#we both lose and i draw nothing and end up laying away late into the night waxing melodramatic about fictional characters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

softiem · 3 years

Text

you used to paint his skies (pt. 2)

pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x GN!Reader

overview: The one in which Bokuto is still swearing up and down that he loves you, but the nagging feeling in your chest is too strong to ignore.

word count: ~4.3k

content warnings: mentions of cheating, swearing, MSBY!Bokuto, mildly suggestive scene at the end (no nsfw), our baby Bokuto kind of loses it at the end, don’t let the fluffy interludes deceive you again

notes: I’M SO SORRY FOR LITERALLY BEING DEAD FOR 6 MONTHS,,, Here’s the second part to “you used to paint his skies” :D (I think this is better than part one — at least I hope so). Some people asked to be tagged for this second part, so those will be below. Thank you for reading, darlings ʕ ´•̥̥̥ ᴥ•̥̥̥`ʔ <333

part one.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“Baby?”

Faint sniffles came from Bokuto, whose head was currently nestled on your lap, the two of you strewn across the sofa. His arms were wrapped tight around your waist, as if he were afraid that holding you any looser would cause you to disappear from his arms. His voice was quiet, meek — nothing like the loud, boisterous ball of energy you’d grown to adore, to cherish.

To fall in love with.

Now, here the both of you were, a pile of cracked and fragmented pieces of the love you once shared, desperately grasping at whatever you could salvage from the mess.

You hummed a response.

“Are we gonna be okay?” Bokuto turned his head, his eyes staring up at you — wide, teary, and filled with a broken sense of hope.

In an attempt to avoid breaking down a third time, you cleared your throat. You still couldn’t look down at him, into his eyes that seemed to praise your very existence, even after the pain you caused.

“Please.” His voice cracked.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, Kou-Bokuto.”

He bit his lip roughly, enough to bite into the skin and draw a slight trace of blood. Choking on a weak sob, he nestled his head into your stomach once more. He couldn’t stop you from calling him that name anymore; he’d lost that privilege.

What could he have been asking for? For you to simply just call him your Koutarou again? For you not to leave him and stay in his arms? For you to kiss him and wipe those tears running from his pretty eyes as you tell him you’ll love him forever, no matter what?

Quite honestly, Bokuto didn’t know what he was asking of you; he didn’t know what he wanted from you.

The only thing running through his mind was the fact that he’d just ruined the best thing to ever happen to him.

You.

You, the love of his life. He knew you like the back of his hand.

He knew how, despite your small tendency to be romantically constipated, you tried your best to love him — even to the point of using stupidly cheesy pet names for each other.

– – – – –

“Please, baby!” Bokuto had your hands tightly grasped in his. “I swear, if you do this for me, I won’t ever ask you for anything else for the rest of my life — okay, that’s a lie because I really want ice cream after this, but you know what I mean!”

“Kou.” You drew in a breath. “I’m saying yes to the ice cream later, but those are the cheesiest pet names I have ever heard of.”

You saw the way Bokuto visibly deflated as he heard your soft rejection of his idea.

For the rest of the night (after stopping by the store and getting yourselves two tubs of ice cream, of course), the two of you sat cuddled up on the sofa half-paying attention to whatever B-list movie was recommended to you. Occasionally, you would hear Bokuto let out a deep sigh, most likely to try and guilt trip you into doing what he asked of you earlier.

Turning your head to face him, you grinned at the little pout on his lips as his eyes bore holes into the TV screen.

“Hey, Kou.”

Nothing. His attention stayed glued to the TV. The only sign that showed he’d heard you was the deepening of his pout.

“Koutaro, pretty boy. I’m talking to you,” you giggled.

Still nothing. You racked your brain for all of the possible ways this could end — every one of them resulted in the same thing.

Sighing, you brought up a finger to poke at his cheek. “Hey, dovey.”

If Bokuto were a dog, his ears would have stood straight up and his tail would have started wagging as he whipped his head around to look at you.

“Say that again,” he demanded, his eyes wide and sparkling and the corner of his lips twitching, just barely restraining a smile.

When you didn’t reply, his fingers prodded at your side — a promise to tickle you if you didn’t humour him right now.

“Say it again! Who am I?”

“You’re my dovey.”

“And who are you?”

You struggled to fight the urge to curl up into yourself as you answered him, “I’m your lovey.”

“And what are we together?” Bokuto brought his face closer to yours, his eyes going back and forth between your eyes and lips.

“We’re lovey dovey.” You completed it with a pair of awkward jazz hands.

With that, Bokuto’s face split into a blinding smile as his laughter rang through the living room. He brought you tight into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“Yes! I knew you could do it, lovey!” Your cheeks grew warm as you were subjected to his rain of kisses on your face.

Pulling him in for one last kiss to your lips, you whispered, “I love you so much, Kou.”

– – – – –

He knew how he was always the first thing on your mind; you’d put him as your first priority without fail, no matter how busy you were, even when he hadn’t put you as his.

– – – – –

Bokuto stared up at the crisp, white ceiling — hospitals were never a fun place to be in. He was broken from his thoughts when the door to his room burst open, revealing you in your ever-ethereal work clothes rushing toward him.

“Babe! Are you alright?” Stopping at the side of his bed, you brought his hand up to place a kiss on his knuckles.

Bokuto let out a light laugh as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Yeah, it’s just a sprained ankle. Nothing to worry about, honey.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing to worry about’? Your coach said that you’d have to be out for two weeks!”

“That’s not too much! It’s not like I’ll be missing the whole season, angel.”

“But, Kou, you also have to–”

Bokuto stopped your worried rambling as he pulled you down, giving you a soft kiss on your lips and cheeks. He gave you a smile.

“Stop worrying, baby! Everything will be fine because I have the cutest, smartest, and kindest nurse to help me recover, right?”

“And who’s that?” You sent him a teasing look as your hands shuffled through your pockets looking for your phone.

“You, silly!” He paused before staring up at you in concern. “You are going to take care of me, right, baby?”

“I don’t know about that, Kou. Work has been hectic lately.” You pulled out your phone.

“But I’m injured! And I’m your boyfriend too! You can’t just leave your injured boyfriend alone to fend for himself! Baby!” Walking away from his bed, you exited the hospital room, tapping away on your phone.

A few minutes passed before you returned, seeing Bokuto sulking in the hospital bed, a familiar pout on his lips.

Your eyes softened as you gave him a smile. “Guess who just got two weeks off?”

– – – – –

The foundation of your relationship was built upon the fact that the two of you knew each other like no other; you loved each other like no other.

So how had everything culminated into such a mess?

“Bokuto.” You felt the way his body stiffened as you called his name.

“Yes,” he hesitated, “honey?”

“Do you remember what I told you a couple years ago? About what I thought of love?”

Feeling a prickling sensation in his nose, Bokuto squeezed his eyes shut, forcing out a few tears that had collected on his eyelashes.

His voice came out hoarse and weak as he whispered, “I could never forget.”

– – – – –

The sky was enveloped in a cloak of darkness, but not even the onslaught of exhaustion could prevent the two of you from leaning back on the picnic blanket to stare up at the shimmering stars.

“Baby?” Bokuto turned his head to where you lay beside him. You hummed in response, half of your attention taken by the stars.

“What do you think about love?”

You raised an eyebrow, rolling onto your side to fully look at your boyfriend.

The moonlight casted harsh shadows on his face, but the way he looked at you — eyes sparkling with curiosity and the corners of his lips curled into a light smile — softened the darkness surrounding the two of you.

“Where did that question come from?” You raised a hand to lightly trace over the curves and slopes of his face; your thumb caressed his cheek as he leaned into your touch.

“Answer my question first, and then I’ll tell you.” His eyes turned into little crescent moons as he smiled at you. “Deal?”

You pretended to think about it for a few seconds. “Hm, three kisses please,” you said, wiggling three of your fingers.

Bokuto laughed, indulging you with a kiss to both of your cheeks and a final kiss to your lips.

“Okay, okay,” you giggled. “You asked me what I think about love?”

He nodded.

“Well,” you sighed, turning back to face the midnight sky above you, “I think that love is like the sky — the sun, to be specific. It’s always changing, and everything is so unpredictable about it. There’s so much potential for destruction in what the sky holds. But, there’s always one constant. Do you know what it is, Kou?” You looked at him.

“What is it, angel?” His golden eyes glimmered, as if they were holding stars themselves.

Adjusting your position on the picnic blanket (you curled closer into Bokuto, who wrapped an arm around your shoulders), you continued, “It’s the sun. No matter how much it rains or snows or whatever weather catastrophe is happening, the sun is always going to be there. Sure, you can have multiple suns like those Star Wars planets, but…” you trailed off, looking into his eyes. “... I think I’m happy with my one sunshine.”

Bokuto, ever the romantic, pulled you into a nearly-bone-crushing hug as he laughed into your shoulder. After peppering kisses to your neck and jaw, he pulled away to look at you. He sported the brightest smile, but something sparkled behind those eyes of his.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re getting cheesier than me.”

You groaned, leaning away from him, “Shut up, Kou!”

He giggled before placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Now let’s get home before these mosquitoes eat us alive, honey.”

“And then you’ll tell me where you got that question from?”

“Of course, honey! I never break a deal!”

– – – – –

How could he forget what you said? Every word you’ve ever spoken to him, he’s grasped onto like a lifeline, as if they would be your last. He was so close to bursting — so close to pulling himself off of your lap, looking into your pretty eyes, grasping your shoulders, and yelling at you, screaming at you, asking why you would think he could ever forget anything about you. How dare you think he could ever forget anything about you?

But he couldn’t do that. Not to you. Not anymore.

He didn’t realise that you’d gone silent — his world had gone silent — until your sniffles broke his reverie. His arms tightened around your waist as his head nuzzled into your stomach once again; it was a broken act of comfort.

“Honey,” the edges of his voice cracked as he called out for you. “Talk to me. Please. Don’t… don’t stay quiet.”

Being met with another bout of silence was almost excruciating. Bokuto was struggling to keep himself together, to keep his head above the water before he drowned in his thoughts of losing you.

He launched himself up from your lap, grabbing your face with shaky hands. He had tears running down his face once again. His face was blotchy, and his hair was a mess. He was a mess.

“Please, lovey,” he whispered. If you stayed silent just one minute longer, he’d collapse. He was sure of it. Fighting the urge to just sit himself in your lap, pull you tight against him, and beg you not to leave, Bokuto settled with caressing the skin under your shirt.

Finally, you broke the silence.

“I forgot to tell you one thing that night.” You moved your hand from where it was resting in his hair back to your side; he tensed at the loss of your touch.

He swallowed, his anxiety began to pile up once again. “What’d you forget, baby?”

“Even though the sun” — your voice cracked — “is a constant, sometimes it can be too much. Burn too bright and dry up everything underneath the sky. Sometimes...” you paused to take a deep breath, trying to swallow back the lump that was growing in your throat. “Sometimes the sun can do even worse harm than anything the sky could do.”

Bokuto could feel the gradual increase of his heartbeat. He shook his head, his fingers involuntarily digging into your skin. No, no, you didn’t mean that. You couldn’t mean that. If you did he… he didn’t know what he would do.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto,” you murmured, “I can’t stay here any longer.”

You tried to pry yourself out of his grip, but he wouldn’t relent. His arms were shaking as he pulled you even closer into him. He was whispering something to himself.

“Bokuto, I’m being serious.” You tried to keep your voice stable but failed miserably — it all came out shaky, your tone uneven. “Let me go.”

His whispers grew louder until you could finally understand what he was saying.

“No, no. This isn’t real. I love you. I love you. No, don’t leave. Please don’t leave. I love you.”

You called his name. Once, twice, thrice. As you called for him, his whispers grew to full-blown cries.

“Bokuto!”

“I’M SORRY DON’T LEAVE ME!”

But the only thing your eyes chose to focus on was the trail of red and purple leading down his neck.

You felt a prickling sensation behind your eyes, a feeling that had grown familiar to you in the past few hours.

Bokuto caught the wandering of your eyes down his neck, a faraway mist muddled the irises he loved gazing into; he realised what you were staring at, forcing down a choked sob. He clenched his jaw, violently cursing himself for making you feel like you weren’t enough, like you weren’t the one keeping him standing straight.

Like you weren’t his sun, moon, stars, and whatever else you filled the fucking sky with.

He gently moved your head, trying to get you to look back into his eyes and away from the bruised mistake that marred his skin. His thoughts only filled with one thing — “Come back to me, baby.”

Waves of relief crashed against him once you met his eyes.

“Baby– Angel– I’m so– I don’t– Please–” Bokuto struggled to keep his thoughts straight. Not when you stared at him with an iciness that pierced his heart every time he looked back into your eyes, hoping to find even the smallest trace of love left for him.

He let out a rough sigh, frustrated with his inability to speak through the racing of his heart. His hands, still cupping your face, lightly squeezed your cheeks to ground himself. He looked back to you, his eyes swimming with even more tears, trying to send a message to you that he couldn’t put into words.

You looked away from him, focusing on the ticking clock on the wall as you gnawed your lip. A question had been running through your mind ever since he cracked into your resolve to leave and pulled you to the sofa, laying his head in your lap.

Your eyes turned back to him.

“Can you tell me something, Bokuto?”

“Yes, yes, baby, of course. I’ll do anything you want.” He eagerly nodded, a small spark of hope sparkled within him.

“Why’d you lie?”

He felt as though you just dumped him into one of Atsumu’s god-awful ice baths.

“What’re you saying, angel?” His eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Earlier,” you croaked. “I asked you earlier how long you’ve been” — you couldn’t say that word; it’d hurt too much — “messing around.”

A glint of recognition passed his eyes.

Continuing, you forced your voice out, even though it grew weaker the more you tried to hide your pain, “You said that it was just this once. That wasn’t the whole truth, was it?”

Fuck. Bokuto took his hands away from your face, opting to grasp one of your hands in his. He gave your knuckles a kiss before looking back at you, his eyes teeming with unadulterated guilt and desperation.

“I-I knew them before this ever happened. We met at one of the team parties, but you weren’t there because you were at work.” He saw a glimpse of darkness shadow over your face, and his heartbeat picked up again (not that it ever really settled). “But we never did anything! Not until last night, at least.” His voice grew quiet at the end.

“And never once did it occur to you to tell them that you were taken?”

Bokuto’s lips started trembling — no doubt he’d begin crying again. He looked down, trying to avoid your glare, but his grip on your hand never loosened.

“Please, baby. I’m so sorry,” he choked out, “I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked up in the worst way possible. But I promise you, I never did anything with them before. We just talked at that one party. I promise you that. I promise, honey.”

The look in your eyes became even colder, even more distant; something akin to hatred was present as well. No, this couldn’t be happening. His worst nightmare was coming true. You’d finally learned the truth and were going to leave him. You might have called him your sunshine that one night two years ago, but, to him, you were his oxygen — without you, he was truly nothing. Just a corpse of a man, not worth wasting a breath on.

He was losing you. Again.

“I’m leaving, Bokuto.” You roughly pulled your hand from his grasp, ignoring his cries for you to please stop, to listen for just a minute longer. “Don’t you dare try to look for me.”

Bokuto whimpered, following you to where you were trying to pick up your bags in your haste of anger. Once again, he tugged at the straps, trying to steal them away from you, but his arms grew weak at the scowl pointed his way.

His breath quickened, and his heart raced. He was panicking, grasping at straws to have to rethink your choice and stay with him so he could apologise for the rest of both of your lives. He’d spend the remainder of eternity begging for your forgiveness if only you’d just stay with him.

But he couldn’t say a word. Not with his blinded panic, and definitely not with the terrible, agonising look you were giving him as you stared back at him.

Was this how you felt when he’d walked out on you last night? Hopeless. Defenseless. As if you weren’t even worth a grain of sand underneath the other’s shoe.

“Lovey, I’m sorry!” Bokuto cried out one more time, hoping that he’d reach out to whatever small piece of love you still held for him. “I said I’m sorry! Please just forgive me, don’t leave me. Please! I’m begging you! Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it a million times over. Just, please,” he quieted to a whisper, just barely reaching your ears, “stay with me, and we can get through this together.”

His face crumpled as he heard your responding scoff.

“There’s no more ‘together’ for us, Bokuto.”

Your words stung — well, they stung as much as a gunshot or a knife to the heart would sting. He pressed on, desperate to get you to hear him out.

“I’m your sunshine, right? Your dovey. Your babe. Your pretty boy. Your Koutarou. Right?” He gripped onto the hem of his shirt, balling his hands into fists. “No matter what you call me, I’m yours. And I always will be. Even if you leave me right now, I’ll never stop looking for you. You know why?”

You stayed silent.

“Because I am just as much your sun as you are mine.”

His words echoed in your mind — that twisted, gnawing feeling came back in your gut. You knew that if you stayed for one more minute, it’d be over for you, and you’d go running back into his arms that always held you so tightly. Into his arms that smelt like home. Into his arms that made you feel like you were on top of the world as long as he was by your side. Into his arms that held onto another once the two of you reached a rough patch.

You made your decision.

“Koutarou…” His head snapped up to look at you, his eyes wide and glittering with a false sense of hope. “I’m sorry. I have to leave.”

There was another feeling growing within Bokuto. It was ugly, festering in the deepest parts of his mind — coming from a place that refused to acknowledge his faults. This feeling, it blamed

you. Why would you hurt him like this? How could you hurt him like this? You said he was your sunshine, your dovey, your Koutarou! How cruel could you be to lead him on, calling him ‘Koutarou’ again? You said you loved him!

“Don’t leave me!” He raised his voice. This feeling was taking over him, and it was angry. “If you leave, I’ll-I’ll…” His voice trailed off as he tried to regain control of himself.

Your brows furrowed. He still had the energy to yell, huh?

“You’ll what?” You took a step toward him. He looked away from you, trying to avoid your burning gaze. “Tell me, Koutarou. What will you do if I leave?”

He shook his head; you knew what that meant — “I won’t say it.”

“You’ll go back to them, won’t you?” you scoffed. “Have fun, Koutarou.”

Adjusting the straps of your bags, you gave him one last glare before moving toward the door once more.

That feeling came back in Bokuto’s mind, and it was stronger than ever. Pounding against the walls he built up, it roared, telling him to make you regret hurting him, make you think twice about leaving him. Bokuto was panicking, his will to beg you to stay was growing weaker as the feeling inside him became increasingly angry at you for causing him so much pain.

He knew he’d regret the next words he’d say to you, but that realisation came a second too late.

“I’ll never forgive you!”

You froze. Turning back around to face him, your eyes narrowed. “What?”

“If you leave me, I’ll never forgive you!”

His eyes were burning into you, a raging fire behind them.

“You’ll never forgive me?” you spat.

As quickly as the fire grew, it was extinguished as Bokuto’s expression morphed into one of shock.

“Wait, baby, I didn’t mean it! I promi–”

Dropping your bags by the door, you strided toward his figure. Pushing him against the wall, you pulled him in by the collar, melding his lips with yours.

The kiss was rough, angry, desperate — an amalgamation of everything you’ve felt in the past few hours going back and forth with Bokuto.

You pushed yourself into the space between his legs as he finally recovered from his shock and tried to match your tempo, his hands pulling you close into his body. Your teeth clashed together, and you had half the mind to bite his tongue in your mouth, but you held back.

Raking your fingers through his hair, you pulled his head back, ignoring his small, pained whine. The offensive mess of red and purple blotches still covered the expanse of his neck. A scowl grew on your face.

Bokuto yelped as he felt your lips latch onto his neck, sucking your own bruises over the ones already existing from his escapade. You were rough, unrelenting in your nearly-primal way of claiming him.

Trying to ignore your satisfaction from hearing his whimpers of your name, you pulled away, looking at your series of marks covering the ones from his other lover. The two of you were left panting — him trying to meet your eyes and you trying to avoid looking at him at all costs.

Leaning into his ear, you placed a gentle bite on his lobe. He tensed ever-so-slightly.

“You’ll never forgive me if I leave?” you hummed.

His hands that were under your shirt, roaming across your back, froze.

“B-Baby, wait, I didn’t–” He tried to plead with you until your next words completely shattered what was left of his broken, battered heart.

“I think I can live with that.”

You quickly backed away from him, evading his attempts to grab at your waist to stop you from leaving, and picked up your bags by the door. Looking back at him one last time, you nearly broke your facade.

After all he’s done, you still loved your Koutarou — no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise — and seeing him on his knees, sobbing, begging you not to leave for the umpteenth time, your will was wearing thin.

“Goodbye, Koutarou.”

The slam of the front door echoed across the remnants of his shattered heart and all he had the strength to do was cry. Pulling at the strands of his hair, he sobbed, begging into the air, weeping with no one to listen to him.

Without you, his world had no sky; everything was bathed in the shadow of your absence.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

tags: @katelyns-stuff @random-fandom-girl-24

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #tw: cheating #tw: swearing #gn!reader

804 notes · View notes

scuttling · 3 years

Text

Lean on Me

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 4,717 Tags: SFW, Fluff, 5+1 Trope, Obliviousness, Mutual pining, Aaron Hotchner deserves good things, Canon typical injury Summary: Five times you want to kiss the frown off of your boss's face, and one time you actually do it. *Requested by Anon. Link to AO3 or read below! “It doesn’t make sense.”

You stick a tack in a photo of a murdered woman—unfortunately one of many you’ve stuck to this board—and turn to face Hotch, who is looking over your handiwork with a quizzical expression.

“What doesn’t?” He takes a few steps closer, crosses his arms in front of him.

“Why would the unsub leave his comfort zone? The first six abductions occurred within five miles of the college, so why did the seventh and eighth happen almost twelve miles away?” He reaches for the board, traces his finger along the circle Reid had colored in on the map. “We profiled that he’s disorganized and far from confident, so why would he do that?”

He looks over at you, frowns, and not for the first time your gaze is drawn to the little crease between his eyebrows that always forms when he is puzzled, worried, confused, stressed, or otherwise unhappy. In short, it’s there kind of all of the time.

For the first time, though, you think of how easy it would be to lean over, press your lips there, smooth it out, and maybe even get him to smile for a change. He has a great smile, when he lets people see it.

You shake the daydream, rewind back to the question he asked, and wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Maybe his circumstances changed? It's summer now, and there are still classes, but students aren’t living in the dorms. Maybe he moved back home or got an apartment off campus that’s within that area—or a job.” He sighs, runs a hand over the back of his head, nods.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That’s good. I’ll mention it to the others.” He pulls out his phone, and you grab another photo, another thumbtack, but something stops you and you lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to think of everything, you know. That’s why you have us.” He exhales, his shoulders losing a little of their tension, and that forehead wrinkle gets a little less deep.

“Sometimes I forget that not everything needs to be done the hard way. Or by me.”

“What? You, Aaron Hotchner, doing things the hard way?” you tease, and you are gifted a glimpse of his rare, unfiltered smile.

“Okay, enough pointing out my flaws,” he says with a raised eyebrow, though he’s still smiling, and as he looks down to type out a text, you remember to pull back your hand.

“I would never.” He looks up from his phone at that—maybe at the conviction in your voice, which you hadn’t exactly intended—and his expression softens further.

“I know you wouldn’t.” You hold eye contact for a moment, and then turn to finish preparing the board, pinning up another photo of another woman and reminding yourself that they need you to focus on the task at hand. Two weeks later, you knock on Hotch’s office door, a stack of completed consults in your hand. He looks up, that familiar notch in between his brows, a scowl on his face; when he sees that it’s you, he tones it down a little.

“Draw the short straw?” he asks, and you figure that’s because everyone knows he is in a bad mood and they’ve been avoiding this office all day. You shrug.

“It was rock, paper, scissors, but yes.” He huffs a short laugh, and you smile, step toward his desk. “Anything I can do to lighten the load?”

“Technically you’re adding to it,” he says with a glance at the files in your hand, and you set them on one of the chairs with a purposefully loud thump and then take the other seat.

“Technically. But technically, you only need to review my consults; I can review theirs. Right?” He mulls it over a moment, like the thought never crossed his mind—of course Aaron I have to do everything myself Hotchner would never suggest such a thing, even as the team sits in the bullpen with nothing to do, seeing who can throw M&Ms into Spencer’s mouth from the furthest distance.

“Technically,” he agrees, and you pluck a pen out of his pen cup and take the first file off the pile, open it in front of yourself, careful not to cut into the workspace he’s occupying. You both smile softly down at your work, and you actively do not think about that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

About an hour later, he reaches for his mug out of habit but finds it empty; you stand, take it in your hand, and he makes a noise of protest.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you say, and you walk toward the door. “I need some too. I’ll be right back.”

You pass through the bullpen—apparently the M&M contest led to a sugar crash, because Spencer is laying with his head on his desk—and grab your cup off your desk, take both to the break room to fill them.

Derek appears next to you as you’re stirring your sugar in.

“Coffee date with the boss?” he asks with a curious expression, and you shake your head.

“Of course not. I’m helping him with the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk so his mood improves, instead of just ignoring him.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and Derek scratches the back of his head.

“Never thought of that,” he admits, and you pat him on the arm and take your coffees back upstairs.

Hotch looks up at you as you set his mug down, says a soft thank you, and you grab the pile of files you brought up, separate them, and head back downstairs.

“You review mine,” you say to Derek, handing him a stack, “Emily take Spencer’s, Spencer take Derek’s, I’ll take Emily’s.” They look at you like they have no idea what to say, and you just smile, tap the top of Spencer’s head with a folder. “I’ll come back down and grab them in a little bit.”

“Yes, boss,” Emily says, and you grin on your way back upstairs. Hotch is standing when you arrive this time, looking out the window over the bullpen.

“What did you do?” he asks, turning to you, frowning again. You’re so close that kissing that wrinkle would be effortless. All you’d have to do is lean in.

You smile.

“I delegated, Hotch. You should try it some time.” You put your hands on his arms and guide him back to his desk. “Now what can I help you with?”

By the end of the day, his desk is clean and his bad mood is long gone. He closes the last of his files, sighs deeply, covers your hand with one of his, and says thank you.

The next morning when you come in, there is a steaming latte and a cookie on your desk, and you can’t stop smiling the rest of the day. Your next case is draining, children abducted and left for dead, and everyone is on edge, but no one more than Hotch. You’re fairly certain his face hasn’t relaxed since the initial briefing, and he’d be a prime candidate for the old ‘your face will get stuck like that’ joke, if anyone was up to joking.

The team catches the unsub, saves one child, but not until after three are dead; you take a late flight home because no one wants to stay another night in a town it feels like you’ve failed, and everyone curls up to get some rest except you and Hotch.

You try to read the book you brought along—a science fiction dystopian novel, something to get you out of your head and away from real life problems—but you’re a little distracted by Hotch’s sighing. It’s become an every-five-minutes thing, and while you’re definitely on board with sighing as a way to decompress, he’s not decompressing. He looks like he’s in pain mentally, exhausted physically; you’re not sure how everyone else was able to ignore it and go to sleep, but then you figure everyone else may not be as in tune with him as you are. As observant.

As in love.

Not that that matters: you know your issues, and some of his issues, and there’s the whole superior/subordinate thing which doesn’t really do anything for you except give you a stomach ache. It would never work out, even if he somehow, miraculously, were to love you back—and that’s a pretty big if in and of itself.

But still, you notice him, can’t help it, and the sighing is getting to be a little much. You sigh yourself, put your finger in between the pages of your book, and walk over to take the seat next to him; he looks over at you, frowning just like always, and you carefully close his file and set it aside.

Neither of you say anything to the other, just look each other over for a moment, and then you lean lightly against his shoulder and flip back to the beginning of your book.

“I still dream of the island. I sometimes approach it across water, but more often through air, like a bird, with a great wind under my wings. The shores rise rain-coloured on the horizon of sleep, and in their quiet circle the buildings: the houses grown along the canals, the workshops of inkmasters, the low-ceilinged taverns.”

You keep your voice low and soothing, and you are just turning to page fifteen when you feel the weight of his head drop onto your shoulder.

The crease between his eyes melts away in sleep.

You read until you make it home, and you wake him up with a gentle nudge before the rest of the team drifts back to consciousness. He looks at you, blinks slowly like he’s trying to remember where he is, and then gets a little sheepish when he puts two and two together, realizes he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You just shake your head, give his arm a squeeze, and head back to your seat to gather your things. You, Hotch, and Emily are catching the elevator to the parking garage—after staying two hours later to work on some rush consults straight from Strauss—when he looks at something on his phone that makes him groan aloud. You and Emily share a look, and you ask what’s wrong.

“I just remembered I’m supposed to have a treat for Jack to take to school tomorrow and it’s, what, seven thirty?”

“So just stop at the supermarket on your way home; no one can tell the difference anyway,” Emily says, but you and Hotch both shoot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s all about the treats at a school like Jack’s,” you supply, and Hotch looks over at you like he’s surprised by your comment. “If they’re not homemade, the parents talk. Plus there’s probably an allergen list a mile long: no nuts, no eggs, no soy, no dairy. You have to pick him up from Haley’s tonight, right?” You’re pretty sure, but when he nods he confirms it. “So pick him up, go home and get some dinner, put him to bed, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way over with the goods. I have a great recipe for vegan apple cinnamon muffins that will go over really well.”

“You really don’t have to do that; I’ll figure something out,” he says, but you just shake your head and pull up the recipe on your phone.

“Forget it, it’s already done. I have everything I need at home already; let me help,” you murmur softly, and when he looks at you with the furrowed brow that comes with accepting kindness from someone else, you almost forget it’s not just the two of you in the elevator. It’s only when Emily clears her throat that the eye contact breaks. He nods.

“Okay. Thank you; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” The elevator dings and it stops at the parking garage; the three of you get off and head in separate directions for your cars. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight,” Emily says with a grin, and you wave at her, hop into your car, and head for home.

About two hours later, you show up at Hotch’s door with two dozen apple cinnamon muffins, and unbleached, whole wheat flour in your hair, and he has coffee brewing, a smile on his face.

“You don’t know how grateful I am,” he says as he ushers you into the kitchen, takes the boxes of muffins from your hands, and pours you a cup of dark, delicious coffee. You sip it slowly, savoring the taste—you should have known he’d have incredible coffee—even though it’s far too late for you to be indulging. Unless you’re working a case, you usually switch to decaf by three.

“I know you are. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you’d appreciate the gesture.” You lean forward, open a box, and pull out two muffins, handing one to him. “I made a couple extra so we could taste test; if I accidentally put salt in instead of sugar, you’re on your own,” you joke, and you wait for him to taste it before taking your own bite.

“That’s delicious. There’s really nothing unapproved in here?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s all healthy and allergen free, except for the flour, but that wasn’t on the list you sent.” He reaches a hand toward you, and you don’t realize, at first, that he’s brushing the flour out of your hair.

“Messy baker,” he teases, and your heart feels really full, being in his kitchen like this, warm muffins and fresh coffee, even if your hair is a mess. You smile, and he smiles back before dropping into that serious expression, eyebrow wrinkle and all. You think about brushing your lips there tonight, but this feels like two steps forward, and you don’t want to risk taking that step back. “Next time I’ll help you.”

“Oh, next time? You plan on needing my baking expertise again? Fair warning, this is the only recipe I know, so I hope you like apple cinnamon muffins.” You take a sip of your coffee, look up at him, and he takes another bite, nods his head.

“I do. Especially these.”

In a perfect world, what comes next would be a cinnamony, coffee flavored kiss, but the world’s not perfect, and you yawn instead. You look down at your mug like it’s betrayed you, and Hotch chuckles low.

“It’s decaf. I know you usually stop in the afternoon; I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were up all night because of me.” You have always been a person who falls in love with all the little details about someone, so the fact that he’s noticed this, remembers this, makes your heart beat a little faster. “I should let you go. You’ve done so much today, between staying late and baking for Jack—for me. You need to get some sleep.”

He’s right, it’s nearly ten, and you should be getting back home, but this is a moment you never want to end.

You just nod, though, and he reaches out to brush his hand over your back when he walks you to the door.

“Thank you again. I really appreciate that you did this for me,” he says, soft, like he still can’t imagine you would.

“You’re welcome, Hotch. Any time, really; I’m happy to help.”

You get home, clean your kitchen, and have a very late dinner, and the smell of good coffee and apples and cinnamon is still in your nose when you drift to sleep. “You didn’t hear what he said,” Hotch snaps almost a month later, with one hand splayed on his hip and the other on the table in front of him. The moment you saw him engaged in an argument with a member of the Sheriff’s department, fire in his eyes, you’d grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a small conference room, shutting the door behind you. It took almost three minutes of staring at each other for him to say something instead of just glaring at you for interrupting the pissing contest.

“I don’t need to know what he said. I know you, and I know you handle people like that with a quick, sharp remark and then you wash your hands of it. You don’t argue back and forth, you don’t draw it out. You would have regretted it if you did that today, so I stopped you.”

“You think you know me so well, do you?” he asks in an unkind tone of voice you can’t identify, haven’t heard from him before; the expression on his face is familiar, though, a scowl that only puts emphasis on his handsome features—it’s unfair, really.

You exhale, cross your arms.

“Yes, and I know you well enough to know you’re irritated with him, not me, so cut the shit.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been quite that direct with him, and certainly the first time you’ve ever sworn at him; your immediate instinct is to apologize, but he surprises you by huffing a laugh. The angry lines of his face smooth into something softer.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. He just—I can’t stand people like that.” He scrubs a hand through his hair in irritation. “We’re here to work—to do a job they couldn’t finish on their own. Not to be… objectified.” He mutters the last word, so low you almost don’t hear it, and then there’s a knock at the door. Derek enters.

“Sheriff wants a word, Hotch; do you have a sec?” With one last look at you, he nods, brushes past him to leave the room. Derek gives you the barest hint of a smile. “He was defending your honor, you know.”

You frown. You didn’t know.

“That jerk was talking about me?” you ask, clarifying, and he nods.

“Something about assuming you’re an athlete because he likes your ass. Set the boss man off.” You walk over to him and leave the room together, heading back to your workspace.

“Well Hotch is right, we’re here to work, not to be objectified. I can see how he would get angry.” Derek shoots you a flat, questioning glance.

“You think he’d be getting that worked up if it was my ass that guy was talking about? Or Emily’s?” The two of you stop outside the conference room, and you cross your arms, lean against the doorframe, frown.

“So what are you trying to say? That he sees me as being weak, thinks he needs to defend me? I'm as capable as either of you.” That may not be strictly true, because you’re a little more brains than brawn, like Spencer in that way, but you can hold your own and you thought Hotch knew that.

Derek just laughs, shakes his head, and ducks into the room. You follow, so confused.

“I thought you were just playing it close to the vest, but you’re oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Oblivious about what?” Emily asks, pen between her teeth, feet kicked up onto a chair, and you shrug.

“I’m still not sure. Hotch got into an argument with a deputy about me, and I asked Derek if Hotch thinks I’m weak and that’s why he felt like he had to defend me.” She smiles broadly around the pen, pulls it out of her mouth with a grin.

“Oh, honey. That’s not it. You know that’s not it, right?”

“I clearly don’t know what’s going on at all, so no, if you’d care to enlighten me,” you say, sinking into an empty chair. “I hate it when you guys are cryptic.” You love your team, but they have a habit of doing this all the time, saying things to each other with their eyes, or just a few words that don’t have any sensible meaning that you know of. It’s like they live to talk over your head, to say things without actually saying them.

“Okay. Hotch has a thing for you,” Emily says simply, and you blink.

Well that’s the very last thing you’d expected to hear.

“He absolutely does not.” You look at Derek, who’s making a face like you’re the one being crazy; you laugh out loud, can’t help it. “He does not. I’m pretty sure Hotch doesn’t have things, and if he did, he wouldn’t have a thing for me.”

“Why not? Because that would be too convenient, since you have a thing for him too?” Derek asks, taking the seat across from you, and you grab the nearest case file, flip it open and focus your attention on it.

“I care about him, the same way I care about all of you, and he maybe needs a little more care—but you guys are reading into things.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to say anything more, because Hotch, JJ, and Spencer return, and you all have a lead to work.

You can’t help but wonder if you’re being obvious about your feelings, though, especially later, when you get back to the hotel and the group decides to have a drink at the bar.

JJ and Emily hit the pool table while Derek and Spencer head up for drinks, and you are left sitting with Hotch at the table, pressed together in the inside corner of a booth.

“Tired?” you ask him, because he does look worn out, his tie a bit loose, his eyes a little red. You know he doesn’t get much sleep when you travel, and you can’t imagine he’ll go to bed even when this little detour is over.

“Always,” he sighs, but when he looks over at you, he smiles, just a little. “Just can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Yeah, it gives Southern hospitality a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?” The people you’ve interviewed today are, on paper, quite respectable, but there’s a Desperate Housewives, ‘everyone is sleeping with someone else's spouse’ kind of thing going on, and it’s honestly exhausting. To your surprise, Hotch laughs.

“It really does. I don’t think I’ve ever missed the quiet solitude of my apartment quite this much.” You lean back against the vinyl of the booth, sigh.

“I miss my apartment, but it’s been too quiet lately. I prefer the sounds of someone else sharing space with me: the coffee maker percolating, the news in the background, the shower running, the sound of flipping the pages of a book or magazine.” You look down at your hands, because you’re getting a little more emotional than you usually let other people see. “Sorry. I’m not typically this open about being…”

You trail off, but Hotch looks over at you, concerned, the wrinkle between his eyebrows even more noticeable when you’re sitting this close. You think, just briefly, of running your thumb over it, but with your luck, Derek or Emily would see, and you’d never live it down.

“Lonely?” he finishes softly, and when you nod your head, he covers your hands with one of his own, bumps his shoulder against yours. “I get lonely too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You look up at him, feeling a little vulnerable, and his expression softens. “When we get back, maybe you could come over for dinner some night. Nothing fancy,” he clarifies, and you smile, “just two lonely people being a little less lonely.”

“That would be really nice.” You can see Derek and Spencer approaching out of the corner of your eye, and Hotch must too, because he removes his hand, slips back into the slight, persistent frown you have come to know and love. Derek looks at you, raises an eyebrow, and hands you your beer. You try to tell him to shut up with your face, plan to follow up later to see if that actually worked. “We have an agent down on the second floor,” Spencer says into his comms, and you immediately want to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t say agent down, kid; I’m like, slightly wounded at best.” You hold a hand against the stab wound on your side—the unsub honestly just grazed you, and you’d knocked him out with a single punch, which made you feel pretty awesome—and reach out the other so he can help pull you to your feet. Your hand comes up to your own walkie button. “I’m not down, I’m fine—just slightly stabbed,” you add, and Spencer is getting his cuffs on the unsub when Hotch and JJ burst through the doors.

Well, Hotch bursts. JJ follows behind looking strangely winded for one of the most naturally athletic people you know.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he asks, and you lift your shirt to show him the sluggishly bleeding gash.

“I’m fine, see? It’s not even deep. Spencer saw blood and got a little ahead of himself.” You turn to Spencer, who sticks out his tongue, then back to Hotch, who looks haunted and pale, with that goddamn wrinkle between his eyebrows again. He’s bent down, looking over your wound seriously—you’ve had worse, so much worse, that you don’t understand why he’s so worried about it—and then he leans up, presses a hand to your cheek, and pulls you close for a soft, tender kiss.

If this were a movie, right about now a camera would be panning around you in a circle, as you wrap your free hand around his neck, pull him closer, melt against his body like it’s all you’ve been dreaming of for months, and the two of you would break apart smiling, maybe even kiss again.

It’s not a movie, though, so you just bleed out against your hand and freeze, because Hotch is kissing you at a crime scene and you almost got filleted, so you’re not sure if this is a you got hurt, so I’d better kiss you kiss or an I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever, and you got hurt so I have to kiss you kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing a bit heavily, and you don’t know what to do, so you just lean in and press your lips to that wrinkle between his eyebrows that you’ve been thinking about so frequently since the first time you noticed it. You brush a hand through his hair, and when you pull back, he’s smiling.

“What was that?” He covers your hand on your side with his own and helps get you toward the elevator so you can be patched up by the EMTs; JJ and Spencer are left staring, open-mouthed in your wake, with an unconscious unsub at their feet, but neither of you are concerned about that.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now: to kiss that spot between your eyes so you’ll stop frowning for a change. Since I couldn’t, I decided to find other ways to help you stop frowning so much. It kind of became my life’s mission.” He sighs, puts his arm around you and holds you close while you wait for the elevator to bring you to the ground floor.

“I stop frowning when you’re around because you’re around, not just because of the things you do for me,” he tells you, and he presses his lips to yours for another warm, soft, perfect kiss. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now.” You tilt your head, make a sound of contemplation, and he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

“I think those cryptic idiots we work with might be onto something,” you say with a grin, and when the elevator lets you off and Hotch helps you toward the ambulance to be patched up, Derek and Emily are waiting with concerned looks on their faces. They must be pretty confused to see you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you guys were right; Hotch does have a thing for me!” you call as you walk past them, and when your wound is properly dressed and wrapped, you put your arms around his neck and let him kiss you until the frown and accompanying wrinkle are nothing but distant memories.

*The novel excerpt is from The Weaver by Emmi Itäranta.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt #aaron hotchner x gn reader #hotch x gn reader #request

526 notes · View notes

sukunasfourtheye · 3 years

Text

Late Night Texts- Eren x reader

Minors DNI, 18+ Adult Content 🔞

Masterlist

Summary: It’s midnight, you’re kinda tipsy, and you text your friend Eren.

Warnings: Smut smut smut, minors DNI. This is pure pure fucking filth. Yoinks.

Contains: swearing, sexting/texting, sexting turned to FaceTime sex/phone sex, dirty talk, ‘good girl” used multiple times, masturbation

Words: 1.2k

Note from the author: I personally have such a thing for phone sex/sexting so much so this is a personal fav gahhhhhh. I debated this being a Levi or Eren fic but feel like Levi would literally just get up and go to your house and wouldn’t have the patience for sexting LOL so Eren it was

———————*~*~*~*~—————-*~*~*~*~*~————

>>> heeeeeeey haha whats upp

Eren raised an eyebrow as he glanced down at your text. Hmm, he thought. Kinda late. He squinted at the clock on his night stand that read 12:31am.

> Sup

Probably just bored, he thought. He hit send, and not even 15 seconds later his phone *dings* again.

>>> nothing hahaha kinda tipsy but oh well

He hated to admit it, but he felt a small flutter in his chest reading your reply. You’d been friends for a while, but he never picked up on any flirty vibes from you, but drunk texting at midnight? Hmm...

> Fun. Did you go out?

>>> yeah clubbing with sashaaaa haha so fun:) you shoulda caaaaaame

Ok, this is definitely flirty, he thought. The thought of you in a tight dress, all dolled up, swaying on a dancefloor....phew.

> Damn, yeah I should’ve come. Would’ve been fun seeing you.

He hesitates, thinking he’s definitely breaching into flirty territory with this one. He thinks, fuck it before he presses send.

His phone *dings* and he sees the text preview on his home screen:

>>> [y/n] sent you a snap!

>>> now you see me :)

His excitement started to grow as he saw the Snapchat and text double notification on his screen. Despite himself, he felt his cock twitch in his boxers, and he reflexively reached his hand down to start to rub himself lazily.

He opens the Snapchat notification.

It’s a video of you laying in bed, your phone held up at arms length, smiling with your tongue sticking out playfully. You were wearing a strapless v-neck leather top and tight black pants, your face alight with glittery makeup and a clear drunken stupor. Your smile was radiant.

Fuck, she’s hot, he thought. His hand had a mind of it’s own and started to rub himself through his pants, with a bit more purpose now. He groaned, shifting his hips up at his own contact. He replayed the video, stroking himself.

>>> replayed my video? ;)

Whoops. He forgot you get notified if he replays your video. He goes to at first make an excuse (”whoops my bad”) but instead decides against it. Fuck it shes drunk maybe she’ll forget it, he thought. He hesitates, but presses send:

> Yeah, damn you look good

Why did i just send that. The tension of seeing you typing back made him even hornier, letting out another groan as his dick began hardening under his boxers.

>>> reaaaally? :) youre not too bad yourself ;)

Oh yes. It’s showtime.

> So that’s why you’re texting me so late. Just wanted a little attention?

> Yeah, you’re low key hot as fuck

There’s a long pause as he’s waiting for you to reply, terrified he fucked it up and went too far.

Then....you sent a voice note. He hit play:

>>> “Mmmmm... I wish you were here right now.”

Your voice is almost a moan, going straight to his dick. Fuck, she wants it. That’s so hot. His hands go inside his boxers and frees his now fully hard cock, giving it a few pumps as he does. Before he can even respond, another *ding* makes his cock twitch.

>>> Attached: Image

It’s a picture of you leaning forward towards the camera, giving a clear shot down your cleavage as you looked up at him, a mischievous smile on your lips, biting your tongue

> Pretty girl. Tease.

>>> im not teaaaasing i actually want to fuck you :p

The blunt text you sent made him gasp, his dick hot in his hands as he worked himself.

> You’ve got a filthy fucking mouth

>>> you can make it filthier if you want ;)

Fuck. His throws his head back jerks himself faster, before stopping to squeeze the base of his cock. Fuck I want her to suck me so bad. Before he even registers what he’s doing, he hits the “Facetime” button to call you.

>>> [y/n] is unavailable for FaceTime

He groans in frustration. Fuck, i wanna see her.... she really is a fucking tease.

>>> we cant facetime right now im doing naughty thingssssss

>>> this convo is making me crazzyyyy shhh

> Good. That’s a good girl.

>>> *Incoming Facetime call from [y/n]*

Too easy, he thinks. He chuckles as he swipes open the call. The camera is angled at the ceiling, the room dimmed.

He chuckles into the phone. “All I had to say was ‘good girl’ and suddenly you calling me now, huh?”, he says, cocky as all hell.

“Hmmm....”, he hears you say, drawing out the ‘mmm’ suspiciously.

“Hmmmmm?” he questions back, mimicking you. “What’re you doing right now, [y/n]?”

“M’, Ummmmm, nothing....” he hears you say faintly, innocently, phone still pointed at the ceiling. He thought he was imagining it at first, but he can barely hear the sound of fabric shuffling and shifting on your end.

“Nothing? Doesn’t sound like nothing, pretty girl”, he teases, stoking his now leaking cock. He sighed heavily on purpose, suggestively, making sure you heard him.

“What’re you doing right now?” you asked lightly, breathlessly.

He feels himself starting to slowly lose his restraint when he hears your breathy voice. “If I tell you, will you tell me?”, he grumbled, panting obviously now, loudly and into the phone, clearly out of breath from the effort of jerking himself off, hard

He hears you sigh, the sound of shuffling fabric getting louder. He hears you shift in bed. “Yes”, you say.

Through obvious gasps, he grills you: “You promise you gonna tell me what you’re doing, hmm, baby? You gonna tell me what you’re doing after you made me so fucking hard for you?”

He hears you moan loudly now, obviously meant for him to hear, panting.

“I’m stroking my fucking dick right now, that’s what I’m doing. I’m thinking about bending you over and fucking you stupid” he moans in unison with you, hearing himself admit it making him feel even dirtier

“Are you touching yourself, [y/n]? Your pussy wet for me? Hmm?” He hears your high-pitched moan and your body shift quickly in your bed.

“Use your words, I wanna hear that pretty little mouth say my fucking name”, he commands, heat flushing his face.

“Ung! - Eren...ugh....” you finally mewl, sounding just as desperate as he was to cum

“Fuck i wanna stuff my cock in your mouth so fucking bad, [y/n]” he moans, babbling off strings of dirty talk, barely able to catch his breath as he gets closer and closer. “You’re a naughty little girl aren’t you? Were you touching your pussy while you were texting me? Hmmm? Dirty girl. You wanted me to make you cum, yeah? You thinking about my dick fucking into that messy little pussy? I wanna hear you say it you needy little---ahhh! fuck. speak to me.”

You finally break your silence: “Ugh, Eren, ah!-- you’re gonna make me--fuck, you’re gonna make me--!”

Fuck

He lets out a string of swear words, cursing through both your orgasm and his: “ah, fuck thats such a good fucking girl yes, cum for me baby, cum on daddys cock, cum on this fucking cock babe, uuung...!”

As you both catch your breath from the thrill that just ran through both your bodies, he pants “That....was hot”.

“Yeah”, he hears you say, the camera finally moving away from the ceiling and onto you. You looked dazed, a thin sheen of sweat smudging your makeup. Still, a satisfied smiled was painted on your pretty face. “You’re so hot. Wow. I haven’t cum that hard in a long time. Next time you’ll have to come over?”

“See you then, princess”

#eren jeager #eren jeager smut #Eren yeager #eren yeager smut #eren jeager one shot #eren yeager oneshot #aot smut #attack on Titan #attack on Titan smut #eren smut #eren oneshot #Eren filth #Eren #aot #this was originally gonna be Levi but oh well #aot fanfiction #smut

483 notes · View notes

atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords, pt.9

Summary: Darkling’s secrets are soon to be unveiled, just in time for a trip to the Fold.

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, implied sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight

=================================

The Darkling walked with a spring in his step. Residents of Little Palace have gotten used to his skulking in black keftas he wore like second skin. Never before had they seen him smile as much as he did on this particular day – as if he found the secret to happiness.

In truth, the Darkling refused to let himself hope for much. He simply hoped she’d allow him to kiss her now without receiving a death threat for it. It felt incredibly dangerous how foolishly addicted he is to his fickle wife. He never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her.

“General”, Fedyor joined him on his right, while Ivan silently took his left side. They both kept a reasonable distance from Kirigan, two steps behind at all times.

“What reason did you have to knock on my door this morning?” Kirigan’s voice is leveled, but his words are a death trap. There’s nothing more the general hates than his Grisha interrupting his private time – regardless if Y/N is with him or not. Unless there’s a burning issue at hand, he disliked being bothered unnecessarily.

“We’ve intercepted a few interesting stories you might like”, Ivan responds calmly, unafraid of his temperamental general. After all the years they’ve known each other, Ivan could read Kirigan’s mood easily. Despite his discontent, Kirigan is chipper for the first time in a long time. In fact, Ivan can’t even remember the last time his general was this happy...or happy at all.

“What kind?” Darkling asked, but his attention was undeniably divided as he caught sight of Y/N.

She walked across the hallway with a purpose – determined to raise hell and he found it incredibly sexy. She paused for a moment, her gaze meeting his briefly. When she pursed her lips, his twitched at the corners – a smile starting to form.

“Sun Summoner kind”, Fedyor spoke in a hushed voice.

Kirigan’s smile falters, his eyes leaving Y/N’s. “Follow me”, he barked on order before walking in the opposite direction.

All his life, the Darkling had been searching for the Sun Summoner. Every whisper of their existence turned out to be nothing but a fabrication, but something felt different now.

Once inside the map room, he leaned with his palms on the table. Kirigan didn’t say anything for a moment or ask for more information, but then his mouth moved on their own accord.

“Is it true?”

Glancing at each other, Ivan and Fedyor silently argued who should deliver the news.

“I asked you a question”, the general growled out, looking at them over his shoulder and the intensity of his glare had erased his earlier happiness.

“Nothing is confirmed yet, but we have quite a lot of accounts from the people surrounding the forest.” Ivan replied.

The Darkling made a sort of a grunting noise that Ivan didn’t know what to make of. The shadows covered the windows swiftly, engulfing the room in darkness as his left eye narrowed ever so slightly.

“The forest?”

Fedyor clears his throat, “Near the border.”

“Near the fold”, Ivan adds.

“I want”, he paused. Running his fingers through his hair, his shadows killed every source of outside light. “We need to prepare for a trip to the armies stationed at the fold.”

Nodding, Ivan looked to Fedyor and his deep-set frown.

“Are we to cross?” Fedyor asks.

The Darkling’s face is stone, his eyes unblinking. “Would it be a problem for you?”

Breath caught in his throat, Fedyor’s heart started to race. “No.”

“Good”, Kirigan remarked. “Prepare everything for departure in no more than a week.”

Sending them off, the Darkling sat in his chair. He wants so many things. His fingers graze his chin as he sighs – there would be no leaving without Y/N following. It’s not in her nature to do nothing and if she learns of the reasons behind his departure, he might lose her. The path of less resistance is to convince her the trip is to prove he’s honored his promise to her. He had sent the instructions yesterday and while she did force his hand on it, he didn’t hate her for it. If he’s bound for hell, at least it’s not a false one. She hates him, but she’s honest with him. He appreciated that.

Finding the Sun Summoner will change everything – for once, he will have a partner who can understand the weight of his past choices. He regrets too many things he’s done, but he was rarely given a choice. They broke the wrong parts of him, in the end, he showed them what happens when they laid a hand on those he cares for. That included Y/N now. If anything, she was a priority. Y/N is the only one he has left in this world.

While the Darkling pondered on the possibility of a Sun Summoner being true, Y/N sat in the library with a pile of books at each side.

The lingering effect of Aleksander’s gaze upon her and his devilish smirk had warmed her up in a way she least expected. For a moment, she couldn’t tell if time stopped or her heart did.

Shaking her head, she flipped the page in frustration. Her skin still burned bright from where he touched her. No amount of bathing can erase the fact she belonged to him now.

Swallowing thickly, she groaned. In all the books she had found, barely few had any information on the shadow summoner. Aside from Morozova creatures that serve as amplifiers, Y/N found mere mentions of a black heretic and the creation of the fold.

Her neck hurt, her eyes felt like they’re being pierced with needles and there was no saving her mind from all the theories she concocted. Leaning back in her chair, she huffed. Rubbing her eyes, she slammed the book closed before standing in frustration.

She didn’t want to love Aleksander, to risk her heart and life. She didn’t want to lay in bed, always afraid of what he might do if one day she’s not careful enough and he learns the truth. Naively, she hoped he’d either stand with her or just walk away but that’s not the Kirigan she knows. He wouldn’t forgive, it’s not in his nature.

Placing the books where she can find them in the morning, she headed to her room. Genya was kind enough to send a servant with lunch, but Y/N missed dinner entirely. Engrossed in books all day, she hardly felt any hunger.

At least not the kind of hunger food could satisfy.

Walking into the room, she hadn’t expected to find Aleksander sat at the bottom of their bed….shirtless.

Standing, he narrowed his eyes at her. “You weren’t at dinner.”

She raised a brow, “Wasn’t hungry.”

Kirigan crossed his arms over his bare chest, the movement making the muscles in his stomach flicker.

“Get dressed”, she quipped.

He smiled, “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a mirror in every corner of this Palace, since you love yourself so much.”

He laughed wholeheartedly as she just turned away, clamping a hand over her mouth. She couldn’t let herself laugh with him. Every moment like this feels like the world is spinning, making her resolution fragile. She’s aching to let him in, but it would be a mistake. She feels it in his bones, he’s not honest with her.

Caring for a man like him is dangerous, like standing in the eye of a hurricane.

“We’ll leave Little Palace in a week”, Aleksander speaks, “Just as you asked of me.”

She stares at him, disbelief and joy colliding. And it’s the look in his eyes, the hopeful, terrified look in those dark skies that disarms her.

“Why do I feel like there’s a catch?”

Running the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, Aleksander takes a step closer. “You’ll ride with me.”

Pursing her lips, she nods without ever breaking eye contact. “And?”

A breathless chuckle passes his lips, “You’ll have to wear a special kefta. One that won’t let you get hurt easily.”

Taking a deep breath, she tilts her head up, “And?”

Suppressing a smile, he raises an eyebrow. “You’ll be equipped with a weapon of choice. I believe you’re more than familiar with guns as a soldier of the First army.”

Raising both eyebrows in response, she takes a step closer to him. “Swords”, she notes.

Humming, his eyes widen ever so slightly as he waits for her to continue.

“I prefer swords”, she touched his face gently with the back of her hand.

“Of course”, he breathes out. A soft smile spreads across his lips, “Draw your swords if you see an enemy in sight.”

“Even if it’s my husband?” Her lips remain parted, her eyes flickering to his chest where she raised her hand to.

“I don’t care, as long as you keep yourself safe.”

She held her breath as his words resonated with her mind. How can he be so callous one day and then offer up his life for her to take. No game had ever made her question every single word that left someone’s lips before. Sometimes she’d look at him and see through the mask he shows the world and other times she couldn’t see anything other than her own reflection in his eyes as if his soul didn’t exist at all.

“Since when do you care?” She frowns, gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

Letting out a heavy sigh, his eyes flicker to the hand she splayed against his bare chest. Just the simple touch of her hand made him want more. It was becoming too hard to pretend he hates her. What he truly hates is how human she is – what is he supposed to do when her hair turns grey and he’s still young? How will he survive when someone takes her to exact vengeance against him? Will he be too late to save her then?

When your world comes to a stop and the value of life is amplified by those dead before their time in gruesome ways, it feels like an earthquake shakes the very foundations life is built on. But when the walls start falling, past and future no longer exist, only the moment you’re in and the first person that comes to mind when those walls are gone is what your life is all about. For Aleksander, that person is Y/N.

Looking into her eyes, his hands cup her face, “Since I had to spend five days believing you’re dead.”

He wanted to wrap Y/N in his arms and tell her he would never let her walk away, not after he had a taste of what it means to be with her. He wanted to tell her his love is unconditional and that his soul is hers, even if she didn’t want to give him hers. He would wait, as patiently and as stubbornly as he did by now and that she will never lose him because even if he wished, he can’t scrub his heart clean of her. And he never wanted to.

“I thought you’d protect me?” She raised an eyebrow, teasing him.

She had become his heart, his reason to live. She lit a fire within, something he had lost over time and while she’s completely unaware of it, if the world tried to take her from him, the Darkling would wage war to make sure she remains by his side.

Blinking slow, a faint smile upon his lips, the Darkling tilts his head slightly to the left. “Would you allow it?”

There is nothing in the world he wanted more than to kiss her again, but this time around Aleksander decided to let her make the move. She is tender, but fierce. To understand a woman like her, one must realize that the former is who she is and the latter is what life demanded of her.

“Not likely”, she remarks and he throws his head back, chuckling.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she wets her lips in thought and he can’t help but think this is a well-designed trap for him to say the wrong thing and for her to use it as excuse to put distance between them rather than face her own desires and he was almost certain those desires included him.

“You want me”, he whispers in her ear as his fingertips slide up her spine and to the back of her neck, “And it’s killing you.”

“Physical attraction means nothing”, her voice is low, but unwavering.

Aleksander bites the inside of his lower lip in anticipation of her pushing him away and storming off, but even as he waits, he feels her hips press closer to him as if she’s telling him he won’t be left alone. Not again.

“Yet you’re here”, he grins. Tucking her hair behind her left ear, he admired how firm she stands in her opposition.

“So are you”, she quipped,.

A cocky smile appears on his lips, tiny wrinkles forming around his dark eyes as he holds her gaze bravely, unwavering even when her gaze becomes a glare.

Biting her lower lip, contemplating the right move, Y/N could hardly fight her desire for him. Her head knew he it would be unwise, but her heart screamed at her to kiss him and those butterflies in her stomach felt more like killer bees as the need to feel him inside her had taken over every rational thought she generated.

One hand caressing his lean cheek, she gave into her primal instincts as she slammed her lips against his and Aleksander’s own heart leapt inside his chest.

Their need for each other was urgent. Y/N grabbed a handful of flesh and muscle on Aleksander’s back. He gasped and laughed throatily at her haste. When her hands clawed at him again, he grasped both hands in one of his and held them over her head. She struggled to free herself, but he was too strong. When he entered her, she gasped, then moved her hips up to meet his.

He released her hands and she pulled him closer and closer to her. They made love quickly, almost harshly, before they found the sweet release they longed for. Aleksander collapsed on top of her, their bodies still joined as one when their minds gave in, slowly drifting to sleep.

Just like the previous morning, he remained in the bed, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

She barely saw him during the day as the week progressed, but their nights were spent together – entangled mess of limbs, desperate moans and needy pleas neither held back. She’d close her eyes in his embrace and begin her day the same way.

“You don’t have much time”, Genya warned as Y/N dressed in haste. She decided to dress for the trip, it was the only way she could fit in a few hours in the library.

“I won’t be long”, she smiled at her friend.

Licking her lips, Genya took her by the hand. “What is it that you’re looking for?”

Y/N clenched her teeth, wondering if she should tell Genya. Something inside her warned against it – she didn’t tell anyone his name is Aleksander, feeling privileged to know such information. If she’s wrong and she can trust him, she didn’t want to poison anyone else with her doubt beforehand. A single book remained unread on her pile of very thick books she went through.

“Just trying to learn”, Y/N shrugged.

Nodding, Genya smiles, “In case we don’t see each other before you leave, I have to implore you to reconsider David as an ally.”

“I will”, Y/N promised and she would. Someone in Aleksander’s inner circle could be of use to her.

Going through the pages, she felt exhausted. Spending all her time in ancient books didn’t seem to be of use, but for once the text made sense. It spoke of the black heretic and the many names he’s been called in history.

“He walks the earth with a power only the saints could possess. They call him The Black Heretic, The Shadow King, The Starless Saint, Staski, Eryk, Leonid – numerous names that he exchanged for each lifetime he was given and by now it must be at least a few hundred lifetimes of darkness. His name – true name was lost throughout the centuries, occasionally heard as a whisper carried in the wind.”

Wide eyed, she read through the text of a scholar who described the Black Heretic and his powers, his entire lineage being his mother who remained unnamed and…him.

“He has no descendants?” Y/N’s lips quiver. If he has no descendants and his line begins and ends with him, how would Aleksander even exist?

Unless…

No.

It would be impossible, would it not?

“Numerous names that he exchanged for each lifetime he was given”, she reads aloud only to cover her own mouth in face of a startling epiphany. It was as she noticed the dark connection between the great mystery, the horrific realization set in.

“Pardon me, miss, but General Kirigan has sent for you”, a servant frightened her.

Taking the book in haste, Y/N stood on her shaky legs. Mouth dry, she pressed her lips in a thin line.

“Thank you”, she walked out so quickly, barely containing her quick and shallow breaths. Sweating profusely, she felt as if the black kefta she wore weighed down on her like battle armor.

Was it not her armor? Was this not a constant war she’s struggled with?

Aleksander…Kirigan…The Darkling…who is he?

“Are you ready?” Aleksander is waiting by the door with a small smile on his lips. His hand is opened for her to take, but she ignores it. If she took his hand, he’d feel the shakiness she’s trying so hard to steady.

Mounting his black stallion, she tucked the book safely inside her inner pocket.

“I’ll take the reins”, she informed him as he took his place behind her.

She heard him scoff, “I’m the general.”

Is Aleksander even his real name?

Are the stories about him true?

“On this side of the fold, so am I”, she gripped the reins and the stallion obeyed.

Riding a horse always helped her clear her mind, but this time it seemed impossible.

When she married Kirigan, she believed she would marry an old, unattractive man…As it turns out, she got the old part right.

=============================

A/N - I’m not quite happy with this chapter, but I wanted to post today to keep my streak going. Also, i suck at writing a summary, like WHY IS THAT?! xD It’s Eid, so I’m tired and sleepy, forgive my grammar and prepare for things to heat up in the next chapters. Thank you all for sticking with the story and all the feedback, it honestly gives me life and will to keep writing. I also finally found the books in my native tongue, at least the Grisha trilogy and Six of crows duology and I’m really excited to dive into it and further my understanding of Darkling as a brilliantly written villain that is a multi-dimensional being with, let’s be honest, actually good points. I may not be happy about his willingness to commit mass murder, but I kinda see where he’s coming from and I really can’t wait to know more about the situation as it is in the books.

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06 @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld

PART 10

#the darkling x reader #the darkling fanfiction #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #shadown and bone

673 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

I absolutely love your fics!!! Thank you for sharing your talent with the world. If you're interested, do you think you could write a fic where Finn gets injured in a game against Tampa? O'Hara brothers ftw ♥️♥️♥️

Ohohohoho yes. It's 'missing your big brother so you write siblings' hours, and all of you are trapped in here with me. Combined with prompts for cubs hurt comfort/ poly love (@hi-im-phoenix) and distraction hurt/ comfort for AJ. Sorry about your manager <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for bone inJuries

The crowd was roaring. Finn couldn’t catch his breath. His arm was on fire.

Something like a sob broke free in his chest, but he could do little more than hiccup in pain and fear from his place laying flat on his back atop the unforgiving ice. He couldn’t move his fingers. His elbow throbbed. Everything in between just hurt.

“—fuck is wrong with you?” an angry voice shouted, followed by a flash of blue and white shoving at the man whose late hit had left him suspended in shock. Finn didn’t know if it had been on purpose, but he didn’t really care anymore as a tear tracked down to his ear. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the bright lights overhead.

A hand cradled one side of his jaw, warm and clammy on his cold skin. “Talk to me, mon amour, what’s wrong?”

“Lo,” he croaked, swallowing hard. “I’m okay. ‘m okay, promise. I’m okay.”

“Out of my way!” The blue and white blob pushed closer before kneeling next to him. A helmet hit the ice, followed by a glove; heavy hands settled on his shoulders, and the one on his face disappeared. “Finn? Finn, look at me.”

Finn’s chest hitched once, twice, hard. His head was pounding, and everything hurt. He may have been able to reassure Logan, but he had never been able to hide from his brother. “Alex.”

“Hey, buddy,” he soothed as Finn finally regained enough breath to gasp around his tears. “No, no, shhh. You’re gonna be just fine, yeah? Can you tell me what happened?”

“Hurts,” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain had reached his shoulder and every movement was agony. “It hurts, it hurts—Alex, it hurts.”

“What hurts?”

He could hear people calling for medics. His friends, his family. But Alex stayed right there next to him, holding his good hand and brushing his tears away. “My arm,” Finn said, feeling as pathetic as he ever had. “Alex, it hurts so bad.”

“Can you wiggle your fingers for me?” Finn sobbed again as he shook his head and saw the encouraging smile slide of Alex’s face. “That’s alright, buddy, just take some deep breaths.”

“I don’t wanna be out,” Finn blubbered. “I gotta play.”

Alex gave his hand a light squeeze. “It’s not that bad, Fish. Deep breaths.”

He managed a handful—and admittedly felt a little better—but the alarms in his head were still blaring when Remus arrived with the medic, all but carrying him across the ice to get to Finn. He had a smudge of a bruise beneath his eye, but the worry creasing his brow overtook anything else. “I’m good, Loops,” Finn panted as the medic sat next to him. “Totally cool.”

“28, I’m going to need you to make some room,” the medic ordered. Fear spiked in Finn’s heart when he met Alex’s gaze, but he found only determination looking back.

“I’m not leaving,” Alex said simply.

The medic glanced down. “Can you stand?”

“I think so?” Finn said hesitantly, trying to get cool air back into his lungs. “It’s—I think I broke my arm. Everything else is okay.”

“What’s your pain level?”

“Eight. And a half,” he added. Alex frowned.

“Let’s get you off this ice, yeah?” The medic patted him gently on the shoulder. “O’Hara, can you get him up?”

“Keep that one close,” Alex murmured, sliding his arm under Finn’s shoulders. He clenched his teeth around a cry of pain as his bad arm was jostled, but Alex was strong and steady, and within a few seconds he was on his feet. “Easy does it, bud. I’ve got you.”

“Fucking shit,” Finn wheezed as he tried to close his hand. The fear and adrenaline had faded, but involuntary tears sprang to his eyes anyway. Alex held him upright without faltering despite his wobbly legs; they made it to the bench in a blur of movement that made Finn dizzy.

“We can take him from here,” the medic said to Alex.

“I’ll be fine,” Finn said, cutting him off just as he opened his mouth. “Go play. Your boys need you.”

Alex pressed his lips together in obvious frustration, but tapped their helmets together and skated back to his own bench. Finn let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “O’Hara?”

“I’m good,” he assured the medic.

“If you feel like you need to throw up, let me know.”

“No. No, I’m good. Just hurts.”

He caught a glimpse of the clock as they headed down the tunnel—ten minutes left in the period. Finn steeled himself for a long stretch of being alone in a medical room and tried to focus on something over than the unbearable heat and throbbing in his arm.

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

Leo traced the edge of the splint with a deep-set frown, but said nothing. His other thumb ran in gentle lines up and down Finn’s waist, kept there by Logan’s side pressing close. “You’re sure you’re alright?” Logan asked softly as he placed a kiss on the corner of Finn’s mouth.

“I promise.” They had barely traded ten words—both had shown up the second the game ended, stripping off their pads and skates in the entrance to the medical room before sandwiching Finn between them. Leo had been unusually quiet. They had won the game; from what Finn saw on the television in the corner of the room, Alex had reamed out the guy that hit Finn with a vengeance. Tampa had been disjointed, and the Lions swept in as a cohesive pack, out for blood.

“I was worried about you,” Leo said at last, resting his temple on Finn’s shoulder. He sighed, then shifted impossibly closer. “Couldn’t get through the crowd.”

“I thought Talker and Loops were gonna kill that guy after he hit you,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “Looks like Alex did it for him.”

“What, you didn’t get into your shining armor for me?” Finn teased, nuzzling his nose against Logan’s cheek to draw even a slight smile from him.

“Maybe next time.”

“No,” Leo mumbled, linking his fingers with Finn’s purple ones and lifting them to his lips for a brief kiss. It was a clean break, but would still take weeks to heal. Big blue eyes landed on him, melting his heart like they always did. “No ‘next times’, okay?”

“Aw, Knutty,” Finn said, barely above a whisper. He wrapped one arm around each of them and held them tight, soaking in the feeling of having both crushed against him. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Logan tucked his face into Finn’s neck. “Nothing to be sorry for, mon rouge. We’re just glad you’re alright.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a voice said from the door. Alex shifted his weight back and forth, twisting his baseball cap in his hands like he always did when he was nervous. Finn didn’t hesitate before extracting himself from the cuddle pile and crossing the room; Alex met him halfway and engulfed him in a hug. A shudder ran through him under Finn’s palms. “Jesus, Finn, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” Finn mumbled into his hoodie, letting himself be cocooned by distilled safety. Even out of his skates, Alex had a good two inches on him, and he had always been the broader of the two—Finn suddenly felt about six years old, as if he had just skinned his knee on the sidewalk.

“What’s the diagnosis?”

“Closed break, clean fracture. I’ll be out for a month or two.” He stepped back and swiped a hand under his nose, then tilted his head toward Leo and Logan with a wry smile. “But I’ve got these two to look after me.”

Alex scanned his face for a moment; his mouth dipped on one side. “I called mom and dad, told ‘em you’re okay. You should tell them yourself, though. They were freaking out.”

“I will,” Finn promised.

The worry creasing his brow didn’t diminish as he wrapped Finn in his arms again, holding him tight. “Keep me updated, yeah? If I don’t hear from you, I’ll get the captain on your ass, and he won’t be as nice about it as I will.”

“Deal.”

“Knutty, Lo, drive safe. If he tries to pull some stupid shit, I’m counting on your survival skills to stop it.”

“Survival skills?” Leo half-laughed.

Alex pulled away and raised his eyebrows. “They don’t call me Hurricane O’Hara for nothing.”

His eyes flickered back to Finn, who was horrified to see slight redness around the rims despite the teasing in his voice. “Alex,” he said softly. “I’m okay, I swear.”

“I know.” His voice was gruff, but it poorly hid a sniffle as he bumped their foreheads together. “But I’m your brother. It’s my job to worry about you. I hate that one of my guys was at fault here.”

Finn tried for a smile, socking him on the arm. “Six weeks, and I’ll be good as new.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” With a final survey of his face and a kiss to the top of his head, Alex headed back out into the hall with his shoulders up near his ears. Finn sighed; he hated it when Alex was upset, and even more when there was nothing he could do to fix it except wait. He didn’t know what he’d do if one of his teammates broke his brother.

“Fish?” Leo was smiling when he turned around. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What kind?”

“The kind where I pull out all the sob story pity points on Cap’s soft heart and get us babysitting privileges for his incredibly fluffy dog after three months of constant begging.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Make sure you look extra sad when we leave,” Logan advised. “We can’t lose this opportunity because you were too perky about a broken arm.”

“Quick, someone make me cry.”

Leo’s grin turned to horror. “What?”

“No!” Logan said at the same time.

“You guys are killing me here,” Finn groaned. “Just, like, hit me in the arm or something.”

“No!” they shouted in unison.

“You said I need to look sad!”

“I meant pout and sigh!” Logan pulled him over by the hem of his shirt in clear distress. “You’ve already cried too much tonight. No more.”

“Alright,” Finn agreed, already wracking his brain for any smidgen of drama skills he might have acquired over the years. Younger siblings were always the best actors, of course—he had given some Oscar-worthy performances to his mom when Alex got on his nerves as a kid—but Sirius was tough to fool. Maybe if he stayed quiet and didn’t risk opening his mouth they would get away with it.

Leo let out a slow exhale against his chest and snuggled closer before standing. “Come on, darlin,” he said with a kiss to Finn’s forehead. “Let’s get you settled. We’ll take a shower, have some dinner, and then we can put a movie on.”

“Mighty Ducks?” Finn asked hopefully.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

#finn ohara #logan tremblay #alex ohara #leo knut #oknutzy #cubs #hurt/comfort #sweater weather #vaincre #my fic #fanfic #brothers #broken bones

190 notes · View notes

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

295 notes · View notes

divinefireangel · 3 years

Note

Hello ✍️Writer✍️, I would like to 🤌request🤌 a reaction where their s/o likes ❣️kissing❣️ their ❤neck❤ 🌠Innocentlly🌠but it 🌌turns the 🕺Bois💃 on🌌 🤡accidentally🤡 Thank you for blessing us with your Beautiful 🤌 beautiful 🤌 works✍️❣️

Idk why but so many emojis are making very happy 😂

I HAVE SO MANY DRAFTS HELP

Warnings: Suggestive? Fluff? Crack? Well idk. Mentions of food. Domestic af SF9. Yes that is a warning. Sensitive neck! SF9. Just go with it 💀.

Youngbin

"I'll hug you and you click the picture"

"Okay. But you'll have to help me angle it properly cause of your outfit."

"I know I know. Just turn it a bit towards me. Okay. Yes!" You exclaim finally happy with the angle. Clicking a good number of selfies with your boyfriend Youngbin, you check them to make sure that you atleast got a few you can post.

Monitoring the pictures along with you, Youngbin holds you close to him even after the photo session. You see, there was a wedding. One of your friend's. And being your boyfriend, Youngbin offered to be your date.

So here you both are, all doll'd up and pretty, finally taking couple pics after what seems like forever. Smiling happily you bounce on your feet. The pictures turned out perfect!

To celebrate, you kiss him joyfully, well you ended up kissing his neck because that the height you are able to reach with your heels right now. Pulling away with a small smile, a frown takes over when you notice your lipstick mark on his neck.

Widening your eyes, you panic trying to figure out how you can remove the mark quickly. Remembering that you have tissues in your bag, you take take it out and begin to clean.

"I'm sorry. I forgot I had lipstick." You say sadly, but concentrating on the task in hand. Youngbin, however, is still frozen in his spot, not even moving his eye lids. When you finish and move away, he breathes out contracting his chest.

"Jagi." He huffs slowly. "You, you can't just do that." He says in a small pout.

"Do what?" You look in his eyes. Realizing that you meant nothing by it, his face just breaks into a smile.

"Nothing. Let's go. Or we're going to be late!" He exclaims wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you to walk with him.

Inseong

A lovely afternoon spent with your boyfriend. Aka. You having your nose in your novel and him having his nose in his novel. It's actually something you both do often. And then comes the regular discussing favourite parts, which he claims is the best part of your mini book club.

You were both seated at opposite ends if the couch, when you huffed closing your book. Now, normally you would've finished it, but for some reason your eyes were starting to lose focus. Maybe it was stress or overworking. Keeping the book on the table in front of the couch, you slowly crawl away from your side to his.

Peering over his shoulder, you try to see what page he is on.

"What are you doing?" Inseong asked with a smirk.

"Nothing. Just cuddling my super cuddly boyfriend" you said whilst moving your legs on his lap and hands landing around his shoulders. Kissing his cheek with a smile, you nest your head in his neck, closing you eyes when you feel his arm on your back.

Blinking your eyes open, you mindlessly pout, tired and a bit bored. 'Hmm, he smells nice', you think to yourself. Sliding your head back a little on his shoulder, you start to drag your pouty lips against his neck, occasionally pecking it too.

Biting his lip, Inseong shuts his eyes, moaning in satisfaction as you kiss his neck. Giggling at his reaction, you stop what you're doing. "Are you actually getting turned on by me just kissing your neck? " you ask with the biggest smile on your face.

Reciprocating your smile, Inseong chuckles, opening one of his eyes to look at you. "Not my fault. You just know how to drive me crazy for you." He says leaning forward to capture your lips in a dizzying kiss.

Jaeyoon

Sitting on a chair near the dining table, Jaeyoon scrolls through his phone, scouring for a new recipe to try out. Finding one that seems interesting, he clicks on it and starts to read. Being so engrossed in learning it, he fails to notice you come out of the bedroom.

Almost walking past him towards the fridge, you stop in your tracks and decide to have some fun. Tapping his left shoulder, you wait for him to turn but quickly move to the right. Snickering silently, you repeat the same action again, now tapping his right side, but he notices your hair before you moved.

Chuckling he looks down shaking his head. "Jagiya, you're very cute. But not very slick." He laughs when you whine into his neck. Relaxing onto his back, you pout sadly.

"What are you seeing?" You ask curiously.

"A new recipe you might like. I think we have all the ingredients, so I was planning on trying it. What do you think?" He hums in question, raising a hand to pet your hair.

"Okay. I'll be happy with whatever you feed me." You reply genuinely. Playing a kiss on his cheek first, he turns to look back to his phone smiling. But you wanted to kiss him more. So instead you just choose to kiss his neck.

Licking your lips a little, you press a medium kiss on his neck, making his stop everything he was doing. Unfazed, you walk to the fridge to take a cold water bottle from it. Turning you gasp, almost colliding into Jae's chest.

"Jae... " you say looking at him, wondering why he's standing so close to you. Sighing he leans down to your height, kissing you on the lips once. Twice. Thrice.

Keeping the water bottle on the kitchen counter next to the fridge, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, feeling his back muscles as you make out with your boyfriend. Loving your reciprocation, Jaeyoon lifts you off the ground and makes you sit on the counter, not breaking the kiss for one second...

Dawon

You gasp in surprise when you feel a strong chest hug into you. Kissing the side of your head, Sanghyuk smiles, happy to finally have you in his arms after another long day of work.

"Hi"

"Hi baby. You took a shower?" You ask, noticing that he's wearing only sweatpants.

"Yeah. I went to the gym after work." He replies, walking towards the mirror to apply his moisturizer.

Nodding you change out of your work clothes, finally feeling like you can breathe again. Now it was your turn to hug him.

Approaching him slowly, you tickle your way around his torso and abs, resting your forehead against his ear you sigh satisfactorily. Smiling widely at your clingyness, Sanghyuk continues to moisturize. "Tired?"

Humming a response you open your eyes and breathe out, having closed your eyes as soon as you hugged him. Pluckering your lips, you lean up to kiss one long sweet kiss on his neck. And then another next to it. And another.

"I thought you were tired." He says in a deadpanned tone.

"I am" you hum.

"Fuck it. I'll do most of the work then" Turning around, Sanghyuk stares down at you, biting his lip sexily making your breath hitch and mind go blank. Grabbing your waist in one hand to pull you flush into him, he leans down to connect your lips together while his other hand cups your butt, asking you to jump into his arms so he can take you to bed for a long, long night.

Zuho

You were laying across the couch, you boyfriend Juho sitting on the ground, his back on the same couch near your head. You were waiting for your lunch to be delivered, the app saying it'll take only a few minutes.

The day was spent well with taking the cats to the vet, then going grocery shopping and coming back home and putting them in their respective containers. Of course the whole ordeal tired you both out. So you decided to treat yourselves by ordering in.

You laugh silently as Juho played with Kompangg, making weird sounds to get the feline's attention and to make her meow. Huru of course the rebel, in his own world, sleeping cutely in his bed.

Pulling yourself forward by your arms, you place you head on Juho's shoulder, trying to help him play with his younger pawed child. When she finally meowed after a lot of both of your efforts, you cheer extending your arm to pet her ears.

Smiling at her doey eyes, you place an innocent kiss on Juho's neck, resuming your previous position on the couch.

"Why did you do that? " Juho asks, putting Kom in the ground. Turning to you with a smirk, Juho leans his hands on the couch.

"Do what?" You ask quizzically, cause you really didn't know. Looking at your clueless expression, Juho realizes that you didn't mean anything by that kiss. Pursuing his lips, he looks down on his lap, cringing at his dirty mind.

"Did you think I wanted sex?!" You accuse him when you figure out what he was thinking. Scratching the back of his neck, he laughs timidly trying to think of an excuse when the front door bell rang.

"Ah! Yes food's here!" He says quicky, sprinting off towards the door while you laugh.

Rowoon

Sprawled widely on the bed, Seokwoo replies to his texts with a pout on his lips while waiting for you to join him so he can cuddle you to sleep. Jumping onto the bed, you grab your pillow and lay on top of it for support while looking into his phone too.

"Why do you have so many at this time? "

"I ignored the group from morning." He replies.

Nodding your head, you sigh in exhaustion from the day's work. Pushing half of your body on his, you rest your chin in his neck and close your eyes. What you've been addicted to since dating him, was situating yourself on top of him whenever where ever he lies down. It always gave you warmth. And him a sense of feeling small. He also loves it when you give him a back massage or draw on top of his wide back, just for the fun of it.

"Okay! I'm done. Let's sleep." Seokwoo says making you open your eyes in surprise.

"Okie" you say in a small voice, bending down to peck his neck before rolling off him onto your side if the bed.

Opening his mouth for a good ten seconds, he licks his lips and turns his head to look at you. Seeing you wrap yourself in the comforter like a burrito, he blinks in confusion.

Once settled, you look at him in question, wondering why he isn't tucking himself in. "Why are you not turning? Are you okay? "

Your words pull him out of his trance. Opening his mouth to answer, but closing it again when he realizes that he doesn't have one, he just looks at you.

"Nothing. Good night." He finally says, wondering why such a simple action took him by so much surprise.

Yoo Taeyang

Smiling lovingly Taeyang stands in the kitchen preparing an even more love filled meal for you. He knows how you've only had a small breakfast, so he took it upon himself to make you something delicious for when you come out of the bedroom after attending all your meetings.

Humming along with the song playing in the background, he stirs the contents of the pot. "Y/N will like this." He says to himself. And as if you cue, he hears the bedroom door open and from there came out a very tired you.

Walking into the kitchen, you let your feet drag you till you're behind Taeyang. Wrapping your arms around his torso while being careful of the hot vessel on the stove, you rest your head on his back. "I hate work" you complain pouting.

"I know. " he agrees, chuckling at your childish behaviour. Taking in a deep breath, smelling the aroma of your lunch, you sway in happiness while still hugging Taeyang. Rising on your tippy toes, you place a small kiss on his neck, squeezing him tightly in your arms. Freezing he widens his eyes as his shoulders tense at your actions.

"You're amazing" you compliment him. Pulling away you begin to walk towards the bathroom, completely failing to notice your blushing mess of a boyfriend.

"You can't just do that!" He complains loudly to a still very clueless you.

Hwiyoung

Tired from overworking yourself, you close your eyes leaning back in your chair. Youngkyun was sitting next to you, doing his work. Noticing your despair immediately, he pauses and saves his work first, then yours.

"Let's go take a nap. We've been here long enough." He says, worry laced in every syllable.

Nodding you push your chair back a bit, until your legs are out. Lifting your arms up to him, you silently ask him to carry you to bed. Smiling at your cuteness, he obliges, not having the heart to say no to you. Like always.

And so he gently picks you up bridal style and walks to the bed. And just as, if not even more gently, he places you on the bed. Unfolding the blanket, he spreads it on the bed before getting in with you, making sure you are tucked in well.

Attacking him as soon as he's settled next to you, you throw one leg across his torso and intertwine your hands on his chest,nuzzling your nose shamelessly in his neck. Chuckling he starts to pat your shoulder, back and head, to put you to sleep.

Releasing a breath finally feeling relaxed, you turn your head up to kiss him, not really caring where you ended up kissing him, but you kiss him. "I love you" you mumble against his skin.

Biting his lip, he continues to pat you to sleep, while he lays there wide awake, still feeling the aftermath of your simple kiss. Little do you know, he's silently begging his hormones to calm down or else he will never hear the end of it.

Chani

A typical Saturday afternoon for the two of you. You are engrossed in your work while Chanhee is on his desktop playing games. Being cooped up in your work for so long, you decide that you needed to take a break. Probably a snack too.

Getting up from your position, you walk towards Chanhee's chair to wrap your hands around his shoulders. Smiling when he feels your presence behind him, he just continues to play his game. Playing a sweet kiss on his cheek, you lean your head against his temple, averting your attention to the screen.

"What"

"Nothing. Just trying to see what's so interesting in the game."

Lifting your head to look at him for a moment, you bend down and press your nose to his neck. Giggling at your action, Chani is about to protest when he freezes in his spot. Playing tiny pecks of admiration on his neck repeatedly, you close your eyes happy to be in his warmth.

"Stop! " Chani exclaims in surprise, pausing the game.

Opening your eyes at this sudden outburst, you look at him with curious eyes. "Why?"

"Do you- Are you- ah.... " Gulping he is at a loss for words. Staring at your with wide eyes he just opens and closes his mouth.

Blinking you giggle at his flush state, not really catching what's going on in his mind. "I'm gonna make myself a snack. When you decide what and how you want to tell me, I'll be ready." You laugh exiting the room, leaving a very dumbfolded Chani in your wake.

#not sure if this is the best 🥺👉🏽👈🏽#but i tried #sf9 #sf9 reactions #sf9 fluff #sf9 imagines #sf9 scenarios #sf9 x reader #sf9 x reader fluff

217 notes · View notes

80s4life · 3 years

Text

The Thought Of Losing You

Word Count: 2,507

Status: Not Requested!

Fandom: Lethal Weapon 1987 {1}

A/N: This follows sort of around the ending of the first Lethal Weapon film where both Riggs, Murtaugh, and Rianne were being tortured in separate ways. I know it sounds brutal, but trust me, it isn't that bad. AND! Happy ending! (Spent all night on this!)

Relationship: Martin Riggs x Reader

Summary: When a team is formed, Roger Murtaugh and Martin Riggs are solidified together once Y/N is added to the mix, squeezing in perfectly. Although very fiery and stubborn at heart, childish games and teasing became common place for sergeant Y/N and Martin, unable to let the other out-trash their own trash talk. But, when there is a complication during the final breakthrough of the whereabouts of the heroin-trafficking cartel, Y/N is separated from the duo. Only coming together when a kidnapping sends her in a desperate spiral trying to save the people she loves, especially Riggs.

Warnings: violent themes, kidnap, manipulation, torture, violence, language, attempted!self-surrender/suicide, 18+ audience suggested, read at own risk

Masterlist Lethal Weapon Masterlist

Prompts: #67, #68, #100 (from this list @palettes-and-prompts) & #6, #8, #17 (from this list @waiting-for-motivation)

{I do not own any of the prompts, credits to original owners above, nor do I own the gif below -> @leofromthedark}

Strolling around to the back of the supposed drug dealer's extravagant condo, Murtaugh, Riggs, and I engage in light conversation, silently noting and observing our surroundings. Stopping just near the edge of the rather expensive-looking below ground pool, Murtaugh and Riggs catch sight of two brunette women inside. Rolling my eyes, I expect Riggs to do something flirtatious, a painstakingly common reaction to almost every woman he lays eyes on. Every woman... except me. Yet, I pay no mind, Riggs' crazy nature probably too much for me to handle anyway.

Murtaugh flashes his gun, indicating to the women that he is armed. In a flash of a second, just merely after he had shown his weapon, the women duck and run from within the glass-paned wall, just in time for a man to blast a shot from behind. More specifically, the source being a shed occupying the space on the opposite side of the pool we resided on, destroying bits of its siding from the sheer distance and voracity of his attempt of subduing at least one of us.

But, we came prepared, although we were slightly taken aback, Murtaugh's swift abilities with a gun coming in handy as he lands on the drug dealer's right knee, lower thigh area. Splitting off, Murtaugh and I take either end of the pool's side, desperately trying to corral the person of interest. All the while as Riggs takes the women from in the house outside and to the nearest tree, in case of them being suspects as well, handcuffing their wrists together around the tree.

Once the task is done, Riggs hurries over to our aid, following our one, sole purpose: keeping the suspect alive for questioning.

Coming around the perimeter of the pool, Murtaugh reminds Riggs of this rule, replaying it to refresh his sometimes questionable mind. This, however, does not work in our favor as the man pulls yet another gun, this time a pistol, as Riggs had went to pull the man up.

"He's got a gun!" I scream, yet it's all in vain, as Riggs tries to act just as fast as his reflexes would've allowed, lifting the man's aimed arm as the trigger was pulled.

Yelping in surprise, I clench my teeth as the copper red liquid instantly encompasses the injured area, jerking as far away from the incident as possible.

"Y/N!" Murtaugh yells, instantly coming to my side as I go crashing to the concrete floor, catching my head and my left side as I now slowly lean into the ground below me, clutching the stinging injury to the right of my abdomen.

As Murtaugh had come to my side, Riggs took care of the suspect, unfortunately not being able to accomplish our sole purpose of being here, but overall getting rid of the threat.

"Cocksucker," he all but grunts, as he makes sure to shoot the man once more, pissed at the fact that I had gotten shot, although that fact being unbeknownst to me. "I'll call the ambulance," he all put spits out some time later, not making any attempt to check on my well being nor even making eye contact, stalking back through the side gate we had entered through.

//Some time later//

Now nestled safely and securely, I lay within the gloomy walls of the hospital, hooked up with some anesthetics and monitors, all for separate purposes. The stitches surely going to leave an awesome scar, only adding to my aggravation and exhaustion as the day finally settles and the slightest of movements constantly sending sharp pains within my whole body.

The doctors, coming in every so often, had reassured me of a discharge after the course of at least 2-4 days, only needing to ensure the proper sanitary measures are used and stitches being durable and strong without issues or tears.

Staring off at one of the four blank and colorless walls, in a daze, my ears perk up at the sound of a knock on my door, followed by Roger and Martin entering the room.

Handing me a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, I smile at Roger as he pulls a chair beside my bed, asking, "How ya' feeling, Shortie? How're they treatin' ya' here?"

Giggling at the nickname, I respond with an, "I'm doing just as good as I can I guess. It's not so bad here either. The nurses are nice, although they're all pitiful glances and meek gestures, coming in and out as quickly as possible. I guess bullet wounds aren't their preferred cases?" I joke lightly, trying to lighten the tension in the room.

Roger catches on instantly, having caught wind on Martin's rather uncharacteristically quiet sulking in the far corner of the room. Turning to look at him briefly, he all but shrugs at me as he comes up with no response or solution to his partner's unknown issue.

Checking the time, I make up an excuse, assuming Riggs just didn't want to be here maybe? "Damn, look at the time...It's almost 9 pm guys, don't wanna be late for Trish's cooking do ya'?"

"Shit, really? Come on Riggs, you know the ass whoopin' I'm gonna get? Let's go, minus well feed you too, huh?" Murtaugh says, getting his coat and squeezing my shoulder, giving me a sympathetic look that I swipe away quickly. Riggs just gets up, side-eyeing me once quickly, but above all, ignores my presence and leaves the room. With one final look from Rog, he shuts the door, leaving me to my boredom for the remainder of my stay.

//Some time later//

Having been discharged, Roger had caught me up on the recent news, and how they had left to finish the job a day before I had gotten out of the hospital, that being yesterday evening, and it now being a full 24 hours of no communication from them.

This had struck me as odd, given that they were very advanced in their fields. Finding the whereabouts was the last big hump of every mission, the rest supposedly coming easy. This had all changed as soon as I had stepped foot onto my front porch, a not left hanging slightly within the pocket of my mailbox.

The words shocking me to the core;

"Come to xxxxxxxxxx if you want to save your partners. 8 o'clock. Sharp."

Rushing to my car, I waste no time, pulling out of the driveway and to the given destination, the time being almost too close to the deadline as I preferred it to be.

Once outside of the destination, an old, run-down warehouse stands gloomily in front of me as I slip my gun into the waistband of my jeans. Another, tucked against my ankle within my boots.

I move quietly, staying alert as I enter the warehouse quietly, instantly hit with the cries of what could only belong to Riggs, my heart wrenching. A new feeling that I instantly push aside. Following the pained screams, inching closer to the source, I catch wind of yet another's set of booming cries as well, recognizing it as Murtaugh.

With this new set of knowledge, my heart does another painful flip, as the sheer terror now courses through my veins as if it was my blood. They were the toughest men I had ever known. At least that is how I had always felt, how I feel right now, but with their pained screams, it makes me feel utterly hopeless.

Drawing my gun, I aim it before me, right beside the wall I hide on, lining it up around the corner, my full intention at being able to at least shoot down one of the three men guarding one of my teammates; their identity unknown to me at the moment with the unfortunate dimness.

Taking the shot, I hit one man, the two now swinging to guard the area, looking my direction. The man held captured, Riggs, tied to the ceiling, consistently doused in water, making the homemade shock therapy increasingly unbearable with multiple relentless blows.

"Come out now, Little Rabbit, or I pull the trigger," a booming voice commands, me now peeking out from the corner to see none other than Mr. Joshua, the man we've been after, pressing a firm gun to Riggs' limp form.

Coming out from my hiding space, Joshua motions for his goons to grab me, now taking Riggs off the hook, and into another room. The room we are led to happens to be the room Murtaugh is in, his daughter beside him, both incarcerated and handcuffed. Moving Riggs to the chair beside the pair, he is tied down just as I am, the four of us now completely helpless.

Mr. Joshua, confident and prideful of his work, moves Riggs to the center of the room, starting his interrogation, answering with beatings and threats here and there. The cause: the information given by Hunsaker on his heroin-trafficking cartel.

Just as Joshua leaves yet another powerful blow, Riggs' strength starts to run low, just watching him making me squirm in my chair, wanting nothing but to take him in my arms and drag him as far away from here as possible.

"If you have to kill one of us, kill me. Take me instead, please? Just stop! Stop all of this now," I say breathlessly, doing anything in my will to get their hands off of Riggs.

"What would I want with someone as pathetic as you?" Mr. Joshua answers bitterly.

"Information. That's all you want right? You just want details about the business, you went through all this trouble, and for what? Just to kill us in the end? I know your type. You can't get off without getting what you want, and this would've all gone to waste without it," I respond, determined now.

"So, what do you want? To strike a deal?" I nod. "So, if I let them go, you'll give me what I want?" I nod again.

"Y/N no," Riggs says, now worried about what you're going up against.

"Shut it," Joshua states strictly.

"Y/N, listen to Riggs! You can't do this!" Murtaugh adds, now borderline terrified as everyone in this room is filled with the most important people in his life, all threatened with the only thing that could take them all away: death.

"SHUT IT!" Joshua all but screams now. "Fine. I'll take you up on your little deal. However, you fuck with me, I'm killing them."

"I don't agree with you unless you cut them loose right now, and I am assured that they are out of this building," I say confidently, yet shaking with fear.

He nods his agreement, showing a security camera view from one of his computers, watching as Rianne, Roger, and Martin are all led back outside, handcuffs removed, and all moved into my car, them pulling away from the warehouse.

Pulling the computer's view away from me now, he turns to me sharply, my gaze turning upward as my arms are still strapped behind my back, behind the chair. "Now," he starts, the voice strict like a parent beginning to question a toddler, "The information. What did Hunsaker tell you?"

Taking a breath in through my nose, I exhale through my mouth as I ponder my response, "Just as much as he's told you."

With this, Mr. Joshua lets out a scream, landing a punch to the jaw, my body leaning in on the stitches. Taking notice to my sharp intake of breath from the movement, Joshua uses that to his advantage, grabbing a knife, lifting my shirt, and pressing the cool metal along the line of handiwork. The only thing keeping my skin together at the moment.

"Let's try this again, what information did you receive from Hunsaker?"

"I told you. I. Don't. Know."

"Bullshit!" He digs into the skin, smirking at the cry of agony and shaking engulf my body.

"I-I don't know anymore than you do! Please! He was killed before we got anything from him!"

"Bullshit," he answers playfully now, dragging the blade of the knife wherever he pleases now, enjoying my pleads.

As he opens up my stitched bullet wound, he goes to start at another spot, the attempt being short-lived as a bullet wound of his own goes through his skull, the source standing in the doorway alongside Murtaugh with Rianne tucked under her father's arm.

Crying now, I sigh in relief as Riggs rushes to me, cutting me loose and lifting my limp body. Carrying me to the car, we make our way to the hospital once more.

During the wait and multiple switching of rooms, Riggs stays, waiting for me, only getting up once I emerge from the exit, patched up and clean. He smirks at me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, leading me to Rog's car, taking us to the only place we find comfort; his house.

//Some time later//

Getting settled in at the Murtaugh residence, Riggs and I share Rianne's room, which was so generously offered as one of the youngest decide to have a sleepover with her.

Looking over at Riggs, he looks at me, covered in open cuts and bruises, dirt and grime, and, taking a first aid kit from Rianne's desk, I make it my priority to get them fixed up.

"What are you doing?" Riggs asks, tiredly amused.

"Taking care of you, it's the least I can do," I reply determined once again.

"Awww! Someone's got a little crush on me huh?"

"Hey! When I finish patching you up, I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass for making me worry about you," I say jokingly. Riggs replying by grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer.

Locking eyes on one another now, I couldn't help but joke once more, adding a sly, "Is this the moment that we kiss?"

Giggling, he looks down, placing his head on my chest, murmuring, "I think I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do. I mean, I've been married before, and I- I lost her and I don't wanna lose you too- I couldn't live if you go too, I-"

Grabbing his chin, I tilt his head upwards to meet my gaze, "Look at me, Riggs. Look at me. I love you."

Eyes watering, he leans in for a kiss, my hands finding way to his hair, while his pull my hips into his lap, wrapping lightly around them. After leaning back for air, we giggle once more, leaning our foreheads against one another.

"I never want to ever feel the fear of the thought of losing you again, okay? So don't be a dumbass, Dumbass."

"Yeah, yeah," Riggs answers once more, leaning in for another kiss.

#mel gibson #danny glover #traci wolfe #lethal weapon #lethal weapon 1989 #martin riggs #rianne murtaugh #martin riggs x reader #female reader insert #martin riggs imagine #lethal weapon imagine #roger murtaugh #mel gibson imagine #mel gibson x reader #1989 #80s #90s

98 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

5K notes · View notes

daydreaming-in-letters · 3 years

Text

Three Nights (Unconditional sequel)

Night Two

05/25/2021

Pairing: August Walker x fem!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 1,807

Warnings: hormones, sex during pregnancy, fingering, vaginal sex, slight dom!August, dirty talk, language

Summary: In the middle of her second trimester, Mrs Walker is a hormonal mess. One night, she finds herself in dire need of release, but August just won't wake.

A/N: Next part of the sequel coming right up and things are getting a little steamy...

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

(I couldn't find the source of this picture, so if anyone happens to know, please tell me.)

“August?”

Expectantly she listened into the silence. Nothing. Well, at least if one didn’t count his steady breathing and the rolling of the waves in the distance.

“August,” she tried again, a little louder this time. But still he didn’t move. Measuring her options, she watched his face in the pale moonlight that fell through the open windows. He looked so peaceful, and she envied him his deep slumber. How was he not even sweating in this clammy heat?

Finally, the curtains swayed in a breeze of night air, making her hope for a little refreshment, but it only brought more of the sweltering humidity. With a thud, her head fell back into the pillows, underlined by a frustrated sigh. Slowly her hands drifted over the already rather prominent bump that had once been a delightfully squishy part of her body.

“You know this is really only your fault, right? As if the bloody nausea hadn’t been enough in the first place, now you decide to torture me with everlasting horniness instead. Is it too early to say that you’re taking after your father completely?”

But instead of an answer, another gush of wind rolled over her sensitive skin, the sensation alone enough to make her moan as it coaxed another wave of desire to roll through her. This was insufferable, she thought, as she propped herself up on one elbow again. Why wouldn’t he just wake up? At every other time, he picked up on her horny state with the precision of a bloodhound. Damned be his stupid sound sleep.

She bit her lip as a thought crossed her mind. She would most likely regret this and in the end it would probably hurt her more than him. But desperate times demanded desperate measures, and by now she was willing to do almost anything if he only tended to her need and got his dick inside of her promptly.

“August!” she almost yelled and with a swish, her hand cut through the thick air until it came down on his cheek with a harsh slap.

Roaring at the top of his lungs he was wide awake in an instant. And before she could fathom what was happening, she found herself on her back, wrists pressed into the pillow next to her head by his strong hands, furious eyes glaring down at her wildly.

“You’re lucky you’re carrying my child, woman, or you might have found yourself bend over my knees by now to receive your adequate punishment.”

She could feel her walls clench violently around nothing by the mere thought of him having his way with her like that. And before she even had the chance to hold it back, a needy whimper escaped her lips.

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, very much.” She bit her lip again and it didn’t escape her notice how his grip on her loosened a bit, his eyes softening equally upon her eagerness.

“Is this why you woke me up?”

She nodded, shooting him a perfect pair of doe eyes. “Bloody hormones won’t let me sleep, Augie.”

With a huff, more of the tension left his body. “At least that would explain why you thought it wise to slap me awake.”

“What else was I supposed to do? I did try the nice way, but you just wouldn’t wake up and my panties are literally soaked.”

He growled lowly in the back of his throat, making her clench even harder.

“Are they now?”

Careful not to put his weight onto her body, he clutched both of her wrists in just one hand. He grinned smugly and she knew immediately that she was in trouble. The best kind of trouble. And while she still couldn’t believe that her ludicrous plan had actually worked, his free hand dipped down between her legs without a warning, forcing them apart to grant him better access. Lazily, he dragged his fingers through her folds, stirring the fire inside of her with minimal effort.

“Now that’s disappointing.” What? Having expected his praise, those words of displeasure made her heart fall instantly. But he wasn’t done scolding her, yet. “First you hit me like a bloody lunatic and now you have the audacity to lie to my face so shamelessly, princess?”

“I’m not lying,” she croaked, feeling utterly sorry for herself as she saw her chances for satisfaction dwindle, “My juices are practically flowing over.”

But August’s face stayed unreadable, giving her no hint at all where this was going.

“Oh, no doubt about that,” he finally stated after a long minute of silence.

Wrinkling her forehead in confusion, she was forced to watch helplessly as his face came closer. She could already feel his searing breath on her lips, closing her eyes in anticipation of a redeeming kiss, when he turned his head only the fraction of an inch before contact and dove down into the crook of her neck.

“But your panties aren’t soaked at all, princess, because actually, you’re not wearing any.”

The hunger in his impossibly low voice would have been enough to make her dizzy, but when he bit down on her neck with purpose her body reacted of its own accord. Her back arched violently, pressing herself into him while a deep moan told of her want for more. And when she suddenly felt his fingertips press into her entrance, she knew that his whole act of disappointment had simply been for show. A distraction, so that he -

Oh God, his fingers were filling her so perfectly. Deeper and deeper he sank into her until he was buried three knuckles deep. With a gasp her eyes flew open again and she almost missed his next sentence above the white noise that rushed in her ears.

“You know, you’re really lucky, my painfully aroused angel. Because your sweet little pussy is far too wet to worry about such minor details now.”

His fingers had picked up a steady pace, sliding in and out of her sensitive womanhood pointedly. It was a good start, she thought, but by far not enough to sate her craving. As always, he enjoyed teasing her more than anything. But unlike every other time, tonight she wasn’t in the mood for his teasing, not in the agonising state she was in.

“August, please,” she whimpered. “You promised to make it better, not worse.”

Unimpressed by her words, he continued his slow ministrations, his mouth nipping and sucking its way from her shoulder to her ear.

“You must be mistaken,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the soft spot right underneath her ear that made her shiver. “I can’t remember making a promise like that at any point.”

Another wave of frustration took hold of her as her brain registered his repeated rejection. Straining against his tight grip, she was practically begging by now.

“Please, I…”

“Say it!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me what you need.”

No, she wouldn’t let him have this triumph, even if he chose to deny her the satisfaction she longed for because of her disobedience. In that case she would have to tend to herself, but under no circumstance would she let him tease her anymo - oh.

Holy shit. She didn’t know how this was possible, but it somehow had escaped her notice altogether that his head had abandoned its spot next to hers and had dipped down to pay his attention to one of her oversensitive breasts. And before she would lose her mind completely, she cried out in a state of utter desperation.

“I need you to fuck me, August. Please. Let me feel your hard cock deep inside of me or I’ll go insane.”

In the blink of an eye he stopped, his hands and mouth retreating as soon as she had finally said the words, giving her some time to calm down a little.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, princess, was it?” he whispered smugly. “Now let me deliver you from your agony.”

Her senses still in overdrive, she felt too weak to even move, but that didn’t matter anyway because, as always, August took care of her. Gently he moved her around until her body moulded into his perfectly. His warm chest lay against her back, his arm offering her a comfortable place to rest her head, and soon she could feel the claiming press of his promisingly hard length. With no effort at all, he sank into her, and finally, finally the excruciating unease inside of her ebbed away.

“Shit, I don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, darling.” His hot breath fanned across her neck, setting her on fire.

“I’ve also never been this pregnant and this horny before,” she moaned, her hand finding his on the cool sheets, entwining her fingers with his as he slowly started to move.

“Don’t worry. I promise we’re going to change one of these two in no time.”

And eager to keep his promise, his free hand dove down to the junction of her thighs, granting himself access to her bud. Carefully he pressed down, opting for drawing slow, deliberate circles. She was so hypersensitive as of lately and he was determined not to overdo it like last time. But judging from her elaborated breaths and the tell-tale sounds that fell from her sweet mouth, she was enjoying herself genuinely.

“August.” His name rolled over her lips with a shiver while his mouth tended to the sweet spot on her neck. Argus-eyed, he monitored every movement, every noise she made. Her relief was all that mattered to him now. But the first beads of sweat were already beginning to form on her forehead, triggering his worry in mere seconds.

“Should we stop?”

“No!” she almost cried out as if she was in pain. “Please don’t stop. I’m so close.”

And as soon as she had uttered the words, she could feel the eagerly-awaited tension inside of her build. Every thrust, every kiss he left on her overheated skin, every groan that rolled through his chest brought her closer, pushing her closer towards deliverance. And when she finally passed the point of no return, she turned her head to find his lips while the redeeming pleasure rolled over her enraptured body. And just when she thought she would pass out from all the bliss, she could feel his response.

He was sure that she had never climaxed this hard, her walls gripping him so tightly that the sensation caught him completely off guard. Speeding up his hips, he allowed himself to give in as well. And while his mind gradually clouded over, he grabbed her belly possessively in his last moment of clarity and for the first time, he could feel a sign of the life that was growing inside of her.

Part 3

***

Tag List: please let me know if you want to be removed or added by either ask or DM - thank you!

@summersong69 @myloveforhenrycavill @dorothea-hwldr @omgkatinka @ashesofblackroses @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @icarusblinders @zealoushound @asuni921 @endofalldays01 @agniavateira

#august walker x reader #august walker #august walker x you #august walker imagine #august walker fic #august walker fanfiction #august walker fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine

175 notes · View notes

so-very-small · 3 years

Text

angsty thing for the Unrequited Lovers G/T AU. there are feels, and a lot of them! i might continue this and give them a happy ending at some point tbh, but for now have this mess of feelings

She's perched on his desk, and he's a breath away from her. Heli gently pinches the bandage between two fingertips, his golden eyes scrutinizing the wound on Essa's leg.

It's never quite comfortable having him directly in her space like this, even with how things are now. She figured she'd have gotten used to living with someone twelve times her height, but the pounding in her heart suggests otherwise.

(She trusts him, of course she does, but it's like having a black hole before her.)

(And she feels half ready to just dive in, and half like she should still be running as fast as she could.)

Heli fingers deftly shift, one lifting up her minuscule leg so his pinched fingers can wrap the bandage tight about it. Essa's breath catches in her throat. She's never going to get used to this, so she shuts her eyes and tries to just focus on her breath.

And his breath, washing over her gently, as he leans in a bit more to secure the bandage off.

“There we go,” he whispers. Essa opens her eyes, and finds that Heli didn't move back once finishing his task. He grins at her, his words taking on a teasing lilt. “Were you nervous there?”

(Yes, obviously. You have a mountain fix your burnt leg, and you try not to be nervous, she thinks.)

Essa forces a smile onto her features, and shoves at one of his fingertips.

“Only nervous that you'll mess up my leg even worse,” she says, matching his tone, “Last thing I need is to lose the thing and be stuck with you.”

Heli sits up straight, his height rising a bit as an indignant look crosses his features. Essa feels even smaller from her spot on the table, but doesn't let her casual demeanor slip.

(It isn't exactly hard to keep, though.)

(She's nervous, she'll always be nervous, she figures, but something about Heli just makes her feel... okay.)

“Well,” he says, and he reaches a finger down to poke her chest lightly. It's a little incredible how much control he uses, it doesn't send her off balance, just bumps her the barest amount. “You're already stuck with me. Looks like I win.”

Before she can make a rebuttal, he descends both hands and gently lifts her. Her back thuds against the curve of his fingers, and she finds herself relaxing into his warm skin.

As always, he locks a thumb over her waist, just secure enough so she doesn't jostle about while he moves. Essa brings up a hand to brace herself on the fingertip, feeling the ridges of his thumbprint and focusing on that instead of the sudden rush from him standing to his feet.

Heli draws his hands closer to his chest, and even from the few inches of distance Essa can hear his heartbeat. His breathing is soft, the faintest hint of his shampoo reaches her nose, and she can feel his eyes glancing down at her every couple of seconds.

In the beginning it made her self conscious, being so wrapped up in him, him being large enough he was essentially her world. The pointed attention he'd give her every time they moved, the precision and care he used, it was overwhelming.

(It still is, if Essa's honest.)

(Just, overwhelming good.)

Heli sits down on his bed, turning to deposit Essa carefully on his pillow. She had a bed set up on his nightstand in the beginning, but one late night conversation had led to the realization that if one could sleep on a giant pillow, why wouldn't you? Heli doesn't move much in his sleep anyway, and there's the cold, and also the fact that Essa is delightful at making excuses to herself to be near him.

She grabs her blanket, one of Heli's old shirts, and fixes it over herself. Heli readies for bed next to her, tugging his muscle shirt off and grabbing his comforter.

“Your leg shouldn't take much more time before it's healed,” Heli says. He lays back, his head at the very edge of his pillow so his face is right next to hers. “Gonna have a wicked scar though.”

“I don't mind,” Essa says. She turns onto her side to face him better. “Plus being healed up mean less fussing from you.”

Heli quirks up an eyebrow, turning his head to face her.

“Oh?” he says. He inches his head a little closer, golden eyes almost having to cross to look at her. “You think that?”

“Oh yeah,” Essa says. She watches his features carefully, noting all the little thing she wouldn't see if they were the same size. The slightest quirk of of a grin on his lips, the gears turning in his head. A teasing lilt takes to her words, and she tries to keep the smile off her lips as well. “After this we'll have no reason to talk, obviously. We'll become strangers, and you and your face can stay over on your side of the bed.”

Heli pushes a bit closer.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” he says. He nudges her with the tip of his nose. “I believe it's all my side of the bed.”

He gets closer. One hand comes up behind her to press her into his nose, and a laugh ripples out of Essa's chest, her pretending to put up a fight as he holds her tighter.

“Like I said, you're stuck with me,” Heli says. She can't see it, but she can hear the smile in his voice.

(Essa was terrified of him in the beginning, and she never once thought she'd essentially be cuddling his face.)

(He smells like vanilla and the woods, and she could feel his voice rumble under her skin, his gentle hand holding her close.)

(He feels like everything, and in that moment, there was nowhere else Essa could possibly imagine wanting to be.)

Essa shuts her eyes, and presses her forehead against the bridge of his nose. She's practically spooning it, and he lets out a comfortable hum as he shuts his eyes.

It's warm, and he's surrounding her. Any trace of stress in her small frame seems to evaporate as his fingers shift tighter around her, she relaxes into him, and he lets out a tired sigh.

Essa's safe. She's comfortable, she's content, she loves him, she's happy.

(She loves him.)

She's thrown onto her back as Heli's hand jerks from her, scrambling to stabilize herself on the wobbly surface of the pillow. He moves back, eyes looking down at her like he's never seen her before, and Essa stares up at him.

“What?” he asks.

(He sounds like how he used to, when he was a stranger, not when he held her every night.)

It takes a second, and a hot flush coats Essa's cheeks. She feels her whole body grow warm, and stammers, she never meant to say it out loud.

“You don't mean that,” Heli says.

His voice sounds definitive.

Essa sits up, a crease forming between her brows.

“Don't mean it?”

“You can't.”

A frown crosses her lips.

“Heli... we've been sharing a bed every night. You don't leave me alone, or go anywhere without me. It's been like this for months.”

(A thread in her heart feels like it's unraveling.)

(This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening.)

Heli sits up straight, and the distance to his face from the pillow is even larger than it was from the desk. He brings a hand up to drag it through his red hair, golden eyes darting about the room before landing on her.

“Essa, doll, you got the wrong idea,” he says. He sounds... delicate. Like he's trying to break her heart in a careful way. “You're... you're great and all, but this isn't... we're not-”

(The tug in her chest turns into a snap.)

Her fists ball up in her blanket, and she blinks away any hot tears that threaten to surface.

“So all of this meant nothing to you?”

Her voice is loud in the quiet room.

Heli looks at her, but it's not how he used to. His eyes are soft, but they're cold. A look of something flashes across his face – pity if she had to guess, and she bites down on her lip to keep herself grounded.

“Nothing like that.”

(Whatever's left inside of Essa crumbles.)

She bites her lip harder, only stopping when the tang of iron makes her realize she's drawn blood. Her knuckles are white, fingernails pressing into her palms, and Heli won't stop staring down at her.

“I'm sorry,” he says, softly.

Essa stands, her legs wobbly on the pillow. She turns from him – and only then does she let her tears fall – and she feels stupid at how she has to hold her arms to find balance on the pillow. She walks slowly, ignoring the stiffness in her burned leg.

A hand slams in front of her, knocking her off balance. She lets out a soft hiss of pain as she collapses.

“Essa, wait,” Heli says. He fully blocks her path, all Essa has before her is a palm taller than she is. “Look, let's just forget it and go to bed-”

“Leave me the fuck alone, Heli.”

Her voice is deathly low, and she doesn't even bother turning to look at him.

A second passes.

Heli, saying nothing, draws his hand back.

Essa takes a moment to collect herself, draws a sleeve over her eyes. Eventually she pulls herself together, takes in a breath, and rises to her feet.

Essa leaves.

(Her heart stays behind.)

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #gt #my writing #essa and heli #love these messy lads #idk how much sense this makes but i wanted to write emotions

73 notes · View notes

ray-ray-writings · 3 years

Text

Totem Troubles-Technoblade

This is a Technoblade x fem!reader in the dreamsmp. In this, the way that some of the Minecraft lore, so to speak, is wrong. For example, I know a poison potion won’t kill you but will only take you down to half a heart. For the sake of the story I had to change some things to make it flow. I hope you enjoy!

Check out my masterlist here!

Gathering materials was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to end in an almost cannon death.

Y/N’s POV

It was simple. I needed wood and Techno needed cobblestone. We decided to go out together and gather what we each needed. There was a small stone mountain next to a big patch of trees. We could gather what we needed and be within earshot of one another at all times. So we went to sleep and when we woke the next morning, we set out. The place we were going was only about 60 blocks away from our home. Far enough it didn’t damage our ‘view’ so to speak but close enough we could easily run home if need be. It was simple… Well it was supposed to be.

I gave Techno a quick kiss before turning to the tree in front of me. “Be careful,” Techno warned, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, before walking toward his stoney mountain. “You too,” I called in response, taking out my netherite axe and getting to work chopping down the amount of trees I needed.

Maybe I was too focused on my work, maybe I was too focused listening for Techno, maybe it was because it was daytime. Either way, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t notice the footsteps and the sizzle. I couldn’t hear the laughter a few blocks away drawing nearer. Sucks I had to find out this way.

As I raised my axe to chop some more wood, a huge force hit my back. A creeper exploded, propelling me forward a few blocks, causing me to drop my axe and land on my stomach. A scream escaped my throat as white hot pain coated my back. “Y/N!” I heard Techno scream through the ringing of my ears. Laughter rang throughout my ears as well. I slowly eased myself up, looking to find a witch standing above me, splash potion at the ready. “Please, no,” I whimpered, knowing it wouldn’t have any effect. Mobs were mindless drones, their only thoughts to hurt the people that lived on the server.

Glass shattered onto my back and green swirls surrounded me, immediately making me feel sick. Another glass shattered on my back, this one purple. I felt awful. I felt sick and I couldn’t bear to hold myself up anymore. I collapsed back to the ground, completely at mercy to the witch. The laughter rang once more through my ears as darkness completely clouded my vision. “Techno,” I murmured once more, praying he would hear me. Wherever he was.

*POV Switch*

Technoblade’s POV

It was supposed to be simple. Leave the house, gather materials with Y/N, go back to the house. Of course nothing in my life can ever be that simple.

An explosion set a small flurry of panic through me, but what truly caused my blood to run cold was her blood curdling scream. “Y/N!” I screamed out, hoping she would be alright. I dropped my pickaxe and unsheathed my sword and shield. I raced out of the small cave I had dug while retrieving cobble and found my girlfriend lying prone in front of a witch. “Fuck!” I cursed to myself, pushing myself even harder to get to my lover.

The witch raised up a splash potion, but I quickly dove my sword into its side, causing it’s attention to shift. I raised my shield as the splash potion was thrown on me causing it to bounce back and hit the witch instead. Pulling my sword from the witches' side, I stabbed at the mob once again, this time hitting directly in the chest causing the mob to parish.

Quickly I threw my sword and shield into my inventory and rushed back over to Y/N. Purple and Green swirls surrounded them as they lay face down on the ground. Blood was seeping out of their shirt from the back and I silently cursed myself for not making her put armor on. I checked her left arm and almost fainted at the sight. Her hearts, the ones that showed how much health she was at, were green and were being depleted with no signs of stopping. “Fuck,” I cursed, throwing open my inventory to search for the one thing I knew would for sure save her. “Where is it?”

After a few seconds of struggle, I finally found it. The golden totem I had secured just a few days prior. Ripping it from my inventory, I dropped to the ground and shoved the totem into Y/N’s hand, forcing her fingers to wrap around it securely. I didn’t even have time to relax. A huge pop sounded and the totem disappeared. The swirls disappeared from my love’s body and three of their hearts came back, no longer green from poison, as well as an additional two golden hearts as an extra cushion.

I felt myself let out a breath. She’s safe now. She’s going to be alright. “Y/N?” I questioned gently, moving to look at her face. Nothing. “Y/N?” I tried again, gently reaching out to touch their shoulder. Again, nothing. The movement she made was her chest up and down to show she was still breathing. Panic began to flood my senses once more, why isn’t she awake? The totem worked, didn’t it. Why isn’t she responding. Looking at her arm once more calmed me down only slightly. Her hearts were stable, so why aren’t her eyes open?

Gently, I rolled Y/N onto her side, allowing the glass to fall off of her back and onto the snow before standing up and gingerly lifting her off the snow, bridle style. I was extremely careful to not touch the parts of her that were still healing as I made my way back to the house as fast and safe as I could.

Once inside, I took Y/N into our shared bedroom and laid her down on her stomach. Pulling off her shirt, I winced at the sight of her back. Burns and cuts littered her back, blood oozing from many of the open wounds. I noticed that there were still little shards of glass poking into her skin. I forced myself to be completely calm. Although I was still in a bit of a panic because she wasn’t waking up, Y/N needs me right now to take care of her and her wounds and that’s what I was going to do.

The first aid kit we kept in the bathroom was well stocked. My eyes danced over the materials with fondness in my heart. Y/N had made this kit when we first got together. They hated seeing me hurt but knew I had little to no care for myself and my injuries. So they brought over this kit and would always be the one to sit me down after a battle or a long time away from one another and would take the time to tend to all of my injuries, no matter how small. It’s a little hard to swallow that it is now my turn to tend to Y/N’s wounds.

I retreated back to the bedroom, kit in one hand, a damp rag in the other. I set everything I needed on the bed and began working. I grabbed the tweezers and carefully plucked the remaining shards of glass from Y/N’s back, throwing the glass into a nearby trash can, making a mental note to take it out later. Once I was sure all the glass was gone, I used the damp cloth, to gingerly wipe down Y/N’s back, cleaning the blood, sweat, and grime from their slightly charred back. Next came bandages, one for every cut, no matter how little. Because then came the burn cream and I didn’t want it to get in any of the cuts. Gently, I applied the cream to my fingertips and slowly began massaging the cooling cream into my lover’s back. It was almost calming taking care of my lover in this way… Almost

Once I was finished, I took the kit back to the bathroom and put it away before washing my hands and then splashing some of the cooling water on my face, hoping to calm myself down even further. It didn’t work.

The totem prevented them from dying. From losing a cannon life. They should have woken up once the totem popped. It is designed to get rid of all affects and give you hearts, golden hearts at that. It confuses me to no end as to why the effects worked on Y/N but didn’t wake her up… What if she never wakes up? What if the totem glitched? What if it gave her hearts but she lost all of hers before that happened? What if I was too late?

Thoughts swirling in my head, I stormed out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Y/N still lay on her stomach, back rising and falling, but eyes remaining shut. Tears pricked in my eyes as the last question danced round and round in my head. What if I was too late.

I began pacing at the end of the bed, thinking. Who could I go to for help? Almost the entire server either hates me or fears me… Philza wouldn’t be much help, as much as I love him, he can be kind of daft about these things. Dream is a possibility… But I don’t want to owe him. God, why! Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been me? I wish it would have been me. I would do anything for me to be in her place right now.

I don’t know how long I was there just pacing and thinking. But it was long enough for the room to become completely dark and then light again. All throughout the night, Y/N’s condition remained the same. Hearts slowly healing back to full, but her eyes still closed. My legs felt like jelly underneath me. I had been on my feet for so long. Slowly I walked over to Y/N’s side of the bed, sitting on the chair I had placed there when I was tending to their back. I found my hand reaching out and carefully pulling Y/N’s hand from her side and holding in both of my hands, bringing it up to my mouth and placing a soft kiss to Y/N’s hand.

“Y/N… I don’t know if you can hear me,” I began, a lump forming in my throat and tears pricking in my eyes, “but if you can. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I failed you. You’re hurt and it’s all my fault. I should have kept a better eye on you, I should have been beside you, but I wasn’t and now you’re not waking up and I don’t know why… I’m so sorry Y/N. I love you. I love you so much. Please, please come back to me,” I begged. The tears that had been welling up in my eyes finally streamed down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them anymore. I moved and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of Y/N’s mouth that was exposed by their position. “I love you,” I whispered once more, before bringing our joined hands back to my forehead and closing my eyes tight.*

After a few more moments of silent begging, a gasp startled me out of my thoughts. My eyes shot open to find Y/N’s Y/E/C ones staring back at me. “Y/N,” I breathed out in disbelief. “Techno” they whispered back, “What happened?” I let go of their hand and brought mine to their cheek and gently stroked their face, “What do you remember, love?” I asked, looking at her face deeply. Y/N attempted to adjust themselves, but winced. “Careful,” I warned, looking over to their back. The burns had healed a little bit, but it was best for them to remain on their stomach for a while longer.

“We were getting materials,” she said slowly, her eyes scanning mine. I gave her a slight nod silently encouraging her to continue. “And I was chopping wood. There was an explosion… A creeper. I landed on my stomach in front of… of a witch. It hit me with two splash potions… it hurt so much and I felt so sick, and then it all went dark,” Y/N finished, eyes scanning my face. I nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, yeah that’s what happened, love. When I heard you scream I dropped everything and ran to you. I wasn’t fast enough and for that I’m truly sorry,” I apologized, bringing their hand up and kissing it once more.

Y/N rolled her eyes at me, “It’s not your fault dummy. Besides, you probably rescued me just in time. Didn’t you? Kill the witch and then bring me here and fix me up, didn’t you?” She questioned, eyebrows raised. I nodded sheepishly, rubbing the back of my head with my free hand, “Yeah. I guess I did that…” I replied, trailing off. Y/N let out a small scoff with a grin painting her face, “You’re a hero Tech, my hero… I love you,” She stated softly. My heart fluttered in adoration, “I love you too. So much,” I responded softly. “Come here and kiss me you big doof,” Y/N commanded, a cheesy smile on their face. I couldn’t help but return her smile as I leaned down, reached under her chin and gently tilted her head to mine, pressing my lips to hers in a sweet yet passionate kiss.

I felt all of my worry melt away as our lips were connected. The kiss reminded me that Y/N was in fact here, alive, and safe with me. My love’s eyes were open and the totem had worked, although a bit slower than I would have liked, but it worked nonetheless. I slowly pulled away from the kiss, a soft smile on my lips. “Can we cuddle now?” Y/N asked innocently. Who am I to deny her request?

I carefully stood from my chair and made my way to my side of the bed, crawling ever so gently into bed next to Y/N. I carefully laid myself next to her and slowly placed an arm around the top of her shoulders where the burns weren’t as back and the cuts had mostly healed, “Is this okay?” I whispered softly, my eyes scanning my lover’s for any discomfort. “Yeah, it’s okay,” She responded softly, her eyes fluttering closed. And for the first time in many hours, I wasn’t worried about her eyes being closed. In fact, I allowed my own eyes to flutter closed and allowed my body to fully relax knowing the one I love is completely safe.

*Do you guys know the position I’m talking about? The one you always see in movies and tv shows in hospital scenes where the one conscious person has the other person’s hand clutched in both of their hands and it’s pressed to their forehead? Yes, no? Let me know! Lol

There you have it I really hope you enjoyed! If so, be sure to leave a like!

366 notes · View notes

teddyylou · 3 years

Text

Monday: Klance Drabble - teddyylou

Keith woke to gentle kisses being pressed to the shell of his ear. Wrapped up under the warm covers of his bed, he pulled the strong arm that was hugged around his middle even tighter, pressing his boyfriend’s hand, which had crept up under his shirt as they slept, to his chest, kissing his knuckles.

“Hmm, morning, baby,” Lance hummed, burying his nose snuggly into Keith’s mess of black hair. Keith felt him breathe out happily, the way their feet brushed together at the foot of the bed adding to the serene feeling that was swiftly taking over all of his senses. Every place on him that Lance touched tingled with a warmth that sent goosebumps all over his body, and every breath they took in unison as they snoozed well past Keith’s alarm made his heart swell and his smile grow exponentially.

“Morning, Lance. Mmh, it’s so sunny and nice you could almost forget that it’s Monday,” he mumbled, rolling over so that he could face his boyfriend. “And your sleepy voice is just so sexy,” he giggled, pressing their foreheads together.

Lance scrunched up his face, still yet to open his eyes, simply holding Keith closer to him to stop him from wriggling around so much. “Yeah, you can even hear the birds chirping,” he replied with a content sigh, purposefully skipping over Keith’s crass sentiment.

“Aw, you also say really sappy, cliche things when you’re half asleep. Did you know that?” Keith’s aimed a toothy grin at Lance as he opened his eyes to lour, who merely pulled the pillow out from under Keith’s head and gently smack it back down over his face which a ‘whump’.

Keith tossed it aside, rolling over to share Lance’s pillow so that he could press a kiss to his lips. ‘The first one of the day’ he thought to himself, closed mouth to avoid Lance’s nasty morning breath.

“Hey Lance, you know you have terrible morn-”

Knock, knock.

“Keith, are you up? I heard your alarm go off. Breakfast will be on the table in five; don’t make me come and get you.” Keith and Lance froze as Keith’s mother spoke gently through the door from the hallway. Keith even heard Lance hold his breath.

“Yeah, uh, coming mum,” he called back. They waited for her footsteps to disappear down the hall before Keith could even tear his eyes away from the door, relaxing against his bed as Lance let out his breath with a disappointed sigh. He knew what was coming.

“Okay, Romeo, out you go.” Keith patted Lance’s thigh as he pulled back the covers. Lance, left only in his sweatpants, laid firmly on the mattress shaking his head.

“Nooo, I don’t want to go. Let me stay,” he whined, attempting to pull Keith back against his chest before he could reach for the hoodie he’d stolen from him about a week prior.

“Mum would kill me if she knew you’d been sneaking in at night, you have to,” Keith pleaded, eyes wide as he tried to force Lance out of his bed.

“Keith, I’ve been staying here about three nights a week for the last two months! You don’t think she knows?” He asked, leaning over the bed to put his socks back on, tying his converse with a huff.

“Nope,” Keith said frankly, shaking his arms until his hands poked out of the ends of Lance’s hoodie. He climbed out of bed, catching one of Lance’s arms as he grabbed his shirt, pulling him to his feet. “And she isn’t going to find out. Now, window. Out.” Keith gave Lance a gentle push towards the second-storey window, an easily slidable roof just underneath it that would drop Lance in the front yard of Keith’s house. Lance held his hand up to his heart, scorned.

“Nine whole months I’ve loved you and here you are, forcing your dear, sweet boyfriend out of a window to ride his bike the whole way home. How you wound me,” he feigned. Keith raised an unsympathetic brow, arms crossed over his chest.

“Forsooth,” he mused, causing Lance’s facade to crack with the upturn of the corner of his lip.

“Ah, so you finally did your English homework,” Lance said, one foot already standing on top of the garage. He straddled the window sill as he slid on his shirt.

“I may has't,” Keith smiled before dawdling over to Lance, handing him his phone. “See you at school.”

“Don’t be late,” Lance said, standing fully on the roof so that he could lean back in, hands supporting him on the sill. “I love you.”

Lance kissed Keith sweetly, clearly not caring as much about morning breath as Keith did.

“I love you too,” Keith said before leaning in again, even if he knew that Lance did it on purpose, because Keith really just wanted to kiss his boyfriend. “Bye.”

“Bye,” they muttered to each other between short pecks before Lance pushed himself up, slid down the roof, and landed skilfully on the lawn. Keith watched him as he ran down to the street, pulling his bike out of the bush he had stowed it in, and rode off towards his own house. Keith watched until he’d disappeared over the crest of the hill that led to his street, actually enjoying the warm sun and the singing birds because Mondays were always good when he started them next to Lance.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Keith was startled back to reality by his mother’s voice. He’d not even noticed she’d come back up to find him.

“Oh just… some birds,” Keith lied. Krolia stared at her son for a second.

“Okay,” she replied. “Come get breakfast, we have to leave soon.”

“Cool, be down in a sec.”

***

Keith woke up tangled in sheets and all of the extra blankets he and Lance had thrown over themselves as they went to sleep the night before. His entire body was engulfed in the warmth of the strong arms holding him close, heat radiating off Lance’s chest that was pressed tight to Keith’s back.

Lance groaned as they both stirred, instantly pulling Keith even closer as the raven wiggled around to face his boyfriend. Keith felt a sleepy kiss against his forehead as he tucked his face into Lance’s neck. It was warm there. No need or desire lingered to go anywhere else.

Lance adjusted his feet to intertwine them with Keith’s. He, however, managed to pull the blankets with him as he did and for a brief moment, a gust of piercing cold air let itself into their safe cocoon. In unison, they gasped an indigent “Ah!” and huddled in together, giggling as they found themselves safe from the dreary Monday morning weather.

They laid in silence, sharing soft, lazy kisses as the rain poured on outside. The windows were fogged and if they tried just the slightest it was as if nothing else in the world existed outside Keith’s bedroom.

Until they heard shuffling around in the kitchen below.

Keith let out a deep sigh, placing a few more kisses to Lance’s defined collar bone before patting his side solemnly.

“Hhh, you should probably go now,” he weighed the unfortunate words on his tongue as he spoke. Lance merely groaned in response, snuggling deeper under the mountain of soft blankets where the sting of the outside couldn’t get him.

“Keith, baby. You can’t possibly make me go out there. You wouldn’t make me ride home in the rain,” Lance begged, holding him and rocking him, like a half-hearted shakedown. Keith huffed, considering his options for a second.

He peeked his head out of the covers, hair still a mess over his face. It looked so cold out there that his skin prickled just at the thought of it. But then he thought of his mother downstairs, catching them. Each rattle of a closing kitchen draw made his heart pound. It was a tough choice.

“Oh my god, you’re gonna make me ride home. I can’t believe my small, loving, sweet boyfriend is going to send me out like this. I could catch a cold Keith. Do you wanna be the one looking after this snotty-nosed bastard?” Lance persisted almost too loudly and pointed to himself.

Keith snorted and placed his hand over Lance’s mouth to hush him. He thought about it for a second longer, eyes narrowed to a squint, shifting from the bedroom door to the window. Lance’s eyes remained wide as he awaited Keith’s verdict.

“Fine,” Keith said after a second. Lance whispered an elated cheer before pulling the both of them back under the blanket pile to cuddle.

Keith didn’t know what his next move was, but while he was laying so comfortably and soundly in Lance’s arms he was sure of one thing. That move was not going to be for many, many minutes. He opened his eyes so that he was just staring blankly at Lance’s chest as the brunet carded a hand through Keith’s knotty hair—the pair simply pretending that it wasn’t as such due to Keith sleeping like the dead, and Lance’s fingers totally weren’t getting stuck and tugging on a knot every few strokes.

Keith was almost completely lulled back to sleep when he heard a knock.

“Keith, I called you already what are you up to?” His mother’s voice became increasingly clearer as the door opened ajar and without a second to lose he threw the blankets over Lance’s head, holding them tightly up to his chin. He hoped it looked like he was just really cold, and that their entangled bodies just looked like Keith under a mass of about four quilts.

If Krolia knew anything, she wasn’t letting on; Keith thought he was safe.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Bit hard to get out of bed today. I have to plan my course wisely to get from here to the warm shower with as little time in the antarctic hallway as possible,” Keith explained, trying to appear nonchalant as Lance feathered kisses to anywhere he could reach on Keith’s chest without moving. Krolia nodded inconspicuously.

“Okay, well, breakfast is on the table, get it while it’s hot,” she told him taking a step back out of the room. She stopped, however, just as she was about to close the door. “Oh, and there is a place set for Lance too,” she eyed Keith smugly, a faint smirk on her lips as she closed the door.

Keith heard a quiet ‘oh fuck’ from under the covers and, well, yeah. That.

#klance #laith #keith kogane #lancemcclain #klance fic #klance art #vld #voltron #vld fic #vld art #klangst #klance fluff #klance au #klance drabble #teddywrites

93 notes · View notes

donutloverxo · 4 years

Text

Before you

*not my gif*

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - this was requested by the lovely @whimsicalrogers thanks for all the icons, lock screen and dividers you made me! Thanks for the beta and all your advice @stargazingfangirl18. I hope I do you all proud🤭

Summary - Yours and Steve's relationship was perfect, until it wasn't. Will he be able to convince you to give him another chance?

Warnings - smut (m/f), jealousy, angst, dom/sub undertones.

Pairing - Steve Roger x reader

Word count - 4552

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

As someone who grew up watching an unhealthy amount of Disney movies and romcoms, you couldn’t help but dream, that someday your prince charming would come riding in on a white horse to whisk you away from your boring mundane life.

Someone you could love and hold forever, who’d do the same for you. Someone who’d always be there for you, to pick you up when you fall, to make you laugh when all you want to do is cry. Someone who’d be your everything and treat you as if you’re the most special person in the whole world.

But adulthood killed all those dreams all too easily. You learned the hard way that people didn’t really belong to each other. They barely even listened to when another person was talking.

You thought you came close a couple of times, but you never did find your special person. Everyone walks on their paths alone. And maybe it was better that way. You weren’t sure if you could ever completely open up and give yourself to someone else.

That was until Steve came along. He was someone as lost as you and even lonelier. Finding himself in a world he no longer recognised and among people he couldn’t really trust. It didn’t take that long for him to trust you.

You had put on Snow White which was Steve’s favorite from back in his day. You couldn’t help but insert yourself in the fairy-tale. After all Steve did always call you his princess.

“Steve?” You mumbled into his chest laying on top of him as the end credits played.

“Yes, sugar?” He replied running his hands through your hair before drawing small soothing patterns on your back.

He only had to move his nose an inch to smell your hair and get a whiff of your soft soothing scent. Who knew something so simple could be so blissful.

As much as he loved taking you out on the town and courting you to show you a good time and do all the things he never thought he could, he also loved spending these quiet evenings in with you. Where it was just him and you, the rest of the world just seemed to disappear. He wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“Never mind,” You shook your head. ‘It’s soon. You’ll scare him off.’ That incessant annoying voice in your head said.

“Hey,” He propped your chin up to make you look at him. His heart melted at your glossy eyes. So vulnerable and sensitive. Maybe it was what drew him to you. Your ability to be so sweet and wear your heart on your sleeve. Something he never could do. “What is it?” He asked lowly caressing your cheek. Not wanting to push you too much but he couldn’t really help himself when you looked so sad either.

“Do you think...” You whispered and licked your lips “We’ll be together forever. Like them.” You picked at the threads on his shirt too scared to look at him.

He smiled down at you. Getting up to sit straight and adjust you properly in his lap. “I know we will sweetheart.” He said confidently as if it was a fact.

You looked up at him still holding onto his shirt, as if he’d disappear if you let go for even a second “And do you think you’ll always love me?” You wanted to know.

“Yes, I’m sure of it. Where is this even coming from?” He frowned “I know... I don’t always do a good job of showing you I love you. This is new to me. I’ve never had a girlfriend.” And like the dork that he was he couldn’t help the goofy grin he made every time he referred to you as his girl “But I’ll do better,” He promised and pressed a long lingering kiss on your forehead to seal it. He cleared his throat to ask “What do you think I should do better?”

“No. You’re amazing, Steve, you don’t need to change.” You said giving his plump pink lips a quick peck “It’s just scary. How much I love you and how it can all go away if I’m not careful. People break up everyday and over the stupidest of things or over nothing. I don’t want that to be us.” You sighed unloading all your anxieties.

He nodded taking your words in “I understand. I’m scared of losing you too. More than you’ll ever know.” He paused looking for the best words “What we can do is maybe talk about such things?” He slowly suggested rocking you back and forth in his arms.

You happily tucked your head in the crook of his neck, hugging him close to you. Falling for his sweet words and him. Convinced that nothing would come between you both.

***

He got down on one knee not long after to pop the big question with an even bigger diamond to really show you how committed he was.

You were on cloud nine. You felt nothing could ever bring you down that you only had happier times to look forward to.

Until one fateful day, you didn’t realise it then but it was probably when everything started going to hell, Sharon Carter got back from her year long mission in Europe.

You were only an accountant working for the Avengers. Being so close to Steve did give you some influence, which you were ashamed of liking a bit too much, but no one was ever really scared of you. You heard chatter about her and your Steve. And how now he would surely ditch his ‘normal and plain fiancé'. They never tried that hard to hide it from you. They probably thought you weren’t here for the long haul.

“Hey Angie” You nervously called for your desk mate. “Why is everyone so obsessed with Steve and Agent Carter?”

“Oh you mean Staron?” She grinned before frowning, “Oh I’m sorry! That’s just what people call them. Not me though! You know how hard I ship you two.” She squeezed your shoulder in order to console you.

“Yeah but why? I mean did they use to date or something...” You trailed off knowing that it was something you should be asking your fiancé not your co-worker.

You had tried a couple of times but you were too afraid to come off as jealous or controlling. That was the last thing you wanted to be. You expected him to give you enough space to be your own person, so it’d only be fair for you to do the same.

“I don’t really know.” She stroked her chin as if in thought “You’ll just have to ask Captain Rogers. Nothing was ever confirmed they were just rumors. Even I’ll admit they would make gorgeous blonde babies. But girl! You don’t have anything to worry about! You’re the one who has the ring.” She tried her best to assure you but the seeds of doubt and fear had taken roots in your mind.

Steve assured you that there was never anything between them. They flirted with the idea of dating for a while before she went away, he doubted there’d ever be anything between them. He couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. Not when he’s so madly in love with you.

He was so convincing and charming.

The things that set him apart from everyone else, which you loved about him, were his honesty and loyalty. He blamed his Ma and 1920s raising but you didn’t care. He was perfect in your eyes. He didn’t need to fit in. Those things made him Steve Rogers. Your Steve.

***

You had never been more ashamed than when you went through Steve’s things to get some sort of clue. You went through his sketches to find if he was secretly harboring any kind of feelings about her. You only found sketches mostly consisting of you and the Avengers, some of Bucky and his mom.

You sighed in relief, but then, at the bottom of his drawer you found a sketch of Sharon drawn with charcoal pencil. You couldn’t help but cry tears of frustration and pain, tearing the sketch up and flushing it so he wouldn’t find out. You knew you made a grave mistake, even as you started snooping you knew nothing good would come out of it, yet you couldn’t help yourself. In the end you only upset yourself.

Steve got back from work shortly after with your favorite take out, he kissed you hello. He knew something was up but you simply lied and chalked it up to pms or something.

He was ever so understanding. Giving you a nice massage and drawing you a bath. You decided then, that you wouldn’t look for anything anymore. If Steve was being unfaithful you didn’t want to know. You’d rather live in this beautiful peaceful bubble of ignorance.

***

The next few months were tough. All your wedding planning had taken a backseat as Steve had started to look for his friend Bucky, who also happened to be the winter soldier, with Sam and Sharon.

You didn’t really have an answer when your mother pestered you about going wedding shopping. You didn’t know how to tell her that you doubted if there would be a wedding at all. It would break her heart. Especially after she had come to love Steve as much as you did.

You never complained. How could you? The whole world needed him much more than you ever could. And he didn’t seem to need you anymore.

He never had to have time for you anymore. Late nights at the offices, long missions with Sharon.

One rare night he was home for dinner, you were too busy sulking in your self pity to actually enjoy his company after he’d deprived you of it for so long.

You chose to give him the silent treatment, not speaking more than two words to him. He noticed. Of course he did, Captain America, always so perceptive and smart.

He tried to pry answers out of you for a while before his phone started ringing and he excused himself to go pick it up.

“Why do you always go into the other room to take your calls?” You asked when he got back placing his phone down on the table. Playing with your food not having the strength to look him in the eye and confront him.

He visibly stiffened at the underlying accusation in your question. He had grown annoyed of having the same discussion with you again and again. But he decided to bite his tongue. It was his job to make you feel secure in your relationship.

“It’s confidential information, doll. You know that.” He sighed.

You hummed “But you can tell me who you were speaking to right?” You finally looked up and you wished you hadn’t. He clearly wasn’t happy, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown and his jaw clenched, how you hated confrontation. Not that you ever thought you’d be confronting your Steve.

“It was Sharon.” He spit.

“Of course.” You scoffed going back to staring at your food as he rolled his eyes.

“What do you want me to say? I know you aren’t exactly fond of her but I’m not going to lie just to make you happy. Because that’s not who I am! I don’t lie.” He ranted holding up his phone “Why don’t you go through it? Maybe that will make you happy.”

You shook your head rejecting his offer. Even though you were tempted to, you knew Steve was smart. He was Captain America for gods sake. He’d know how to cover his tracks. If he didn’t want you to find something, you probably wouldn’t.

So you finished your dinner, angrily stuffing the food in your mouth while sneering at him and then left him to do the dishes.

You put yours and Steve's laundry in the washer. Even though you were salty with him you still did your half of the chores. Checking his pockets for any receipts or bills. But then you saw what looked like a shinning golden thread. You pulled at it to find that it was a long blonde hair. Which was clearly not yours.

You thought of going to Steve with it. But if you had to hear another one of his lame excuses you’d probably drown yourself.

So, for the first time, you simply went to bed angry with him. When he tried to talk to you, you retorted with a snarky or hurtful comment or didn’t speak at all. You knew just how crazy that would drive him.

***

You groaned for the fifteenth time in the past hour, your leg impatiently shaking under the table. He was an hour late. He was someone who took pride in always being punctual and sharp, clearly you weren’t important enough for him to consider your feelings. You decided to pick up your phone and call him.

“Where are you?!” You hissed as soon as he picked up. Too angry to even bother to say hello.

“I’m at work. I’m so sorry, doll, I won’t be able to make it. Something important came up.” He apologized. His voice laced with guilt. Which would’ve been enough to convince you maybe a month or so ago, but at this point he had missed far too many dinners and dates.

“Right. Of course. More important than me obviously.” You rolled your eyes.

“You know that’s not true – "

“You didn’t even bother calling me” You screamed into your phone.

“I did call.” He sighed “You didn’t pick up and I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Yeah I didn’t pick up! I was cooking a meal for our anniversary! You know what? I don’t care because you clearly don’t either.” You said hanging up without giving him a chance to speak.

You had packed some of the leftovers up for Steve but you decided to dump them all in the bin. He didn’t deserve your cooking.

You haphazardly threw the tupperware in the sink. Torn between punching a wall and hugging a pillow to cry out all your frustrations. You chose to rigorously scrub and wash the dishes.

Having spent some of your excess energy you sat in front of your dresser, putting some petroleum jelly on your palms to sooth the burn.

You sighed at the sight of your sparkly diamond. You couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. It reminded you of a happier and simpler time. The last thing you wanted was a complicated or dramatic relationship.

As you slid the ring off your finger placing it in your jewellery box, you couldn’t help but ponder on whether it was just as much of your fault as well.

You started packing your clothes into a small bag. Maybe you could spend a few nights at your mothers house until you can clear your head.

***

Steve hastily opened your apartment door with his keys. “Honey, I’m home.” He called out for you.

He rubbed his face, a nervous pit forming in his stomach. He knew he had been prioritising his work over you for weeks now, he didn’t know the extent of it until you told him off on the phone and then didn’t pick up any of his calls. He asked Sam to cover for him for the night as he made his way back home.

His enhanced hearing picked up on movements in the bedroom, he followed the sounds of your rustling, tossing his jacket on the couch.

His worst fears came true as he looked at you carelessly stuffing your clothes in a cabin bag. You spared him a glance before zipping the bag up.

He took a deep breath, he had to say the right words before he fucks up the situation more than he already has. “Sweetheart –“

“Steve, I’m leaving. I think we should take a break,” Your voice cracking a bit but you tried to be resilient and strong, you sighed as you saw the heartbroken look on his face as his jaw dropped “it’s hard for me too but it’s just not working anymore.”

“Is it hard for you?” He spit. “Everyone has problems, I just need one more chance.”

“I won’t let you break my heart again.” You swallowed as you felt tears stream down your cheeks, you wiped them with the back of your hand. “I’ll always love you but I’m tired of being disappointed and suspicious and jealous. It’s not who I am, it’s not who I want to be.”

“Wh – what do you mean suspicious?” He asked as his brows furrowed.

“I think you know what I mean. I know I’m not like a model or a kickass spy or unique. But I still want to be special to someone. I’m so...simple. I thought that was enough for you and us.”

“What are you even talking about?” He lost his composure and calm as his eyes watered, blurring his vision, he held onto your forearms, needing your touch the most right now, as if you won't leave if he held on tight enough. “I’m not special either.”

To which you scoffed. “That’s debatable.”

“It’s true. Captain America is special. He’s the superhero. I’m just Steve.”

“I know that’s what you think,” You said shaking his hands off of you and staring at the floor, not bearing to look at him “But it’s not the reality. Captain America is a part of you. And I think... maybe Captain America deserves someone extraordinary like Agent 13.” You let out a humorless chuckle.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He asked in his stern Captain voice, clenching his fists having had about enough of this.

You stiffened as a shiver ran down your spine at his tone. He had never spoken to you like that. He reserved that tone for his teammates and subordinates, and more often than not Tony. But not you. You were his precious baby.

You felt as if you were compelled to look up at him, he wasn’t crying anymore but his jaw had hardened, his face and neck flushed red. “Sharon. I mean,” You took a deep breath “I know there’s nothing between you two... probably.” you whispered as he raised a brow at you.

“But your work and duty will always come first and I know it is a good thing. But it’s not what I want. I thought I could handle it, the whole world needing you more than me and coming before me,” You spoke so lowly but you knew he could hear you, “but I can’t. I don’t think I ever will. A break will put things into perspective for both of us.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He growled as you rolled your eyes. “How could you think those things? I need you more than anything else.” His anger was fuelled as you scoffed again, as if he was lying. “Don’t you dare hink that there’s anything past or present that I’d put before you. You’re the only thing that matters. I promise.”

“You may believe that, but your words only carry so much weight when they’re not followed up by actions. I know you’re not the cheating type,” You rambled pulling on your hair and sighing, it was all so overwhelming “I don’t know what to believe. When I go days without speaking to you – what else am I supposed to believe?”

He hesitantly snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, relieved that you didn’t stop him or push him away again, “Just give me one chance to prove myself. I know I’ll never be worthy of you but I don’t want us to give up so easily. Not without putting up a fight.” He gritted pulling your chin up as your hands played with the buttons on his shirt. “And you know how good I am at putting up a fight. I’ll always fight for you,” He smiled pulling your chin up to look at your pretty face.

“Okay,” You sniffled. “You’re always so good with words.” You smiled shaking your head.

He hummed at that. “I got you to go out with me, didn’t I?”

“What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t you have work?” you wanted to know.

He shushed you, pulling you into his chest and pressing his face in the crook of your neck. He craved your warmth and comfort especially after almost losing you. “I’ll never take you for granted again.” He nuzzled your neck before kissing it. “We can go venue hunting tomorrow. For the wedding.”

You smiled in his hold “Well I don’t know about that. Maybe the wedding planning can wait for a while.”

He hummed as he rested his chin on top of your head. He had his work cut out for him if he intended to keep you. He made a mental note of calling Tony first thing in the morning. “I hate it when we fight.” He said rocking you in his arms “But I like the making up part.”

You playfully smacked his chest. You just knew he was cheekily grinning. “I agree.” You giggled.

You hadn’t fought a whole lot throughout your relationship, but the make up sex was always amazing.

You gulped nervously as he captured your lips in a bruising and breath taking kiss. Letting you know just how much he loved you. You hummed as his hands caressed the soft skin of your ass, squeezing it lightly before he pulled you up.

You yelped as you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist. You trailed kisses down his jaw as he carried you to your bed. Giving him a nip or two here and there, smiling against his throat as you felt the vibrations of his moans.

He gently dropped you on your comfortable mattress, you giggled as you bounced.

Steve hovered above you, he was so large, he was the only thing you could look at. Your shaky hands worked on unbuttoning his shirt as he pulled your night shirt up, groaning at the sight of your soft nipples, hardening so easily at his touch. He pulled one in his mouth as he thoroughly sucked on it.

“Oh, Steve.” You moaned as his hand came up to pay some attention to your other breast, fondling it in his hand before tugging your stiff peak with his fingers. You gasped as he bit you. “Oh I’ll definitely feel that tomorrow,” You sighed pulling your shirt over your head as he made his way down your body, settling between your legs.

He looked at you as you bit your lip, your breasts laid flat as you chest heaved with anticipation. He let out a guttural sound as he saw and smelled just how aroused and wet you were for him. He licked a firm stripe up your warm folds before capturing your bundle of nerves in his mouth, harshly sucking on it as he worked you up with his fingers to get you ready for him.

The moans and mewls from your mouth and the squelching of his fingers were something akin to a symphony to his ears. He cooed as you thrashed wildly when he pulled away. “Steve!” You whined.

“Just a minute baby. You remember what we talked about? Patience.” He said as he quickly got rid of his clothes. His throbbing erection ached to be inside you. But he couldn’t help but tease his sweet girl a bit as he stroked himself above you, much to your displeasure.

He chuckled as you kicked your legs. “Patience,” He reminded you again as he bent to suck a bruise on your breast. He pulled away with a pop, pleased with the way your skin bruised under his assault, “So you’ll always remember how much I love you.” He murmured in your neck as he slowly entered your channel.

He stayed inside you just like that for a few minutes, it was comfortable like a warm hug, it felt like home because you were his home. No matter how many times he made love to you, he could never get used to how wet and tight you felt.

He sucked a few more love bites on your neck he knew you’d give him hell for later but in the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He rocked his hips, slowly and tortuously pulling out of you before pushing back in till he bottomed out, searching for your special spot, he knew he found it when you threw your head back and started blabbering nonsense.

Your hips matched his pace, trying their best to keep up with his super strength and agility. He propped himself up on his elbows, he needed to see you, see your face twist in pleasure as he did such sinful things to you. Except they rarely ever felt sinful to him. It felt as if he was expressing his love for you by pleasing you and worshipping you.

“How could you ever think I don’t care about you?” He asked not really expecting an answer, what with you being so preoccupied and your mind too far gone to listen to him, as he drove his hips up harshly.

You shook your head muttering apologises and chanting his name as he felt you clench around him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, holding onto him as your orgasm hit you in waves of pleasure.

“I need you to say it.” He demanded. His thrusts lost any sense of rhythm simply pounding into you with abandon as he chased his release. “Say that you know that I love you.” He rasped as his hips stuttered. “Say. It.” He punctuated with a few more thrusts before he emptied inside you, panting into the crook of your neck.

“I know you love me Steve.” You mumbled as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I love you more.”

You felt him shake his head as he pecked your lips. “That’s not possible.”

“Yes it is!” You huffed incredulously.

“Agree to disagree.” He stated not really in the mood to fight with you anymore as you smacked his bicep, scoffing at him before muttering a ‘whatever’ under your breath. He pulled you on top of him still connected to your heat as he felt his spend spill out of you. “Can we stay like this for a bit?” He asked somewhat shyly.

You hummed, “Yes of course.” You sleepily mumbled against his soft and warm chest.

He listened to your breathing and steady heartbeat as you slipped into a dreamless slumber.

He couldn’t sleep. He only ever slept a couple of hours every night and now after everything that perspired, he was scared he’d fall asleep and you’d be gone when he wakes up.

There was no way in hell he’d ever let you. He’d give up the shield if he had to. He was as stupidly stubborn as you if not more. He was sure he’d fix everything as he kissed the top of your head and covered the pair of you with the comforter. So you’d feel as warm and comfortable as him.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and feedback are appreciated! ❤❤

Idk how Sharon comes off in this but no Sharon hate please! I don't have an opinion on her but I believe in girls supporting girls. Thank you😘😘

#reader x steve rogers #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader

1K notes · View notes