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smolcinnamonchipmunk · 1 year

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Just Some Time Away

(Small feelsy oneshot. It’s vent-y, so, like, mentions of feeling useless, being a burden, all the good depressed shit)

Count: 2228

Syn was missing.

Now, it wasn’t uncommon for the Ramshackle prefect to end up at another dorm for the night for a variety of circumstances. If they weren’t at Ramshackle by morning, it could be expected for them to walk to classes with one of the many Housewardens or students. That’s what everyone was used to.

That’s what Grim was used to.

So, there was no worries the morning when he woke up and didn’t see them in the dorm. But, there was also no Syn on the way to class. Or in class. He had no answer when Professor Crewel asked him where the ‘other Ramshackle pup’ was and was told that points would be docked since they were meant to be a package deal for one student. If one half was missing, that meant only half points.

Half points?! Grim would definitely complain to Syn when he saw them. After all, his fr- I mean, henchman couldn’t just skip out on classes when it would affect him too!

Huffing after the first class, he found Deuce and asked him if he knew where Syn was. The Heartslabyul student didn’t. Both of them started to look for others to ask.

Ace, Trey, and Cater had no clue, Ruggie said the human hadn’t been around Savanaclaw, and they even gathered the nerve to ask Floyd, who told them that neither he or Jade had messed with them the day before. They continued asking. By the time lunch came around, most of the student body was buzzing with gossip about the missing prefect. Some took it as a good omen. After all, no one overblotted BEFORE the human somehow got on campus.

It was enough to get the Headmasters attention, though all Crowley did was assure Grim that Syn would be found ‘by any means necessary’. Though, they all knew he was just going to saddle the responsibility to the Housewarden’s after school. Which he did, to no one’s surprise.

Riddle was the first to assemble a search party, quickly followed by the rest. Even with Rook and Ortho on the case, none of them found further evidence of Syn on campus, and even looking through everyone’s dorm dimensions brought up no results. The Ramshackle ghosts had been questioned, but they only said that Syn had left the night before and never came back. They had to call off the search when midnight came around.

The next day was about the same, with no one knowing the Ramshackle prefect's whereabouts and a secondary search that was called off a bit before midnight, though some stayed up to look because the next day was the weekend.

__________________________

If Syn had to guess, it was around two in the morning when they gathered the nerve to climb back over the front campus fence. They hadn’t wanted to come back during the day where people would ask questions about where they’d been the last couple days.

They just wanted a break from everything a little bit. Their mood had been deteriorating for a while, and the large campus just suddenly felt too oppressive and suffocating, chest hurting from merely existing, so they gave into the overwhelming urge to leave. They’d never been one to run away from home or their responsibilities but… they just felt like they had to.

They wanted more time away, but they felt like everyone would start looking off-campus at that point.

Syn grunted a bit as the impact that ran up their legs from landing on the ground, brushing dirt off their pants and looking at the familiar campus through the line of trees against the fence. Reluctantly, they tried to take a deep breath past the ache in their chest and walked out. God, they were tired.

The quickest way to Ramshackle was walking down past the Hall of Mirrors to cross the bridge. They just hoped everyone would be asleep at this point. The only one they could think of being awake was Malleus, but he hadn’t been by their dorms for a while.

The quiet night left them deep with thoughts that had already been circling the last week as they walked, noticing movement by the crossroads next to the Hall of Mirrors in the light of the lamp posts while they walked down the steps. In the night, they couldn’t see who it was, but just pulled their hood over their head with the intent to skirt around them. They just wanted to go to Ramshackle and wallow until morning. Maybe longer.

If it was someone they knew, they’d hoped their backpack would have been enough to obscure the noticeable icon on the back, but the grey sleeves with a raven icon at the shoulder seemed just as iconic.

“Syn? Is that you?”

Azul’s voice made them pause before they could force themself to try and ignore him, chastising themself internally when the minute stop only confirmed the man’s suspicions. They sighed and braced themself for conversation, turning around to face the man as he walked closer, lowering their hood. “Hey, Azul. What’re you doing out here?”

“What am I doing out here,” Azul repeated in surprise, seemingly caught off guard by the question. He was still in uniform. “What are YOU doing out here? We’ve spent the last two nights searching for you at the Headmaster’s request. What happened?”

“What? Why,” Syn blinked in surprise, frowning a bit in confusion as they wondered why. Realization hit them and they let out a deep sigh. “I forgot to leave a note, didn’t I?”

“A note?”

“Yeah. I just needed some time away. Meant to leave a note,” Syn shrugged, starting to walk away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cause a whole thing.”

They found their elbow grabbed before they could make it more than three steps, jolting in surprise and looking at Azul. They could see his eyes were a bit dark underneath, but that was to be expected from anyone up at 2AM. What they were more surprised about was the fact that he’d grabbed them.

“‘Just needed some time away’? You look like you got into a fight and lost with two black eyes,” the man frowned, glancing them over.

They didn’t doubt that he’d notice that their clothes were disheveled and had dirt and dust, leaves from sleeping in trees and on the ground. Absentmindedly, they reached their other hand up and rubbed their palm against their cheek, hoping they’d washed away all of the dried tear tracks with the water they’d brought with them. They couldn’t have done anything about the bags under their eyes though. They suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, averting their gaze.

Their normal clothes never really felt like it meshed well with the fact that every dorm had a uniform but Ramshackle, but now they felt gross with their disheveled appearance.

“I’m just a bit tired. I’m sure you and the other Housewardens are probably worse off with the search parties and stuff,” they said, expecting that Crowley treated them going missing with the same Housewarden hunt that Grim got after he scratched them. Guilt gnawed at the already present ache, finding their thoughts souring more. They tugged their elbow experimentally, finding that his grip was pretty firm.

“I don’t think you understand how worried you made everyone,” Azul frowned, but they just sighed a bit at his words.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, okay? I meant to leave a note so that wouldn’t happen,” Syn tried to keep their cool, finding their frustration building. Why couldn’t they have just been able to get back to Ramshackle without running into someone? They supposed this was better than Riddle, at least. “I’ll apologize to everyone tomorrow when my phone is charged back up.”

“You didn’t even have phone access?! Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

“I TOLD you. I just needed some time away from everything, okay,” Syn snapped angrily, feeling everything just beneath the surface bubble up. The hand around their arm loosened slightly and they took advantage of Azul’s surprise by wrenching their elbow from his grasp and stepping away. “Look, you don’t have to pretend you care, alright?”

“I- What,” Azul’s eyes widened in surprise, his hand dropping slightly as they glared at him.

“Don’t play dumb with me, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” they kept an eye on him to make sure he wouldn’t step closer, just wanting to curl as far away from everything that they could. “You and the eels have made it pretty fucking clear that I’m just some sucker that doesn’t even know why they hang around you guys. You guys just want some entertainment, and everyone else that ‘cares’?

“They just pity the magic-less human on campus that can’t defend themself. After all, even if I was really strong or big like Jack, all it’d take is ONE well-placed shot to take me out,” their eyes narrowed, eyes stinging. Thankfully, no tears came, but they still felt the pain in their chest increase as they thought about their uselessness. A hand raised to clutch the front of their shirt slightly, as if it would make it easier to breathe. “Just cause I can’t do much of anything, that doesn’t mean any of you have to ‘look out for me’ or whatever, kay?”

Syn turned around to keep walking, vehemently adding, “I don’t see why you guys bother, anyways...”

They walked off before Azul could respond, ignoring him calling their name after a moment. They didn’t really want to hear him talk about their ‘tender disposition’ because that just meant ‘sensitive and easy to scam’, and they really didn’t think they could keep it together well enough to keep their anger in front of their sadness and despair. They were sure they were going to get an earful from everyone the next week anyways. The thought created an exhaustion deep into their bones.

Syn wished they’d stayed away longer now.

They sighed, continuing their walk to Ramshackle without further interruption, surprisingly enough. Tiredly shoving open the front door with a loud creak, they dropped their backpack on the floor carefully, not wanting to wake up Grim. Still, the floor creaked beneath them as they walked into the lounge and stopped in surprise.

Grim was asleep on the couch, something that caught them off guard given that they had their room with him. He was tossing and turning a lot more than in their room though, and they debated turning back and leaving again, finding themself choked up at the thought of facing Grim after basically abandoning him for a couple days… they felt worse that they’d forgotten the note…

But, before they could retreat, Grim flipped over and muttered in his sleep, startling them.

Syn stepped back, causing another creak that had the magical cat's eyes to open slightly.

“Syn, that you,” the cat asked groggily, eyes quickly taking them in. Before they could do anything, Grim was suddenly very awake and rushing towards them. “Syn!”

They yelped as he impacted against their chest, startled as he tried to wrap his paws around them the best that he could. They had expected this, but they still weren’t prepared for him to actually be bawling against them.

“Y-You’re okay!” Grim sniffled, burying his face against their shirt. “Myah! I-I didn’t know if you were gonna come back!”

“I-I’m sorry, Grim. I meant to leave a note, but I forgot,” Syn swallowed the lump in their throat, wrapping their own arms around him and patting him on the head. They began to feel tears well up in their eyes, more guilt piling on. But, they tried to lighten the mood for him, looking down and asking, “You didn’t commit any arson while I was gone, did you?”

They just got another wail that roughly translated to, “Why’d you leave?!”

Frowning, they gently pet him and walked towards the stairs with him in hold, sighing tiredly. “I just… had to go away for a bit, okay? I won’t do it again, alright?”

Grim sniffled as he looked up, asking, “Y-You promise?”

“I promise,” Syn gave him a reassuring smile past their exhaustion, giving him a scratch between the ears that he would usually complain was not dignified for the ‘Great Grim’ but that he leaned into this time. “I won’t leave like that again, Grim. Now, let’s both get some rest.”

They walked upstairs while continuing to give him calming pets, able to feel a light purr against their chest. When they made it to their room, the cat refused to leave their arms and they had to take off their shoes by pressing the heels against the floor, slumping into bed with their furry roommate clinging to them.

He fell asleep far quicker than they did, but they didn’t stop absentmindedly petting him. It was therapeutic for them and he didn’t allow it normally. They wished they had a normal cat… they wished they had THEIR cat.

Syn stared at the ceiling for a while longer, feeling drained. They didn’t know if it was worse than what they’d been feeling. They felt bad about Grim, but they just hoped he never felt like a burden, not like they did. No. No, they’d try to keep those thoughts away for the night.

They needed sleep if they were going to face everyone else.

#cinnwrites #twisted wonderland #twisted azul #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #syn #99 problems

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sunlitmcgee · 2 years

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A Simple Thanks

Typing this up the day before my graduation so it isn’t too rushed. It’s long, but if you’ve followed me from AO3 or just chill on my blog in general, feel free to glance under the cut and to witness my sappy rambles.

So...me, huh? Most of you know me. Most of you probably only know me through my various endnote rants on my AO3 works. You know my thoughts on the block people, mainly. As well as perhaps very vague details about my traumas and how they’ve influenced my views of the block people story, specifically c!Tommy and all he represents. I have always tried to be vague in those rambles. For privacy reasons, mainly. But also just coz I know that I don’t owe you guys anything more than what’s written in my silly little fics and the triggers in the notes on the top.

But, as I’m sure a few of you have noticed, I am actually gonna be graduating from high school soon. Tomorrow, to be precise! Crazy, ain’t it? Bet at least a few of you are surprised to know that the guy behind those feelsy fluffy stories is barely an Adult TM.

Or maybe you aren’t surprised. IDK.

Adult. I am an adult. I was not an adult when I first started on my fics. When I started on Heal What Has Been Hurt, I was still not yet an adult. I have become an adult over the course of me writing the story, as well as others like it, but even still, I am only just now taking that government-mandated right of passage into proper independant adulthood. I ain’t a kid anymore! And boy, that’s fucking terrifying.

I’ve grown a lot, since I found the Dream SMP.

I’ve learned a lot about myself. About my traumas. About my past relationships. Both through the canon source material, and through the hours and hours and hours spent tip tapping away on my phone or keyboard as I poured a bit of my soul out into a Google Doc and sent it off for the world to see.

I haven’t been shy about how bitter I am towards DSMP canon. You all know my thoughts. CCs cut the shit and treat the abuse plotline with respect, c!emerald duo die in a hole, c!beeduo be nice to the boyo again or so help me I’mma disown yo asses, etc, etc...

But...despite all of that...I am genuinely so happy that I discovered this story. That I met these characters. That I got to see them, know them, watch them struggle and fall utterly in love with everything they had to say. C!Benchtrio are my darlings forever. And no amount of horrible writing can ever take that away from me. And no amount of horrible writing will ever stop me from loving them enough to write them over and over in my own stories, whether it be in something long running like HWHBH, or shorter one shots where I just get to have them there As I Fell In Love With Them, and hopefully in such a way to where you all can still Be In Love With Them, regardless of canon or ccs being stupid.

I’m glad I am in this fandom. I am never going to leave. I am never going to stop writing, for myself firstly, and for all you lovely people secondly.

Even if I get busy with adult things.

Even if I get worn out and need to take breaks.

Even if I cry about lore every time I think of it to the point where I get a headache, I will NEVER give up on the DSMP as a whole. Nor will I stop writing for it. Nor will I stop loving what it meant before the ccs gave up.

And it’s gonna sound cheesy, i know. But were it not for all of your kind words of support, I doubt I’d ever have stuck with this story for as long as I have, nor that I would’ve ever come to love making stories of my own like I did long before my own exile.

And for that, I simple say, “Thank you. For being quite pog.”

But yeah. That’s all. I’mma go stand in a football field in a stupid robe now. Wish me luck, yall! :D

#rambles #HWHBH #writing stuff

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cangrellesteponme · 1 year

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🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

that is a good question that i can very easily answer, anon. if you've read more than one fic from me, you might've noticed i have... tendencies. two things!

1) characters affecting each other's sense of self. i know that sounds very vague but actually most of the time i pull the exact same shit to very concretely bring it up: changing names. in "You're my favourite", Sebastian keeping his name is really important, in Open The Door, Janus strips Virgil of his (relative) humanity by not using his name and vice-versa, in Breaking Point, Nines is literally named by Gavin, in Dichotomies, obviously the nicknames reflect what they see of each other and that's what matters more than the facts... and there are many more examples of that in my unposted, personal works. i just live for characters having bonds strong enough for it to be a part of them - i do know i write quite a bit of codependency, but we all have flaws and mine is never writing healthy relationships.

2) characters being seen. one of the recurrent themes of my writing is characters thinking TONS of stuff and saying very little of it because they simply cannot find or say the words. so they have this need to be seen and understood beyond the facades and the riddles and the silences - usually by close friends or love interests. i find it heartwarming when characters can trust their loved ones with the horrid mystery of their psyche and be certain that it will be understood. a clear example of that is that one throwaway line about Orym always trying to figure Imogen out in Thoughtful or Agni's behaviour in "You're my favourite". it also works very well with Deku being the hyperanalytical autistic to his impulsive, always masking autistic Kacchan in Dichotomies. a more subtle example is Bard seeing through Sebastian's BS in Staring Contest. again, codependency and the need to be perceived... i never said the feelsy interactions were going to be healthy!

so yeah these tropes have a grip on me and my vices.

#i'm a fanfic writer with ISSUES and i'm proud of it.#ota's ask answers

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

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tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet)

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal.

characters: takami keigo (hawks) x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), car sex, pro hero!reader, angst, emotionally unavailable hawks

notes: ta-dah!!! the car sex fic! this turned out way longer and way more feelsy than I ever intended it to be. but I’m grateful for the chance to show you how I play with plot and emotion as well as some good porn. porn with feelings, y’know?

EDIT: The supremely talented @la-saffron has created an absolutely spectacular piece of artwork for this fic! Please go and look at it right here, it’s really quite splendid

Masterlist

The shadowy trees on either side of the highway cast a chill across the pavement as the sky went dark.

It was far from sunset, but the woods were so tall and thick that the light had disappeared from the road a long time ago. The overpriced navigation system laid into the dashboard of Hawks’ luxurious car was no help at all; not when you were taking the only road for miles around.

The highway narrowly passed for two lanes, winding precariously down from the mountains. Dotted with reflective yellow signs- deer crossing, bear crossing, creatures-of-unimaginable-horror crossing. Bigfoot himself could have wandered into your headlights and you barely would’ve flinched.

But that was to be expected, given where you’d come from.

That day’s mission brought you both far, far away from the city. There was a national forest about three hours away- one of the biggest in the country- and you and Hawks had been called in at the crack of fucking dawn to drive all the way out to the woods and investigate some ‘strange reports,’ as the rangers cared to call them.

Most park rangers knew what they were seeing when guests came in from the woods reporting abnormal happenings. Nobody was truly immune to fear, though, when faced with the impossible.

Whether there were paranormal creatures lurking in those woods or not, you couldn’t have been sure. But after spending the day exhausting both your quirks combing every spare inch of those woods, you were relieved of your overnight duties by a group of other, more nature-savvy heroes.

Hawks had been miffed, but too exhausted to argue. He didn’t like to think he’d been overshadowed. You were just thankful to be going home to your own bed.

“Okay,” you sighed, nursing the last of a lukewarm soda from a burger joint at the edge of the only one-horse town you’d passed through. It was a pretty unassuming stop for dinner, but you and Hawks both agreed that the burgers were way too good to be sold to so few patrons.

Keigo was driving, with one palm splayed lazily across the bottom edge of the wheel. His scarlet wings stretched into the backseat, draping over the shoulders of his black leather backrest like some bizarre kind of seat cover.

The fact that his car was so luxurious was not lost on you- although you were more surprised to find out that he had one at all. Hawks seemed like the last person in the world to need a car, after living in a fantastic downtown penthouse. And owning a pair of wings, come to think of it.

He owned it because he could. And because he knew how good he looked in the driver’s seat.

“What?” He turned a curious eye toward you, though he never quite pulled his gaze from the road.

“I know we started this conversation on the way here,” you began, “but… we never exactly finished it.” You swirled what was left of the ice chips in the bottom of your cup, considering the best way to voice your thoughts.

“Alright.” He sounded vaguely amused, slouching a little further down and drawing an idle palm over his feathered hair. “Shoot.”

“Well…” You trailed off. “You’re kind of… a city guy.” You were already starting to talk with your hands. The racket coming from your half-drunk soda was proof enough.

“What makes you say that?”

“You are,” you defended. You let a playful edge creep into your tone. “And the agency’s kind of a city thing.”

“Am I really as one-note as you’re making me out to be?” He was chuckling. Your cheeks were going hot. You weren’t sure how this became a personal conversation, but you were determined to steer it in the proper direction. You course corrected.

“I just mean, we don’t take a lot of jobs outside the city. Like… ever. So, what’s with this one? Why this call?”

He didn’t answer right away. When you glanced across the car, he was licking his lips and appearing to be, very genuinely, thinking.

“Well,” he began. There was an immensely appealing depth that wore around the edges of his voice when he was deep in thought. You hung on tightly, trying your best to hide how intently you listened.

“I was just… bored, I guess.” He gave a lazy little shrug. His eyes were still trained on the windshield, but you could feel the weight of his urges. He wanted to look over. You turned your head, willing him to.

“Probably sounded like bullshit, now that I think about it,” he confessed, “but if there really was somethin’ freaky in those woods… I dunno. I wanted to see it.”

You resisted the urge to snort.

“Maybe you should start a ghost hunting branch at the agency.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he protested. This time, he really did drag his eyes away from the road for a second. They glinted playfully in the dark. You got a flash of pearly canine from the barest hint of a grin, but it was enough to put a stupid smile right across your face.

A sickening thud from beneath the hood zapped any false confidence you’d been building. There was a dull pop, then the engine died.

“What the- shit.” Hawks scrambled to put both hands on the wheel, navigating the car with what momentum remained over to the narrow shoulder. The tires hit gravel and soft mud, rolling pathetically to a stop and settling in damp silence.

“What the hell was that?” You leaned over the dashboard as your pulse came down from near-terminal velocity. There were half a dozen lights blinking away on the dashboard- symbols you couldn’t understand.

“Not sure.” Keigo was doing his best not to sound too perturbed. As a result, he was just perturbed enough.

You knew what those lights implied, though. Service due. Oil change due. Battery maintenance due.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, “when was the last time you took this car in for service? It’s a miracle you even made it out of the goddamn garage.”

Hawks was in the process of mashing the engine start button like an arcade game. When you spoke up, he pushed it down and held. The engine gave a dull, sad sort of sputter, but nothing roared to life.

“Look, look,” he dismissed, waving a hand in your direction as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I don’t drive this thing that often, okay? I’m gonna go check under the hood.”

He climbed out of the driver’s side and slammed the door before giving you the chance to remind him to pop the hood. For a minute, you let him wallow in his mistake, watching gleefully as he pried at the seam of it. Finally, you unbuckled yourself and leaned over, flicking the release for him.

He gave an unamused glance toward the windshield and lifted the hood, obscuring all but the very tips of his drooping wings from view.

After about fifteen seconds, he ducked back into the car with a rush of cold air behind him. He rubbed his palms together as you watched, arms folded over your chest.

“So?” You prompted. He gave a sideways glance in your direction, blowing into his chilled hands.

“So what?”

“Oh my g- what’s wrong with the car?” You tried your best not to let panic set in.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bunch of pipes and wires under there. They didn’t exactly give me a map of the thing when I bought it.”

You’d seen Hawks pull people out of burning buildings before. You’d see him think on his feet, devise a plan and act on it in the blink of an eye. Usually, he was impulsive. Confident. Clever.

Tonight, on the other hand, he was demonstrating a very clear affinity for money over brains.

You flopped into your seat, scrubbing your hands over your face. You were not going to freak out. You refused to. It didn’t matter that Keigo had suddenly become useless in the face of disaster. You were heroes, even if you had to save your damned selves.

“Oh,” he quipped from beside you. “Still got bars. See?” As you peeked over at him through one cracked eyeball, he waved his illuminated phone screen at you. “It could be worse, kid. If this were a horror movie, this thing’d be dead.”

He tapped away on the screen, seeming very pleased with himself. Even his wings gave a little ruffle, draping themselves smoothly over the back of his seat again.

“I’ll call us a tow. We’ll be outta here in no time.”

A few minutes later, you had a map pulled up on your phone while Hawks’ brow creased deeper and deeper.

“Uh-huh.” His voice had taken on that irresistible deepness to it again, but this time it was sending pangs of dread through your gut.

“Right.” He brought a palm up to smooth over his jaw, fingertips bending and pressing idly against the patches of scruff that dusted it. “Y-yep, yeah, I understand. Fifty miles is a long way. I know it’s gonna be a lot to send a truck that far. But-“

As he was abruptly cut off by the other end of the line, those idle fingers slipped up to his temple, pressing inward and rubbing in stiff little circles.

“Okay. Alright. Yeah, I guess we’ll wait, ‘cause there’s not much else we can… I understand. Yes, thank you. Thank you. Okay, we’ll be here. Or within a ten-foot radius. Thanks. B-“

He blinked rapidly at the screen as he pulled it away from his ear. “Have an excellent night, sir,” he muttered under his breath. He let out a deep sigh, lifting a hip to tuck his phone away again.

“They said they would send someone,” he said, “but the depot is, like, fifty miles from here. Could be a couple of hours.”

“A couple hours?” That cold dread was settling into your chest again. So much for sleeping in your own bed.

“Yeah. C’mon, get out.”

“What?” You glanced past him at the frosted driver’s side window. “It looks freezing out there.”

“Well then, you’d better bundle up. C’mon. I’m gonna fly us back to the city.”

“No way. Hawks- Keigo.” You grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly as he made to get out of the car.

“What?” Exasperation was creeping into the edges of his voice. The sides of his gaze, too, as he landed against the seat back with a thud and turned his cheek to look at you.

“You’ve been flying all day. Your wings are shot. You’re not flying anywhere.”

“What? They’re fine.” He gave the appendages in question a defiant flutter and a cloud of expiring feathers floated into the backseat.

You folded your arms across your chest. Hawks gave a frustrated growl.

“What do you suggest, then?” He retorted in fierce opposition to your silence. “Just sit around and fucking… die of old age before the tow truck comes?”

“Oh my god, you’re the number two hero,” you snapped back. “When did you become such a drama queen? Yes, we’re going to wait. Like a normal person would have to.”

“I’m not being dramatic; I’m presenting you with a legitimate solution and you’re ignoring it!”

“If you try to fly us both out of here, you’re gonna hit the ground before we’re halfway home. And then we’ll be really stranded, with no water and no shelter. So, if you’d like to fly back all by yourself, I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to let you kill both of us.”

“Fine!” Hawks’ cheeks were flushed with temper as he kicked the door open and clambered out of the car. He kicked it shut again so hard the whole body rocked, and for a moment you were left, trapped in shocked silence.

He was really going to leave you out here. Alone.

Half a dozen heartbeats passed before his boots crunched on the shoulder and he wrenched the door open again, flopping back into the car with an immense sigh of irritated defeat.

“Fuckin’ freezing out there,” he muttered as quietly as possible.

You wanted to punch him.

“You ready to wait?”

His wings stiffened behind him, then drooped so lowly they seemed to disappear into the backseat. He looked at you from the corner of one tawny eye.

“Yeah.”

For the first hour, you honestly enjoyed yourself. As soon as Keigo accepted his fate, he got much closer to his usual mellow self. You finished off cold fries from dinner, listened to true crime podcasts on your phone, (you listened- he talked over the whole thing) and played a few ruthless games of hangman on a couple of napkins you found in the glove compartment.

You’d spent a lot of time with Hawks in a professional capacity. As partners, you took most of your missions together. You were well-versed in the way that he liked to think, the way he approached a job, a conversation. You worked well with each other and you were drawn to his quick wit and laid-back humour. Even if he was a piece of work at times, you made a strong team. But you didn’t do a whole lot of hanging out.

“Okay, that’s it,” he chided as you added an extravagant top hat to the completed, dressed hangman scrawled onto the inside fold of your last napkin. The word he’d failed to guess was ‘patience,’ and the irony of his struggling was not lost on you.

“Aw, c’mon,” you protested. “You’ve still got gloves and a bow tie left.”

“No, no, no.” He held up a palm, shaking his head. There was a good-natured grin curling his lip as he bowed toward the door. “I’m callin’ it. I gotta take a leak.”

You snatched your soda cup from the drink holder, clutching it protectively against your chest.

“You’re not going in here.”

Next, it was Hawks’ turn to shoot you a deadpan stare.

“How about in the woods? Is that allowed?”

Your cheeks went hot. “It’s pretty dark out there.”

“Aw.” Hawks shoved the door open. There was an unfamiliar glint to his eye as he tossed a mischievous look over his shoulder. “Guess you won’t be able to sneak a peek, then.”

You slammed your fist into his back. “Shut up and go take a piss.”

As the car door clicked shut, you turned the other way out of sheer habit. All you could see in the opposite window was the reflection of your own face. Maybe it was just the dim light, but you looked exhausted. Keigo had seen you caked in blood, streaked by mud and soot before. But you’d both been awake since four o’clock that morning and there was a special kind of ugly feeling that came with overtiredness.

You were dreaming about the first thing you’d do when you got home again when Hawks climbed back into the car. He looked considerably brighter as he ducked inside, and he brought a flush of rich, earthy forest-smell along with him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t find it in the cold out there,” you quipped. Payback.

But Keigo just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Close the door,” you whined as the frigid air from outside finally reached your bare arms. “It’s already cold enough in here.”

“Aw,” he crooned, tugging the door shut behind him. “You scared of a little cold now, kid? It’s not so bad out there. Feel.”

He lunged at you, ducking rapidly to rub his frigid cheek against your shoulder. You let out a terse yelp and squirmed, trying to shove him back amid a sea of chilled giggles. He got a few passes of his icy skin on yours before you both realized how close you’d gotten.

Hawks cleared his throat and scooted away from you. In the bare light from the shitty overhead lamp, you were starting to see the outline of a flush creeping into his cheeks.

The light abruptly went out, leaving you in darkness again.

“Tell me something,” he mused, grabbing for the abandoned takeout bag and digging a hand into it. He produced a tiny wrapped square and tore it open with his teeth, removing the folded alcohol wipe from inside and gliding it with impossible grace over his fingertips. He eyed you sideways.

“How come we don’t hang out more?”

Your chest went cold. You’d been dreading that question all night. Longer than that, even.

“What d’you mean?” It was a gut response, but you instantly kicked yourself for even attempting to play dumb.

“You know,” he chided, dumping the wipe back into the paper bag once he was finished with it. “We work. We do interviews together. We do those bullshit PR functions together. I’ve known you- what, two years? And we’ve never even been for a drink. What gives, kid? Don’t tell me I grate on you.”

“I get plenty of you on company time,” you retorted. You were starting to panic. You weren’t ready for this conversation, but it didn’t seem like you were going to be rescued by the timely arrival of the tow truck.

“Okay, okay, I’d take that,” he laughed, “if you hadn’t agreed to take this mission with me. C’mon, this wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five gig.”

He paused. “Come out with me this weekend.” He nudged your shoulder with a bony elbow. You tried your best not to snap.

“Stop,” you pressed quietly. “You know why we don’t.”

The smirk slipped from Keigo’s face.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Wait a second, there’s an actual reason? What the hell is it?”

The confusion was genuine on his face. Hawks could be a smarmy little shit when he wanted to be. But you could tell he wasn’t fucking with you.

“Oh my god.” The words slipped out like a deep breath. Your hand drifted to your mouth as cold shock ran over your skin. “You really don’t remember.”

“No.” His confusion was bordered with fear. He sat back a little, letting his eyes drift over your expression. “No, I really don’t.”

You swallowed hard. You should have known that you’d have to talk about this eventually. But he didn’t even remember the night that had been changing the way you acted around him for nearly a year.

“Last Christmas,” you began. Your breath was so short that it put a desperate hush to your voice that you absolutely hated. You revelled in your ability to act casual around him, but the more probing he got, the harder that composure was slipping.

“At the agency gala. You remember the party, right?”

Hawks rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and I got trashed.” He paused. Realization dawned on his face, and he shot you the deepest, most sincere look of concern you’d ever seen. Even more sincere than the look that crossed his face when you got shot off the roof of a house and broke a rib.

He leaned forward.

“Did I do something?” He swept a palm over his mouth, fingertips dallying at his chin. You knew exactly how he felt in that moment. You’d been there before, too, realizing that you’d lost control. Blacked out. Understanding that you might have done something you were going to regret.

“You really don’t remember a thing?” It was your turn to be horrified. How could something that consumed your every thought stay so damned far from his?

His fingers were still curved around the point of his chin. He’d gone white, and he shook his head as his eyes cast down to his lap.

“You fucking kissed me, okay?” You snarled with a whip of frustration. “There was mistletoe and you kissed me under it and-and Christ, I can’t believe you.”

“What? What?” He demanded as his voice grew defensively sharp.

“I had no idea what you were gonna do. What you were gonna say, what was gonna change between us. I showed up to the agency the next morning and your hungover ass acted like nothing had ever happened.”

“Of course I did,” he defended, “I didn’t think anything did happen. Oh my God, did I really kiss you?” His wings were coming to life all of a sudden, bristling on either side of his seat. There was a dull whisp as one edge of them brushed against the window. They seemed to expand, along with his horror, to fill the entire car.

He pushed further. “Well, did you… did you want me to?”

You could see where his thoughts were taking him. The answer was an impossible dilemma. To lead him further down that path would not only be cruel, it would be untrue. But to tell him the truth- that you had wanted it- would be to shatter the fragile illusion of casual, platonic intimacy that you’d been building over the last two years.

You chewed your lower lip. Hard enough to hurt.

“Oh god, you didn’t,” he gasped. That was enough for you to lift your chin and shoot him a sudden, sad, pathetic little look.

“Jesus,” he gasped again, deeper this time. “You did.”

“Look,” you snapped. “I was never gonna say anything to you. I was never gonna push it. You didn’t feel that way and I knew that and I just wanted to work.”

He told you enough about his personal life as it was. Every date he swung in from on Monday morning, every Friday night he spent preening in the last hours of the workday hurt enough already. If you’d grown close, fallen harder, it would’ve become too much to bear.

“What do you mean, I didn’t feel that way? What way don’t I feel? How could you even know that?” He was beginning to raise his voice back at you and the adrenaline was pushing you way too far to listen.

“Because you never said a fucking word to me about that kiss! You pretended like it never even happened, Kei! What was I supposed to think!”

“If you’d asked me, you woulda known that I didn’t speak up ‘cause I didn’t remember a goddamn thing!” Keigo jammed a finger into his temple. His golden eyes flashed. He was so fucking hot when he was angry, but this was not a fight you ever wanted to have.

Luckily for you, he was having it without you.

“What do you want me to say to that?” He snarled. “Huh? What- you want me to tell you that I’m sorry for not having psychic powers? That I’m sorry I didn’t hire a mind-reader to tell me what the fuck was going on with you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. You were on the verge of tears.

“I-I never-“ you began, but Keigo beat you to the punch,

“You know, maybe I noticed that you were actin’ funny around me. And maybe I should’ve asked. But maybe if you ask yourself, and if you really, honestly give yourself the truest answer, you’d be able to admit that you knew how I felt about you. That you always knew.”

“Of course I knew!”

Your response echoed raw and deafening in the silence of the car. You’d lost your temper and shouted it at him with every decibel left in your breathless chest. Your fists were clenched atop your frigid thighs as you bent over in your seat, shivering. To your immense embarrassment, warm tears trickled down the sides of your nose.

He was right, after all. Every sideways smile he’d given you was just a little too broad to be friendly. Every time he caught you by the hand, he held it just a little too long. Every time he offered you the crook of his elbow at a stuffy charity gala and every time he poured you into a cab at the end of the night, he promised to take good care of you. Every time he looked at you at all it was with a depth that you had recognized, but never understood.

“But look at us, Kei. Look at what we do to each other.”

You sniffled, scrubbing tears off your cheeks with the heels of your hands. He reached for you, seeking to comfort, but his hands twitched midair and he drew back instead.

“Yeah,” he croaked. You tossed a glance in his direction. He looked more dejected than you’d seen him in a long time. He rested both hands on top of the wheel, the rest of his body sagging against the seat back.

“Except now I’ve told you,” you continued. “And now we both know, so everything’s fucked no matter what.”

You were met with silence. The truth was dawning on you. You hated to even consider it, but it felt like what needed to be done.

“When we get back to the city,” you started. Hawks interrupted you with a low rasp of your name.

“No, when we get back, I’m giving you my resignation.”

“Fuck, stop.”

Keigo lunged, grabbing you by the back of the neck and pulling you toward him. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. The warmth of his closeness weighed on you like a heavy quilt. You couldn’t even pretend not to be immensely comforted by affection from him.

“I’m not gonna let you do that, kid.”

You were both drawing deep breaths- slow, rolling gulps of air that matched over gradual time. You licked your lips, bracing your chilled palms on his shoulders. Your fingertips brushed the very edges of his feathered hair, dull and soft in the dark.

You’d talked each other down from bigger, badder edges before. But this one had sharp, jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. This one, you were going to have to jump from together.

“I can’t do this,” you pleaded. “I can’t keep myself away from you like this.”

“Don’t.” His voice was hushed and so achingly tender, like he couldn’t take the command himself.

“I can’t-“

“Then, don’t.”

He was firmer this time, and the pad of his thumb brushed the bottom of your lip. He pulled back just a hair, grazing the tip of his nose across yours. The heat of his breath puffed over your lips and his blonde eyelashes threatened to tickle your cheek.

He drew in a slow, calculated breath.

“Lemme kiss you. Lemme try again. I’m not gonna forget it this time, I swear.”

“Keigo, please.”

“Just lemme try. Just once. I’ll never ask you again, if you don’t want me to.” He pulled back the rest of the way and your body keened at the loss, but he looked deeply into your eyes. Deeply like he’d never been allowed to look before.

You licked your lips. Considered it for half a heartbeat. Then you gave a slow little nod.

“Okay.”

To your surprise, he didn’t lunge again. He took his time with you. He cupped your cheeks tenderly between his bare palms, memorizing the curve of your face. He stared, taking you in like this. At his mercy.

Finally, he leaned in and captured your mouth in a soft kiss, heartbreakingly loving. You responded eagerly, blossoming beneath his touch and bracing your hands on the broad plane of his chest. Your fingers curled in the fleece that lined his coat.

You kissed back with near-desperate urgency, shamelessly showing him how touch-starved you’d become. Dating was pointless when Keigo stole your whole heart every time you showed up to work.

The quiet press of his tongue had your jaw going slack in his hands. Your kiss went needy all at once, and he licked into your mouth with a hunger behind his movements that you never anticipated sensing from him.

You broke from him first, turning your cheek to him as your lungs burned. Your mouth was swollen, and you gasped greedily for whatever stale air lingered between you. He grabbed your chin and forced your eyes back to his.

His gaze was fearsome. Ravenous. You were powerless beneath it.

You combed your fingers through his hair like you’d always wanted to, settling your palm at the nape of his neck. Your own voice was nearly unrecognizable, nothing more than a feral growl.

“Get in the back.”

Hawks took one look at the narrow gap between his seat and yours and sat up, nudging the driver’s side door open. He climbed eagerly into the road and then back into the back seat, settling in the center with his legs and wings splayed wide.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to wiggle out of your boots and pants and slam dunk everything into the foothold of the passenger’s seat. You climbed over the center console in your underwear and settled into his lap.

Even though you had to bow your head against the cushioned ceiling, it was a holy sensation. Your thighs settled perfectly into the crooks of Keigo’s legs, and his hands slid so naturally over the curves of your hips. It was as if you’d done this before.

You kissed him again, using the weight of your newly boosted height to descend hard and loving against his lips. He grabbed you hard by the ass, drawing you smooth and tight against his hips.

“God,” he groaned eagerly into your mouth.

“You’re so. Fucking. Perfect,” you hissed back into his, and he squeezed you harder, breaking his lips from yours to trail a hungry path of kisses along the edge of your jaw. His scruff scratched at your chin just like you imagined it would. You loved him like this- trimmed, unshaven. The rougher, the better.

“Don’t say that,” he purred dangerously close to your ear. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”

You tried not to grin, remembering Keigo barfing over the balcony of the Plaza after one too many charity-benefit martinis. Keigo caked in ooze after cutting open that sludge villain from the inside. Keigo on the verge of tears, just a few minutes ago.

“I still think so,” you pressed, and he smiled against your cheek. His wings, tired and bruised but majestic as ever, stiffened proudly. They were capped firmly by the cramped space that surrounded you, but the feathers that spread across the back seat were sleek and graceful.

You dug your fingertips between his jacket and his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his torso all over. He did his best to shrug it open, but the material was caught up on his wings- no getting it off now.

He wound his hands into the hem of his shirt and tugged it up for you. The skin you could feel by slipping your fingers underneath was all you were going to get.

Not that it mattered to you. It was far more than you’d let yourself so much as picture before. While you felt your way across his heated abdomen, he dipped his head to your pulse point. He scraped the points of his teeth across your tender flesh, making you sigh and shiver. He pressed a hand to the small of your back to keep you close and nibbled all the way down to your neckline, leaving a trail of tiny welts in his wake.

They would fade by morning. Tonight, the feeling was enough.

He glided smooth, tender fingers up your sides. You straightened, letting him wedge your long-sleeved t-shirt up around your shoulders. You had to bend even further and press your forehead awkwardly against his shoulder to wrench it off. Once he peeled the fabric over your head, you tossed it haphazardly toward the front seat. Keigo was already going to work on his fly.

The tender press of his erection had grown apparent by that point, stiff and needing down one thigh of his thick pants. You reached between your legs and palmed it indulgently. There was an answering throb of arousal in the pit of your belly as you felt the shape and thickness of it trapped against his body, and an even stronger one when his hips pressed into your touch and he gave a low rumble of approval.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he crooned. With his pants unfastened, and the bulk of his cock shifted to the stretchy pouch of his undershorts, he slid a fingertip down the plane of your belly and curled two graceful digits between your thighs.

“Are you wet for me yet?” He shot you a deep, lustful stare. You rocked your hips against his fingers, hopeless in resisting the pleasure he offered. Keigo nudged the crotch of your thong easily aside, dipping his middle finger against your slit.

He sucked a sharp breath through clenched teeth as you gave a simultaneous yelp of stimulation. When he looked up at you again, he bore a sly little grin. You’d seen it a thousand times before, but never with such desire. And never all for you.

“You’re drippin’, kid.” He arched his palm, slipping that finger slowly upward and easing it inside you. There was no stretch, but the sensation of intimacy- of being felt in such a way by those hands that you’d never dared to fantasize about- was intoxicating in its own right.

Keigo was, apparently, feeling it, too. His eyes were deeply lidded, glazed completely by his own desire. The tip of his cock had found its way over the waistband of his undershorts, weeping shiny precum against his stomach and the bottom of his shirt.

He curled a blunt fingertip inside you, massaging your tender front wall. The feeling rappelled up the column of your spine and brought deep trembles forward. It brought fresh handfuls of wet slick from your depths, gliding down his palm and between his fingers. He took the hints your body offered and rubbed faster, watching the way your expression morphed from desire to pleasure.

“Stop,” you hushed, leaning forward and pushing your lips to his. He drew his hand back from you immediately, settling it on your thigh. The wet little print it left against your skin wasn’t lost on you.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you replied. “Just ready for you.”

He gave a low, loving little chuckle and shifted beneath you. “Can’t hold out any longer?”

You smiled into his hair. “Don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” His smile was even, but the tug in his voice betrayed his fraying nerves. It thrilled you to know that you weren’t the only one putting way too much emotional stock in this. It was immensely validating to discover that he’d been anticipating it, too.

He wiggled and squirmed against the backseat, shucking his pants and underwear down over his thighs and letting his cock pop out. It bobbed against his stomach- thicker than you’d imagined- framed by a trimmed scruff of tawny hair that disappeared under his shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed in spite of yourself.

“I know, right?” He rasped. He reached for you, cupping your jaw. He brought your forehead down to his, giving a weak laugh. “What the hell have we been waitin’ for?”

“We just needed the bottle episode to shove us together,” you giggled. “C’mon, we’re a walking trope right about now.”

“We’re about to become a different trope if you don’t let me fuck you.” It was his turn to play the desperate card. But the ache between your thighs had not dulled, even a little.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and you lifted your hips. He gave the heated tip a playful little swipe along your slick slit, but his game backfired when both of you let out tight cries of sensation.

You rocked your hips forward, taking his tip eagerly inside. The sensation was toe-curling, made even better by the way he held you tightly against him, nosing at your ear and kissing any patch of skin he could reach.

He brought his free palm to your ass as soon as you were situated, helping you slide the rest of the way onto his cock. With your knees braced on either side of his lap and your feet pressed tightly against the front seat, you let him bottom out. And for a moment, you just sat there.

“Jesus,” Keigo sighed, lolling his head against the seat behind him. You still had your head deeply bowed, trapped in the space that seemed just an inch too tight.

“I…” Your thighs shuffled. Your hips gave a little squirm. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Keigo cracked an eye and lifted his chin, sensing a problem.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just…” Your cheeks went hot. You licked your lips. “I can’t move.”

His gaze cast downward, to the place where you were joined. He took in the press of your thighs, the curve of your neck. He snorted.

“No, you can’t. C’mere, kid, I gotcha.” He planted that palm on your ass again, drawing your hips forward and up, as far as you could take them. Your head and neck bowed with the rest of your back as he draped your upper body over his chest and held you tightly against him.

Then he planted his feet and gave one good, deep thrust. Your innards gave a jerk. Oh, fuck.

“That’s it,” you panted into his ear. He nodded tensely.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “That’s workin’ for ya? Alright, alright. We’ve got this, kid, c’mon. Lemme show you somethin’ good, okay?”

One thrust sent you spiralling. But the rhythm that he dove into- steady, tough, fluid- sent every nerve through your body into meltdown. You were entirely incapable of dealing with such pleasure, combined with the emotions that swirled through your lovestruck brain.

It felt as though you had been holding out needlessly for all this time. Like all the hurt and frustration and heartbreak you shed over him would be evaporated, now that you understood that he wanted you like this, too.

Like that was all there was. You, Hawks, and the free love you could now share.

“I’m n-not-“ Keigo stuttered, piping up after a series of breathless pants and airy groans, “n-not gonna last much longer, kid, you’re… really gonna make me feel it.”

“Yeah,” you breathed back. You looped your arms tightly around his neck, tilting your hips forward. You could feel the barest hint of stimulation when your clit brushed his belly, so you leaned into it- aching for your own release.

His rhythm doubled as the intensity of your pleasure spiked dangerously high, and when you gripped him hard and rocked your hips in time with his, there was a low, warning pull that echoed all the way up to your throat. You were close. Very close.

Your head dropped backward and Keigo leaned forward, drawing his mouth up the vulnerable column of your throat. He panted hard and heavy against your pulse point.

“That’s it, kid, that’s fuckin’ it, baby, oh, God, I’m g-gonna f-fucking… I- shit, I- can’t… fffuck!”

Keigo let a vicious roar tear from his throat as he reached his vibrant peak. His erratic thrusts brought you to a tight little climax, too, and you clung to him and whined and rode through the pleasure as he fucked madly up inside you, spurting messy shots of cum into your depths.

Gravity took hold of his pleasure, dripping it onto his shaft and pooling it in a sloppy mess between you. And when it was all finally over, you collapsed against his body and you both stayed, airless and spent, wrapped tightly around one another.

It was the bright flash of headlights on the back of his neck that brought you to the surface, moments later.

The inside of the car was warm and stuffy and damp. Had you just come in from outside, you might have realized that it reeked of sex. Sweat and breath and fluid and feeling. The windows were near-opaque, fogged by the dampness of your lovemaking.

It was a moment you might have loved to capture, if you weren’t about to be so rudely interrupted.

The light in your rear windshield was bright white and flashing orange. Unmistakable.

“The tow truck,” you wheezed, scrambling off of Keigo’s lap. “Oh, fuck.”

“Get dressed,” he muttered weakly, already scrambling to get himself cleaned up and decent. He was far more dressed than you were, so you did your best to climb back into the passenger’s seat and slide back into your own clothes. You banged your shin hard on the center console, and your head on the ceiling as your body flailed in retaliation. You crumpled into the front seat and nearly kneed yourself in the mouth trying to scramble back into your pants.

By the time you climbed out of the car, fully dressed, with a few additional bruises, Hawks was already standing on the shoulder, talking to the driver. The driver was wagering a few guesses on what might be wrong with the car. Hawks’ eyes had already glazed over.

“Hey,” he greeted, as he spotted you emerging over his shoulder. He introduced you quietly to the driver before the ballcap-wearing, bearded man spoke again.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a lift to garage nearby. It’s kinda late, but he keeps weird hours. I bet he’ll take a look for you, it’s prob’ly an easy fix.”

“That sounds great,” you gushed, clasping your palms together. There was a lot of stiffness settling in around your hips and thighs. You couldn’t be sure if it was a result of the compromising position you’d nearly been discovered in or the whole lot of not moving you’d done for hours before that.

Either way, it felt good to stretch your legs.

“You c’n go ahead and hop in the back,” the driver directed, waving the key that Keigo had apparently already given him in indication. “I’ll get you hooked up, no problem.”

Keigo opened the truck door for you, and you climbed over the passenger’s seat into the back. He followed closely behind you, tugging the door shut and slouching into the opposite side.

You sat in silence; hands clasped between your knees. A confusing air settled between you.

You felt vulnerable and raw and moony. You wanted to hold his hand and curl up to him in the back seat. Kiss his cheeks and tell him how good it was, tell him how much you felt.

For you, though, it could never be that simple. There was no free love for heroes like you.

Pay later, always.

Keigo felt the weight of your gaze. He turned to meet your eyes and shot you a thin smile. You’d seen the look that he’d turned to hide from you, though.

The truck driver climbed into the front seat before words could pass between you. But you didn’t need to hear them to know what they were going to be.

You didn’t need a warning to understand what Monday morning at the agency was going to look like.

#hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #boku no hero academia #mha fanfic #my hero academia #bnha fanfic

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arrowflier · 3 years

Note

Something major feelsy for Ian and Mickey possibly inspired by this: The only Heaven I'll be sent to

Is when I'm alone with you

I was born sick, but I love it

This took a while because I'm still not satisfied with it, but I suppose that why it's a speedwrite! Warning: Terry style homophobia

“Get your sick homo ass out of my house!” Terry shouts from his chair. His eyes are wild, and spittle coats his chapped and broken lips. If his body allowed it, he would be shaking with rage, but as it is he can’t even turn his head away from the scene that provoked his ire.

That scene is as follows: Mickey puttering about the small kitchen of the new Milkovich house, putting together the unappetizing mush that is all Terry’s doctors say he can digest, while Ian opens the fridge to fetch the beer that Terry definitely shouldn’t have but won’t take his medication without. Unthinkingly, Mickey presses a hand to Ian’s lower back as they brush past each other, a casual intimacy that he gets to have whenever he wants, now. Ian leans back to drop a kiss behind Mickey’s ear as he walks past, and Mickey gets a brief second to cherish the exchange, now a common thing, before his father ruins it all.

He tenses immediately at Terry’s explosive reaction, hands tightening on the bowl he holds. He drops the spoon entirely, watches it clatter to the floor next to Ian’s boots, splashing them with lumpy brown sauce. He stares at it as his father’s voice echoes in the room, followed only by harsh breathing.

There on the floor, the lukewarm food looks like shit. The shit his father has put him through all his life, the shit he’s done himself. All of it, his whole shitty existence, dirtying his husband’s feet.

Ian reaches toward him with a cautious hand, and Mickey is suddenly aware of how hard his heart is pounding.

He’s had enough.

He takes a breath. Picks up the dirty spoon, wipe’s Ian’s shoes clean with the rag he would have used to wipe his father’s chin. Sets the bowl carefully on the counter, takes the beer from Ian’s hand and puts it there too.

Then he storms over to Terry, puts his hands on either side of his wheelchair, and leans in until he can’t stand to be any closer to his filth.

“Fuck you, dad,” he whispers in the man’s shocked face. “Good luck conning any of your other sons into giving a shit about you.”

It’s almost funny to see how wide Terry’s eyes can get when the rest of him can’t move, but Mickey doesn’t linger to watch. He goes to the door, throws it open, and looks back at Ian.

“You comin’?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer before he walks out.

Ian follows.

His bravado fades as soon as the door closes behind them, cutting off Terry’s rancid shouts. Mickey takes two steps forward and sags against the porch rail like a puppet with cut strings, burying his head in shaking hands.

He can feel Ian's hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades, a grounding presence in the storm of his fucked up life.

Neither of them say anything, but eventually, Mickey's body relaxes enough for Ian to tug him away and down the stairs. They walk quietly through the detritus of the front yard and down the sidewalk, up the mirrored stairs of the Gallagher house. Ian opens the door and stands back, letting Mickey enter first.

Going inside is like coming home. It is coming home. Mickey had never lived in the house next door, but something about it had always reminded him of how he grew up, and Terry had never been a highlight of that experience.

The Gallagher house was different, with its warm colors and soft furniture, framed photos on the mantle instead of guns and knives and drugs. It calms him, calms them both.

But it still isn't quite enough.

They pass through the house like ghosts, sides brushing until the reach the staircase. They stop there, long enough to look at each other, and Mickey knows Ian can see the tears in his eyes that he'll never let fall. Ian lifts a hand to Mickey's face, just briefly, and he turns his head into it with half-lidded eyes.

Then they climb the stairs silently, Ian guiding Mickey by the hand, backing into their room to keep his eyes on Mickey's own. He lets go once they're inside just long enough to close the accordion door behind them and shed his bulky camouflaged jacket, taking his phone from the pocket and fiddling with it before dropping it on the dresser.

As he approaches Mickey again, takes him easily into his arms, the strains of a familiar song start to play from the tinny phone speakers.

Mickey laughs, and if it comes out a bit strangled, neither of them mention it.

"You're a sappy motherfucker," he murmurs into Ian's neck, and feels him nod.

“My lover’s got humor,” Ian sings along lowly, ignoring Mickey’s resulting scoff and swaying them both to the music. “He’s the giggle at a funeral.”

“Knows everybody’s disapproval,” Mickey chimes in reluctantly, pulling back to raise his brows. Ian huffs a laugh and pulls him closer.

“I should’ve worshipped him sooner,” Ian continues, and Mickey rolls his eyes as he leans further into him.

He breaks the lyrics to mutter “Not possible,” and Ian smiles in knowing agreement, bending down.

Their lips meet to the swell of the music, and it's like a release.

Mickey breaks, clinging to Ian's shoulders, mouth open as he gasps wetly into Ian's. Ian's arms around him feel like the safe haven he's never had, tightening around his waist until his spine bends with the need to be closer. Always closer.

"Mickey," Ian whispers against his lips, leaving his mouth long enough to brush fleeting kisses against his cheeks, his nose, his burning eyes.

"The only heaven I'll be sent to," Mickey murmurs back with the still-playing song, clenching a hand in Ian's hair to bring his face back down, "Is when I'm alone with you."

The kiss again, deep and sweet. Mickey's teeth ache with it, as he runs his tongue into the space behind Ian's like they can fuse through sheer force of will.

"Command me to be well," he offers next, and it's a lyric but so much more on his lips.

Ian backs them to the bed, falls over Mickey as they go down. Mickey lets himself be handled, lets himself be cradled in his husband's arms, one cushioning his head and the other glued around his waist. He gets one leg around Ian's hips, pulling him even closer, the other running down to twist somewhere around his knees.

He seals their lips together, and ignores the wetness on his face. He doesn't think of Terry, or his distant family. He doesn't think of the pain, or the terror, or the jeers at his perceived weakness. He just thinks of Ian, his husband, there with him, around him, inside him as his tongue slips back into Mickey's mouth on a sigh.

He gasps when they part for breath, faces still close enough that he can nudge his nose into Ian's cheek to whisper in his ear.

"Take me to church, Ian," he breathes.

And he lets himself go.

Take me to church/I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies/I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife/Offer me that deathless death/Good God, let me give you my life/Take me to church

#daily speedwrite #fanfic #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #terry milkovich #tw: homophobia

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devilsofficialfanfic · 2 years

Note

I don't know anything about Sendak's family life, what kind of childhood he had, etc but Lotor and Tiashe had pretty shitty childhoods. Tiashe with being a bastard and a half-blood and looking way too different from other kids and facing discrimination, and Lotor with all that plus Zarkon and Haggar's bullshit. Their childhoods were awful.

So it stands to reason that they both would crave love, that they'd want to give their kids all the love and warmth and happiness they didn't get to receive. That they'd want to have so many kids, and give them what they'd always craved— a loving word, a warm smile, a gentle touch, encouragement, guidance, affection, and so much more.

Which is a pretty lengthy and feelsy way of saying Lotor wants a fuckton of kids, and Tiashe is absolutely down for it. In their eyes they're already taking care of so many kids (the colony kids) albeit in a more distant sort of way so what's fifty more? And the fact that they'll literally get to be a proper parent is just a bonus. Sendak is so damn exasperated with his two idiots (but he loves them so much)

Headcanon that not only kids but also animals are pretty fond of Sendak. They wanna sleep in his fluff. He is not amused.

Lotor being able to summon rift creatures and being able to use them as familiars though!! And purple fire or lightning! Magic + an evasive fighting style that makes him nigh impossible to hit = he's a menace on the battlefield. Add Sendak by his side and Tiashe supporting their husbands with bullets/lasers and magic from behind and they're terrifying.

The three of them spar a lot. Tiashe doesn't enjoy it so their husbands try to find ways to make it more enjoyable for them.

Before running away Tiashe probably worked under a Galra who was kind to them, and they loved said Galra, a parental figure they never had. Though something would rob that happiness from them, though I don't know what, hence Tiashe fucking off to space.

When Lotor becomes Emperor all three plan to just do a reform of literally everything, the way Quintessence is harvested, abolition of slavery, more rights for mixed ones and non-Galra citizens, if a certain ethnicity wants to declare independence they'd let them (though the half-bloods and Altean survivors and non-Galras have formed a tight-knit community in their little communities so I'm sure some if not all would like to stay), they've got so much work ahead of them. But they don't mind— some nights the three of them would look into the starry voids and talk about their hopes and dreams for the future. It's soft and good and warm.

Whenever one of them does something cool and badass, or when one of them is Soft™ with kids, the other two get absolutely turned on. Competent and would make a good parent? Sign them the fuck up!

...also if one member of the triad got injured or died the other two would go ballistic

Tbf, in canon we don’t get a lot of Sendak backstory (other than he was trained by Zarkon personally and was maybe around for the destruction of altea iirc), so pretty much everything on my end is conjecture

It’s definitely canon that Lotor had a shit childhood tho

Yes about the children and animals! Lotor’s prone to adopt anything small and helpless (much to Sendak’s chagrin)

May the gods have mercy on whoever is responsible for one of them getting hurt/killed. They could not run fast enough or far enough to escape retribution

#asks #vld lotor #lodak #vld sendak

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after-avenging-hours · 4 years

Text

Out of Time [2]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist with dates on chapter releases - tag list will not be used for this series

Summary: After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 5766

Warnings: Major character injury, triaging a wound, blood, stitches, gets a bit feelsy at the end

“Whoa! Hang on!” He doesn’t quite have the strength to keep you standing. But he follows you down as you collapse to make sure you don’t hurt yourself even more. He wraps his arms around you, pulling your body into a frame much smaller than you’re used to.

The gun in your hand clatters to the floor and you then press that hand into your throbbing side.

Steve blanches when he sees the weapon. “Is that yours?” he questions.

You shake your head weakly. “No. It was one of theirs.”

His brows raise in surprise. He knows that dames carrying weapons were more likely to have them taken by their assailants, not the other way around.

You look down at the hand clutched to your side, peeling your palm back to see that it’s completely covered in red. “Shit,” you curse, gritting your teeth. You close your eyes tight and tilt your head back against the brick wall, attempting to will the pain away, so it’s not completely clouding your senses.

Steve follows your line of sight and pales when he sees your blood. “Oh my God… I need to get you to a hospital.”

“No!” Your eyes snap open and you grip the collar of his shirt. “No hospitals,” You urge. You can’t be tied down to a hospital bed and potentially miss your window of opportunity. “I just,” you huff, your head dizzy now from the rapid movement. “Need to get someplace safe.”

“Miss… You’ve been shot. If we don’t get you-”

Your groan of pain cuts him off as you push yourself into a more upright position. “Is there blood on my back?” you question breathlessly.

“Wha-” Steve gapes for a second, before leaning over your body to check. “Yes…” he confirms. “A lot.” He leans back once more the look of concern returning to his eyes tenfold.

“That’s actually a good thing.” You tell him. “Means it’s a clean shot. Through and through. A hospital’s not going to be able to do anything that I can’t do myself with a bit of first aid.”

Steve finds himself only wanting to ask more questions, but he knows if you don’t start applying that first aid quickly, then you really will need a hospital. “My apartment is just around the corner,” he offers without thought.

More likely to run straight into trouble rather than think things through, it doesn’t even cross Steve’s mind that maybe he shouldn’t get mixed up in whatever this is. He grabs the gun, knowing that it wouldn’t be a good idea to just leave it behind. He looks around the alley to make sure there aren’t any other witnesses.

“Do you think you can stand?” he asks, almost wishing Bucky was around to carry you, but he knows Barnes would have his head over this.

You nod once, shifting one arm around his shoulders while removing the one from your side to grip the brick wall for purchase. You mentally count to three before pushing yourself up, Steve trying to do what he can to help. You release a guttural cry of pain with the movement and your vision goes black for a second. You hold still, keeping your grip on Steve and on the wall while you huff for breath.

You wait for your vision to clear and for your head to stop spinning before you give Steve a nod. “Okay. Let’s go.” You bite your lip to keep your whimpers in while you limp along with Steve holding you up.

It’s slow progress to make it down the alley and into a small courtyard area surrounded by apartment buildings. “I’m on the second floor,” Steve gives you an apologetic look when you reach the base of a set of metal stairs.

You release a long breath and grit your teeth before taking them on. Each step feels like an icepick getting jammed into your side. You nearly pass out after reaching the top but managed to keep it together a few more steps to reach his front door.

Steve is immensely grateful that he remembered his key this morning and doesn’t need to fumble around looking for it. The door opens with a push and he quickly shuffles you inside. He helps to lower your body onto the modest brown couch in his living room that Bucky got from him at a yard sale. The cushions are a little stained, no matter how he’s tried to clean them, the pillows are mismatched, and there’s a soft floral perfume scent permanently attached to the thing from the previous owner.

You give yourself a second to catch your breath before you begin pulling your shirt out from where it’s tucked into your skirt and start undoing the buttons. Steve’s eyes widen and his ears turn pink when you completely remove your top. You catch the way that he stares and would laugh if you weren’t in so much pain. You mentally pat yourself on the back for getting the vintage lingerie set for Steve’s birthday a few years ago. It certainly came in handy to keep your whole outfit authentic.

“Do you have clean linen and hot water?” you ask, needing to give him something to do for a quick moment.

He snaps out of it and nods. “Yeah,” he confirms before disappearing deeper into the apartment.

You wait for a second to make sure he’s really gone before hiking up your skirt to unclip the small pouch you have attached to your thigh holster. Opening the pouch, you turn it over to dump the contents onto the couch cushion next to you. A slim metal case, about the size and shape of a smartphone, falls out first, followed by what may appear to be a series of Barbie doll accessories. There’s a tiny red bag with a white cross that you pick out from the items.

Everything else goes back into the pouch before you open the metal case and reveal the series of discs inside. The ones on the left have red in their center, while the ones on the right have blue. You take a blue disc and throw it at the miniature first aid bag, allowing it to grow back to normal size.

“Thank you, Scott Lang,” you mutter under your breath, closing the metal case and returning it to the pouch. You clip the pouch back to your thigh holster and pull your skirt back down.

You have the first aid bag open and are rifling through the various compartments when Steve comes back into the room. He stops short and looks at you with confusion. “…Where did you get that?”

You turn to see him standing in the doorway, a few hand towels draped over his shoulder while he carries a large ceramic bowl. “Oh, that’s perfect.” You indicate for him to bring the items over. Ignoring his question.

Pulling a packet of painkillers from your kit, you rip open the foil and take them dry. You follow that up with a drop of hand sanitizer into your palm and work the liquid gel over your hands and between your fingers. Steve places the bowl of water at your feet and kneels down next to it. You then hand him the bottle of sanitizer.

“What is this?” he questions.

“Isopropyl alcohol mixed with aloe gel. It will disinfect your hands. You just need a small drop.”

“Okay…” he looks a little unsure, but follows your lead and drops some into his palm. He hands the bottle back and mimics your earlier movement to spread the gel. He then drops a towel into the bowl, letting it soak up the water before he wrings it out and folds it into a neat square.

You thank him softly when he hands it to you and you then press it to the wound on your front. “Can you get the exit wound?” you ask.

He nods once, wringing out a second towel and then presses it firmly to your back. He tries his best to keep his focus on the task at hand, despite having your breasts, pretty much at eye level. Before this, the closest he’s ever been to seeing a woman dressed in only a brasserie is the mannequins at Macy’s. What in the world would Bucky think, if he found out there was a half-naked woman in Steve’s apartment right now? The bastard would probably congratulate him, honestly.

“That should be good enough.” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Just clear the dried blood from around the wound.” You’ve gone back to rifling in your kit and pull out a small aerosol canister. The cap comes off with a pop and you quickly aim and spray directly onto the wound at your front. The substance inside comes out as a sort of gel spray, but soon begins to froth and bubble where it makes contact with the wound. “Here,” you give the can to Steve.

He takes it hesitantly. “That looks like it hurts.”

You laugh dryly. “It’s a gunshot wound. It already hurts.”

Can’t argue with that. Steve aims the canister and sprays the mystery substance onto your back wound. You take the canister back, cap it, and put it away. You can already feel the gel beginning to work its magic. Given to you by Shuri during one of your visits with Steve to Wakanda, the gel was a coagulant to stop bleeding, but also could promote cell regeneration to expedite the healing process, and even worked as a numbing agent to dull the pain. It certainly helps when getting to this next part.

“How are you with needles?” you ask, pulling out a curved needle and some stitching thread next.

He gulps audibly before he slowly nods. He and Bucky have had to stitch each other up, more than a few times, but neither of them were surgeons by any means.

Seeing the worry on his face, you try to ease his fears. “It doesn’t need to be perfect, just enough to keep the wound closed. The gel will be able to take care of the rest.”

“Okay,” he agrees, taking the needle and thread from you.

With the gel and the painkillers beginning to take over, you finally have a clear enough head to actually be able to take him in. It’s a little strange seeing him like this in person. You’d seen the photo that gets taken at Camp Lehigh and your Steve had eventually opened up enough to paint his own picture of what his life had been like pre-serum. But you never thought you’d see it with your own eyes.

His clothes hang loose around his frame, nearly engulfing him. The air of stoic confidence you’d grown used to is nowhere to be seen. His shoulders are rigid, back tense, and he almost looks a little uncomfortable to be so close to you. That’s certainly different. The Steve you knew had always been comfortable around you, even from the day you met.

You had been working at the SHIELD Headquarters in New York when Steve’s body was found in the Arctic. You didn’t actually get a chance to meet him at the point, and after the Battle of New York, you were relocated to the other side of the country. Then, after SHIELD fell, you ended up moving overseas. It wasn’t until after the whole Ultron fiasco that you were recruited by Natasha to check out the Avenger’s compound in upstate New York.

You’ll never forget the look on his face when Nat stepped out of the way to introduce you. His eyes had lit up like the sun peeking out behind a cloud and when he smiled your heart had stopped. You’re also pretty sure you may have swooned a little. He shook your hand and held it tight. You remember how he had looked deeply into your eyes like he was seeing into your very soul, and then his gaze flickered all over your face like he was painting your picture in his mind. He then welcomed you to the Avengers, without even giving you an initiation test.

You try to find hints of that Steve in this one. The more you look, the easier they are to find. The eyes are obvious. Highly expressive that he has a hard time concealing his emotions. His brows still furrow the same when he’s trying to concentrate. His ears are still red, which is a good sign. This means he’s not completely unaffected by you.

“My name’s Vic, by the way,” you introduce yourself just as he’s finishing up the stitching on your front wound.

His gaze lifts up to meet yours. “Steve. Though, somehow you already seem to know that.”

You give him a look of confusion, trying to understand what he means, but then you recall saying his name when he first reached you in the alley. You quickly try to come up with an excuse. “I didn’t, actually. You look like someone I know. His name is also Steve,” you try to play off. Badly.

“Huh. Small world.” The corner of his mouth tilts up into the barest hint of a smirk. It’s still enough to make your heart race.

Even 95 pounds soaking wet, you’ve still got it bad for this man.

You hand him a pair of small surgical scissors to cut the thread. While he gets to work on stitching up your exit wound, you grab the supplies you need to finish triaging the front wound. You apply a small amount of disinfectant cream over the stitches before packing it with sterile gauze and taping the gauze to your skin. Steve helps you do the same on your back once he’s finished with the stitches there. After that, you take a long strip of self-adherent bandage tape to completely wrap your torso.

“That should do it. Thanks, Steve,” you send him a smile as you begin to pack up and close your first aid kit.

“Is that standard-issue?” Steve askes, nodding to your kit.

You breathe out a soft laugh. “Not quite,” you respond cryptically. “But a girl’s gotta be prepared.”

He raises a brow. “Do you often find yourself running into men with guns in back alleys?”

You mimic his look. “Do you often find yourself running toward the sound of gunfire rather than away?”

He blinks once, then shrugs, his shoulders relaxing a little. “More often than I should, if Bucky had anything to say about it.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing outright. “This Bucky sounds like he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Maybe you should listen to him more often.”

He scoffs. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

“Trust me when I tell you that getting shot really isn’t high on the list of things I’d consider fun,” you tell him with a grimace.

That sobers him. “No, I imagine it wouldn’t.” He drops his gaze and busies himself by rinsing your blood off his hands with the water in the bowl that has started to turn pink. “So, what does ‘Lady V’ mean?” he asks, the curiosity getting to him.

He looks up and catches the confusion in your eyes before his gaze drops to your chest. You realize he’s talking about the tattoo written in a curling script below your right collar bone, the letters framed on either side by a pair of small wings. Your Steve had actually been the one to design it for you.

“It stands for Lady Victory,” you explain. “It’s my code name.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You’re an agent?” he questions like he can’t believe it. His cheeks then flush as he attempts to backtrack. “I mean- not that you couldn’t be. It’s just you’re so beautiful, you could have been anything. And not that there’s anything wrong with being an agent, it’s just-”

“Steve…” You say his name gently, trying to get him to breathe, while a smile of amusement creeps onto your face.

“Sorry,” he mutters, dropping his gaze once more and releases a long breath. “Just, why go for something that’s so high risk?”

You take a moment to compose your thoughts, trying to figure out how best to answer his question. “We all have things that call to us. Be it duty or a sense of purpose… I don’t know. It just always felt like the right path for me. And believe it or not, looking like just another pretty face can actually be advantageous in this line of work. People will often underestimate you.”

Steve releases a long sigh. “The underestimating part I could handle. Been dealing with that my whole life. But I can’t even get enlisted. They take one look at my medical record and write me off before even giving me a chance. How did you do it?”

You realize where he’s trying to steer the conversation. At this point, he would have already tried to enlist and thus been rejected, four times. “Just because it’s the right path doesn’t mean it’s the easiest. Keep trying. Keep moving forward and eventually, you’ll end up where you’re meant to be.”

He shoots you a wry smile. “You make it sound so simple.”

You huff out a laugh. “Oh, it’s definitely not. But if it were, it wouldn’t be quite as satisfying when you finally succeed.”

He releases a low hum, letting your words sink in. “So, Lady Victory…” he says like he’s tasting the words in his mouth. “Is that where ‘Vic’ comes from?”

“It is,” you confirm.

He nods like he’s pondering over something else. “A guy takes you in off the street, then helps you patch up a bullet wound, and you don’t even give him your real name?”

You can’t help but grin at his cheekiness.

“I mean, Bucky probably won’t even believe the story to begin with.”

That promptly wipes the grin from your face. “Steve, you can’t tell anyone that I was here. Not even Bucky,” you urge desperately. You’re already terrified that there are going to be ramifications from this interaction, you have to try to prevent it from rippling out even further. “I… I should go.”

“Go?” he repeats, startled.

You turn to grab the first aid kit and your blood-soaked shirt, wincing when the movement tugs at your wound. “I’ve already put you in enough danger as is.”

“Do you think those men will come back?”

You shake your head, feeding your arm through the sleeve of the shirt on your injured side, and pull it up onto your shoulder with your good arm. “I don’t know. They might.”

You feel Steve’s hand settle over yours, stopping your movements. You pause and meet his gaze. “Well then, all the more reason you should stay. They won’t find you here and I can’t send you back out there injured and into the night.”

“Steve…” You know you shouldn’t. The longer you stay, the more you’ll risk messing up the timeline. But looking into his eyes, you can’t find the strength to pull away. The image of your Steve laying in the hospital bed looking steps away from death’s door pops into your head. Comparing that to the one in front of you; alive, breathing, vibrant… It makes you want to grab onto him with both hands and never let go.

“Stay,” he repeats once more.

“Okay,” you find yourself breathing the word out without thought.

His eyes soften and his hand gently squeezes yours before he pulls back. “And I promise not to tell anyone about you as long as you give me your real name.”

You huff out a laugh, dropping your head and shoulders. “You’re a sly one, I’ll give you that much.” Lifting your gaze back to his, you tell him your full name.

He grins victoriously and you can feel yourself falling in love with him all over again. He holds his hand out for you to shake. “Steve Rogers.”

You find yourself matching his grin as you place your hand in his. “It’s nice to meet you, Steve Rogers.”

Your hands shake once before he pulls back and moves to stand on his feet. “Now, how about I get you something to wear that’s not covered in blood and bullet holes?”

You look down at the shirt you only have half on, your cheeks flushing with heat. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

He moves deeper into the apartment once more, leaving you alone. You pull your shirt back off and lift it up to take in the damage. It’s pretty bad. Even if you could get the bloodstains out, the two bullet holes didn’t really help matters. Huffing, you toss it into the bowl of water and do the same with the two damp towels, also covered in your blood.

You grunt quietly as you attempt to push yourself up and off the couch. The pain killers may have dulled a majority of the pain, but movement causes a sharp sting to push through. You kneel onto the floor and try to keep your torso as straight as possible as you lift the bowl into your arms and straighten back up. The movement is a bit awkward, but you manage successfully without pulling your stitches.

You follow Steve’s direction to head deeper into the apartment in search of the kitchen. It’s not difficult to find, as the apartment is fairly small. A short hallway separates the living room from the remainder of the apartment, with the hall opening into the kitchen on the left and with the bedroom and bathroom doors on either side to the right. There is light pouring out of the open bedroom door and the sound of Steve rifling through various drawers and his closet.

You turn into the kitchen and set the bowl down into the sink. Tipping out the bloody water, you open the tap from the faucet to fill the bowl once more. There’s a bar of soap on the edge of the sink next to the faucet, which you grab and start rubbing into one of the towels to work up a lather.

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve’s voice sounds from behind you.

You glance over your shoulder to see him standing there, some folded, striped pajamas in his hands. “I didn’t want to stain your towels,” you tell him.

He moves in next to you. “I’ll take care of that. You just worry about healing your injury.”

You set down the soap and towel, rinsing your hands clean. There’s a fresh hand towel by the sink, which you use to dry your hands before taking the offered clothing. “Thank you, Steve,” you tell him, holding the clothes to your chest. He nods once, dipping his head to avoid your gaze. He never was any good at accepting gratitude. “Really.” You insist. “I don’t know many people that would take in a complete stranger and help them the way you’ve helped me.”

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “Bucky is always telling me that I’m reckless in my pursuit of doing what I think is right.”

Isn’t that the damn truth…

“Besides,” he continues. “You’re also pretty trusting of a complete stranger that offered to take you in.”

Your sweet laughter reminds him of springtime. “I’m a pretty good judge of character,” you tell him, smiling brightly. It lightens your heart to see him relax just a bit more around you. Your fingers fiddle with the fabric of the clothes in your arms. “Well, I should probably go get changed. Thank you, again, for these.”

“Oh, sure,” he sweeps his arm to the side, gesturing for you to walk past. “They’re actually Bucky’s, so I hope they fit okay. I figured my clothes might be too small…”

You catch the slight shift in his demeanor when he brings up one of his biggest insecurities, pre-serum.

Reaching out, you gently touch a curled finger to the underside of his chin. You guide his face back up until he meets your eyes once more. “Chin up, Rogers. You’re looking far too glum for a man that’s got a half-naked woman walking around his apartment.”

You grin teasingly when his whole face goes red. “Oh, I-I didn’t look!” Almost instinctively, his eyes dip down the length of your body, before they widen in horror when he realizes what he’s just done.

You giggle girlishly. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you.” You then turn and step out of the kitchen to head for the bathroom.

With the door firmly shut and locked behind you, a long breath slips past your lips. “Girl, what are you doing?” you whisper to yourself.

Stepping over to the sink, you muster the courage to look at yourself in the mirror. You look a little worse for wear, but that certainly comes with the territory of getting shot. Your lipstick is smudged and your hair is a mess. You can’t do much about a shower right now with your freshly tended to wound, but hopefully, by the morning, the healing gel will have had enough time to make at least that possible.

Removing your thigh holster, you open the pouch again and use another particle disc to bring your toiletry bag back to size. You run through your night routine as quickly, yet carefully as possible, feeling the tension of the day beginning to weigh on you, and now all you want to do is sleep. With makeup removed and teeth brushed, you manage to track down and extract all the hairpins from your hair. From there, you move on to shedding the remainder of your rumpled uniform, including your stockings and heels. The sight of blood down the back of your skirt makes you grimace when you realize it’s probably gotten onto Steve’s couch, too.

Unhooking the back of your bra is a bit difficult to manage while injured, but eventually, you get it. You slide the garment off, letting it pool to the floor. Checking in the mirror, you find that your undies didn’t make it unscathed either from all the bloodshed. With a sigh, you push them off your hips and down your legs.

You dig through the cupboards and drawers under the sink until you find a clean washcloth. After soaking it and wringing it out, you use the damp cloth to remove the last bit of dried blood from your skin before sliding into the pajamas. God, they’re so vintage. Baby blue and white vertical stripes with a pocket square on the left breast. You make the adjustments you need to feel a little more comfortable in them; rolling the cuffs and pants, and tying the drawstring.

You run both your undies and skirt under the tap, rinsing as much blood as you can out of them, but anything more than that will need to be dealt with in the morning. You fold the skirt in on itself, leaving the dry side out and the damp side in, with your undies tucked inside as well.

You then find a place to hide your toiletries, not wanting to use a particle disc just yet, since you’ll need them in the morning, along with your first aid kit. Gathering your clothes and holster into your arms, you venture out of the bathroom. You can look into Steve’s room from across the hall and find him standing next to his closet, buttoning up the shirt of his own pajamas.

Like a moth to a flame, you find yourself entering the space. His scent hits you and it brings tears to your eyes because he still smells the same. Walking into his room here smells exactly like walking into his room at the compound. It smells like coming home.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, noting the slightly distressed look on your face.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts and force a smile. “Yeah, just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Well, you should lie down, then.” He indicates to the full-sized bed, with a corner of the covers pulled back already.

You move toward it, setting your clothes on the bedside table next to a small lamp and reach out to finger the covers. You turn and take a seat on the mattress. It’s a bit lumpy, but the fatigue is really starting to settle in, so you’re sure it won’t matter.

Steve watches you for a moment before turning to leave the room.

“Wait, where are you going?” you ask.

He stops, turning to you in surprise. “I was going to sleep in the living room,” he states like it’s obvious.

The distressed look comes back to your face. “Will you stay?” you ask, your vulnerability cracking through. Last night, while he lay dying in the infirmary on the other side of the compound, you’d struggled to sleep by yourself in a room that smelled like him. No matter how exhausted you felt, you know you won’t be able to sleep comfortably if you had to do that again.

He looks a little conflicted. “Are you sure?” he questions.

You hold his gaze when you nod.

“Okay…” he relents, though he still sounds unsure.

As he begins to head over, you turn to push the covers back and shuffle toward the other side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” he questions, stopping his movement as he was preparing to walk to the side you’re currently settling into.

“Moving, so you don’t have to sleep by the window,” you respond automatically as you settle under the covers. It’s one of his weird quirks that you’ve grown used to. He’d explained once that before the serum, sleeping near the window would make his asthma worse if there was a slight draft. After the serum though, he still didn’t like it, because he’d grown more sensitive to lights and sound. So, you always took the window side wherever you both slept together.

You pat the empty space of the mattress and grin, “Come on, Steve. I don’t bite. I promise.”

He reaches to turn off the bedside lamp before he slowly lowers himself down onto the mattress, legs tucking under the blanket. He looks like he’s ready to bolt at a moment’s notice as he lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling. You lay on your side, so you won’t irritate the stitches on your front and back while you sleep. You tuck your hands under your pillow and close your eyes.

A few moments of silence pass. “Steve, you’re never going to fall asleep if you keep your muscles tense like that,” you whisper in the dark.

You feel his body shift around slightly beneath the covers. “Sorry… I’ve never done this before,” he admits.

You want to laugh because he’s freaking adorable, but you hold it in. “Turn on your side,” you encourage. He hesitates a moment before complying and turning onto his side to face you. “Close your eyes.” There’s just enough street light coming in from the window to be able to see him. He holds your gaze for a second before his eyes close and he releases a long breath.

You untuck one of your hands and reach up to gently run your fingers through his hair. He tenses up even more with the first touch, but your nails scratch at his scalp in a way that makes him shiver. Your hand slips down the back of his head and curls underneath his ear before you move back up to his forehead and do it again.

The longer you keep doing that, the more the tension eases from his body, until he’s completely relaxed. Just a few more passes of your fingers through his hair and soon his breath evens out as he falls asleep. Your hand curls around the bottom of his ear one more time before your palm settles on the edge of his jaw.

He looks the same when he sleeps here as he does in your time. His features soften, that pinch no longer between his brow and the stern tilt of his mouth eases up. He gains an air of innocence and loses the weight of the world that he carries on his shoulders.

You watch over him for a minute. Memorizing his features before you shift closer. You dip your head down, tucking it beneath his chin to bury your face into his chest and you gently wrap an arm around his waist. He stirs a little but doesn’t awaken.

He feels different, but you’re still able to draw comfort from his closeness. A huge portion of the weight he normally carries has now fallen to your shoulders, and God, are you feeling it. If you fail in getting a sample of the formula, or if you take too long and the components break down before you’re able to get it to Dr. Banner, then these may very well be the last moments you’ll get to share with Steve.

If there’s any hope of salvaging the timeline, you’ll disappear by morning and be nothing but a dream to him. If you forsake the timeline and stay, not only could you mess up your chances of getting the serum, but there will also be the potential for a domino effect to spiral out and shift the entire course of Steve’s future. Could you really risk that just for a few more days of basking in his presence?

On the flip side, do you really have the strength to walk away? Sure, you’re terrified of failing the mission, but you’re even more terrified of losing out on your last few moments together, should you fail. And what if, by some tiny miracle, you could have your cake and eat it too? What if you could succeed and still spend time with him.

If there’s one thing you know for certain… you’re not ready to let him go.

Just as that thought crosses your mind, Steve’s arm curls around your waist, pinning your body against his.

Taking that as a sign, you push all remaining thoughts out and settle comfortably against his chest. You’ll stay till morning and then see how the rest pans out. For now, you’re safe in his arms and you’re going to cherish this as much as possible. With eyes closed and legs tangled, it doesn’t take long for you to join Steve in the realm of sleep.

Part 3

#steve rogers x reader #pre serum steve x reader #skinny steve x reader #40s steve x reader #captain america x reader #out of time

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janfraiser · 3 years

Text

You've Taken Enough From Me

It's 10pm where I am but it is still mother's day so I definitely have time to get this one out. I've been busy all day but I knew if I was going to write something for mother's day it would be for Ted Lasso, in the James AU, of course. Please enjoy some soft feelsy fluff!

Summary: the first mother's day after the divorce, Rebecca tries to stop looking back on what she's been through, what she's lost, and spend her energy focusing on what she has.

(Side note: Britain does a different mother's day than the US maybe? idk but this is ambiguous enough that it should still work)

The slight jostling of her bed wakes Rebecca from an easy slumber to a quiet Sunday morning. She lifts her head slightly from the pillow, stretching a bit as James crawls over to her, cuddling up against her on top of the covers. She reaches out to wrap an arm around him, kissing his forehead. "Good morning, love."

"Morning Mum," he answers, squirming a bit. As he twists his arm free of her, she realizes he's holding something in his hand, a folded piece of paper. "Guess what day it is!"

"Hmm..." she can't stop herself from smiling at the colored pencil greeting on the outside of the card. Happy Mother's Day! "Is it... Sunday?"

"No," James giggles. "Well, I guess so, but it's a special Sunday."

Rebecca's smile grows as she leans her forehead against his. "Special? What's so special about it?"

He brandishes the card in the air. "It's Mother's Day!"

She gasps as if shocked. "Mother's Day? Well I suppose I'd better call my Mum, hadn't I?"

"Later," James insists. He hands her the card with two hands, a stark contrast to the excited handling that had put creases in his carefully-drawn illustration, two figures on a swing set in the woods. Rebecca realizes with a pang that it's the park she'd begun taking him to after... everything, the wooded path providing a rare refuge from cameras and the general public.

"Oh my, I've got a budding artist on my hands," she murmurs, smiling wider than she has in a long time. She opens it carefully and reads the message. "Happy Mother's Day, Mum..."

I love you so much and I want to make sure Mother's Day is extra special. Your You're doing a lot of hard work because of the club now and because Dad is being difecult difficult and making everything weird all over again. I know you want to go back to normal, like last year, but I think this is better than normal. I am super excited because this year I get to plan mother's day all by myself (except Higgins and Coach Ted helped me pick out your present) and I am going to make it extra special for you. I love you a lot Mum, you are the best Mum ever.

Lots and lots and lots of love,

James

The paper is crowded with drawings of sunshine and rainbows and a small stick figure in a t-shirt next to a tall one in a dress. Rebecca stares at it for a long time, her heart beating noticeably in her chest, before she can look back up at James. Her son's eyes are wide.

"Are you crying, Mum? Was it not a good card?"

She pulls him into her arms before she can speak, the paper getting folded against his back as she squeezes him tight, kissing his cheek. "James, this is the best card. Thank you so much for making it for me," she says. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." His arms wrap around her neck and he leans into her as she holds him. Rebecca ducks her head to breathe in the smell of him, to absorb even more of the warmth of his love.

Lord, she's lucky.

It's been a shit year and she's lost sight of the fact a few times along the way, but fuck, to have her son here, with her, happy and safe and waking her up with a hand-drawn card...

She feels like the luckiest person alive.

When she thinks she can let go, she only leans back a bit, looking down at James with a still-watery smile. "How about chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, hm?"

"Yeah!" James says. "Oh, and you get your first present... Coach Ted made a box of his special biscuits for me to give to you!"

She laughs, surprised, and lets him lead her to the kitchen.

Maybe this year will be better than normal.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fic #rebecca welton #oc: james mannion #james au #my writing #my stuff #mother's day #i made myself emotional writing this

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jerzwriter · 2 years

Note

I’m baaaaaaaack

With a feelsy question

An old friend or acquaintance of Casey’s ask her to tell them about her man (both hotties), what would she say? How would she describe Ethan/Tobias?

FIRST: I am sooooooo sorry. I have 2 asks of yours that I started, didn't have time to finish, put in drafts, and promptly forgot about them. Is this breaking SOEP code? I hope not! But here you go.

Her descriptions would change over time. These are some statements she'd make.

Ethan and Casey:

Book 1 (beginning): "You're never going to guess who I'm working with! Dr. Ramsey! Yes, that one, can you believe it." "Oh my God and he's as gorgeous as he is brilliant, not that I noticed, I just... it's plain to see." "I seem to be his favorite, though he'll never admit it... I have my own nickname, he calls me Rookie!"

Book 1 (around opera): "He's... he's perfect. I adore him, and, God the way he kissed me. I wish we never had to stop." "I'm so crazy about him, and I know he is about me. Even though he says we can't be together, we always have these stolen glances, little touches, he always looks out for me. He's just... amazing." "No! Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. We can't be together now, but maybe one day. I know he would never hurt me."

Book1 (after the first time): "OMG are you sitting? You're sitting, right... because you have to be sitting! OK, we did it! (SCREAM)" "HE was INCREDIBLE. OMG, this man is perfect. I hope he never goes back to Edenbrook because, now that I know how unbelievable he is, I can't go back.

Between Book 1-2 (Amazon): "I can't believe him! I never took him for such a coward. I know it's hard, doesn't he think it's hard on me too? But instead of trying to get through it together, he leaves me alone!" (After a few too many drinks.) "I hate him. I hate him so much! I was right the first day I met him. He's an asshole! But... but I love him."

The majority of book 2: "We have to work things out, and I think we will. We have to, he's everything I've ever wanted."

I'm going to skip Book 3, because, Book 3.

After:

"I lucked out. Yeah, we may have gone through a lot, but he is the best (boyfriend/fiance/husband) in the world. He's attentive and kind and it's like all that good that was in him, that he held back, it's all pouring out now. He just wants me to be happy, and I just want him to be, so... it's perfect."

Tobias & Casey:

When they meet: "OMG you have to see this guy I met. Jesus, he is beautiful. The eyes, those lips, his smile... I can't even tell you what that smile does to me. And he's a doctor! I don't know, I just hope I see him again. He offered Aurora a job, so it's possible."

After a few dates: "When you come to town you have to meet him. This guy is so freaking sexy. If how he looks wasn't enough, it's just how he is, how he treats me." "No, we haven't done it yet. Every time we get freaking interrupted. Sienna and Bryce are on my shit list for this very reason." "No, it's not just that. He's so sweet with me. Everyone keeps warning me about him, but when I'm with him, I feel like I'm the only person in the world. He wants to know about me, he is just so attentive. He's great."

After he steals Stephanie: "I can't fucking believe him! I should have known! Everyone tried to warn me." "Now I have Ethan wanting to rub it in my face so bad. I mean, he hasn't been that bad, but I know he wants to." "Such a jerk! I really thought we were heading to something special."

After she learns about June: "He's dead to me." "What an asshole!" "Yeah, he keeps saying it didn't matter because it was before me, but you were fucking my co-worker right up to the second we met, and you didn't feel the need to share! This and Steph, nope. Done. Over."

After attack: "Look, we're just friends. But the guy saved my life and, I don't know. He is being so good to me. More than I could have ever expected." "He takes me out once a week, just to get me out of the house. And... I feel safe when I'm with him." "No, it's not more. We're just friends, I'm not ready and... I haven't forgotten." "So we kissed, and I forgot how good his kisses were, but it was just a kiss. Nothing more is coming of this."

After they're together: "Oh my god, I just love him so much. He makes me smile and laugh all the time. And he's just so happy about being with me, he'd hire a skywriter to tell the world if I let him, it's the coolest thing. He's always leaving me little gifts, no matter how much I tell him to stop. I'm so glad I gave this another chance."

Not going any further in the future... cause this is already too long. lol

Thanks hon! 🐑🐑🐑

#asks #asks answered #ethan x casey asks #tobias x casey asks

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fandom-smut-shots · 4 years

Text

Marshall Lee - Photographs

Photographs – Marshall Lee

Dait

A/N: Modern life AU. Feelsy and angsty but with a happy ending!

The smile that stretched across your face was more intense than the sun as you stood beside the love of your life. A tall, lanky teenage boy with shaggy black hair and creamy skin stood beside you, an arm draped lazily over your shoulders and a dopey grin on his lips, exposing his pointed teeth. His brows were arched, eyes narrowed seductively, though the way he held you to his side exhibited nothing but pure adoration and love. Your arms were secured around his waist, pressing your torsos together, your head tucking ever-so-slightly into his neck.

A bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you placed the framed photo on your bedside table. It was only the first out of the box labeled “Marshall,” and you knew the rest of its contents would be as heartbreaking as they were precious. Reaching in, you produced another frame, another piece of memorabilia capturing the love between you and the raven-haired delinquent.

His lips pressed against yours passionately, a slender hand resting delicately upon your cheek. It was your eighteenth birthday, the third consecutive birthday you’d celebrated with your troublesome boyfriend. In your hands was this year’s present – a teddy bear wearing one of Marshall’s old t-shirts, cut and poorly stitched back together in order to fit the toy’s tiny frame.

“So you don’t miss me all the time,” had been his reasoning, a response to your concerns about attending different colleges. You’d been accepted into the ivy leagues to pursue your dream, while he had only managed to apply to a state college. You’d wanted to attend the same school, but Marshall had insisted that your education and your chosen career was more important, and that your relationship was strong enough to survive the distance of the ocean.

A sniffle tingled its way through your nose, and you scrubbed a hand across your eyes to stifle the budding tears before they could even fully form. You weren’t going to cry. You were in college now, unpacking your new dorm room. Marshall was… not there.

One hand held another, the first displaying the second like a masterpiece. Marshall’s long fingers wrapped easily around your palm, his thumb caressing your knuckles. Your left hand appeared as it always had, though with one major exception.

On your ring finger sat a silver band with a simple, small gemstone in the center. It wasn’t big or flashy, but Marshall could only afford so much, working at the convenience store down the road after school and on weekends.

“It’s perfect,” you’d insisted when he tried to claim that he’d buy you a better one someday. You didn’t want a better one – you wanted this one. This was the one that Marshall chose. This one made your heart flutter and melt and tingle.

Your parents had never approved of your relationship with the troublemaker. You were a proper young lady, destined for amazing things. Marshall was a hoodlum from a broken home, destined to follow in the footsteps of his alcoholic mother and deadbeat father. You’d never believed the harsh stereotypes that the town placed on your boyfriend. You knew how good of a person he could be, how amazing he wanted to become.

Once your father found out that Marshall had proposed (by sauntering into your room unannounced, hoping to catch the two of you in a compromising position so that he had a reason to throw the boy out of his house), he’d been furious. There was screaming, and crying, and swearing, and your father had grasped the front of Marshall’s shirt and dragged him all the way through the house. You’d watched in horror as Marshall was harshly thrown out into the rain, landing with a wet thump on the pavement. Before you could call out to him, the front door had been closed and locked, and your father ordered for you to return to your room with the lowest, lividest tone you’d ever heard come from his mouth.

You stood at the podium on the stage, accepting a hug from your principal as a diploma was placed in your hands. Your cap was stationed loosely on your head, and your eyes were dull and lifeless. A hand clapped you on the back, but you couldn’t be bothered to thank the staff members or pose for photos. You and Marshall were supposed to graduate together…

Another sigh tumbled from your lips as you set the photo of your graduation in the drawer of your table rather than on top of it. It was an experience you’d rather not recall.

You lost the love of your life only a month before graduation, and you hadn’t cared about anything else since his death.

After your father had thrown him out, he’d had to walk home in the pouring rain. You lived in the nice, quiet suburbs, but Marshall lived in the dangerous back alley section of the town. He crept along the shadows, keeping to himself, but a group of thugs decided to interrupted his walk. He’d fought back as hard as he could, but he was sore from being thrown to the sidewalk, and the rain was weighing him down, and he wasn’t particularly strong due to how scrawny he was. The brutes overpowered him, tossing him down. His body was littered with bruises within seconds. He was bleeding from multiple wounds, and by the time the paramedics arrived, he was barely holding on.

Your father had informed you of Marshall’s passing the next day, and you’d spent the entire afternoon sobbing into your pillow, clutching the teddy bear he’d given you. Your parents had tried to coax you out of your room, with food and movies and offers to leave the house, but you’d refused every single word, instead drowning in your own sorrow.

Now in college, your dorm was nearly unpacked. Your mother had accompanied you in order to help transport all of your belongings, but you’d sent her away as quickly as she would allow. You wanted a break from your parents, a break from your old life. There were only two forces driving you to complete your degree – financial independence, and honoring Marshall’s memory.

You participated in college activities, eating dinner with the rest of the students in the dining hall, watching a movie with your roommates as a method of bonding. Once they retired to their own rooms, you settled into bed, a book in your lap and your beside lamp illuminating the small space. You were just about to doze off- the only sleep you seemed to get nowadays was when you exhausted your brain and succumbed unintentionally- when a tapping sound emanated from your window. Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly turned your head, expecting to find some horrible intruder. Instead, the shaggy hair and toothy grin that you’d dreamt about for the last several months met your gaze, and you nearly collapsed.

Setting your book down, you rose from the bed, slowly creeping towards the window. The rational side of your brain screamed at you to go back to bed – there was no way Marshall could be at your window. He was dead. Long dead. Your father had said so.

But your emotions were running wild, and your heart ached desperately, and you sat at the windowsill and unlatched the window and slid it open.

“M-Marsh?” you greeted hesitantly, and his grin widened.

“Hey, babe,” he returned.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, surging forward to grasp Marshall by the arms and tug him through the window. He grunted upon tumbling to the floor, crawling to the wall and taking a side beside you on the windowsill.

“How?” you questioned, reaching out to cup his cheek. His skin was cold, presumably from the chilly night air, but he leaned into your touch nonetheless.

“Remember the night I proposed?” he inquired.

You nodded, left hand squeezing into a fist as if to remind yourself that the ring was still stationed on your finger – it was.

“After your dad threw me out, I got mugged,” he explained, placing a hand over yours on his cheek. “They beat the shit out of me and left me for dead. I was lucky to make it to the hospital. It took hours, so the doctors told me, to bring me back, but they eventually got my heart pumping again. I had to stay there for a few months to recover, and by the time I got out, our senior year was over and I knew there was no way I’d be able to contact you without your parents finding out.”

“My dad told me you were dead,” you gasped, hot tears streaking down your face.

Marshall’s eyes widened. “He what? He seriously told you I died?”

You nodded, your lower lip trembling. “H-he said that y-you got attacked, a-and you died on the way to the hospital.”

“Oh, babe,” he sighed, pulling you to his chest and resting his head on yours. Damn, he smelled just as good as he always had. “I’m so sorry. I’d have sought you out sooner if I knew. I just didn’t want to face your dad again, and get you in trouble. How mad was he, after he kicked me out?”

“He tried to take the ring,” you admitted, gazing up at Marshall.

“Did you let him?”

With a teary grin, you lifted your left hand. Marshall smirked widely, taking your hand and kissing your ring finger.

“That’s my girl.”

You lurched forward, burying your face in his neck. His arms tightened around you, cradling you to his chest.

“I know I can’t stay,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

“You can stay the night,” you replied, squeezing him tighter. “We’ll figure everything out tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You led him to your bed, all but forcing him under the covers before you curled into his side. He held you tightly, refusing to let go even for a second. You turned off the lamp and exhaled softly, your head resting on his chest. As you drifted to sleep, the last image you saw was the collection of photographs displayed on your bedside table.

#marshall lee #marshall lee x reader #adventure time #adventure time x reader #reader insert

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