to him and bonded with him over his painting, Sai was also the only person outside Sasuke (in part 1) to be able tell her fake smiles and he always understood her feelings better than other characters. Had Sakura ever only cared for good looks (something she don't) then with Sai she'd get that and so much more.

I have always considered SaiSaku as the next best thing after NaruSaku. They had too much potential as a couple. I am not bitter that InoSai became a thing but looking at them I only feel that "Ino didn't get Sasuke so she get his look-alike." Besides, Sai gave people nicknames that are opposites to what actually feels about them – Naruto as Dickless, Sakura as Hag/Ugly and Ino as Beautiful – which makes it worse. Both Ino and Sai deserve better than this. If Kishi has shown them together more often or had interactions between them similar to SaiSaku then I can understand why Ino is his light. I guess it is also SP's fault for showing them in different light. For all SP hates Sakura, they enjoy messing up with her fans by feeding them false hope.

Whenever I want to read something hilarious but deep, SaiSaku is my to-go couple. Usually angsty, or full bout of insults and punches. There's no in between with them.

. SaiSaku .

This list contains my favorite SaiSaku collection. I am not sure if you like SaiSaku only as romance ship but this list also contain stories that expands on SaiSaku friendship, something I absolutely adore.

Could Roses Bloom? : RiseoftheBlossom || M || AO3 || Shippuden AU || GaaSaku, SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || Ongoing

Sai glanced downwards at his body, the sudden override of his thoughts causing his mind to blank. What did that mean? Had he been straying too close to a piece of information Danzo didn't want him to have or share? Or was it his mind's natural response to shutting down any form of emotion, even if it was just the slightest of inclination towards feeling something?

Go for it if you like: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers troupe, SaiSaku friendship, confused-over-his-feelings!Sai, slow burn, GaaSaku, boys who are bad at feelings, Sakura who is unlucky with romance, angst with fluff

hello, bright eyes (been waiting on you) : mouseymightymarvellous || T || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || One Shot

“look underneath the underneath,” except no one has ever really bothered to look at sakura and see her. and then there is a boy (isn’t there always). maybe they’re both just ghosts, making each other real.

Go for it if you like: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers troupe, confused-over-her-feelings!Sakura, boys who are bad at feelings, Sakura who is unlucky with romance, Sai and Sakura who don't feel like they belong, angst with fluff, sad!Sai

Oh God That’s Heaven : blueberrysconesandfolkmusic || T || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Angst, Romance || One Shot

Sakura finds Sai sick, alone, and in desperate need of a hand that doesn't hurt.

Go for it if you like: boys who are bad at feelings, bleeding-heart!Sakura, sad-and-lonely!Sai, Sai and Sakura who are secretly best friends, Sai with PTSD, protective!team7

for everything blue and bright : sinemoras09 || M || AO3 || Shippuden AU || SaiSaku, SasuSaku || Angst || One Shot

The five stages of human arousal.

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sai, obsessed!Sakura, One-sided love, Unrequited-love-no-matter-how-you-look-at-it!SaiSaku, no-good-very-bad!Ending, pining!Sai, bittersweet lemon

A mess of me : Dovey || M || AO3 || Pre-Shippuden AU || SaiSaku || Yandere Romance || Complete

In which Sai is a good ANBU agent with an unusual hobby, and Sakura grows up with a #1 fan rooting for her....even if she doesn't know it. Or: Sai starts stalking Sakura when they're both young to satisfy his curiousity about 'normalcy', gets attached, and eventually gets very frustrated that nobody else seems to notice her potential as a shinobi and takes matters into his own hands- and delights in being Sakura's prime source of validation because of it.

Go for it if you like: obsessed!Sai, manipulation, stalker!Sai, mentor!Sai, SaiSaku friendship, distraught!Kakashi, fluff, baby-Sai-stalking-baby-Sakura, abusive haruno household

There is sunshine on his forehead : amako || T || AO3 || Soulmate AU || SaiSaku but it's complicated || Angst, Hurt/Comfort || One Shot

Sakura is only three when she promises herself that Sasuke will die by her hand, whoever he is.

Go for it if you like: dysfunctional Team 7, Soulmate AU, Unrequited love feels, angst heavy, Sai and Sakura only want to belong, NaruSasu, NaruSaku but not really, betrayal heavy, no fluff only pain, SaiSaku, Team 7 taking Sakura for granted, Sakura is so done

In theory : nimblnymph || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Romance, Humor || One Shot

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Sai was about to learn that this theory applied to more than just physics. And that putting theory into practice sometimes gave unexpected results.

Go for it if you like: oblivious!Sai, teacher!Sakura, student!Sai, Sai getting educated, Sakura educating Sai, Kisses, Sai being Sai, Sakura with patience of god

Loathing : i AM the Random Idiot || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Romance, Angst || One Shot

Define "hatred."

Go for it if you like: oblivious!Sai, hurt!Sai, Angst, Onions, SakuSai bonding over mutual hate, love is overrated anyway

Bunk Mates : ice bitten || T || FFN || Shippuden || Team 7 || Humor, Friendship || One Shot

In which Sasuke and Naruto find out Sakura has been sleeping over at Sai's. Short stories surrounding Sakura, Sai, and the invasive people of Konoha.

Go for it if you like: sassy!Sai, protective!Team7, SaiSaku friendship, roommates, Sai being Sai, Perfect characterisation, Canon feels

Paint me with Colour : PeregrineFlight || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || SaiSaku|| Humor, Friendship || Incomplete

Sai and Sakura must travel to the Land of Lightning to retrieve something for the Daimyo, they have to travel as a married couple. Much to Naruto's amusement.

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sai, SaiSaku friendship, roommates, Sai being Sai, pretend marriage, SaiSaku bonding over mission, fluffy angst, adorable!Sai

Forget Me Not : Joy-girl || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || Team 7 || Angst, Friendship || Complete

Sometimes it's easy to forget how important someone is when the person is always in the background – but Sakura's boys still remember. Glimpses of her importance from each member of her team.

Go for it if you like: fluffy angst, Sakura's place in team 7, underappreciated Sakura, Team7 family, Family feels, sad!Sakura, protective!Team7 males, Sakura appreciation, SaiSaku bond, Team7Saku feels, avenger!Teammates

Add Me Colour : Cella N || T || FFN || post-Shippuden || SaiSaku || Drama, Romance || Complete

"All my life is white. Paint me. Add me colour."

Go for it if you like: lonely!Sakura, Sai being Sai, confused!Sakura, angst, poetic translation, colors

Euphemisms : Nymbis || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Humor, Romance || Complete(?)

Drabbles about Sai, Sakura, and their strange attempts at bonding.

Go for it if you like: Sai being Sai, Sakura being Sakura, Hilarious friendships, SaiSaku friendship, loveggression, love-hate relationship, Insults, Sai's brand of humor, fluff with punches, Raunchy stuff

Ricochet : Strix 4 || T || FFN || Shippuden AU || Team 7 || Family, Drama || Complete(?)

Sometimes it's easy to see the familiar in the faces around you. Sometimes it sucks to figure out why.

Go for it if you like: fluffy angst, Sakura's place in team 7, Team7 as family, Family feels, wise!Sakura, SaiSaku bond, Sai's place in team 7

Pick up lines : Demoneyes 14 || T || FFN || Shippuden || SaiSaku || Humor || One Shot

Ero sennin's pick up lines! Guaranteed to get the girl or your money back! Well... it would be more guaranteed if it hadn't fallen on his face in the library, but heck, Sai will try anything once! Maybe it will save him a beating from Sakura...

Go for it if you like: Sai being Sai, Sakura being Sakura, SaiSaku friendship, loveggression, love-hate relationship, Insults, Sai's brand of humor, fluff with punches

Special mentions...

Study of the Heart : teresa

In an effort to become a better friend, Sai undertakes a study of love, not really understanding how difficult it could be, and how surprising.

The Blood of a Cherry Blossom : Slytherin Kunoichi

Originally, for Halloween, Sai hadn't decided what to go as, but once he glimpsed at the bleeding flesh on Sakura's neck, he suddenly had the urge to be a vampire…

Old Dogs, New Tricks : yuugiri

After an unprecedented turn of events, the Fifth Hokage has officially assigned Sakura Haruno the responsibility to make Sai recover what he had lost; his emotions. With a time limit of a month, will Sakura succeed in this mission?

Once More, With Feeling : Cynchick

Sakura didn't know what she was thinking when she showed up on his doorstep.

Ink Me : Krickitat

Exploring the art of bod-modification Sakura takes a step into the unknown world of the exquisite pain of art.

The Uchiha Secret : Slytherin Kunoichi

Sasuke froze as he stared at Sai's eyes, which were identical to his Uchiha Sharingan eyes now: red with anger and black with hatred...One family secret could threaten and shake three lives forever. Bonds will be broken.

My babies don't get enough love in the world.

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happylittledrabbles · 3 years

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Sour, Then Sweet

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Eijiro Kirishima

Rating: 18+ (DO NOT INTERACT IF UNDER 18)

Genre: Fluffy smut

Word Count: 7K

AO3

Kirishima used to like having sex with Bakugo...until he had to keep calling in sick every time they did it because Bakugo was so rough, it hurt doing Pro Hero work the next day. He avoids having sex with his boyfriend until Bakugo thinks that he isn't attractive anymore, causing a miscommunication between the two men. Kirishima eventually fesses up, and Bakugo reveals he's preferred romantic sex over rough the entire time.

Then, they try it out.

Eijiro Kirishima liked sex. Keyword: liked.

It’s not as if he’s completely averse to it now. No, he enjoys it—it’s very evident every time he does it. But, well, the effects of the deed afterward left much to be desired, and now, whenever Bakugo initiates, he can’t help but imagine the amount of pain he’s going to feel the next day. Bakugo is…rough. Very rough. Kirishima used to like it…the first few times. Really only the first time. But that’s probably because that was when he was between Pro Hero jobs and didn’t have to get out of bed the next day and do actual work.

“Oh, my God, just tell him!” Mina would say whenever Kirishima would FaceTime her, but he’d just change the subject and promptly hang up.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to talk about something as embarrassing as a sore butthole or the fact that his hips feel so rickety that he has to call in sick for work. Actually, he’s had to call in sick every single time they have sex. The fading hickeys on his neck don’t get the chance to fade away before being replaced with a fresh set; usually, that’d be very sexy to the Pro Hero, but when he has to go out as a venerated public figure, being seen by children and old people, it’s very much not desired. Mina lent him her concealer, saying “It does the trick” with a wink, but Pro Hero work isn’t exactly conducive to keeping makeup looking flawless. Thankfully, Pro Hero work is conducive to explaining away the scratches and “bruises” on his chest and neck.

Bakugo is genuinely concerned whenever Kirishima has to call in sick, but the redhead just pushes him out the door saying that he was fine; he just isn’t feeling it that day. But the excuses are running thin. There are only so many times he can call in sick without losing his spot in the top ten of Pro Heroes, and above all, he needs to help people. He can’t help but turn on the TV and watch in horror as depressing story after depressing story popped up on the news, all while lying on his side because sitting on his ass hurt too much.

So…he’d started turning down sex. And never initiating it. Well, he’d stopped initiating for a while. But he’d never turn it down. Now, before getting home, he’d use his trip home to think of all the excuses he could use when he climbed into bed with his boyfriend later that night if Bakugo was in the mood. He knows a simple ‘no’ would satisfy the blond and earn him a forehead kiss before being left alone, but…he still feels guilty. Therefore, the excuses came rolling in.

“Ah, sorry, just ate a big burrito.”

“I just took a shit. Ha.”

“Look over there! Oh, no…our potted plant broke. Gotta fix that.” (Kirishima pushed it off the dresser.)

“I’m really sweaty from work…no, it’s not sexy. No—a villain pissed on me, too.” (They had not.)

Bakugo, instead of being sexually frustrated, has been panicking. The main worry on his mind hasn’t been “Fuck, blue balls again?” Rather, it’s been “Is Eijiro not attracted to me anymore?” He hasn’t put on any weight. In fact, he’s gotten more muscular as an effect of his Pro Hero work. U.A. was challenging, especially with the League of Villains always up their asses, but at least they had their teachers and other Pro Heroes looking after them. Now it’s all up to him. He thought this feeling of losing control would stay at work, but clearly, it’s followed him back home because he can’t get a grip on Kirishima. Any time he thinks he’s figured Kirishima’s feelings out or gotten him close to talking about his feelings, he slips right out of his hands and locks himself behind a door, both metaphorically and physically. He’s already losing control and stamina in his Pro Hero work; the last thing he wants is for that to happen to his relationship.

Bakugo’s frustration boils to a point after a particularly hard day when he comes home and sees Eijiro on the couch, and instead of his boyfriend greeting him with a hug and a kiss, he stiffens and looks over his shoulder with a weary smile.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bakugo shouts, throwing his hands up in the air as he kicks off his boots. His anger subsides immediately when he sees Kirishima’s face fall, and he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, that came out wrong. I mean, why have you been acting weird?”

Kirishima frowns, visibly confused. “Weird? What do you mean?” He gets up from the couch and pads over to his boyfriend, his hands nervously laced together in front of him.

Bakugo’s scowl deepens, his eyebrows furrowing in the middle of his forehead. He snaps his arm forward, motioning to Kirishima’s hands. “I mean, you won’t even touch me. Why are you acting so nervous every time I get close to you?” He steps forward, and Kirishima takes a step back. Bakugo’s heart falls to his feet, cementing them to the ground. He’s paralyzed.

“See?” he adds with the smallest voice he’s used in a while.

It’ll be painful for Kirishima to explain why he’s been avoiding sex. But it’s even more painful to watch his boyfriend, who is usually so full of gusto, look like a timid mouse before him, pleading with him to explain himself. Kirishima never thought that communication would be this hard. It’s so simple out on the field: “Uravity, on your right!” “The villain is heading west down Third Street!” It’s short, informational, and unimportant in the long scheme of things. But relationships are a whole ‘nother level.

“I—” he starts, but panic sets in and closes his throat to any speech.

“Spit it out!” Bakugo’s hair is standing on end, and he lets out a long breath. “C’mon, Eijiro. You’re treating me like a villain here.” He hesitates before asking quietly, “Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

Kirishima’s chin dimples as he tries to hold back tears. He’d never thought that he had been hurting Bakugo, too. But clearly, he had, to the point of the other thinking he isn’t attractive. That is the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. So ludicrous, in fact, that out of pure spite, his mouth opens to offer the explanation once and for all.

Kirishima groans from frustration. “No, that’s not it at all! You’re still the most attractive man ever! Like, the first time I saw you, I was like ‘wow.’ Then when I saw you blow stuff up, I was like ‘wow.’ Like, you went kablam and kaboosh! It was so cool! What’s there not to be attracted to?”

Bakugo scowls. “Then why won’t you have sex with me?! Why do you keep putting things off? If you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s fine. I guess.” He begins to stutter out his next sentence before stopping to recollect himself. “I just want to know…if I did anything wrong.”

Kirishima’s never seen his boyfriend so downtrodden. He’s desperate to put a smile back on his boyfriend’s face, but the only way to do that would be to have sex with him, and well…

He purses his lips before coming clean. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise! I’m sorry, Katsuki! It’s just…you’re…” He looks up from the floor to meet Bakugo’s eyes, the blond’s ruby eyes darker than usual. Kirishima inhales sharply and balls his hands into fists by his sides, finally yelling, “You’re too rough!”

When he has the courage to open his eyes, they reveal a thoroughly confused Bakugo. His head is cocked, and his scowl has morphed into a straight line.

“…What?” Bakugo asks, lifting his hands up to look at them. “Like…my voice? Or how I act?”

“Uh…” He’s gone this far. Time to come clean. Kirishima rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and groans before saying, “In…in bed. You’re too rough in bed.”

It’s comical how quiet the two men are and how quickly they meet eyes. They just stand there, staring at each other for what feels like eons before Bakugo takes a step forward, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m too rough…in bed,” he repeats, and Kirishima feebly nods.

“I’m sorry for letting it drag on for so long; I know that isn’t really manly of me. But I didn’t…I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s embarrassing, but I can’t do it anymore. My ass hurts so much after, and—and the hickeys and bruises are embarrassing, and—”

Kirishima is silenced by the softest pair of lips upon his own, a mere brushing of lips together. He barely would have noticed had his vision not been clouded by a flurry of spiky blond hair and blushed tan skin. His hands are up in the air, unsure of what to do with them, until they come to rest on Bakugo’s shoulders, his fingertips digging gently into the hard muscles underneath them.

“You fucking idiot,” Bakugo whispers underneath his breath before diving in for a deeper kiss, making sure to keep it passionate but gentle. He lets his hands roam Kirishima’s torso with a feather-like touch before resting them on his hips, giving them a tender squeeze to let the other know that none of his words have any bite. But Kirishima has known that for a long time. Ever since they first met at U.A., while everybody feared Bakugo, Kirishima knew there was something else under the surface. And there was. Pure, unadulterated love.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Bakugo asks, pulling away for a short second before going back to kissing. “You should’ve told me.” Kiss. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything?” Kiss. “Now I feel like an asshole.” Kiss. “You’re the asshole for not telling me, asshole.” Kiss.

“If only you’d let me talk!” Kirishima exclaims with a laugh, cupping a hand over Bakugo’s mouth to stop any further kisses for a moment. “I know, I am the asshole. But it’s humiliating, Katsuki! Admitting that your butthole hurts? Why the hell would I ever tell anybody that? Especially after doing hard anal the day before? Mina laughed in my face—”

“You told Mina and not me?!” Bakugo roared, tearing Kirishima’s hand from his mouth. “You are dead. You’re fucking dead. You both are dead, you and that purple shitbag.”

Kirishima has to hold back a chuckle. “She’s pink.”

Bakugo’s head whips back to his boyfriend, his eyes flaming hot. “Not the point!”

Kirishima laughs again and cups the sides of Bakugo’s face, which is now a mild shade of red. He leans forward and plants a butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose, drawing himself back with a soft smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, Katsuki. Seriously. I really should’ve told you. I just figured that you really like rough sex and didn’t want to get in the way of that. We can still do it…just on a weekend or a day off so I can recover.”

“No, no.” Bakugo wipes Kirishima’s hands off his face and laces his own fingers through his boyfriend’s, dropping their hands between them. “We’re not doing that anymore. Unless you want it. I just…”

Now Bakugo’s face is the shade of the hot sauce in the fridge. He suddenly understands why Kirishima was so embarrassed now. Talking about sex is…embarrassing. Their first time, while sentimental, is not something he wants to remember often. In fact, his brain only brings it up when it wants him to cringe, like on a random patrol down the block. Full of misunderstandings and miscommunications, it was a jumble of body parts and weird fluids and Kirishima’s head hitting the headboard so hard he got a lump afterward. Well, the misunderstandings and miscommunications clearly didn’t stop there because they are in the same situation—just without the jumble of body parts and weird fluids. Not yet, anyway.

Bakugo inhales like Kirishima did, using the short time to build up the courage. “I thought you were the one who liked it rough. You seemed…really turned on that one time in the love hotel. With all the, uh, handcuffs…and stuff. So I just…kept on doing it like that.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as an owl’s, and he tries not to bite through his lip with his sharp teeth with how hard he’s attempting at not laughing.

“You based…our entire sex life off one time where I seemed particularly turned on?” Kirishima asks, his voice wavering as the laughter tries to butt in. “Is that what the logic was in your head?”

Bakugo yanks his hands back to himself and starts toward the bathroom. “Shut up, you idiot! Forget I ever said anything.”

“No!” Kirishima practically throws himself at his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. “No, I think it’s adorable. You just wanted to make me happy, right?”

Bakugo stiffens before relenting with a nod.

Kirishima rubs his cheek against Bakugo’s back and grins. “You know, I was so excited that one time because of when you weren’t rough. When I had the blindfold on and I couldn’t see you, and you slowly dragged your fingers over me…” He mimics what he’s saying on Bakugo’s chest, stroking his pecs with the tips of his fingers. He lifts them up to the skin above the deep V of his costume, feeling the warmth of Bakugo’s skin skyrocket.

“That’s what made me so excited,” Kirishima explains. He begins to step away from Bakugo, but his hands are firmly kept against Bakugo’s chest by the other’s grip on them.

“Don’t move.” Bakugo’s voice is strong but with a needy undertone. He turns around in Kirishima’s arms, his eyes looking down at their feet. “I’m sorry.”

Kirishima chuckles. “That’s not something I hear every day. This is a cause for celebration.”

Before Bakugo can retaliate or stomp away in a fit of rage, Kirishima stands on his toes, kissing the firecracker on the forehead. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re still my favorite manly man.”

Bakugo manages a smile despite his previous bitterness and nods. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Kirishima nods along with him. “I’ll shower after you. Mind throwing a frozen pizza in the oven while I’m in there for dinner?”

Bakugo’s smile fades, and he hums absentmindedly as he turns around to go to the bathroom. “Yeah, sure.”

Kirishima’s smile fades as well at that response. Hadn’t everything been resolved? Why was his boyfriend still acting like that?

His worries continue for the better part of the evening, especially when Bakugo steps out of the shower and doesn’t say anything in passing before flopping on the bed and going on his phone. Kirishima tries to share a smile with him, or even just a glance, but there is no contact. He frowns to himself and goes to shower, his mind swirling with panic the entire time he’s in there. Once he’s done, he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist before walking into the bedroom. However, he doesn’t walk two steps in before he spots Bakugo sitting at the foot of the bed, smoothing the throw blanket down.

“Babe, what’s going—”

“Eijiro, c’mere,” the blond says, his voice gruff but sincere. He pats the spot next to him, and Kirishima obeys, nervously fumbling with the towel as he sits down. Bakugo places a hand over his boyfriend’s hands to still them and looks up with a gaze of pure love and admiration. His eyes rake over Kirishima’s body, the tan skin still dewy from the shower and his stringy hair framing his angular face. He truly is the manliest man, Bakugo thinks before biting back a snicker. That is clear evidence that he’s been spending too much time with the redhead: he’s even starting to think like him.

Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

“Eijiro,” Bakugo starts but hesitates. He clears his throat before saying, “Y’know, I like rough sex, but I’ve always been more of a romantic guy. Um, like…” He sheepishly scratches the back of his head, his eyes refusing to meet Kirishima’s. “Candles…or rose petals. Or…like, soft music. I don’t know. But…I—I like that more.” He bites his lip. “Especially with you.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as saucers. He knew that Bakugo didn’t always act like the rude stereotype people make him out to be, but never in a million years did he think that he would purposefully like lovey-dovey sex. He didn’t like fucking—he liked making love. Just the thought gives Kirishima butterflies, which are now running rampant in his stomach. He places a hand over it to stop the feeling from going down too far, but the look in Bakugo’s eyes makes it seem as if that isn’t so bad.

“I…I want to try it,” Bakugo finishes, twiddling his thumbs anxiously for his boyfriend’s response.

However, he doesn’t even need to think about it. He replies, “Then let’s try it.”

Now Bakugo’s eyes are wide, his head turning slowly to meet Kirishima’s determined gaze. He wants to laugh at how adorably resolute his boyfriend looks. Instead, he whispers, “Eijiro,” but he doesn’t finish his sentence, letting it trail off as he leans forward and touches his top lip with Kirishima’s. Both their eyes are lowered, their breaths quickening and their heart rates jumping.

Kirishima closes the gap and nearly falls into their routine foreplay of smashing lips and roughly tearing their clothes off each other like hungry animals. It’s strange doing it so slowly; he’d never felt Bakugo so vividly before. He can taste the strawberry lollipop some kid probably gave him on the street. He can feel every wrinkle, every cut on his bottom lip from how he’d anxiously bite it. The kiss has no teeth, no sharpness at all. Just the soft smacking of their lips and their warm breaths against each other’s chins.

It feels juvenile, all of it. As if they’re going to have sex for the first time and getting to know each other’s bodies. Bakugo lifts his hand and hesitates before gingerly placing it on Kirishima’s chest.

Cute, Kirishima thinks of Bakugo’s nervousness.

“You can touch me, Katsuki,” he whispers, guiding Bakugo’s hand to press firmly into his chest. He’s certain Bakugo can feel his heartbeat going at the speed of a hummingbird’s, but he’s not embarrassed. It’s perfect: it shows how much he’s enjoying this without him having to voice it.

“Okay,” Bakugo replies and returns to kissing, cupping Kirishima’s pec in his palm and giving it a tender squeeze.

“Mm,” Kirishima breathes, breaking the kiss.

Bakugo’s face was already red, but now it’s horridly scarlet at the mere sound of the soft groan. He’s also nervous; he knows that Kirishima will tell him—now that they’ve worked everything out communication-wise—if he’s being too rough, but the panic still lingers.

“Good?” he asks.

Kirishima can tell Bakugo’s being overly cautious, and all he does is direct his boyfriend’s hand to go lower down his torso, letting out another shaky breath. “Y-yes,” he replies, his eyelids heavily lidded. “Good.”

Bakugo nods, and they return to kissing, the one thing both know how to do softly by now. It’s everything else they need to learn how to do. One step at a time. The only “rough thing” they do is when Kirishima playfully nips at Bakugo’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth, eliciting an irresistible groan out of the other.

Bakugo laces his fingers with Kirishima’s and gently pushes him down onto the mattress, never breaking their lip-lock as he turns to settle himself between his legs. While one hand is secured in his boyfriend’s, he uses the other to roam Kirishima’s body, of which he had missed for far too long. He caresses his soft stomach, feeling the strong muscles underneath the thick skin. He runs his fingers down his black happy trail (he burst out laughing the first time he saw it, saying “So the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?” earning a swift kick to the head). His fingers’ journey is stopped by the towel, and Bakugo separates from Kirishima to look down at him for approval.

“Yes, Katsuki,” Kirishima mumbles, his breaths already heavy with anticipation. “Touch me.”

Bakugo smiles and slips his fingers underneath the towel, his hand bumping into Kirishima’s cock only a few centimeters down.

“You’re that excited for me?” Bakugo asks, gripping Kirishima and drawing out a shrill gasp from him. “I’m flattered.”

Kirishima’s about to say something before he’s cut off by his own moan once Bakugo begins pumping his hand, his head falling to the side and his free hand coming up to cover his mouth. He bites his knuckles as Bakugo’s lips fall to his jaw, then to his chin, then to his neck, leaving his skin prickling and pink wherever those lips fall.

The knuckles provide the bare minimum of sound dampening, his voice still echoing off the sides of their bedroom as Bakugo’s stroking gets faster and his kisses grow more feverish. He resorts to draping his forearm over his eyes, squeezing his eyelids shut underneath the darkness his arm provides. If he’s going to be heard no matter what he does, then he’ll hide whatever embarrassing expressions he’s making. Usually, the foreplay and sex go by so quickly, there’s no time to even look at each other. But he can feel Bakugo’s eyes on him, on his body, and the thought makes him squirm.

“Before you say anything, no hickeys, got it,” Bakugo says after pulling away from kissing. He takes a moment now that he’s hovering over Kirishima to admire his body as it is. Usually, they went too fast to savor each other’s bodies. For instance, he didn’t know his boyfriend had a freckle in the middle of his sternum. Or that his nipples are slightly mismatched—but are gorgeous all the same. Or how his stomach expands then contracts erratically to compensate for his hurried breaths.

“You’re beautiful,” Bakugo whispers, diving in to kiss Kirishima’s jaw.

Kirishima chuckles before letting out another soft moan. “I’m a man, you’re supposed to call me handsome.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Bakugo replies, tweaking Kirishima’s nipple playfully and earning a surprised yelp and displeased grumble. “A beautiful dumbass.”

“I’m going to harden and crack you across the face.”

“But you’re already hard.”

“Hey-!” Before Kirishima act out his promise, Bakugo tightens his grip on him and strokes him even faster, pressing his thumb into the head and smearing the precum around it. “A-ah!”

Kirishima shivers, but Bakugo isn’t done with his compliments, even though his boyfriend thinks he doesn’t deserve them.

“Beautiful nose,” Bakugo says, kissing the tip of Kirishima’s nose that’s peeking out from underneath his forearm.

“Beautiful cheek.” Kiss.

“Beautiful jaw.” Kiss.

“Beautiful neck.” Kiss.

“Beautiful chest.” Kiss.

“Beautiful stomach.” Kiss.

Bakugo sits back on his haunches as he pulls the towel away completely, revealing the rest of Kirishima’s body. Another shiver racks Kirishima’s body at all the compliments, his legs self-consciously shutting closed at all the love. He isn’t used to being looked at. To being revered. Of course, Bakugo compliments him, but it’s usually laced with an insult or said begrudgingly. Not like this. Not so easily. Not so…tenderly. It’s…nice. The butterflies are at full speed now, and he’s feeling dizzy as he watches Bakugo continue to press kisses into his skin. Probably because all the blood in his body is draining into his dick. With each compliment, his head gets fuzzier.

“Cute dick,” Bakugo says, which brings Kirishima’s mind back to fully functioning.

He tosses his arm off his face and sits up to look at his boyfriend staring up deviously at him from between his legs, his cock right in front of his face. “What? Not beautiful? Cute?” he exclaims, his voice breaking.

“Yeah, now shut up,” Bakugo says, pushing Kirishima back onto the bed and giving the head a kiss before the redhead can retaliate.

“T-that’s playing—ah! D-dirty…” Kirishima says before dissolving back into his moans.

Bakugo snickers and gives his cock another lick before kissing the tops of Kirishima’s thighs, delighting in seeing them flinch at the touch. “Beautiful thighs.”

He lifts Kirishima’s leg to his shoulder, all the while still pumping him vigorously.

“Beautiful calves.” Kiss.

He kisses the top of Kirishima’s foot. “Beautiful feet.”

“You’re into feet now?” Kirishima asks with a half-laugh, half-gasp.

Bakugo doesn’t answer. He knows that what he’s about to do will be funnier than anything he could say. He licks a trail from Kirishima’s ankle, putting down his leg in the process, to his thigh, watching with satisfaction as his boyfriend’s back arches off the bed. Without giving Kirishima time to recover, he engulfs his cock in his mouth, nuzzling his nose into the black happy trail before coming up for air.

“T-too fast!” Kirishima cries out, his forearm pressing down on his face while his other arm was outstretched, his hand fisting Bakugo’s spiked blond locks. “I’m gonna come…”

“From just that?” Bakugo teases. When he feels Kirishima’s legs tense underneath him and try to close, he forces them back open, leaning forward to give the tip another kiss. “C’mon, Eijiro, I thought I knew you better.”

But what Bakugo is really thinking is: If this is what it takes for him to come so easily, no wonder it took him so long when we were doing it rough before.

He makes his way back to Kirishima’s cock and lays his tongue flat against the base before licking up the shaft, giving special attention to the head before doing the whole routine again. He takes it into his mouth again and, using the spit pooling at the base, wets his fingers and circles Kirishima’s entrance.

Wait, he thinks, stopping himself. That’s too rough.

He lifts himself from his mewling boyfriend, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a condom and the lube bottle rarely used since they get to the deed so quickly, there’s barely any time to stretch.

Fuck. I’m an idiot. No wonder Eijiro was complaining about the pain. It must’ve hurt like a bitch.

He coats his fingers in a generous layer of lube and lowers himself back onto Kirishima, rounding his entrance tantalizingly.

“Katsukiii!” Kirishima whines, his hand back in Bakugo’s hair. “Please!”

“Patience, babe,” Bakugo replies nonchalantly. “Didn’t you say you wanted it slow?”

“Not this slow!” the other exclaims from underneath his forearm. His legs spread apart to make room for his boyfriend, his body language much more communicative than his words.

Bakugo is about to tease Kirishima some more before he gives in and works in a finger, spreading Kirishima’s walls and pumping it back and forth. He’s just as needy and impatient; sure, he loves some romantic lovemaking, but damn, did he want the main course.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, looking up at his boyfriend while he busies his mouth with his cock.

Kirishima feebly nods. “Getting t-there.”

“Just have to find the right spot,” Bakugo whispers to himself, using Kirishima’s moans and sighs as a guide to where his prostate is. He has a vague idea; however, yet again, they went too fast for him to properly know where it is.

He inserts another finger, scissoring Kirishima open while trying to find his spot at the same time. All the while giving him a blowjob. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? The delicious moans and cute exclamations and sultry expressions Kirishima’s releasing is addicting, and Bakugo can’t picture their future sex life without any of it. Even though they’ll probably be having sex less often with how long the process is going to take now, it’s completely worth it.

“Yes!” Kirishima cries out, his back arching again and his head flying backward into the pillow. His legs begin to tremble the more Bakugo massages the bump raised from the velvety walls around it. “Katsuki—hnngh! Feels…so g-good…”

Bakugo puts all his energy into working Kirishima open so that he feels no pain the next day while paying special attention to that special bump, sending Kirishima into a pleasure-fueled frenzy.

Kirishima’s tripping over his own words, his tongue getting caught in “C-coming! I’m—"

“Not so fast,” Bakugo says after popping off his cock, slowing down his hand and slowly slipping it out. Kirishima lets out a high-pitched whine at the loss inside him, and Bakugo chuckles as he pushes himself back up to his boyfriend’s face and kisses his cheek. “Just a little more, baby. You can take it.”

Kirishima’s panting like a dog in heat at this point. The only reason he isn’t completely humiliated is because his forearm is his saving grace, but even that is taken away by Bakugo. He grips Kirishima’s wrist and uncovers his face once and for all, pushing his wrist into the mattress.

“I want to see your face,” he whispers in the other’s ear, giving the lobe a feathery kiss. Kirishima grumbles something under his breath but complies to his boyfriend’s request since, after all, how is he supposed to see Bakugo’s face and all his expressions if his eyes are closed?

Bakugo uses his free hand to lift the condom up to his mouth. He uses his teeth to tear the packaging, spitting out the corner and retrieving the condom from inside. He meets Kirishima’s eyes for the first time the entire night, which are dark with lust and wild from unadulterated pleasure. “Mind putting it on me?”

Kirishima’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, but he eventually nods, pushing himself up by the elbows and taking the condom from his boyfriend’s fingers. He reaches forward, pinches the tip, and slides it on with ease, giving Bakugo’s cock a gentle squeeze and quick stroke to tease him back for everything he’s done.

“Fuck,” Bakugo mutters with a heavy exhale. He smirks and looks up at Kirishima, who’s now laying back down with his hands fisting the pillow underneath his head and his pink legs spread wide open in invitation. “You can be a little devil, can’t you?”

Kirishima lifts a hand to Bakugo’s face, drawing him closer until their lips are touching once again. Bakugo’s blond eyelashes tickle his cheeks, and he smiles. “Make love to me, Katsuki.”

Bakugo’s power trip is gone, replaced with highlighter bright red cheeks. That’s it. He’s going to only make love to Kirishima from now on, especially if it means this.

He nods; it’s the only thing he can do. He glides his hands into Kirishima’s, prying them from the pillow and pressing them into the mattress next to his shoulders. Their hands are so warm together, slick with sweat, their knuckles white from how tightly they’re clutching each other. Their hands are their anchors. Bakugo nor Kirishima can imagine separating them now.

“I love you,” Kirishima whispers, placing a butterfly kiss on the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. “So much.”

Bakugo smiles and presses his sweaty forehead’s into Kirishima’s. “I know.”

With that, he slowly slides inside, letting out a low groan at the sudden warmth and tightness surrounding him. Kirishima, on the other hand, is speechless. He’s confused; either it’s the combination of the lube and the stretching or he’s just gotten looser from all the rough sex, but…it doesn’t hurt. He just feels full, yet to feel pleasure, but if he shifts his hips a specific way, he’s certain he’ll feel it in no time. But it’s the lack of pain that he’s surprised about. He couldn’t be happier.

“You okay?” Bakugo asks from the crook of Kirishima’s neck, where he buried his face, his voice muffled by the soft skin underneath.

“Move,” Kirishima demands, moving his hips down and whirling them around. He’s left speechless again as Bakugo’s cock brushes against his prostate, his eyes wide and his nails digging into Bakugo’s knuckles. “Move, please.” He doesn’t want to rush it in case of injury, but damn, he’s on cloud nine.

Don’t need to ask me twice, Bakugo thinks. His hips move on their own, rocking forward slowly and drawing groans from both men. He starts up a languid rhythm, listening to the noises spilling out of his boyfriend’s cherry-red mouth both because it’s music to his ears and for any signs of distress. But there is none. Just begs and whines and mewls.

“Faster,” Kirishima pleads, his thighs clinging to Bakugo’s sides. Bakugo can feel them shaking, as well as the rest of Kirishima’s body. And he gladly complies, ramping up the speed, but it’s nothing compared to their fuckfests. Even though it’s slow compared to their other times, Kirishima is treating it as if he’s going a hundred kilometers an hour in terms of going absolutely crazy. His back is arching so much, his stomach meets Bakugo’s, their chests touching every time Bakugo pushes inside. His neck might break with how far his head is thrown back, allowing his Adam’s apple to protrude from his neck and dance along to every single moan and whimper that comes out like samba music.

“Yes, Katsuki—fee…ls s-so—nngh!” He dissolves into blabbers and incoherency, working his hands free from Bakugo’s to cling onto his back for dear life, leaving ugly red scratches along the way. “I want…I want—ugh!”

“Use your words, baby,” Bakugo murmurs, and Kirishima’s shoulders hike up to his ears at the warm breath on one of them.

“Mm… deeper, harder—” That’s all that comes out of Kirishima before he’s overtaken by moans again.

Bakugo works out his pace. Usually, he just goes fast. But Kirishima isn’t asking for faster anymore, he’s asking for deeper. Harder. Same speed, but just—

SMACK!

“GUH!” A guttural cry escapes Kirishima’s throat, and Bakugo groans along with the hard thrust. It echoed off the walls, the bed creaking to show its displeasure with the move.

“Yes! Like that! Just like that!” The scratches are numerous and ugly now, covering the majority of Bakugo’s back.

“Good boy,” Bakugo mumbles, pressing a kiss onto Kirishima’s forehead adorned by beads of sweat. “You did good. F-fuck.” Now Bakugo’s getting incoherent, unable to form a singular thought as he continues the punishing thrusts and slow pace. “You f-feel so good, baby, so good…”

“Close…I-I’m close,” Kirishima warns, crossing his ankles behind Bakugo’s back to push him even closer. He drops his hands from Bakugo’s back and cradles his face with them, bringing his boyfriend’s face back to being nose-to-nose with him. “God, I love you. Make love to me, Katsuki. Love me, love me, love me—”

“For the rest of my life,” Bakugo murmurs back against Kirishima’s lips. “For the rest of my goddamn life, I’ll love you.”

That’s all that Kirishima needs. Yes, the pleasure he’s receiving from his prostate being abused by Bakugo’s cock is more than enough to push him over the edge. But hearing his boyfriend, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with, confirm that he in fact feels the same way and is using passionate sex to communicate that to him…it’s more than enough.

“Katsuki, I’m gonna come—I’m—!”

With one last snap of Bakugo’s hips, Kirishima’s done. White blurs his vision, his entire body racked with pleasure, tears, and electric pulses, both across his skin and deep in his muscles. His hair stands on end, goosebumps decorate his skin, his body is pink and glistening with a sheen of sweat, and his come is the last garnish on the eye candy that is Kirishima’s orgasm.

Bakugo would’ve come anyway from how tight Kirishima’s clamping down on him, but just the look of ecstasy on his love’s face pushes him over the brim. He buries himself deep inside Kirishima and grabs one of Kirishima’s hands on his face for support, burying it in the mattress. He rides through the demanding orgasm that commands his entire body, his hips continuing to snap forward because of the aftershocks, causing even more oversensitivity to torment his body. He feels the ends of his hair singe from how hot he’s burning, and he’s afraid that the intense orgasm will lead to him burning down the apartment.

“Fuck!” he growls, using Kirishima’s lips to silence himself.

“Katsuki, Katsuki…” Kirishima pants, trying to separate from Bakugo’s kisses. “I love you…”

The two men stay there for a few more moments catching their breath, Bakugo long since collapsed on top of his redhead. Their chests rise to meet each other, their skin sticking together like glue. Their hands are still joined together, making a nice imprint on the mattress. Everything about them is joined together.

Somehow, Bakugo finds the courage to push himself off Kirishima and pull out. Both men hiss with displeasure, the loss of warmth on Bakugo’s end and the loss of fullness on Kirishima’s end. He carefully rolls the condom off him and ties it at the end, tossing it in the trash and flopping onto his back. Kirishima immediately saddles up next to Bakugo, tossing a leg over Bakugo’s hips and laying on his chest.

“Thank you,” Kirishima mumbles, giving the skin underneath him a kiss.

“For what?” Bakugo asks then laughs. “For giving you the best night of your goddamned life?”

Kirishima laughs and hardens his fist to punch Bakugo playfully on the chest—delicately enough to not scar, but hard enough to hurt. And it does: it elicits a great yelp of pain from his boyfriend.

“No. I mean, yeah, but—I mean, there will be other nights—ugh, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” He props himself up on his elbow to look Bakugo directly in the eye, unhardening his fist to slide it up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding. For not making fun of me. I…” He sighs. “I regret not talking to you. I’ll always regret that. But I just wanted to make you happy and being rough seemed to make you happy. So, I went along with it.”

“Eijiro—”

“Let me finish,” Kirishima stresses. “You didn’t force me. I liked those times. But this…this is different. I’ll tell you what I’m in the mood for. I will let you know.”

Bakugo’s eyelids are heavy with fatigue, but he nods and runs a hand through Kirishima’s damp hair, shaking the hair into his boyfriend’s eyes with an amused smile. “Okay, babe. Just don’t pull that shit again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Kirishima says. “Manly men don’t break their promises.” He winks before relaxing back into his boyfriend’s side. “I love you.”

Bakugo snorts and drapes a lazy arm over Kirishima’s waist. “I love you, too. Idiot.”

They’re both drifting off to sleep when Kirishima whispers, “Who would’ve known you’re just a big ol’ softie for lovey dovey sex in the end.”

Bakugo stares at the grinning redhead through the darkness.

“Ow! Okay, I get it, sorry! Stop burning me!”

…

When Kirishima awakes, Bakugo’s already left for the early shift he picked up from Ingenium since he’s sick. When Ingenium’s sick, that means something is really wrong with him since that nerd always clocks in, even if he has to wear a face mask because he’s hacking up his lungs from the flu.

He stretches his arms over his head, delaying the inevitable: the sharp pain in the ass from sitting up. He’s woken up with this pain one too many times, so he turns to slip off the bed instead of sitting up. However, out of habit, he sits on the edge of the bed to stand up, and he almost misses it before he stands up. His ass is fine. He has no pain. He feels nothing. It’s almost as if they didn’t have sex last night.

Did they? Yesterday feels like a fever dream, but that doesn’t make the fact that he feels no pain after sex any less real. He stands up, almost as if testing the waters, and walks around. No pain. He slips on some boxers, which includes lifting his legs, which also elicits no pain. He sits down on their ottoman. No pain. He gets in the shower to clean himself up, pressing his fingers inside himself. No pain, other than the usual sting from going in dry. No throbbing, no swelling, no puffiness. Nothing.

No more pain.

Kirishima has successfully had sex without needing to call in sick afterwards. And he’s ready to celebrate.

He cooks himself a giant breakfast fit for a king and goes out on patrol with a grin so big, it startles a few children. He knows his coworkers know that he got laid, but they don’t know why specifically he’s so happy about getting laid. He can actually walk. And use his Quirk without a flare-up of pain in his lower back. And he doesn’t need to worry about bruises or hickeys to cover up. Mina sees his joyful demeanor and tries to “accidentally” wipe away the concealer on his neck as a joke, only to reveal that there’s nothing to cover up.

“Did you even have sex?” she asks, and Kirishima gleefully nods.

“Yep.”

Mina’s eyes snap open. “What? How are you standing? Why didn’t you call in sick?”

Kirishima smirks and shrugs. “No pain.” He winks at his pink friend and throws her two finger guns. “I worked it all out.”

Bakugo, on the other hand, is suffering from taunts from everybody in his department. He has a relatively conservative costume compared to Kirishima’s, but his shoulders are still exposed for all the world to see as a spectacle. Kirishima made sure of that. They’re tattooed with angry red scratch marks, and anybody can see that they lead to a maze of many more rows underneath his shirt. Bakugo can’t even think of an excuse. Yes, a villain is an obvious excuse, but with how airy and normal he’s acting at the agency, anybody can infer what happened. He’s blowing up a lot less and isn’t using his Quirk on innocent bystanders to intimidate them.

“You should get laid more often,” one of the Pro Heroes in his agency mutters under his breath, and in return gets his eyebrows singed off.

But it’s true, and Bakugo can’t deny it. When he gets home, he finds Kirishima on the bed sitting back on his heels, his eyelids heavy and his sharp teeth tugging on his bottom lip in a smirk. He takes full advantage of the fact that his good behavior at work earned him a day off and that Kirishima got a day off from so efficiently handling villains by making love to his boyfriend all night. When Kirishima wakes up the next day to reveal, yet again, that he has no pain, he can’t help himself to a morning lovemaking session as well. And the cycle continues.

Eijiro Kirishima likes sex. Keyword: likes.

#my hero academia #mha smut #mha #mha bakugou #mha kirishima #boku no academia #boku no hero academia #my hero fanfic #mha fanfiction #boku no hero fanfic #kirishima smut #bnha kirishima #kiribaku #bnha bakugou #bakugou smut

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elizabeethan · 3 years

Text

Weather the Storm

An Overboard Addition

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

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

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

Thank you endlessly to @donteattheappleshook for beta-ing this

Rated E

~8600 words

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

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

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

“Like my outfit?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

“Now, hurry up. You’ve made us late.”

~~~~

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

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

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

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

“Can’t blame him,” Will agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look nice.”

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

“Please do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye, you’ll feel it alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her cheeks go red.

Her husband is so damn hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very good. I’m good luck.”

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

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

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

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

“I like this,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

“No more than an hour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As usual.”

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could her own mother not understand that?

“You’re not?”

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

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

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

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

“Does Killian know?”

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

“I just… I wondered if he agreed…”

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

“I know, I just…”

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

“ Emma, I never--”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, honey… that’s not--”

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

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

“Everything okay?” her father asks

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

“Emma!”

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s nowhere he’d rather be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, I just… I never told you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Emma,” he whispers, “I'm so sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye, about as lucky as I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A bath, then,” he agrees.

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

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

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

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

“Naturally,” he agrees.

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

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

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

“Nothing, I hope,” she murmurs insecurely.

“Absolutely nothing.”

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

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

~~~~

Tagging:

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

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021 - October 7th - Blindness

Gift fic for @sassydefendorflower

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Head Injury, slight descriptions of blood

---

Slade dodges under the swinging blow of Blüdhaven’s newest sewer monster; born from whatever chemicals a rat has gotten into near some chemist-based super-villain’s old hideout. Now, while it’s not everyday Slade goes out of his way to take down various monsters across the ‘Haven, this time… he feels a little obligated to.

Yes, he is the reigning champion of being Nightwing’s least favorite and most powerful villain, but unfortunately Nightwing is Slade’s favorite and most interesting opponent. He came to the ‘Haven to give the kid a head’s up that he has a mark in the city; a regular challenge he likes to set for the kid to try and stop him. However, when he didn’t find Nightwing along any of his normal routes, nor in his apartment, he turned to the news to see if the kid had left for Gotham or some other city without him noticing; preparing to postpone this mark until he was back in his patron city and away from other bats.

It was then he noticed the breaking news that a giant, sewage themed rat was wreaking havoc under Blüdhaven’s streets in the downtown areas, near a major subway platform. Nightwing was spotted going in, telling people to stay out, and he hasn’t been seen since.

Of course, Slade went to the fight, and it’s a good thing he did. When he got there, he found Nightwing limp in the creature’s tail, held inches from it’s long and jagged front teeth. Blood trailed down the side of his skull in a steady flow. Slade knew immediately he was unconscious.

He took out one of his pistols and shot at the rat, but the monster was so large and feral it hardly did anything when it went into its arm. It dropped Nightwing like a sack of flour onto the ground, snarling as it turned to it’s newest threat, drool dripping down it’s snout. Slade pulled out his swords and faced it head on.

The creature, while lacking any intelligence, was fast and powerful. Even Slade had trouble ducking under its tail that it used like a club and avoiding its powerful legs and jaw. While it’s disappointing to see Nightwing taken down by a creature as low as this, he can’t exactly blame the kid when it takes himself several minutes to finally get his sword through the thing’s tail. He cuts off the appendage, then while the monster screeches in agony, he pierces its throat.

It goes down twitching and gurgling, its blood bubbling down into the sewer's already questionable streams of water. He whips his swords out, getting off a majority of the wretched blood, then heads over to his unconscious person of interest.

Nightwing doesn’t move as he kneels down beside him, in fact he’s still in the rather undignified position he had been dropped in. Frowning, Slade moves Nightwing into a better position that won't strain his spine and smacks his face lightly to wake him up. He doesn’t even twitch, causing Slade to frown more. His head is still bleeding, which is worrisome. He grabs a tube of smelling-salts from his pouch—usually used to wake up people he’s previously knocked out to get some information out of them—and firmly places it under Nightwing’s nose. A solid few seconds pass before Nightwing’s eyes shoot open under his domino mask; his hands fly out to his face to stifle coughs and he rocks forward so he’s sitting instead of laying down.

Slade doesn’t try to make conversation quite yet, more worried about that head injury. He holds Nightwing by the jaw to tilt his head and get a better look, but Nightwing reacts like the touch was electrified. He smacks Slade’s arms away and jumps to his feet, stumbling back and holding out a single escrima. Slade doesn’t know where the other one went.

“Sit back down,” Slade growls, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Nightwing flinches at the initial sound of his voice, his mouth dropping open in shock before lowering his single weapon slightly.

“Slade?” he asks, his voice slurred.

Slade resists sighing, and lifts his eyebrow. Who else would it be? It’s not that dark here, even with Slade’s heightened senses. Nightwing doesn’t relax completely though, as if waiting for an answer. Not for the first time that night, another spike of worry rises in his chest.

“Kid, sit down or I’ll make you sit down.”

Nightwing almost goes boneless after that, breathing a single ”thank fuck” before sinking to his ass and putting his head in his hands with a groan.

Now Slade does sigh, even rolling his eyes as he does so, as he once again approaches Nightwing and grabs onto his face to look at the wound. Nightwing hisses and flinches out of his grasp.

“Don’t,” he says, “I already know how bad it is.”

Slade hums, folding his arms across his chest. “How bad is it then?”

Nightwing remains quiet for a moment, biting his lip, perhaps internally fighting with himself on whether or not it’s a good idea to tell one of his biggest enemies about how injured he is. Eventually, Nightwing makes the smart choice and speaks anyway, knowing Slade will find no pleasure in ending him if he's already down.

“Head feels like a war-drum. Feel like ‘m gonna throw up. Voice slurred… ears ringing… I-” Nightwing hesitates. Then sighs. “I can’t see.”

“You can’t see?” Slade repeats, kneeling down to once again take Nightwing’s face in his hands. Nightwing fights the grasp, but this time Slade holds strong and takes off the mask, revealing unfocused electric-blues.

“Nothing, it’s all black,” Nightwing whispers, a slight wobble in his voice that Slade is sure he’s trying to keep down.

He grabs a small flashlight from his tools and shines it in Nightwing’s eyes, frowning as there’s hardly any reaction in the pupils. He clicks off the light and releases Nightwing, thinking of options.

He’s sure the last thing the kid’ll want is to get dumped at the hospital, but Slade’s no medical expert, especially with something as fragile as a normal human’s brain.

He sighs, as only one option realistically reveals itself. The last thing Slade wants to do is risk Nightwing going home all on his own and possibly making this blindness permanent when there could be something that can be done to help him. Nightwing is a competent, talented young man, which is why he’s so intriguing to Slade—and while he has all the faith that Nightwing will find a way to fight even if his sight is forever gone, Slade also knows the loss of sense will be a major blow to the kid’s moral for months to come. He’s seen how far Nightwing can fall with helplessness and depression plaguing him, and honestly the thrill of fighting him leaves when his fire is replaced with a desperateness to prove to himself that he’s still worth something. He needs Nightwing to have a steady support system, and help for this injury.

Nightwing is going to hate him for a while after this, but Slade has no choice. He doesn’t fight against Nightwing to kill him, but because those fights are the only thing that brings a fun challenge. For how human Nightwing is, he fights like a beast, and Slade can’t lose that.

“Up,” he says while returning the kid’s mask; he grabs Nightwing by the arm and lifts him to his feet. Nightwing groans, but doesn’t fight too badly as Slade firmly wraps his arm around Slade’s shoulders. “Where is the best place to exit this place without being spotted?”

Nightwing, with the complexion of the inside of an avocado, talks him through on where to go. He looks one small fit of nausea away from throwing up all over Slade’s armor.

Luckily, he keeps it in his stomach—perhaps the discomfort in his body being something more desirable to deal with than a vomit covered Slade—and by the time they make it out of a small, boarded up and abandoned, exit to the subway line, Slade lets the kid take a break by the nearest dumpster. Nightwing, the poor thing, must have lost everything he’s eaten today in those fifteen minutes.

Now that he’s out below Blüdhaven’s night sky, he’s now the one in charge of leading the way. Nightwing stumbles along blindly—hah—never letting go of his weak grasp around Slade’s neck and shoulders.

Finally, they make it to where Slade has parked the car he had taken into the city. The windows are all tinted to near-illegal levels, but Slade still stuffs Nighting in the back-seats and hands him a bucket he had in the trunk that previously held a few hundred bullets from when he bought them in bulk.

“Throw up on the seats and I’m making you buy me a new car.”

“Bet this one was stolen anyway,” Nightwing mumbles, curled up in the backseats with the bucket touching his stomach like a flu-ridden child.

Slade scoffs and closes the door after reminding him to keep his head down but to stay awake. He takes off his Deathstroke mask, then the top bits of his armor, and shoves them in the truck. Then, after he gets in the driver's seat, they’re off.

Getting out of downtown Blüdhaven should be the hardest part of all of this; both for Slade’s navigation skills and for Nightwing’s gag-reflex. Eventually, however, they make it out of the twists and turns of downtown and eventually make it onto the main roads of the city—still crowded with cars coming too and from various ass-awful shifts of work. Nightwing remains quite agreeable in the backseats, responding that he’s awake every time Slade calls for a status report (about every five-ten minutes), and groaning at every turn no matter how slow Slade takes them.

However, that agreeableness quickly leaves the boy when Slade enters the on-ramp connecting to the north-south interstate.

Kid almost makes himself throw up by how quickly he scrambles to a sitting position; ignoring Slade's commands to lay back down.

“Turn around,” Nightwing growls. And it’s a strong growl too, reminds Slade of a chihuahua. Shaking and all.

“You’re currently blind, you have no idea where-”

“I know the roads of my city, Slade. And you’re leaving it.”

Slade sighs and merges into traffic, then uses one hand to shove Nightwing back town onto the seats. “Keep down, a cop will see you.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Slade remains silent.

“Tell me it’s a secret mansion somewhere and you have your own personal doctor that can help. Or you know a guy that happens to be down south. Or-”

“I’m taking you to Gotham,” Slade says, ripping off the band-aid.

Nightwing looks all sorts of emotions in the span of a few seconds. The one he settles on, however, is anger.

“No.”

“Batman gets injured all the time,” Slade begins to explain, but Nightwing looks frantic now.

“No, don’t take me back- I’ve worked so hard to get him to see that I can do things without him- and he has a new kid now and-”

“Suck it up,” Slade growls. “Deal with it. I’m not like you, kid. I don’t know how to take care of a normal human, and I definitely don’t know anyone who can because I have no need to. What you need is a doctor that can treat you off the record, who knows about your nightlife. Batman has that, doesn’t he.”

It’s not a question, but Nightwing’s silence is still an answer.

“Whatever your old man thinks of you for coming back injured doesn’t matter in the end. Nor does the new kid. What you should worry more about is what I think of you after this. You’re not fighting Batman, you’re fighting me.”

“What if he doesn’t let me fight after this?” Nightwing… Dick whispers as he finally lays back down on the seats. He’s taken his mask off and is rubbing his eyes, perhaps quelling tears or a headache. Perhaps both. “What if my sight doesn’t come back? What if he retires me?”

Slade remains silent for a second, then answers as firmly as he can. “I’ve known plenty of formidable enemies who are missing a sense. You’ll find a way to get back up, and if he doesn’t let you then I’ll just have to break in, kidnap you, and train you myself.”

That startles a laugh out of Dick. “I thought you were no longer trying to get me to be your apprentice.”

Slade shrugs, allowing a smile on his lips, selfishly comforted that Dick couldn’t see it. “You have a lot of potential, kid, I’d rather you use it against me than not at all. I’ll train you and release you like the bird you are, and we can get back to the same ol’ dance we have.”

Dick takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah… okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

-o-o-o-o-

Slade parks the car in an old neighborhood in Gotham that has a considerable drop in crime compared to the rest of the city. All things considered. Though, the sun is beginning to rise and Slade’s positive the Bat knew he was in his city the second he drove into it. Dick knows this too, as he’s telling Slade to hurry up and get out of here despite the boy still looking green around the gills. Slade grabs his mask and armor, then turns to the stolen car he’s about to abandon and opens the back door near Dick’s face.

Suddenly, and rather embarrassingly, he doesn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Dick is a freaky empath sometimes and gives an exhausted smile.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll get through this.”

“Good,” Slade replies. “I won't let you quit.”

His grin widens. “Never.”

Then Slade closes the door and takes off quickly, only pausing on a distant roof to watch a large black figure and a smaller red-and-yellow clad child approach the car and catch sight of the injured bird inside.

From there, Slade turns and leaves, not looking back.

He’ll see Nightwing on the battlefield again. No matter what, Slade will make sure of it.

#dick grayson #nightwing #slade wilson #deathstroke #batman #whumptober2021 #no.6 #blindness #fanfiction #jin writes

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deadinside-butstill-horny · 3 years

Text

The Night We Met

Part Three - Most Of You

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 10k - Word count got away from me.

Summary: We learn a little about Y/N’s past. Tequila is involved and inhibitions lowered.

Content Warnings: Mentions of death, themes of PTSD,18+ SMUT warning, oral, fingering, dirty talk, penetrative sex. Lots and lots of consent, cause consent is sexy and you know our boy Javi is nothing if not respectful.

MASTERLIST

AO3

Author Note: I really enjoyed writing this. It’s absolutely just porn with minor plot but I have no regrets.

Got the gif from this photo set during the week because THAT’S THE SMILE I’M ON ABOUT. That cute as fuck half smile; it melts my heart.

Part One - Part Two

It just so happened that when Javier decided to stop trying to seduce you, the two of you could actually be around one another and have a good time. Well, not quite as good as that night. But in the grand scheme of things; good-ish.

After the debauchery that had occurred outside of the church the two of you had ceremonially agreed to a ceasefire on all hostilities with your second meeting. You were equal parts surprised and disappointed that Javier had been on his best behaviour, the two of you had successfully bought the ingredients and were currently producing what was sure to be a decent breakfast without either of you ending up naked.

He was the picture of domesticity as he sat on the counter top with a beer in his hand at 8:15am as you whisked some eggs in a bowl using a fork, you paused for a moment, taking a sip of your own beverage, then resuming your task as you threw the eggs into the too hot pan making them sizzle on the skillet.

"No, no, no, no." Javier cried and pushed himself off of the counter as he tutted, coming to your side and placing his hand on the curve of your waist to move you out of his way. His hand slithers forward and lingers a second on your own fingers before he takes the spatula and puts space between the two of you to manage the task at hand.

For a moment, you're perplexed. The movement itself wasn't particularly invasive or breaking from the gentlemanly persona he had adopted in the last two hours, but rather it was an act of, well, familiarity. Which reason dictates simply shouldn’t exist between the two of you.

You had known each other for a grand total of 48 hours and that was being generous as you had been comatosed for easily 15 of those. He had a bad habit of popping up when you least expected it and disarming you with an easy smile.

You didn’t like how he made you feel. Everything you said, you measured his reaction, a pull of his lip, a flash of his teeth or a narrow of his brow; these were his tells, well his obvious ones.

You tried desperately to convince yourself that this was platonic analysis. It would seem you could kid Javier but you couldn’t trick yourself. You felt things for the man that you really shouldn’t after knowing him for two days. You were frustrated with the situation, he’d slept with another woman hours after your encounter. You were jealous, sure, but not betrayed.

It was a matter of pride, that evening had somewhat extinguished the fire for the bronzed man who was currently trying to save the eggs you’d flash fried. What you were experiencing were embers. Yes, embers. The fire hadn’t completely been doused and all you had was a residual heat. A deep glowing burning heat, sure. But eventually reality would be sure to dump some more water on this fire and you wouldn’t feel this lingering need for the man, right?

“¡Espero que te gusten los huevos calientes!” Javier hollered over the sizzling with a smirk on his face as he scraped at the pan with the instrument he’d stolen from you.

“Eggs and Hot? That’s all I got!” You question a smile warming your face, apparently his enthusiasm was contagious.

He chuckled at your words and nodded, “Tu español no es tan malo linda dama!”

“I got nothin’ besides español,'' you shrug. Javier let out another snicker, he seemed to laugh a lot but he was missing the soft wrinkles bracketing his mustache which made you think that maybe this wasn’t his natural state. There was a light silence whilst he sliced the loaf of bread you’d picked from the store. As you were setting the table your book caught your eye from its place on the coffee table and you couldn’t resist trying out some of your newly learnt infant level language.

“Hola Javier, mi nombre es Y/N. Mi color favorito es el Y/F/C.¡Me gustan los perros!”

(My name is Y/N, My Favourite colour is Y/F/C. I like dogs!)

Javier turned around his expression; a picture of incredulousness. His eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, his mustache almost touching his nose as you got a view of his brilliant white teeth in a genuine honest to god grin. If you had a camera, you’d have captured that moment.

“I’ll have to be careful around you, huh, sunshine? These new Spanish skills of yours could get me into trouble.”

“Bailar es divertido!” You exclaim using the only Spanish phrase you know.

“What?...Dancing is fun?... Where the hell did you learn this stuff?”

“Español … para... niños”

“Española para niñas” Javier corrected helpful “Unless you’ve got something you need to tell me...”

“Damn! The masculine and feminine, they briefly touched upon the theory in Spanish for Kids. It wasn’t as in depth as you might think though.” You joke with a huff. “Hey, do you know where I can get a better translating book?”

“Learning Spanish, huh? How long are you plannin’ on staying exactly?” You jump at the addition of a third voice, Steve appears looking thoroughly rested with his voice two octaves lower than it should be.

“Well ya’ know Stevie, it’s pretty ignorant to not learn a little of the language of the country you’re in.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Steve points out, you’d hoped he would give in and let it go considering Javier was here. Though seeing as he greeted his partner whilst grabbing a cup of coffee before turning expectantly towards yourself, your chances of skirting around the subject seemed slim.

“I don’t have any commitments at home, not like I got the hospital waiting for me to come back. So... I’mma stay… ya know … live a little!”

“Gillian? She’s not waiting for you?”

“Nah, I quit.”

“You quit?! It took you fuckin’ ages to get that job.”

“Stevie, If I have to clean up puke in a fucking grocery store once more. I honestly don't think I can take it- don’t look at me like that. Three times is three times too many!”

“You’re fuckin’ out of your mind. This isn’t a holiday.”

“No, but I need some change, you clearly need to get your ass kicked back in line. We both win! If you help me get a job it’ll be great… I can practically speak Spanish already....”

“I dispute that.” Javier piped up.

“Shut up.” You say as you throw the tea towel at him. “Look Stevie. Everything’s fine. You were fine with Connie and Olivia being here. I’m a grown ass woman.” There was silence as Javier continued moving around the kitchen, only this lull was a little heavier, you chalk it up to you being the youngest and the only girl in a family with three brothers. God knows they’d been benching you your entire life.

“Fine.” Steve huffed and sat down at the table as you and Javier served up. The man in question gave you a conspiratorial wink as you passed one another. Nothing more was said on the matter as you tucked into breakfast. Infact, pleasant conversation was kept up all through the meal until it came time for Javier and Steve to go.

“We gotta get into the embassy. Heard rumours the new boss starts soon and we need to get our ducks in a row.” Steve nodded to Javier's words. “You ready to get back in the ring?”

“Been ready for the past two weeks, man. This leave of absence was bullshit”

Steve grabs his coat as you watch expectantly, waiting for your invite to the boys club, that inevitably doesn’t come. Instead you receive a much more in character; “Stay in the apartment, for god sakes Y/N. Just for today. I’ve left my number on the pad if you need me.”

You nod noncommittally and combined with a shrug the action hits its mark as Steve sighs.

“This isn’t funny. Bogotá isn’t safe for you.” You repeat your action, this time without the shrug. He huffs but carries on out of the door, he must have realised that was as much as an acquiescence as he was going to recieve, Javier follows him but stops on the threshold.

“Te encontraré ese libro, Guapa.” He calls out before closing the door behind him.

“no hablo español, motherfucker!” You shout after him, you vaguely hear his warm chortle as he descends down the stairs. With your legs propped up on the chair in front of you, you huff and look around the room. The absolute assholes had left you with the washing up. Yeah, feminism was definitely taking a hit during your time in Colombia.

Apparently the agents hadn’t got the memo about the change in gender roles, you cursed their names as you turned on the radio to some latin music and began the arduous process of cleaning the entire kitchen, including the appliances and counters you hadn’t even used.

You then moved onto the lounge, hey, if you were going to play the role of housewife, you were going to at least be a good one. You hoovered, reorganised and dusted your ass off for at least three-ish hours before you got bored, abandoning your work for snooping, you were only human after all.

First you looked in the medicine cabinet and found nothing good, I mean, you don’t know what crazy drugs you were expecting your brother, the DEA agent, to have in his possession but you were crestfallen with the dull discovery of a spare toothpaste, American xanax and ‘aspirina bebé’.

With a lamentful sigh you took your sleuthing into the bedroom, pulling his bedside drawer open with a hesitant hand. You don’t know what dark sexual preferences your brother and Connie may or may not have and you didn’t want to risk permanent scarring. As you open it fully you glance inside remaining tentative, your eyes first fall on the badge left behind. He must have forgotten it. You take it out and place it on the bed beside you as you continue to investigate.

Your hands find a wad of folded yellow notepad paper, the jagged edges have been ripped from the main pad in frustration. Unfolding the wad, you do a once over of the sheet in front of you. The words ‘Dear Connie,’ make you halt in your sted. Finding a gimp mask or weed was funny, this however crossed a line. So you placed the notes back where you found them, you turned to grab the badge and place it back on top of the pile but as the light shone on the metal an idea sprung to mind.

To say you were famed for your impulse control issues was an understatement. You often acted first with no regard for the consequences, hence your presence in Colombia and your extensive shoe collection. But as you drove your brother's Jeep through the streets of Bogotá, you realised that you may finally push Steve over the edge. Already in too deep you took the final turn, following the map you had spread out on the passenger side and were greeted with the American flag. Eureka. You had taken an embarrassing amount of wrong turns but had finally arrived.

You pulled up to the barrier and smiled at the Colombian guard donned in a dark green uniform.

“Hola, Agent Murphy DEA asked me to drop off his badge.” You wiggle the object of your deceit in his eye line.

“Identification?” The guard asked in heavily accented English. You shut off the car's engine as you turn to your purse and pull your driver's license out and hand it over. He inspects the plastic, looking between you and the ID before nodding and handing it back to you, definitely not a social butterfly. He then waved to the gentleman controlling the barrier, allowing you access.

“DEA office is to the right. Personnel only.”

“I’ll be in and out, quick as a flash.” You reassuringly smile at the man and receive only a stony glare in return. Deciding to stop pushing the apparently limitless bounds of your dumb luck you pull through the barrier and into the car park on the right. You park up in what you hope is an unreserved space and hop out of the tall vehicle.

“Right, what's the plan again?” you mumble to yourself as you pause for a second, before starting towards the cream building and hopping up the stairs. You cling to the badge like a life raft, terrified you’ll be stopped as the imposter sight-seerer you are. Now in your defence, you knew this was dumb. Steve had an important job and distracting him wasn’t helpful in the least, but you couldn’t help yourself. Stay inside- like that was ever going to happen.

So you scoured the offices of the embassy for about fifteen minutes before you decided to break and ask for help, finally stopping an american looking woman with large stylish shoulder pads and even bigger hair.

“I’m looking for the DEA office? Steve Murphy, Javier Peña?” She seemed to bristle at the mention of the latter.

“Take that elevator to the third floor and it's the third door on the left, but watch out for Peña, he’s a real- '' She cut herself off with a huff, before nodding your way and walking off.

No shit, sister.

Following the potentially scorned woman's instructions you found yourself in the DEA Bogotá headquarters; only Steve and Javier were nowhere to be seen.

Fuck.

You looked around the room taking a slight step back getting ready to turn on your heel as an older white haired man entered the room.

“Hey Newbie, I need two copies of each of these and I need these faxed to the team in Medellín.”

“Uh-”

“I needed them there yesterday, so get to it.” He dumps the two huge piles of files into your arms as you stare at him bemused. Looking back you still don’t know why you didn’t say anything, but you rolled up your sleeves and whipped out that can-do attitude and got to work, at what was apparently your new guerilla admin job. And that is how Javier and Steve found you two hours later, fighting with a fax machine and on the phone to the office in Medellín.

“No- I understand how the machine works… Yes… Yes I’ve turned it off and on, I think the problems on your side… No I don’t- Well Weaver needed the case file there yesterday so you need to figure something out! Yes… Yes I’ll hold. “ You turned when you heard steps behind you, pressing the receiver between your head and your shoulder and holding the fax machine manual.

“Hey Guys!” You say cheerily, pretending like this was completely normal, like you hadn’t just dropped into Steve’s life and then surprised him every step of the way.

“What in the hell are you-” Steve started, however the woman on the other side of the phone decided to pick up, you held up one finger to the two of them as a pause.

“Oh, Hey Salome, It’s no problem… that’s great, I'll give it a try.” You drop the manual and press the green button on the fax machine, the machine begins making the whizzing sound you’d been chasing for the past twenty minutes. “Sounds all good on my end. Right, that's great I’ll send the rest across now. Thanks, have a nice day!”

“Am I high, right now? What the fuck is going on?” Steve’s tone matched his face with the disbelief painted upon it. He had taken a seat at the desk which just so happened to be next to the fax machine and copier. Javier sat at his own in front of the typewriter with a smirk on his face lighting up a cigarette.

“Uh, well... I came to give you your badge cause’ you forgot it at home and then Weaver asked me to do some copies. Turns out that security here is pretty lax, cause’ I’ve been copying and faxing classified case files for the past two hours and no one seems to know or care that I don’t work here.” Steve’s eye all but twitched as he rubbed at his face. He reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and began pouring himself a glass.

“Fine.” He actually shrugged after downing the drink in one. Damn, You weren’t sure which had broken him, yourself or Colombia. “Better you’re here where I can keep tabs on you...Javi, can we get her an actual job?”

“I’ll run it by Messina,” Javier shrugged as he stood from behind his desk. “Probably best not to mention the perusal of classified cases though.”

So that’s how the three of you ended up at dinner celebrating your new job four days later, you were officially an office administrator for the DEA in Colombia, heading to the CNP base of operations in Medellín alongside your brother and his partner as their administrator, well, from what you understood, you were their dogsbody. Your Spanish speaking ability had been greatly exaggerated but you were undeniably overqualified for the position, so, pending a background check you were through doors.

Your interview with Steve and Javi’s boss; Messina, had been nerve wracking and your Murphy name had won you no favours.

You’d given it your best and from what you could see you’d managed to convince her you were worth your salt.

Yep, you’d proved yourself totally capable and more importantly, completely willing to move around 8 hours away to Medellín to live on an army base where a drug cartel was incredibly active. According to Javi this had apparently made you a very appealing hire to the DEA. As such you were being sent along with the boys to help out on the front line, well, as close to the front line as an admin/dogsbody gets.

The three of your glasses clinked in unison, before you drained your shot with a regretful gasp, Tequila was the devil.

“Thank you to Javi, for not only saving my sister from her stupidity once, but twice… or is it three times now?!” Steve lifted his second shot as he gave his heartfelt speech. Picking up the lime you’d just sucked the juice out of you launched it at him, missing by some margin. He let out what could only be described as a snigger as both him and Javi threw their second shots back.

If you were completely honest with yourself, you were wasted.

The three of you had enjoyed a meal and many, many subsequent drinks. Knowing full well the two men had a distinct advantage of having had at least a year to pickle their livers in whiskey from the stress of this place, you had insisted that for every two drinks they had, you had one. .

Still, six drinks in with no sign of stopping you felt better than you really had any right to. The room had yet to start spinning and for those small mercies, you were thankful.

“Nah, Thankyou to you both! I’ve heard Medellín is lovely this time of year!”

“Well, you won’t know. You’ll be spending all of your time on base, where it’s safe.”

“Steve-”

“Non-negotiable. You wanna come to Medellín, fine. But you do what I say, and no Y/N’s day out like in Bogotá.”

“Dude, you’re such a buzz-kill!”

“Dude? What are you 15?!” Javier jokes with a cigarette between his lips. You’d been here only a week and yet he’d managed to navigate how to defuse an impending Murphy fight from a mile away.

“You should’a seen her at 15. Those teeth!”

“Ya’ got any pictures?” Javi asks, half distracted with flagging down the waitress and showing her five fingers.

“Really Steve, you wanna go there? After the earring incident?” Javier turns his full attention on you.

“Murphy had an earring?”

“No-” Steve tries to interrupt.

“Yep, a nice little hoop.”

“I didn’t…”

“It got caught on his windbreaker and he ripped it out of his ear, it got infected.”

“Wind breaker?” Javier was biting his lip and staring at your brother, not really trying so hard to contain his laughter.

“Can’t think why I didn’t want you around, Sis. Look- I was trying something out; It didn’t work, so I moved on.” You wait a beat, allowing Javier to take in the information before you helpfully and without prompt drop a nugget of information for the Hispanic man.

“... He had to go to hospital.” A chortle burst unintentionally from Javier’s chest as your comment caught him by surprise.

“Y/N!” Steve burst out in frustration, making you cackle with glee.

“Okay, Okay.” You hold your hands in mock surrender as the waitress drops another round of drinks on the table.

“Let’s head over to the discotheque, live music- no Sicario’s. Big with Bogotá policia so very safe.” Javier pitched like he was speaking to a child as he tried to convince Steve. He knew you were in from the excitement that lit up your form.

“I don’t know, dancing-”

“Would be good for you! Come on Steve, this place is closing soon anyway-” You counter, only to be cut off as he frantically looks at his watch.

“What time is it- I promised I’d phone Con tonight- FUCK!” He stood quickly grabbing the table to steady himself and ran to the phone box just outside of the bar, you could just about see him from where you sat in the window booth besides Javi.

The two of you looked at one another for a moment, you weren’t quite at the level where conversation came easy, but you weren’t uncomfortable by any means.

“Thanks for talking to Messina for me… honestly. You’ve done so much for me since I got here.”

“Like I said, it’s no problem, guapa.” He smiles at you, not a smirk for once but a delighted easy smile that rarely graces his face. “I saw your CV.”

“Oh.” The smile drops off of your face, his eyes analyse your reaction, the easy smile replaced by a sombre expression.

“Yeah, Oh. You were a doctor, a surgeon? I thought you mopped up vomit in a grocery store in Miami?”

“It’s complicated.” You gave him no further explanation, you expected him to move on, except Javier wasn’t like other people, he didn’t make things easy. He stared at you expectantly with those deep brown questioning eyes. “Christ, okay. Yes I was in my final year of residency, not quite a surgeon.”

“How does that happen?”

“How does what happen?” You question, you know you’re being difficult but this isn’t something you’ve talked about with Steve, for Godsakes. He did that trick once more, hitting you with those soul-full eyes.

Honestly, it was lucky you weren’t working for Escobar, forget waterboarding, all Javi would have to do was look at you to get you to give up your darkest secrets. “Things didn’t go my way, I wasn’t happy there. The hours were long and that shit was heavy.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with your answer but he didn’t push any further, finally respecting your reluctance, he nodded. Stubbing out his cigarette and tilting his head towards the shots he asked “...Another?”

“Why not?” You reply hesitantly.

Taking the salt you go to shake it onto the back of your hand when a tanned one stops your movement in its wake.

“No, no, no. Let’s do it a little different.” His eyes shot up to where your brother was leaning against the phone booth before he took your hand in his. Adjusting his grip he lifts your wrist to his mouth. Your heart is beating in your ears as you watch as his pink tongue pokes out and laps one, twice at your pulse point. A long line of saliva is left on your wrist as he shakes the salt over it. His eyes meet yours for a moment, as if asking permission.

You don’t know how you even instruct your brain to nod, but regardless you carry out the action. Javi brings his mouth to your wrist once more in one solid stroke of his talented tongue, your eyes clamp closed as he finishes swiping up the salt before draining both the tequila and lime.

You’re breathing heavy as you open your eyes, to find those mahogany ones laser focused on you.

“You missed a step.” You mumble, your eyes never leaving his as you hold the lime up to his mouth, rind first. His teeth close over it and his lips just barely graze your fingertips. You turn to check on Steve, thankfully your brother has his back to the two of you, deep in conversation with Connie. Probably for the best, given your plan.

You turn sideways to face Javi, lifting one of your legs up onto the booth and bending it at the knee to get a vantage point. The alcohol coursing in your veins gives you the courage as one hand wraps around his neck and the other his shoulder, you lean forwards to give one long solitary lick up his neck, right on the pulse. You taste his sweat stained skin, salty and warm on your tongue.

Reaching for the shaker, you apply it liberally, smiling as you drop some of it down his t-shirt. Though from the stare he seemingly refused to remove from you, you don’t think he much cared. Once you considered your job done, you turned back and pushed his head to the side and began licking the salt from his neck, this time you tortured him with three small cat licks along the flesh, you felt his neck tense as his hand moved from its place on the pleather booth and wrapped around your thigh.

You reached back to the table and sank your shot. Wincing you turned back to Javier, leaning forward to grab the lime from his mouth. As you did so, he dropped it purposefully, staring directly into your eyes, a clear challenge, before he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you forward locking your lips in a devastating kiss. He tasted of lime, tequila and just Javier; that unexplainable component which was both sweet and smoky. His tongue plundered the depths of your mouth, seemingly uncaring of your brother who was mere metres away. Your hands roved his chest before locking in the short hair on the nape of his neck.

Unexpectedly it was Javi who broke the kiss. The two of you paused with your foreheads meeting, much like the night you met. He seemed to be trying to regain control.

“Meet me in the bathroom?” You whisper, rubbing your nose against his beautifully angular hooked one. He breathed out heavily through his nose, his eyes opening and pushing you away by your shoulders.

“No, I’m not gonna fuck you in the fucking bathrooms of a filthy fucking bar- are you crazy?” Behind his eyes a rage and arousal battled, apparently you had rattled him with your question, he reached forward for his whiskey, and took a sip whilst shaking his head and trying to centre himself. “I’m giving you whiplash? Yeah that’s real cute. You change what you want every single fuckin’ day, then look at me like I’m a dick.”

You supposed he had a point, after all you had been the one to ask for the redo and then stared at him longingly every day since. “It’s not an easy situation to navigate, ok? I came here for Steve-”

“You didn’t come here for Steve.” He uttered under his breath, staring straight ahead with his elbow perched on the table and holding the glass to his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t come here for Steve, not completely. You came here for you.”

“That’s not-” Javier turns to you, locking you down with his gaze. It was easy to forget he was a cop; observative and attentive to a fault, he could call your bullshit from a mile away.

“Everything you’ve done since you got here, that’s not for him. You’re desperate for some life back in those veins. You don’t just give up being a fuckin’ surgeon and feel fulfilled with your position at a fuckin’ grocery store, Sunshine.”

“Wow, you’ve got me pegged, huh? No wonder they’ve got you after Escobar, best detective on the fucking case.” You roll your eyes refusing to look at him, sipping a beer as a way of hiding how he’s unnerved you. Everything he’s saying true and you’re ashamed of yourself.

“You don’t come down to the embassy if you’re trying to make your brother's life easier. I’m not criticizing Guapa, but how about cutting the bullshit messiah complex.”

You’re embarrassed and trying to look anywhere but him. His hand reaches for your own as Steve rounds the corner, the tanned fingers instead lock around the shot glass in front of you.

“So, what’d I miss?” Your voice is lodged in your throat, you don’t think you could speak even if you could think of the words you wanted to use. Javi answers in some nondescript way you don’t even really listen to before ordering another round of drinks.

“Y/N/N, You alright?” Steve asked, ever the concerned brother.

(your nickname)

“Yeah, Javi- uh, he saw my cv.” It wasn’t a complete lie but you still feel bad for using past trauma to make your brother skirt around the issue in the way you knew he would.

“Oh, Uh… Drink?” Steve stared at you, uneasy.

“Yeah, a drink would be great.” Your voice is monotone to even your ears, you reach forward and down the beer in front of you, desperate for this awkwardness to be over and the feeling in the pit of your stomach to vanish. You’re happy to say after around ten minutes of the two men holding up the conversation, it atleast eases slightly.

There’s a lull as you all wait drinks arrive and you have managed to regain your basic motor skills. This is the selfishness Javi is talking about. Steve needs a good night, without feeling crappy about his damaged sister stealing the lime-light. So putting your best foot forward you look across to Javi and smile.

“So, how was Connie?”

“She’s good! She’s enjoying getting back to work, her sister’s having Liv during the day.” Guilt swells in your stomach once again. You should be there making Connie’s life easier, but instead you abandoned her to play the hero in Colombia. The shame spiral is slowly clawing at your stomach, as you force yourself to take a deep breath.

“That’s good…” You’re saved by the bell, or rather the waitress bringing over the tray of beverages. Taking your beer first, you reach across and controversially take two of the shots. Both men chuckle at your bravado as Javi asks the woman for an extra shot.

The night continued on much like that, minus the regret whirlwind as the tequila seemed to help get rid of any real self reflection. The three of you didn’t even make it to the discotheque, as by the time the bar closed, the three of you began the short walk home, you were carrying the large box of pizza that you had insisted on ordering.

Surprisingly, Steve was the drunkest of your trio. His phone call with Connie had sent him into his own spiral. He began drinking tequila like it was water, to the point Javier had thrown in the towel, deciding he’d much rather like to live to see tomorrow. So with your pizza in one arm and your other wrapped around your brother's waist, you and Javi half carried Steve home and up the stairs into the apartment.

The two of you unceremoniously dumped him on his bed, carefully you placed the pizza box you had cradled to your breast on the chest of drawers before you stepped forward past Javier.

You pulled Steves boots off of his feet and pulled his legs up onto his bed, taking his belongings out his pockets; yes, including his gun, you placed them on the bedside table. You then placed a glass of water and an aspirin next to them, feeling sympathy for his head tomorrow morning.

Happy that your job was done, you shut the light off and went into the living room, once again cradling the pizza. Javier was slouched on the sofa/your bed flicking through your Spanish introduction book, as you entered the room he threw it back on the table and pointed at the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table.

“Got any more?”

“Think, that was his last one…” you shrug.

“Come down to mine for a drink? I don’t like how we left things.”

“No more talking?” Javier looks at you reproachfully, scanning your body as if the direct proposition you’d accidentally given him was the last thing he expected. “Uh- I mean- no more hard questions and no more...touching.”

“Alright.” He nods, pushing himself up with a sigh. “But if there’s no more touching, I get half of that pizza Sunshine.”

You nod and smile, following him down the stairs to his apartment. As you cross the threshold emboldened by tequila, you don’t dwell on your self destructive tendencies as Javier’s recent comments would’ve made you if you were sober.

You’re tired and all you want is a drink of whiskey, some pizza and for Javier to give you that smile, the one that makes the side of his mustache raises and reveals the pearly white of his teeth. Dropping the pizza down on the coffee table you make yourself at home, sitting very deliberately on the couch he hadn’t screwed someone else on. If he notices, Javi didn’t say anything.

He hurried over, cigarette balanced in between his lips as both hands were taken up. One holding two glasses and the other cradling the whiskey. He sits himself down with considerably more grace than you had, on the other sofa. You reach down the side of the sofa where you spy the remote peeking out from beneath the leather cushion and begin skimming through the channels until you find the telenovelas you'd unironically begun watching since arriving in Colombia.

Opening the box of Pizza, you take a slice and begin devouring the meal. It’s not quite like pizza as you know it, but it's tasty and full of carbs to soak up the alcohol so you can’t find a fault with it. The two of you eat in silence for around half an hour.

It seemed neither of you were eager to break the silence after the daunting conversation from earlier. It’s as you’re taking your first sip of whiskey watching two women argue in Spanish on the television you decide to speak.

“I figure I owe you some answers.”

“You don’t owe me shit, Sunshine.” He’s leaning back in his seat, whiskey balancing on his knee and a fresh smoke in his hand. “Sure I’m intrigued, but I'll figure you out in the end. Miami’s own angel of death?”

You chuckle at how close to the mark he is as he makes a shot in the dark. “I’m gonna need a refill if we’re gonna talk about our feelings…”

“Feelings… woah, woah, woah. I didn’t sign up for that.” He has a brazen smirk on his face, as he takes the now empty glass from your palm and fills it up. You down a second and he repeats the task.

“I killed a kid,” You wheeze as you wince from the burn turning your head towards the television and nursing the now full whiskey glass between your hands. “You asked why I gave up becoming a surgeon. I... I was the lead resident on a fuckin’ appendectomy. I could do that shit in my sleep. I perfed the abdominal wall as I was geting ready to close him up; a tiny fucking knick. There were no bleeders and his vitals remained normal, didn’t even notice I’d done it. It was as they were taking him back to the ward, he just crashed.”

You finish another glass and as your eyes water, you pretend it's the burn of the alcohol. You breathe heavy, your upper lip quivering. You’ve heard of the sensation but never felt it.

“I froze. I opened him up in the lift, by the time I got back in there, he’d bled out. A twelve year old; Justin Miller. Just a fucking kid.” Javi doesn’t try to interrupt or make you feel better, which honestly made the whole thing easier.

“His mom sued the shit out of me and the hospital, can’t say I blame her. I took a sabbatical and when it was time to go back, I couldn’t. Couldn’t go into the OR without having a fuckin’ panic attack.” You hadn’t met Javi’s eyes for the entirety of the one-sided conversation, scared that when you looked up you’d no longer find those treacle eyes filled with warmth.

Silence fills the air for a devastating second whilst Javier digests your words.

“You fucked up.” He mumbled finally, your eyes shot up to his own and within the pools of chocolate you found his usual warmth, though his customary jovial expression was suddenly somber. Such an expression looked strange on the gentle man you’d come to know, but you knew it was far from out of place. “In our line of work, you mess up; someone dies. It’s not fair or easy, just is what it is.”

You don’t have a word for the noise you make, somewhere between a scoff and a gasp. You chuckle as his response to years of complex trauma you’ve never recovered from is boiled down to five simple words.

“It is what it is.” You repeat disbelieving.

“Can’t change the past. Useless to try.”

“Stuff it down with the brown?” You ask, lifting your empty glass in a cheers.

“Exactly, Guapa.” He unscrewed the whiskey bottle and began pouring you a generous portion. As he’s screwing the lid back on he sits back down, this time though he’s on the couch next to you. “Maybe someday I’ll get teary and we can talk about my fuck ups.”

Your only response is to punch at his hard thigh next to you as you take a long sip, thinking about the information you’d willingly just divulged to Javi. “I’ve never talked about that before.”

“Not with Steve?”

“Not with anyone. I was ashamed for a long time, still am. But it’s different now; more manageable.”

“Ready to operate then, Doctor Murphy?”

“Asshole.” You say with a reluctant smile to the joke at your own expense.

“pendejo” he leaned back on the sofa as he translated.

“pen-dejo?”

“Si muy bueno.”

“Another!”

“Coger!”

“Co-g-er?”

“Si insistes…” He trails off with a smirk.

“You’re a dick.”

“Yes, I am.”

After placing your drink on the coffee table, you lean over to Javi slowly, refusing to break eye contact, all the while and you lay your head on the plush leather of the sofa; nearer his shoulder than his own face.

“Thankyou, Javi.”

“I keep telling you, Sunshine. It’s nothing”

“It’s everything,” You close the distance and place a kiss on his lips. It’s neither heavy nor chaste, like when he initiated them. This is full of meaning, It speaks of letting go of the past and welcoming the future, it's deep and warm and delicious. Your tongue licks at his own as your hand rises to rest on his cheek holding him there, you explore the depths of his mouth instead of conquering them. He tastes of the whiskey and somehow residual tequila, you find yourself getting drunk off of the taste of him.

Pulling away you rest your forehead against his own. “I’m so tired… and drunk.”

“Sleep with me.”

“Javier, you said- I mean, I don’t think-”

“No, sleep. Just sleep... with me. Gotta be better than the couch up there,”

“No funny business?”

“Scouts honor.” After a moment of contemplation you decide that this was specifically breaking the rules of your selfishness, the tequila may have altered your perception of the rules somewhat but you had wanted this man for so long. After your emotional confession, falling asleep next to him seemed cathartic.

You take the remote once more and click the red power button, the screen goes black as Javier has already disappeared into his bedroom. You hear him rummaging around in his drawers as you cross the threshold. Once he’s seemingly found what he was looking for, he holds the article up to your inspecting eye.

It’s a plain olive green v-neck tee, nothing particularly special about it, but it would do as pyjamas, so you accept it gratefully, much preferring a tshirt to the sundress you’d worn out to dinner. You push the straps off of your shoulders, letting them fall under your armpits as you clutch the dress to your front. You pull Javier's t-shirt over your head and are greeted by the fragrance you’d come to love. It smelt like washing powder, spice and cigarette smoke, you wouldn’t say smoke was on your top tier of smells list but it reminded you of Javi so you couldn’t bring yourself to turn your nose up at it.

Once the shirt was covering all the important bits, you lowered your dress and stepped out of the offending cloth.

“A little late for modesty, eh?” He smirks as he lights his cigarette, leaning against the pillows of the bed. He was referring to the morning after you’d arrived in Colombia, where you’d walked through this very apartment, bare as the day you were born.

At some point Javi had rid himself of his dress shirt and dropped onto the bed still wearing his jeans. You shimmy your bra down the sleeve of the tee, to make a point. Winking at him as you finally pull it free. You fling it on top of where your dress lay abandoned.

“You’re still a perv for that.” You smile fondly at the man as you clamber over to your side of the bed. He’d taken the left, closest to the door. He doesn’t reply as you make yourself cosy, under the thin blanket of the duvet.

You roll over to face him, he seems to be miles away.

“Where’d you go?” You ask softly, though he startles still.

“I’m right here,” He deflects, leaning over to the ash tray to stub the smoke out.

“Ok…” You roll your eyes as he turns off the lamp and lies flat on the bed next to you. The two of you are silent for a while. It’s not quite awkward but it's definitely not comfortable silence, the two of you know the implications of your decision tonight. Even if Javi is being a perfect gentleman. Your eyes have yet to acclimate to the dark as you stare out trying to search for his form.

“Stop staring at me.”

“It’s dark, I’m not staring at anything.” You reply to his childish remark. You hear a chuckle catch in his throat. He seems then to have finally made his decision, he reaches forward and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest. You go to stop him, but there's nothing to stop. He makes no further move as he holds you there. Your cheek rests on the overheated skin of his pectoral, it has just enough give to be comfier than any pillow you’ve ever encountered.

“Maybe, I’ll tell you about my fuck ups one day.” He whispers into your hair, despite the way he says it being non-committal there's a promise behind the words. You don’t reply, already drifting off into the best sleep you’ve had since arriving in Colombia, or perhaps ever.

A part of your brain registers Javi placing a kiss on the crown of your head as your eyes finally shut, though it is quickly replaced by the singular thought of ‘God, I hope I don’t drool all over him.

“You sober?” You look up at the clock on the bedside table that reads 5am. You’d been asleep for about four hours. You make a non committal noise in your throat.

“Javi?” You mumble sleepily, the man behind you is peppering kisses on your neck.

“You want this?” Again you groan, this time however, you nod your head. His arm rises to wrap around your neck, arching your back to get you closer to him. “Do you want this?”

“God yes.” You gasp, pushing your hips back against his bulge. His hands release your stomach as he kisses down your neck once more. His hands are hard on your flesh as they map out your body in the dark.

His hands continue to roam your body as they slide under his shirt, they land on your breasts, he can’t help himself as he weighs them in his hand. He groans in your ear at the feel of them in his palm. You’d always had Javier down as an ass man, he’d nearly burnt a hole through your jeans the night you’d met. But apparently Javi was a man of many tastes as he worshiped your nipple with the pads of his fingers, rolling the sensitive bud through his thumb and forefinger.

You groan at the sensation and push yourself back into him, desperate to feel every inch of his body against your own. You pull away suddenly and he makes a guttural sound in the back of his throat, though all of his questions are answered as you pull his shirt over your head and throw the offensive fabric across the room. As Quick as a flash he’s back on you, his mouth attached to your neck, giving you absolutely no quarter.

He’s the one bucking into you this time and that seems to awaken part of your brain, your hands reach behind you they’re clumsy from sleep and the angle you have is awkward, you struggle with the button of his jeans for a second before his hand leaves one of your breasts to undo it for you. His hand returns as quickly as it left though it doesn't stay there for long as it slowly roves south, stroking the flesh of your stomach and making your entire being tighten up in anticipation as he feels you through your boy shorts. His touches are light at first, testing and exploring your body, before his fingers begin teasingly rubbing at your clit seeming to delight in the way, your wetness seeped through your underwear.

You force your brain back to the task at hand as your hand finds his abdomen and lowers through the hair lurking below his zipper, mimicking the actions he had performed on you moments before, however you have no intention of teasing.

They find their mark, and you have to stop yourself from gasping. You’d felt him on the sofa that night but my god, your imagination hadn’t done him justice as your hand just about closed around him as you pumped him awkwardly behind you. He groaned in your ear and began whispering in a blend of Spanish and English.

His hands rise to dip under your panties, they brush across your mound before they find their home. His fingers barely touch you at first, seeming to be getting the lay of the land. After a moment of teasing, a single solitary finger swipes slowly along your slit, gathering the evidence of your arousal on his fingers.

He groaned in your ear. “So fucking wet, that sweet little cunt is so ready for me…” Instantaneously you lose all motor skills as your body goes into shock, Javier’s dirty mouth would be the death of you.

Fucksake Y/N he wasn’t even inside of you, yet here you were writhing in his arms like a wanton whore from a single sentence.

Your reaction seemed to spur him on as he let go of your body and rolled you onto your back. He swung around on his knees to fit between your legs. His hands rested on your hips, gripping onto the panties that lay there before he rolled them down your legs and threw them behind him. He leaned forward on his elbows, to stare at the most intimate part of you.

Javi began kissing down your thighs, placing small bites along the sensitive skin along the way, getting closer and closer to the throbbing warmth of your pussy.

“I meant what I said, cariño. I want to know how you taste.” Your mind is brought back to that church, the way he had you pushed against those bars, you didn’t think your body could constrict any further. You were desperate for any kind of contact. And you knew right there and then that you had been right; This man would destroy you.

He struck then, much like a cobra towards his prey. His tongue flattened against your warmth, breaching your folds and catching on your clit. The tip of his tongue was skilled as it danced along your bud, drawing cry after cry from you as your hands grabbed at his short ink black hair.

He takes one final lap at your swollen clit before his tongue goes lower, he pushes through and sinks his tongue inside of you. His nose, that you’d appreciated for its character bumped perfectly against your clit making stars shoot behind your eyes. You clenched around his tongue, desperate to be filled, he seemed to get the message as two fingers were quickly buried in your aching hole.

“So fucking tight, Guapa, I don’t know if I can fit three...te lo vas a tomar tan bien.” His tongue had risen back up to your clit, the combination of the vibration and filth of his words made a whimper drop from your lips, before he started rotating his tongue in circles around your swollen bud as his two fingers pumped in and out of your cunt at a thundering pace drawing you closer and closer to the edge as the minutes went by.

Finally, his fingers curled inside you as he sucked your clit into his mouth and all at once you were pushed off the cliff. You couldn’t tell what pushed you over that first peak so quickly, maybe it was the fact that it was Javier, the man who had been plaguing your dreams since you arrived in Colombia, currently between your legs devouring your cunt like a starving man, perhaps it was a culmination of five days of foreplay, but whatever the reason, when you fell, you fell fucking hard.

You clenched around Javi’s fingers like a vice, so much so he hissed into your pussy and began thrusting his fingers faster. Spots clouded your vision as your whole body curved upwards and around the man giving you this pleasure as your legs clamped around his head and your fingers must have scratched his scalp as your hips thrust, riding his face to your peak. You were as taut as bowstring before the tension finally snapped and your body exploded in euphoria. You let out a cry as you crescendo on Javi's talented tongue.

He didn’t stop straight away, even after your body slumped back against the bed, he coaxed you through the aftermath of your orgasm, lapping at your entrance and drinking your come like it was the most delicious wine he’d ever sampled, groaning all the while.

Finally, he pushed himself forward, kissing at your thighs, your mound and finally your stomach as he came to rest over you, holding all his weight on his elbows. His face met your own as he kissed you deep, fucking your mouth with his tongue as he had done your pussy moments before. He leans back rubbing at your stomach, at your hips, at any flesh he can get his hands on.

“Sabes mejor de lo que podría haber imaginado precioso.” He whispers against your breast as his mouth locks around your nipple. Javier Peña speaking Spanish did things to you, even if he hadn’t been stimulating your breasts you knew for a fact you’d be just as wet from hearing him speak in what you could only assume was a first language from the ease with which it left his mouth. You wished more than anything you could understand what was undoubtedly the filth coming from his mouth.

You had recovered enough from his assault on your clit, to move your hands from your sides. They raised up and traced the tanned skin on his chest. He really was beautiful. He pulled back to stare at you, giving you a clearer view of his body.

He was muscled yet lithe and you took a self indulgent moment, committing the sight of him to memory, before your hands wrapped around his cock, which was standing to full attention through the undone zip of his jeans. He was what must have been unbearably hard, if you’d have had light to see, you had no doubt the head of his cock would be purple, straining with need. You pushed his jeans further down, recruiting your feet to push them down over his ass. Your hands roamed down to squeeze at the bountiful offering of meaty flesh.

He chuckled as you pinched his cheek, before lifting his knees one at a time and kicking his jeans off of the bed and before you knew it he was lining himself up, brushing the head of his cock through your wet folds. Despite his groan at the contact, he had the discipline to check a final time. “This is what you want, Y/N?”

You didn’t bother to answer, you pushed his hand away from his cock, and pushed it towards your hole. You pushed your hips up against him in lieu of an answer, welcoming the head of his cock inside you. Even though all you could manage was shallow entry, the feel of him inside of you was glorious.

His hands, those talented, glorious hands found your own, wrapping his significantly larger ones around yours above your head. He pushed forward with one strong thrust of those lithe hips and he buried himself balls deep inside of you, rooted so deep you swear you could feel him in your cervix. He was everywhere, he was plundering every inch of you as his body surrounded your own, heat built between the two of you as sweat began coating both of your bodies.

Every thrust brought you closer to your second peak, turning your head you couldn’t resist trying to get him to claim your mouth too. Though you couldn’t quite reach far enough to make contact, as if reading your mind Javier bent his elbow pushing his torso forward, coincidently pounding deeper into your body as your lips joined in a messy kiss. He was fucking into you slow and deep, his tongue began following the rhythm of his cock as he claimed every single part of you as his own.

The pace was brutally slow, just enough to get you to that edge and keep you on it, you could barely speak. You felt like you were drowning in Javier and every time you came up for air he bottomed out, meeting your hips with his own and the wave of pleasure cut off the oxygen all over again.

“Please… Javi…”

“W-what do you want Sunshine?” He panted out continuing with his slow tempo.

“Faster...please... God.” He ignored your cry for speed and continued fucking you into the matress at his own pace, though his thrusts were just as slow but they were harder. His hips hit against your own, as he put all of his power behind them, getting as deep as he could. If you didn’t know better you’d think he was trying to tunnel through to your womb. You clenched at the thought as he fucked you deep and hard.

“... Javi…” You cried his name, a desperate plea as he kept you suspended over your peak, refusing to let you free fall. Finally he huffed, taking your legs and throwing them over his shoulders.

“You want me to fuck you properly, huh, Guapa?” He began thrusting into you at an arduous pace, the room was filled with your cries, his grunts and slapping of your connecting skin. Those telling black spots were clouding your vision, your second orgasm of the evening was fast approaching. Once again you clenched down on Javi’s thick cock.

“I’m gonna’ come.” His hand lowered and began rubbing at your clit, not pausing for a moment as he fucked you thoroughly.

“ven por mí...ven sobre mi polla… fuckin’ Sunshine, fucking taking my cock…. buena niña, podría follarte todo el día.” The second he lost his brain and began muttering in Spanish was the moment you were gone. You came for the second time as he was relentlessly hammering into you, drawing your orgasm from you. Your whole body braced against him, your eyes squeezed shut as you clamped down around his cock, milking him tightly.

“Fuck!” He growled at the tightness surrounding him.

After a few moments he pulled out, quickly grabbing your and flipping you onto your stomach, after placing a pillow under your hips. He then buried himself back inside of you to the hilt his groans mixing with your own at the sensation. He kept up the pace he had before but this time the angle was deeper as he forced your legs together with his thighs.

Javi’s hands grabbed at your ass (perhaps he was an ass man after all) slapping the meaty flesh which resided there and then instantly kneaded the tissue he’d just abused. His hands rose to carresse the skin of your hips before he took a punishing grip on them and began fucking you in earnest. Javier taking his pleasure from your body whilst you lay a drooling mess from the orgasm he’d already gave you was an image you didn’t know would turn you on, but it made you clench around his shaft as it plundered your depths.

He began speaking again, though they were lost in a mix of Spanish and English, so much so you couldn’t differentiate. His pace was relentless and finally you felt him begin to shake as he gasped above you

“¿dónde?...w...where?”

“Come inside me, Javi.” He groaned at words and continued pounding until his hips stuttered and he brought it home and buried himself deep inside, filling you to the brim with his seed.

The two of you lay there breathing heavy trying hard to get your breath back, half of his weight on top of you and the other half resting on the mattress.His cock was slowly going soft inside of you, yet you felt no urgency to move.

“So much for scouts honor, huh?” You ask from behind a veil of hair, turning your face which had been buried in the mattress moments before. Your voice is hoarse; completely wrecked much like the rest of you.

He’s silent for a moment of consideration, before he leans forward in the moonlight and pushes your hair from your face. The action makes his cock shift inside of you and a little of his release spills out onto your thighs. He continues anyway and places a soft kiss on your lips before whispering “... I was never a boy scout, cariño.”

TAGLIST - Leave a message if you’d like to be added homies.

@drinkingwhileblogging @va-guardianhathaway @jedi-jesi @obsessivelysearching @cannedsoupsucks @wantingtobekorra @littlemissoblivious @linnie0119 @pascalesque @pedrosmustache @sir-lili @obsessivelysearching @fairytale07

A/N: Fuck me that was the steamest shit I’ve ever written. This was especially for @drinkingwhileblogging and her turquoise titties, hope this makes up for me blue balling you all.

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction #murphy!reader #FUCKING SMIRK AT ME MORE JAVI I SWEAR TO GOD T-T #pedro pascal x reader

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hydra-collector · 4 years

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in love

AO3

Ship: Intrulogical, background Royality

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders

TW: depression, mild panic, kissing, mild self-harm

Words: 2407

Summary: Logan is in love. But he’s not nearly ready to admit it.

"...and I mean I know we talk about it a lot, but what do you think Pavlov-"

"Remus?" Logan set his pen down from his notebook.

"Hm?"

"What does it feel like when Thomas is in love?"

Remus let his hands sink to his lap as Logan stared at his notes, almost embarrassed to ask such a question.

-rapid heartbeat

-flushed cheeks

-warmth in chest

"Well, you've been around when it happened, haven't you?"

Logan fidgeted, tapping his pen on the paper. "Well, yes, but it doesn't really affect me."

Remus laughed, grinning at the logical side. Logan blushed in embarrassment, looking at Remus.

"What's so funny?"

"How the hell would you not experience something that affects all of us?"

Logan looked back down. Remus was right. That was stupid.

Remus's face softened, and he placed his hand on Logan's for a short moment. "I mean, all of us have our own stuff. Patton gets really giddy and happy, whoever the guy is ends up being the only thing he talks about. Roman and he get really lovey-dovey, especially when my brother starts doing big romantic gestures for him. Virgil's panicking half the time, and the other half he's really chill since Thomas really likes the guy and is comforted by him. Janus is either deciding how bad or good the guy is gonna be for Thomas or trying to get him to simp. I get really gushy and obsessive and horny, and usually help with the flirting. And you... you're such a dork."

"What?"

"Not as in whale penis. You act like a complete fool, fumbling over your words and losing coherency at the slightest bit of affection Thomas gets. You'll try to come up with the best plans to seduce him or go through all the logical outcomes, but really you're just a dumbass gay. You're completely hopeless."

Logan shifted on the bed, drilling a hole in his notebook with his stare. "Well, that's not good."

"But it is! You're so dorky and lovable, sometimes I think the guy might like Thomas better if he was you. You mess up your words, or blush like he just confessed to you, or smile lovingly whenever he talks, or start noting down everything he likes to research it, and you get more affectionate with us, even if it's just a high five or leaning on someone's shoulder. You become such a dork, and you're absolutely adorable."

Logan couldn't control the heat on his cheeks, unable or unwilling to write down any more of his findings.

"I- um- well,"

Fumbling over your words.

Logan tensed up, offering only a small nod before bolting out of the room. He could vaguely process Remus's voice calling his name, but the only thing he could think about was the pounding in his chest and the flush on his cheeks.

He ripped up and burned the notebook when he arrived in his room.

Logan laid his head on the desk, close to crying. But he didn’t cry. So he was fine.

He heard footsteps entering the room, and a hand on his back. He tensed up before relaxing, and the hand patted his head a few times until he turned it.

“You good?” Virgil asked.

Logan stared at him. “I’m fine.”

Virgil pulled up the stool he kept by his desk, sitting down so he could be at level with Logan. “You’ve been acting different lately.”

Logan put his head back towards the wood. “I said I’m fine.”

“C’mon, you’ve been acting like a total dork. Staring off into space in a daydream, forgetting to do your work, even forgetting your facts when you get flustered about someone asking you about it."

Logan was tense, his nails digging into one arm. Virgil placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into it, grateful for the affection.

“Hey, do you not like it when we talk about that stuff?”

Logan sighed. “I’m not incompetent.”

Virgil rubbed his hand comfortingly across Logan’s back. “Okay. I’ll tell the others to stop joking about it.”

Logan leaned towards him slightly, and he adjusted his chair to give his friend a side-hug. Virgil started messing with his hair, eliciting the tiniest of grins from Logan as he swatted Virgil’s hand away.

“There we go. There’s a smile from our favorite nerd.”

The residual smile stayed on his face as he turned his head towards Virgil.

“So who is it?”

Logan froze. He knew there was a blush creeping up on his face, and he hated that. Virgil was still grinning at him.

“No- no one.”

“It’s gotta be someone. You’re acting like a buffoon with how lovestruck you are.”

“I- I’m not!”

“I can see it, c’mon, admit it.”

Logan’s heart rate was increasing as he dug his nails into his skin, turning his head to the desk again. “I- please, I’m not-”

“Logan, I can still see you blushing. You’re a lovestruck fool.”

No, no, no, no no-

“Virgil-”

“Come on- ”

“ Will you shut up?!? ”

He took a deep breath, pressing his head against the wood hard. There were deep nail indents in his arms, and his back was tense and stiff.

“I’m sorry, Virgil, that was… unnecessary.” He had to force the words out.

“...Sorry, Logan.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it if you would leave.”

He heard the chair move back to its position, and Virgil’s footsteps recede. Logan let the tension fall from his shoulders, and it felt as if there were tears pricking at his eyes. But he didn’t cry.

He stayed there for a long while, thinking about the list he would need to make to fix his friends’ view of him.

“Hey nerd!”

Remus’s voice, his lovely, comforting voice, entered the room.

“You look like you’re dead. Or dying. You’re too stressed.”

Remus placed his hands on Logan’s shoulders, apparently in an attempt to massage them. God damn Remus’s knowledge of anatomy.

It felt nice.

He ran over his plan in his head, not crying. Not anywhere near crying. There couldn’t be tears in his eyes, because it didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

“Leave.”

Remus’s hands retracted, and Logan could feel droplets of water fall onto his arms. He held back the chokes and sobs with everything he had.

“Oh. Okay.”

The pained sound of Remus’s voice only caused more tears to fall. He wanted to go crawling back to his footsteps. He heard them getting faster as they left, and his chest was shot with pain when he heard a sob, one single, awful sob as Remus headed into the hallway.

Logan couldn’t hold back the rest of his tears, the sobs that escaped his throat. He should’ve never started talking to Remus in the first place.

He should’ve never let himself care.

Logan avoided Remus at all costs. He’d nearly run whenever he saw him in the room, make up excuses if Remus said his name, even though his heart jumped whenever he heard it. Remus must hate him at this point. And you can only love someone who hates you so much.

This would eventually go away.

He missed Remus. He missed his big smile, his ranting voice, his quiet voice, his touch. He so desperately wanted to hug him, say it was all a lie, his avoidance, and be friends again. He wanted to hear the “I love you,” whether it was platonic or… not.

But he couldn’t.

Because when he would go back, he’d fall harder. And maybe it was a fear of rejection, maybe it was his serious persona, but maybe…

He didn’t deserve it.

Logan had been in his room all day. He stayed in his room most days, everyone was getting worried about him. Patton kept trying to convince him to come to dinners, but those were with Remus, so he ate in his room. Janus kept telling him it wasn’t healthy, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t showering. Virgil noticeably avoided him occasionally, but for the most part vocalized his fear that there was something really wrong. Logan wasn’t sure how bad to judge his situation. Roman tried to either force him out or guilt trip him into hanging out with them. He knew they were just trying to help, but it was quite irritating.

Remus…

Remus, at least in the beginning, would come in, say a sentence or two, asking Logan if he wanted to talk. When he didn’t get a response, when Logan paused his typing to force tears back into his eyes. Remus’s voice was so small and soft, so anxious and hurt.

And it was Logan’s fault.

He laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. This felt pointless, all the work he was doing. He was just tired, and hurt, and he hurt other people, and he was useless. He wanted Remus to come in with his new idea or fact, use Logan’s chest and stomach as a soft pillow or table for his messy papers.

But that was a stupid desire.

“Logan.”

He turned his head vaguely towards the door, where an annoyed looking Virgil stood. He awaited Virgil’s continuation, as he wasn’t going to prompt it himself.

Virgil trudged over to the bed, grabbing Logan’s arm and pulling him off of it.

“Hey!” Logan scrambled not to fall on the floor, to no avail.

“You’re depressed, come on.”

“I’m not-”

“Logan, I really don’t wanna have this argument. We’re worried about you. Remus is worried about you. And we’re worried about Remus, and you should be too.”

Logan adjusted his position to sit against the bed. “Remus doesn’t care about me.”

Virgil snorted, joining him on the floor. “You really think that?”

Logan continued staring at the floor.

“He’s head over heels for you, L. And now he thinks you hate him.”

Logan curled in on himself a little, tensing.

“Why are you so keen on avoiding him anyway?”

Logan considered his response for a moment. On one hand, he didn’t want Virgil to laugh at him. On the other… he didn’t want Remus to keep getting hurt.

“...I love him.”

“Well, yeah, but why’s that making you avoid him?”

“I…”

Maybe he didn’t even really know.

“I’m not supposed to feel. I don’t want to. And Remus, well… he makes me feel a lot of things. Things I don’t understand.”

He took a glance towards Virgil, who had turned his head towards the ceiling.

“Yeah. I don’t think anybody really does. I sure don’t. Roman and Patton make it look so easy, but it took a long time for them to get there. You remember, right? How Patton got so flustered he couldn’t even talk around Roman. And then he’d just choose his target to gush about Roman to.”

“It’s just… Remus told me that when Thomas is in love, I get really stupid and unorganized, and then you said that, and… if being good enough for Thomas involves-”

“ What ?”

Virgil’s tone sounded aggressive, and Logan turned to look at him anxiously. “Did I-”

“Logan, you’re already good enough for Thomas. You don’t need to be completely emotionless. Plus, logic often relies on how Thomas feels. Sure, Thomas might be a little more awkward than usual, but there’s nothing wrong with that. And if you tell Remus how you feel, it’ll rid you of the negative effects on Thomas faster than repressing your emotions and staying in your room until you’re completely depressed.

“Plus, if you don’t tell him, I will.”

“Virgil!”

“He’s been crying for the past three days, Logan.”

Logan sighed, leaning against Virgil and closing his eyes. “Thanks.”

Virgil wrapped his arm around him. “Now get the hell out of your room.”

Logan took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before heading to Remus’s room. It wasn’t too far down the hall from his own. His heart beat fast as he knocked on the dark green door, covered in scratches and unidentifiable fluids.

He heard a soft sound come from inside, something that put a pang of pain in his heart. He got no response other than muffled cries.

“...Remus?”

The sound immediately stopped.

Remus opened the door to reveal his disheveled look. Messy hair, red eyes, and a costume that looked like he’d tried to rip it up.

“Are you- do-”

“I’m sorry.”

Remus hesitated, staring into Logan’s eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Logan held a hand out, desperately hoping Remus would take it.

He did.

“I never… I never should have made you feel like I hated you. It’s… it’s torture to hear you feeling negatively at all.”

Remus was crying, a wavering smile growing unsteadily on his face. He came closer, letting go of Logan’s hand and reaching his arms out in a huglike motion. Logan accepted it, shoving himself towards Remus’s half extended arms. He held on, tight, pushing his fingers through Remus’s hair, eyes shut tight.

“I- I should’ve helped you, L. I knew you were having a hard time, and I ignored it. And- and maybe you wouldn’t have felt so bad, this is- this is my fault-”

Logan held on tighter. “No. No it’s not. It’s not your fault that I was an asshole and avoided you and made you think I hate you, especially because… I don’t. At all.”

Logan took a deep breath. “I love you. Romantically. And I’m finished with telling myself I can’t be.”

Remus dug his head into Logan’s chest, a grin spreading on his face. He started laughing, almost, or perhaps he was just crying. “I love you too.”

Logan smiled, stroking Remus’s hair as he placed a kiss to his head. Remus leaned back, his addictive touch gone from all but Logan’s hands. He was led properly inside Remus’s room, and the door was shut so Remus could lean up to kiss him.

It was surprising at first, but as he relaxed into it, pressing back. He wrapped his arms around Remus’s waist, pulling him closer, holding him tighter. The beating of his heart couldn’t be ignored if he tried.

Finally, and reluctantly, they broke. Remus put his head in Logan’s chest again, a content smile on his face. Logan loosened his grip, relaxing into the hug.

“We’ll have to try that again sometime,” Logan mumbled into Remus’s hair.

Remus placed a small kiss between Logan’s shoulder and neck, the closest spot he could reach.

“Well… is there any problem with doing it again now?”

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zet-sway · 3 years

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@the-wip-project day 35:

I don't know what today's question is but I gotta write a wall of text about what happened last night because holy shit

I was on the verge of falling asleep and, like I usually do, I decided to hunt for some spicy fanfics to read on my phone. I found one.

All my posts are long but this one is real fucking long. CW for touching on dub-con and injury mentioned in the type of context it probably shouldn't be.

It's time for me to admit that not only am I a oneshot writer, I'm also a oneshot reader. I am drawn to short fanfics. If I click on a chaptered fic, it's (usually) because it's rated E for smut and I'll go in with every intention of skimming it for the spicy bits. I'm not proud of this. I've avoided saying this for years because I don't want to disappoint people who work hard on their very long and well thought out chaptered stories. I have a short attention span, and I know what I want.

But anyway, last night I clicked on a fic with 5 chapters and some amount of words, around 30k? Long, by my standards, but I was tired and I just wanted something to read while I dozed off.

This particular fic hooked me in, though. I still skimmed it, but the writing was so unique in a way that made me writhe with writer's envy and admiration. Whoever wrote this had their own language - nothing borrowed - their own vision.

I guess I should tell the good people who read my posts (ya'll, seriously, thank you) that the fic in topic is called Fault Lines by Recidiva on AO3. I would link to it but uhhhh I may be using my work PC for "extracurricular purposes" right this moment ^^; so maybe when I get home I'll remember to add it.

I skimmed it - like I said above - for the spicy parts. It generally follows the plot of Bioware's canon. Thane begins as possessive and manipulative, likely uncomfortably close to dub-con for a lot of people. He kisses her and knows full well that his kiss will make her willing but intoxicated, and how he will use that to fulfil himself. But as the story progresses, he falls in love. Their relationship is what I'll call "edgy." Both of them are renegades. There's a scene where they get down in the shuttle after a fight and they're both still injured and it borders on downright unrealistic but fuck it, it's fanfic and I bought it. However their relationship develops a certain heart-wrenching tenderness. She asks him what Siha means over and over again, and eventually tells him she thinks "bitch" when he says it. But in that moment they have a playful banter, he knows full well she's probably already looked it up on the extranet, and they fall into bed together. The smut is mind-boggling.

By the time it gets to Shepard's arrest, he's taken up a place on Earth and visits her, breaks into her house arrest. There's a scene where they see each other for the first time in a while, she tells him how much she's missed his mouth and how it's not right how bad she wants him, and wants him bad enough to smother him with affection. She says something to the effect of "if you're looking to die, I'd volunteer to be the cause," implying that her lust is powerful enough to endanger his life. And it was at this moment I realized I fucked up.

It's established that I live in my own headcanon and I'm not burdened with considering the end of Thane's life as part of my fics. And the suspension of disbelief was such that I forgot he doesn't make it. So at this moment in the fic, chapter 4 out of 5, I realized "Oh shit this isn't going to have a happy ending." I skipped to the end right away, I wanted to confirm my fears.

In their final exchange, she asks him to lie to her - something that's repeated in other chapters of the story. I forget what he says, I was reading desperately, but he asks her in return to tell him something true. She kisses him and tells him she loves him, and he breathes his last breath with the lingering tingle of their kiss to carry him to the other side.

I was so entrenched in the depth of their relationship up to that point. The level of fathomless love the author conveyed, unlike anything I've ever managed to write before, but more realistic to my own understanding of love as I've experienced it. Not because they're renegades, but just the selflessness with which they feel, communicate, banter, and make love.

When I read that last paragraph, something inside me broke. That sounds dramatic but that's honestly how I would describe it. It felt like waking up from a night terror, when you bolt up in bed from a dream so bad you immediately get up even if it's 4am because nothing feels real and you're so terrified you have to get up and do something - literally anything to take your mind off it, to ease you back into reality. I put my phone down and stared into the darkness of my bedroom and told myself "it's just a fanfic, no need to get upset." And then I started to cry and I didn't stop for 30 minutes.

My husband was downstairs watching Bohemian Rhapsody and I went down there and wrapped myself around him so tight and cried. Bless this man, from the bottom of my heart - bless him - for his unfathomable kindness. I felt like a fucking fool because I was crying over fanfiction but he paused his movie and just listened while I tried to articulate how it wasn't exactly about the character death, or the characters at all, it was just the writing and how it wormed into my brain so convincingly. I felt the loss like it was my own loss. I am terrified of losing my husband. So many feelings coalesced and I realized one day I may be in that situation, kissing the man I love goodbye for the last time, never to hold him again. I'm at work right now and I'm tearing up because it's so hard.

I tip my hat to the author, but I genuinely wished I hadn't read that fanfic. And isn't it kind of funny after that grandstand I took yesterday about not wanting to write the pain of loss and grief, that I ended up reading it instead and probably fucking myself up just as badly, if not worse, than if I had tried to write it myself?

It gets worse, too. Because it got me thinking about my own writing, and how I could never hope to achieve what that author did. So I sat there crying out my painfeelings while simultaneously feeling like a shit writer and like nothing I put out matters. I got up from the couch, sat down at my PC and picked up where I left off in the Omega DLC in ME3 because video games are great for taking the mind off things. It didn't exactly help with the intensity I'd hoped for, but I managed to fall asleep, by 3am.

Fast forward to this morning. I dragged my sorry ass out of bed 4 hours later and drove to work. By some fucking miracle, no one is here right now except our field director. And I'm stewing in how this one fic really fucked me up bad, reconsidering everything. I feel like I've been put in my place.

So what changed?

Yesterday I posted about how I'm struggling to write a plotline. I know what happens, but I'm not interested in the little bits that tie it together. I want to write the romance. I think there's a way to write the plot and the romance at the same time, but it's damn hard.

I started doing this because I wanted to grow my skills as a writer, and I knew it might be more than I could chew. I'm at that moment now where I'm about ready to give up.

Even if I felt like a shit writer last night (and still kinda do this morning), I know that the stuff I've put out has value. We can't all write these epically tragic smut-romance-renegades-to-lovers tales, we'd all be sad all the damn time. There's a time and a place and - I would argue - even a need for lighterhearted fic out there. There are really no rules. I'm confident in what I know how to do.

But the plot. Fuck it, man. I think maybe I'm trying too hard to be something I'm not. I'm trying really hard to write like other people. I may have mentioned before that I saw a post about how many artists spend their time pining for the skills of others, thinking "wow, when I can draw like that, I'll have made it as an artist." That same post cautioned against this, basically saying you already have your own unique style, it's just harder to see through the lens of your own eyeballs. It's fine to challenge yourself but try to acknowledge what you do that sets you apart already. I feel like I have that something - maybe not to the extent that I wish, but I have something.

So what's the point of the plot? Why do I need to tell my readers how I cured Keprals? I'm asking myself important questions here. I like to think I've come up with ideas that no one else has, but as I said above, I don't read a lot of chaptered fics. I very well may have come to the same ideas as other writers and I'm not even aware of it. I don't know if my ideas are unique but I still arrived at them all by myself.

The challenge here - the thing I'm struggling so much with - is how to put them together with the same elegance of my fellow writers. I'm looking at you, shrios fam (yeah I'm calling you that, yall know who you are). I know I can write words, but it's like I have a bunch of pieces from completely different jigsaw puzzles and I'm struggling to make a new picture out of them. I struggle with the transitions between them.

The point here is I have to find my own way. And I have to stop taking myself so seriously. In fact this level of "seriousness" is one of the things that got me into so much angst over World of Warcraft over the last two years. At least I know how to recognize it.

I have to find my own way. I have my own things that are worth sharing. The author I read last night had a language all their own, and I have a language all my own too. Their wordplay was actually more choppy than I would ever write. I've talked before about how I'm scared of starting too many sentences with pronouns, how I maybe write too many run-on sentences, whatever. This author did that with reckless abandon. It worked for them. So if they can make that shit work, I can make my own shit work.

I have to find my own way.

My most current WIP is Thane and Shepard's first time. I've been working on it pretty nonchalantly because I hadn't intended to publish it until I built up to it. It takes place further into my timeline, and it would probably ruin the point of a slow burn if I put it out there now. There are some really memorably moments in this WIP, and there are other moments that need to be smoothed over as well. I never knew what I'd really imagined for their first time but I think I've mostly developed something that's unique in its own right, and I think will be fun for people to read.

I'm just so fucking torn over what to do with it. I feel guilty for working on it. I should be writing "other shit" leading up to it but I don't fucking want to. I actually wrote probably 2-3k words this weekend, which is a pretty staggering amount by my standards. Some of it was for this smutty WIP and some was for something I just threw together, Thane observing Shepard on Horizon and the emotional toll it takes on her. He's seeing her humanity. I don't know if it's worth it to continue but I wrote a lot of it and the words are more precise than usual for a draft, I don't know. I have so much fucking insecurity. Fuck dude. I want to write this longfic, but I don't want to write it. I want to skim to the spicy bits like I always do.

I am wracked with insecurity, of my own making. I know what I can do but I feel compelled to see this idea through. Somehow I have to find my own way.

TLDR I feel like if I don't publish something soon I'm going to burst and I don't even know what the fuck to work on first and fjslfjsojoiejrj

I would be really down for, like, a bunch of hugs and a bowl of ice cream shared over memes and fanservice.

#this post is EXTREMELY fucking long send help #ITT: i read something that probably changed my brain chemistry for a few hours and it's painful #zet vs 100days #i'm just glad to get this off my chest good lord #anyway if people want to send me links to their favorite shrios fluff i would welcome it

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 2

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she’d been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Chapter 2 - Consciousness

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: mentions of blood and broken bones, medical procedures

Read on AO3

It was the light of morning that caused my eyes to flutter open, the hardness of the tiled floor beneath slowly recognised in an increasing ache pulsing through my body.

I was slow to move, measured actions helping to bring myself into a seated position, arms shakily holding me up at the sides. Memories of the previous evening flooded back in swift succession, along with the pain of immense fatigue that always followed the act of letting the Force do my healing for me.

Did it even work?

My hand gripped the hospital bed that his body remained slumped on and I pulled myself upwards, feet gliding along the ground under my legs until I could stand. The scene before me was still shocking, even in remembering all that happened. Eventually, I noted the even breaths seeping in and out of the pilot’s chest.

He survived the night. Well done.

The numbers on the monitor confirmed what the voice had said. Heart rate steady. Oxygen levels optimum. Blood pressure higher than it had ever reached the night before. Looking over the battered and broken man, covered in dried blood that had spilled to the bed and floor, I felt a rush of emotion break free from its cage in my chest, unleashing an irrepressible urge to cry.

I sobbed quietly, knowing it was both relief and exhaustion that the tears crawled down my face. I wasn’t really sure why it hit me so hard. I didn’t even know this man, and somehow his survival at my hands was overwhelming, bursting at the seams with a happiness I’d never experienced for a patient before.

But then I recalled what I’d done to make it possible.

Fear struck like a spark in the centre of my chest, rippling its way through my veins.

There’s no way I could explain this as a simple act of medical miracle. He’d know. Then they’d know. And everything I’d built would come crumbling down. I’d have to find a new planet, a new home, build a new clinic, leaving everything behind.

I just wanted to heal people. I didn’t want to be a part of either of their worlds, and I didn’t want to d-

A croaky moan escaped from the pilot’s lips, his eyes moving underneath the lids, struggling to open. He groaned louder, and it became clear all too quickly he was starting to feel his extensive injuries. Panic set in, realising I hadn’t had time to give him any anaesthetic or pain relief.

This was going to be a rough wake up.

A piercing whimper bellowed from his chest, startling me into focus. With the trolley at hand I wrenched open the draws in search of anything with a pain-relieving quality and prepared the med-injector with heavy fluid. He’d already started to move his limbs, presumably in a way to understand what was happening, and another strained yell echoed in the room, sending a shiver rocketing down my spine. I jammed the needle into the IV cannula port, pushing in the medicine without much of a thought to appropriate dosage.

I just needed to stop him moving.

He began hollering even harder, tears welling in his eyes as he started to thrash against the mattress. Snatching at his wrists, I slammed them back down on the bed.

“It’s okay! You’re okay! I know it hurts but you’ve got to give the painkiller time to work. I promise it’s going to be alright!”

His eyes flew open, an obvious distress burning from behind brown irises. They flickered over my blood-stained clothes, then locked into mine, pleading, begging for me to do something to take away the agony.

“I know,” I said softly, a more tender edge to my voice. “I know it hurts. I’m doing all that I can. Please just stay still. It will get better. Please.”

The pilot drew in a deep, haggard breath, his bottom lip trembling. Eventually his jaw clenched as our eyes remained fixed, a silent pact of trust hanging in the air. It took me by surprise, how easy it was to calm him, and I seized the chance to soothe him even further.

“My name is Alex, I’m a doctor,” I explained. “Your ship crashed just outside my clinic. You were hurt, badly. You fell unconscious and I brought you in here to treat your injuries.”

Such a simple explanation for the truly gargantuan effort I had performed.

I wonder if he’ll ever know how close to death he was.

It wasn’t the time to tell him now, not when he seemed so scared. There was some semblance of understanding in his features, dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment, only for his eyes to shut again as he withheld a pained cry. I released my grip from his right wrist, placing my hand in his to squeeze gently. An act of sympathy, something I had done many times for people in distress. Even the small movement was enough to make him yelp.

Kriff. I forgot his arm was broken.

“Sorry!” I squeaked. He was still wincing. “Let me try and fix that.”

It was obvious how wrong the angle appeared in his forearm, beginning to prepare more local anaesthetic into the injector handle. I shot the needle a few centimetres above the fracture, the pilot barely flinching. Compared to the rest of his injuries it would likely have felt like nothing at all.

“I need to set this okay? Your arm is going to feel numb in a minute or two. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

His nod was measured, careful not to move anymore than he had to. I left him for a moment to find my universal cast and a sling, giving the injection a few moments to filter through his tissue and into the nerves. When I returned I could see some of the pain medication had already started to take hold, the sting of discomfort in his eyes beginning to waver, his muscles losing their tension and relaxing ever so slightly into the mattress. I prepared the cast, cutting the shapes out for his fingers and thumb, getting it ready for quick application.

“Poe,” he said slowly, his voice croaky and filled with restraint. “My name is Poe.”

I met his gaze again, trying my hardest to put forward an aura of confidence, even in my exhaustion. “Nice to meet you, Poe,” I smiled. With a lightened touch, a finger trailed softly down his right forearm. “Can you feel this?”

“A little,” he whispered. It was clearly hard for him to find his voice again. “It’s kind of… fuzzy.”

“Do you think I could try and set your arm now? I can wait if you prefer.”

“I can handle it.”

Underneath his lips I could imagine gritted teeth, clenching hard, bracing for the pain. It occurred to me then maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d broken a bone.

Without another word I pulled the X-ray unit’s arm up towards his fracture site, hoping he didn’t notice the splashes of his blood smattering the machine. Pressing down on the image button revealed a better picture in comparison to the absolute mess his femur had been. Only his radius was broken, in an even line, no splintering to be seen.

Finally something easy.

With two hands around his arm on either side of the fracture, I poised myself for a quick pull and twist. Poe’s muscles tensed underneath my grip.

“Just try to relax, it will make it much easier,” I insisted.

He drew in a deep breath, and the tension released from underneath my fingertips. I’d learned in my experience not to tell patients exactly when I was going to perform something painful. Something about the surprise of it somehow made it hurt less. So with one fluid movement I pulled and rotated the bone back into place, knowing even before I shot the X-ray it would be aligned. Poe was crushing his eyelids closed, waiting for me to move again.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

His eyes opened, meeting me with a look of surprise. I’d already begun to position the cast, bending the malleable plastic to the contours of his limb.

“First try?” he marvelled. I nodded, while trying to rein in my ego. “Never had someone get it on the first try.”

I swallowed hard. “I, uh... I wasn’t so lucky with your femur.” I flicked through the previous X-rays, pointing to the multiple shots of my attempts to fix the break. His eyes widened, mouth in a small ‘o’.

“That was my leg?” he gasped, “And you put it back?”

Both of our eyes glanced to the wound on his thigh. It was closed.

But I didn’t put any bacta on it.

Poe’s disbelief distracted him from my own. What I’d done last night with my crude attempt at Force healing had managed to not only mend the life-threatening severing of his artery, but also somehow pulsed enough energy to knit his wound back together, leaving a sealed laceration where the deep hole had been. Dread filled me again, weighing down so forcefully I didn’t want to move.

How am I going to explain this?

“T-thank you. For getting the bacta into it so quickly. Must have some good quality stuff.”

Thank every particle in the universe. He suspected nothing.

I moved slightly to position myself in front of the trolley that stored evidence of the low quality bacta solution and salve I had used for his chest wound and burns, and feigned a smile of appreciation.

“Just doing my job.”

All of a sudden it seemed to hit him, the situation he was in. His questions came out in rapid fire, desperate for clarification.

“Wait, where am I? What happened to my ship? Where’s BB-8?”

He began to rise from the mattress, wincing at the many injury points as he pulled himself into an upright position on the bed. The quick movement evidently made him dizzy, as he pulled his newly casted arm onto the bed railing to stabilise a wobble.

“Woah, just hold on a minute there,” I snipped, doctor mode engaged. “You’ve still got some serious injuries that need time to heal. Nasty burns, a collection of broken bones and the remnants of a punctured lung. Now bacta can be a miracle cure but it still needs more time before you start moving around again, or you’re going to ruin all the progress I made.”

Poe looked as if he was going to argue, but as my eyes bore into his, he recoiled back into the bed, sighing from both the pain of movement and the lack of answers.

“I was in the middle of an important mission okay?” he stressed. “There are people who are waiting on me. I need to get a message back to the Resistance. To tell them I’m out of commission.”

I tensed. The thought of the Resistance coming here to pick up their injured pilot was enough to make my heart beat faster. Sure, maybe Poe didn’t suspect anything, but the likelihood of convincing force sensitive people like Leia Organa, or the scavenger girl….

Attempting to fool them into thinking I’d healed this man with a bit of brute force and bacta would be near on impossible. But I couldn’t prevent Poe from contacting anybody without arousing even more suspicion. I’d just have to go along with whatever he wanted until I could formulate some kind of plan.

“Alright, how about I get you my transmitter and you promise not to try and move until I say so?” I offered, the tone in my voice not really implying that no could be an appropriate answer.

“Sure thing doc,” he agreed.

Maker, I hate when people call me that.

I made my way over to my tech station, using the moment to give him a couple of the answers he’d been so desperate for. “You’re on a remote clinic on Raxus, about 3000 kilometres- uh… klicks, from Raxulon. Your ship… Well, I haven’t been outside since it exploded at my front door. And your droid unit… I haven’t seen.” I realised quickly how insensitive this information came out when I looked up from my rummaging to Poe’s horrified expression. He began to sit upwards again, giving even less care to his wounds, forcing me to rush back to stop him. “I haven’t checked outside yet!”

“Why haven’t you been out there?” he demanded, eyes flaming.

“Maybe because I was stuck in here saving your life? And how was I supposed to know you had an astromech droid with you?”

He huffed, seeing the logic in my question. “Can you please check if BB is okay?”

I raised an eyebrow, curious at how much emotion he was committing to this piece of equipment. All of the medical droids I’d come into contact with over the years were extremely flat personality wise. Intelligent and useful, but I’d never grown any type of attachment to them. Nothing like Poe seemed to have with this BB-8 droid.

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll go look for the BB unit. Just please stay in bed. And… prepare for the worst.”

Underpromise, overdeliver. One of the many phrases I’d recited during my medical training. I just really hoped the latter would be the case in this situation.

The latch of the clinic door closed softly behind me, the crisp morning atmosphere somewhat refreshing for a moment or two, until I shook myself into focus to assess the completely destroyed X-wing ship consuming my vision. With sunshine finally illuminating the environment, rolling green hills of the countryside extending beyond the horizon, I scanned the blackened metal skeleton of the ship, ashes smattered all over the ground, glass and electrical wires splayed everywhere.

Well, this doesn’t exactly ignite hope.

Walking around what was left of the X-wing, I examined the surrounding area for any trace of a droid - not just the shine of metal, but the possible tracks left by a robot who was looking for its master. I walked slowly into the field behind the crash site, my eyes surveying every bit of ground, hoping to see any metallic glint that might indicate an intact droid.

Since the clinic was the only building for a few kilometres, there was hardly another structure it could be hiding behind, or lodged in. I almost wanted to keep walking, washing my hands of all of this, so I didn’t have to go back and tell Poe his obviously beloved droid hadn’t survived like he did. But another ruined machine caught my attention.

My comm-tower was flattened into nothing - steel, wiring and black plastic flattened into an artificial pancake.

Kriff, more bad news for Poe.

With my only means of communication squished there was no way any of my tech could send a signal far enough to reach the Resistance, let alone the next village over. And now I would have to make the weeklong trek back to Raxulon to get another one.

This day is kicking my ass.

With a long sigh, I ventured towards the ruined X-wing, assuming if I hadn’t found BB-8 by now, it must have been pulverised by the explosion I narrowly avoided last night. I searched the hollow structure of the ship, hoping for any scrap of metal that could be related to the droid, but it was all so black, covered in soot and melted, everything beginning to mutate into some other portion of the machine. When I skimmed over what was left of one of the wings, there was still a rounded hole I assumed BB-8 would have been housed during flights. An empty hole. There was always a possibility the BB droid could have gone searching for help beyond my clinic, but again, there wasn't a trace of movement in the dirt track leading away to the nearest village.

I think it’s time to be the bearer of bad news.

I extricated myself from the mangled ship, looking back towards the front walls of my clinic, noticing now the remnants of the explosion that had left countless dark stains over the light blue paint, along with a few cracks and impact points where metal had hit the cement. The bushes I’d planted a few months ago in time for this planet’s version of spring had been scorched, most of the green overtaken by grey and black soot. On closer inspection, it became obvious one had been split in half, the edges of leaves opening up to a large gap.

I quickened my pace and kneeled in front of the jumbled shrub, my hands diving in to push burnt leaves out of way, finally discovering a large metal ball of orange and white leaning on the blue concrete wall. A little cracked and dirty, but seemingly intact.

Oh wait, where’s the head?

Scurrying around on my hands and knees, I felt around the bushes once more, moving along the line of the wall. The twigs were scraping against the skin of my arms, but I was too excited for the possibility of some good news that I ignored the sting they caused.

Unexpectedly my hand struck something hard, pushing the stiff lower branches out of my view to find a domed head dug into the ground. Picking it up, I brushed away some of the dirt, surveying for any obvious damage. Its antennae was crooked, a few deep scratches slicing the metal, but it all seemed fairly superficial. With the head in hand, I strode back to the body unit, beaming with the thought I could ease even a little bit of Poe’s worry.

My delight was swiftly dissolved when setting the pieces together. I’d assumed the magnet would hold and the droid would spring back to life. Instead, the head slipped straight off, sinking into the ground once more with a muffled thud.

Yeah, that seems about right.

“I have good news and bad news,” I declared sheepishly as I walked into view of Poe, lugging in a separated BB-8. His face burst into an illustration of relief, then confusion as his brain finally registered the image of his dear friend separated into two pieces, and lifeless.

As I placed the metal components onto the hospital bed at the side of Poe’s leg, he looked up at me. “This is the bad news right?” His hands tentatively checked over the BB unit, attempting what I had done not minutes ago, and watched the head piece slide back over the metal ball and dive into the mattress.

“Um… Actually… This was meant to be the good news,” I grimaced. “The bad news is that my comm-tower was completely flattened by your ship. None of my transmitter tech is going to be able to send out any messages until I can get another one built.”

Poe’s jaw clenched, and I only noticed now the dark stubble that glittered the lower half of his face.

“And when would that be exactly?” he queried sharply. I didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“At least another week if I left now. But I can’t leave you like this, you’re still in critical condition.”

It was obvious he was hiding his frustration, hands scrunched into balls. “They can’t wait that long.”

I scrambled at any answer that might settle him. “I mean, maybe some of the villagers could help, but there’s no guarantee-”

“Then get them to help!” he exploded, making me step back. At seeing the startled look on my face he softened, realising the severity of his demand. “I’m sorry, but this is just… so important. I know you’ve already done more than I could have ever asked of someone, but I still need more of your help. The fate of the galaxy depends on it.” His eyes glistened with hope, a silent plea, sending a cold wave of unease down my spine. He held a bandaged arm out, hand open, reaching toward me.

I didn’t want to be a part of this. It was exactly what I had run from for so long. Even now the immediate urge was to bolt out the front door, leaving behind this stranger who could unravel everything I’d built.

But there was something about the expression on his face, the desperation in his eyes, calling out to me. I was all he had right now. I was his only lifeline to put him back on whatever journey he had been travelling before fate made him, quite literally, crash into me.

“I mean, if the fate of the galaxy depends on it…” I mumbled, placing my hand tentatively in his. “Okay. I’ll help you get back home.”

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @mariesackler @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk @mylifeisactuallyamess @poedameronloverx @millenialcatlady @jynz-andtonic @lightsinthedistancee @modernpaw @paterson-blue

Just let me know if you would like to be removed or added, no judgement!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction

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anthonyjlockwood · 3 years

Note

8, 27, and 30 for Boggie?

Lilly 💜✨

Thank you for the prompts!! I didn't exactly turn them into a sickfic like I KNOW you wanted though 😂 but I hope you like this anyway! ily/p

Here it is on ao3!

Bobby just really wants to know how he wound up here.

This morning, he woke up at the perfectly acceptable hour of ten-thirty A.M., had a killer bacon-egg-and-cheese for breakfast, got ready, and left the house… with band practice and some vague plans to hang out with Reggie afterwards the only things on his agenda for the day.

But now… he’s in the emergency room.

All because Alex and his pseudo-responsibility weren’t available, and Reggie wanted to go ice skating -- for once, Bobby’s glad that Emily Patterson has been on her son’s case lately, because Luke was instructed to go straight home after Bobby’s house, so he wasn’t able to join in on Reggie’s near-death experience.

When Reggie had the idea to go ice skating, alarm bells went off in Bobby’s head. There were just… so many things wrong with the idea. Reggie on ice. Reggie in sharp, pointy shoes. Reggie in an extremely cold room when Bobby knows for a fact that the boy does not own any sort of weatherproof clothing -- no matter what Reggie says, his leather jacket is decidedly not weatherproof.

But Reggie is Reggie -- the only person who could actually get Bobby to agree to something he knows wouldn’t be a good idea. Because Reggie just has this way about him. He has these infuriating, adorable puppy dog eyes and a personality to match - doing something to upset Reggie, or go against him in any way, feels like it should be illegal.

(Alex calls that ‘being whipped’. Luke calls it ‘totally unfair’; ‘blatant favoritism’. And Bobby doesn’t call it anything, because calling it something would be putting a name to the feeling… and that’s just not something Bobby does -- when the feelings are his, anyway.

Alex calls that ‘emotional constipation’.)

Bobby just had a severe lapse of judgment that afternoon, it seemed. Because his parting words of wisdom before Reggie had skated away from him and completely face planted on the ice were, “Just try not to die. I -- the band -- really can’t be bothered to replace you.”

Reggie had taken that warning about as seriously as Luke had taken all of Emily’s warnings that he’d be grounded if he failed his last math test -- and since Luke is at home, and not here, Bobby thinks that maybe Reggie should’ve tried a little harder.

To listen to something that somebody told him, for once, but also to just… not completely bust his ass at an ice-skating rink.

Bobby shifts in the uncomfortable hospital waiting room chair and glances at the clock on the wall. Reggie’s been in the back seeing the doctor for what’s getting to be a worryingly long time. But just as he starts getting up, to ask the nurses’ desk what’s going on -- for probably the fifth time in as many minutes -- he finally sees Reggie hobbling down the hallway.

On crutches, with his ankle in a cast.

A whole new set of alarm bells starts going off in Bobby’s head now. The extra-loud kind that automatically dispatch the police. He races to meet Reggie halfway down the hall and stops there, blocking the other boy’s path back to the waiting area.

“Reg, what the fuck?”

Reggie answers Bobby’s disgruntled concern with a sheepish smile.

“I… might have sprained my ankle,” he explains.

“Sprained your--” Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut, and takes a couple of those stupid, calming breaths Alex is always going on about -- inhale for four, hold for seven, out for eight, Bobby! I told you, it helps! “You said you didn’t think it was that bad!”

“That’s ‘cause you were on one of your ‘mom friend Bobby’ rampages,” Reggie explains. “I had to calm you down somehow. Besides, it doesn’t even really hurt that much! And these crutches are kinda cool. Look, I can use them as a swing!”

Bobby throws out an arm, in a desperate effort to stop Reggie from using his crutches as a playground toy. “Are you trying to make it worse?” he snaps. “I can’t freaking believe this. I agreed to go to the ice rink, and you promised me you’d be careful, and now you’ve broken your freaking ankle, Reggie! What the hell am I supposed to do with you?!”

Reggie’s silenced momentarily, looking at Bobby with wide eyes like a toddler who’s scared to tell his mom he knocked over the cookie jar. And for a moment, Bobby actually thinks he might stay that way. To just accept, for once, that he messed up, that he’s hurt, that maybe he went too far -- maybe Bobby was actually right for once.

But then, because he’s Reggie, he opens his mouth anyway.

“Sprained,” he corrects quietly. “Not broken. Just sprained.”

“Alex is gonna kill me,” Bobby laments. “Oh god... Luke’s gonna kill me. They both trusted me to watch you today, and -- and now I’m bringing you back broken!”

“I’m not a child,” Reggie rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m perfectly capable of spraining my ankle on my own, thank you very much. If they yell at you, I’ll tell them it’s not your fault.”

“But it is my fault,” Bobby groans. “I’ve severely overestimated your ability to do anything without getting injured!”

“But--”

“No!” Bobby clamps his hand over Reggie’s mouth; Reggie’s eyes widen even more, like one of those stuffed Beanie Babies. But wisely, he doesn’t try to interrupt again. “No ‘but’s. I’m taking you back to the apartment.”

Reggie sighs, dejected, and adjusts his crutches to prepare for the trip back to Bobby’s van. “So… I guess this means we can’t stop for ice cream on the way home?”

Bobby wonders exactly how many of Alex’s ‘calming breaths’ he’s going to need to get through the rest of this day.

They finally get back to the apartment, up the elevator, and through the front door, and Bobby helps Reggie plant himself on the sofa.

He pushes the coffee table closer to the couch and grabs one of the extra throw pillows, slamming it down on the table impatiently as if he’s having a pillow fight with its old, scratched up wooden surface.

“The nurse said to keep it elevated. So sit here, put your leg up, and don’t move.”

“Damn, I’m really feeling the love today, Bobby,” Reggie grumbles. But he obeys, wincing in pain briefly as he adjusts his leg into the most comfortable position he can.

“What was that stuff she said about rice?” he wonders. “Ooh -- maybe we can make chili for dinner!”

“Oh my -- rest, ice, compression, elevation,” Bobby says, through gritted teeth. “She also said you can take over-the-counter pain meds -- thank God they didn’t give you anything stronger.”

“Thank God you’re not a nurse,” Reggie shoots back. “Terrible bedside manner, really.”

“Well who else is gonna make sure you don’t die?” Bobby asks. “You can barely get up off the couch. Actually, I should probably hide your crutches. So you can’t do anything to injure yourself even more.”

“Aww, come on, Bobby,” Reggie complains. “Have a little faith. I’m not gonna make it worse.”

“Well, you also won’t take care of yourself properly,” Bobby argues. “I don’t trust you to. So... I will.”

Reggie deflates, relaxing back into the couch cushions, and Bobby takes it as a win.

“Now stay there,” he repeats. He whips around and heads for the kitchen.

When he gets back, he finds that Reggie’s drifting off into sleep, head lolling to the side at what looks to be a pretty uncomfortable angle.

Bobby grabs another throw pillow and situates it behind Reggie’s head. “Is that better?”

Reggie blinks up at him blearily, eyes landing on the ice pack in Bobby’s grasp. “What’s that?”

“I brought you some more ice,” Bobby explains, gently setting the ice back down onto Reggie’s injured ankle. The other boy jumps a little from the sudden cold; a shiver runs down his spine, but after a moment he settles. His tired, unfocused eyes fix on Bobby again.

“I didn’t ask you to --”

“You didn’t have to,” Bobby cuts him off. “I’m… I care about you, remember? I’m Nurse Bobby today.”

“I was just joking, ‘bout your bedside manner,” Reggie mumbles. ““You’re the best Nurse Bobby ever.”

Bobby sits down next to Reggie, gently pulling him down so that his head rests on Bobby’s shoulders, careful not to jostle his ankle.

He presses a kiss to the top of Reggie’s head as the other boy’s eyes slip shut, and eventually Reggie’s breaths even out as the other boy fully relaxes underneath him.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #jatp fanfiction #jatp fanfic #bobby shaw #reggie peters #boggie #prompt fill #answered ask

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prentissinred · 3 years

Text

Already Gone pt.2

Special shoutout to @eprcntiss for the nudge to write a part two ☺️

Rated T Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss Word Count: 2k AO3

Part One: Already Gone

Part Two: Love Me Better

Aaron closed the door to the study behind him, pretending he didn't hear that final choked sob. He blinked his own tears back; they had no place on what was supposed to be the second happiest day of his life.

She was leaving.

Some twisted part of him was almost glad. That he no longer had to walk into work and feel like his heart was being slowly carved out of his chest every time she looked at him, every time she got into her own car to return to a home that wasn't theirs. It was unfair to the point of cruelty, having to face the future he had been planning for years, ripped away in the course of an evening...only to return months later, just out of his reach.

He had grieved her, as surely as if she had died on that operating table. Grieved the sight of the diamond he had picked out on her left hand. Grieved the house they'd been eyeing, the one with enough rooms for all the plans they’d made and a yard big enough for the dog they had promised to Jack. Grieved every night of fevered touches under the covers and every night they had been too exhausted to do anything except curl against the warmth of the other.

She had eventually returned, like a phantom coming back to him. Relieved though he was that she was finally safe, there wasn't a moment where he saw her and was not reminded of every deception, every moment she had chosen to tell him that she was fine instead of the truth. Running became the only healthy outlet for the pain. And a few weeks later, it led him to a funny, kind brunette who had him smiling for the first time in over a year.

Beth. He shook himself out of the internal crisis he was having against the wall of Dave's living room. He had to find her, hold her, remind himself why he'd asked her to marry him and why it had felt so right just yesterday. Remind himself of everything good about them. Because she was good — exceedingly so. Because she was not frustrating and complicated and closed-off and asking the worst kinds of questions at the worst possible time. He jogged up the stairs to the master bedroom where she was getting ready with her mother.

“You know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.” Dave’s voice came up behind him.

He gave his friend a wane smile. "I think we can dispense with the superstitions."

"Say what you will, but I said the same thing at my first, and look how well that turned out." Aaron could only chuckle dryly in response.

Dave clapped his arm. “Nervous?”

"A little." He hadn't been. In fact, he’d been filled with certainty at the start of the evening. He tried not to think too much about why that had changed. I loved you. I love you.

"I saw Emily left.” Dave’s voice was pointedly relaxed.

"Oh?"

"Tonight can't have been easy for her." I love you.

"I suppose."

"Mmm. Anyway, I think Beth's just about ready." Dave placed a guiding hand on his shoulder. "We should head down, get this show on the road." Aaron let himself be led down the stairs, glancing back just once at the door that hid his soon-to-be wife from view.

He stood underneath the decorated archway, next to his beaming son, and faced his team, all looking at him with encouraging smiles. He tried to return them, despite the knot that was steadily growing in his stomach. The music started, a lilting, romantic track, as the crowd turned to face the house. Beth emerged, lovely in her strapless gown, carrying a simple bouquet of white roses, walking towards him on her mother's arm.

And maybe it would have been different if he had spoken to her upstairs. Or if he had never walked into Dave's study in the first place. But as Beth took her first step onto the aisle, Aaron knew with an absolute, terrifying clarity that he couldn’t go through with this. That this moment he had been picturing for so long was missing a woman who was currently making plans to leave the country.

Before he could talk himself over to the side of propriety, he walked up the aisle. The music cut off abruptly, and there was a ripple of whispers from his guests. By the time he reached her, pieces of his heart chipped away at the sight of her confused face. He held her hand in both of his and pleaded, "I need to talk to you."

She listened to his insufficient explanation, the tears welling her eyes the only reflection of the hurt he was causing her. He told her that she was beautiful and wonderful and he did love her and she had made him so happy and yesterday there hadn't been a doubt in his mind when he asked her to be his wife. She let him ramble for a while, eventually shutting him up with a cupped hand to his face. Lips pressed lightly against his cheek, then in a voice infinitely kinder than he deserved, she let him go. "I hope you get her back."

And that was it. He stood there, watching her head back up the stairs, and silently wished her every happiness with someone worthy of her.

With a deep breath and a brush over his face to clear any lingering tears, he exited the house with renewed determination to find a huddled group of guests. The only outlier was Beth's mother, who stared at him in consternation before following her daughter into the house without another word to him. At the movement, his team turned towards him, a mixture of confusion and shock on their faces — or, in the case of Dave, an enigmatic smile.

"JJ," Aaron called out.

She approached him, frown lines etched into her forehead and brows. "Aaron, what's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I need your help, please. The address to Emily's new apartment."

Understanding smoothed her features and she gave him a wide grin as she entered the address into his phone. "Oh, and would you mind watching Jack for a little while?"

"Even better, why don't Jack and Henry have a sleepover tonight? What do you say, boys?" JJ presented her plans animatedly to the two boys who had appeared by their feet. Aaron bent down to tell his son that he would explain everything tomorrow, but his words fell on already distracted ears. He thanked her and made his way to his car, the eyes of his friends on his back reminding him that this was his last chance to bring her home.

Her apartment was tucked away in a nondescript brick mid-rise. A far cry from the lush DC duplex he had spent countless nights in. She opened the door on his second knock. Dressed down in shorts and a loose shirt that hung off her shoulder, makeup-free with her curled hair pulled up into a ponytail. She looked as beautiful as she had a few hours ago. Every impassioned word he had rehearsed on his way over landed dead on his tongue, and instead, his first words to her were a brusque, "Can I come in?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

He didn't reply, pressing past her into an apartment he had never entered before. Sparse, only the bare essentials, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. Nothing more than a passing stop, a sign that she had never really come back to them.

"You told me you love me. Was that the truth?" He stood in the center of her small living room, arms crossed over his chest, his tone more biting than he had planned.

She gaped at him, ignoring the question. "Seriously, Aaron, what the fuck are you doing here?"

He forged on, pacing small steps next to the couch, glancing up at her every few seconds. "It destroyed me, you know. Seeing your credentials open in your desk because you had run. Sitting by your fucking hospital bed because I was too late to save you. Listening to you tell me that you didn’t want to marry me. Everything we had talked about, all the plans we had, just...gone."

“Aaron. I told you, I had to." Her voice broke, but her eyes stayed dry. Aaron wondered if the two of them had shed enough tears over the other to last a lifetime. "I had to—“

“Protect me. I know. But, god, Em." He gestured between them. "We’re supposed to be a team. We work through everything, even the ugly stuff, together. You were supposed to trust that I would be there for you. Not run away, and nearly get yourself killed in the process.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. It is exactly that simple.”

“No.” Her voice was sharp and resolute. “It isn’t. It was my fight. My past, my mistakes. If you, any of you, had gotten hurt because of that, I could have never lived with myself. You can't tell me you don't understand that."

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to cede this particular battle. Maddening, stubborn woman.

“Fine. I accept.”

“What?”

"I accept that you did what you had to do. That you thought you had to handle it alone. I accept why you left then." He stepped closer to her and she unconsciously took a step back, nearly flush with her front door. "But why are you leaving now?"

"This again..." she sighed wearily. "Aaron, I told you. I can't stay here anymore."

"And why is that?"

He watched her nostrils flare in indignation. "Fuck, because I can't! I can't pretend anymore, I won't do it. I came back expecting my life to go back to normal. Except it isn't normal. It isn’t even my life anymore. I'm like a fucking spectator, watching everyone move on while I can’t. "

The implication — accusation — was clear, and the guilt struck hard and low in his gut. Her only mistake was thinking that he had ever really moved on.

"I'm sorry," his voice shifted to quiet contriteness. "I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me. It hurt too much to be around you. And you seemed...okay. So I convinced myself you were."

She said nothing for a while, her arms wrapping around her middle defensively. "It's okay. It wasn't your job to take care of me. You've already done more—"

"Emily, why don't you get it?" The frustration pierced through once more, coming out more desperate than anything else.

"Get what?!" she rose to his pitch.

"You're supposed to depend on me. We’re supposed to depend on each other. I know you're strong, you're so fucking strong sweetheart, but I get to take care of you sometimes too. Fuck, how are we supposed to spend the rest of our lives together if you can’t trust me enough to do that?”

She sucked in a sharp breath and her entire body, even the air around them, shifted. “Spend the rest of our lives together?”

“Of course. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

She glared at him. “It really wasn't."

“Oh. My apologies.” He stepped closer to her. “Consider this your notice then.”

He caught the way her lips turned up for a split second before she remembered herself, wanting to hold onto her heated temper for a little longer. “Where’s Beth?”

“At home, I suspect.”

“I already told Easter I’d take the job.” Her voice was just a whisper now, devoid of almost all conviction.

“What, like 2 hours ago? Call him back, Emily.”

He was looming over her, barely an inch of space between them, their eyes locked onto each other. It was a different kind of battle, the kind where victory only came when neither side backed down.

Finally — “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I'll call him back."

There wasn't an adequate word to describe the relief he felt at those five words. Every inch of him ached to touch her, but he held onto his patience for a few more seconds, bending his head towards her and whispering, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Her eyes were closed in anticipation. "What question?" she breathed.

"Were you telling me the truth? When you said you love me?"

"Don't be an idiot. Of course I was." And she pushed up on her toes and closed the gap between them.

It felt like coming home. There were still discussions to be had and arguments to be fought as they re-learned and re-trusted. But, for now, the familiar taste of her warmed every particle in his body until he was practically vibrating with want. It was desperate and urgent, their lips and teeth and tongues clashing and biting and invading. His hands roamed the entirety of her, a need to ensure that she was really here this time. She clung to him just as tightly, pressing into him until he could feel her heart hammering away in her chest.

When they pulled apart, both gasping for the air that had escaped their lungs, he touched his forehead to hers. "In case this wasn't obvious either...I’ve never stopped loving you."

#Already Gone #Hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #it was physically impossible not to give these two a happy ending

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creampuffqueen · 3 years

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Just Like This | Chapter Two

a/n: Hey friends! It's been a hot second, but here's chapter two! This chapter is about a high school football game, but written by someone who has never attended a high school football game as a student (I was always performing haha) I also have no idea how football works and yet wrote Rayla explaining it to Callum! So please forgive any inaccuracies lol. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3846

Warnings: Dirty jokes/innuendos, language

Read on Ao3

~~~~

Friday, October 5th, 2020

Callum’s house, 6:02 PM

HONK HONK HONK!

Rayla leaned on the horn of her car with a snicker, face splitting into a wide grin when the front door of Callum’s house opened. He was still putting his jacket on, and his mother followed him out, fussing.

“Have fun!” Sarai called as Callum clambered into the passenger seat, face red.

“Bye Mrs. Prince!” Rayla shouted back, waving goodbye as she put the vehicle in drive. Callum just groaned, putting his face in his hands and shaking his head.

“God, my mom’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s sweet,” Rayla assured, “At least you know she cares.”

Callum quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t press at the statement hidden in those words. Instead, he turned his gaze out the window. “This isn’t the way to school, Rayla.”

“Duh, I’m not stupid,” She snarked back, “We have to go pick up Andie and Callisto. I just didn’t tell your mom, because technically I’m only supposed to drive with one other person, but I don’t really care about that rule.”

“Fair enough.” Callum opened up the glovebox, rifling through all the trash to find the CDs stored beneath. Her car was old enough that the radio still used CDs rather than just connecting to a phone. He found one that seemed good, and put it in the player.

At the next red light. Rayla took her eyes off the road to glare at Callum with full force as Taylor Swift’s voice filled her little car. “Where did you even find that?”

Her best friend gave a knowing smirk. “It was actually at the top of the pile. Which is weird, since you supposedly hate Taylor Swift.”

The light turned green, and Rayla was forced to look away, though her ears still burned. “I never said I hated all her music. Just the new stuff.”

“Oh, so you’re a country Taylor fan?”

“If you don’t shut up and change the music before Andromeda gets in this car I swear to god I will throw you onto the concrete.”

Callum responded by nonchalantly tossing his legs onto the dashboard. “What, like we don’t all already know you’re not as badass as you pretend to be? You’ve got a reputation to hold with us?”

“I hate you.”

He dragged a hand through his fluffy brown hair, leaning further back in the seat. “No, you love me.”

Rayla gave him her middle finger, even as her face seemed to suddenly catch fire. If only you knew.

Thankfully, she pulled up outside of Andromeda’s house just in time. The other girl could diffuse some of the sudden tension, and maybe in a few minutes Rayla could look back at Callum without her head going all fuzzy.

“Hellooooo fellow sexy people!” Andromeda crooned as she plopped into the backseat, “How are we all feeling this fine evening?”

Glancing behind him, Callum’s eyes widened at the other girl’s outfit. She was completely decked out in the colors of Katolis High School, red and gold covering her entire body.

“I thought you were just wearing that getup for the first game?”

Andromeda shrugged. “Why not for every game? It’s fun.” She tugged at the red and gold jersey emblazoned with the number eight, then twirled her silvery hair tied into two pigtails with red ribbon.

“Let’s go get Callisto,” Rayla suggested, pulling out of her friend’s driveway.

“Perfect,” Andromeda replied.

As they drove, Rayla continued to speak, “Ground rules: you and Callisto keep your hands to yourselves in my car. I don’t care what you do at the game, but I’m not having any bodily fluids on my nice seats. Am I clear?”

“You and Callum with your ground rules,” The other girl sighed, “But fine. You two clearly think way worse of us than we actually are, though.”

Rayla and Callum shared a grin between them. Andromeda and Callisto were great on their own, but ever since they’d begun dating freshmen year they’d starting getting all handsy. Rayla knew, because Andie shared everything with her, that they hadn’t gone all the way, not yet.

Key word: yet.

And god help her, they were not going to complete their yet in her backseat.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up to Callisto’s house finding them similarly decked out for the Friday night game.

“Well now I’m feeling underdressed,” Callum snorted, glancing at the couple behind him. True to their word, they were keeping a perfectly respectable distance, but everyone knew it wouldn’t last.

“You’re wearing red,” Callisto suggested awkwardly, gesturing to his read scarf. “Just not the right shade.”

“I’ve got extra ribbons for my hair, if you want some, Rayla,” Andromeda offered.

As they pulled into the stadium parking lot, the sun rapidly setting behind them, Rayla turned back to her friend with a grin. “Yes please. You’re so good at hair, Andie.”

The group piled out of the car, Callisto and Andromeda holding hands, as expected. Callum turned to her with a smile and offered his arm. Nudging his side affectionately, Rayla hooked it with her own, desperately trying to keep her face from reddening.

Soon enough they were inside the stadium, and Callum had let go of her arm to pull out his phone and ask where the rest of their friends were. Rayla’s phone buzzed, probably from the group chat, and she opened it up to find where Claudia, Ram, and Skor were sitting.

Claudia: We’re on the far right of the bleachers

Claudia: Kind of near where the band is sitting. We’ve got a really good view close to the top

Ram: Hurrrrry

Andromeda: stfu ram, we’re coming

Ram: If Callisto’s with you then you’ll certainly be coming ;)

Andromeda: I’m going to obliterate your tiny twig ass

Claudia: ANYWAY

Claudia: My friend Nyx from theater class is here, is it okay if she sits with us? Maybe not for the whole game bc she says her friends are coming but just for the start

Their small group began to make their way to the far side of the stadium, where Claudia said they were, while Andromeda still had her nose in her phone. Probably insulting Ram, if Rayla had to guess. The idea of another person staying with them bothered her, if she was honest. They already had their friend group; they didn’t need to add anyone else.

Callum: Yeah sure, it’s fine

With a slight sigh, Rayla followed her friends up the steps of the bleachers until Claudia came into view, standing up and waving. Callum bounded up the stairs, a wide grin on his face. When he reached her, Claudia gave him a quick hug, then released him to reach for Rayla.

“Everyone, this is Nyx!” After hugging everyone, Claudia turned towards her other friend to introduce her. Nyx was sitting casually on the metal seats, and she gave a cheerful wave.

“Hi Nyx,” Everyone seemed to chorus in unison, making the other girl chuckle slightly.

Soon everyone had settled onto the metal bleachers, waiting for the game to begin. Tonight they were going against Neolandia, a longtime rival. The other school had a bit of a reputation for playing dirty, and everyone had resolved to keep a sharp eye out during the game for any instance of foul play.

But every thought about the impending football game flew from Rayla’s head as Callum leaned against her side, his soft hair brushing right below her eyes.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked, giving a pointed glance to her bare arms.

“I probably will be later,” She admitted, taking in her outfit. Jeans, Converse, and a red and gold t-shirt wouldn’t do much to shield her from the cold when the sun went down.

“Just tell me and I’ll share my jacket,” Callum promised with a good-natured laugh. Rayla’s eyes widened a bit. Was he serious?

She was jolted from her thoughts by a sudden tap on her shoulder. Andromeda sat behind her, several hair ties and various ribbons clutches in her hands.

“Braids or pigtails, Rayla?”

“Er…” Slightly unsure, she took one of the red ribbons from her friend’s hand and twisted it slightly in her own.

“Braids,” Callum finished the sentence for her, “Your hair looks good in braids.”

“It really does look good like that,” Andromeda hummed appreciatively, dragging Rayla to sit closer to her so she could brush her fingers through her silver hair.

With the motion of Andromeda rhythmically combing her hair, Rayla allowed herself to relax in the familiarity of her friends. All around her they talked idly, Claudia’s snort-laugh punctuating sentences, Callum’s voice cracking providing plenty of entertainment.

The buzzer rang to begin the game just as Andromeda tied off the second braid, flicking both of them over Rayla’s shoulders so she could see them better.

“Oh, they’re so pretty!” She leaned back to give Andromeda a hug. “Thanks, Andie.”

“GO SOREN!” Claudia screamed suddenly, causing Rayla to nearly topple backwards into Andromeda’s lap. Everyone around them flinched, and they got a couple dirty looks from the other spectators.

Claudia didn’t seem to care, though. She was standing, cheering ecstatically for the blob moving down below, who must have been Soren. At some point she’d acquired pom-poms. From where, Rayla had no clue.

Callum and Rayla shared a look, neither of them lasting very long before bursting out laughing. If Claudia noticed, she didn’t show it, and kept cheering in the stands for her older brother.

“Woohoo!” Andromeda pumped her fist, though she didn’t stand up and join the junior girl. Instead she scooted over on the metal seat to sit next to Callisto, nearly tossing herself in their lap. Her partner just rolled their eyes and wrapped an arm around Andromeda’s waist.

Claudia’s cheering eventually faded into the background, letting Rayla focus on the field. They were rapidly taking yard lines, but it was only the first quarter. Things could change. Though she sure hoped not; if they were going to lose a game to anyone it had better not be Neolandia.

Then, on the next play, someone tossed the ball high and far, and Rayla was on the edge of her seat, and it was getting closer and closer to the endzone-

“TOUCHDOWN!” Claudia roared, sweet demeanor evaporating in the spirit of the game. “WE GOT A TOUCHDOWN!”

“We got a what?” Callum glanced up from his sketchbook. Both Rayla and Claudia whipped around to glare at him, neither realizing he’d brought it out. In an unspoken agreement, Claudia distracted him with a piercing stare, giving Rayla just the opening she needed to snatch the book from his hands.

“Hey!” The other boy yelped, but it was too late, and Rayla was already sprinting down the steps of the bleachers, sketchbook in hand.

“You’ll get it back after you watch the game!” She shouted from below, sticking her tongue out to blow a raspberry.

“Oh, very mature Rayla!”

“Come watch the game!”

His pout was absolutely adorable, and Rayla flushed at the thought, waving the stolen sketchbook high in the air. “Come watch with me!”

Finally, he relented, though not without a fair amount of complaining and cursing as he traipsed down the bleachers to get to her side.

“You are an evil person.”

She giggled, tucking the book under an arm. “I’m the weirdly sexy villain on a kids’ TV show.”

Callum just sighed. “Not funny.”

“Excuse you!” Rayla shot back, giving a dramatic wail, “I am the funniest person in this entire school!”

He made a weak grab for his sketchbook, but Rayla simply danced out of the way. “Nuh uh, no sir. You are going to watch the game with me.”

“But I don’t even know how football works,” Callum complained, gesturing to the field. The timer was paused, and Katolis was ahead, though not by much. It was going to be a tight game.

“Then I’ll teach you. And you’ll have fun, and learn to enjoy football, and we can all be a big happy friend group and you won’t have your face buried in a sketchbook.”

“For the record, I like having my face buried in a sketchbook-”

“Nonsense!” Rayla exclaimed, “You’re going to have fun. Without this old thing.”

“Alright, alright,” Callum sighed, “I’ll put it away. Can I please have it back?”

Rayla finally relented with a triumphant grin. “Let’s go back up top; you can see way better. Plus we’re near the band so we get to hear their stand tunes up close and personal.”

They arrived back at their seats just as the timer started again, and Rayla began her intense rundown of the inner workings of football. Callum tried to pay attention, but she could tell everything was going right over his head. Finally, she just settled for, “Cheer whenever our side is cheering, and you’ll fit right in.”

In the time it took to explain the first quarter had nearly ended, with Neolandia pulling ahead. Claudia was doing an elaborate pompom routine to rival the cheerleaders down below, even involving Nyx for parts.

“Gimme an S! Gimme an O! Gimme a R-E-N! What does that spell!?”

“Soren!” Nyx finished, and Claudia waved her pompoms triumphantly. Rayla watched them both with slightly piqued interest, flicking her ribbon-braided hair back and forth over her shoulder.

“Rayla, Callum-” She was pulled from her thoughts by Skor’s booming voice as he walked near them. “First quarter is over, we’re going to get some snacks. Come with?”

“I’m starving!” Callum chuckled, “It’s definitely time to stuff my face with junk food.”

“There’s the football game spirit!” Rayla cheered, clapping her friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go consume sugar-rich foods in unhealthily excessive portion sizes!”

The small group left Nyx and Claudia to their pompoms, and Callisto and Andromeda to… whatever it was they were doing. Perhaps trying to fuse their faces together? Whatever it was, it was gross and making everyone want to leave for a minute.

Beneath the bleachers was crowded with students and parents alike. Callum linked one hand with her, offering the other to Ram, attempting to keep from losing their group in the crowd.

It was a struggle to keep her face neutral. All her thoughts suddenly surged away from her head, instead focusing on that single point of contact. Were her hands sweating? God, she hoped they weren’t. She hoped she wasn’t the only one feeling too many emotions to count.

In the line for the snack bar (or, what she hoped was the line, as it was too crowded to properly tell) Callum didn’t meet her eyes, but his grip was firm as he pointed out the menu. Ram and Skor stood nearby, having foregone holding Callum’s other hand. Rayla wasn’t sure if she was happy for it or not.

“If we pool our money we can get a hot dog for everybody,” Skor suggested, “And maybe some popcorn too.”

“Yeah,” Callum agreed, “Let’s get a few popcorns and we can all share in pairs. Like you two, Claudia and Nyx, me and Rayla, and then the two leeches.”

“If they ever come up for air,” Rayla snickered, and she was greeted with Callum’s resounding voice-cracky laugh, and he truly turned to meet her eyes.

“Wanna bet they’ll eat it out of each others’ mouths?”

Rayla pretended to gag, “They’d better not.”

“Oh! Wait! They’ll eat the hot dogs like in the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp!” Ram snickered, and his suggestion was met with varying levels of disgust.

Finally, it was their turn to order. As they all gathered up their food Rayla could hear the buzzer on the field and more cheering from their side, so she hustled her friends back onto the bleachers.

Just in time, too. On the field, the ball flew into the endzone, and the entire Katolis side erupted into cheers. The band started playing a tune, and the cheerleaders began a mini routine.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER!” Claudia screamed over the roaring of the stadium, bouncing so hard Rayla wondered how she hadn’t simply flown away yet. Andromeda was standing on her seat to cheer, Callisto’s arm wrapped her around her waist to keep her steady.

“Gold! And red! We’ll knock ‘em dead!” On the edge of the field, the cheerleaders chanted carrying it throughout the stands. The band kicked into a higher gear, playing the school’s iconic fight song that had everyone clapping to the beat. Out on the field, Rayla could spot Soren’s blond head among the other players, pumping his fists in triumph.

“So I’m assuming we did something good?” Callum shouted over the din, wading through the throng of people to sit back down on their metal seats. One of his hands was still attached to hers, and Rayla had no intentions of letting go any time soon.

“Yes, dummy!” She giggled back, pointing to the scoreboard. They finally were able to reach their seats, and plopped back down while the cheers began to fade. Callum had been holding one of the bags of popcorn, and he placed it between them so they both could share. Ram and Skor passed out the rest of the food, and the group all relaxed once more.

When the game was finally up and running again, Nyx turned away from Claudia’s intense one-woman cheer session to face Rayla and Callum, plopping pieces of popcorn in her mouth. Her eyes, one blue and one amber, honed in on Rayla in such a way that an embarrassed flush crept up her cheeks with little warning.

“You two look cozy,” She remarked with a smirk. Rayla’s face burned hotter, and she resisted the urge to scoot away. Callum blinked in surprise, glancing between Rayla and Nyx.

“Callum’s my best friend,” Rayla replied, though it sounded lame, even to her. “We’ve always been close.”

The other girl just smiled broader. “It’s so cute. At least you guys are way more subtle than those two over there.” She gave a pointed glance behind them, and Rayla didn’t even have to turn to know that Andromeda and Callisto were making out. Again.

“Oh, uh, we’re- we’re not dating…” Callum said awkwardly.

“You’re not?” Nyx blinked up in mock surprise. “I mean, you’re sharing a popcorn, she’s practically in your lap-”

“I am not!” Indignantly, Rayla shot a glare at the other girl.

Nyx just rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, lovebugs.” Reaching for more popcorn, she turned back around in her seat to chat with Claudia some more.

“Well, she’s something,” Callum muttered under his breath, “Going out and assuming things.” He met Rayla’s eyes, then looked away just as quickly, like he hadn’t meant to be heard. “I mean, us dating?”

Rayla’s whole face was on fire. Scratch that, her whole body was on fire. Was she having a panic attack? Is this what a panic attack felt like?

“Crazy, huh?” The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. The two teenagers shared an awkward laugh that did nothing to lessen the tension, then went back to eating their popcorn.

Rayla didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

The rest of the game was a blur she hardly remembered, points and scores blending from one to the next. On the outside she was smiling, laughing, cheering. On the inside she was empty.

Before long the last buzzer had rung, and Katolis had won the game by the skin of their teeth. The band played their final tune, and everyone began to vacate the stands.

With the crowd that had come to the game, it took a while to make it back to Rayla’s car. They said their goodbyes to their friends while they walked their separate ways, promising to see them again on Monday.

It was pretty late, nearly 10:30, so the chatter that had filled the car on the way in had lessened now. Andromeda and Callisto were even talking, rather than engaged in a lip-lock. In the passenger seat, Callum once again had his feet up on the dashboard, and was sketching by the light of the stadium floodlights as they waited their turn to leave the parking lot.

When they finally exited, the talking stilled even further. There was no sound in the car save for the radio, and the quiet scratching of pencil lead on paper.

Callisto was dropped off first, Andromeda not too long after. And then it was just Rayla and Callum, alone once again.

She pulled into his driveway and put the car in park, letting it idle while he gathered his things. He reached for the door handle, but something stopped him. He turned back to face her.

“Rayla, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” She echoed, “For what?”

Callum scratched at the back of his neck. “For making things all awkward. You know I’m not good being put on the spot like that, but I just made things worse and I’m sorry.”

“You mean about Nyx?”

“Yeah.”

Rayla shrugged. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. It’s her who should be sorry, assuming and being an ass and all that.”

“Still.” Callum glanced down at his sketchbook, still open. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached down and tore out the page. Rayla only had enough time to furrow her eyebrows in confusion - Callum never tore out pages of his sketchbook - before the page was in her hands.

Oh.

It was a picture of her. She was smiling, and her hair was braided with ribbons. It was a picture of her just tonight.

“You’re my best friend, Rayla.” She glanced back up to see Callum’s earnest expression as he spoke. “I don’t wanna let something stupid come between us. Whatever Nyx said doesn’t matter, okay? We know what we are.”

“Yeah,” Rayla said, punctuating the sentence with a half-hearted laugh.

“Okay,” Callum chuckled, “Glad we’re on the same page. We communicate, you know?” His grin was real as he stepped out of the car.

“See you on Monday, Rayla.”

She waited for him to reach his front door, making sure he got inside safely, before she pulled away. She was so exhausted that she drove all the way home nearly in a daze (which would have been way more unsafe if she hadn’t just been driving through a neighborhood).

It wasn’t until she was back at home in her own driveway, car turned off, that everything truly hit.

If he hadn’t been clear before, he was crystal now. He may as well have outright said, ‘I just see you as a friend and I’ll never see you as anything else’. Maybe being so upfront would make things easier, and keep her from clinging to stupid, false hope.

Rayla refused to let herself cry. Don’t cry, not over him. He’s still your friend. Take what you can get.

So she got out of the car, went inside, and went to bed. And maybe she cried, just a little.

No, you love me, he’d said with that adorable little grin of his.

Okay, maybe more than just a little.

~~~~

a/n: AHHHHHH I feel bad for Rayla and I PUT HER THROUGH THIS PAIN. They never even got to share Callum's jacket because Nyx made things awkward :(

Tag List (comment to be added or removed):

@hipster-rapunzel

#mal writes fic #the dragon prince #tdp #rayllum #rayla x callum #rayla #callum #claudia #soren

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