#the rest of the time they’re just left alone in their quiet cell | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halloweenhoneylover · 2 years

Text

slow going

summary: things have been weird between reader and steve and they’re trying to figure out how to not be weird (steve harrington x fem!reader)

word count: 10.2k (holy shit)

warnings: fluff, angst, smut (fingering, fem receiving oral, penetrative sex) (don’t read if you’re under 18!!!!!)

author’s note: still trying to get a handle on steve’s character, but i’m too obsessed w him to not write anything. i apologize in advance for the excessive use of run-on sentences and polysyndeton, but i don’t apologize for establishing steve as the king of consent. also first time writing smut pls be nice!!!!

if you’d like you can read the prequel to this, here

The tinkling of chimes alerted Steve to the presence of a new patron in Family Video. It had been a long evening of little action, no hordes of teenage boys wreaking havoc or families perusing for weekly movie nights. Likely it was due to the massive storm that had rolled in, rain pouring down in sheets and thunder that seemed to shake the foundations. June rain always came heavy like Genesis and rebirth in Hawkins. But the town was unfortunately unable to boast of the most state of the art infrastructure, and driving on those roads in this kind of weather was a perilous task that few braved. Steve was not excited to drive home at the end of his shift in an hour if this kind of weather persisted, but he didn’t mind the lack of customers; it offered some peace and quiet to log rentals and categorize incoming tapes.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention away from the computer, ready to launch into his corporate-mandated greeting, but the words died in his throat at the sight of a long-time friend and short-term stranger dripping on the store’s welcome mat.

“[Y/N],” he murmurs gently, unsure of how to acknowledge your unexpected appearance.

“Hi, Steve.” A small smile rests on your lips, feeling coy and unfamiliar under his gaze. A relatively new feeling with Steve.

Determined to disperse the tension that had solidified almost instantaneously, he shakes his head and forces congeniality. “Dude, you’re soaking. Did you walk here?”

Still recovering from the sight of him, you stammer slightly, “Uh, no. I—uh, I biked.”

“You biked?”

As if only just realizing you were totally wet to the bone, you look down at your jacket sleeves sheepishly. “Yeah, I thought the storm was dying down.” You meet his gaze again. “It wasn’t.”

Steve can’t help himself when he barks out a laugh. Faced with the ridiculousness of the situation, you can’t help yourself when you join him, giggles pouring out of you. And for a moment, you both forget that things have been really weird between the two of you and that neither of you know how to act around each other now, and you laugh for a moment, and it’s like old times. It’s like you never confessed your feelings, and it’s like he never left you on that curb alone. But memories of that chilly night in March seep back in, and the laughter dies. Things aren’t right between you, but it’s a little warmer than before.

“Well, is there anything I can help you with this fine evening?” Steve’s eyes are friendly, but his mind races with questions of why you came in tonight, and his veins are flooded with nostalgia and something else that he can’t really put finger on, but it feels eerily like regret.

“Maybe. Do you guys have Alien?”

The look he gives you is withering. “With the amount of times you’ve rented this movie, you probably could’ve bought it five times over.”

A mischievous grin paints your features. “Yeah, but there’s something fun about watching you get mad at the money I’ve wasted every time I rent it.”

He rolls his eyes at that and hops over the counter to steer you to the sci-fi section. Sure, you know where it is, you’ve been here countless times, but he has to do his due diligence as an upstanding employee of Family Video, right? “I’m not mad, I just know you’re smart, and it’s a shame to see you neglect those brain cells every time you do something stupid like rent your favorite movie instead of buy it.”

He pulls the familiar VHS case from the shelf and hands it to you, but you’re grinning up at him, and he feels something inside him shudder pleasantly. He chalks it up to the two and a half months he went without seeing you. And the thought of those months clouds his mind, and he clears his throat, curiosity getting the better of him.

“How have you gone almost three months without seeing this movie? Did you betray the Family Video name and rent it from the library?”

The way he says it, it sounds like a joke, but the fact that he had acknowledged your friendship hiatus dampens your mood greatly, and something like shame shines in your eyes. “No, I could never betray FV, heh. Just—uh—Ben didn’t really like sci-fi.”

Deep down, Steve feels his ribs crack and his stomach drop at the mention of Ben, your new boyfriend. Robin had let it slip sometime mid-April that you were seeing someone, and while he played it off very cool and unaffected, Steve had felt abandoned. Something he hadn’t expected to feel and definitely wasn’t allowed to feel when he had abandoned you first. He had known Ben in high school; they were on the swim team together. He was a sweet enough guy and maybe good-looking, but Steve never paid enough attention to much outside of himself to notice, but he sure was paying attention now.

“Ben didn’t like sci-fi,” he echoes faintly.

You swallow harshly, uncomfortable. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t want to like, push my interests onto him, or something like that.” You spout an awkward laugh to cover the weird moment of unanticipated vulnerability, but Steve’s eyes only soften with a glint of something you perceive as pity which you hate. “But um, we kinda broke things off, so….”

Steve’s eyebrows raise and his eyes search yours. “Oh. Uh, I’m—I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you muster weakly.

He clears his throat again before ducking around you back to the desk. “Let’s get you checked out then.”

It’s silent as he clicks away at the computer, and the quiet is unbearable. Your hands clutch the counter, and you look anywhere in the store but Steve. He sneaks a glance at you. You seem to be glowing in the orange neon light of the FV sign behind him, skin shiny with rainwater, and he’s always known you were pretty, but there’s something about seeing you for the first time in months, and it churns in his gut. He hits a button before handing you the tape.

“How much do I owe you?”

He swipes his hand noncommittally and shakes his head. “Nothing. This one’s on me.”

“Steve—”

“No, no, I insist.” He looks at you with sincerity and a terribly remorseful smile, and it silences you instantly. You wonder why he looks sorry.

“Okay.” It’s a near whisper.

Despite some tether to Steve that urges you to stay, to muddle through whatever weirdness resides between you, you start towards the door with a wave.

“Oh shit,” he says in a way that is too loud for all of the moments that preceded it. “It’s still pouring, and you biked. Do you want a ride?”

You hesitate a moment. “What time does your shift end?”

He glances at the clock on the wall before waving it off. “I’m supposed to get off at 10, but this place is a ghost town. Nobody came in hours before you, and I highly doubt anyone is gonna come by later in this shitstorm.”

You shift a little, your clothes waterlogged and heavy on your body. “I don’t want you to get in trouble….”

He scoffs, “There’s no way Keith’ll find out, unless you tell him.” And then he looks at you very seriously, but you can see the joke simmering behind the umber of his eyes. “[Y/N/N], are you gonna snitch on me?”

It’s your turn to scoff.

“See, there you go. I’ll be fine! Let me just grab my keys, and we can head out.”

He heads into a backroom, and you wait, clutching Alien close to your chest. Excitement bubbles in your chest, and then a weird discomfort leaks in when you become aware of the excitement. Excited for proximity, excited for closeness with Steve. I’m excited to see Steve because he is a dear friend who I have not seen in a long time, and I have missed him as a friend.

While cementing your new mantra, Steve bursts from the back with his keys dangling from his pointer finger and a vigor that you don’t quite understand. On the wall behind the desk, he flicks a switch and the illuminated Pretty in Pink poster on the wall and the neon Family Video lettering go dark. He jogs towards the door, opening it and gesturing you out politely, and you helplessly watch his mania, slightly confused but mostly entertained. “M’lady,” he sing-songs with the cheekiest grin.

Your face morphs into one of bemused disgust, and you stare at him as you walk out of the store. “You’ve been hanging out with Robin and Dustin too much.”

He shrugs casually. “They’re pretty much all I have now that—” he stops himself and grimaces with the knowledge of his slip-up. He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know that it ends with now that we don’t hang out.

Guilt echoes in the cavity of your chest painfully, but you don’t really want to go back to painful silence, so you say, “They’re good company, though.” You smile at him, and he smiles back, but neither of you really feel it.

And maybe because you’re a masochist, you continue with a forced light tone, “You used to be on dates all the time. Is the female population of Hawkins not also good company still?”

He looks out to where the rain is still heaving with an unreadable expression. “I don’t—I don’t really go on many dates anymore.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Just got tired of it. None of them….” Steve tries to think of something to say that won’t give him away entirely because he can’t say none of them were you. That wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to you, who had laid your heavily guarded heart on full display for him on that crumbling asphalt, an offer that he had wrapped up nicely and handed right back. “None of them were right for me, I guess.”

You nod solemnly. “I hope you find your right one, Stevie.”

He looks down at you with a wounded expression and wide eyes, and you cannot understand why he looks like that, but you persist anyway. “I really do.”

The silence that follows is filled with mourning. Mourning for missed opportunities and the fickleness of chance. The air is thick, and neither can bring themselves to break it.

So, Steve nods, and with a gentle hand on your elbow, he ushers you to his car. You both scramble to find refuge from the rain, fumbling with the door handles, and by the time you’re sitting in the front seat, you’re both panting with the frantic effort.

“We can get your bike tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He starts the car, and you expect him to pull away into the night, but instead, he sits with the engine running, staring straight ahead. Your brows knit with concern “Steve? Are you o—”

“Did you ever think Ben was your right one?”

The question shocks you into laughter, which has him frowning in confusion. “I don’t know.” You ponder for a moment. “I really don’t know! It was only a couple months, I don’t think you’re supposed to know after that long. He was cute and smart. He thought I was pretty, maybe.” The insecurity tacked on the end makes something in him buckle, wondering how someone could not be completely and utterly convinced that you are one of the prettiest people alive. “I don’t know. He was nice to me.” Your voice is feeble, and Steve can’t help the shame that floods his brain, thinking of the time that he most definitely wasn’t nice to you. And while he feels completely incapacitated, he nods slowly and puts the car in reverse.

He stretches a hand behind your headrest to see out the back as he reverses, but his closeness makes you ache as you stare up the length of his strong arm to his handsome face concentrated on driving. He takes his hand back to set the lever to drive, and you want to grab it, keep it close, set it on your thigh, your waist, your cheek, anything, but you remain still.

You drive in silence for a minute or two, listening to the rain and the beat of the windshield wipers before Steve summons the courage from somewhere he can’t understand and says, “Do you want to come over?”

It’s the second time tonight that he’s really shocked you, and he registers your shock before backpedaling. “You don’t have to, it’s just I live closer than you do, and I have some dry clothes you could borrow.” He grips the steering wheel for support before continuing. “And we haven’t seen each other in a while. I thought it’d be nice.” His breath is short, feels like he’s working really hard to reclaim everything that belongs in his lungs. “Plus, we could watch your movie. Sigourney Weaver’s hot.” He’s about to cringe, and then you laugh, and he wishes that was his only job, to make you laugh.

“Yeah, she is,” you murmur pensively. Steve can see you thinking, and his chest feels like it’s about to burst with the desperate hope flowering inside. You offer him another small smile before it widens graciously, and you nod your head.

“Yeah, that sounds fun.”

—

The sound of your footsteps upstairs jolts Steve with pangs of familiarity. He’s sitting on his kitchen counter, losing his mind, because it’s been a long while since you’ve been in his house, and he wants to make sure that you’ll come back sooner rather than later. Next to his head, the microwave hums and casts a honey-colored light on his face as the kernels inside it begin to burst. And before he knows it, it’s beeping, and your socked feet are padding down the stairs.

Grabbing a bowl, he pours the popcorn in and turns his head to see you lean against the doorframe. Your still damp hair has been pushed out of your eyes, and you’re wearing an old Hawkins High basketball sweatshirt of his and a pair of shorts he’d long forgotten about. You look clean and somewhat revived after shedding your previous outfit, and he feels like you fit here, smiling and gentle, wearing his clothes.

“Thanks for letting me change.”

“Of course, you were starting to look like a drowned cat.”

You chuckle again, and he has to tamp down the soaring of his heart at the sound.

“I was starting to feel like one too.”

You cast a few glances around the room, the home still so familiar but seeming somehow different this time around. Wordlessly, Steve grabs the bowl of popcorn and jerks his head towards the door to the basement, signaling you to go ahead. You snag the rented VHS from the counter, push open the door, and start trundling down the stairs. “How many times do you think this’ll be for you?” you call up after him.

“What do you mean?” He rounds the couch, setting down the popcorn and instinctively catching the VHS you toss his way.

Settling into the well-worn leather of the couch’s corner, you rest your legs on an ottoman pushed up against the couch. “How many times do you think you’ll have seen this movie now?”

He’s kneeling to put in the tape as he shakes his head with a tender smile and answers, “Hard to say. You made me watch this at least once a month for a year and half, but I’m bad at math, so I don’t know how many that is.” He doesn’t realize his teasing lands sourly, and when he turns to look at you again, you’ve crossed your arms defensively and retreated further into the couch with a sullen, thoughtful look. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. You didn’t make me; I really like Alien. You know, hot Sigourney Weaver.” He tries his joke again, but it doesn’t elicit the same reaction the second time around. You’re worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wishes you would stop because you have a bad habit of biting until you bleed.

Finally, you look up at him with big sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Confused, Steve collapses onto the couch next to you, and his eyes search yours, all wide and shiny. “For what?”

Before he’s done looking, your eyes shift away, and he feels a little hollow without you looking at him. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “Being a bad friend, I guess. Forcing you to like all the stuff I like, being overbearing.” A beat. “We’re not very alike, are we?”

When your eyes meet his again, there are tears pooling at your waterline, and he feels his chest imploding at the sight, wishing with all his might for you to stop crying, especially when you did nothing wrong. “No, we’re not, but that doesn’t really matter. That’s what friends do: they watch their movies and listen to their music and go to their basketball games. I like things because you like them, and you’re my friend. It’s not overbearing, it’s love, ya know, it’s contagious.”

He’s seen the face you’re wearing before: all vast and exposed and defenseless, every emotion swimming plainly beneath your lashes, and your jaw tilting up like you want to be kissed, and you’re watching him like your life depends on it. He saw it on that night in March when he denied you, and now he thinks that he could never deny you anything if he tried, wonders how he ever denied you before. Slowly, he presses forward, gingerly nudging his nose into yours, silently asking permission. You close your eyes, and your lips part ever so slightly, so he closes the distance and kisses you.

It’s a homecoming with fluttering confetti. He moves slowly, the world suspended, and he brings a hand to your jaw, sturdy and lithe underneath his fingertips. He only realizes it’s all he’s ever wanted until it’s happening and he never wants it to stop. And with this realization, he deepens the kiss and pushes into your mouth gently like he wants to consume you because he does. The desperation on his tongue is evident, and a giddy moan rumbles in your chest, a sound he eagerly swallows. The hand on your cheek skims down the skin of your neck, the fall of your shoulder, and finds its home on the curve of your waist. Steve’s above you, holding you, and it’s a dream come true, so when he pulls himself away, gazing down at you with soft, dark eyes, to whisper are you sure?, your answer is a wheezing please.

Something feral inhabits him with the desperation in your voice, and he’s licking at your jaw, mouthing at your pulsepoint until that something overcomes him, and he bites your neck, a heady groan erupting viciously from your throat. He’s got an elbow propped by your head to give himself leverage, and his other hand is roaming, squeezing, gripping your hip like he’s afraid this is his last chance to touch you and he has to know what every soft part of you feels like.

“Steve.” Your voice falters under the weight of your desire.

“Steve.” It’s not a question or a command, just another way of confirming that the man over you is real and is touching you like he wants you.

His one hand finds the edge of your sweatshirt, and he breaks away once again to look you in the eye. “Can I?”

You nod dumbly, and he sits up, allowing both of his hands to find the hem and tug it over you. It’s mostly a successful venture until something gets caught, and everything is out but your head. Muffled slightly comes, “Steve, wait, I’m stuck.” It slightly clears the haze of lust that permeated the basement, and Steve can’t help but laugh. “Nooo, don’t laugh,” you chide but the unmistakable beginnings of a giggle fray the edges of your seriousness. “Steve, help me!” Peals of laughter collect like shiny curls of ribbon while he finally pulls the sweatshirt over your head, and you both remember that you are friends, good ones at that, who like each other and make each other laugh, and it’s perfectly happy.

It takes a minute for insecurity to catch up to you in this state, but it’s perennially punctual, and while you’re still smiling, you cross your arms. “Don’t do that, let me look at you.” Your hopes of hiding are dashed as Steve tenderly wrests your arms apart, and he looks at you like you’re beautiful, and with the appraising look in his eyes, you finally feel it. He stares at your body for a long time, longer than you ever thought someone would want to look, and he traces a single finger down the skin above your rib cage. “You really are something else,” he murmurs.

You can’t help but press, “In a good way?”

He smiles wide at that. “In the best way.”

He takes both hands to your face, leaning down to kiss you because he can’t not kiss you anymore. His hands make their way to your waist again, and you don’t feel bad about it. His fingertips press into your skin and press up your body until they meet the elastic of your bra. When his eyes meet yours this time, he doesn’t have to ask, and you’re nodding vehemently. Arching your back to grant him access, he slips a single hand to the clasp, which he undoes expertly. He leans back to take the bra with him, but you hold it to your chest.

Searching your eyes for insecurity, he only finds prickly, teasing suspicion.

“You’re kind of a pro at that. One-handed.”

It’s his turn to be sheepish, and he doesn’t really know what to say.

“Have you gotten a lot of practice with that? Take all your girls down here and impress them with that move?”

Leaning back on his heels on the ottoman, he grins down at you all laid out and cheeky, having finally claimed the upper hand. “So it was impressive?”

You shrug coyly, but the way your lips curl is anything but. “Maybe! Who’s to say? Really it lets me know that you, Steve Harrington, are a total womanizer.” He looks to the side away from you with a smile and a blush that is unfamiliar to you, and it makes your heart squeeze. “I’m willing to let it slide…for a price.”

His eyebrows lift incredulously, and he shifts his gaze back to you. “How steep are we talking?”

You pretend to contemplate it very seriously with a pensive finger tapping your lips in thought before you gasp theatrically. “I think you need to take your shirt off.”

His laughter spills out, your giggles accompanying soon after. He shrugs with the biggest, most smug grin on his lips and grabs the hem of his sweater. “Well if fair is fair….” And it’s over his head in a second, revealing his broad, tanned chest, and you don’t mean to, but you heave a quick intake of breath because while you’ve seen this before at his pool, at the lake, you’ve never seen it in this context. A context where you’re allowed to touch.

So you do. Mirroring his earlier touches, you reach out and trail a couple fingers down his hard stomach, fingertips tracing down and brushing the happy little trail of hair that collects at the bottom. He watches you fondly, granting you this moment of appreciation after being allowed it himself. “Stevie,” you whisper. “You’re so pretty.”

“I’m pretty?” His smile cannot be contained. You’ve got the moon in your eyes, and he can’t really believe it’s there while you’re looking at him.

“Yeah.”

“I’d argue you’re prettier.”

“It’s not a competition.”

He chuckles again at that, taking your hand feather-soft in both of his and bringing it up to his face. He delicately places kisses on each fingertip and on your palm before curling your fingers in and pressing your closed hand against his face.

It burns the tip of his tongue, churns in his stomach. I love you.

But he doesn’t say it. He can’t explain why, but he doesn’t. Though he thinks that if you’re any good at reading him (which you are), you would be able to see it written plainly across his face, see it in the way he looks at you.

And maybe you do see it because you gently pull your hand away and grab the straps of your bra resting loosely on your chest. You’ve always been made up of walls and defensiveness and toughness, protecting a soft, pink inside. All heady eye contact and heavy breath, you slowly pull the garment away from your chest, and Steve thinks it’s a metaphor. Then, he can’t believe he’s thinking about metaphors and English class while the girl of his dreams is taking off her bra in front of him, but nonetheless, to him it’s a metaphor for crumbling walls and vulnerability because he can see it in your eyes. You look scared. Like at any moment he might decide he doesn’t want you anymore, and he’ll leave you soft and pink and bleeding. Guilt curdles in his stomach because he knows he’s done that before, but he vows to make you know that he’ll never do it again.

So, he reaches out, his arms strong and sure, and he runs his hands down your sides to hold your hips firmly and lets his gaze run wild over the soft expanse of you. He lets you steal his breath as he holds you down and looks at you. His eyebrows are furrowed and his head shaking when he whispers, “You’re not real.”

Your eyebrows pinch in silent questioning.

“You’re not real,” he repeats. “There’s no way. You can’t be real. This has to be a dream. You are a dream.”

“Steve,” you chide, but the smile pulling at your lips is unmistakable as your insides twist and curl joyously. “You’re being cheesy.”

“No, I’m not, [Y/N/N]. I’m just telling the truth.” He starts to grin because you’re laughing again. “I’ve got to be sleeping because there’s no way you look like this, and you’re letting me touch you.”

“Steve!” Your admonishment falls flat under the peals of your laughter.

“I’m being serious!”

“Okay, weirdo.”

Holding your waist, Steve leans forward to lay wet kisses on your collarbone. “I’m a serious guy.”

You run a hand over his head to hold his neck fondly. “I know you are. Super serious guy.”

The teasing subsides as his mouth laves lower on your chest, from the hollow of your neck to your sternum to the gentle curve of your breast. He can feel the rise and fall of your ribs as your breath gets deeper, shakier. His lips are soft until his teeth are not, and you cry out. “Sorry, baby.” If you weren’t breathless before, you definitely were now after the pet name, and he continues his kisses with smug lips. He switches sides, kissing and licking and sucking, and once he starts using his teeth again, you know there will be purplish spots to look forward to.

His hands with minds of their own have found purchase on your hips, mindlessly fingering the hem of your shorts. It tickles a little, but you are somewhat preoccupied with his mouth’s business that you can’t find it in yourself to reprimand him, but it doesn’t stop you from squirming slightly. One finger boldly slips over the short’s elastic, and he glances up at you from under his weirdly luscious boyish eyelashes. “May I?”

A breathless laugh. “What manners you have.”

His eyes remained trained on yours, waiting, your answer not sufficing, and the seriousness in his eyes almost sucks the levity from the room. You want to spend hours considering his thoughtfulness, his care, but you don’t have hours, so you nod and whisper, “Yes. Steve, please.”

He’s kissing you again, and his hand is making its way down your shorts. When a solitary finger runs the damp gusset of your underwear, you rasp in a gust of air. He chases your lips for a chaste peck. “Are you still wet from the rain, or are you just happy to see me?” He breathes a laugh into your mouth which opens into a brilliant giggle.

You don’t have the time to come up with a witty response before he’s rubbing that finger along you again. There’s nothing precise about it, but the pressure alone is enough to leave you panting. Steve, thoughtful as ever, kisses your neck again, leaving your mouth free to choke down air. By the time his hand is moving again, the cotton of your underwear is nearly soaked. He snaps the elastic of your underwear against your stomach, eliciting a pitchy whine he’s never heard before but would like to hear again. His fingers slide underneath the waistband, and you’re completely mindless with his hand against the real thing. He cups your mound, just holding you for a minute, and you think it’s comforting until you feel something down there gush, and you’re mortified by the wet that must have doused his fingers. Steve notices you shift uncomfortably, so he looks up to your face where your embarrassment is written plain in the heat of your cheeks. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, in fact it’s extremely hot, so Steve pulls his hand from your shorts and pins you down with his gaze while he brings his shiny fingers to his lips and sucks two in his mouth. Maybe it’s unprofessional, but your jaw drops, and you gawk, still holding eye contact. He pulls his fingers out with a soft pop.

“You taste good.”

The whiny moan you let out sounds like something from those movies in the back of Family Video, and Steve can’t help but smile to himself as he slots his hands down your shorts again. He slips his middle finger into your folds where the slick hasn’t stopped accumulating, and he gently runs it from clit to opening where he teases slightly. Any semblance of control over the noises you’re making has been lost, and you’re glad, for once, that his parents are never home. He expertly collects some of the wet to grease little circles on your swollen clit, and his mouth is on your chest again, his tongue about as wet as your pussy. You’re not sure it can get any better until his middle finger slides down to your entrance and his thumb finds home on your clit. The pad of his thumb is moving up and down while his middle finger carefully pushes into you. He curls his finger inside you, and you never knew Steve was so dexterous, but you’d never be caught complaining now. His touch is gentle but purposeful, knowing exactly where to stroke to find the soft spot inside that drives you wild. When he feels your cunt is no longer gripping his finger so tightly, blooming with arousal, he presses a second finger in, a move that has you keening into a throw pillow on the couch.

Your mouth is open in a silent scream, jaw tight. He notices this and brings his unoccupied hand to tenderly tuck stray strands of hair behind your ears. He then cups your cheek, his thumb swiping fondly over hot skin. His fingers are still moving, but he’s whispering now, “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Maybe it’s the heat he’s stirring up in your lower half, or maybe it’s the plain affection in his tone, but tears spring to your eyes.

“Steve, please.” It’s a plaintive susurration, and he knows what you need, pressing his lips to yours. It starts soft and reassuring but turns into a devouring. Your hungry lips seem to be the only thing capable of expressing the ache in your chest.

You would have been content to stay there forever, but the heat in your gut is becoming increasingly hard to ignore, and after a particularly strong stroke of his thumb against your clit, you’re crying out again, more urgently this time.

“Pretty girl,” he says against your open mouth, noses pressing into each other. “You can let go, I’ve got you.” His fingers continue their ministrations until a deep gasp, and he knows you’re there. Your breath is hot on his face, your moans hotter, and he smiles to himself, not smug but sentimental as all hell. He works you through it because he’s a gentleman and because he needs a moment to recover himself after becoming conscious of the slick of your cum collecting in his hand.

Your eyes are closed with a blissful smile pinching your cheeks when you have finally revived enough to speak. “I’d heard you were good, Harrington, but I didn’t know you were that good.”

“Was always getting ready for you.” It’s partially a joke, and it’s partially not.

Luckily, you only hear the joke and laugh, so he doesn’t have to confront the very real part of him that becomes aware of the not-joke’s implications. He can’t really think about that right now, so instead, he carefully retrieves his hand from between your thighs, wipes it clean on his jeans, and places long strokes up and down your bare arm as your breath finally settles.

When you open your eyes, Steve is carefully tracing your body with his gaze, his shoulder and chest pressed up against your side, but he grins when he sees you looking at him. “Do you wanna keep going?”

Nerves dance lightly in your chest, but they’re good nerves, so you nod with a matching twist of your lips.

His eyebrows raise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, hold on.” He removes himself from your side, and the loss is devastating. You weren’t really aware of how much heat he was generating against you until he was gone. Grabbing a nearby pillow, you hold it to your chest to maintain a decency that doesn’t really matter anymore and twist to see over the back of the couch where Steve has gone to a closet that you had previously known as VHS tape storage. He stretches up to the top shelf, and you no longer try to dampen the warmth in your stomach at the sight of his freckled back rippling with muscles. He gets down a box and pulls out a condom, and you scoff in disbelief. “You’re telling me the VHS closet has doubled as the condom closet this whole time?”

He shrugs. “You can’t reach the top shelf.”

“Oh my god.” But your incredulity has dissolved into laughter once again, and his grin is absolutely shit-eating as he replaces the box on the shelf and rounds the couch. He stands, inspecting you sprawled on the couch and ottoman.

“Yeah, this won’t do. Hold on.”

You yelp as he grabs you by the knees and reorient you so you’re laying on the couch length-wise. He seems pleased to manhandle you and to see how breathless you are after doing so. “Much better.”

He crawls onto the couch, and you heave your legs apart so he can settle in between them on his knees. “Eager much?” he quips lightheartedly, but he can see the flash of self-doubt in your eyes, the fear that maybe you were doing too much, wanting too much. He places a hand on your calf and skims up and down. “No, me too.” He swallows funny before venturing into touchy-feely. “I don’t think you know how much I’ve wanted this.” There’s a whisper of confusion on your face that disperses as fast as it came, and you smile softly.

He notices the pillow still covering your chest and reaches to tug the corner. “Can I have this?”

You let go of the pillow, and you feel bare, the cold of the basement no longer mitigated by Steve’s proximate warmth, causing your nipples to harden. His gaze is openly obsessive, ravenous and the pillow in his hand forgotten. “I don’t think this view will ever get old.”

“You’re gonna catch flies.”

He whips back into shape with your teasing and remembers the pillow. Sticking the condom in his pocket to free up a hand, he sneaks the hand under your hips. “Lift.” You do as he says, and he slides the pillow under you, canting your hips up to him. His hands attach to your waist and slide to your hips, once again fiddling with the waistband of your shorts. With furrowed brows, he glances over the shorts (his shorts) and looks up at you with concern. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but the lending period on these bad boys has elapsed.”

With a roll of your eyes, you stare back unamused. “Steve, I know you are not using a Family Video script as dirty talk right now.”

Despite your protests, he persists with the bit. “I really am sorry, ma’am, but with your permission, I need to take these back.”

“Okay, yeah fine alright.” You sigh and let your head loll to the side.

“Alright?” he asks, a shade more serious.

You meet his eyes and nod. “Alright.”

“Alright!” And with renewed enthusiasm, he tugs the shorts over your hips and down your legs, tossing them to the side. “And because I believe in equality,” he says while standing. “I’ll also do you the honors.” Proud as ever, Steve slides his pants down his legs, leaving him in boxers. Chuckling, you clap lightly and give a little whoop! He bows like a dork.

He starts toward you but quickly stops, mumbling an oh shit as he drops to the ground and searches his jeans’ pockets. Triumphantly, he pulls out the condom he nearly forgot, and you snort. “My hero.”

He comes back and settles between your legs on his knees again, setting the condom on the nearby ottoman. His attention zeroes in on your underwear, and his fingers are greedy, petting down your lower stomach and finding the waistband. He sees how shiny the inside of your thighs are and how soaked the fabric is, and his suave persona falters, baser instincts making something in his stomach tighten. “We really made a mess down here, didn’t we?” You flush and let out a nervous giggle. His gaze tracks to your eyes, asking the silent question. You nod.

He pulls the cotton down your legs slowly, reverence in his gaze, in his hands. A shuddering breath from both of you. Once free of your legs, your underwear is tossed aside. You’re not really sure what’s going to happen next, but he picks up your leg, lifting it to his lips. Locking eyes with you, he presses chaste kisses to your ankle, up your calf. He sets your foot down, knee bent a little, and stretches out, laying down on the rest of the couch. He continues his line of kisses, brushing his lips against the inside of your knee tenderly, and it makes you shiver. Your chest is heaving with heavy breaths, your fingers gripping the leather of the couch. Giving your other leg its proper due, he laves wet, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh, growing closer and closer to where you want him most. He’s nearly there when he decides to nip the soft skin of your thigh, his teeth sharp but his tongue soothing. He noses against the plush of your skin affectionately, and something about it makes you want to cry. Then he’s where you need him, and instead of touching you, he’s breathing in deep through his nose. He’s smelling you, and you want to cry for a very different reason.

“Steve, please.” Begging sounds unfamiliar on your tongue, but he doesn’t mind it one bit. He hoists your legs over his broad shoulders, one hand wrapped around the expanse of your thigh and the other holding your hip in place. He purses his lips and blows a quick burst of cold air to your wet center that has you whining before licking into the velvet of your sopping folds. His kisses are ravenous, starved. He knows how to eat pussy with skill and dexterity, but at the moment, he’s more concerned with getting his mouth on as much of you as possible, and you don’t seem to mind, mewling helplessly. After a long stripe up the length of you, something in you cracks, and your fingers twist in his hair to hold yourself together, and lightheaded, he thinks that he would never leave his place between your thighs if you gave him the opportunity.

Finally satisfied that he’s tasted as much of you as possible, his movements become more specific, sucking your clit in between kitten licks, and it seems like you like it because your cunt is weeping, slick pouring out of you and onto his face. You tug on his hair, and it’s his turn to moan voraciously.

“Stevie, baby—” If you were going to say anything else, the words are lost as a groan rips from your chest, Steve diving back into you with a hunger he’s not sure will ever be sated. He’s licking into you, and your stomach is jumping with the pure pleasure, your blood boiling. When he comes back to your clit, kissing gently, it happens all at once, unexpected, and you’re gushing again. Thighs closing around his head, Steve laps at the wetness flowing out of you, taking until there’s nothing left to give. He’s too much, and you’re too sensitive, and you’re crying out, but he doesn’t relent until the heel of your hand presses against his forehead, pushing him away.

You’re out of breath but manage to quip, “Eager much?”

He huffs out a laugh, leaning his head against your thigh and slick gleaming on his face. You sit like that for a minute, letting your breathing slow and him nestling into the warmth of your legs. When he checks in on you, your eyes are closed and your breathing deep but an ever present smile on your lips. “D’you wanna go to bed?”

You chuckle. “Stevie, we didn’t come this far to stop now.”

“But we can, though.” His brow furrows, and he looks at you seriously. “We can stop whenever you want.”

You can’t help but smile at his concern, and you grapple for his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his. “Thank you, Stevie. But if you’re down, I would absolutely love to have sex with you right now.”

He grins. “Yeah, alright.”

Reluctantly pushing himself out from between your legs, he moves to a sitting position, lifting his hips to take off his boxers. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watch him with a goofy grin, stupidly excited just to have fun and feel good with him. He slips his underwear off, his cock springing up and leaking precum.

“Woah.”

He grabs the condom from the ottoman. “What?”

“Just—confronted by the man, the myth, the legend.”

He swats weakly at your leg with the back of his hand. “Shut up.”

He rips the condom open, rolling it on with practiced ease. “What! You’ve been the talk of the town for a while, King Steve, and I just gotta say you’re living up to your reputation.”

Rolling his eyes, he shifts back onto his knees on the couch, but when he looks at you, he can tell your disguising your nerves with teasing. He softens, running a hand down your leg. “We’ll go slow.” You meet his gaze and smile gratefully.

Shuffling up close to you, he leans over you to kiss you. It’s gentle and says everything he can never say to you out loud. Your hands lift to his jaw, holding him to you, not letting him break away, but he’d never leave if you wanted him to stay. You pull away for a moment, foreheads still pressed together. “I’m ready if you’re ready,” you whisper.

He nods with a smile, running a hand over your head to land on your neck while placing a peck on your hairline. The small dose of affection has your heart racing and butterflies stirring in your stomach ruthlessly, and you lay back, giddy. He sits back on his knees and takes a second to let the immensity of this moment weigh on his shoulders, on his heart. You’re otherworldly laying soft and pliant, hips tilted up, presented to him. One hand grabs your hip, thumb massaging into the fullness of flesh there, and the other takes your knee and hikes against his hip, palm skimming down the abundance of your thigh. His grip on you is tight as if the tighter he holds, the more real this moment is, the longer he can hold onto it, and when you’re looking up at him like he hung all the stars in the sky, it knocks the wind right out of him. “You’ve got to be a real life angel, [Y/N/N].” His words make your eyebrows pinch, and you’ve lost count of the amount of times tears have sprung to your eyes this evening.

He keeps a steadying hand on your hip but takes the other to hold himself while he lines himself up with your entrance. One last glance up to you for a silent nod of permission, and he begins to press into you. It’s ever so slow, but he’s girthy, so you’re already letting your head loll while moans pour out of you thick and unhurried like hot syrup. Steve’s wrangling his own feelings at how tight and wet you are, and he has to get himself together so he doesn’t blow before the real thing has even started. He’s only a few inches in when he hears a hiss of pain and an ouch! His stomach lurches with guilt and worry, and he stops moving immediately and looks to where your face is scrunched up. “Are you okay?”

You nod vehemently, eyes still squeezed shut. “Yeah, I just—ah—I’ve never done this before with someone so….”

“Yeah, I know.” His hands are back at your hips, thumbs working the muscles there to relax you and ease any discomfort.

“You know?” you chuckle breathlessly. “That’s a little presumptuous of you.”

“Sorry, baby.”

“S’okay, Stevie baby.” The pet name is said jokingly, but his heart squeezes, so he squeezes your hips. He laughs, full of mirth, and it makes you laugh too, and he can feel you start to relax, the tension in your body dissipating.

“Do you wanna stop?”

“No, I think I’m good, you can keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The slide in is easier now, and you’re tight now only because you’re clenching in pleasure. “Ohhh,” and it’s like you’ve only just realized that this actually feels really good. A second more and Steve is fully sheathed in you, and you’re both groaning relentlessly. He doesn’t move, letting you get acclimated to the feeling of being full.

“You feel so good,” he pants, head thrown back and Adam’s apple bobbing. “You feel so good.”

“Steve, baby, please move.” At your behest, he’s pulling out slowly still, and it sounds obscene and wet because your slick is incessant, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever love a pussy as much as he loves yours. Your whine is coming from deep in your throat with the loss of his thickness in you, but it explodes into a girlish wail as he starts pushing back in again. Fully seated in you, he readjusts, resting an elbow by the side of your head and sliding an arm beneath your back. Melting into his embrace, you throw your arms around his shoulders to feel the warm, freckled expanse of his back. Like this, it’s all skin on skin and breathing each other’s breath, and if you could crawl inside his skin, you would. His hips begin a faster rhythm, pistoning steadily into your wet heat which is getting hotter and wetter by the moment. It’s all curling pleasure, and you don’t mean to, but your fingernails dig into the muscle of his shoulders. Everything in you is trembling, so you bury your face in his neck, where he smells like cologne and sweat.

“Steve!” It’s muffled by salty skin.

“I know, baby, you’re doing so well.” His praise rips a whine from you. “Taking me so well, pretty girl.”

He wants to kiss you, but your mouth is hidden, so he does the next best thing: mouth wetly at your neck, bite the spot below your ear, suck bruises into the well of your collarbone. You respond with a bite to his shoulder, and it almost makes him want to laugh. Your cunt has grown tighter again, and he knows you’re close but that something has to change to get you there. His hot breath washes against the shell of your ear. “Hold on.”

Holding you tight to his chest with the arm already underneath your back, he pulls you both into a sitting position, you on his lap. He knows he’ll be able to get deeper this way, and he can tell you’re already feeling it by the way you’re mewling sweet nothings. “Stevie baby, I feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, I know.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, this time in unfathomable pleasure, and he studies your face. The sweat that seems to make you glow, your swollen, kiss-bitten lips, the lashes that rest so delicately on the apples of your cheeks. With tender fingers, he pushes the hair out of your eyes again, tucking strands behind your ears, smoothing what can’t be tamed back into the mess of your hair. Your eyes flutter open, and the brown of his eyes shines with incredible fondness in the dim light of the basement. Your shaky fingers push a few errant locks behind his ears, and he laughs at the reciprocated gesture. Your hands find home at his jaw, bringing his mouth to yours. These kisses are slow but not gentle, and you’re licking into his mouth, and he’s licking into yours. His hands settle on your hips once again, and your surprised gasp yawns into a gaping moan as he holds you up and then drops you down onto his cock, his tip bumping your cervix.

And with that, you’re back into it. Your thighs quiver as you try to keep pace with his thrusts. Everything between your thighs is slippery and fast, and all you can do is hold his shoulders for support. You’re already so pent up, and the heat is stirring in your stomach, and you know you won’t last long. A particularly deep thrust has you clenching, and he holds your hips down for a moment, spearing into you before resuming his pace.

You’re babbling mindlessly, trying to repay his good dirty talk, but it’s mostly incoherent groans and various iterations of so big, so good, so deep. It’s hard to think when he’s fucking you like his life depends on it. Another hard thrust, you’re crying out, and something about the way your voice stretched thin, he knows you’re close.

“Come on, pretty girl. You’re doing so good, you can come for me, I know you can.”

One hand leaves your hip to find your clit, giving quick back and forth strokes that have you buckling.

“Steve.” It’s urgent, and he knows you’re right there. One more stroke, and you’re collapsing in his neck, his hips slowing but not stopping.

“There you go, I’ve got you.” The hand on your hip slides around your back to pull you closer. You’re inconsolable, whining endlessly into his skin. Your breathing starts to slow, but a gasp interrupts the gradual descent. You pry yourself from his skin and look him in the eye. “You haven’t come.”

“You’re tired.” He shakes his head nonchalantly, but the way his chest heaves with stuttering breaths gives him away.

He should know by now that you’re stubborn and won’t let this slide. You’re shaking your head emphatically. “Not too tired.”

He’s about to protest when you reach behind you, setting your hands on his knees and your chest puffing out, and the sight of your tits presented proudly in his face is enough to silence him wholly. With great effort, you lift up your hips and slam them down, and he’s already shuddering. Despite your exhaustion, you find a moderate rhythm, grinding into him on the downbeat. His hands find your waist, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce with the rise and fall of your hips. You can tell he’s close because the muscles in his lower stomach are jumping, so you swirl your hips experimentally, and that’s all he needs. He grunts with a jerk of his hips into you, spilling into the condom, and his head falls into the valley of your chest, murmuring softly prettiest baby and angel and perfect.

He’s hugging your waist and pressing kisses to your chest which is already littered with purple and red bruises, and you bring your hands to the sides of his head, smoothing his hairline at his temple with your thumbs. Nestling your nose into the mess of his hair, you press kisses to the crown of his head. It’s his turn to bury his face in your neck, and it gives you a chance to look down his back. Remorse crumples beneath your ribs as you see the red lines of your nails sweeping down the length of his spine, so you turn away, pressing your face to the back of his head and stretching your arms to wrap about his neck. It’s a well-deserved moment of quiet, just the hushed sounds of breath evening out. For as much as his mind was racing earlier in the evening, Steve’s brain is finally quiet, content. Your head, on the other hand, is quite full, but the loudest thought is just that it feels so good to be held!!!! To be held by him!!!!

Neither of you wants to pull away, but after a couple minutes, the dampness still trickling out of you demands attention. With your legs still wrapped around him, he turns to lay you back down on the couch, and he hangs over you, propped up on one arm. Knowing you’re going to be sensitive, he looks you in the eye. You nod. Slowly but surely, he starts to pull out of you and in the process, pulls a groan from you. He pauses halfway through, “You alright?” You’re nodding again but you also grab his wrist to steady yourself. Your grip tightens as he finishes pulling out, and you’re both panting, mourning the loss of fullness and warmth and closeness. He dips his head to plant a kiss on your knee. “I’ll go grab a washcloth, yeah?”

He stands and grabs his underwear from the floor.

“Hey, can you toss me the sweatshirt?” You point to the first discarded piece of clothing, and he throws it back to you. You tug it over your head while he swiftly removes the condom and ties it off before slipping into his boxers. Rounding the couch to go upstairs, he leans down to kiss your forehead, and the simple affection seems somehow much more intimate than everything that preceded it.

“Be back in a sec.”

—

Steve’s padding his way down the stairs, so you know he found socks somewhere upstairs. He makes a show of hopping over the back of the couch to sit at your feet. You’re hugging a pillow to your chest, knees bent and pressed together. With a slow hand, he pries your legs apart and presents the washcloth to you with a smile which you return halfheartedly. He’s ever so gentle, wiping carefully to remove all the stickiness from between your thighs. Once satisfied with his work, he sets the cloth aside on the end table. “And because I think you’re really gonna wanna wash your underwear before you put it back on, I brought you these.” He pulls out a second pair of boxers. “Plus, I thought it’d be fun to match.”

He’s grinning at you, and you try to match his energy but fail, taking the boxers from him and slipping them on. “Thanks, Stevie.”

His arm rests on the back of the couch casually, but he watches you with furrowed brows and great concern. He waits for you to explain yourself, and when you don’t, he begins to prod, “You okay?”

Swallowed in his sweatshirt, you tighten the pillow against your chest, trying to shore up all of your defenses before proceeding. You stare at the ceiling. “I have a question, but I don’t know how to ask it.”

He shakes his head, eyes trained on you. “You know you can ask me anything.”

You swallow harshly, and you still can’t meet his gaze. “Was—was this just an easy way for you to get off?”

He wasn’t sure where you were going to go with your question, but he finds himself thoroughly unprepared for what you do ask. “What?”

“Was I just…an easy fuck? I know you said you hadn’t really been on dates recently, and I don’t know, I just thought maybe you saw me as an easy target ‘cuz you already knew I liked you.”

His mind is reeling from your accusation, and he wants to be mad but only finds himself deflated and at a loss for words when he sees the scared look in your eye. He can see you going over everything he did, everything he said that night in your brain, searching for sincerity. His mouth is open as he searches for something to say.

“No,” he whispers. “No way.” Much more firm.

“Then, why did you do it?” You sit up to demand more. “Why now? Because you were very clear before that you didn’t want me the way I wanted you when you walked away without saying anything when I told you I was in love with you!” Embarrassment blooms at your outburst, so the next words come out quiet. “What am I supposed to think?”

“That I’m a jerk,” he replies weakly. “That I’m a stupid jerk who doesn’t know how to understand his feelings, let alone talk about them.”

Your eyes are wide. “I don’t feel bad for you.”

“You shouldn’t.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “I guess I just kept thinking about how things would change between us, and I didn’t want anything to change. Not that I didn’t like you like that, but I thought it’d be so much easier to lose you if we went for it. Then I went and lost you anyway….” He trails off, empty eyes trained at the floor. “I just didn’t know how to tell you any of that, I didn’t have the words. So I left.”

The silence that follows is physically painful, and when he finally musters the courage to raise his gaze to you, you’re already staring back at him with an unreadable expression.

“No offense, Steve, but that’s stupid as fuck.”

Of course, you know how to make him laugh after the terrifying, impossible task of sharing his feelings, and it feels good to laugh with you about it because it had made him sick with guilt for months.

“It’s hard to talk about your feelings, I get it, but dude, there are better solutions than walking away from someone and then avoiding them for literal months.”

He runs his hands over his face. “I know, I know. But you make me stupid.”

“You do stupid just fine on your own.”

He’s glad you’re smiling again.

“I do really like you,” he confesses with the ghost of a grin.

“As a friend?” you tease with a raised eyebrow.

“As way more than a friend.” He wants to say it, wants to say the word sitting on the tip of his tongue so badly, but everything in his body is refusing. So he looks at you with these big, round, adoring eyes, and he hopes you get it. You smile like you understand.

“Okay, just checking.”

“And I think we should go for it.”

This genuinely surprises you, and while you’re not one to say no to what you want, you have to make sure he means it. “Really?”

“Really. The last two months sucked without you. All that you never know what you had ‘til it’s gone shit.” And he can’t tell you he loves you, so instead he says, “If I could spend the rest of my life with you, I would. No question.”

This makes you laugh, but he knows it’s not a joke. “Alright, slow your roll, lover boy.” The mirth fades slightly from your face, and he can tell what’s coming next is hard for you to say out loud. “I’m glad you’re all ready to go, but—” A deep breath. “But I need you to know that you hurt me.”

He’s nodding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

The apology is genuine.

“I forgive you.” You mean it too. “But it just means that we’ll have to take it slow. If you’re okay with that.”

His hand seeks out yours, finding it on your knee. He squeezes tightly.

“I’d wait for you forever.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #major apology to everyone who had to read this without italics i forget they don't transfer during the Great Google Docs Copy Paste

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quiverwingquack · 8 months

Text

our lives are made in these small hours(these little wonders)

Drake is a hero. St Canard's brave protector, the strongest superhero this side of Audubon Bay, the scourge of the city's criminal scum. He should be totally fine until Launchpad gets back from his latest adventure, and yet... he finds himself too anxious to sleep. Too worried about not being enough to protect his family.

And he's not the only one.

“Just try and get some rest, okay?” Launchpad’s voice crackles through the phone, weak with static and poor signal. “We’re flying out in a few minutes, and I’ll be home before you know it!”

“I know,” Drake replies. He’s clutching the landline to his ear, the white cord spiraling off into the darkness of the empty tower. His cell phone never seems to connect right when he calls LP long-distance, and he finds himself sitting on the kitchen floor far too often. “I’ll see you soon, just like always. It’s gonna be fine.”

Far, far too often.

Launchpad loves adventures just as much as he loves hero work, and Drake would never stop him from going. He loves the light in LP’s eyes when he talks about the latest treasure they’ve found, or the newest friends he’s made, and they spend plenty of time doing things together when he is in St. Canard. But that doesn’t stop Drake’s heart from aching when they’re apart, from feeling lonely even though he’s not alone.

“I love you,” Launchpad’s voice softens, and Drake knows his dark, beautiful eyes are getting that anxious look that he knows too well. “I just worry about you. You can take care of yourself, I know, it’s just… I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I know, LP. I love you too,” Drake sighs, leaning back against the cabinets. He doesn’t mean to sound upset or to worry his partner. Logically, he knows they’ll be fine, and they’ve always been fine before, but the anxiety doesn’t seem to know that. Or care, really. His hands are still shaking a little and he has to call upon his acting skills to still them. “We’ll be fine, and I’ll see you tomorrow when you get here. I’m just… it—I always sleep better when you’re next to me. That’s all.”

“Aww, Drake.” LP says, his voice melting into a softer, gentler tone. “I promise I’ll be there soon. And I’ll stay with you as long as you want.”

Drake can’t stop himself from smiling, despite the heartache. “Yeah? I—I’d really like that. I’ll do my best to get some sleep, I promise. G’night, LP.”

“G’night, Deedubya. I love ya!”

The line cuts out, static giving way to silence, and Drake is left alone in the moonlit kitchen. For a moment, he just clings to the receiver, eyes following the pale, spiraling cord until it disappears into the shadows. Launchpad always makes him feel better, whether they’re holding hands or a million miles apart. Everything will be better in the morning.

He looks around the room for a moment, taking a deep breath to ground himself. WANDA’s monitor has been quiet for hours, and they’ve barely had any alerts this week. And though it feels as though something is lurking in every shadowy corner, the tower is quiet tonight. Drake can rest for a few hours, and get some proper sleep when Launchpad is beside him again.

It’s not that he can’t sleep without Launchpad, because there are plenty of nights where LP finds himself crashing in Duckburg, whether for family game night or Woodchuck troop events or just plain post-adventure exhaustion. And on those nights, Drake can at least sleep well enough, because he knows LP’s safe. On nights when LP is an ocean away, it’s harder to reassure himself, and he ends up tossing and turning thinking about what if something’s gone wrong or he’s going to get hurt or—

He should probably get to bed now, or he’ll overthink himself into a spiral again.

Drake hauls himself to his feet, stifling a yawn, and reluctantly returns the phone to its cradle. If he’s lucky, he’ll fall asleep soon, and his anxiety will finally give it a rest. And if nothing else, he can distract himself better in the morning. Maybe he’ll bake a welcome-home cake or something, if Gosalyn will help him remember to add the milk.

He heads down the hall quietly, stepping around the creaky spots on the floor, and quietly makes his way to Gosalyn’s door. It’s half-open, pouring the soft gold light from one of Drake’s vintage Darkwing night lights onto the hallway floor, and as he peers inside, he realizes she’s not asleep either.

She’s all but buried herself in her blankets, sitting up in bed and staring blankly at the bare sheets in front of her. Even in the soft light, he can see that she’s shaking, and he forgets instantly he was doing something. Instead, he raises his hand and taps his knuckles against the door, catching her attention with a soft knock.

“Dad?” She murmurs, sitting up a little straighter. One of her blankets slips from her shoulders, falling to the floor as she pretends she’s perfectly fine. “Hey. Sup.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” he explains, then gestures to her hair, tangled from tossing and turning. “Nightmare?”

“Yeah….” She admits, rubbing her eyes as if to shake off the memories. “M’fine though. Jus’ the Ramrod thing again.”

“You know, it’s okay if you’re still worried about it,” he steps into the room, and she wiggles free from her blanket cocoon, making room for him to sit beside her. “I still have nightmares about that fight sometimes, and I’m not the one that had to blow it all up.”

“It feels dumb,” she mutters, looking away. “Like… I know I’m safe. Bulba’s in prison and you’re here and the tower’s really secure, so nobody can hurt me, but—I don’t know! It’s just—it’s like all the shadows are gonna want to fight me and take everything away again. And I just—I just don’t wanna….”

“Aw, Gos.”

As she trails off, he sets a comforting hand on her shoulder. He never knows what to do when his daughter mourns the family she couldn’t save—sometimes, there’s nothing he can do—but then she says things like you’re here and it feels like maybe, it’s enough to just be here with her.

“You’re okay, I promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you or take anything away.”

Her usually-bright green eyes turn to look at him, wide with worry. “Even—even you? I… I don’t wanna lose you too.”

“Gos,” he says, trying to ignore how much that sounds like his own anxiety. Instead, he opens his arms to offer a hug, and she quickly takes it, wrapping her arms around Drake tightly. “I promise it’ll be okay, kiddo. I’ll be right here, and you’ll be okay. We’re safe.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, voice muffled as she clings to him. “I’m—I’m okay. Um, but can—can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course. I’ve got you.” he strokes her hair soothingly. “Just take a deep breath, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” her voice sounds so small, as if she’s three instead of thirteen. He loves his daughter, and he knows she’s strong and capable. But sometimes there are moments, little and quiet ones, where he remembers she’s still just a kid who’s lost so much. He gives her a moment to breathe, and then, in the softest voice he can, he begins to sing.

“Rest your head, little girl blue, come paint your dreams on your pillow….”

He sings her lullaby for a while, improvising gentle verses until she finally falls asleep and he can tuck her in. He makes sure she’s cozy in her blankets, safe and sound like he promised her, and for a moment, just watches over her. She’s more peaceful now, and he sends a silent plea to the nightmares. Please, just leave her alone and let her sleep well tonight.

Eventually, though, his own exhaustion catches up to him. He drags himself to his feet again, finally making his way to his own bedroom and empty bed. The lonely ache in his chest rushes back full-force when he steps inside, the familiar smell of motor oil and smoke clinging to their whole bedroom. He reaches for one of his partner’s forgotten T-shirts as pajamas for the night, and tries to ignore the vacant half of the mattress when he lies down.

Launchpad will be fine, he insists to himself. He’ll be home before dinner tomorrow, and they’ll go out to get takeout and hold hands while waiting in line. Drake will hug him so tight it feels like his missing piece pops back in place, and everything will be alright. It always is!

It always is.

But… what if it isn’t?

The nagging doubt has crept back in, and now there’s truly nothing left to distract him from the spiral. What if LP just never comes home? What if he’s left for good, and Drake has to go on alone? He couldn’t do it, he can��t be a hero or a dad or even an actor on his own! Every time something’s gone well for him, LP’s been there to share it, if he never comes home Drake’s life is going to fall apart!

Or what if something happens? What if he’s hurt or trapped right now and he needs Drake but Drake can’t get to him because he doesn’t know? What if they’ve crashed the plane and gotten lost on some uncharted island and Drake never gets to say goodbye? What if—what—

Hey, it’s okay, Launchpad’s voice rings out in Drake’s mind, a well-loved memory. I’ve got you. Just take a deep breath, okay?

In… hold… out…

You’re okay, I promise.

In… he’s okay. Out… in… he’s safe. He’s… he’s going to be okay.

He’s always going to be okay.

Launchpad will come home tomorrow. He always does. Nothing bad has happened, and nothing’s going to. LP is brave, braver than Drake’s ever been, he’s the strongest person Drake knows—except maybe Gizmoduck, but he doesn’t count—and he’s smart enough to rebuild airplanes in his sleep, probably.

Plus, Gos is clever and quick, she can find a way out of any situation. She’s twice as confident as Drake is, and could face any foe even if he wasn’t ready himself. She already has before! She can take care of herself—they can both take care of themselves—if they need to. And with their help Drake’s the hero of St Canard. He’s Darkwing Duck, and he always gets back up!

They’re going to be just fine. They’ll get each other through whatever they need to.

He starts thinking about what-ifs again, tossing and turning, but none of the new worries stick around long. What if someone attacks the tower? He and Gos can… outsmart them. Or—if LP gets hurt out there, he’ll just… get back up again. They all do, don't they? They… always get… get back up again….

Drake wakes with his face squished into one of LP’s pillows. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but must have at some point, because dawn light is beginning to creep in between the curtains. The dull gray light tickles his feathers, poking at his eyes painfully, and he rubs them as he wakes. It’s barely past sunrise, what could have—

“Good morning,” a wonderfully familiar voice murmurs. He tilts his head, and sure enough, Launchpad is sitting beside him, kicking off his boots. “Sleepyhead.”

“G’morning,” he murmurs with a grin. He’s probably a mess right now, all ruffled feathers and morning breath, and he doesn’t care at all. “What’re… you’re back early, huh? What’s that about?”

“Oh, I, uh,” LP rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, pulling off his cap. “I got worried about you, and I wanted to hurry home. I know you guys can handle yourselves! I just… wanted to be here.”

“Aww, LP,” he yawns. “Me too. It’s like… you’re okay on your own, but I’d rather be together.”

“Exactly,” LP grins, and it feels like he lights up the room more than the early sunshine does. He leans in for a kiss, and it tastes sweeter than sugar. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Drake blushes, almost overwhelmed with feeling loved, as if yesterday’s heartache never happened at all. “‘M glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” LP replies, reaching for something comfier to change into. His now-discarded jacket reeks of gasoline, splotched and dirty on one side, and Drake already knows there was a plane crash involved. But he can only handle so many sleepy worries, and decides to hold off on asking about it until later.

Besides, his partner is getting into bed with him now, and he can finally rest. He lays his head over LP’s heart, and LP puts an arm around his waist, and everything feels… perfect. He still reeks of smoke and oil, of chaos and adventure and home. It feels so safe, so peaceful and loving, that Drake forgets he was ever worried about anything at all.

#duckverse #ducktales #darkwing duck #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #gosalyn mallard #drakepad #fanfic #jay's fics #mine!#i no longer have the ask(thank u tumblr) but this was a prompt from an anon!#it was for “i always sleep better when youre next to me” with drake and lp #also happy birthday launchpad!!! we love you launchpad!!!

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jokingmisfit · 10 months

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'First' Sights Part 2

Eobard Thawne x Reader

This a part 2 read part 1 first

Warnings- Main character deaths, fear, little description of gore

It was another twenty minutes when I got a message back saying they were sending him back now. With dread in my stomach I made my way back down to help ensure everything went according to plan.

Making my way down the corridor, I find it odd how quiet it is. Looking into the cortex I find a horrific scene. I find it hard to keep everything in my stomach as I stand in fear.

Blood splattered and slightly dried on the main desk. Screens are pulled up to the pipeline cell, which is empty. None of this was as horrific as Joe who laid on the floor leaned against the chair with his heart ripped out of his chest and a look of terror on his face.

Shakily I moved through the front of the cortex. An empty table sat holding a slouched Catlin. Her head rested against the table and her hand held tightly the pole next to her. Walking a bit closer I see the hole in her back… And her heart on the floor.

Where the hell is Cisco?

What the hell happened?

I ran down to the pipeline.

“Harry!” I scream out. “Barry!” I scream louder.

I finally find Harry laying against the wall. His hair is matted and there are dry tears on his face. There’s no holes in his clothes or skin, but there’s also no heartbeat or breath in his lungs.

My breathing is ragged as I continue down the hall. I haven’t felt so tense, so emotional in a long time. A part of me feels like this isn’t real. A part of me doesn't believe they’re actually dead.

I make my way to the closing, but still there’s no evidence other than their bodies.

“Barry!” I scream out.

I could hear the echo before the wind hit me.

Red. The lightning was red.

I should’ve known Eobard did this…

I turn to face the man in yellow clad and watch him take off his cowl. His eyes glow with pride. His lips turn up in a snarky smile.

“There you are.” He says smiling. “Did you see your little gifts?”

“Where’s Barry?” I whisper.

“Don’t know, don’t care. He’s not important right now.” He says while slowly stepping towards me.

I shake my head in confusion. “You’re obsessed with him; what do you mean he doesn’t matter? I don’t get it… you. He, Barry, wouldn't have let you kill them.”

“Well Flash wasn’t quite fast enough.” Eobard softly grabs my arms. He tilts his head while looking at me.

“Why are you here, what could you have possibly gained from any of this?” My voice breaks at the end of my sentence.

I’ve never felt so helpless, so defeated, confused, and… hurt. I just don’t understand.

He shakes his head with a breathless laugh. “I had to come back to get you, silly girl. I couldn’t just leave you here alone could I?”

I rip my arms away from him. I raise my voice, “You said you didn’t love me! You told me you were faking, using me! You left!” I pause. “How do you even remember me? You, you aren’t the same Eobard I know. You’re not, you're not supposed to know me, so how d-”

“Of course I had to pretend you weren’t important. I needed things to go according to my plans… Then foolish Eddie thought he could be a hero. I had back ups however. I made one little contingency plan just for you.” He steps forward and grips my hands as he speaks. “I used the negative speed force to propel my memories of you and my plans to another version of myself. And once I received those memories I knew I needed to get my princess back.”

I couldn’t gather the words or thoughts. Eobard came back for me. Eobard loves me. Eobard killed all of my friends, but I didn’t actually like them. I didn’t care. It’s like a train. All of the emotions I’ve shut out, coming back.

Tears gathered in my eyes. My voice was broken and quiet, but I need to know. “You love me?”

The smile he gave could light the sky. “I love you.”

A deep breath and a look around. I smile.

“Then take me home, Eobard.”

#eobard thawne x reader #eobard thawne #reverse flash #reverse flash x reader #the flash cw #the flash #arrowverse #yandere eobard thawne x reader #yandere eobard thawne #yandere reverse flash

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does-this-look-writing-to-you · 2 years

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Second Time's The Charm

words: 2607 universe: Empires SMP, post-canon (in the afterlife) characters: Scott, Jimmy, Xornoth, Lizzie; mentions of Joel pairings: Flower Husbands, Stag Bros, Seablings; mentions of Shadowbeans (i refuse to call it “Jizzie”) warnings: Scott and Jimmy angst, otherwise none a/n: this is a new experience for me. i’ve never written any fanfic for empires smp before, and i didn’t intend to until i developed a headcanon with my friends on my discord server that ended up spawning this. shoutout to the amazing @gemswizardhat for beta reading this and for being such a great person overall. i had a lot of fun with this fic, so i hope you all enjoy.

“I can’t believe it.” Scott grinned at his new husband.

“Neither can I!” Jimmy exclaimed, wearing that wide goofy grin Scott loved so much. “Our alliance is finally official!”

Scott blinked. He did not just say “alliance”. “I beg your pardon?”

“We’re allies now! Aren’t we?”

“We’ve… we’ve been allies.”

“Well, yeah, but now it’s officially official.”

“That isn’t what marriage means, Jimmy.”

“Sure it is! Lizzie and Joel are married, and they’ve got one of the strongest alliances in the world!”

Scott let out a long, exasperated sigh. I had to fall in love with this one, didn’t I? It couldn’t have been someone with more than half a brain cell? “They’re married because they love each other.”

“Oh! Well, of course I love you, Scott! You’re my best friend!”

Scott felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. Sure, friendship was great, but he didn’t see Jimmy as a friend. He saw him as someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, to grow old with, to have by his side. He saw Jimmy as the love of his life. But he doesn’t feel the same.

“And he said I was his best friend! Don’t get me wrong, nothing’s wrong with being friends, but I thought we were more than that, ya know?”

Xornoth was quiet for a moment. The trouble with Xornoth, though, was that he didn’t tend to be quiet for very long. At least they’re not a demon anymore, Scott thought to himself. “Damn. I always thought he was an idiot, but not that much of an idiot.”

“Hey, watch it. That’s my husband you’re talking about.”

Xornoth snorted. “As far as he knows, ‘husband’ is just a fancy word for ‘best friend’.”

“It’s not funny!” protested Scott, giving his sibling an annoyed look.

“It’s a little funny.”

“No! It’s not!” He groaned in frustration. “I’ve been in love with him for the longest time, and he doesn’t even have the decency to tell me he doesn’t feel the same?”

“I don’t see why you’re going to me about this. I don’t exactly know anything about the whole ‘romance’ thing.”

“You’re my sibling. I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to go to each other about a lot of things. Speaking of going to things, where in the name of Aeor were you during the ceremony?!”

“I didn’t want to come.”

Scott felt anger bubble up inside him at how nonchalant his brother was being about this. “Today was supposed to be the most special day of my life!” Supposed to be, his mind said bitterly.

“Yeah, well, what about my graduation? That was the most special day of my life.”

Scott threw his hands up. “Will you let it go already? It’s been years!”

“That hurt, Scott!”

“I had a kingdom to run!”

“That’s no excuse not to be there for your own sibling.”

He heaved a sigh. “I give up. This is clearly going nowhere.”

“Scott—”

He held up his hands to silence him. “I need to be alone. I have a headache.” He started to leave.

“Scott, wait.”

He groaned and stopped, turning to Xornoth. “What?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I know he means a lot to you. I shouldn’t be making fun of you after you came to me.”

“I appreciate that. I just… I need to be alone for a while.”

“Understood. You go and sulk in your room, I’ll make sure nobody bothers you. Not even Jimmy.”

“You’re a good sibling, Xornoth.”

“Thanks. I try.”

Scott left the room and trudged home, ignoring the cries of congratulations from the townspeople. What’s the point? he thought glumly. Why should I celebrate knowing that the person I care about doesn’t love me back?

The sound of familiar, sloshing footsteps came from behind him, and he felt a scaly hand on his shoulder— or was it a fin? He had never been sure. “Boo!”

Scott didn’t so much as turn his head. “Hi, Jimmy.”

“Where are you going?”

“I want to be alone.”

“But what about the reception?”

“Enjoy it without me.” He shrugged Jimmy’s hand away.

“Scott?” Jimmy sounded hurt, and everything in Scott’s heart wanted to look at him, to talk to him, to tell him how he was feeling. But things were different now.

“Please leave me alone.” He kept his head turned, out of Jimmy’s gaze, so that he couldn’t see the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Scott…!”

He forced himself to tune the cod man out, resuming his advance toward his estate. It’s not worth it to care anymore. I’m just a friend to him, and that’s all I’ll ever be.

“Lizzie?” Jimmy stood at the base of the enormous staircase at his sister’s glorious palace. He had always been rather small, but the grand scale of the Ocean Queen’s palace always made him feel the size of a baby bee. A large blue figure emerged, seemingly from out of nowhere, and descended the steps to approach him.

“Jimmy! What are you doing here? I would have thought you were with Scott. He hardly lets you leave his side”

“That’s the thing. It’s Scott. He seems really upset, and I don’t know why. Could we chat?”

Lizzie frowned. “Sure. Come with me.” She led her brother to a cushy sitting area, furnished with the finest and most ornate of fabrics. Lizzie’s taste had always been so much more lavish than his, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the aesthetic. It wasn’t something he wanted to live in, but he still liked it. “Okay, what’s the problem?” she asked him.

“I don’t know what happened. He was so happy when the ceremony was over, but then for whatever reason he got all sulky and sad. And then I went to find him for the reception, but he didn’t even look at me.”

“Do you know why?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm… Describe exactly what happened. Give me a play-by-play.”

“You know I don’t have a good memory.”

“I know. You don’t have to tell me everything word-for-word. Just give me the jist.”

“Well, he was saying how happy he was we were allies now, and I agreed, and—”

“Wait, hold on. Is that what he said?”

“Something like that.”

“Weren’t you already allies?”

“He said the same thing. Am I missing something?”

“You could be… Jimmy, do you know what a wedding is?”

“Well, yeah, of course I do! I just had one! It’s when you solidify your alliance and best-friendship with the leader of another kingdom.”

Lizzie’s expression was dumbfounded.

“What?”

“That’s not what weddings are for. You marry someone because you love them.”

“And I do love Scott! He’s a great friend! My best friend, even!”

Lizzie rubbed her temples, looking more exasperated than Jimmy had ever seen her be— which was saying a lot. “You don’t usually marry your friend. Or, I guess, you can, but I don’t think that was Scott’s intention.”

“Do you marry your enemy?” He started to tear up.

“What? No!”

But Jimmy was already crying. “He hates me! Scott hates me! Why did I think he ever liked me? I got it all wrong!”

“Jimmy…”

“What is wrong with me? I’m such an idiot! I should have known he hated me!”

“Jimmy—”

“And I didn’t even think to ask! Now he’s stuck with the person he hates the most…!”

“JIMMY!”

He wiped his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Nobody marries their enemy. That’s not something that happens. And if it does, it’s really rare, and I really don’t think Scott hates you.”

“Then what does he think of me?”

“You should ask him that.”

“I have. And he said he loves me. And I said I loved him too.”

“I don’t think he loves you in the way you think.”

“What other way is there?”

“Jimmy.” Lizzie looked him in the eye. “Do you really not know what love is?”

“Sure I do!”

“Explain it to me.”

“It’s when you’re really close with someone. Like, they’re your best friend. Y—”

Lizzie interrupted him. “There’s your problem.”

“What problem?”

“Love isn’t always a friend thing. Let me put it like this. You know Joel?”

“Your husband?”

“Who else?”

“I dunno. Could have been a different Joel. It’s a common name.”

“I guess so. My point is, my relationship with Joel isn’t just friendship. It’s… How do I put this?” She tapped her chin and went silent for a minute. “Joel and I are in love. I trust him with my life, and I know he trusts me. We know each other’s deepest secrets, hopes, and dreams. Looking at him makes me feel all bubbly and warm, and I want to be around him all the time.”

“That’s just friendship. Isn’t it?”

“No! Jimmy!” He could tell Lizzie was on her last nerve. “It’s not just friendship!”

“But that’s how I feel about Scott! Who is my friend!”

She looked taken aback. “You feel that way about him?”

“Of course! I thought that was what best friendship was!”

“It’s not!”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s love, Jimmy. Romantic love. The kind you read about in fairy tales.”

“I can’t read,” he reminded her.

She rubbed her temples again. “I know. I phrased that badly. Remember the story about the zombie and the drowned? Or the one about the horse and the donkey? Those weren’t about friendship. Those were love stories. Friendship is a kind of love, but from the way you described it, Scott isn’t just a friend to you.”

Jimmy went quiet. He had no idea what to think of all this information. Was Lizzie right? Did he really feel that way about Scott? He knew he didn’t have those kinds of feelings toward anyone else, as far as he knew. But then again, he had always been known as the least intelligent ruler of all of them. Maybe he was overthinking this.

“How about this?” Lizzie’s voice jostled him from his thoughts. “I’ll take you to the library. I have all kinds of sources on romance and love and what it means. We can spend some time looking them over, and you can figure things out then, okay?”

He thought about her offer. He didn’t see a downside, and it would be nice to try and untangle the complicated web of feelings he had for Scott. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Scott stood alone atop a snowy peak, clutching his cloak for warmth as the wind whipped around him. He loved the silence of the mountains, especially the ones unsettled by Rivendell civilians. Of course he loved his kingdom, but he valued his alone time too. But he couldn’t enjoy it today. Ever since the incident the day before, he hadn’t seen a trace of his husband. He knew he should have despised him for it. He should have been bitter that Jimmy had been so quick to give up on him without trying any further to reach him. But he could never be mad at Jimmy. No matter how infuriating he could be, Scott still loved him with every atom in his body.

“Nice view from up here.”

Scott jumped and turned to the source of the voice— though he knew he didn’t need to in order to recognize who it belonged to. “Jimmy?”

“Hi, Scott.” The Codfather moved to sit beside him. He was bundled up in what must have been five jackets and three thick pairs of pants, complete with snow boots and thick gloves.

“What are you doing up here? It’s freezing!”

“I’ll be fine. I wanted to talk to you.”

He swallowed. “What about?”

“I’ve been thinking. I know, it’s a miracle, right?” He laughed, and Scott couldn’t stop a chuckle from escaping his lips. “But I’ve been thinking about… about yesterday. About what you said. Lizzie helped me do research on… y’know, love and stuff.”

He knew what was coming. Jimmy was going to tell him that he didn’t love him, and that their marriage wasn’t meant to be. He tensed his muscles, preparing for the heartbreak.

“I think I love you, Scott.” His voice was so soft that Scott could barely hear him over the howling of the wind.

Scott blinked. Did I hear him wrong? “Pardon?”

“I love you,” he repeated. “And not… in a friend way. I really like being your friend, but… I want to be more than that.”

Scott was suddenly hit with a tsunami of emotions— love, joy, relief, and all manners of warm, happy emotions. He began to laugh and laugh gleefully, falling back into the snow.

“Scott? What’s… What’s so funny? Did I say something wrong?”

He sat up. “You said everything just right, Jimmy. I just… I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. For being such an idiot.”

“Hey, I get it. I’m kinda used to it by now.” Scott gave him a wide grin, which Jimmy returned with a beaming smile of his own. The fish man threw his arms around the elven king, who gladly returned the hug. Even on top of the chilly mountain, he had never felt such a warm embrace.

The two pulled away after a little while. “So… what now?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, we’re already married,” said Scott. “Why don’t we try going on a couple dates? Real dates this time. Where we both know it’s a date.”

Jimmy laughed. “I think I would love that.”

“So would I.”

Scott took Jimmy’s hand and felt his heart skip a beat as Jimmy gave his hand a gentle squeeze. This is how it was meant to be.

“I never realized how beautiful your kingdom was,” Scott remarked.

The two of them were taking a stroll through Jimmy’s swampy kingdom, hand in hand. They passed a small cluster of poppies, one of which Jimmy promptly picked and handed to Scott. “For you.”

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” He looked at Jimmy. “Wait, I didn’t think poppies could grow naturally here. Did you grow these just for me?”

“Maybe…” Jimmy giggled.

“Why, you little…!” Scott started tickling him all over. Jimmy squirmed and squealed, which only made Scott tickle him even more, until the two were laying on the grass, out of breath from laughing so much. The two of them lay there for a minute. Normally, Scott would worry about getting dirt on his cloak, but he knew he could have it washed later. Right now, all that mattered was Jimmy, the man he loved.

“Hey, Scott?” Jimmy turned to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Can I tell you something?”

Scott sat up. “Of course you can. Is something wrong?”

Jimmy sat up as well. “No, not at all. I just… I wanted to tell you how amazing this past year with you has been. I don’t think I ever knew true happiness before I met you. You just… You’re so… You’re basically perfect, really. And I-I wanted to ask you…” He removed a shimmering stone from his pocket. “Will you marry me? Again?”

Scott went silent for a moment. “Are you proposing to me… with a rock?”

“Should I… not have?”

“Oh, no, this is perfect. This is exactly how I’ve always imagined it.”

“So, is that a yes?” asked Jimmy hopefully.

“It’s a yes.”

Jimmy cried out happily, practically launching himself onto Scott as the two of them shared a kiss. They pulled away just a few moments later, each admiring the face of their newly betrothed.

“I love you, Jimmy of the Cod Empire.”

“And I love you, Scott of Rivendell.”

#empires smp #dangthatsalongname #smajor 1995 #scott smajor #empires scott #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #empires jimmy #xornoth #empires xornoth #ldshadowlady #lizzie ldshadowlady #empires lizzie #flower husbands #stag bros #seablings #fic #fanfic #fanfiction

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maddieautobot273 · 10 months

Text

Silk & Cologne (31)

A Miguel O’Hara x OC Series - Link to AO3 (X)

Chapter 31 - Waiting - previous chapter (X)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Female OC

Words: 3.1K+ words

Warnings: No major warnings, just fluff

Summary: Lisa and Miguel check in with the rest of the Spiders on Isabella’s condition

/////////

I felt a little lighter after that talk. I had just found out that the person I have feelings for likes me back, and to top it all off, our dimensions aren’t going to prevent us from trying to be together?!

Miguel and I had sat there on the balcony for a while longer, his arm tucked around my shoulders as he held me close to his frame. I remembered relaxing in his embrace. Body heat radiating from him as if he were a personal walking heater. It felt nice just sitting there.

He was really warm. So warm I could see myself falling asleep in his hold if we stayed any longer.

Eventually we did have to get up and regroup with the rest of the Society. Otherwise people would start asking around, wondering where we were, especially their fearless leader. I was surprised that we hadn’t heard anything yet, but perhaps Lyla was keeping things quiet so we wouldn’t be bothered.

“Should we go see if Isabella is awake yet?” I asked him as my eyes glanced up towards him.

The sigh that left his lips was one of content, almost peaceful. “We probably should,” He spoke softly before a half smile curled on his lips. “Jess will have it out for me if I leave her alone with Peter B. for too long,”

“Oh, the audacity,” I chuckled, rolling my eyes.

I scooted over to allow Miguel to stand up, looking up and watching him as he stretched out the stiff joints from his arms and legs. I had caught myself staring at him before, but at this moment, I couldn’t look away. I smiled, admiring him from where I sat before he offered me a hand.

His lips curled into a soft smile as I took his hand in mine. He helped me to stand up on my own feet, pulling me up with ease. Miguel glanced down at our held hands before he motioned towards the elevator. A silent question.

I answered him with a small nod and smile. His gaze grew softer as we both walked hand in hand.

We took the elevator back down to his lab. The elevator doors opened and as we walked across the floor, I turned towards the table of Miguel’s platform and only then noticed that the two boxes of empanadas I got him earlier this morning were completely empty. Had he eaten the remaining bundles while I was recovering? Was he stress eating?

I decided not to bring it up, not knowing if it was a touchy subject as he did promise to try and take better care of himself. With a physic like his, he should be eating more anyways. Exiting the lab, we then make our way towards the villain holding-cell block.

I tried to play it cool, but noticing a lot of Spiders glancing our way made me feel a little squeamish. It’s not that I didn’t like the attention per say, if anything, I was worried about how Miguel would react to this. He was the leader of the Spider-Society. He had to maintain this professional appearance and demeanor almost constantly around his fellow Spiders, and for the first time in who knows how long, they’re seeing him relaxed and holding hands with someone else?

“Lisa?” Miguel’s voice snapped me out of my nervous trance as I looked up at him, a look of genuine concern on his face. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” I nodded slowly, my eyes shifting around us briefly before I returned my gaze to him. “Are you okay?”

He noticed my gaze shifting and quickly put two and two together as we kept walking, noticing a few stares our way. He knew they weren’t staring because they were judging them. In fact, he noticed some of them looked almost happy, pleased. Even saw a pair exchanging something like they were doing a bet? His cheeks flushed at the thought. Okay, slightly embarrassing, however. . .

“Is this too fast for you?” he asked me.

My eyes widened at the question as I hastily shook my head. “No, no, just. . . the nerves talking is all,” My cheeks heated up as I rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand. “So, are you okay with this?”

Miguel glanced back down at our intertwined hands before he looked into my eyes, offering me a reassuring nod. “So far so good,”

“So far so good,” I smiled softly at him, repeating the words to reassure myself.

We kept walking down the halls of the Society, and I found myself becoming nervous. I felt like I should say something, anything. I just prayed Miguel wouldn’t notice my palms beginning to sweat.

I cleared my throat. “So, um, maybe, after all this is settled, I was thinking–?”

“Yes?” Miguel looked at me curiously.

“Would you like to do something sometime? Together?” I offered.

“Like a date, you mean?” The corner of his mouth curled as he grinned softly at me.

Oh GODS, that devilish smirk of his would be the end of me!

“I mean, if you want?” I caught my voice squeaking as I coughed again, trying to regain my composure as Miguel chuckled softly at me.

“We can take things slow, but, I certainly wouldn’t mind if you’re up for it,” Miguel spoke gently as his fingers squeezed my own.

I smiled up at him, my eyes sparkling. “I am,”

“Then we’ll plan a date then, once this is all settled,” Miguel smiled back, nodding his head. “Sounds like a plan?”

“Yeah,” I squeezed his hand back.

We continued walking and entered the cell block. Jess and Peter B. were monitoring the records at the console while Gwen, Hobie, and Pav were on guard duty, making sure Isabella’s cell was secured. Her cell was separated from the other cells to make sure there were no slip ups. The others turned at our arrival, meeting our gaze.

Miguel and I glanced over at each other. He gave me a tight squeeze to my hand, offering a curt nod. I silently understood as I nodded back. There’s a time and place for everything.

We pulled away as his fingertips gently brushed along my fingers, flashing me this almost knowing look in my eyes as he approached Jess and Peter.

“So, what’s her status?” He asked when he drew near.

As the trio talked, I had trouble focusing on their conversation. I glanced down at my hand, bringing it up closer to my chest. I could still feel the warmth of Miguel’s touch, the tingle of the brush of his fingers against mine when he pulled away. Even though he was right there, I missed it. I missed him. I missed him holding my hand.

Oh GOD, I really do have it bad don’t I?

Shuffling caught my ear as I glanced over to see Pavitr side step towards me, his hands behind his back like an innocent child. “Soooo,” He rolled his eyes over towards me, a smirk on his face. “What did you two talk about?”

My cheeks heated up again as I stared at him. “Um, you know, just recalling the mission and checking in after our battle with Isabella?”

“Uh huh,” Pav nodded his head slowly, an almost cat-like smile forming on his lips. “Does it have anything to do with that?”

“That?” I repeated, trying to play dumb partly just to mess with him. I knew he saw, everyone saw in fact.

‘Lisa, don’t play with my emotions like that!” Pav hugged my arm, shaking me like a little kid having a tantrum, although he wasn’t actually trying to be mean about it.

“Ease up on her, Pav,” Gwen cautioned as she and Hobie drew near after finishing their security check. “If she doesn’t wanna talk, she doesn’t wanna talk,”

“He didn’t pressure you into anything, Musey?” Hobie asked, raising a curious brow.

“No, no, nothing like that,” I shook my head before giving them a reassuring expression. “We both just had some catching up and overdue explaining to do that’s all,”

“We weren’t there, but Gwen told us about the enchantment you pulled on Isabella,” Hobie smiled with an approving nod, “As a fellow artist, I salute you. Heard it was quite the show,”

“Not as big as the one I pulled on the Venom variant, but it definitely took a lot of energy,” I offered Hobie a cheap smile, rubbing the back of my neck as I could feel my cheeks flush from the compliment.

“We may or may not have heard that Mr. O’Hara might have cozied up to you during said performance and for a bit after the fact,” Pav continued to play this innocent child act as he leaned the side of his head on my shoulder, his hair brushing over my suit. “What did he do?”

My eyes immediately shot over to Gwen, “You saw?”

She shrugged her shoulders in defeat, not saying another word. Yep, she saw everything that happened from the sidelines. Figured. I did tell her to run and grab Noir after all. She must have stayed back and watched the fight play out after Noir rescued Miguel and I from an early grave at Isabella’s hands.

I sighed softly, relaxing my shoulders as I glanced over at Pav, “Alright, Miguel may or may not have kissed my hand,”

The gasp that escaped Pav was like something out of a cartoon. His eyes went wide as sat his head up from my shoulder. “No way!”

I tucked a lock of hair behind me ear as I smiled, kicking my feet against the floor, “He also may or may not have let me lean against him for support from my injury,”

Pav gasped again, only this time cupping his hands over his mouth to muffle his squeal to not catch the attention of the other adult Spiders.

“--And kept her at his side for the entire time even when they came back here to HQ,” Gwen quickly added with a playful wink.

Pav waved his hands excitedly, trying to contain his reaction. When he calmed himself down, he looked over towards me, placing both hands on my shoulders. “Does that mean you two are–?!”

I chuckled at his antics, offering the boy a soft smile. “We’re going to try and see where this goes,”

“Yes!” he cheered, fist bumping. “I knew it, I knew it!”

“Yes, Pav, we know you called it,” Hobie rolled his eyes playfully at Spider-Man India, although he did enjoy watching him do a little happy dance.

“You two,” Pav pointed a finger at me whilst motioning his head towards Miguel, “--are my Bridgerton, that doesn’t even come close to what’s going on with you two,”

“Whoa, that’s quite the claim, Pav,” I laughed at him. “Don’t hit me with the sorrows, sorrows, prayers, speech if I tell you something goes wrong,”

“He’s been rooting for you two since we found out you liked the boss man way back,” Hobie smiled knowingly at me. “Low key, he ain’t the only one,”

I smiled at my Spider friends, honestly a bit relieved that they appeared to be happy for me and supporting me with this news that Miguel and I would try to be together. “Thanks you guys,”

“If he does try to pull anything, just give me a call, and I’ll come knocking,” Hobie grinned as he punched his hand into his fist.

I gulped nervously, waving my hands at him. “I appreciate it, Hobie, but I don’t think it will come to that,”

“Suit yourself,” He shrugged it off as Gwen rolled her eyes at him.

“You two seem genuinely happy. I’m happy for you,” She spoke sincerely.

“Thanks, Gwen,” I smiled at her.

“Lisa,” I look over after hearing my name being called to see Miguel motioning for me to join him and the other Spider adults.

I nod my head over to him before I wave by to the others, “I’ll see you guys later,”

The three of them waved back at me before resuming their posts. I joined Miguel, Jess, and Peter B as they formed a small circle around the main console. There was a holographic screen displaying Isabella’s vitals and her known appearances throughout the multiverse.

“What did you find?” I asked.

“It looks like Miss Isabella has been busy,” Jessica’s lips drew a thin line as she brought up a list of dimensions, “Noir’s dimension isn’t her only sighting. This bat was flying and jumping to other dimensions like she was jumping from club to club on a Friday night,”

“I kind of like the Izzy idea,” Peter B. grinned. “All in favor of making that her villain name?”

“Focus, Peter,” Miguel lectured with a scowl, hands on his hips as he narrowed his eyes towards Spider-Man.

“I’m focused!” Peter B. raised his hands in a defensive manner.

“We can assume she’s popped up into these other dimensions thanks to Harry Osborn,” Jess quickly added, “As we now know he has a means to traverse the multiverse now as well,”

“Whether she went there to disturb the canon or some other purpose, we’re not sure,” Miguel shook his head. “I asked Lyla to run a diagnostic on those dimensions. Thankfully their canon events are still in tact, for now at least,”

“Can’t we interrogate and ask her why she was in those dimensions?” I asked him.

“We want to, but that’s the problem,” Miguel sighed as he glanced over, pouring an apologetic look in my eyes. “She hasn’t woken up yet from your enchantment,”

My eyes widened at the statement. “What?”

“Back when you knocked out that Venom wolf variant? That thing stayed asleep the entire time Margo and the clean up crew were working to send it back to its home dimension,” He explained.

“Honestly, that was the smoothest extraction I’ve ever done here,” Jessica almost smiled in relief as she glanced over at me, “And quiet too, but very heavy,”

“Do you think you’ll be able to wake her up?” Peter asked me, “I know when you used it on me, Hobie had to slap me out of it,”

“I’m sorry, he what?” Miguel raised a brow at us.

“Miguel, don’t act like you don’t know,” Peter shook his head with an amused grin. “Knowing Lyla, she probably recorded it and showed it to you to get a good laugh out of you,”

“Nope, not yet,” Lyla appeared on Miguel’s shoulder, hands behind her back with a proud grin. “I’m saving it for a rainy day,”

Miguel raised his hands, trying to keep his cool, “Okay, can we please stay focused here?”

“Right, right, my bad,” Peter apologized before looking over at me. “Have you figured out a way to snap your targets out of their enchantment?”

I shook my head. “No, I haven’t. Up until now, I never actually had a reason to,”

“In a sense, she has a point. Why not just let the villains sleep it off instead of giving them another chance to do more damage?” Jess hummed, deep in thought as she looked at us.

“If it does help in any way,” Lyla suddenly popped up as she brought out another holographic screen, one that displayed the venom variant we had caught earlier. The display showed him being sent back to his dimension and within a few minutes, he was slowly waking up, looking around. “It does look like the enchantment does wear off on its own, albeit slowly,”

“How long was he under for?” Miguel asked.

“You mean since Lisa first knocked him unconscious?” Lyla piped up, cupping her chin. “Hmm, I wanna say, maybe a couple of hours?”

“Maybe, but Venom is an alien symbiote,” Peter pointed out as he glanced over towards the cage. “Sure Izzy is part demon bat, but she’s also half human. Maybe the enchantment has different effects depending on the target,”

“It’s possible,” I shrugged my shoulders. “Since I can’t really use my powers in my home dimension, your guess is as good as mine,”

I didn’t miss the split second wave of guilt wash over Miguel. I wanted to keep my promise to him, wanting to play it safe and not risk anything happening with my dimension. But I could use the extra practice with my powers. I wouldn’t hold it against him though.

Miguel shook his head, as if shaking away any doubts he was having. “We’ll play it safe then and wait it out. As much as we’re pressed for time to find out what Harry is up to, I don’t want to risk something going wrong if you try to force her back awake,”

“We’ll wait for Izzy to wake up on her own time, then,” Jessica nodded.

“See? It’s catching on already!” Peter B. beamed happily, “I haven’t lost my touch,”

///////////

Earth - 2023

Harry Osborn of Earth - 1997 grumbled under his breath as he ended an interdimensional call through his reverse engineered Gizmo. His latest addition and asset to his team, the lovely Lady Isabella, had been captured. While she did some damage to that Noir Spider’s dimension, it wasn’t enough to break the canon. Oh well.

But from what he's heard from the audio report he managed to salvage, she also did some other damage as well. He loved hearing the sounds of Spider-Man 2099 begging, and the heart-shattering pleading of Ms. Kendrick.

He wanted more.

But in order to get that. He needed more power, more time. More allies.

He’d find a way to help her escape and return to his kind embrace. Isabella was still a valuable asset to his cause. But that would have to wait for another day. For now, he had other matters to discuss.

Harry smoked his cigar as he sat in a lavish leather chair, sitting across from a larger male dressed in a smart suit and cold chain necklace around his neck.

“This all seems very promising, Mr. Osborne, but what can you give me that I don’t in order to seal this little deal of ours?” The man in the suit asked.

Harry smirked as he snapped his fingers. An associate of his stepped forward, dropping a large case on a table and opening the lid. Inside were various high weapons and gear. “This is merely a prelude. But in exchange for helping me rid the Multiverse of some Spiders, I’ll grant you the power to destroy your own,”

The man in the suit snickered, puffing a smoke from his own cigar. “Then we have an accord, Mr. Osborne, just tell my men what they need to do to make that happen,”

“It will be my pleasure,” Harry smiled as he stood up, fixing his jacket. “I look forward to working with you, King-Pin,”

/////////

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#miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x oc #miguel o'hara x spiderpersona #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara spiderverse #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara fic #spiderman atsv #atsv spoilers #atsv oc #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spider-man 2099

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luckyredeyes · 2 years

Note

Send my muse an anonymous nightmare:

There's something almost sinister about how Kaiba keeps coming back. He hates you, right? So why won't he leave you alone? Why does he come just to argue or pick on you, surely he has better things to do? Well, you find out. One fateful day you wake up in a much too familiar place: Death-T

Or a copy of it, you're not sure which. Things have been rearranged, there are entirely new trials to get through. But it's undoubtedly that cursed tower. And there Kaiba is on the monitor clear as day. That same malicious grin from so long ago plastered on his stupid face. Even the green hair is back. What was it with green hair suddenly turning people into the Joker?

You're alone this time. Know why? Because you're the focus, not Yugi. No, Yugi is the prize should you survive.

And somehow you do. You reach the end, you retrieve Yugi, but you're not happy. Not even relieved. Because that wasn't Kaiba on the monitor after all, it couldn't be. Kaiba is on the floor just a few feet away from where you'd unchained a sobbing Yugi. In a completely different cell. And from this distance, you can't even tell if he's breathing. If he is alive it won't be for long, not without medical attention. But you can't get to him.

The monitor clicks back on, the doppelganger back in sight. Looking at him now it's too obvious that this was never really Kaiba. The features are just a bit off, his eyes a little too small, the lips a little too thin, but it's still so similar that it's uncanny. And horribly off-putting.

He gives you a choice. You can risk Yugi, go back through another set of trials, and you'll get Kaiba's key too. If you succeed. If not? Yugi and him both die.

Or you can walk right out of there, Yugi right by your side. But Kaiba won't survive, if he's even alive to begin with. And you'll get the honor of telling Mokuba how you left his brother to perish. How you didn't even try to save him.

He's waiting outside, you know. The doppelganger gleefully tells you how he'd told Mokuba to meet him here, outside the tower. He'll ask where his brother is, and you'll stand there looking just as stupid as you've ever been as the guilt crashes down on you. How do you tell a kid that you willingly let the only family he has left die?

But again, you've already got Yugi so why risk it? Was it really so selfish to value a friend over someone who's only ever treated you like shit? If you fail they'll both die anyways, maybe Kaiba is just a necessary sacrifice.

Go on, make your choice Joey. Just pray you don't come to regret it.

“Just pray you don’t come to regret it...”

“ — AAAGH!”

Worn down to shreds by the doppelgänger’s taunting, Joey screams, slamming his fist against the bars of Kaiba’s cell.

Kaiba doesn’t stir.

He stands panting as pain pounds through his hand. In the corner of his eye he can see Yuugi, flinching, but making a visible effort to ease up, taking a hesitant step toward him. Joey avoids his gaze. Why? Not sure. Maybe it’s the overwhelming shame that he couldn’t make a split-second decision either way.

“Katsuya…”

The owner of that name tries to steel himself and not break down, when Yuugi’s hand rests on his shoulder.

He breaks down anyway, and for a minute — it feels so much longer — all either of them can do is cry, as Joey holds Yuugi like he’ll never get to do it again.

Because he just might not.

“I can’t do it,” he sobs. “I can’t — I can’t just walk. I have to go back, Yuugi, I can’t…”

“I know.” Yuugi pulls back enough to look at him, and even through tears there’s a quiet, serene strength in his gaze. “I’m going back with you. We can save him if we work together.”

“Y-yeah…”

Even knowing the absolute hell they’re about to endure, relief and gratitude finally wash over him. He leans in and kisses Yuugi, finding strength again in his embrace. Then, taking his hand, he faces the fake Kaiba.

“Bring it, you son of a bitch.”

—

In his sleep, Joey lets out a softly in distinct murmur, and then stills.

#ic #mainverse #yooooo I love this concept #this is straight fire

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lyricc0900 · 1 year

Text

Chapter 2

Sol POV

Sitting in the metal chair, I remain quiet as Black Widow sits in front of me with a thin file in hand. I can sense someone watching me beyond the mirror, making me nervous but still. Opening the file, she reads over it, "Sol Macias, adopted daughter of Ava and José Macias, your real parents are unknown. You're 22 years old and were found on July 15th and have lived in New York for all of your life. Not surprised you're abilities aren't on there."

She looks at me, closing the file, "Would you like to elaborate on how you obtained them?"

Looking up at him, I fiddle with my fingers, "I've always had them since I was a little girl. My parents..."

I grow sad at the thought of them, leaving a sad smile to rest on my face. "They knew about them and helped me keep them secret; they didn't want to lose me."

"And where are they now?"

There's a long pause before I answer quietly. "They're dead."

The air grew thick, tense, leaving both of us quiet before I continue. "They got crushed during the battle; they saved me, pushed me out the way before I could be hurt."

With another pause, she speaks up softly, "I'm sorry for your lost."

Standing, she leaves me alone once more; staring at the empty table, I take a breath. I don't know how long it's been since the battle, but I can't help but feel tired. My mind drifts off to Loki; that's what Thor calls him anyway. I wish I could be mad, feel rage when I think of him, but I can't seem to muster it. I know deep down he's being controlled, or at least was.

Looking at my hands, wondering how and why I did what I did. I don't know exactly what happened, but I know his eyes changed colors, along with his features and demeanor.

I get pulled out of my thoughts when the door opens again. Looking up, I gulp at the sight of the one-eyed man known as Fury. Sitting down in front of me, with a tablet in hand, I straighten up, feeling a bit intimidated.

"This is what we pulled from the battle, Ms. Macias."

Placing the tablet in front of me, I watch as it places various shots of me fighting off the monsters that terrorize New York. I could see the pain in my eyes; it gave me chills watching as I ruthlessly kill them, the ones who caused the buildings the fall around me. The video comes to an end, making me look up at Fury.

"You have potential; with powers like yours, you could use them for good. You'd be in the right hands. Fighting the bad guys so that what happened to your parents won't happen to anyone else. "

I frown, hearing his words; it left a bad taste in my mouth from how he uses my deceased parents to persuade me. Analyzing his words, I quickly pick up that there might be others who could wish to take me because of my powers. That's why I hide them, to keep myself and them safe. But look where that brought me, maybe if I use them, they wouldn't have...

Looking up at him, I notice his mouth moving, but it fails to meet my ears. I wonder, what else is for me? I could finish school but then what. If it was so easy for him to get this footage, then how easy would it be for someone else to get them? If I say no, what would he do to me?

I guess it's time to accept that my life will no longer be the same. My eyes grow heavy, my shoulders drop, I lean back, feeling almost empty.

"Sure."

He stops midsentence, "You made the right Sol. You'll be staying at the tower; your training will start tomorrow after Loki's departure."

I nod, but he continues, "By the way, what did you do to him? In the cell?"

I thought for a moment before answering blankly, "I just cleared his mind. I don't know how I did it or why but I did."

Looking at me for a second, he stands before walking out. Black Widow returns with a key in hand; unlocking my cuffs, I rub my wrist.

"I'll show you to your room."

Nodding, the walk is quiet as I follow her through the halls and up the elevator. Once on the top floor, I notice the others staring at me. Keeping my head forward, I notice someone walk over to me; turning, I look up to see Thor.

"Lady Sol, I apologize for striking you with my hammer. I acted too harshly upon my first meeting with me."

I nod my head respectfully, "It's fine, I understand."

Continuing forward, I finally make it to my room. Thanking the red-haired woman, I enter my room and close the door behind me.

Looking around, it seems pretty bare; all it had was an empty bookshelf, a desk, a drawer, and a bed. Walking over to the bed, I lay down on top of the covers. Relaxing, I feel tears spill from my eyes, curling into myself, silence my screams, breaking down as everything weighs down on me heavily.

Staring at the wall blankly as tears fall from my eyes, I close my eyes slowly, allowing the darkness to hold me.

Next Day

I stand in a plain gray shirt and tights that Natasha provided me with. After the short greeting from everyone, we went to bid Loki and Thor farewell. Standing a few feet away from the group, I watch as they converse. Looking at the sky, I feel someone looking at me. Finding the source, I look down to see Loki staring at me calmly.

Feeling a bit nervous, I wave my hand softly; before I could see his reaction, a glowing light sucks the two up. My hand falls as I look up to the sky; I wonder if I'll see him again. Noticing the others beginning to leave, I follow Natasha as we make our way back to the tower.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

#loki #loki x oc #loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki odinson #poc #black woman #fate:lokixoc

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years

Note

Something got me thinking about situations so desperate the darling almost willingly gives into the yandere. Almost. Like imagine a sort of rapunzel situation, but maybe a prison with only one guard who you ever get to see. You’d have no choice but to beg them for favors, try to strike up conversation when the isolation pushes you to the breaking point. And they’re more than willing to oblige, to let yourself walk into their arms and into their trap.

tw - imprisonment, unhealthy relationships, implied dubcon, slight physical abuse, unbalanced power dynamics.

It'd have to be an unjust imprisonment, too, more so a result of superstition and hearsay than any legitimate wrongdoing on your part. If you were as evil as the jeering courtiers made you out to be, you would've resisted as you were dragged away from your secluded cottage, brought before a throne you never served and given a sentence by a king you've never pledged to obey. If you were as powerful as the whispering soldiers claimed you were, a tower wouldn't have been enough to contain you, shambled together and ancient, barely more than a cell, a guard's chamber, and a spiraling staircase nearly too decrypt to hold a grown person's weight. If you were as wicked as you were supposed to be, as you would've had to be to deserve something like this, you wouldn't have cried the first night you were left alone, and the second, and ever sunfall and every sunrise after that, every time you thought of your home, of the animals who used to steal from your garden, of the villagers who will surely waste away to their ailments without your cures. You're not a bad person, just strange, just reclusive. You don't deserve this, but you don't need to. As far as your jailors are concerned, every tower needs a witch, and you just so happened to be the nearest one available.

The only silver lining is that your sole guard is considerate, albeit quiet. Despite the overwhelming threat of your mere presence on the outskirts of a kingdom of so so pious, so civilized, the crown seems to have deemed one knight enough to keep you contained, to nullify the danger you present. They say it's a punishment, the first time you manage to coax a few words out of them, that they never got along with the other knights, that this is what commanders tend to do with soldiers who can't bend and break to every little order. They're frustrated, obviously, angry, and yet, any lingering resentment they might hold for you doesn't stop them from keeping you company, from whittling away the hours with idle conversation. You tell them about your pasture, your craft, and they tell you about their hometown, their time in the royal army, the rumors they've heard about you - all scandalous, all vile, all laughable. They let you get away with little things, feathers snatched from windowsills, flowers coaxed from the vines that fill the cracks of your tower, books stolen from their bedroom when the nights grow long and cold and they realize that there's no harm your lips can do to theirs. They touch you softly, never raise their voice, but you never ask them to let you escape, never express any desire to get away. They might not be cruel, but you're still a prisoner, and they're still your keeper. You know what role you're supposed to play, and what will happen if you fail to fall into it.

You don't bring it up, but you don't stop them from doing so. It's nothing, for the most part, little fantasies mumbled while they kiss your neck or rest their head on your chest, softened daydreams about stealing you away from your tower and taking you somewhere far, far away. Their plans grow more elaborate as time passes, as the end of their exile draws closer and they're forced to reluctantly admit that another knight will take their place, eventually, that their post as your caretaker was never meant to be permanent. Their touches grow desperate, their kisses more likely to draw blood, and they give you details, now, the name of a town where the two of you could hide, what they'd take along and what they'd have to leave behind. They come close to hurting you, sometimes, to leaving bruises, to holding you just a little too tightly, to keeping their hands around your neck for just a little too long, but you never stop them. You never push them away.

Because you don't want to be alone, don't want to risk driving them away. Because you don't want to be in this tower, confined and isolated, until the day you die or summon the courage to ask your oh-so-merciful keeper to put you out of your misery.

Because if you're going to be trapped, you'd rather be trapped with them.

Not that they'd let you be trapped anywhere else, anymore.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere prompts #yandere theory #general

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negansangel · 3 years

Text

Scavenging (part 1)

synopsis: you and Daryl drive off to the city to scavenge for supplies together.

warnings: smut (not included on this part), slight swearing.

pairings: (season 4) Daryl x Reader

word count: 1689

You sat in your little cell with Judith in your arms. You don’t do much around the prison, you start to wonder what your role really is there. Although, you enjoy being alone and feeling at peace, it’s good to forget what’s going on outside in the new world.

Sometimes you help Rick with planting vegetables, take care of Judith, clean the prison, go for runs, but most of the time you just sit alone inside. Taking care of Judith was your favorite thing, you’ve always loved kids and always wanted to have one.

Just a few moments after Judith falls asleep in your arms, you hear footsteps coming closer. You looked to the side to see Daryl approach your opened cell.

You loved everyone in the prison, but Daryl seemed to be different. It’s no big secret that you two have the strongest connection of the group, you seem to always understand each other better than the rest.

You liked Daryl, probably a lot more than you should’ve.

“Hey, you good?” He began talking in a quiet yet husky tone like he always did.

“Yeah, just watching over the little ass-kicker.” He chuckles when he hears you mention the name.

“I’m goin’ on a run for supplies” He lowers his voice trying his best to not bother the people that were resting inside.

“Okay, stay safe.” You give him a small smile, you thought he was going with some of the others so you didn’t think much of it.

“I was thinking of going with you.” He admits, looking down at Judith who you still held in your arms.

“Alright, who else is going?” You asked, standing up quietly to get ready and making sure Judy was still asleep.

“No one else, just us.” He answered like what he said wasn’t the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.

“We’re not going alone, it’s unsafe.” You furrow my eyebrows as you sat back down, letting him know that you weren’t going anywhere.

“I’ve gone for runs alone, always came out alive and well.” He tries to reason, making sure you were on his side.

“I’m not going, I’m not taking the risk. Besides, Judith needs someone to take care of here when we’re gone.” You explain.

“Beth’s available, she always is when it comes to Judith.” He affirms as I look down at Judith to see her sleeping peacefully.

“Hey…” He whispered, making you look up at him, Daryl takes a step closer before our eyes finally meet, “do you trust me?” he asked in which I replied with a slow yet sure nod.

“Then you’re coming, let’s go.” And before I could say anything he just leaves.

I let out a long sigh before I left my opened cell to find Beth.

———————————

You were now leaving the prison to take off. You had already told Rick about Judith having to stay with Beth and surprisingly he agreed with us going alone.

Rick has a lot of trust for Daryl, maybe he knows that whatever happens he will always keep us safe. You’re just scared things might not turn out the way they’re supposed to.

Just before you opened one of the cars doors, you hear a whisper coming from behind you which made you stop your movements.

“What d’you think you’re doin’?” Daryl yells in interrogation.

“Getting in the car, why?” You almost laugh at at his question. Maybe opening a cars door is too much for him?

“Nah, you’re going with me on the motorcycle, C’mon” he yelled as he looks away and walks over to his vehicle.

“Have you lost your mind? We’re already going alone, the least we can do is to make a safe drive.” You yelled back.

“I thought you trusted me.” He yells, already getting on his motorcycle.

Sometimes Daryl can be a real pain in the ass and it’s moments like this where you realize it.

You walk over to his motorcycle and wait for him to get on it first. But you stop, not sure of wether or not this was really the right thing to do.

“If something goes wrong I will kill you.” You threatened, raising your eyebrows.

“Whatever, c’mon” Daryl shook his head at your words. You just hopped on the bike and waiting for him to start it.

“Hold onto me, you don’t want to fall out of your seat do you?” I heard him speak.

You hesitate, then slowly wrapping your arms around his torso, leaning on him. That’s when you feel the vibrations from your seat indicating we were taking off.

You watched the walkers stumbling and walking coming in your direction. You were scared of them getting close to you two but Daryl was driving fast.

You couldn’t stand to look at the walkers so you decide to close your eyes and relax. Calming down, you realize the tension between you two building up.

The way you held him tight from your nerves, your body vibrating every second we kept going, the fact that it was only you two now.

You slowly let your head rest on his back and keep your eyes closed, you could hear his heartbeat like it’s the only think you could hear at that moment.

Every other sound was inaudible to you, his heartbeat was all you cared about. You opened your eyes and find yourself staring at the bright sunshine.

Blinding by the brightness, you move your head up to look at Daryl. His hair flew through the hair from the speed but he stayed concentrated.

You close your eyes once more and wait until Daryl stops.

———————————

“Don’t fall asleep on me.” You hear Daryl speak unexpectedly as he pulls over.

“Didn’t realize we were here already.” You replied, squinting your eyes as you bring your head up.

You look around to find yourselves near a building in the city, you could hear a few walkers from far away which didn’t make you concern.

The heat felt so good in your skin, you could just sit there all day getting sun bathed. The little things in life mean so much now.

“Are you gonna take your hands off of me or what?” He chuckles a bit.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” You admit, unwrapping your arms from him, allowing him to get off the bike.

“It’s a beautiful day today.” You affirm.

“Yeah, but we gotta get goin’.” You hear the sound of him grabbing his crossbow, ready to go.

You took your silencer off your gun belt and follow Daryl. You walked through the sidewalk, looking for the right places to scavenge.

“What are we scavenging for exactly?” You talked quietly to not draw attention.

“Medical supplies… but mostly food.” He speaks in a quiet tone, similar to yours.

“There’s a pharmacy very close to where we’re going, I’m not sure of what is left in it because when we come here in groups we take a lot of stuff from there.” You explained.

“Guide me to it, if we don’t find what we need then we just go somewhere else.” He speaks as I nod my head to him.

At a certain point, you realize you weren’t going to need to speak so quietly and aiming your guns at the air, so you just start walking faster to get to the pharmacy.

“It’s like it’s summer, I’m not sure if I can walk for much longer.” You sigh.

“We’ve gotta keep movin’ until we get there, we’ll get some water after we go to the pharmacy.” You hear Daryl slightly panting between his words, he was getting tired too.

You remember that this wasn’t like the old days, people giving you weird looks or staring at you as you’re walking on the street.

Maybe it was better that way instead of having literal walking dead beings following you around to tear your flesh apart.

You noticed your loose tank top was getting soaked by your sweat. You and Daryl are pretty close and you know Daryl wouldn’t judge you for anything, so you decide to take the piece of clothing off your body.

You fix up your sports bra and folded your shirt over your forearm, still walking behind Daryl.

Just a few moments after the two of you heard a growl, you raise your weapons both at the same time and shoot the same walker that came out of a building next to you.

You caught Daryl watching you through the corner of his eyes, when he notices you looking back at him he just turns his head down, looking at the rotting corpse.

“Just one?” Daryl asks after clearing his throat, and you peek inside. You looked around and there were no signs of walkers so you nos at him.

“And it looks like we’re here.” You spoke, recognizing the insides of the building. You give Daryl your empty backpack so he can put the supplies in it.

You two entered, you kept your gun raised while Daryl lowered his. He was the one that knew what he was supposed to get, I was just there to protect in case a walker would appear.

I looked at him searching the shells and taking out some meds. I looked over and I see a small bottle of pain killers and putting them in the backpack.

He put in pain killers, aspirin and more meds someone from the prison probably asked him for. As you looked around, you spot a shelf with toothpaste and other hygiene supplies.

“Give me the bag when you’re done, I’m taking stuff too.” You find yourself smiling at the shelf.

“I’m done already, you can have it.” He says handing you the backpack, fortunately it still had room for more supplies.

While you were taking more stuff from the shelf, Daryl kept walking around the pharmacy to see what was left there.

He wasn’t really paying attention. He passes through a shelf which contained some first aid supplies, and then he finds himself staring at a box of condoms and a few more.

He stopped moving, staring at the box. Too many thoughts ran through his mind in that moment, completely zoning out.

“I think that’s it.” You say out of the blue, making him aggressively turn his head to you.

“Let’s go…” he muttered, leaving the walking away from the pharmacy as I followed him.

Now you were on your way to the nearest store you could find to look for food. Daryl has been quiet ever since you two left the pharmacy, somethings must’ve gone wrong.

You don’t want to ask what’s wrong just yet, maybe he just wants to have a moment of peace or doesn’t want to draw attention.

You see a grocery store from far away and walk towards it, you kept our weapons raised for walkers.

As you got closer, you start hearing the sounds of multiple growls, way more than you wanted to hear.

“Careful now.” Daryl advices as you two got close to the entrance.

We took a quick look inside and it was full of walkers, none of them could see you because they weren’t facing your way.

You and Daryl leaned on the wall, next to the entrance, hiding from what was inside.

“We’ve got to draw them out to take them down.” You mumble but loud enough for Daryl to hear.

“No shit. Too many.” Daryl mumbled back. A short pause formed, making you both wonder what to do.

“I saw something in your backpack earlier.” He begins, this time a bit louder.

“I packed a grenade, just in case we needed to take down a big herd.” You remembered.

“Or we can draw ‘em away with it. I can throw it far away and they‘ll follow the noise. We’ve gotta be quiet when they’re leavin’.” Daryl makes up a plan.

You quickly took the backpack off your back and search for the small piece. When you finally have the grenade on your hands, you have it to Daryl so he could throw it the other way.

“Alright, quiet.” He whispers before he pulled the grenade’s pin. He threw it so far away you lost the grenade as it flew.

Next thing you know, you just hear an explosion and see smoke everywhere. Just a moment after the explosion you, a short shout escaped your lips unintentionally.

“Hey!” Daryl whispered yelled and came closer to me.

Suddenly, he sneaked his arm around my waist and with his other free hand he covered my mouth. You wrap both of your hands around his wrist as a reflex but in a way that you didn’t apply much force.

You could feel Daryl holding you tight, burying his fingertips deeply into your skins, you could feel the adrenaline between you two and you squeeze your eyes shut.

The walkers started limping their way towards the explosion, not seeing us next to the entrance. Daryl looked to the side to watch them leave as you kept your eyes shut.

Seconds later the walkers were out of the store but they were still walking on the road, if you made any sound they would probably change directions.

Daryl was still holding you. Your heartbeat was beating fast and you could feel like your bodies trembling against each other from the adrenaline. Sweat ran down both of you as you stood. Both of you panting shakily and quietly.

“I think we’re good.” Daryl mumbled as his panting decreased. His hands loosen and you let out a sigh in relief.

Slowly, we both entered the building with our guns up. Checking if there were any walkers still inside.

“All clear?” Daryl asked, still looking around.

“Yes.” You replied awkwardly. You were still thinking of that moment by the entrance, how it made you feel.

The way he held you tight, it might have been uncomfortable but you felt like he was trying to make you feel safe, and you appreciate a bit of caring.

You take a couple of water bottles off a shelf and pack one of them up, keeping the other one in your hand. You threw the bag at Daryl who catch it perfectly and let him pack food.

You took some sips before pouring some of the water down your head, letting it drip down your hair and skin. The heat was killing you and you could use some water.

“You should do it too, it’s too hot out here I feel like we’re burning up.” You spoke as you threw another water bottle at him, he catches again.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you, he wasn’t even concentrating when packing the things he needed, he kept looking back at you, reminiscing that moment.

#twd fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #twd fanfics #daryl x y/n #twd oneshot #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl imagines #daryl x you #twd imagine #daryl dixon smut #smut

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therenlover · 3 years

Text

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

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Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

-------------

a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @dazzlingseb, @avgravy , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx

Please do not post my work on other sites, thank you!

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader

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avintagekiss24 · 3 years

Text

leave out all the rest | c. beck

→ pairing: chris beck x black!reader

→ word count: 5387

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smidge of angst, smut, sex, breeding kink, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

flashbacks

→ request: chris beck + breeding kink + "babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that" + "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that"

→ author note: dr. space daddy is finally here! this is also the first of my 5k celebration fics! all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. thanks so much for the request @thedarkplume! title from linkin park leave out all the rest (i loveeee this song); line divider by @firefly-graphics; flashbacks are in italics. i also formatted this with the beta text post editor on desktop... so hopefully nothing looks weird and the italics/bold actually work... it is tumblr after all.

oh, hey, there’s a bit of a marvel crossover in this too!

Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel in this moment. Your stomach hasn’t been settled since you got the call two days ago. It’s been flipping and twisting ever since. Sleep hasn’t come easy either, but you’re used to that. Ever since Chris left, you haven’t slept well. It’s been almost seven hundred and thirty days— well, just three days short.

You follow the two tall military men, decked out in their dress blues, through the secure facility, your black leather combat boots thudding against the tile floors. Everything is white— the walls, the floors, the coats of all the scientists and doctors milling about— except for you and your flowery, thigh length sundress. Dark eyes wide, teeth nibbling on a sore, often bloody bottom lip from all the nibbling, small purse bouncing off one hip as a duffel bag bounces off the other.

Winding through corridor after corridor, pausing as the men lift their badges to keypads to get door after door to click open. An eerie quiet looms throughout the entire building, nothing but random beeps, your breathing, and footsteps.

Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it.

The walk gives you too much time to think about the last seven hundred and twenty seven days. All of the crying. All of the anger— the screaming. Chris trying to calm you down, assure you that they were okay— that he had to do this.

"It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?" You sobbed into the phone, staring up into the stars, knowing that he couldn’t but secretly hoping that he could see you.

"This is not easy for me," he choked back tears, his tongue heavy, "Leaving you is never easy but I have to do this, baby. We have to go back for Mark. We have to."

You didn’t answer his calls for over a week. And when you did, your words were quick and harsh.

"I can’t do this anymore. I’m moving in with my sister."

Chris was silent on the other end of the phone— too silent. He sighed after a while and just said, "Ok. I understand."

That was day four hundred and sixty three.

So you moved in with your sister. Got a job at the local bar, picked up every shift you could, sometimes working sixty, seventy hours a week— just so you didn’t have to think about him. It didn’t work. You’d still stare out the window at night, up into the big black sky and through the twinkling little stars, wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about you.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris continued to call your sister. Just to check on you.

Day seven hundred was when two Air Force officers walked into the bar as you were cutting up lemons and oranges. Your stomach, in a perpetual state of tight and sour, dropped to your feet. It’s never good when the military comes knocking on your door.

“He’s dead,” you spit out, eyes watering, chest starting to heave, “He’s dead, isn’t he? They’re all dead.”

When they removed their hats, your hands flew to your face, covering your mouth to muffle the sobs. You just knew they were all dead. Humans can’t stay in space for this long. It’s not natural.

“No ma’am,” the taller, brown skinned man answered, a small smile breaking onto his face, showing off the distinctive gap between his two front teeth, “They’re back in our orbit. They’ll be landing within the next seventy two hours.”

It was a flurry after that. Phone calls, you moving back onto the base, protocol gatherings, interviews with local and national media. None of it mattered. You just wanted to see him— you needed to see him.

Not before his mandatory three week quarantine that is.

Day seven hundred and twenty five is when they called to let you know that he was ready to move onto the second phase of his integration back on earth. Two weeks cohabitating with another person of his choice, just to make sure that his body and cells can still tolerate, you know, earth— and that he doesn’t give off anything that could make earthlings sick.

They called to let you know that Chris chose you— if you wanted to, of course. If not, he could call his sister.

You were packing your bag before the call even ended.

After two days of getting tested for everything known to man, it’s now day seven hundred and twenty seven and here you are, passing through the last set of doors and stepping into a large observatory room. One of the General’s starts talking, but you don’t hear a word. You just blink slow, lips falling open as you stare back at Chris as he stands at the little square window of his living quarters. He smiles soft, running his hand through his short, dark hair before waving and placing his palm on the window.

Tears cloud your vision. Your chin trembles as a sad smile spreads on your face. A sob chokes in your throat and a warm tear streaks down your cheeks. Despite the talking man, you step up to the window and press your much smaller hand on the glass, spreading your fingers to match his. Chris rests his forehead to it and you do the same as you really start to bawl— shoulders shaking, face breaking, breath rushing fast and hard.

"Baby, don’t cry. Come on pretty, don’t— don’t cry."

Chris’ voice is muffled by the thick glass, but just hearing it— so close, so familiar— after so longs it’s just… it’s almost too much. It is too much.

“Ma’am, we can’t let you in there like this. We need you to calm down.”

Dense thuds shake the glass as Chris pounds on it, "Open the door, Sam!"

Sam grabs your bicep, gently, guiding you towards the door— Chris following you both, still talking to you through the glass.

"It’s okay baby, I’m right here. I’m right here."

“We need you to calm down,” Sam starts again, “He hasn’t been around—”

"Sam! Goddamn it, leave her alone! Open the door!"

“Beck! You cool it in there!”

"Don’t be an asshole! Open the door! She’s scared!"

You hear a scoff, “Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.”

"I swear to God—"

“Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.” Sam is stern now, pointing his finger towards Chris.

Sam pauses for a few long seconds, blinking slow but keeping his hand around your bicep— and thank God, because you honestly need it, “I’m going to badge you into the hallway, okay? You take this keycard,” he presses it into your palm, “And put it up to the keypad at the second door after I close this door behind you. It’s only good for one passthrough— once you’re in, you’re in until the medical staff clears you both. Understand?”

The second half of his speech is softer, his thumb rubbing the back of your arm. You like Chief Master Sergeant Sam Wilson. You nod quick, rubbing at your face with the back of your hand, sniffling hard and focusing a shaky breath out through your teeth as you step in front of the door. There’s a loud click and the metal pops, Sam reaching past you to push it open.

Your body, on autopilot, takes three steps to the second door, eyes staring at the keypad on the wall beside it. Chris is still talking to you through the windows, one hand pressed to the glass, the other on the door handle.

"Just a few more seconds baby. You’re doing so good."

There’s another click— Sam closing the door behind you. Water fills your eyes again, emotion choking up in your throat at the gravity of it all. All of the screaming. All of the crying. All of the hating him and loving him and missing him for seven hundred and twenty seven days all culminating right here, right now, while he’s just three feet away from you. The sky used to be the thing keeping you apart— now it’s just a wall. A door— that you can’t walk through.

"Baby, Chris says gently, "Come on baby. Open the door, honey."

You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the keypad, fingers gripping the keycard so hard they start to burn. Open the door, honey takes you back. Takes you back to the day that he told you he was going up— that he’d be gone for a year.

“Open the door, honey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You sniffle, staring at your reflection in the mirror in your small bathroom.

“You knew this was coming. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“A year? A year, Chris? I’m just supposed to put my life on hold for you for an entire year?”

He sighs through the door, “I’ve worked my ass off for this, you know that.” You do know that, you’re just being selfish. Needy and selfish, “I know we’ve got plans baby, but it’s just a year. One year and then I’m all yours—”

“Yeah, until the next time you decide to go up there. This is what Melissa warned me about. You get addicted to it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” you retort, “I know you.”

That makes him laugh, and then you’re laughing because he’s laughing, “Open the door, please.” Chris sighs again.

As soon as you turn the knob, he’s pushing through it, lifting you up off your feet and twirling you around— to make you laugh again.

You were standing on a precipice that night and neither one of you knew it. Your lives, both individual and combined, would change forever and that was the night that set it all in motion.

The keycard digs into your fingers and palm, bringing you back into the present. Back into the hallway, back in front of Chris. You blink, linking eyes with him again, finding them soft and down turned, his head tilted as he presses his fingers to the glass.

"Let me hold you," he says soft. So soft that the glass between you gobbles it up. But you just know that’s what he said. You just know.

The door clicks in your ear, a breeze is in your face as Chris throws it open, and then you’re consumed. Arms wrapped around you, hard chest against yours as you’re lifted right off of your feet. He’s so warm— he’s always been so damn warm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, leaning back a little as you push your face into his neck, “This moment was the only thing keeping me going.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, pushing your face into his shoulder, your tears wetting his NASA sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry, I was so selfish,” the words are clipped and broken, heavy on your tongue, “Chris, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, it doesn’t matter.” He sits you back on your feet, rubbing your back with both of his large hands, “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

You cry openly into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and pushing your hands up into his sweatshirt, under the thin t-shirt underneath— just to feel his skin, “I missed you so much.”

One, two, three, four pecks of his warm lips on the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, holding you tight as he takes a deep breath, “All that’s over now, hmm?” you can feel the smile on his face, “We don’t have to miss each other anymore.”

A yawn pushes out of your mouth as you stretch out tight, sore muscles screaming. Eyes flutter as you shift, another deep breath pushing out your nose as you nuzzle your face into the pillows, body cocooned in warmth. You’re drifting again, quick, when an abrupt panic races through your veins without warning. Your stomach drops, skin instantly flushing with heat as you spring up, eyes as wide as saucers as your breath rushes.

That’s when you hear it, an all too familiar sound. A pencil, tapping slowly, methodically, against something. It calms you instantly. It’s real, you’re real, Chris is real, and you’re here. He’s here.

You swing your legs over the edge of the small bed, tucked in the corner behind a small partition. There’s a soft light glowing underneath it and a single red blinking dot emanating from the corner of the room— a camera. You push your hair out of your face but keep your fingers on your cheeks, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. There’s a murmur, Chris mumbling to himself and you can’t help but smile.

You stand and start moving towards the noises, padding soft and slow as his mess of brown hair and hunched back comes into view. He stands, switching out an X-Ray on the viewer before he plops back down into the swivel chair, staring at it for a second before he starts flipping through the large, open text book just to his left. There’s a little white board off to the right, leaning against the wall, the days he’s been “gone”, seven hundred and twenty seven, scribbled in his messiest of messy handwriting.

The little slice of time watching him sends you right back to your college years, waking up in his dorm room, finding the bed empty and him huddled over a too small desk, furiously flipping through a thousand page text book. You’d sneak up on him, just as you are now, barely dressed and sleepy eyed. Dig your fingers into his hair, scratch his scalp slow. Giggle as his shoulders slump and his head falls back a little, him moaning all the while.

“God, that feels good.”

“You let me fall asleep.”

“You cried yourself to sleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you… you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Hmm, more like two. What are you doing?” you ask, pushing around his side and crawling into his lap, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Looking at our X-Rays from earlier today. I’m working on another paper for the Institute.”

“Trying to see if you guys are still earthlings?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through you, making you smile, “Kinda, yeah. Our body masses have changed dramatically— our bones are longer, I’m not shitting you.” You giggle again at the enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s just a few centimeters, but still. Our brain waves are a little different, metabolism has sped up… it’s incredible.”

You keep the small smile on your face as your fingertips drift over his chest, rubbing slow as you feel his eyes fall to you, “You should get back in bed,” he says, squeezing your knee gently, “You look so tired, baby.”

“Not without you.”

He laughs again, “My circadian rhythm’s all fucked up, I can’t sleep.”

“Then it looks like you're stuck with me,” you kiss his chin and then cuddle back into him, “Don’t mind me.”

Mind you, he doesn't. He just goes about flipping pages and scribbling down random thoughts, marking up his pile of x-rays and fumbling through his and the rest of the crew's medical charts. You push your hand up into the arm of his navy blue NASA sweatshirt, raking your nails up and down his forearm absentmindedly as you breathe him in. Your other hand wanders too, tracing the band of his dark sweatpants before skipping up into his sweatshirt, brushing over his stomach and up to his chest.

The pads of your fingers outline the muscles that are still there, his pecs, down and across his soft abs, before back up and over a cheeky nipple. He jumps slightly, crinkling his nose as he smiles big and hard, “Babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You bat two big eyes up at him, the weight of going almost two years without catching up with you right at this moment. A hum vibrates in your throat as you stand, taking a few steps away from him before you toss your eyes over your shoulder, licking your bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. You hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers after a few moments, watching him drag his big eyes down your bare legs and then back up over your powder pink satin shorts and matching camisole.

“Come to bed, Dr. Beck.”

He’s up and on his feet before the words are out of your mouth. Warm fingers interlace with yours as the two of you move back towards the bed, falling onto the soft twin size mattress. His weight dips into the bed as he sinks his knees into it, pulling his sweatshirt over his head as you crawl towards the headboard. You draw your legs up, swaying them gently back and forth, palms flat on your thighs as you inhale deep, watching as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

The smile on your face grows larger as he crawls over you, pushing your legs open with his soft hands before he settles right between them. Chris takes his time looking at you, smiling soft as his eyes drift over your face, his index finger dragging down the bridge of your nose, over two full lips, and down your chin and neck. You let out a quick breath when the pad of that sneaky finger dips just inside your tank top— right into your cleavage.

He cups your face, his thumb resting on your lips, brushing gently, “I’m never leaving you again,” he whispers, blue eyes filling with earnest as they bounce between yours, “I mean it.”

You turn your head into his palm, pressing your lips into the soft, warm skin, planting kisses, “You promise?”

The delivery is breathless. Quiet. Small. Almost begging him to mean it. He takes a deep breath, pushes it out slow before leaning in, closing his eyes as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. That’s when he kisses you— slow. Deep. Tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth. Massaging the roof of your mouth before sliding along your tongue. He even moans a little, lets his body— muscles, bones, brain— relax. Lets himself melt into you because it’s just been so damn long.

It ends slow, the kiss. Chris grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling gently before he rests his forehead to yours. Eyes closed, his big, skilled hands and fingers flirting with your calves—pushing over your knees and then down your thighs to come to rest on your sides and hips.

“I promise.” You slide your hands up and down his sides, letting your eyelids flutter as he continues, punctuating his words with more gentle kisses, “We can start that life you’re so crazy about,” he laughs when you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, “Buy you a house.”

“On the base?”

“I thought you didn’t like the base?”

“I don’t… but I kinda... do.”

“Then yeah, on the base if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes are still closed as hot lips press against your face— the crook of your nose, underneath one eye, cheeks, and then chin. You push your fingers up into his hair as he forges a path with his lips and tongue— down your neck, over two collarbones, down your arm— all the while his hands move upward. Up into your silk top, nimble fingers playing with two tight nipples before he rucks the silk top up to your chin.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“What about them?”

“Them, who?”

Pointing with your foot towards the blinking red light in the corner, “Them.”

He laughs and you laugh, covering your face with your hands until Chris pries them away, “They’re nerds, babe. We’ve already made them so nervous they’ve left the control room.”

You honestly can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Not since he left you suppose. It’s a nice sound, for both you and him, filling up the small space, making it alive and lived in instead of clinical and dry, “That’s not nice, Chris!”

He shimmies the thin material up over your head, casting it to the floor, “It’s the truth! I should know. Remember the first time I saw you naked? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye for a week.”

The memory makes you laugh, soft and dreamy-like, “That was so long ago.”

Chris catches the tone. It makes him halt, for just a second, his eyes shifting away from you. Guilt. For holding you at an arm’s length for so long. For making you number two. For making you wait for him for so damn long.

You tilt your head, eyes searching his. Gentle hands claim his face, pulling him back into your strong gaze, “Stay with me,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, “You’re buying me a house.”

“Ah, yes,” with one fell swoop, your shorts are pulled down your legs, right over the tips of your manicured toes and thrown to the floor, “One story? Two?” He asks, back up on his knees.

“Umm, maybe just one,” You answer, sitting up, slipping your hands into the dark sweats still covering his bottom half, “A two story house is too much to keep clean.”

You pull, but not all the way. Just enough to see his hips and that little tuft of dark hair underneath his belly button. You can’t help yourself and lean forward, kissing his stomach, giggling when he jumps a little. When you do it again, kiss him, and then a third time, and a forth, he gives in. Sweeps your locs over your shoulders and pulls them into a ponytail in his hand. That’s when you hook your thumbs back underneath the thick band of his sweats and pull a little harder, pushing the material right over his hard cock, making it bounce.

Chris kicks out of the sweats, grabs your face in his hands and tilts it upward. Leans down and kisses you again— soft. Sweet. All while rubbing small circles into your cheeks with his thumbs. He stays there, forehead to forehead, eyelashes spread over his buttery, quickly blushing red cheeks as you palm him, dragging your hand from the base right to the tip.

It doesn’t take much— never has. After a few strokes, he’s wet and red all over. Chest, neck, cheeks. Mouth agape, pulling in ragged breaths as his eyelids flutter. He swallows hard, and then hums quick, deep and throaty before inhaling through his open mouth. You push upward, kissing him as you continue slow strokes, sweeping a thumb over his wet tip.

Fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh, down low, first by your knee. Then, slowly, they skirt upward, not groping or kneading, just brushing— flirting with your skin until they reach their destination. You gasp, mouth falling open as adept fingers— not only just in general, but with your body specifically— push through wet folds.

“One story it is then,” he breathes, hot, unhurried, “A dog and a,” he slams his eyes shut, hissing and grunting when you squeeze him, “Fuck baby,” he swallows again, lips trembling as he nuzzles in, rubbing the tips of your noses together, “A dog and a cat.”

Your free hand wraps around his neck, fingertips pushing into his hair as your head tips back, hips start to shove forward, eager for his touch— wanting those fingers inside. When Chris obliges, sinks his index and middle finger into your cunt— touch starved and needy— you mewl. Making a real sound for the first time in seven hundred and twenty seven days. It enlivens you both.

Chris pushes you back, lays you back onto the small mattress, spreads you out. Keeps his fingers inside, pumping slow, curling, massaging. Thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing. He lays between your legs, coming face to face with your most intimate and blows gently. Warm air sticking to balmy flesh. Big blue eyes flick up to yours, then back to your sweet, licking his lips as a squelch fills the room.

His tongue darts out, slips along the inside of your thigh. Your hips react instantly, jutting upward as a sharp breath fills your chest. A long arm pushes up your body, fingers prodding your breast, tweaking a nipple before he palms the skin, but not for long. Within seconds, his fingertips are pushing into a willing mouth. Your tongue, swirling around thick digits as you grab onto his hand, holding it there.

Warm air tickles damp skin again as he blows on you, “Have some babies,” he offers quick, the words muffled by your flesh as he finally laps at you, tongue slipping through sticky folds, flattening against your slit as he massages the delicate, “How many you want, baby?”

Nothing but a bitten-off groan answers him. It comes for many reasons. His fingers somehow delving deeper, lips brushing over your cunt— the thought of babies. Little brown skinned, curly headed babies running in the backyard with that dog and cat. Wide smiles, complete with missing teeth, loud laughter, declarations of love as they jump into mommy and daddy’s arms.

“Oh yeah,” heavy words breathed into your ear, a hunk of man now laying on top of you, cock pressing at your opening, “My pretty girl wants babies,” the wetness makes it easy for him to slide in— all the way in— bury deep, “I’m gonna give them to you. You’ve been so good.”

He’s moving, hips pushing and pulling as he cups your face in his hands, presses his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Stuff you— full of— my, fuck,” a deep moan, another quick hiss as he bites his bottom lip, overcome by the warmth, the wet— the tight, “Fuck, you feel good.”

Feverish lips are on yours again, teeth nibbling as his hips shove into you. Soft and swift. A palm covering your breast, fingers pressing, kneading and working sensitive, responsive skin. Nipples hardening, heat blooming across an ardent canvas of skin, pulsing hips eager to meet his.

Chris cups your chin, pushes upward so you're forced to keep slitted eyes on him and him only, “You want my babies? Hmm? Tell me baby,” you can only whimper in response, digging your nails into his sides, drawing your legs up and around him as he plunges deep, “Come on honey, use those words. Tell me how much you want my babies.”

He fucks into you hard, jamming his hips just once— the sound of skin on skin slapping out loud and off the walls. It arches your back, the sudden, quick thrust. Sends you right up into his chest. Chris pulls you into his lap as he falls back on his ass, extending his legs, heels digging into the mattress as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and tight, fingers spreading out on your back.

Hips roll into one another. Fingers grip his calf as you lean back, hot, sloppy lips on your chest, over and between bouncing tits. A taut nipple pulled right into his wet mouth. Slippery tongue swirling and flicking, teeth nibbling before he sucks on the tight nub, teasing it further.

Then he’s holding your hips, forcing you down onto his cock. More rushed, sticky words falling from swollen, red lips, “You want me to fill you up? Hmm? Tell me.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, overcome by it all. The emotion of it, the physicality of you and him tangled together— the words, how many years you’ve waited to hear those words.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he purrs, thrusting harder, faster, “You want me to come in you, don’t you? You’d love it if I came in you, huh? Knocked you up? Gave you a baby?”

You kiss him hard. Cupping his face, moaning sweet into his wet mouth, “I want it,” it’s breathy— desperate, “I want it, Chris. I want it.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.”

It’s feverish after that. Pushing and pulling. Grunting, smacking— lips on lips, skin on skin. Large hands gripping, fingers pressing into the meat of thighs and calves and ass and tits. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs, your ass, slide up your back— around your neck as your head falls back. Those fingers find your mouth, push just inside as he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling your hips closer, helping them rock.

His fingers are out of your mouth, cupping your cheek now. Smoothing hair out of your face as it strains. You try not to get loud, slam your eyes closed, purse your lips as your toes curl and stomach tightens… heart flutters.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your closed eyes before prodding at your lips, “Don’t do that, honey. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. Come on, let me hear you.”

“No, I—“

“Don’t be modest,” his tone shifts, going stern and deep, and that’s all it really takes for the noise to flow, “I wanna hear you.”

But he knew that.

It’s a sweet little hum, and then a gasp before it’s clipped by an obscenity— a shaky, desperate, filthy word that dissolves away into a loud groan and then… it’s all downhill from there.

You couldn’t hold it in if you tried. It’s been too long. A pent up aggression, a nervous need all finally working its way out of you. You pull him close— crush your chest against his, wrap two liquid arms around his neck, press your face right against his. Chris loops an arm around your waist, squeezing your opposite hip, pressing his fingers right into the soft skin until it hurts.

But it’s good, the pain of the squeeze. It helps you right over the edge, makes you finally cum after seven hundred and twenty seven days. Slow at first. A warmth just taking its time as it spreads. The feeling sort of foreign because it’s been so long— your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

When it does catch up, brain and body finding each other, dormant synapses kicking on with a jolt, it’s not just a warmth. It’s molten now, searing and stirring, passing through veins and muscles and skin and bone— it’s that deep. Toes curling so hard they go numb, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you throw your head back.

You’re sure the scientists and military guards can hear you three floors down.

Chris leans in, hot, wet, shiny lips pressing against your chest, over your tits with sloppy kisses, hips still churning into yours until they just can’t. Wet walls closing in, clamping down as they spasm, that molten enveloping him. His hips freeze quick with the first spurt, but find a haphazard rhythm as he comes. Fills you up just like he promised.

He pushes those warm blooms of silk deep with now pointed, long strokes. Not a drop escaping— it’s all for you, after all. Supply and demand and all that.

The mattress is a dream beneath you. Inviting and soft as he lays you into it, still rooted deep as he rolls you onto your side. An arm snakes around your hip, a palm and long fingers anchoring in the center of your chest. A hot, flushed cheek presses against yours as lazy wet lips drag along the back of your neck. Languid thrusts at random intervals keeps you gasping as he tucks his knees and thighs into the backs of yours.

“Say it again,” you whisper after a few quiet minutes, breath still heavy, chest still heaving.

Chris plunges into you again, soft and sweet and deep, “Say what, honey?”

“That you won’t,” the words break off, a moan replacing them as he kisses a trail down your arm, fucks into you once, twice, three times, “That you won’t leave me again.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

When you wake up the next morning, that little whiteboard with the days scribbled on it is erased. All it says now?

Day one.

#bad things happen bingo #5k...holy god #chris beck #chris beck x reader #chris beck x black!reader #chris beck x you #you x chris beck #reader x chris beck #the martian #chris beck fanfiction

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stylistiquements · 3 years

Text

Day 1 : Soap Bubbles.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : You're being introduce to the internet in a peculiar way, it's up to you to decide what you're going to do with it.

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.4k | W: written part underneath

𐐪𐑂 Warning : very few swears

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

The coffee that sinks inside your stomach brings out a grimace and a click of your tongue where the taste stains; too bitter, too acidic but you’ll drink it anyway and to the last drop; there is something about the idea of spending time with three best friends that is so made of spring and honey that you wish to miss none of it.

“Someone is lurking,” George contemplates out loud, and the call goes silent for a second as if to look for the intruder. And it would so easy to flinch, to hit the back pedal, because you almost feel like one being exposed front stage like that. But today- today is not that day.

It's not that you don't want to join the discussion, it's that it takes a second to warm up, to absorb the energy and become one with it.

And sometimes, all it takes is Sapnap to exclaim, “Panini head, my beloved!” for your smile synchronizes with his chuckles. Somehow, once noticed by the right person, life flows back naturally.

George and Dream greets you in trailing unison, like two kids forced to greet their unwelcomed aunt on a sunday afternoon.

“H-hey troublemakers,” you finally say. Your voice is still quiet, not reluctant, but rather uncertain. It doesn't bother anyone.

“I’m beating Dream’s ass at chess and he’s bitter,” Sap explains, and you silently nod, as if they were able to see you.

A long silence follows along, rythmed by clicks of mouses and keyboards and it falls in your ears like high droplets. It's comfortable. It's intimate, shared with friends only.

"We haven't heard from you in a while," Dream says. "I mean ... before the clout fiasco."

You wouldn't exactly call it a fiasco, even though you don't really like the idea of being perceived a little too closely from the eyes of twitter.com, but you do agree anyway, "I've been caught up on college essays lately."

"That sucks," George probably adds.

“Good thing you’re here, then,” Dream notes, simple as a breath. “This is a worry-free zone.”

It hovers for a second, carried by George’s approval hum.

You squint suspiciously, detective mode, at the profile pictures that light on and off before your eyes, “Thanks, dream.”

He scoffs a “sure” and you’re not sure why you sense a bit of irony stuck on the back of his teeth. You're so tempted to call him out, but you don't. Instead, you write a mental note of this odd moment.

“It’s because I told him about your three brothers and now he’s scared they’re gonna find him and kick his ass,” Sap explains as if he just read your mind.

Sometimes, there’s this thing in the air, though you’re miles away. Something like a connection. There’s this thing when you don’t need to talk for Sap to understand. Sharing one brain cell, you dismiss ironically. Probably coincidences and predictability, but it always sounds a little special, a little like something you’d wish to be out of this world, like morning dew and fairy circles. And it makes you feel safe, at home, just like snuggling up in the sheets during a stormy night. Your smile washes up the sleeve of your hoodie, covered palm carefully hiding your chuckles.

“Three older brothers,” George muses, and there’s no telling if it’s something meant for you to hear. “That’s kinda scary.”

“You better be scared, one of them is probably your FBI agent,” you tease mindlessly, though there's nothing scary about those three grown men.

“I’m British, Bunny,” he points out. Whether the exasperation in his tone is fake or genuine, that, you can’t tell, but you play it cool, grin carved so deep it almost hurts. Dream’s wheezes rise and fall in the background.

“Say that to his face then,” you outbid smirkingly after a second of silence, heels growing into the carpet to make your chair spin slowly left and right, so breezily.

“I’d praise you for the rest of my life if you-Oooooooh your ass is wacked. Your ass is so wacked, dude. You fucked up so bad,” Sapnap chokes out between strings of giggles.

“Oh no, my streamer is losing his game?” You theatrically pout. “My streamer Dreamwastaken, have you met him? Guess you don’t need any of my brothers to kick your ass.”

“Okay yeah- no- it’s not my fault if your- they’re distracting me, okay?” Dream defends.

Slowly, the energy lowers again and the call remembers peace as Dream admits defeat.

“I’m not playing against you anymore,” he mumbles through greeted teeth, your hoodie shelters a muffled giggle. “Let’s talk about y/n’s twitter fame instead.”

“Let’s just not-” you mutter, both because seeing Dream lose at something is a miracle that has to be witnessed once and because you’re somewhat reluctant. “Let’s just not talk about that.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea it would draw this much attention to you,” Sap admits.

“Well, you talk about her all the time it was only a matter of time before twitter finds out,” George taunts and you secretly smile, listening to the way your best friend tries to defend himself, mind flooded with the last memories you have of when you were able to see those chuckles for real.

“Yeah, Quackity already told me you guys talk behind my back,” you fakely muse. “That’s totally fine, I don’t wanna know what you guys are talking about at all.” It’s a lie, obviously, the idea creeps upon your mind with assumptions you can’t quite get a grip of nor let go.

“You and Quackity talk?’ Sapnap asks, hint of surprise, and you hum.

“Or rather, he talks to me. He keeps calling-.” Shit. The forsaken word traps itself into your mouth. It’s too silly anyway.

“Come on, just say it,” Dream pushes as if he knew too much, more than you even do, and your cheeks flush mindlessly. You don’t notice.

“Dream, quit it!” You demand.

“Quit what?”

“You talk as if you knew more than anyone did.”

“Maybe I just do,” he coos, so dream-like.

Oblivious or careless, Sapnap asks, “Is Quackity bothering you or something?”

“He-" you begin but stop to look for the right way to put it, "He triggers my flight or fight response.”

"I mean, duh," Sapnap probably rolls his eyes.

"But I like him. He's funny."

After a second of silence, George says, “Well that was unexpected.”

“Not so much, I think we’re both chaotic neutral people.”

“What is that neutral chaotic thing anyway?” Dream is confused.

Roll up your sleeve girl boss because now is your time to shine! You offer your best dream smp alignment chart to the classroom. They're speechless, but they listen carefully.

"Then you're more chaotic good than neutral. You're too sweet anyway," Sap says.

"I'd even say lawful good," George debates.

"That's because you haven't seen Bunny during her crazy cat hour."

"True," you note.

"She'll go absolutely batshit."

“What?" George burst between confusion and surprise. "We've never seen you like that."

"A lady never reveal her secrets," you retort. No one answer.

It leaves a second for your mind to enjoy peace. For your eyes to lay on c!tubbo on lawful good and think true, then on c!dream on chaotic evil and think also very true. You huff and it's like a wave; as sarcasm leaves your breath, an idea comes in.

"Sap, check your DMs," you request.

Surrounded by the evening lull, Sapnap’s laugh pops like soap bubbles, "God, you’re so stupid. Why can't you just marry me?"

“So, is it Sapnap approved?” You chuckle lightly to prevent Sapnap’s morning fresh laugh to fill your chest and leak everywhere.

“Just press ‘send tweet’ please,” he confirms with leftovers of a smile in his voice.

"George, get me out of here. They're doing it again," Dream whines.

"Doing what?" He asks, unbothered.

"Act like they're alone in the convo. Just get a room." And you don't get to stand up for yourself that you and your best friend are actually sent to another room.

"Well this one is chaotic evil confirmed," you mumble as you roll your eyes but the vibes are much peaceful, much more comfortable in here. "So ... hi."

"Hi," he chuckles in return.

Maybe that's for the best; a moment that needs to stay a little timeless, secretive and special. It hasn't happened in so long, you don't even remember the last time it did.

"I'm glad you're here. I miss you, you know?" He says, and it's hard to not feel so bittersweet about it. It's hard when longing involves a craved touch, a real smile and an eye contact. Your shoulder sinks in the chair a little harder.

"I miss you too. I'll be here soon," you promise. And soon couldn't come any sooner.

But the conversation, soft and free, will wash up any worries, as always, and you'll end up talking about everything and nothing, about streams and planned videos and college and god knows what. As long as it makes the two of you happy and smiling. Just like the old days, you'll both think and it's fair to say until the evening turns into night and night turns into fatigue.

"Are you sure you're okay about that clout?" He asks once again. "I know you don't like being exposed like that."

"Yeah, yeah don't worry too much about it. I'll try to make good use of it."

"I'm sure you will," he murmurs, but oh boy did he not know what was about to come until you two meet.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge

A/N : so first of all it has come to my attention that 129 days from now on is actually my birthday so that's a weird coincidence lol. Hi how are you guys?? welcome to the first part I hope you liked it. I'm fairly new to the mcyt community and that's the first time I write for them, so bear with me. Feedbacks are always appreciated. Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

#sapnap smau #smau #mcyt smau #sapnap x you #sapnap x reader #sapnap x y/n #sapnap series #129 days #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #sapnap fluff

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zukkababey · 3 years

Note

I'm once again asking for your Time travel Sokka AU 😭😭 (I really wanna read it)

this message has been sitting in my inbox for way too long. thank you for being patient with me!! here’s a snippet to tide you over:

Sokka is 13.

From his tower, Sokka watches the village below.

As Chief, Hakoda has decided to lead the remaining warriors from their tribe to fight in the Hundred Year War. The village is the busiest it’s been in a long time—shipbuilding, rationing, and packing have been constant the last few months, but today is the day.

Today is the day his father leaves, along with almost everyone in the village. Those left will be women, children, and the elderly.

And Sokka.

He’s tried convincing his dad that he’s strong and brave enough to join the rest of the tribe’s men, but he won’t listen. Hakoda just places a hand on Sokka’s shoulder and tells him that he’s needed here most, that he needs to protect his sister.

Sokka gets that. He does. But if he were to go with his dad, he could do so much more. He just wants to help.

It’s the morning, early enough that the sun hasn’t risen yet and Katara is still sleeping. Only a few hours are left before the warriors leave. Sokka watches them prepare for their journey avidly, not wanting to miss a thing.

So of course that’s when he time travels.

He turns to look out the opening behind him and is suddenly staring at a metal wall, patched together and brushed lightly, tinged red in the dim light. It reminds him of the material used to make those awful Fire Nation ships.

“Sokka?”

The shocked voice comes from behind him; he spins around immediately.

“Dad?”

His father is sitting in the corner, dressed in an odd red tunic and loose pants—nothing resembling his usual water tribe gear. He’s staring up at Sokka like he can’t quite believe his eyes.

At the same time, they ask each other, “What are you doing here?”

Loud footsteps from outside wherever they are draws Hakoda unsteadily to his feet; Sokka can’t help but notice that he’s favouring his right side. A slit of light filters into the room, but Hakoda steps forward, pushing Sokka behind him before he can see where it came from.

Sokka holds his breath, trying to keep still. Obviously, Hakoda doesn’t want him to be seen, and he trusts his dad to keep him safe no matter what time he’s in.

A gruff voice calls into the room, “Who’s in there?”

“What are you talking about?” his father replies evenly.

“Prisoners ain’t supposed to have company.”

Prisoners? Sokka wonders. He looks around the small room with renewed interest, being careful to stay behind his dad’s silhouette. His chest swoops uncomfortably. Now that Sokka knows what he’s looking at, it’s obvious—they’re in a jail cell.

“I’m alone in here, as you know,” his dad says.

The man pauses, as if second guessing himself. “I heard voices.”

“I was talking to myself.”

The person on the other side of the door—Sokka figures he must be a guard—barks out a cruel laugh. “Always knew people from the Water Tribe were nuts.”

His dad must be able to tell that Sokka gets riled up by the comment, because he tightens his grip on his arm, holding him firmly in place. A breath passes, then two. A moment later, the light vanishes and the scrape of metal against metal rings in his ears.

Hakoda waits a long minute before moving. The grip around his arm doesn’t loosen until they both hear the faint sound of retreating footsteps. Immediately his dad is turning, shuffling Sokka so he’s no longer in view of tiny, barred window.

The first thing out of Sokka’s mouth is, “Why are you in prison?”

Hakoda’s expression is pained. “Oh, Sokka. How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” he answers automatically before his brain gets back in gear. “The Fire Nation caught up with you, didn’t they?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Why not?” Sokka exclaims, then quiets his voice when Hakoda shushes him. “I can help you!”

His dad sighs wearily, moving to sit with his back against the wall. Sokka doesn’t miss his slight wince as he does so.

“You’re hurt,” Sokka says, sounding more accusatory than he intends.

“I’m fine, son,” he says firmly, his tone brooking no arguments.

Sokka argues anyway. “Fine? You’re in prison and you’re injured.”

He assesses his dad, trying to gauge how much older he looks. His hair is slightly longer but the style is the same, half pulled into a wolftail with blue beads knotted at the end of two braids. A new scar traces the back of his hand, but other than that he looks relatively unchanged from yesterday.

“What year is it? Where are we?” Sokka demands. “Tell me. I’ll come find you in this time.”

“No,” Hakoda says, gaze suddenly sharp and commanding in the dim light. “You are under no circumstances allowed to come for me. This place is extremely dangerous.”

“All the more reason for me to find you!” he insists.

Hakoda shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

Sokka drops to his knees, not ashamed to start begging, not if there’s a possibility it could save his dad. “Please,” he whispers. “I can help. You just need to tell me how.”

Hakoda’s hard expression softens into one of compassionate understanding. “If I told you, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I?”

#still got a while before this fic will be posted but thank you to everyone has expressed interest in it ❤️ it means a lot #hydeandall #answered #time travelling sokka

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starilicious · 3 years

Text

ishq wala love (echo x gn!reader)

》 summary: reader comforts an insecure echo after the end of tbb episode 4 "cornered" about having mechanical parts as part of his body.

》 word count: ~2.2k

click here to read on AO3

》 warnings: slight sensory overload, mild panic attack (i think it could be classified as relatively vague in regards to the description), insecure echo about his body, a teensy bit of in universe swearing, lots of flufffff and a dash of angst here and there, no use of y/n [if i should add more warnings, please let me know!]

》 spoilers: extremely mild ones from tbb episode 4 "cornered"

》 a/n: hello! this is my first tbb fic, so i really hope i do the show, the characters, and the fandom justice hehe ^_^ over the past few days, i've become obsessed with tbb fics, particularly the echo x reader ones bc my GOODNESS this man is such a soft bean who deserves all the love in the galaxy. as a result, please enjoy this sleep-deprived frenzy of a fic that i wrote at 1 am and let me know your thoughts! :)

》 misc. notes:

• title of the fic is from the hindi song "ishq wala love" from the film student of the year. i've linked the song (in blue) with some pretty good english translations in case you would like to take a listen, but it isn't necessary for the fic–i just thought it fit well!

• i kind of got way too invested in building up the environment at the beginning, so apologies if it seems like a slow start! i just had to indulge in having the other characters there too <3

• please ignore the inaccuracies of the havoc marauder. i don't really know what the ship looks like, especially the living quarters, so i unintentionally ended up using the ghost from swr to guide my writing for that part.

• what the reader says at the end about the word in love in her native language is true. the language i'm referring to here is hindi, and we have several different words for love. in my very humble opinion, i think it’s one of the many characteristics of the language that makes hindi so sweet-sounding and poetic :)

• THANK YOU FOR 100 NOTES OMG AHHH YOU ALL ARE TRULY AMAZING 😭<333 (7/1/2021)

After Tech piloted the Bad Batch away from Pantora and safely entered hyperspace, you all decided to turn in to get some rest–or at least attempt to. With the bounty hunter scare, you and the boys figured it would be best to discuss what to do tomorrow morning, for Omega’s sake.

You tucked Omega in with her doll and offered her a comforting smile. “Don’t worry ‘Meg,” you said softly, running a gentle hand through her cropped blonde hair. “You’ll be safe, I promise. You’re stuck with us for life.”

Omega smiled sleepily at your teasing and held her arms out for a hug, one which you gladly indulge. “Sweet dreams, love,” you murmur as you let go. You shut off the lamp in her makeshift room and closed the curtains as you climbed down the ladder.

You turned around to find Hunter looking at you from his seat in front of the blinking controls. You raised an eyebrow as you plopped down in front of him unceremoniously, the exhaustion of the action-packed day catching up to you.

"You're good with her," he murmured as you both glanced at the light beige divider and you shrugged in response.

"Just looking out for her. Besides, you're not so bad yourself. She mimics your every move," you grinned. Hunter chuckled fondly as he recalled the memory where they were all stuck in the Kaminoan prison cell and Omega copied his every gesture.

The two of you lapsed in a comfortable silence as you mulled over the day's events, the hum of the ship thrumming beneath your feet.

"We'll be okay. It's tiring and difficult and none of us know how to raise a child, but we'll be okay," you said, breaking the quiet with optimism. You placed a hand on Hunter's shoulder and smiled. "Crosshair will be okay too. Have faith."

Hunter sighed but nodded in agreement as he put his hand over yours. "Goodnight," he said as he stood up, stretching his muscles.

"Sleep well."

You sat at the small table for a few more minutes to think before standing up yourself. You quickly checked in on Tech in the cockpit since he was on watch, and he immediately shooed you away, insisting you get some sleep. You had a feeling he only did so to optimize the ship in peace without distractions.

Nevertheless, you obliged and left him alone. Walking to the back of the ship, you completed your rounds. Wrecker was snoring loudly and you stifled a laugh. At least he was sleeping well–it was all you could ask for really. But frankly, you had no idea how Crosshair was ever able to sleep through it. Thinking about him and seeing his empty bunk made your heart pang in loss, but you were as determined as the rest of them to somehow bring him back. You had to.

You opened the door to Hunter and Tech’s shared room to find Hunter already sleeping soundly and you quickly left. With his enhanced senses, he was already a light sleeper, and compounded with his responsibilities as a leader, he rarely got any rest. You worried for him.

Last stop was your and Echo's room. You stepped in to find the light still on. Echo was sitting on the floor in front of your bunk, staring at the ground.

"Hey there handsome," you joked lightly in an attempt to get his attention and mask your unease. Echo usually only came near your bunk when something was wrong and after everything that happened today, it was safe to say you were concerned.

Echo didn't respond. Did he hear me? You make your way over to your lover and sit down in front of him. You place your hands on top of his.

"Echo, honey?" You said softly and finally finally he looked up at you. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

"Oh, darling," you breathed and you moved to his side to envelop him into a hug, his head resting comfortably in the crook of your neck. You didn’t say anything more–you saw the deep pain swirling in his eyes, the grief, the loss. The anger. You let Echo take the lead; you knew how difficult it was to wrangle raging thoughts and muster them into words.

You didn’t know how much time passed of you two sitting on the floor, breathing each other in before Echo spoke.

“Today… when we went on the supply run, I was dressed as a droid.”

You bit your lip, knowing exactly where this was going. But you didn’t interrupt, letting him continue. Your thumb rubbed absentmindedly on his arm as you listened.

“That vendor we were talking to wouldn't take what we had. And then he saw me,” Echo took a deep breath. You stayed quiet, holding his hand in a manner that you hoped soothed his anxieties at least a little bit.

“Hunter sold me as a droid to him. I-I know he doesn’t see me as a droid. I know that. But–” Echo’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat of the emotion building up. Echo didn’t know how to express what he wanted to say. He didn’t even want to speak it aloud–that would make it feel too real. And Echo severely doubted he could handle the heartbreak. Can I do this?

“Cyar’ika,” he murmured and you hummed in response. Echo pulled away from you, his hand still in yours. Now or never. “I need you to be completely, absolutely, 100% honest with me,” he whispered. Echo steeled his expression, doing his best to hide how terrified he truly was.

You nodded because of course you would be. When were you not?

But the way Echo gazed at you threw you off. Something was wrong, very wrong. You were almost scared of what he would say next, but you made a gesture for him to say what was on his mind. Clearly, this was important.

“Do you really want to be with me when I’m just–” Echo struggled with the last few words and you strained to pick them up with how they caught in his throat. “–a pathetic, disgusting, hybrid machine?” It’s out, I said it. I said it. Echo felt like he couldn’t breathe, the pressure on his chest too much, too much. He stared down at the floor, face flooded with shame.

You stared at him in blatant disbelief, eyebrows furrowed and mouth open from a shocked laugh. No no no Echo. You’re nothing of the sort. You didn’t move. Echo’s breath hitched as he looked back up at you, broken and open and raw.

“Don’t lie, please don’t lie to me. I know there's no way you could ever love me when I… when I look like this,” Echo whispered, but he may as well have shouted with the way the blood was rushing through your ears.

And then something in you snapped.

You removed your hands from his and placed them on his cheeks, pulling him in until your foreheads were touching. “Echo, you need to listen to me,” you instructed and heaved a breath as you tried to sort your own rushing thoughts into articulated words. But the effort was futile as your careful speech turned into a haphazard and passionate stream of consciousness.

His eyes glistened with unshed tears and your heart broke into pieces. Echo gave you all of his attention. What are you going to say? He didn’t want you to agree, but he would understand if you did. Echo felt disgusted with himself. The walls were closing in on him. Breathing was getting harder.

“You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t give one flying banthashit about any of your mechanical parts. If anyone ever says anything about them, they’re di’kuts and you can send them my way because I will not hesitate to punch some sense into them,” you spat with pure determination, not even noticing the Mando’a slip. After being surrounded by clones for so long, you absorbed bits and pieces of the language. You didn’t even register how Echo picked up on the word, much too focused on getting your point across. You were a person on a mission and nothing would stand in your way.

The knot in Echo’s stomach was loosening a bit, the storm in his mind beginning to break. The walls were a bit farther from him. He wasn’t drowning in his own presence anymore.

“Because you know what? You’re still my Echo. You’re a man, my dear. Not a machine. You never were, and never will be. These parts?” you gestured to his scomp link, his legs, the cybernetic implant in his head. “They mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. Don’t focus on them.”

You smiled sadly as you rubbed your thumbs gently on his cheeks. “I fell in love with you, Echo, not your body. I love the way you make me laugh, the way you comfort me, the way you cry with me. As much as I kriffing hate that you have been through so much pain because of those damned Separatists, I’m grateful for the fact that I’m in love with a man who would do anything for his family, for his brothers.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you remembered Fives coming back home from the Citadel but no Echo in sight. You would never admit it to anyone, but you swore a piece of you had died that day.

Echo felt like he was going to cry. The pressure that had been building up in his chest was releasing. He could breathe again, slowly, slowly. His only focus was you, was your words. The artificial lights didn’t seem to be as glaring now. They were softer, calmer.

“Echo, my love, even through it all, you not only survived, but you came out on top, victorious,” you paused, briefly overcome with how much love and gratitude you had for this wonderful man. “You came back to me, Echo, and you’re as handsome as ever. I have never stopped loving you, and never will. Don’t you ever forget that darling.”

Echo drew in a shaky breath. The harsh cold of the floor grates was biting into his skin, but he didn’t care. It grounded him as much as your warm touch on his face. He could breathe again. My cyar’ika.

Your fiery and passionate emotional speech came to an end as you stared into your lover’s eyes. There was so much more you could say, but you feared words would not be able to convey it all. You hoped your eyes would be enough to soothe his pained and tired soul.

Silent tears trailed down Echo’s face and you gently brushed them away as you pulled him into a tight hug. It was all you could do to not cry yourself. Echo was always so strong–you admired him for it.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice thick with appreciation and love. You didn’t say anything. There was no need to. The charged air between you both was enough. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence on the floor of the Havoc Marauder, deep in your own thoughts.

“Ishq wala love,” you muttered fondly after some time, still caught up in your own mind.

“Hm?” Echo questioned, curious as to what you said. The soft sound gently pulled you out of the clouds and back to the man in your arms as you attempted to explain.

“There’s a phrase in my native language, ishq wala love. You see, in Basic, there’s just one word for love, which is love. But back home, we have several different words for love, each with their own subtle, but distinct meaning,” you blew out a breath as you tried to figure out what to say. Echo was hanging on to your every word.

“There’s… there isn’t really a direct translation, but the best I can come up with is that the love that we have, ishq, is much deeper than just romantic love. It’s deep and strong and pure and unyielding. It–it reminded me of us,” you admitted, a bit sheepish. Your fingers dance along Echo’s scomp link, nervous.

Echo took a moment to process your explanation before smiling. You felt your heart stitch itself back together again after seeing that beautiful smile. You would do anything to keep it on his lovely face.

“Ishq wala love,” he echoed, his pronunciation a bit off. You giggled in response. “Close enough,” you teased and Echo simply beamed. You leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on his soft lips, rubbing his metal arm gently.

Echo stood up then, offering a hand to you to help you up. You took it and he led you over to the bunk you shared together. You both quickly climbed in, relaxing in the warmth of the well worn blankets and the other’s presence.

Your head was near his chest and you could hear the soothing dull sound of his steady heartbeat. Your arm curled over his waist protectively and your head rested comfortably on his flesh arm. Echo shut off the light and you were ensconced in black velvety darkness.

“Goodnight, cyar’ika.”

“Sweet dreams, Echo. I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

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