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mega-aulover · 11 months

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Katniss didn't settle for Peeta, she didn't say well this is as good as it gets...no she actively chose Peeta every single time. She knew him intimately when she described him with swoon-worthy words:

You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.

She always thought of him...chose him:

When he was reaped she expressed immediate remorse "Oh no not him, not the boy with the bread."

When he was reaped in The Hunger Games: "To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed."

In the Arena, the Hunger Games: “The idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.”

To Haymitch in Catching Fire: ″‘Like you said, it’s going to be bad no matter how you slice it. And whatever Peeta wants, it’s his turn to be saved. We both owe him that.’ My voice takes on a pleading tone. ‘Besides, the Capitol hates me so much, I’m as good as dead now. He still might have a chance.‘” (Katniss was ready to die for him and is begging Haymitch to die for him too)

In Catching Fire the Arena: I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. "I do", I say. "I need you."

In District 13 in Mockingjay: I drink in his wholeness, the soundness of his body and mind. It runs through me like the morphling they give me in the hospital, dulling the pain of the last weeks.

In District 13 in Mockingjay, she is deeply depressed without him. She is suffering from PTSD and doesn't have her support system there. She misses Peeta. Katniss pines for him - keeps the pearl he gave her nearby...

"Sometimes when I’m alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena."

"My mockingjay pin now lives with Cinna’s outfit, but there’s the gold locket and the silver parachute with the spile and Peeta’s pearl. I knot the pearl into the corner of the parachute, bury it deep in the recesses of the bag, as if it’s Peeta’s life and no one can take it away as long as I guard it."

By the end of the book, after watching her sister die, and having shot Coin - Katniss loses it...and she becomes almost catatonic. Katniss blocks out everything when she comes back to District Twelve in Mockingjay:

"I haven’t left the house. I haven’t even left the kitchen except to go to the small bathroom a few steps off of it. I’m in the same clothes I left the Capitol in."

She cares for nothing and is forced to eat it's only when Peeta comes back that she becomes aware of her appearance and it's when she literally begins to live:

"When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps." ...-... "Back upstairs, I throw open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of Snow’s stench. But it still lingers, on my clothes and in my pores. I strip, and flakes of skin the size of playing cards cling to the garments. Avoiding the mirror, I step into the shower and scrub the roses from my hair, my body, my mouth. Bright pink and tingling, I find something clean to wear. It takes half an hour to comb out my hair. Greasy Sae unlocks the front door. While she makes breakfast, I feed the clothes I had shed to the fire. At her suggestion, I pare off my nails with a knife."

Katniss chose to be with Peeta, just like she chose to live when he came back...

#Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Everlark #this is a long one #Katniss x Peeta #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #Mj1 #mj2 #mj part 1 #mj part 2 #thg

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mcdonaldsnumberone · 1 year

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GOOD NIGHT KISS!

their bedtime routines with you

gender neutral reader

BACHIRA MEGURU!

midnight snacks!

It becomes a night time ritual of sorts, for you to be all ready to hop into bed and go to sleep, only to hear some kind of odd rustling in the kitchen. And without fail, you always find your boyfriend in there cooking up a storm: drizzling sugar and honey onto whatever concoction he’s created. You know Bachira needs to eat a lot to keep his energy up; not only is he still a growing teenager, he’s also a full-time athlete and someone with a horribly insatiable sweet tooth. But you have to give him credit for his skills—no matter how empty your fridge seems, Bachira finds a way to craft something up without fail. And whenever you come out to investigate his latest masterpiece, he’s eager to share it with you. He claims things taste better when you’re there to indulge in them with him!

A sickeningly sweet scent hits your nose when you shuffle out of your shared bedroom with Bachira, and you can’t help but let out a defeated laugh when you see him cheerfully cooking up a large stack of waffles in the kitchen. In good Bachira-fashion, every inch of those waffles are drenched in sticky syrup and covered all over with a generous helping of whipped cream.

“This many waffles at this hour?” You slide into a seat, and Bachira glances up from the batch he’s cooking to grin at you.

“Yup! Got hungry. I saw a box mix in the pantry when I was digging around, and I just knew I needed to have some!” He explains sheepishly. “Do you want a fork? You’re welcome to them, you know.”

“I’ll steal a bite later.” You eye the big stack slightly and glance up at Bachira. “You shouldn’t eat too much before bed though! You’ll get a stomach ache if you eat too many sweets. Or a cavity, even.”

He puffs his cheeks out and shoots his best puppy eyes at you, his plump lips curling into a boyish pout. “But I’m hungry! You wouldn’t want your boyfriend to go to bed with a growling stomach, would you? That’s mean!”

“Hey, I’m only trying to look after you,” you chuckle as you put your hands up in a defensive display. “Although I guess you’ve always been better at digesting sweets than anyone else I know.”

“I deserve a little treat before bed!” He flips over the waffle maker, letting out a dreamy exhale at the scent of dough and vanilla wafting through the kitchen. “It gives me the energy to work hard at playing soccer! And it’s fun to make all these snacks! Especially when you’re here to eat them with me.”

“Well, let’s not take too long,” you murmur. “I’m sleepy, and all I need right now is some cuddles before bed.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n!” Bachira brightens up. “One serving of waffles and cuddles coming up real soon, made specially just for you!”

YUKIMIYA KENYU!

skincare!

Yukimiya’s surprisingly humble about his job as a model, but as quiet as he stays about it, you know he takes his gig seriously. He always takes his time in the shower, making sure his hair curls just right, and the array of lotions and creams he has on his nightstand is always dizzying to count. But if there’s one thing he’s a stickler for, it’s including you in his little routines. He thinks it’s adorable to do his skincare with you, and you can always catch the hint of a smile when he offers to test out a scrub he’s bought on you or to try matching face masks together. Although lately, you’ve noticed that Yukimiya’s been insistent on seeing how much softer your skin’s gotten by kissing you all over—totally to figure out which products work best!

“It tickles, Kenyu!” You can barely keep yourself from wiggling in your seat. Your boyfriend’s face is scrunched up in concentration as he carefully applies an ivory-colored moisturizer to your cheeks and neck. He’s told you to stay still multiple times, but whenever you feel his fingers rubbing slow circles into your skin, you keep getting all giddy and giggly.

“I’m trying my best to do this quickly,” he protests. His tongue sticks out between his lips slightly, and his forehead is scrunched up in concentration as he swirls another helping of cream to your face. You bite back a loud chuckle, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around dangerously. He shakes his head endearingly when he sees you choke back a laugh. “But I can only go so fast if you keep squirming!”

“Hey, I can’t help it!” You swing your legs on the little bath stool Yukimiya has you seated on. “You’d get all ticklish too if someone as cute as you was getting all close and handsy!”

The dark-haired boy raises a cheeky eyebrow, and his orange eyes lock onto yours with a playful glint at your words. His fingers trace the delicate outline of your face, and your heart skips a beat when you feel his fingertips ghost over the edge of your lips.

“You think I’m being handsy? I’m barely touching you,” he whispers, the tone of his voice suddenly low and electric. You swallow nervously, the jitters inside your ribcage flaring up even more.

He grins, setting down the small pot of moisturizer. “I’ll show you what me ‘being handsy’ really is then, love. Maybe that’ll help you with being ticklish… Is that alright?”

SENDOU SHUTO!

kisses before bed!

Sendou has a horribly needy streak. He can’t help it—he’s used to being the ace of the (now former) Japanese U20 team, and he’s always dreamt of having a lover that would fawn and obsess over him as much as he does. He likes it when you indulge his romantic fantasies a little, and he gets awfully clingy whenever he’s sleepy and it’s time for bed. No matter what the mood is, Sendou swears he can’t sleep properly if you aren’t there to give him a kiss before he goes to bed. You two could be in the middle of a heated argument or cracking jokes; he isn’t letting you roll over and snooze until he’s gotten his allotted amount of attention from you. He’ll blush and get all shy asking you for a kiss, but the bashful grin he has afterwards makes it all worth it.

“Hey.” Something pokes at your side, and you grumble, swatting absentmindedly as your mind clings to the strains of sleep threatening to overtake you. You whine loudly, wanting to go back to the comfort of your pillow, but another poke at your ribcage jostles you back awake.

You crack your eyes open, clearly disgruntled. “What do you want, Sendou?”

“A good night kiss,” he sheepishly replies. Your eyes adjust to the lighting as your boyfriend wraps his arms around your waist, slipping under the covers to take his place next to you in bed. “I ask you for one every night. Don’t tell me that you don’t remember our little bedtime ritual?”

You blink at him. Oh. Right. He looks so pathetic, lips pulled into a slight pout as he shoots his best attempt at puppy eyes at you. Could you believe that this man was someone who was on a national Japanese soccer team? The one that believed he had enough charisma to pull a Hollywood actress?

“Sorry,” you reply, reaching over to fluff up his hair. You thought dating a soon-to-be professional soccer player would mean more glam and spotlight, but all you got in return was a wet dog of a boyfriend who followed you around at the heel if you didn’t devote enough time to him. Not that you minded—frankly speaking, you liked knowing that you held so much power over him. “I got sleepy, and I must have dozed off while you were getting ready.”

“Well, now’s the perfect time to give me one,” Sendou sings, and he sticks his face out. You roll your eyes, but you still reach over to press your lips gently against his, savoring the way the boy immediately melts into your touch. You make it quick, and when you pull away, Sendou giggles happily and settles down to spoon you from behind.

“Happy now, Mr. I’m-going-to-marry-a-Hollywood-actress?” You tease gently. You don’t need to be looking at him to know that he’s going to be pouting at you again, and Sendou buries his head into your shoulder.

“I’ll be happier once you let that stupid nickname go,” he murmurs into your skin. His hair brushes against your jawline, and he twists his head to kiss your cheek. “But as long as I’m with you, I’d say I’m pretty happy.”

MICHAEL KAISER!

lets you steal his robe!

Kaiser stands on top of the world. He takes pleasure in destroying and knowing that he’s superior to everyone who dares stand before his path. Despite knowing this and knowing that no one could hold a candle to the man that he is, Kaiser’s rendered completely useless and lovestruck when it comes to his stupid crush on you. You could spit in his face and call him stupid, and he knows he’d go skipping off to Ness twirling his hair and blushing. Luckily for him, you found some part in your heart to love him back, and you take advantage of it every night when you steal his bathrobe and snuggle up in it. It smells like him, and you have no issue dozing off in how big and fluffy it is.

“Darling.”

You keep to your side in your bed, grinning to yourself as you settle deeper into the fluff of his expensive robe. Was there anything better than this? Being all cozy and ready for bed, buried in a mountain of pillows and blankets, topped off with what you swore was the fuzziest robe known to mankind.

“Darling,” Kaiser whines again, tugging at your blanket burrito. “Darling, I’m freezing out here.”

“That’s what you get for trying to go to bed shirtless.” You don’t even bat an eyelash. Kaiser whimpers like a wounded dog, curling up next to your blanket fort in nothing but his boxers. You knew that he fully intended on having his bathrobe to warm him up, but when he wasn’t paying attention, you had run off with it instead.

And if you were in any other mood, you would have stroked Kaiser’s ego a bit. You would have coaxed the robe off of him by gushing over his tattoo, getting him all smug and conceited just so you could steal your boyfriend’s pajamas off of his shoulders. Either way, you fully intended on leaving him shivering next to you while you indulged in the warmth.

“I’m going to catch a cold!” Kaiser dramatically bemoans. He flops down next to you, slapping a hand over his forehead and everything. “My own partner doesn’t love me anymore! I’ll die cold and hungry and shivering with illness. No one cares about me anymore-”

“-Oh, shut it,” you cut him off and unravel part of your blanket. Any sign of Kaiser’s “illness” quickly disappears as he leaps into your arms, sticking his body right up against yours as the layers of cloth envelop him in much welcomed warmth.

“Is that better?” You ask, letting him cling to you like a koala. He lays his head on your shoulder, nodding contently. You fight the urge to pinch him for being so clingy and theatrical, but he looks so happy swaddled in your arms that you don’t have it in your heart to be mean.

“Much better,” he purrs. “I’m all ready to go to bed now. If we sleep this close together, do you think we’ll dream of each other? I’d love to think about my sweet darling fast asleep, dreaming about me… How romantic!”

You grit your teeth. “I’ll kick you out back into the cold, you twat.”

“So mean!”

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bachira meguru #yukimiya kenyu #sendou shuto #michael kaiser #x reader #my writing

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cevansbrat0007 · 2 years

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Forever My Love: A Barber Honeymoon

Summary: You and Andy embark on your magical Italian honeymoon. Takes place directly after the events in Magic Revisited: The Wedding. Warnings: Smut, Daddy!Kink, Oral (Fem receiving), Spanking (playful), Cursing, Fluff, Sweet Reader, Sweet Andy, Pizza, Pet Names, Minors DNI

A/N: I hope you enjoy Reader and Andy's honeymoon. Apologies in advance for my bad Italian. Tried my best. Part of my Growing Pains Series. All mistakes my own. Please let me know your thoughts.

___ You slowly open your eyes and stretch. Sitting up, you scrub a tired hand over your face and look around.

Wait. This wasn’t your bedroom.

It takes you a moment to remember. You were in Rome, sleeping next to your husband.

Your fucking husband!

You two had arrived in Rome late last night. You were currently staying at the most lovely bed and breakfast, run by friends of Enzo and Camilla. While you had yet to fully explore, your room was gorgeous.

It was spacious and tastefully decorated, literally radiating warmth and comfort. And it came with a balcony.

You couldn’t wait to enjoy the view with your man. With your husband.

Digging through the sheets for your phone, you realize that it was still early. You’d only slept five hours. You look over at Andy, who’s peacefully snoring with an arm thrown over his head. You were tempted to snuggle up to him, maybe run your fingers through his chest hair, or trace the pattern of his tattoos.

But that might wake him up.

You carefully slip out of bed. Looking around, you see all of your luggage is stacked against the wall. Tip toeing over there, you grab your special purple bag and make your way into the bathroom.

Stripping, you try to work the shower. It takes a moment, but eventually you figure it out. While it warms up, you brush your teeth and wash your face. Once you’re finished, you grab your Brown Sugar and Fig body wash, you make quick work of refreshing yourself underneath the warm spray.

You had to be quick. You knew your Andy Bear had a hard time sleeping without you.

Hopping out of the shower, you towel off and then apply your whipped body butter all over your thirsty skin. After that, you pull off your bonnet and delicately unwrap your still straightened hair using a comb. Once you’re done, you’re happy to see that it still looks good. Nothing needed fixing.

And then you pull out your special lingerie - a white, lace bodysuit that left little to the imagination. You pair it with white, strappy stiletto heels and a silk white robe.

You’re cleaning up your mess when you hear Andy begin to stir.

“Baby girl…” His voice is extra deep and gravelly from lack of use. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m coming, honey!” You call back.

“Well, hurry up. Bed is cold without you.”

You quickly apply a little lip gloss, pinch your cheeks, and fluff your hair.

Here we go. You think to yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you open the bathroom door and lean against the frame.

“Need me to warm you up, Big Man?” Andy cracks open an eye and then shoots straight up in bed as he takes in your laced covered form.

“You - yes - uh, fuck - shit!” You giggle as he stumbles over his words. Taking a few steps towards him, you allow the robe to drop to the floor.

“You like, husband?” You do a little spin, enjoying his intake of breath when he gets a look at your ass. Andy loved when you wore thongs. He said it was something about watching your cheeks just “swallow up that string” that made him hard almost instantly.

“Fucking love it, wife.” He growls, now fully awake. “Now bring that sweet ass over to Daddy. It’s been 31 days, and I’m fucking starving.”

You glide over to the bed, prepared to climb in, only for Andy to stop you.

“No. I want you here.” He points at the spot between his legs. “Right now.”

Walking around the bed, you go to stand between his thighs. His large, slightly roughened hands immediately go for your bottom. He grabs your cheeks, squeezing and lightly slapping.

“Y/N, my love, you’re so goddamned beautiful.” His hands go to peel the straps of your bodysuit down your shoulders to free your breasts for his waiting mouth. Andy sucks a nipple deep into his mouth, toying with it with his teeth and wicked tongue. He pulls away for a moment. “I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you, baby. I’m the fucking luckiest man alive, Mrs. Barber.”

“And I’m the luckiest woman - ohhh fuck!” You lose your focus as he tends to your other breast as his talented hands continue to work at removing your lingerie. Grasping his head, you begin running your fingers through his hair. “Oh god, baby! Yes! Suck harder - suck me harder, Andy!”

You’re so caught up in your own pleasure that you almost don’t notice the sound of a rip.

Your man had torn your outfit in two.

“Sorry, baby girl.” He mumbles, resting his face between your breasts, taking in your scent. “It was a pretty little outfit, but I got frustrated.”

Rolling your eyes, you place your right foot on the bed, prepared to remove your shoes.

“Oh no, Y/N.” Andy picks you up by your waist and places you on the bed. Grabbing your foot, he kisses your ankle. “I’m gonna fuck you with those shoes on.”

You whimper as he spreads your legs wide, his wild blue eyes honing in on your bare pussy.

“God, how I missed her.” He mumbles. “Can’t believe I agreed to let you keep my pussy from me.” Leaning down, he presses a hot open mouthed kiss to your wet cunt, making you cry out. “Never again.” His expert tongue flicks your clit, sucking it into his mouth. “Missed your taste.” He grunts after a moment.

Another kiss.

Andy pulls his sweats down, freeing his hard, thick cock. “Apologize for keeping my pussy from me.” He smacks your core, his hand connecting with your clit, making your hips jerk.

When you don’t say anything, he smacks you again even harder.

“I’m waiting.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. Thank you for being patient with me. I promise I won’t keep your pussy from you ever again.” Grabbing his hand, you press it against your dripping cunt. “You feel how wet I am? It’s all for you.” You purr as he slips two fingers inside of you. “It’s all for my husband.”

“All this sweet honey had better be for me.” He growls as he replaces his thick fingers with his fat cock. “Now let’s see how loud you can scream for your husband.”

___

The two of you don’t leave your room for three days, not even to hunt down something to eat.

Thank god for room service. Every morning you enjoyed Biscottis and coffee, or freshly baked Cornettos stuffed with chocolate cream or fruit jam. This morning you and Andy had curled up on the balcony to enjoy a slice of Torta Della Nonna, or Grandma’s Cake. It was rich and delicious, and paired well with your decadent cup of coffee.

“What do you want to do today?” You ask him as you feed him another bite of cake. He nips at your fingers, licking at the crumbs. “Maybe do some some sightseeing?”

“I don’t see why not.” Andy bounces you lightly on his lap. “As long as we’re back in time for dinner. We’ve got plans.” He leans down to kiss your forehead.

“We do?” You turn to face him.

“We do.” He confirms.

“What kind of plans?” You ask, suddenly awake and excited.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out.” He boops your nose. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go shower and then see what there is to see. Don’t worry, I’ll help lather you up.” Still wrapped in a sheet you hop up off his lap and dart back into the room, leaving your man outside completely naked.

“I wanna see the Pantheon!” You call out to him. “Ooh ooh, and St. Peter’s Basilica, along with the Colosseum! Hurry up, husband. Shake a leg!”

Your mouth waters as you take in his nude form as he brings in your breakfast dishes.

“You’re moving too slow. I’m getting in the shower.” You tell him as you toss your sheet back into the bedroom, leaving yourself naked as well.

“You get in there without me, little girl, and I will spank your sexy ass.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. “You wouldn’t dare. Not on our honeymoon, Mr. Barber!”

“Keep testing my patience, and I absolutely will, Mrs. Barber.” He winks at you.

Picking up a decorative pillow that somehow ended up on the floor, you lob it at his head. Letting out a playful growl, your man begins to stalk towards you. You throw two more pillows at him, both of which he bats away with ease.

“Clearly my baby is in need of a little attention from her Daddy.” Grabbing your upper arm, he pulls you to the side of the bed and places you over his knee. “First you threaten to shower without me, and then you throw things at my head. That wasn’t very nice, sweetheart.”

You can’t hold back a giggle.

“Oh, oh is this funny to you?” Andy doles out a light, sharp smack to your upturned bottom.

“No, Daddy. I’m sorry.” He spanks you again, enjoying the way your cheeks jiggle.

“Such a beautiful, disrespectful little ass.” His hand comes down again, this time massaging your globes after the hit, making you moan. “What a naughty girl. Laying here and enjoying her spanking.” Another smack.

His deft fingers begin toying with your sopping wet pussy. “Yep, my baby is definitely enjoying her punishment.”

“Unngh!” You whimper and moan as his fingers begin thrusting faster. “Oooh, Daddy! Yes, please! Fuck me good!”

He pulls his fingers out of you and sucks them into his mouth. “Mm, baby girl. Can never get enough of your taste.” Giving you one last smack, he sits you up on his lap. “You wanna cum, then you’re gonna do it on my cock, and you’re gonna do it while I’m soaping you up in the shower.”

You bury your head in the crook of his neck, which muffles your whine.

“And when we’re through, we’ll go see whatever sights you want.” Standing up, he carries you into the shower where your filthy, dirty-talking husband eventually got you all nice and clean.

But only after making you cum twice.

___

Later that Evening…

“Wait - what am I supposed to wear for whatever it is we’re doing that you refuse to tell me about?”

He sighs as he dawns a fitted maroon t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. “My beautiful little wife, what you’re wearing is fine. Stop stressing.”

You cross your arms and pout as you sit by him on the bed.

“Then tell me where we’re going.”

“No.” Andy leans down to peck your lips. “So soft, so sweet. Even when you’re being a little brat.” He grins and looks down at his watch. “Let’s go, the cab should be here any moment.”

Grabbing your hand, he drags you out of the room, down the stairs, and into the warm evening air.

“This sunset is gorgeous.” You whisper as you snuggle against your man’s side. Andy smiles and wraps his arm around you. “Not more gorgeous than you.” You blush and look away.

Gently cupping your chin, he turns you back to face him. “Do you know how happy I am that we’re here together like this?” His thumb brushes over his lower lip.

“I wake up every morning and there’s always this moment, Andy, this moment where I can’t believe it’s true. I can’t believe we’re married, and then I look down at my ring…”

Your hand grips the back of his neck, bringing his head down for a brief, yet meaningful kiss. Pulling away, you grab his left hand and remove his wedding ring.

“What are you -?”

“I’ve been meaning to show you this.” You tell him. The way you surprised me on our wedding day, well, I had a surprise for you too. I just didn’t get a chance to show you, but uh, I had it engraved.” Handing him the ring, he immediately examines it.

“Semper Amica Mea.” Andy reads out loud. “What - what does that mean?”

“It’s Latin.” Your murmur. “It means “forever my love”. Taking the ring from him again, you place it back on his finger. “I never want you to forget who you are to me.” Your small hand goes to cup his cheek. “You, Big Man, are the love of my life. And any time you need a reminder, I want you to read that inscription, okay?”

Your husband clears his throat and nods. His entire body is brimming with emotion. He clears his throat again, before picking you up and tucking you against his chest. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you rub his back.

“I love you.” He whispers. “I’m so happy you agreed to be mine.”

“I love you too. Thank you for bringing me here. And for chasing after me today.”

Andy chuckles at that. He’d spent the whole day running after his little wife, who was surprisingly quick, even with her short legs. Let’s just say that Andy had to work to keep up with his lady today, and he’d gotten his workout in for sure.

“I’d chase you for the rest of my life if I had to.” He presses a sweet kiss to your neck. Just in time for the cab to pull up.

Setting you back on your feet, he helps you inside. And then you’re off.

___

Thirty Minutes Later…

The driver lets you off in front of a little restaurant named L’arte Dei Sapori.

“I feel underdressed.” You tell Andy.

“You’re not, baby girl. I promise.” He holds the door for you to walk in. Once inside, you’re surprised to see three other couples sitting at a cluster of tables in the corner. Grabbing your hand, he leads you over to the group.

“Hi.” Andy greets them. “Sorry to interrupt, but are you all here for the demo?”

“We sure are!” A brunette responds. “Have a seat with us. We all just met, but we agree that this is gonna be so much fun. I’m Sandra and this is - ope here comes your wine!” She says in a sing-song voice.

And sure enough, there was a waiter holding two glasses of red wine.

“My name is Marco, and I would like to welcome you to tonight’s pizza making demo. The event will begin soon. Until then, please enjoy your wine. Thank you.” He bows his head and walks away.

Your excited eyes flit to your husband’s satisfied ones. “We’re going to watch them make pizza?”

Andy chuckles and shakes his head. “No, baby. We’re gonna make the pizza, as in you and me, and then we’re going to eat it.”

You’re so stunned he could’ve knocked you over with a feather.

“I love you so goddamn much.” Is all you can say. You take a sip of your wine before turning to the others and introducing yourself. “Hi, my name is Y/N and this is Andy, the best husband ever, and we’re on our honeymoon.” You smile, drink some more, and then let your mind drift to thoughts of authentic, Italian pizza.

You were this close to swooning. Someone pass the smelling salts!

___

“Buon lavoro! Good job!” Chef Vincenzo exclaims as he watches you roll the dough into a ball. “A little more flour, tesoro.” He instructs before walking away.

“Hit me with some flour, Andy Bear.” Your husband smiles and sprinkles a little more on the dough.

“Alright, Signore e Signori, now we want to gently stretch the dough. Watch as I do - watch as I do.

You watch as his expert hands gently begin to stretch the dough. “See how, eh, kind I am being to our dough? Now you try.”

“Your turn, baby.” You say as you pass him the ball of dough. He immediately begins to mimic the chef’s motions.

“Tesaro,” Vincenzo comes up behind you. “Why don’t you check your sauce one last time, make sure the flavor is right.” With a nod, you wander over to your pot of sauce. Taking a clean spoon, you taste your sauce. Now that had cooled you could tell that it was missing something.

Salt? Perhaps a dash of oregano?

Trusting your instincts, you add a pinch more salt and oregano. Grabbing another clean spoon, you give your sauce another taste.

Perfect.

Stepping up next to you, the chef takes a taste as well. “Sapore eccelllente! Your marito has the dough ready, so it’s time to sauce your pizza. Remember, not too much and not too little.”

“Looks good, marito.” You say as you sidle up next to Andy.

“Marito?”

“Husband.”

“Ah. How’s our sauce, baby girl?” Looking around for yet another spoon, you dip it in the pot and hold it to his waiting mouth. “Mmm…excellent.”

“Thank you.” You respond with a blush. “Our crust looks damned good, by the way.”

“Well, thank you very much.” With that, you begin to ladle your sauce onto the dough, spreading it out as you do.

“Not too much, not too little.” You mumble to yourself.

“Excellent job, everybody! Now for toppings - has everyone made their selections?”

You and Andy had settled on mozzarella, prosciutto, mushrooms, and garlic. Both of you watch Vincenzo add toppings to his own creation. “It is the same as it was with the sauce. Not too much, not too little. We want to be able to taste the flavors - but we don’t want to overwhelm!”

Andy begins to break up the fresh mozzarella and add it to your pizza, you follow it up with the mushrooms and roasted garlic. Your man handles the prosciutto. Once you’re finished, you both back away from your pizza with your hands in the air.

“Why did we just back away like we were competing on Chopped?” You ask your husband.

“No clue.” He mumbles. “It just felt right.” Which makes you laugh.

“Sembra delizioso! Looks delicious, Andrew and Y/N. Eccellente!”

You and Andy high-five like a couple of dorks.

“Alright everyone, Chef Vincenzo is very proud of your hard work. Let’s get your pizzas into the oven so we can all enjoy another glass of wine!"

___

Twenty minutes later, you and your handsome as sin husband are enjoying yet another slice of your delicious pizza.

“This turned out fantastic, baby girl. We work pretty well together.” He smiles at you before feeding you a bite of his own slice, as if you didn’t have one in your hand already.

Shaking your head, you take a sip of your wine. “Thank you for tonight, my love. This was everything, I mean cooking with an actual Italian chef - I will never be able to top this.” And that was the truth.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, honey. I love watching you work in the kitchen, it’s honestly one of my favorite things.”

God, were you blushing again?

“Thank you for bringing me to Rome.”

Andy leans forward and motions for you to do the same. “Wanna know a secret?”

You nod.

“Remember how I said we’d be spending two weeks here?”

You nod again.

“I didn’t just mean Rome. In two days I’m taking you to Venice, baby.”

“What?” You whisper, your eyes going wide.

Grinning, he gets up to pull your shocked body into his lap. “Have another sip of wine, sweet girl. There we go.”

“Are we gonna ride a gondola?”

“We will, so long as you promise me you won’t fall out.” Your Big Man winks at you.

“Venice.” You murmur. “We’re going to Venice.”

“We are, my little love.”

“And then where else?” You ask him hoping for a hint.

“Once again, that’s for me to know, and you to find out. Now let’s eat our pizza and enjoy our wine. Something tells me that my wife is going to need all of her strength tonight.”

END

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hollandsmushroom · 3 years

Text

Cum and Cookie Dough

Synopsis: Late night sloppy and sweet encounters.

Masterlist

Send Me A Request

Word Count: 2,841

(Not my Gif)

Your phone brought you out of your sleep, its constant buzz for the past few minutes on your night stand, reaching out. The first thing you saw was the time, in big white text it said '3 A.M.' Below that was the contact photo of your boyfriend. You swiped across, answering the call and bringing it up to your ear.

"Why are you calling at 3 a.m?" You groaned, scrubbing a fist into your eye to try and remove the sleepy fog.

"Can I come over?" Cals shockingly perky voice responded.

"I mean, I guess, I'm fucking tired though, and I look terrible, why do you wanna come over?"

"I just wanna see my baby, is that illegal? And I'm sure you look stunning" You mumbled a no in response to the first question, although it was rhetorical, a blush spreading on your cheeks at the compliment. You listened to the silence before You heard a door click closed in the background of the call, alerting you to the fact that he was already getting in his car. "Can we bake cookies?"

"Sure, I'll get the stuff ready" you mumbled, pulling back the covers and shaking your head, trying to wake yourself up. "I'll see you when you get here, love you, bubba" you hummed

"I love you too, Bubbaloo" he responded in a sing-song voice before hanging up.

Your bare feet slid against the cool hard wood, sending a shiver up your body causing goosebumps to spread on your skin, you suddenly missed the comfort of your bed but you were excited to see your boy in a couple minutes.

Stepping into your kitchen you opened the cabinets, grabbing the ingredients for gooey chocolate chip cookies and setting them out on the counter and setting the oven to preheat. You put the kettle on to boil, digging through your cabinets to find your most caffeinated tea, knowing how Cal was and that you were not going to sleep for a long time. As you waited for the water to boil you started to doze off where you stood.

The click off of the kettle brings you back to the world, tearing the tea sachet open and putting it in the cup, pouring the boiling water over it tugging on the tab, watching as the water changed to a darker color as it sloshed softly at the side of the mug.

The sound of knuckles on wood made its way to your ears, shaking your head to perk yourself up again as you reached to the door handle, flipping the lock and opening the door, on the other side stood your boyfriend, loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a plain black tee shirt gracing his toned torso. You were wearing one of his shirts that you had stolen months ago and a small pair of sleep shorts, nothing underneath either piece. His soft chocolate eyes drank in your appearance before stepping over the threshold and engulfing you in his muscular arms. His lips met yours messily, sleep evident in both your beings. He pulled back, breath fanning across your face, brushing the hair out of your eyes.

"I've never seen anything more beautiful," he mumbled making you smile and giggle softly holding him close. The oven beeps from the kitchen alerting you to the fact it was now preheated.

"Ooh, the oven is ready!" He spoke excitedly, pulling your hand and guiding you to the kitchen.

"Here is the recipe," you giggled at his childlike demeanor, handing him the cookbook that you had set out earlier. The two of you began to bake, you chose to measure the ingredients because you didn’t trust him to do it right and him sifting them altogether in the bowl. When it came time to mix the wet ingredients in with the dry you put your hands in the bowl as Cal chose to stand behind you, hands slipping under your shirt and cupping your breasts as you worked. You moaned softly at his cold rings on your hot flesh, but the moan got louder as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers, lips going to your neck and sucking gently at the skin, you knew that he was going to leave marks but you were enjoying it too much to tell him to stop. You felt his teeth scrape over the marks he had just made as you started to form the dough into balls and place them on the baking sheet.

“Cal” you groaned as his hand slid down your body and into the front of your short, dipping the calloused tips of his fingers into your rapidly dampening heat, he began to rub slow circles on your clit, your knees buckled under you as you gripped the counter, but Cal took your hand, sucking your fingers clean of all the cookie dough, his mouth was warm and wet, his teeth gently bumping into your knuckles, a slight pain rapidly soothed but the gentle suck of his mouth. You imagined it must be how his cock feels in your mouth. He took your fingers from your mouth, his lips returning to your neck, biting your earlobe.

“You gonna cum? You gonna cum on nothing as my fingers grind your clit, let it drip down your leg?”

“Fuck, Cal!” you screamed, as he ground his bulge into your ass, sucking harshly on your sweet spot and moving faster against your clit, your orgasm rapidly building. “Cal, more” you needed just a little more to send you over the edge and he immediately obliged, his free hand sneaking back underneath your shirt and tuggin on your nippled, rolling it between his fingertips and that was it for you, you came with a scream, your fingers gripping on to the counter as your legs shook, Cals hand between your thighs held you up as your legs couldn’t. Your abs clenched, body lurching slightly forward as his rough fingers kept you at a high for longer than you thought you could.

“Cal, fuck, Cal” you spat out as you finally came down from your high, your breath coming in pants. Cal took his fingers from your pussy, they glistened with arousal in the low kitchen light, catching your eye, you watched his movements intensely. He reached for the cookie dough bowl, scooping the final bit of leftover dough onto his two fingers and splitting them apart, cum and cookie dough on each finger. He brought one finger to his own mouth, sucking it clean and releasing a satisfied noise before offering you his other finger which you gladly accepted. It tasted of chocolate and sugar but there was the slight tang of your cum mixed in with the uncooked ingredients.

You turned around in Cal’s arms, looking him in the eye as you felt his dick press against you, you felt the need to have him, nearly insatiable, the way his pubes tickled the tip of your nose and how soft he felt in your mouth. You held up a finger, signalling him to give you a moment as you slipped from his grasp. Grabbing the baking sheets and placing them in the intensely hot oven before turning back to your wonderfully horny boyfriend who had jumped up and was now sitting on the counter, legs spread and bulge evident as his eyes devoured every inch of you, the rapidly darkening marks on your neck that he had given you, the glisten on your thighs from where you had began to drip, god it all made him want you more. You positioned yourself between his thighs, nails scraping along his sweatpants covered thighs as you got nearer his cock. You looked up at him from between his thighs, eyeing his lip caught between his teeth, holding in moans that built in his throat. You stood up, his face covered with confusion as you tugged his lip from between his teeth.

“I wanna hear you moan, baby” you whisper, your eyes boring into his, leaning in to kiss him gently, eyelids fluttering closed as your lips meet. “Never hold back again, okay?” you hum as you fell back down so you were mouth level with his cock. You felt the heat radiating off of the warm ove, the cookies baking inside releasing a delicious smell but all you could think about was Cals cock in your mouth. You ran your hand over his bulge, a small whimper coming from the back of his throat at the tender touch. You bit him gently through the cloth, eliciting a moan from him, encouraging you to do more. You reached for his waistband hooking your fingers and pulling down, letting his cock spring free in front of you. Reaching for his hard on, you traced a gentle line up one side, following the pattern of his veins before getting to the tip, you felt as he squirmed under your touch. Without warning you took him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip before you went deeper, his tip touched the back of your throat causing you to gag, the sudden contraction of your throat around him made his hips buck upwards, cock going even further down your throat. Your fingernails dug into his hip bone as you saturated to bob your head up and down, his dick hitting the back of your throat with every downward movement.

“Fuck, Y/n you feel so good, so fucking good,” he moaned, his head falling back and hitting the cabinet, but he didn’t care, his fingers going through your hair. You felt him twitch against your tongue, alerting you to the fact that he was close to cumming. You pulled back, wiping the built up spit from around your lips and look at Calum through your eyelashes.

“I want you to cum in my pussy” you groaned.

“I want that as well” Calum hummed and just as he was slipping off the counter and grabbing your waist you jumped back.

“FUCK” you screamed making Cal freakout

“What? Are you okay? What happ-”

“The cookies!” you yell grabbing the oven mits and opening the oven, a cloud of smoke exiting the oven and tainting your vision. You reached in once you could see well enough and pulled the tray of charred treats out.

“Did you set it on fire?” Cal asked, trying to look over your shoulder.

“No, they aren’t on fire, they are just burnt to all hell,” you mumble, greatly disappointed at your failed baking endeavor, “Also it wouldn’t have just been me who set them on fire, this” you gestured between the both of you and then to the cookies “was a team effort.” Calum laughed as you set the cookies down, turning the oven off. His hands found your waist, squeezing your hips and pulling upwards signaling for you to jump, which you did.

“I can think of another team effort I want to do with you” he spoke, leaning into your lips.

“That wasn’t as hot as you thought it was but I love you anyway” you giggle, crashing your lips to his swollen pink ones. His hands on your ass, squeezing the supple flesh and holding you tight to his chest, he walked you both to your bedroom, never leaving from the fight between lips, teeth, and wandering hands.

The both of you fell onto the bed, Calum hovering over you as his lips stayed on yours, fingers slipping underneath the fabric of your shirt and pulling it up to just above your breast, as soon as the mounds of flesh were uncovered he ducked his head down and took a nipple into his mouth while you finished removing your shirt, as well as awkwardly wiggling out of your shorts, while treasuring the feeling of his lips sucking your pebbled nipples. He pulled back, taking in your naked state, his cock somehow getting even harder as he took in your swollen lips, dazed eyes, and hickey covered neck. He quickly removed his pants, leaving him in just his shirt and you couldn’t help but think of Winnie to Pooh, you giggled as his eyes looked at you to as if he was asking what was funny but instead of answering you stuck your foot out, bunching the fabric between your toes and pulling upwards, effectively removing his shirt from his body.

“I didn’t know you could do that” he mumbled as he leaned down reattaching your lips with his.

“I am full of surprises” you mumbled against his full lips. You felt his cock press between your lips, the head teasing your entrance and a moan escaped your lips. His hips eased slowly till you were hip bone to hip bone, every inch of his cock sheathed inside of you, you could practically feel his cock pulsing against your walls as you clenched around him.

“Fuck, baby, so warm and wet,” he groaned against the shell of you ear as he drew his hips back before pushing forward and into you again. It almost felt like it was too much, how his skin felt slick with sweat as his body gilded against yours, how hot his breath felt, how your walls stretched around him as he pulled in and out of you. You felt like you were on fire, every nerve in your body aware of his gentle touch as he continued to thrust, a familiar heat developing in the bottom of your belly, right where it met his, where your gentle flesh touched. Your toes curled as you dragged your nails down Calum’s back.

His hands explored your body, running up and down, feeling every curve and bump of your soft body beneath him, there was exhaustion on your tongue and the faintest taste of cookie dough. He felt your nipples rub against his chest, their hardness tugging against his taught flesh as he felt muscles in his lower belly clench.

“Baby, I’m close” he hummed, continuing to thrust in and out of you, his rate picking up ever so slightly as he felt your pussy clench around him more rapidly.

“Cum with me, Cal,” you cried as you arched your back into his chest, your fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of Cal’s neck. You felt Cal cum within you, it felt warm and in an odd way comforting, you felt closer than you had ever been. After you had both rode out your highs Cal rolled off of you, both of you in silence as you caught your breath.

As you both lay exhausted in your bed, the smell of burnt cookies still wafting throughout your house but it mostly reeked of sex now. Reaching out you intertwined your hand with Calum’s, turning your head to look at him and finding him already looking at you.

“Hold my hand and don’t let go” he said in nearly a whisper, squeezing your fingers between his.

“I'm going to have to go to the bathroom at some point, Cal” you giggled, his face mocking extreme hurt.

“Why can’t you promise me forever?” he cried dramatically, pulling you into his chest and laying on leg over both of yours so you were fully engulfed in his embrace. You laughed at his dramatic antics, enjoying simply existing with him. His fingers traced up and down your back gently soothing you into a nearly asleep state.

“Baby,” Cal whispered into your hair and you hummed in response. “We have to get ready for bed” he reminded you, pulling you up into a sitting position. You nodded your head slightly before standing up, reaching out for Cal and he grabbed your hand standing with you. You stood in front of the mirror when the dark marks on your neck caught your eye.

“CAL!!” you shouted as you spun to look at him, your hand on your neck touching the tender flesh with the tips of your fingers.

“Yes babe?” he asked sheepishly, as though he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“How am I supposed to cover these up? There are so many of them and they are so dark!” You exclaimed, slightly exasperated but also very entertained.

“I'm sure you will figure out a way” he spoke, wrapping his arms around you, continuing to look at your reflection in the mirror.

“So when can I see you again?” he grinned at you through the mirror, you turned around to meet his gaze, raising your hand and covering his eyes with your palm.

“Right now.” you giggled as you pulled your hand away causing him to laugh at your childish antics. You finished brushing your teeth in silence, Calum using the toothbrush that he kept at yours, the occasional glance to one another making you both smile widely. Once you were both ready, you wandered back to your bed, the sun peeking from beneath the curtains as you finally settled down, falling asleep in each others arms right as the world began to wake up.

Hope yall enjoyed!

@major5sosstan

#calum hood #calum hood one shot #calum hood x reader #calum #calum hood 5 seconds of summer #calum hood 5sos #calum hood smut #calum hood fluff #mae writes #5 seconds of summer #5 secs of summer #5 seconds of smut #michael 5 seconds of summer #calum 5sos #calum5sos #5sos #5secondsofsummer #5sos calum

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passivenovember · 3 years

Text

mama said to smile while I still have teeth.

(or) Post Starcourt, a very different Billy Hargrove gets his wisdom teeth removed.

In a moment of weakness and textbook junior year assholery, Steve gets his stomach ripped out and fed to him for suggesting that Billy could take the bus.

And it’s not without reason.

Hopper and Joyce have work. And Robin would ask too many questions--why the shaved head, why the ratty black hoodie and sweatpants, why the perpetual vow of silence--and the only one of the kids that has their permit is Dustin.

But Max behaves as if none of that matters. Looks at Steve as if he set the house on fire himself.

“Or you could take him.” She sneers. Like that’s somehow a good idea. “You have a car.”

“Billy wouldn’t get in a car with me even if you paid him.”

Steve doesn’t say he’d rather face a barrel of Demodogs one handed than be left alone with Billy. Would rather lick black slime off his own dick than feel those silent, cool blue eyes pouring like ice water down the ridges of his skin.

Steve wants to say it. Doesn’t. When Max starts crying. “His legs don’t work as good anymore.”

“Billy gave me a concussion.”

“He’s got gas money.” She says, voice winding tight with desperation.

And Steve despises the painful, weeping grip of her fingers when they close around his forearm. Hates that she cares so much for someone who could never care for her.

“I know it’s not much.” Max swallows thickly. “I know he used to be a piece of shit, but he’s--”

“Different.” Steve says heavily, scrubbing at his forehead. “I know.”

Billy slides into the passenger seat with a thermos in one hand and a cranberry muffin in the other and Steve isn’t used to it, the way his body seems to have deflated. Limbs cut from marianette strings, hanging limp as if gravity hasn’t quite learned what to do with them.

Billy places the muffin and the thermos on the dashboard between them, and.

Steve expects something.

A thank you, which could come later. A hello, which should come now.

Billy nods at the dashboard.

Steve jots into action. “Oh. These aren’t for you?”

Billy grunts, reaching to pass the goodies over as if Steve were incapable of doing it himself. The thermos is warm in Steve’s hand. Sturdy.

“Coffee?” He asks, jerking with surprise when Billy mutters; “Hazelnut.” In a voice as soft as feather down.

Steve waits for Billy to say something else, but.

Billy doesn’t. He just turns and peers out the passenger side window, into the gentle swell of rain that’s started to fall.

“Thanks. Thank you.” Steve says. He starts the car. Lets it warm, and.

Tries not to feel like this is the first time their bodies have had to reacquaint themselves with one another.

Tries not to marvel at how beautiful silvery thin lines can be. Running from the shell of an ear and disappearing, quick, into the hood nestled around broad shoulders.

Steve rubs his hands together, tearing his eyes away. “First time at the dentist?”

And Billy doesn’t say anything.

Never says anything, anymore, but. That doesn’t stop the conversation from feeling communal. Shared.

“I got my wisdom teeth out when I was fourteen.” Steve peers through the windshield. It’s raining harder now. “Don’t remember much about the whole thing. Mom says I tried to stop the aquarium fish from drowning. And that I had to be double belted on the way home--”

“Will it hurt?” Billy turns to look at him, and. His eyes are welling up. Cheeks and nose red, as if stung by October winds.

Billy whispers, “I wanted Max to come but she had school.”

His hand is covered by the sleeve of his hoodie, fabric scrubbing rough at the stubble along his jaw. “Did they hurt you?” Billy asks, and.

Steve doesn’t like the way he says it.

Like there really is something to be afraid of, at the core of it all. Like no one has ever considered the possibility.

“It’s not so bad.” Steve’s heart gives a painful, gripping thud. “You get a free ice pack out of the deal and decent high from the silly gas, if you’re lucky.”

Billy nods. “We’re gonna be late.”

Which. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“We’ll get you there lickety-split.” Steve pulls out of the driveway, fingers gripping the wheel when Billy places the still-warm muffin in his lap.

He sticks around for the procedure just to stop Billy from looking like he’s being dropped at his first day of kindergarten. The waiting room is bright. Warm and colorful, plush couches stocked full of overstuffed pillows. All within throwing distance of machine labeled free coffee :)

Not a bad dig, all things considered, but.

Billy says Steve doesn’t have to wait around. Doesn’t even have to come back at all. The nurse calls his name and Billy stands, shoulders lined with tension, before turning to whisper, “I’ll take the bus back to Neil’s.”

And Steve knows. Gets it.

The universe running a test. An experiment that will prove whether Steve’s really got a heart under all that chest hair.

Steve lifts his Highlights magazine. “I’m good.”

“Really?”

“Dude, It’s pouring outside,” Steve says, shaking his hair out for good measure. “I’ll just wait. In case you’re too high to function.”

Billy looks like he wants to say something else, so. Steve gives his full attention. Plans on the preverbal thank you that’ll probably never come, but. The nurse calls that name again.

Billy Hargrove.

And Billy turns to go, hands tangled in the sleeves of his hoodie.

His cheeks are swollen, like.

A chipmunk.

Stuffed full of little cotton pads that could be acorns. That are acorns, Billy insists, when the nurse brings Steve back to the operation room. He’s parked on the dentist bench. Curled into a ball with a thumb in his mouth when Steve rounds the corner.

“Steve,” Billy says thickly. “They took my teeth out but I have acorns.” He reaches across the space between them, fingers grasping Steve’s wrist tightly.

Too tight, but.

Steve can’t bring himself to care when the nurse says, “Billy, take your thumb out of you mouth.”

And Billy says. “I need to suck on something cold.” He pulls Steve right up to the edge of the bench, sitting with a serious glint in his eye. “Our acorns will be good for winter, right?”

He sways, nearly falling off the leather table, so.

Steve grasps his shoulder. Puts him back in place. “Probably? I don’t think acorns go bad.”

“We gotta make sure, ‘cause I don’t want you to starve.” Billy slurs, dropping to dead weigh when the nurse gets an arm underneath him and asks Steve to get the kid on his feet.

Billy lands somewhere against Steve’s ribs, swaying dramatically as bright red drool slides over his chin.

The nurse swears under her breath, going at it with a towel.

Billy swats her hand away. He staggers as Steve thanks the nurse and leads them into the waiting room.

“You’re so pretty, Stever.” Billy reaches out again, fingertips poking Steve’s eyelid. “Can’t starve for the winter. Gotta get pretty boys their acorns--”

“Stop poking me--”

“Acorn soup.” Billy sings. “Acorn pie and casserole and lollipops covered in sugar.”

Steve manages to get the doors open with zero help from Billy, chuckling as warm, soft palms circle around his shoulder blades.

They’re hugging.

In the rain.

At the dentist’s office.

Steve hugs back, squawking when Billy’s nose brushes against his heartbeat. “C’mon, dude, we gotta--”

“Will you carry me, Stever?”

“No.” Steve says, manhandling Billy from his chest to his ribcage, determined to make it across the lot in one piece. “You’re solid muscle, there’s no way I could carry you.”

Billy makes a noise, pretty pink lips forming a pout when Steve looks over at him.

“I got all the acorns ready for winter and you can’t carry me to the car?” Billy grumbles, leaning against the side of the Beamer while Steve gets his key into the lock.

Steve untangles himself from the arms that fold around his waist. “Billy--”

“You smell like grass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, like sweet grass.” Billy cackles, doubling over at his own joke, and. Pulling Steve down with him. “Sweet ass, right?”

“You’re insane.” Steve whispers, somehow out of breath from. The hands on his neck. He let’s Billy pet through his hair and then Steve yanks on the door handle, opening it, like, “Alright. Get in.”

Billy has more blood on his face. “Wanna sit with you.”

“We will.”

“Can I lay on your chest?”

Steve’s face hurts from smiling. “You won’t fit.”

“I could!” Billy whimpers, jerking away from Steve as he tries to get the blood off his chin. “I could be like a kitty cat--”

“Would you just--” Steve gets his hands on him, wiping at Billy’s mouth with his thumb. “Hold still, alright?”

“Alright.” Billy kisses Steve’s finger. Chaste and quick, gone before either really know what’s happening. Those blue eyes pull Steve in, drink him down. “How come you’re so pretty?” Billy asks.

And. “Dunno,” Steve says, sounding just as out of breath as he feels. Like they’ve been running laps, and.

Steve thinks maybe they have.

All around Hawkins. Through the years. Past each other.

Billy holds still under the weight of ten fingers before frowning. Sticking his little swollen lip out. “Can we go home now?”

Steve backs away, gripping the edge of the door. “Sure.”

“Not to Neil’s,” Billy mutters to himself, leaning into the leather seat when Steve gets his limbs folded into the car. He cranes his head, eyes huge and watery. “Can I hang out with you?”

Steve moves to close the door. “Sure.”

Billy stops him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, Billy.”

“Then why are you trying to close the door?” Billy demands, peering through narrowed eyes.

Steve chuckles at that, squeezing the fingers that curl into the palm of his hand. “We gotta close the door so we can drive the car back to my house.”

Billy yanks his hand away. “Your house.” He says, as if tasting the words on his tongue.

Steve nods. “Do you want to go to my house?”

“Do you have macaroni and cheese?”

“Yeah, I can.” Steve wills himself to stop smiling. “I can make some after you take a nap.”

Billy stops the door from closing again. “I’ll be cold if I try to sleep.”

And he says it like.

No one’s ever believed him. Billy speaks with an anchor in his voice, the weight of it pulling Steve in. Forward, until he understands.

Steve grips the edge of the door.

Nods. Let’s Billy know that there are ways around it.

Billy’s crying, and. Steve doesn’t want to see him cry anymore. Every again. They’ve been through too much. He takes Billy’s hand and squeezes tight, smiling softly when cool blue eyes peer up at him.

“Then we can eat macaroni and watch T.V.--”

“We can?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “And when you’re ready to go home I’ll take you. Keep you safe.”

He moves to close the door, chucking when a firm, sure hand holds it in place.

Billy stares at him. “What if I never wanna go home again?”

Steve thinks about it, tapping his knuckles on the hood of the car. He shrugs. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Billy says.

This time, when the door is closed, Steve runs to the other side. Not wanting to miss a single moment.

#harrigrove #they’re getting fluff and then a shit load of angst #and then more fluff #love my babies #wisdom teeth

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trash-writings · 3 years

Text

See You Then

Nanami x Fem!Reader x Aizawa

Another commission. If you're interested in commissioning me, send me a message!

Summary: Your boyfriends surprise you for your birthday. (this is not set in either jjk or bnha, just some fun smut).

Warnings: Fem!Reader, nipple play, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), vaginal sex, anal sex, double penetration, one (1) spank to the ass, daddy (aizawa) and sir (nanami) kink, pet names used: bunny, baby, and brat (let me know if I missed any!!)

Word count: 3k

Something was off. You knew there was just something not completely right whenever you got home, but you are still struggling to place it. It’s like an itch that you can’t scratch, constant irritation and burning while you desperately try to dig your nails into it to no avail. You set your bag down, letting it rest on the recliner adjacent to your couch.

Whatever it is, you’re sure it’s probably nothing serious. Nothing looks like your apartment had been broken into or anything stolen. Shaking your head to clear any intrusive thoughts, you open your bedroom door and find a large black gift box laid across your bed. It has a bright red ribbon wrapped around it, the stark contrast between the colors almost comically sinful. The ribbon is silky to the touch, and you almost don’t want to open it since it’s wrapped so perfectly.

Inside the box, a dark blue lingerie set with a matching blindfold sits perfectly laid out with a white rose on top. You can’t help but giggle. Whether it’s with excitement or at the absurdity of the grand way this has been placed, you’re not sure. A small note is tucked between the rose and blindfold. Picking it up, you open it to find it’s from Aizawa and Nanami.

We’ll be home at 8. See you then, love.

Checking your phone, you see you have just over two hours before they’ll be here. Your feeling was right, something is definitely up here. With your time, you decide a quick shower and time to get ready is needed, even indulging in a new sugar scrub you hadn’t had time to try out in the last few days. You had ordered a box of new self-care products since your birthday is… well, tomorrow.

This is the first year you’ve ever had someone, let alone two someones, surprise you with something so intimate. Your cheeks are starting to hurt from the permanent grin on your cheeks since opening the box, so you try and relax while applying some moisturizer after your shower.

As you slip on the lace lingerie, you can’t help but stand in front of the mirror for an extra moment or two, enjoying the way the fabric hugs your body as if it were crafted just for you. You slip on a black robe over the revealing material and tie the sash tightly to feel secure.

The urge to text one or both of them is strong, even checking if you have any messages from them every few minutes. Only an hour left before they’re home. You wish they had given you at least a little more instruction. Are you supposed to put the blindfold on now and sit with your thoughts for an hour? Should you stay in your room or go sit on the couch to wait?

Even now, you’re lost in all these uncertainties about what you should or shouldn’t be doing. Yet, a part of you knows it doesn’t matter. Both of them are happy to serve you, always following your lead and making you their priority. Whatever you choose to do before the time given, and as long as you slip on the blindfold, you know it’ll be worth the waiting and one hell of a surprise.

Deciding the bed is the best place to wait, you untie the rope, letting it hang open while you sit at the bottom of the bed, legs hanging off the edge. The blindfold reminds you of Nanami’s friend, whose name you can’t quite place at the moment. It feels soft against your skin, and not too tight which you had worried about. It doesn’t completely blackout everything in the room, you notice as you look around. It does just enough to leave some mystery behind the shadows you can just barely make out.

The clicking of the lock from your front door makes you turn your head towards your bedroom door. Your stomach turns with excitement, and every hair on your arms seems to be standing at attention as goosebumps spread. Quiet shuffling, and words you can’t quite make out make it harder to stay still.

As the door to your room swings open, you dig your fingers into the edge of the bed, trying your best not to lift the mask and jump on the two figures you can make out through the blindfold.

“Kento, would you look at that,” Aizawa’s voice makes you smile. “Our girl is so good for us.”

“She really is,” Nanami starts to move from your line of sight. You feel the bed dip, and his slender fingers caress your shoulders. You melt back against him and whimper. “Happy birthday sweetheart,” he kisses the base of your neck.

Part of you wants to correct that it’s not technically your birthday until tomorrow, but the other part is screaming at you to shut up and just be good. You’ll let that part win tonight.

Another set of hands caress your thighs, rougher than Nanami’s but thicker fingers. Aizawa’s hands always make your body react in some way as if they have magnets inside forcing your body to pull towards him. His thumb and fingers squeeze your skin, making you gasp as they move up your thighs.

“Since you’re being so good, we thought you’d like some extra attention tonight,” Aizawa tells you, his breath dangerously close to your core.

If you could squirm, you would. But with Nanami behind you and massaging your shoulders and Aizawa between your thighs, you know there’s no way you’d be able to move without them holding you still. They’re not touching you in any way that’s extraordinary, but every fluid motion of their fingers on your skin makes your body heat rise and your panties wet.

“What do you think Shouta, is she ready now?” Nanami asks from behind you.

Something about the way they don’t directly address you, even while touching you so sensually, is driving you nuts. You want to beg them to fuck you now, but something else deep inside of you is telling you to wait. They must have something planned, the way they are working together so seamlessly to work you up with such little attention proves that.

“I think she isn’t quite warmed up, what do you think?” Aizawa’s fingers softly drag over the lace of the lingerie covering your clit. You moan, pushing your hips forward and he laughs. “I think she wants something.”

“Go on, tell us what you want baby girl.” Nanami coos in your ear, while his hands slide down your chest and begin massaging your breasts.

“Want you both,” you moan as his thumbs flick over your nipples.

“That’s not very specific, sweetheart. Tell daddy what you want him to do.” Aizawa presses his fingers harder against your clit and you gasp. “How can we know what you want unless you tell us?”

“Daddy,” you whimper as he presses harder on your clit. “Want you to eat me out.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your throbbing core. Pulling your panties to the side his warm tongue licks up your folds once, stopping and swirling around your clit. You let out a loud cry, excited to finally have what you wanted so desperately between your thighs.

“What about me baby? Tell me what you want too,” Nanami cooks between soft kisses on your neck.

His fingers focus on pinching your nipples and tugging lightly. Between this and Aizawa’s tongue, you’re having trouble thinking straight, let alone trying to come up with something to tell Nanami.

“You, Sir.” You gasp out and whine when he pinches your nipples harder.

“That’s not a good answer, brat.”

“Kiss me!” You answer quickly, your words breathy and desperate.

Aizawa’s tongue teases around your entrance, his hands pulling your ass nearly off the bed while he buries your face between your thighs. Nanami doesn’t waste any time, taking full advantage of you now laying against his chest. He tilts your head up, his lips pressing to yours and moving roughly. You part your lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth as one hand comes up to wrap around your throat.

You moan against his mouth as Aizawa pushes two fingers inside of you, scissoring them to stretch your hole. You buck your hips once and he holds you down, sucking hard at your clit. You pull away from Nanami’s kiss, breathless and panting.

“C-close,” you moan out before Nanami shoves his tongue in your mouth again.

His free hand pulling your lace bra down and exposing them to him. Releasing your neck and lips he lays you across his lap. You hear the unbuckling of his pants, then your head is turned by his hand and your lips are met with the soft skin of the head of his cock and a wet drop of precum.

“No cumming until we tell you, sweetheart,” you hear Aizawa tell you as Nanami’s cock pushes in your mouth.

He groans as your tongue swirls around the head. Aizawa’s fingers pull out of your cunt, and you whine, making Nanami groan louder. He holds your head guiding you to suck him off while you feel Aizawa’s cock prodding at your wet entrance.

“Better get my cock nice and wet, baby.” Nanami says in a deep tone. “that way it’s nice and easy to stretch your tight little asshole.”

You clench around Aizawa’s cock as he pushes inside, the thought of finally being filled in both holes making it harder for you to contain the orgasm that’s threatening to ravish your body. It’s overwhelming already, and the blindfold is starting to slip up off your eyes and onto your forehead. You can barely make out the dark blue shirt Nanami is wearing as the fabric pushes against your nose and you choke on his cock.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” he groans.

“She’s so perfect,” Aizawa comments while thrusting inside of you roughly and making you whimper. “Our perfect little bunny.”

It’s too much to hold back now, you cum around Aizawa’s cock without permission. Your toes curl and your eyes water. Tear stains on the blindfold only grow while Nanami fucks your mouth through your orgasm. Aizawa doesn’t stop either, his rough pace only picking up and making you shake.

“Bad girl,” he coos. “Cumming around my cock without asking. Who gave you permission?”

Nanami pulls his cock out of your mouth and slides the blindfold off your eyes. You look up, his normally stern face softer and smiling at you while he strokes your head and cheek.

“Are you ready?” He asks you softly, and Aizawa slows down until he’s stilling inside of you. “You have to tell us if you are.”

“Don’t feel pressured either, baby. We only want to make you feel good.” Aizawa tells you, his hand stroking your thigh softly.

“Just tell me what position you need me in,” you joke looking at them both.

Aizawa pulls out of you and laughs as you pout. “Do you want us to position you or not?”

“Brat,” Nanami teases while standing you up at the end of the bed before sitting where you had once been. “You have to tell us when to stop or slow down, okay bunny?” He kisses your back gently.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” Aizawa kisses your lips softly while backing you up between Nanami’s thighs.

Nanami sucks on his middle and forefingers before slowly pumping them into your asshole. You whine and squeeze Aizawa’s arms while he holds you still. He spreads his fingers, prepping you for his cock while you stroke Aizawa’s cock in front of you.

“Sir, please,” you moan.

He pulls his fingers out, pulling you down by your hips and sinking you down on his cock. The stretch burns before feeling unbelievable as you roll your hips. He lets you set the pace at first, holding your hips while you ride him.

“You love his cock, don’t you baby?” Aizawa coos, kissing your foreword and reaching down between your thighs to toy with your clit. “Of course, you do. You’re soaking wet.”

“W-want you too,” you rasp as Nanami begins to thrust up into you. “Please daddy!”

“I love watching you beg for more,” he smiles.

Nanami leans you back against him, giving Aizawa access to your cunt while he holds you still. Aizawa pressing inside of you is nearly enough to make you cum again, nearly. You can’t help but close your eyes and let out a lewd sound as you’re filled completely. They alternate thrusting inside of you, their pacing almost too perfect and leaving you never wanting.

Nanami’s grip on your hips is tight, and you can’t help but imagine the pretty purple bruises that’ll grace your skin in the morning, if not a few hours from now. Aizawa sucks on your nipple, the other being assaulted by his strong fingers pinching and massaging.

Each thrust of their cocks is intense, Aizawa’s hitting your cervix, and Nanami incredibly deep in your ass is overwhelming.

No, it’s ethereal.

A sharp smack to your ass from Nanami’s hand makes you yelp, and he laughs. You feel yourself reaching your second orgasm, the threads threatening to snap inside of you. The way their cocks throb inside of you makes you aware that they are incredibly close too. If you cum, they might too.

Aizawa releasing your nipple and rubbing circles against your clit sends you over, you cum crying out a slur of curse words and words you can’t quite make out. They both stop inside of you, leaving you completely full as you clench around their cocks.

“Fuck, fuck,” Nanami curses before releasing inside of you, cum dripping out of your ass and around his cock.

You have no time to breathe, Aizawa pounding inside of you a few times before he cums as well. He’s rougher, fucking you through his orgasm and leaving you breathless. They hold you still, everyone breathing slowly and recovering.

Aizawa pulls out first, kissing your forehead and disappearing to your bathroom. Nanami lifts you up gently, sitting you down on the bed and ribbing your arm to soothe you.

“You did so well, bunny. We’re so proud of you.” He kisses the back of your shoulders, continuing to rub your shoulder and arm.

Aizawa bends down in front of you, smiling at you. “Feeling okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, tired and not wanting to use the energy to speak just yet.

“Can I clean you up?” He holds up a damp washcloth and you nod again.

He gently lifts your leg up and wipes you clean while softly rubbing your leg. He doesn’t take too long, letting you recover and relax on the bed. He sits beside you, pulling your head onto his lap so he can comfort you along with Nanami before you’re ready to move. Your body is tired, but your mind is still buzzing; making it easier for you to snap back quickly.

“Okay, I’m good now.” You tell them both giggling. “That was amazing,” you laugh louder.

They both laugh, getting off the bed. Nanami leaves the room, heading towards the kitchen and you raise an eyebrow to Aizawa.

“Kento is going to go start a late dinner. I’m going to treat you to a nice bath first, though.” He Pulls you up by your hands and helps you to the bathroom.

You hadn’t noticed the water running before, but you see the tub is nearly full when you get inside. Aizawa helps you out of the lingerie set, tossing it into a laundry basket before setting you in the hot water. He gets in behind you, letting you lay against his chest while he holds you.

“What is Kento making?” You ask with a giggle.

“Oh, not interested in my bath?” He teases and you smack his arm. “I think he’s making some pasta you like; I can’t remember if I’m honest. I just picked out the cake.”

“There’s a cake?!” You sit up, turning to look at him.

“Of course, there’s a cake! It’s your damn birthday, brat.” He kisses your nose, and your smile laying back on him.

As you relax you begin to smell the food from the kitchen wafting into the bathroom. Your stomach growls, and Aizawa laughs.

“Let’s get out now then,” he helps you out and dries you off before leaving you to get dressed.

He leaves your bedroom while you’re dressing, helping Nanami in the kitchen. As you peer out the bedroom into your kitchen beyond the living room, you can’t help but wonder how you got so lucky to not only have one but two perfect boyfriends.

“----?” Nanami calls your name, eyes bright and a smile on his face. “Dinner is ready.”

“Get in here, brat,” Aizawa adds while setting the table.

You giggle skipping to the dining table to join them.

#jjk smut #bnha smut #nanami kento smut #aizawa shouta smut

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romanoffswifey · 3 years

Text

Point Blank Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha struggles to deal with the aftermath of that night, and life still has a few surprises left to throw at her.

Contents/Warnings: mentions of serious injury, some angst (but don’t worry too much)

Words: 2,280

AN - As promised here is the second part to Point Blank. I’m so sorry that it took me so long to get this out (uni came along and kicked me in the head) but I hope that you still enjoy it

PART 1

Natasha stares into the bathroom mirror, barely recognising the woman who gazes blankly back at her. All bloodshot eyes and puffy eyelids, her face red and blotchy as loose strands of hair cling to the slightly damp trails that mar her cheeks.

She swallows thickly against the soreness of her throat and raises a shaky hand to her reflection. The skin of her fingers raw from where she had scrubbed at them. As if she could simply wash away the feeling of your blood on her hands.

You had started to feel so cold when Steve had finally pried you from her arms, he and Tony quickly rushing your limp form from the room. Leaving her frozen there. Watching as her world imploded around her, haunted by the knowledge that she’d been the one to cause it.

The muscles in her jaw and hands clench as realisation washes over her again. Her vision blurs as tears well in her eyes, and she draws back her fist, letting out a grief stricken roar as she slams it into the wall in front of her.

She has no idea how long she stays there, weeping quietly, before Wanda’s hands wrap around her arm. Gently taking her hand away from the web of cracks she’d just created and pushing it under the stream of water once more.

The redhead tenses when she’s led back into the main part of the room. A wave of nausea hitting her as she catches a glimpse at just how much of your blood now stains the bed sheets.

The younger woman notices her reaction and hurriedly guides her down the hallway to her own room, knowing that the redhead wasn’t going to stay in your shared room any longer but certainly not trusting her to be in her spare room alone.

Natasha spends the rest of the night laying awake next to the brunette. Staring at the ceiling as silent tears run down her face, as every time she closes her eyes she’s back there. Reliving that moment over and over again.

Morning comes, and a small part of Natasha is glad for Wanda’s grounding presence as Tony leads the pair to the labs. A warm hand on her shoulder helps to calm her when he begins to place machinery around her head, the billionaire hoping to discover the cause of her actions.

It turned out that when she was separated from the team during your last mission, she had actually been captured by a set of Hydra operatives. The agents deciding to try out their latest form of brainwashing on her. A type of subliminal suggestion.

Clearly they had underestimated her skill as she had put up one hell of a fight, even while under the influence of whatever they had given her. This, combined with the approaching battle from the rest of the avengers, meant they had been forced to let her go before they were finished. Only managing to implant a small piece of their directive into her mind.

But a piece is all they had needed.

To take out even one avenger would be a win for Hydra, and you were the obvious target. Your relationship with Natasha meant that it was normal for you to be in close proximity with each other and for you to have your guard down around her. All she had to do was stick by your side as usual and the programing would kick in and do the rest.

This knowledge did nothing to lessen the pain and the guilt that filled her. Did nothing to change the fact that she had been the one to pull the trigger.

She can’t stand the looks of sympathy that the others keep throwing her and the way they don’t seem to hold her accountable. So she avoids them. Choosing to forgo team meals and quickly dismissing their offers of company.

But she doesn’t go down to see you either. She thinks whatever is left of her heart would crumble if she saw you now. How could she sit next to your bedside when she was the one who put you there in the first place? She’s not sure you would even want her there if she did.

Over the last 5 years you had provided her with everything she had searched for her whole life. Giving her all your love and support, and helping her believe that she was deserving of it. She felt like she was where she belonged when she was with you, like she had found her home. You were the only person she’d ever had the desire to spend the rest of her life with, and she had repaid you by putting a bullet in you.

When the day drags into evening Wanda gets fed up with watching her self destruction and puts her foot down. The Sokovian forcing the redhead to get something to eat or drink before she makes herself sick.

Natasha now sits quietly at the kitchen table, her dull eyes fixed on the grain of the wood as Wanda busies herself off to the side. The sound of bubbling fills the silence followed shortly by the clanking of metal on ceramic.

Careful hands come to adjust the blanket around her shoulders, and a mug is placed in front of her. The scent and colour tell her what it is immediately; Yorkshire tea, milk, two sugars. Your hot beverage of choice.

She finds it laughable that she should seek comfort from your favourite drink while you could be fighting for your life right now. And yet, some traitorous part of her still does. The familiarity of it ghosting soothingly over the ache in her chest.

Her gaze remains drawn to the rising steam but she’s aware of the way Wanda moves to join a couple of people by the door. A small hint of anger flaring within her as she registers the happiness in their hushed tones. Her annoyance grows after she hears only two sets of footsteps walk down the hall. Leaving her with the feeling of being watched by whoever stayed.

“You know, I was a bit upset that you didn’t come and visit me at first.” Natasha’s head snaps up at your voice. “But then I realised that you’re probably stuck in that beautiful ginger head of yours.”

“How?” is all she manages to rasp. Gaping at you as you stand leaning on the doorframe like nothing had happened.

You walk over to her, not missing the rough quality of her voice or the way she still squints slightly against the soft light of the room. Your heart twinges at how small and broken she looks as she sits there.

Green eyes watch intently as you kneel in front of her and pick up the tea, humming at the taste as you take a sip, then blowing gently over the brim before offering it to the other woman. Your lips quirk into a small smile when her fingers brush over your own as she takes it from you.

Natasha has to admit that it does feel nice against the scratchiness of her throat.

“How are you up here right now?” she asks a bit easier this time, setting the tea back down and hesitantly reaching out for your hand.

“Well, it turns out that enhanced physiology and the best medical treatment a billionaire can buy are very useful when you get shot,” you explain with a half-smile. “In fact, they said that I'll be perfectly fine and left with minimal scarring.”

You place a kiss on the back of her hand and push it under your jumper, guiding it up towards the tender spot at the top of your abdomen. “See, it’s not that bad.”

Through the bandages and the gauze that lay across your skin, the redhead can feel a small rough patch. It’s barely bigger than her finger tip. But she still frowns as she traces over it.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes, dropping both her gaze and her hand, “I’m so sorry.”

Your brows furrow this time. “What have you got to be sorry for, dorogoy?”

“I did this to you, Y/N. I was supposed to protect you and I shot you! You should hate me! You should want nothing to do with me, not be sat here calling me darling!”

“Hey, look at me.” Her teary eyes reluctantly meet your own as you cup her face. “Hydra did this to me, not you. We both know how their brand of mental warfare works and I’m not going to let you torture yourself over it. I love you too much for that.”

“But I still hurt you. I could have done something to stop it and I let you down,” she argues.

“No you didn’t. You tried to fight it. You knew that something wasn’t right and tried to warn me.” You let out a huff of amusement. “Even subconsciously you did try to protect me, just like you always do.”

Her eyes become more focused and her ragged breathing slows down, showing that she was listening to what you said.

Natasha stands and you follow suit, watching quietly as she studies you for a moment before pulling you into a fierce hug. She buries her face in the crook of your neck while her fingers dig into the thick knit of your jump, clutching at you tightly as she breathes in your scent. She sighs softly as you begin to rub comforting circles across her back.

The pair of you stay like that for a few minutes, just enjoying the embrace. Glad to be back in the other's arms once more.

When she pulls back, you bring your left hand up to caress her face and a small glint catches her eye. The Russian finally noticing the ring you’re wearing.

“You found it,” she murmurs as she runs her finger along the metal band.

You flash her a sheepish smile. “It was an accident I swear. And in my defence, for a super spy you do sometimes pick terrible hiding places.”

The place she had chosen to hide it was not the best, she had to give you that, but at the time she was kind of freaking out. She had known for a while that you were the only person she wanted to be with but the actual purchasing of the engagement ring had been a spur of the moment decision, and once she’d returned to the compound the panic had set in.

Despite the fact she had long since learnt that everything the Red Room had spouted about love was a lie, she couldn’t help the hint of fear that rose in her at what her desires meant. What that ring represented. And then there was the worry that you wouldn’t actually want to spend the rest of your life with her. Even though you had been with her for so long already. After everything that had happened recently, the latter of her fears only seemed to grow.

She looks away, nervously picking at the edge of the blanket as she voices her thoughts. “Would you even want to?”

“Would I want to what?” you ask, biting the inside of your lip to keep from smiling as you try your hardest to play dumb.

Her eyes flick back to yours. “Would you want to...get married?” she trails off quietly, finally saying the words you were waiting for.

A bright grin appears on your face, and she can’t help the way her own lips tug upwards as she rests her forehead against yours.

“Of course I want to get married, moya lyubov.” You bump your noses together playfully. “Though, I’ll only do it on one condition.”

Natasha hides the flash of panic that runs through her. She’s not entirely sure she can cope with any more emotional turmoil.

You pull away slightly so you can reach into your pocket, pulling out a small velvet box that you hold up in front of you. When you open the lid the redhead lets out a little gasp at its contents. “That condition being that you, Natalia Romanova, would be my wife.”

For the first time that day the tears that well in her eyes are ones of joy.

Placing one hand over the ring you’re holding and winding the other around the back of your neck, she pulls you into a bruising kiss. The passion behind it makes you weak in the knees and you can’t help the moan that escapes as her tongue pushes into your mouth, brushing over yours in a way that has no business feeling as good as it does.

After a while she releases your lips with a soft pop, leaving you both breathless and not quite able to open your eyes just yet. You can still feel her smirk though.

“I take it that’s a yes then,” you murmur against her lips.

She chuckles and responds by drawing you into another kiss.

Later, once you’ve made sure she’s eaten properly and she’s helped you with a very relaxing bath; you lay in bed together. Natasha wrapped around you protectively while you read a dog eared copy of your favorite book.

She hums contentedly into the side of your neck as she presses herself closer to you. Her smile widens when she glances down to where you’re absentmindedly playing with her fingers. Knowing that soon you won’t only have each other’s hearts, but each other’s names as well.

Natasha L/N-Romanoff had a nice ring to it, and she has a feeling it’s the one that she’s finally going to keep.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #marvel imagine #avengers x reader #marvel

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

if i could keep cool | 1

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

You’d been alone inside Shouto Todoroki’s apartment when the villain attacked.

In your defense, you were supposed to be there. Twice a week, for three hours apiece, you turned up to clean the place, dusting, remaking his bed, and scrubbing down the modern kitchen surfaces that you were fairly certain were going unused in the first place.

You weren’t actually supposed to know who owned the high rise, but the personal effects he kept around hardly made any secret of it--a few simply framed photographs of him with his siblings and his friends at school dotted the shelves in the living room, crates of fan mail were often delivered to his door during your shifts, and you’d seen his hero costume dumped in a hamper on more than one occasion.

You’d been excited to find this out at first, as you were just as much a hero fan as the next girl--particularly heroes who were as handsome and infinitely memeable as Todoroki--but you’d tamped down on your enthusiasm in order to keep things professional. It would kind of suck to be a celebrity and find out that some rando fan let themselves into your apartment on the regular and could help themselves to your stuff if they really wanted to.

You had almost considered asking your manager for reassignment when you’d first figured out just whose apartment you were cleaning, in order to keep things purely professional, but Todoroki’s schedule worked well with your own class schedule, and the money didn’t hurt either. The tips either he or his manager left for you were pretty hefty, and it was nice to treat yourself to groceries that weren’t ramen. He was keeping you in fresh vegetables and a Netflix subscription, so in the end you didn’t ask for reassignment--you were a college student, not a saint.

In retrospect, though, maybe you should have. Because one afternoon in late September, the large wall of windows that looked out into the city shattered with violent force, and a huge figure landed in the living room, glass crunching underneath their heavy boots.

You’d just barely managed to catch sight of a wicked looking scar twisting half of the villain’s face before you’d thrown yourself behind the kitchen island you’d been wiping down, landing heavily on your shoulder. That hadn’t saved you, though. You’d been hauled out across the scattered glass, the shards scraping through your clothes to tear at your back and elbows, and looked up into the face of the furious-looking man.

You hadn’t had time to scream, or beg for your life, or whatever other insanely embarrassing thing you might have done, before a fist connected with the base of your skull, and you were falling into darkness, the man’s features and the clean lines of the apartment around you slipping into black.

Now, you awoke in the dark, a musty scent like dust and slow decay pressing into your nose like a heavy rag. Your eyes flickered open, but the world seemed just as dark as behind your eyelids. In the dim, you could just barely make out cement floors studded with dirt and debris, and gaping cutouts in the wall across from you, pitch black with shadow. They were rectangular in shape, and huge--truck ports, maybe? Were you in a warehouse?

You made to move, but something tugged at your wrists, and you realized with a growing sense of horror that your arms were bound behind your back with rough rope, looped through slats in the chair you’d awoken in. Your head whipped up, and the back of your neck screamed in protest, sore from what had likely been hours of you lolling unconscious.

The thin, wavering sound of something like a radio static filtered from somewhere over your shoulder, and you could just make out low tones of a radio broadcaster: “Pro hero Shouto Todoroki’s apartment was broken into early this afternoon...the perpetrator of the crime is still at large…”

That’s right--Todoroki’s apartment. Your heartbeat instantly kicked into high gear. Where were you? Why were you here? Who was that man in Todoroki’s apartment? Had he taken you here? But why?

A boot crunched in the dirt behind you and you stiffened.

“Awake now?” a voice spat, laced with pure malice. The tone sent shivers down your spine.

The pair of boots crunched towards you, rounding the edge of your chair until you could look up into the face of the villain from before, the man with the horrible scar. It twisted and warped the skin over half of his face, the flesh melted into itself like he’d been held down against a hot stove. An equally horrible grin cut into the harsh line of his mouth.

“Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?” you demanded. Your voice came out high and quavery, and you could have cringed at how absolutely terrified you sounded.

He raised an eyebrow like you’d just asked the dumbest series of questions he’d ever heard.

“Oh, I think you know why you’re here,” he sneered. His eyes were dark, almost black in the gloom of the warehouse.

A twisting wave of frustration washed over you. No you didn’t know why you were here. You’d been wiping down a fucking counter one minute and the next you’d woken up in some creepy warehouse with no idea of where in the world you might be.

“I don’t,” you said, frustrated. “Please, I don’t have any money. Whatever you want, I can’t get it to you.”

He stared down at you impassively, the radio static crackling in the background. “I don’t want money, you fucking brat. I want revenge.”

You stared at him. Revenge? You’d never even met this guy before, what the hell could you have possibly done to him that he would need revenge on you? The extent of your crimes against anyone, as far as you knew, only included arguing with people on twitter and once--drunk at a bar--peeing in the men’s room before you realized it wasn’t the ladies’ toilet. Gender was a social construct, anyway. It wasn’t that bad.

Your blank look seemed to irritate him, and he placed a booted foot on yours, deliberately grinding his heel down on your toes until you felt your bones creak. You bit down on a yelp.

“Don’t play stupid, you little shit. I know he’ll come for you.”

What? Who would come for you?

The radio signal seemed to catch again, and the newscaster’s stately voice reported from over your shoulder. “--Hero Commission received a message from the villain that they are holding Todoroki’s secret lover hostage. We’ve received comment from a PR representative at the Todoroki agency--”

Your stomach dropped in horror as you considered the smug expression that twisted the villain’s face. Oh no.

No.

No way.

Did he think you….?

Dread coiled into a hard pit in your gut. Oh, you were so absolutely fucked. Shouto Todoroki had never so much as heard of you, nevermind invited you into his bed. As far as you could tell, he had no current lover, as his apartment had only ever evidenced the single occupant.

He’d been linked in the media to a couple models and an actress, but it seemed unclear if that was any more than speculation. In the year you’d worked at the cleaning service, there’d never been anything like an extra toothbrush or an abandoned pair of underwear to give away another person’s presence, though you had sometimes seen evidence of his friends; things like a forgotten All Might sweatshirt that clearly belonged to notorious fan boy and current number one hero Deku, or a neatly prepared container of soup you’d seen in the fridge once with a note that read eat this you fucking fuck and if you get me sick I’ll kill you that you strongly suspected came from the foul-mouthed hero Ground Zero.

So unless those were to be taken as signs of a blossoming romance, there was nothing that strongly hinted at the presence of a lover.

You were frankly flabbergasted that this villain had assumed, just because you’d been alone in his apartment at the time, that you of all people could have been that to him.

And you were even more concerned now, as there was absolutely no way Shouto Todoroki was going to come haring in to save someone who did not exist.

What was the villain going to do when he realized that no one was coming for you? Or worse, when he realized you were no one to anyone, and your presence would hardly be missed? Was it better to try and clear up the misunderstanding now? What would he do when the dots connected?

The villain smirked, mistaking your horror. “That’s right, brat. He was supposed to be there, but you'll do just as well. He’ll come for you, and when he does, I’m going to do to him exactly what he did to me.” He gestured to the scarred side of his face and you winced.

So it hadn’t been a hot stove.

“I think you have it wrong,” you said a little desperately. “I’m not--I don’t even know Todoroki. I’m a cleaning lady.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nice try. I’ll just let you walk free then, shall I?”

Your fingers dug into the rope behind your back. “Um, ideally, yes.”

He bit out a harsh laugh, that horrible smile cutting into his features again, and knelt down in front of you. He was close, too close, and you could smell something sour on his breath.

“I’ve just had a better idea,” he said, leaning into you. “What if I do to his precious lover what he did to me? Your face can be the last thing I let him see before I kill him.”

Your stomach turned and you forced yourself as far back in your chair as you could get. Oh fuck. “No, please, you have to listen!” Your voice was growing higher as you spoke. “I don’t know him. I’m his fucking cleaning service. You can call them and ask--just ask!”

The villain didn’t listen, digging around in the inner pocket of his jacket for something. “No skin off my nose if you are or aren’t. But I think we both know you aren’t.”

You could feel your heart climb into your throat as he pulled out a lighter and a small, metal can that smelled sharply of gasoline. Lighter fluid? You started struggling wildly in your bonds, feet straining against the floor to push your chair back from him.

He let out another laugh, uncapping the fluid. The acrid smell sharpened, burning in your nose. The radio let out another burst of static in the background, a high whine that set your teeth even more on edge.

“I’ll let you pick the side, brat,” the villain said, smiling.

“I pick neither,” you managed around the lump in your throat. Your eyes were locked on the can of lighter fluid, like you could will it away from you with the sheer force of your panic alone.

The villain scowled. “Be difficult then,” he said, and moved to pour it over you anyway. You felt the first splash of fluid on your cheek and closed your eyes. That acrid smell got stronger, and the villain let out an excited breath.

Then the wall blew out.

A wall of freezing air rushed over you and the can of fluid dropped from the villain’s grasp, spilling sloppily down your clothes, before clattering to the floor. The villain swore and whirled, grabbing a fistful of your hair and wrenching your head back. You peeked open an eye.

A huge slab of ice had blown open the side of the building, and the silhouette of a man was outlined against the evening sky. It was hard to make out his features in the dim light, but that mop of red and white hair was so distinctive, you would know it anywhere.

A shivery frisson of relief went down your spine at the sight of a familiar figure, but confusion mounted in the back of your brain.

What the hell was Shouto Todoroki doing here?

There was a flinty noise and then a small flame flickered in the corner of your eye. You stiffened--the lighter was still in the villain’s hand, and you were entirely covered in lighter fluid.

“So nice to see you again, Todoroki. Any last words to your little girlfriend?” the villain spat. His gaze was fixed unblinkingly on Todoroki.

You strained against your bonds and his tight grip on your hair. “I’m not his girlfriend! Todoroki, tell him.”

You could barely see his features but you thought you caught Todoroki’s eyes darting over you curiously, like he was trying to figure out who in the world you were and why anyone would mistake you for a love interest of his. Your eyes met briefly. Then the fingers on his right hand pressed forward just the slightest bit, and a huge cascade of ice like an avalanche was rushing you. You closed your eyes, ready to be impaled.

There was a grunt and the villain’s hand was ripped out of your hair, taking a fistful with it. A sudden, suffocating silence pressed down on you, and an icy burn stung at your lungs when you inhaled.

You blinked your eyes open, only to come face to face with a wall of ice mere inches from your nose. Cold pressed in on you everywhere, biting at you through your clothes--it seemed Todoroki had formed some kind of protective shell over you as he forced the villain off of you. You exhaled and sank back in the chair with shaky relief.

More crackling echoed from outside your cocoon, muffled through the thick slabs of ice, and a bright jet of orange light lit up the crystals around you. You tracked the sound and the movements nervously. There was a moment when a body slammed into the ice behind you, cracking it a little, and you tensed, but then whichever of them it was rolled off and was gone within moments.

Over the course of a few minutes, the sounds of their battle and the flickers of light started to fade off into the distance, and you wondered if Todoroki was trying to lead the villain away, or if the villain was leading him somewhere he had planned for. Your fingers found the bindings at your wrists again, and you scrabbled desperately at them with your nails.

If the villain came back for you, you needed to be disconnected from this chair and out of the ice prison ASAP.

You had just managed to work your chair backwards and get a good angle against the rough ice, starting to work up a friction between your bonds and the ice when muted footsteps approached and a hole began to melt in the side of the ice wall. Your eyes snapped to attention and you leaned as far away as you could get.

It was Todoroki who stepped through, however, lifting an arm to melt away more of the ice over you. He looked a little mussed from combat but otherwise unharmed, and in good shape to get you out of here. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, muttering, “Oh, thank god.”

He fixed you with a weird look, leaning over you when he’d melted enough of the ice to get to your bonds. A hot hand at your wrists burned ropes off of you easily enough, Todoroki careful not to singe you with his flames.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you as you pulled your arms back to yourself, shaking them out.

“Uh, thank you,” you said, watching nervously as those distinctive two-toned eyes flicked over you.

He helped pull you to your feet, and gestured you towards the hole he had blown in the side of the warehouse.

“This way--there’s an ambulance to check you over,” he said evenly. His voice was low and smooth, even deeper in person than you’d heard it on TV. His whole presence seemed a lot sharper, larger even, than was communicated via the media.

You followed his broad back out into the evening air, noting that you were on a somewhat crowded street, likely somewhere still within city limits. Several rows of similar warehouses lined the streets, and an ambulance and several police vehicles had pulled up onto the sidewalk closest to you.

An EMT ran over to you, helping you over to the ambulance and immediately setting to the task of checking you over. She asked you a series of questions including your name, what year it was, the prime minister’s name, and a slew of probing queries about your injuries. She concluded a concussion seemed unlikely, but produced an ice packet for your head where the villain had struck you, and cleaned your wrists where the rope had cut into them, smoothing on aloe and wrapping them up in gauzy bandages.

While she worked, you watched Todoroki as he spoke in quiet tones off to the side with a group of policemen. Eventually, however, the conversation seemed to die out, and he came padding back over to stand in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. You tried not to focus on the swell of his biceps through the fabric of his hero costume.

“What you did was very stupid,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

That tore your attention away from his arms, and you paused, staring up at him in confusion. Did all civilians get a lecture like this fresh off of being kidnapped?

“Excuse me?” was all that escaped you.

That grey and blue gaze raked over you. “You’re lucky I was able to rescue you. You risked your own life and invaded my privacy while you were at it.”

A mixture of confusion, exhaustion, and anger welled up inside of you. You had just been fucking kidnapped and he was lecturing you like a toddler who’d gotten into a box of crayons while her parents’ backs were turned.

“You think I fucking wanted to be kidnapped?” you demanded, sliding off of the back of the ambulance to take an angry step towards him. “You think I wanted any of this to happen?”

He held his ground, hardly threatened by someone who barely brushed his chin and had needed his rescuing only minutes before. You gritted your teeth.

“You are not welcome in my apartment,” he said firmly, something like suppressed anger flickering in his own gaze.

Your temper flared even hotter than his flames. You clenched your fist, the words bubbling up before you could even think to stop them. “Great. Clean it yourself then, you huge fucking asshole, if you don’t want someone else there.”

His eyes widened the slightest bit, but you weren’t done.

“I get kidnapped because some crazy douche wanted to settle a score with you, and you dare yell at me for doing my job? Because what, it’s shameful for you to be accused of having a secret lover and now you have to do PR? Grow the fuck up. That’s your fucking job.”

You turned on your heel, setting a beeline for the police officers where they had turned to watch you, mouths gaping.

“Do I have to give a statement right now or can I come into the station in the morning?” you demanded of the nearest officer.

“We recommend you give your statement as soon as possible, but you can delay until tomorrow if you’re, uh, in emotional distress,” the officer said, staring at you.

“Oh I am,” you intoned loudly. “But not as much emotional distress, apparently, as someone who's been mildly inconvenienced by a media narrative. You'd better check on him, he's the real fucking victim here. And I’ll see you in the morning instead.”

You stalked off towards the street, hardly caring where you were headed or how you would get home from here. You would figure it out and find your way, and it was better than standing around and being berated by some asshole hero who thought himself so wildly inconvenienced by saving you.

“And Todoroki, you can go fuck yourself,” you threw over your shoulder as you disappeared into the dusky maze of city streets.

And he could.

You hoped that was the last you’d ever see or hear of Shouto Todoroki.

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slashersins · 4 years

Note

since it’s michael’s birthday today, how bout some birthday sex 😏

ya know what . okay . you’ll get your wish , but you’ll pay the price for it . michael is 63 today , so 63 year old michael is the michael who’s about to get his bones jumped . ( also i don’t like the fact that old man myers is balding bc he looks like loomis and that is not fun , so he’s just gonna have short messy grey hair , okay ? okay . he can keep the little scruffy beard though . ) now let’s get down and filthy with an old man . ( that sounded gross , but i am keeping it . )

since it’s michael’s birthday today, how bout some birthday sex 😏

the smell of cake is what woke him . the sound of light clatter filling silence of the house . the clock by the bed read four am . it was early . especially for you . he could just go back to sleep , wait until the sun peaked through the windows for him to fully wake , but the sweet scent of chocolate and sugar only grew the longer he stayed motionless staring at the door . even in his old age , michael could not resist the scent of baked goods . his sweet tooth screaming at him the same way his blood lust did .

he didn’t bother with his mask . right now it wasn’t important . what was happening in the oven was . it didn’t take him long to make it to the kitchen , watching with mild interest , wanting to know what you’d made . wanting to know why . you’d tell him , you wouldn’t have a choice . but for now , the man stood there . silent and observant as you bustled around the kitchen , making a mess of flour and eggs and sugar . he could compare your messiness in the kitchen to his own when he had a more than excitable kill .

it seemed you’d noticed the warpath left behind , the confectionery destruction . and you started to clean up . michael stayed still , like a statue . hidden in plain sight , unseen by you and yet so close . after the few years you’d spent together , your awareness of your surroundings didn’t seem to improve . was both an annoyance and amusement for the man . but right now was one of the times he was annoyed . especially when you took the mixing bowl and spoon , coated in thick batter , and carried it to the sink .

not a moment later michael was behind you , one hand wrapped deadly tight around the wrist holding the bowl , the other plucking the spoon up an out of it to bring it to his lips . all done while pressed against you , leaning over you , trapping you between him and the sink . his intention was to devour the sweet prebaked batter .

he ignored your squeak of shock at his appearance , too busy with the task at hand . but he did hear your laughter . the way you shook your head and called him a greedy old man . he didn’t care at the moment . the only thing that mattered was this cake batter finding a new home in his stomach . he only paused in his mission when he felt your lips against the stubble on his jaw .

“ happy birthday , michael . ” ah . so that is what it was . he’d stopped keeping track years and years ago . it never really mattered much to him anyway . but part of his old , cold heart seemed to warm from your little offering of sweets made just for him .

“ i’ll make all your favorites today . you’re my grumpy old boogeyman , and you deserve it . ” michael wanted to roll his eyes , but it’d be too much effort . so he settled for dropping the now lick cleaned spoon into the sink , taking the bowl from your hand and starting to scrap up what he could with thick fingers . his full focus seemed to be on ‘ cleaning ’ the bowl as he stood a bit away now , cradling it to his chest for better access .

you flushed as you watched him . ever serious in concentration . devouring and sucking and licking on his fingers . you had to look away , to embarrassed by your own thoughts to do anything more than the dishes . michael seemed to notice . his gaze tearing a hole straight into your core . he knew . eating like this , all fingers and mouth and tongue , it did something too you . something just as delicious as a well baked cake . and he loved letting you hang there and suffer in silence . with a pop of his finger out of his mouth and a near , finger scrubbed , clean bowl , michael dropped the bowl into the sink , waitng for you to glance up and catch his eye .

what you saw there was unmistakable . a hunger . a deep gnawing hunger . not for blood . not for the sweet treat currently baking in the over . it was something more dangerous . it was a hunger directed at you . a hunger michael came to know as lust . something that gave him the same sensation that gliding knife into the chest of some screaming victim gave him . so similar and yet so different . both ending with such satisfaction . and seeing how you had reacted to just the simplest of actions of him being close , he knew you felt it too .

you nearly buckle under his stare . the intensity of it . you’re not sure what michael wants . if he’ll leave you hanging like this , or go through with some needy desire . it’s always a mystery with michael . and god if that mystery doesn’t keep you wrapped up in suspense . it’s hard to maintain eye contact , each time you look back at the older man he seems to be staring harder . you can’t take it , and bite your lip , looking anywhere but his eyes .

“ you - you have some uh , some batter on your cheek . here , i’ll - ” it’s a bold move , but it also helps you understand what michael’s attentions are . if he lets you touch him , then he might be in the mood to do more . if he grabs you or pulls away , you might have crossed a line and that never ends well . surprisingly , michael only tilts his head downward so you can better reach . eyes boring holes into your soul as you gently wipe the brownie mix away with your thumb .

you make another surprised yelp when his strong fingers grip your wrist , refusing to let go and unmovable . you open your mouth to apologize only for it to die on your lips when the older man pops your thumb into his mouth and licks the mix off .

he doesn’t release your hand , instead choosing to keep it in place between the two of you as he walks you back towards the sink . there is still plenty of thick , sticky brownie mix in the bowl , and michael has just discovered it tastes better when it’s mixed the salt of your skin .

you have little choice , not that you were ever good at resisting michael , as he takes a knife and cuts through your shirt , ruining the fabric before stabbing the knife harshly into the cabinet by your head . his free fingers move to scoop the sweet mix from the bowl , painting your neck and collarbones with it . you want to squirm and snap and tell him to stop . it’s sticky and gross and now you need a shower , but then his mouth is on you . the roughness of his beard tickling your skin .

the mouths at you . licking and spreading the mess around before sucking harshly , hard enough to leave marks as his teeth dig into you , making sure to clean you . you can’t stop the moan that leaves you , the way your legs start to shake and thighs rub together . your free hand fists into his shirt , holding onto him as you pant at the roughness of it all .

“ mi - michael ! s - stop , we - we - i know it’s your birthday but maybe - ” there’s no arguing with him as michael forces a knee between his thighs . he may be older , but he wants , and it’s obvious how much he wants when he rocks his hips so hard into you that you make a pained noise when the counter cuts into your hip at the force of it . the feeling of him , hard and hot through his thin pajama bottoms making you whine . “ okay . okay . i’ll - yes . michael , just - ”

there’s no waiting when he swiftly turns you around , the fact he is still so strong after so many years making your head spin in a delightful way . the knife is pulled from the cabinet , leaving a splintered gash in the wood . you feel the cold metal of the blade against your thigh . slowly and practiced as he pushes it under your shorts and then tugs , cutting through fabric and leaving you bare before him . the knife if returned to it’s previous place , michael pressing in to rub his thigh against your bare sex .

you can’t help but moan , leaning forward as you wrap your arms around michael’s neck , fingers buried in his short grey hair . you haven’t gotten permission to move , but your hips rock on their own . and it seems that michael is fine with it , staying still and forcing you to do all the work , making you work yourself up into a needy mewling mess on his thigh .

but michael is needy , and starved , and enough is enough . he wants you . and you were right . it is his birthday . so why not take what he wants . you already said he deserves it , didn’t you ?

fingers still wet with saliva and sticky , michael pressed against your entrance . you panted and squirmed in his hold , you wanted him to press inside , to stretch you open before ramming himself inside of you , but he wouldn’t move . he only gave you a blank look . he wanted you to fuck yourself on those his fingers . he wanted you to show him just how eager you were to please him . and god , if that didn’t make you moan as you rocked your hips , trying to sink down and take what you could .

it’s hard to keep rocking , and michael keeps so still , only his even breathing keeping you company as he watched you come undone . it’s your plea , michael’s name falling from your lips so sweetly , so needy , that has the older man pulling away only to get out his length and line his tip up . he doesn’t wait , as soon as he brushes against you he’s shoving in . fast and harsh , only to stop and savor the way your walls spasm at the sudden intrusion . at how your eyes scrunch up and your mouth opens into a silent scream .

he stays still inside of you , and you think this might have been the nicest michael has ever been as you adjust to him . but that thought flies out the window when he pulls nearly all the way out only to swiftly thrust back in . there’s no holding back . it’s his birthday after all . and he wants to ruin you . he wants to thank you for the treat currently baking in the oven , this is the only way he can truly show you .

his hands grip your hips harshly , nails digging into the soft flesh there . his mouth goes back to attacking your neck and shoulder , leaving near bloody marks in their wake . he’s panting , gritting his teeth to keep back the growls that threaten to spill out . the way you squeeze around him , the sobbed out moans that leave your lips and fill the air , the way you cling and whimper michael’s name like he was some deity you were praying to - all of it had him fucking you harder , faster .

you don’t last long . the stretch of michael and his break neck pace has you pushed over the edge faster than you’d hoped , but that predatory gaze in his eyes was just too much when mixed with his animalistic rutting . you can only cling to him , vision foggy and eyes watering as he keeps using you like a glorified cock sleeve . and finally , after michael has pushed you into a second overstimulated orgasm , he cums .

he hovers over you , his chest heaving shoulder’s tense as he looks down at you . soon his hands leave your hips and he backs away , only to look at the oven and then back at you . you’re not sure what he is trying to tell you , too busy trying to stand up on legs made of jelly and a sweet soreness between your thighs . but then the timer goes off .

you want to laugh , but doing so might upset michael , or worse might make you fall on the floor and laugh more , and you don’t want to burn your boogeyman’s cake . somehow you wobble over , taking the cake out and setting it on the table . you know michael doesn’t give a shit about frosting , and he doesn’t have the patience to let the treat cool . but you do have time to stick the birthday candles on .

you steal a kiss , going to sit in a chair when michael pulls you into your lap as you pass by . you smile at him , leaning in a kissing his bearded cheek when he takes his first bite . “ happy 63rd birthday , mr boogeyman . ”

#michael myers x reader #michael myers #michael myers imagine #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #slasher #slashers #slashers x reader #( this is hella late )#( it took me three days to write )#( here ya go )#( sorry if it isn't good lmao )#( even tho it took me three days i still rushed it )

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ladyrivia · 3 years

Text

Spitfire (Chapter Two)

Previous Part

Summary: Anya settles into her new environment, Carrillo and Pena continue to pine over her.

Warnings: Google Translate Spanish, guns, sexual thoughts

Anya gently shut the door, laying down and finally allowing herself to rest after hearing the click of Carrillo’s door down the hall. She closed her eyes, listening to the faint sound of the shower starting from the master bathroom. Getting comfortable she--

“Fuck,” Anya groaned, remembering her sleepwear was in her bag, in Carrillo’s car. Which was locked, and his keys with him in his room. He said I could get him if I needed anything. Plus I wouldn’t mind the sight of him shirtless.. Maybe more than shirtless. She smirked at the thought for a moment before clapping her hand over her face, dragging her hand down and holding her jaw. Stop it. You’re going to be working together. You can’t make it weird. Releasing the hold, Anya took off her jeans, folding them and setting them on a chair in the room before wrestling off her bra from under her shirt, throwing it on top of the neatly folded jeans.

Anya eventually sprawled out under the blankets and comforter, the warm embrace of the bed soothing her aching muscles. She found herself quickly succumbing to sleep, but she could’ve sworn she heard footsteps approaching her room and the door creaking open.

Carrillo couldn’t help himself, his mind completely taken over by the thought of the woman sleeping down the hall. He found his mind lingering on her big brown eyes, the blush that would creep up on her face, the way her jeans hugged her curves, the cut in the shirt being the perfect length to reveal her cleavage. Para. Stop. He felt blood rushing to his newly formed erection, fist clenching in an attempt to regain composure.

He rushed to finish scrubbing the sweat and grime off his body, then cranked the water temperature to as cold as it could go. His muscles tightened in retaliation, but he accomplished his goal of getting rid of his erection.

Changing into his sweatpants, he realised that he had left her bags in his car. Cursing under his breath, he stalked to the guest bedroom, quietly opening the door. He found Anya already asleep, her hair forming a halo around her head on the pillow and her face looked so peaceful. Espere. Wait. Carrillo found himself standing in the doorway, watching her sleep like a creep. ¿Para qué estaba aquí de nuevo? What was I here for again? His eyes focused on the dimly moonlit chair, seeing her jeans and bra sitting on top.

Carrillo felt a bit guilty about forgetting her bags, but she seemed perfectly content in her stripped down day clothes. He softly shut the door and returned to his room, shuffling into his bed. Normally he would have trouble falling asleep, the constant pressure from his job keeping his brain from shutting off, but remembering the soft features of the new agent, sleep found him quickly.

Javier didn’t stop cursing himself all to the store around the corner from the apartment building. Idiot. Fucking forgetting to set up her furniture. He continued mentally kicking himself as he picked up multiple cartons of his, and seemingly Anya’s, favorite brand of cigarettes, along with a couple bottles of whiskey. Least he could do is prepare her a DEA Agent welcome basket.

Returning to his apartment, he searched for the notepad which he had written down the storage locker number, lock combination, and her apartment number. Shit. Her apartment was the one right next to his, which had been empty for as long as he had remembered. The storage locker was close to the embassy, Anya having shipped her furniture down to the Southern Americas long before her arrival in Columbia.

Javier sat in his bed for a moment, formulating the plan of how he was going to move her furniture while smoking yet another cigarette. Satisfied, he kicked off his clothes and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of his new partner.

Anya ran down the hallway, sweat running down her face even though the cold air whipped around her in the abandoned warehouse. Her gun was drawn, pointed at the ground as she continued to run to the last door, kicking it down. A gasp left her throat when she saw her partner, Ethan, tied up to a chair, badly beaten and bleeding. She quickly ran towards him, kneeling before the chair he was bound to. “Ethan, oh Ethan.” She set her gun on the ground and brushed the bloody and matted hair away from his face, looking into his almost dead eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but the only thing she heard was the cocking of a gun behind her.

Anya gasped and sat straight up in bed, a sheen of cold sweat covering her entire body. Her eyes darted around the room, confused by the new surroundings. Memories of the previous night flooded back to her. Flight. Embassy. Bar. Carrillo. Anya looked at the alarm clock, 07:00. 7AM. She sighed, the nightmare had jostled her nerves. A shower would be nice.

“No bag, no clothes. Of course.” Another sigh escaped her lips as she shuffled out of bed, her bare legs being exposed to the morning light. She felt bad for going through his things, but she really didn’t feel like putting yesterday’s clothes back on to go ask him to get her stuff for her. Bingo. Anya found an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in the closet.

She was pleased to find the guest shower already filled with toiletries, taking the extra time to scrub the remnants of long travel off her body. Exiting the shower, Anya encountered another problem, she had no clean panties. She shrugged. Guess we’re going commando for now.

Carrillo woke up shortly after Anya, hearing the shower from the guest room turn on. He quickly got out of bed and got dressed, mornings were always easy for him, whether it was years of conditioning from in the military or just naturally being a morning person. Today was a rare day, having the morning off. He shuffled to the kitchen, deciding to make breakfast for him and his new favorite agent.

“Steve, wake your ass up!” Javier pounded on his partner’s door.

“The hell do you want?” Steve muttered as he opened the door, his appearance disheveled by sleep.

“Need your help moving Donato’s stuff in.” He cut off Steve’s groans of protest. “You accused her of being a prostitute yesterday, the least you can do is help me get her stuff set up.” Javier purposely said this part a bit loud, so Connie would hear.

“Steve!” Connie came up behind him, swatting him on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me that!” Steve muttered something of an apology to his wife. “Quit whining and help Javi move her stuff in.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll help you Javi, just give me a damn minute.” Javi snickered after Steve shut the door in his face, boy was he whipped.

“Don’t forget your keys! We’ll need to use your truck!”

Anya smelled something delicious cooking when she exited the shower, following the scent, she left the guest room and found Carrillo in the kitchen. Her footsteps were quiet, quiet enough he didn’t turn around when she stood in the doorway of the kitchen. She took the sight of him in, his uniform tight over the muscles of his arm and his back. After a minute, he finally turned around to grab something from the kitchen island, noticing her.

He had to stop himself from dropping his jaw open, and suddenly all the guilt from leaving her bags in the car was gone. He would do it again to see her in his clothes again. They were definitely too big for her, his t-shirt reaching her mid thighs and the extra length of the sweatpants pooled at her feet. Carrillo chewed the inside of his cheek when he felt his erection return.

“Morning,” Anya played it off as if she did not stare at him for a minute. “Smells fantastic, what are you making?” She sat in a chair opposite of where Carrillo was standing at the island.

“Huevos revueltos con tomate y cebolla,” Scrambled eggs with tomato and onion. He pointed to one pan. “And arepas.” He pointed to another pan, switching back to english.

“Anything I can help with?”

“No, just make yourself comfortable. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” He poured her a cup, leaning over the island to set it infront of her. The creamer and sugar were already on the island, over to the side. Anya fixed her coffee the way she liked it, extra cream and regular sugar.

“That is a disgrace to coffee.” Carrillo commented when he saw the milky color in her mug.

“Bite me.” Anya took a long sip of her drink. “I suffer with the shitty coffee at the office, at least let me enjoy it the way I like it here.” Her accent slipped again, rolling her eyes when his lips twitched up in amusement when he heard it. A moment of comfortable silence passed between the two.

“I like your clothes, where’d you get them?” Anya gaze fixed on him with a glare, but with a hint of amusement sparkled in her eyes. Last night he was so serious, she wasn’t sure if he had a sense of humor. Well, at least until now.

“Had to find something to wear after I took a shower, I didn't want to strut around in a towel.”

“Podemos recoger su bolso después de comer.” We can get your bag after we eat. He bit his cheek again, his erection making itself known again after the thought of her walking around his house in just a towel. He plated the food, walking around the counter to set her plate in front of her before taking the seat next to her.

“Thank you,” Anya gave him a big smile before digging into her food. “Damn, you really can cook, this is very good.” She praised him.

“Mi mamá me enseñó todo lo que sé.” My mom taught me everything I know. He returned her smile, taking a bite of his own food.

“We have to move all this?” Steve complained when they opened the storage locker.

“We were supposed to move it before she arrived.” Javier placed his hands on his hips as he analyzed all the items in storage, Steve shuffling inside to get a better look.

“Wait.. if her bed is here then where did she sleep.. Don’t tell me you--”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Javier practically growled. “She went home with Carrillo.”

“Carrillo?” Steve’s eyes widened. “You let her go home with that asshole?”

“Don’t remind me.” Jealousy grew in his chest. “He asked me if I would rather her sleep in my bed where.. You know.” “Well, he isn’t wrong. I’m glad you kept your hands off our new partner.. I hope it stays that way.”

“What?” Javier was surprised Steve was being so blunt with him.

“She’ll eat you alive man, it takes a particular type of woman to survive the boy’s club. There ain’t no way she’d put up with your bullshit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Javier started to get defensive.

“C’mon man, don’t act as if you don’t know,” Steve raised an eyebrow. “You have commitment issues, you fuck prostitutes for inform--”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Javier harshly cut him off. “Let’s get this shit in the truck.”

Carrillo and Anya took their time eating breakfast, sharing stories from previous assignments and raids.

“So your partner, what happened to him?” Carrillo asked what he thought was an innocent question, but immediately regretted it when he saw her freeze, her smile fading from her face.

“Transferred.” She muttered into her coffee, both of them knowing she was lying, but he didn’t push the subject further. They finished the rest of breakfast in silence, Carrillo feeling guilty yet again. He wished he could formulate the words to tell her that he could empathize with her, lord knows he could with the amount of good soldiers he lost in the field, but with years of shutting off and building a wall between him and his emotions, the words never came.

Anya finished eating shortly after Carrillo, wordlessly picking up both their plates and moving to the sink to clean them. She let her emotions wash down the drain along with the dirty water, replacing the shield that Carrillo had slowly whittled down. Damn him. She finished washing the dishes fast, waving him off when he came over and insisted he helped.

“We should grab your stuff.” Carrillo glanced at the clock, grimacing when he realized there wasn’t a lot of time left before they would have to go to work.

“I don’t need to bring everything in, I just need a change of clothes.” Anya followed him out to his car, leaning into the back seat and rifling through her bag to grab a fresh set of clothes. Her ass was fully on display, Carrillo not too subtly staring at it while she was bent over, but quickly looked up when she turned around.

While walking back inside, Anya tripped on the excess fabric of the large sweatpants, falling into him. He whirled around and caught her, hands firmly grasping her shoulders, one of her hands were braced on his chest.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Her face flushed bright red.

“You’re okay.” He couldn’t help but give her a small smile, she was really adorable when she was flustered.

Anya’s heart raced, she thoroughly enjoyed his hands on her far too much. She practically ran to the guest room, trying to regain her composure while getting dressed. She dressed in a fresh pair of jeans, a short sleeved button down with a tank top serving as an undershirt. She tugged her black boots on, very similar to what members of the Search Bloc wore. She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, letting a few pieces fall to frame her face.

Re-emerging from the guestroom, Anya noticed how Carrillo stared at her, his eyes committing every piece of her to memory. They stood looking at each other for a minute, before Carrillo broke the silence.

“Ready to go?”

“Morning fellas,” Anya greeted the pair as she and Carrillo entered the bullpen. “How was your evening, Murphy? I hear you have a lovely wife at home.”

“That I do, speaking of which, she has invited you guys over for dinner tonight, you coming?”

“Of course, Javier here has told me that apparently we’d get along well.” She nudged Javier in the shoulder.

“You know I’d never miss a chance to eat your wife’s cooking.” Javi chuckled.

“Wish I could but, I have a date with some narcos tonight.” Carrillo placed a hand on the small of her back. “I’ll come by after I do my initial rounds to get your Kevlar and gun.” He stalked off towards the Search Bloc’s part of the building.

Carrillo’s touch did not go unnoticed by either man, though Javier’s mind quickly went to jealousy. He wondered if anything happened between the two last night, Carrillo wasn’t known to be a physically affectionate guy, especially towards people he just met. His fist clenched as he returned to facing his desk, trying to distract himself from the workings of his mind.

“Great, we’ll just head there after work. I’m sure that’ll be around dinner time anyways.” Steve fidgeted with the pen between his fingers, also returning to the papers he was pouring over. Anya popped the lid of the tub again and dove into the ESCOBAR files once more.

“Anya,” Carrillo returned almost an hour later. “Ready for the armory?”

“Yeah.” She glanced up from where she was reading, mentally marking where she was leaving off.

“Right this way.” Carrillo started to lead her to the armory, Javier staring at her ass while she followed him. The fabric of the jeans perfectly hugged her curves, her gait naturally having a little swing to her hips. A slight erection was forming under his desk.

A pen hit the side of Javi’s head.

“Dude, what the hell?” He grabbed the pen, lightly tossing it back to Steve.

“She’s our partner, Peña. Not eye candy.” He rolled his eyes.

“Let’s try this one first.” Carrillo looked through their extra Kevlar vests for one that would fit her best, this would typically be easy but they also had to consider, well, her boobs.

Anya lifted the vest over her head, sticking her head through the hole and settling the heavy vest on her shoulders. She strapped the Velcro tight at her sides, wiggling her arms to test the fit.

“Verdict?” She asked as he grabbed the vest, tugging it a bit to inspect.

They were extremely close, she could feel his breath hot on her face, smelling strongly of cigarette smoke. They stood for a moment, neither of them knowing what their next move was.

Abruptly, he stood back, giving her a quick nod. “It fits,” He took something out of his pocket. “Here.” He handed her what she realized to be her name tape, DONATO being embroidered in black onto the green fabric. She slapped it onto the velcro space for it, then quickly got out of the uncomfortable Kevlar.

“Thanks.” She gave him a smile. Carrillo turned to the gun locker, unlocking it and handing her S&W Model 39 pistol and a box of ammunition. Anya tucked the gun into the back of her waistband, and put the box in her back pocket.

“You’re now fully equipped.” He shut and locked the gun locker once more.

“Thank you again, Carrillo.” She picked up her Kevlar vest.

“Of course. Can’t have my favorite agente underprepared in the field.” He gave her a warm smile, patting her on the back. “I have to go back to my rounds, adiós.” Carrillo left her in the armory, returning to his demanding job.

While Anya walked back to her desk, she allowed herself to blush over the fact that he called her his favorite agent.

“All suited up?” Javier looked up as she approached, she lifted the heavy Kevlar.

“Yup.” Anya opened the empty bottom drawer of her desk, shoving the Kevlar in. She unholstered her gun, and took out the magazine, placing the body of the gun in the bottom. She took out the box of ammo, quickly counting out 8 bullets and loading them into the magazine, placing both into the bottom drawer as well before closing it.

Anya sat down and returned to the evidence box, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she dove into the realm of Escobar again.

“That’s it, I’m calling it.” Steve announced as he got out of his chair.

“Me too, Donato, why don’t I drive you home? Steve and I moved your furniture and boxes in this morning.”

“Oh! Thank you guys,” Anya stood, stretching her arms over her head, her shirt riding up slightly. Javier took a quick glance. “That’d be great Javier, we’ll just have to stop by the secretary, I left my bags there this morning.”

“Here’s your apartment, and your keys.” Javier gestured to the door before dropping the keys in her hand. “My apartment is the one right next to yours.”

“Can’t even escape you outside of work.” Anya chuckled as she unlocked the door, tossing her bags in before shutting it and locking it again.

“You make that sound as if it’s a bad thing.” She responded with a light punch to his shoulder.

“I’m starving, where’s Steve’s place?”

“Couple floors up, c’mon, his wife makes fantastic food.” A few flights of stairs and jokes later, they arrived at the door, Javier knocking-- more like banged-- on the door.

“Hey guys, come on in!” Steve answered the door with a large grin, clearly being at home with his wife made him a happy man.

“Hi Javi, oh and Anya!” Connie quickly greeted them, giving Anya a big hug. “It’s so good to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too.” Anya returned the hug.

“I made some lasagna, is that alright?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely!”

“Wine or whiskey?”

“Wine please, is there anything I can do to help?” Anya followed Connie to the kitchen.

“No, it’s almost done, here, go take a seat.” Connie handed her a wine glass and the bottle of wine, gesturing for her to sit at the dinner table where Javi and Steve already sat, sipping on their whiskey. She sat next to Javi, leaving the seat next to Steve for Connie. A few moments later, Connie followed with the steaming dish of lasagna.

Dinner was very pleasant, Connie asking all sorts of questions about New York and the work Anya did up there. Javier listened intently, wanting to learn everything he could about her. He loved the way she talked, especially when her accent would slip, showing her New York heritage.

As Javi predicted, Connie and Anya became friends quickly, the evening was filled with their squeals of excitement when they found another thing that both of them could relate to. As the night finally came to a close, and many promises to have a dinner party again, Javier and Anya returned to their floor.

“Wow,” Anya yawned. “I am tired.” She stretched her arms over her head.

“Well, in that case, you should head to bed.” Javi leaned on her door frame, basking in her presence.

“I’m planning on it, thank you again for moving my stuff in.”

“Not a problem.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could use his usual methods of charming women on her, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. He wanted more than just his usual one night stand with his informants, there was something about her that made him feel… he couldn’t find a way to describe it.

“Oh,” Her face scrunched in realization. “Could I ride with you to work in the mornings? I’m still working on getting a car down here. License transfers and all that.”

“Of course, though if you wake up late, I’ll leave your ass here.” Both of them let out a laugh.

“Goodnight, Pena.” They retreated into their respective apartments, Anya flicking on the light and looking around her new apartment. She pulled out a couple of essentials, mostly toiletries, and placed them in the bathroom. She quickly found her “BEDROOM” box and dug out her bedding, making her bed so she could sleep as soon as possible.

Anya was getting ready for bed, shuffling to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She was surprised to find a bottle of whiskey, a couple cartons of cigarettes, and a zippo lighter with “to new beginnings” engraved. She ripped open the carton of cigarettes, pulling out a carton, and returned to her bedroom. She laid down, lighting a cigarette, letting the nicotine relax her further.

Anya knocked against the wall behind her headboard, and was pleasantly surprised when she heard a knock back.

“Thank you for the housewarming gift, Javier.” She heard a chuckle come from the other side of the wall.

“Javi. Call me Javi.”

46 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

Marching far away (Din Djarin x reader)

Summary: some things are more potent in their absence. Din misses you, but before he can let go, he has one more promise left to fulfil. PURE ANGST with eventual comfort.

Author’s note: this is me breaking the tin can man’s heart for a spell. Sorry? Also, this is only my 2nd Din fic and I’m insecure, pls validate me? Or, come join me to simp, okay? (This has Cara in it- was written b4 the G*na drama)

Word count: 3k, oh hell. Was meant to be a blurb. Kriff it. I have no control.

Warnings: strong themes of grief, death of a loved one (reader). Hints of depression + trauma linked to that. A mess of angst and metaphors, tbh. Brief mentions of wounds, blood -not too graphic.

GIF: stunning, and from @qviism

The Mandalorian has awoken to many recurring thoughts in his time, most of them unpleasant. For many years, Din was jolted awake by memories of his parents, their love imprinted on him like a brand which never stopped burning. Yanked from sleep by a noise and grasping for his helmet before he grasps for a weapon, so that everything he is built of -everything he has promised to be- cannot be unmade. Rising to worry; to thoughts of what he is missing and fear of what might be taken away.

Nowadays, he awakes to thoughts of The Foundling. And, Din always, always awakes to the lack of you.

Some things become more potent in their absence. Din knows this. He knows it deeply. Never is the warmth of the sun craved more acutely than in the depths of a dead night. Din certainly finds you more potent in your absence. He finds himself wearing the memory of you like a perpetual perfume, clinging to his body and refusing to be scrubbed clean. Even when he has shed the heavy layers of beskar, in the dark and the solitude, the ghost of you still lingers there, enveloping his skin like a shroud.

Sometimes, Din wonders why he must always bear a weight on his body. A weight over his heart, like this, even when he’s stripped down. Still, like the armour, you are a vow he bears willingly. The only thing worse than bearing this would be losing you entirely. And losing you entirely, would be worse than losing his creed.

Din’s creed is immeasurably heavy.

You are heaviest. Immeasurable.

This morning, as the weight of you settles on his chest, Din stirs.

He peels his eyes open for another day of folding rituals into his seconds and minutes and hours until they become his Way of life. Another day of folding all of the promises he made to you into his heartbeat, his sinews, his bones, until you become a part of him.

As soon as he awakes, he longs for sleep again. Din isn’t sure he can take it any longer -watch yet another day blaze without you by his side. To admit that something fresh was possible would be to let you go. To extract “you” from “him” would be like trying to tear out his own skeleton and keep his heart beating. You are inextricable. Unforgettable. All he can do is hold on to you with every fibre of his being.

This morning, as the weight of you threatens to pin him down to the bed for another day, Din is relieved to find the sound stirring him is Cara, rapping on his door with a characteristically heavy fist. He is relieved not to be alone. He is relieved that today -especially today- Cara can help bear some of the weight of you. He hopes his burden can be made just a little lighter. Prays it can, for he doesn’t know how much longer he can carry you. Still, he is not ready to bury you. Not yet.

Not yet.

Din misses you. He misses you so badly. This is how you are able to cling to his body like perpetual perfume. To weigh on his breast. This is how you’re amongst every layer of him, from armour to bones. Because Din Djarin wears you like a creed. Because he chooses you, every day, and he folds you into the layers of him. The vows, the promises, the rituals. Until you are his way of life. Or, the lack of you is; some things are just more potent in their absence.

A dead body is heavier. Heaviest.

“Din? We gotta go.” Cara states perfunctorily through the door, cutting through Din’s spiral. “There’s some caf on the floor for you.”

Din’s face softens gratefully, the simple morning ritual a reason to crawl out of bed. This is how he gets through the day. One ritual at a time until the sun goes down.

“Din! Are you ready?” Cara asks, rapping on the door again when nothing but silence greets her.

Ready? Is he? He’s never ready to face another day without you. It always kicks the feet out from under him. You always tackle him in those first moments of the morning, before he can put his armour on over the cracks. You always attack him when he’s most vulnerable.

“Yep. Coming.” Din responds, his rough voice grogged by tattered remnants of sleep.

He reluctantly reaches for his armour. He stumbles into the refresher. He dresses himself, layering himself in ritual. Binding himself in his creed until none of his cracks are visible and he is shining like the glint of dawn over a horizon. Until he appears whole and unbreakable. If he didn’t have his creed to bind himself in, Din may have fallen apart altogether.

Din shuffles towards the mirror, where he has your necklace pinned. A pendant with an emblem of a sun, rising over mountains. With each new day, he repeats the mantra which has become familiar to him.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

It’s a promise. A promise to remember you. He says it into the mirror, to a face that you never even saw. He repeats your name under his breath, folding it into the air filling his lungs. Each breath becomes a ritual. A habit of breathing, for you. For the Foundling. For Cara. Maybe, eventually, for himself.

Din keenly downs the strong, bitter caf before cloaking his face inside his helmet. Today, he resents the helmet, just a little. Wishes he could show the cracks, instead of his smooth dome of beskar, just for once. But weakness is not a luxury Din Djarin is used to being afforded. Strength is part of his code.

Din shuffles lethargically, quietly to the cockpit of the Razor Crest, trying to minimise the heavy thud of his boots. It’s early. Early enough that even The Foundling is sleeping. It’s still dark outside too, stars littering the skies up above like spilled sugar. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so tragic, he thinks -so haphazard.

Din had used to believe that stars aligned. That there was some order to the chaos. He had believed that most wholeheartedly when he met you, by complete chance. But now... now he simply believed they were a mess. That fate was cruel. That all was chaos. That the universe was nothing but spilled sugar.

The Mandalorian places a gloved hand on Cara’s shoulder and she turns, arms folded and her face already awash with tears, eyes littered with stars too. Angry stars, like fate has been cruel to her as well. She misses you, too.

Cara smiles thinly, caught-out in her grief but pleased that he’s up, and Din lowers himself into the pilot’s seat with a heavy thud, manoeuvring the craft up and away. There is no time for comfort. He knows he needs to make the canyon before sunrise. Has to watch the daybreak peek over the mountains. It’s what he promised. So, he flies in silence, Cara quiet too.

It all seems eminently doable to Din… until he lands the ship. Until Cara takes his hand and attempts to lead him out of the craft before the glowing embers of day set fire to the sky. Then, suddenly, the interior of the helmet tastes like salt, his wet tears of grief lining the insides.

“Din,” Cara says, her voice tinged with panic. “Din, please. The sun’s coming up. We can’t miss this, you understand?”

“I can’t do it, Cara. I can’t do another day without her,” he rasps through the vocoder, his voice a patchy rumble like an old stuttering engine.

Cara hasn’t seen Din breakdown like this since it had first happened. No-one has seen it. Even now, his voice is the only clue that he is broken. His armour may be smooth and unblemished, but the Mandalorian is cracked from within.

His pain travels through his body, though, becoming more visible. Din curls his spine and his shoulders in on himself, his body sagging under the weight of you. Under the weight of this. His gloved hands clench and dig into the arms of his flight console.

Din wants to run. Wants to turn the Razor Crest around.Wants to be weak, after so long beign strong.

“Din, you promised her.”

Promised? Promised?

“I promised nothing,” Din snaps at Cara, launching himself from his seat, his voice gruff like the snarl of animal. Like teeth tearing a chunk out of her. “She died before I could promise her a damn thing.”

Cara squares up to him, ready to suffer his outburst, but the fire leaves Din as quickly as it came. He’s simply a wounded animal lashing out. Even as Cara’s chin tips up at him, Din is falling to his knees on the floor, his head bowed into his gloved hands.

“Din,” Cara soothes, dropping to the floor with him and clutching his hands in hers, gently peeling them away from his helmet. “Din. Hey.”

Din’s voice is barely audible when he speaks again. “I wasn’t there at the end, Cara. I wasn’t with her.”

The Mandalorian finally tips his head up and meets the mercenary’s eyes. He finds them swimming with pain. With pity. Din hadn’t been there at the end. He couldn’t even hold you. He wasn’t even there to tell you that he loved you. That he would have married you. To tell you all that he would have promised and vowed to you.

Cara had been there, at the end, so Din supposes it’s a cruel thing to wish for. Especially as he can see from the distress in Cara’s face that she is replaying it. That her face contorts around all the details she left out so that Din didn’t have to know exactly how you suffered. Especially as she chews on the omitted details and prepares to smooth them with kind, white lies to ease his pain.

“Well, I was, Din. I was. And I told you what she said, yes?”

Cara had been the one to convey your dying words to Din. Had come back to the Mandalorian with your body in her arms, her hands stained red and her cheeks stained with glassy tears. Cara had been the one to hold Din as he yelled into the sky. As he crouched over you and blood bloomed through his gloves as he pressed his hands to your flowering wounds. As he took a boot and then his fists to the exterior of the Razor Crest. She had been the one to soothe him, and remind him of the Foundling and all he had left to live for as he dropped to his knees, just like this. Cara had told him what you’d said, with your last breaths. As you expended your last moments folding Din into your bones. Into your heart. Punctuating your story with him.

“Tell Din... I love him. And... m-make sure he watches the sun c-come up.”

“I told you what she said, but did you understand it? Did you understand what she meant?” Cara searches the T-shape in Din’s helmet as if she could truly read it, no longer holding back her own tears.

“She knew, Din, you tin-head. She knew every damn promise you would have made to her,” Cara says, clutching Din’s hands more tightly in her warm grip. “In her final moments, she was thinking about what her Mandalorian would need. Her man would need to know she loved him. Would need something to believe in -something beautiful. He’d need the promise of a new day. And a friend by his side to get him through the night. So, Din, there’s no kriffing doubt she knew you loved her, because she knew exactly what you would need to survive losing her.”

It was symbolic, Cara knew, but you understood Din. You understood his need for rituals and symbols. You wanted him to watch the sun come up, and you wanted Cara to make sure he did so again, even after the longest and darkest of nights without you.

Din leans forward into Cara’s shoulder as if all of his tendons have suddenly been cut. He hadn’t realised how badly he needed to hear his friend’s words. But you knew that he would need her.

Of course.

Even when Din thought all the promises has been lost, you forced him to look ahead to the promise of a new dawn; a new day, one day at a time. It was about marching forwards, with whatever rituals he needed to get him through. Like watching the sun come up over the mountains. For you, for Cara, for the Foundling. Until he could do it for himself too.

As Cara moves to wrap her strong arms around Din in comfort, suddenly he raises himself from the floor as quickly as he fell, until he is standing above her. Her brown eyes find his as she rises to meet him.

He extends his hand to her, and instead of taking it, she simply looks at him, a soft smile blooming at the corners of her mouth.

The only time Cara had known Din to take the helmet off was when he was horrifically wounded. And he’s so horrifically wounded now. She knows exactly what he needs.

“Why don’t you go out alone, Din Djarin?” Cara asks in a soft, earnest voice. “Why don’t you feel the sun on your face for a little bit? I’ll give you ‘til the sun hits that second peak, then I’ll be right out, okay?”

Din doesn’t speak; can’t speak, at such a kind gesture from a friend who knows him too well. Who knew you just as well. Din can’t find the words. All he knows is that he suddenly feels so much… lighter. He brings a gloved hand to the side of Cara’s face and dips his beskar dome forwards, gently touching foreheads with his friend in gratitude. She gives him a soft smile and an encouraging nod, and the Mandalorian shuffles out of the craft alone, his heavy boots dragging through the dirt. He faces the mountains. Faces the beautiful view across the canyon and collapses into the dirt, parking his butt and sitting cross-legged at the cliff edge.

The sunlight spills over the horizon, the light finding him and daybreak gleaming off of his armour; at first, Din reflects it back like he doesn’t want to know. Like he wants to remain in the darkness. But then, ever so slowly, he reaches his hands up towards his head and slips his helmet off, baring his face to a new day. Feeling the warmth on his skin. The light dancing in his warm, caf-coloured eyes. And he smiles. He smiles while thinking of you, for the first time in a long while.

Din is here because it has been a year. A year since you died.

In that time, it hasn’t grown any easier. But, today, Din is here with Cara to remember you. He wants the carry the memory of you with him forever, but he doesn’t want it to be so heavy. He doesn’t want to only remember you in death, even if you died with such honour. He wants to let your memory be something that can dance around him. Dance with him. Maybe even march along beside him. That’s how he wants to remember you; with joy, because that’s what you gave him, before you gave him grief – if only he would remember.

Din takes a few deep breaths and allows his soul to be stilled as the sun rises through the craggy, oranged peaks in front of him, drying the tears from his cheeks like the brush of a lover’s fingers.

He repeats the words under his breath.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.

That’s the thing about rituals. They mean something. They’re never supposed to be passive. They’re a way of life, folded into the seconds and minutes and hours of each new day. Folded into your heartbeat, your sinews, your bones.

Din looks out at the beautiful scene in front of him, and his smile spreads wider even as fresh tears threaten at his eyes. This time, they ball, but don’t fall. They twinkle in his eyes like stars blazing. Like suns.

Maker, he loved you. Loves you. And, Cara must have been right; you must have known he loved you too, then? Because why else would you think he would need this - exactly this, if he lost you?

The Mandalorian watches peacefully until the sun rises beyond the second peak, and, true to his word, he savours the warmth before slipping his helmet back on over his head. True to her word, Cara’s heavy gait kicks-up dust as she approaches, plonking herself beside him on the dirt and looking out across the canyon in gentle awe, suns balling in her eyes too.

After a moment in silence, she bumps his shoulder with her own, looking him dead-on in the T-shape. “I need you to talk about her,” Cara admits. “I know you can’t forget her, but you have to remember her too, Din. That’s how you keep her alive, instead of being haunted by ghosts. Or, that’s how we keep her alive.” Cara scrunches her face up, as if she knows how cheesy she’s about to sound. “Together. You’re not a clan of one anymore, Mando.”

“I know,” Din says gruffly, his voice lighter than it had been before dawn. He nods his head in agreement. “I know.”

The two friends wrap their arms around one another as the sun rises above the mountains, held together by its beauty, the possibility of a new start, and the memory of you.

Din tugs in the deepest of breaths and lets it go, as if he shrugging off a long-held weight from his shoulders.

Cara is the first to break the silence, looking towards her dear companion. “How about you shimmy indoors, clear out the snot from your helmet and come back with some hot caf? The child will be waking up in a couple of hours. ‘Til then maybe we can enjoy the views and figure out the best stories to tell him about his mama?”

Din rises, like the sun. Somehow looking fresh. He obliges Cara, giving her a moment alone with her memories too, and he wanders into the interior of the Razor Crest. As he retrieves his cup from inside the craft, he repeats his mantra once more under his breath.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, no partayli, gar darasuum.”

Up to now, Din realises, he had been repeating it. But he hadn’t been living it.

Things were set to change today. As long as he remembered you, Cara remembered you, the Foundling remembered you, you were not gone. You were simply marching far away.

Din would have married you. If there is something after all this, if there is anything true about the Force, Din hopes that one day, somehow, he gets a chance to make a whole new vow. Hopes that one day he might get to walk beside you again, and keep walking with you for always. Until then, he will keep marching on. And, most of all, he will remember you, so that if he ever comes across you again, he will recognise you, even if you are marching away.

Folding your name into his breath, Din joins Cara beneath the risen sun to start a new day, with a friend by his side. No longer a clan of one. Not alone, even wihout you.

THE END

Like this? I hope the story brought you some joy and that’s more than enough, especially at this moment. However, if you do have the energy and inclination please do reblog, and consider sending feedback in a comment or ask. (It gets me through the day, ngl).

Want more? Whether you want more angst or need recovery fluff, I got you. You can check out my Masterlist in my bio to read more of my works! I write for Star Wars and Oscar / Pedro characters. I have more Din and a Cara fic on there too, and plenty of Poe Dameron being silly if you need a cheer up.

Want even more? Just ask if you’re not already and you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list / character tag-lists. Also, you can always check in my bio if requests are open rn if you’d like to see something specific. Request guidelines are at the top of my masterlist. Tagging: @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @holybatflapexpert @himbopoes @arabellathorne @yourbucky084 @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @arkofblake @multifandomlife22 @yougottakeeponkeepinon @justrunamok @aisling-beatha @mndalorians

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #din djarin angst #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #cara dune #cara dune angst #star wars fic #mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #gina carano

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slashersins-abandoned · 3 years

Text

happy birthday

but michael is needy , and starved , and enough is enough . he wants you . and you were right . it is his birthday . so why not take what he wants . you already said he deserves it , didn’t you ?

#michael myers #michael myers imagine #michael myers x reader #slasher #slashers #slasher imagine #slashers imagine #slasher x reader #slashers x reader

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yeah-klave · 3 years

Text

Love Batter

Summary: Klaus comes home early and catches Dave up to something in the kitchen.

Genre: Pure, tooth rotting fluff.

A/N: This is set in a Dave Didn’t Die AU. He and Klaus made it back to 2019 (somehow) where they’re now living happily ever after.

Word length: 2.6k

Warning: Some light innuendo.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of The Umbrella Academy characters or settings.

*******************************************************

“Oh, umm.”

Klaus closed the front door quietly and stood for a second in the hallway, head on one side, listening.

“Umm… yes.”

Klaus frowned. He heard the smacking of lips, shortly followed by another low groan.

“Yes. That’s good. There we go…”

He could hear movement in the direction of the kitchen. Suddenly, the tone of the noise changed.

“Oh, no! Don’t do that! Oh dear. Oh, that’s not good.”

There was a clatter and then muffled grumbling.

“Oh, no. Why can’t you just…?” There was another clatter. “Oh, oops, oh no! Don’t...”

There was a dull thunk, and Klaus heard Dave say, “owch.”

Klaus dropped his keys in the bowl and walked down the hallway to their kitchen.

He pushed the door open and stopped in the entrance, his eyebrows shooting up.

Dave froze in place. He looked up guiltily, eyes wide, a finger in his mouth and his other hand clutching his foot. He was also wearing a frilly apron.

Dave brought the finger out of his mouth with a wet pop. “I… I… I thought you said you were going to be back late tonight?!” he spluttered.

“I did,” Klaus said bemused.

“But, but…” Still balancing on one foot, Dave waved his free arm wildly. Something gloopy flicked off a finger and landed somewhere near the toaster. “But this isn’t late at all!” he finally said, the tiniest hint of accusation behind the words.

“Allison had to cancel,” Klaus said evenly. “I did text you. But maybe you didn’t notice. I mean, it looks like you’ve been a little busy in here.” He looked around the kitchen, taking in the full scene. “Daaaaavve,” he said finally in a light, sing-song voice, the corner of his mouth curling upwards, a gleeful twinkle in his eyes, “whatcha doin’?”

Dave deflated a little. He let go of his foot and looked glumly at the chaos surrounding him.

“I was,” he started sheepishly, purposefully not catching Klaus’ eye. “I was trying to bake you a cake.”

Klaus’ face lit up even brighter. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” Dave nodded, twisting his face into a rueful grimace. “A surprise cake for your birthday tomorrow. I thought I could make it tonight while you were out and hide it in a cupboard overnight and surprise you in the morning.”

Klaus’ heart clenched and he looked at Dave fondly. “My darling, dearest Dave,” Klaus gently teased, “light of my life, fire of my loins,” he broke off and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Even if Allison hadn’t cancelled, I’d have been back in an hour or so anyway. Did you really think you could finish up and then get our kitchen looking normal again by the time I got back?”

They both looked around. Dirty bowls were strewn across the counters, along with various utensils, eggs shells and empty packets. Cake pans were discarded near the hob, a brown, baked-on crust coating the inside. There was a palette knife on the floor, gloopy icing dripping from the flat blade into a small puddle. Also, a layer of flour and icing sugar seemed to have settled over everything.

“Hmm,” Dave said in a mock solemn voice. “I take your point.”

Klaus laughed.

Dave bent down and picked up a cookery book that was splayed open, upside-down, by his bare feet. Dave’s fingers left sticky marks on the cover as he tried shuffling things around on the counter, looking for somewhere clean to lay it down.

Klaus stepped forwards and took the book from Dave. It was surprisingly heavy in Klaus’ hands. “Did this drop on your foot?” Klaus asked quietly.

“Um, yeah,” Dave reluctantly admitted.

Klaus looked down at the book. His nostrils flared and he suddenly felt an irrational wave of anger wash over him.

“Right,” he said with a hiss, baring his teeth, “well that settles it.” He held the book between a pinched finger and thumb and unceremoniously dropped it in the trash can.

“Klaus!” Dave said shocked.

“It hurt you,” Klaus said simply. “It has no place in our home anymore.”

Dave’s face softened in fond bemusement. Klaus watched his eyebrows crinkle together as he gave an exasperated little shake of his head.

“You know I’m just going to have to go digging though the trash to rescue that now?” His words had no bite.

“Don’t you dare!” Klaus looked scandalised. “It’s dead to me now. Goodbye evil instrument of pain…” He waved his Goodbye hand at the bin, but then looked back up at Dave and grinned.

“You really are something else,” Dave said fondly.

Klaus’ eyes twinkled and he reached out and traced a finger over Dave’s cheek, following a gloopy smear of pink icing.

“Well, sorry to break it to you, but right now, Mr Katz,” he said, “so are you.”

Klaus trailed his eyes down Dave’s body, taking in the floury handprints and unidentifiable smears that covered his clothes. Something pale brown and gloopy was drying in crusty matted clumps in his gloriously mussed curls.

Klaus reached up and tried to pull a bit of the stuff out of Dave’s hair. He raised a questioning eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“Oh, yeah,” Dave said. “I forgot about that.” He glanced up and Klaus followed his gaze to where splattered streaks of cake batter formed a modern art masterpiece on the white paint of their kitchen ceiling.

“How…?” Klaus started.

“I tried to use that mixer Vanya gave us,” Dave explained. “But I guess I didn’t fix the lid on properly.”

Klaus looked around the kitchen again. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at a couple of thin, dense-looking – vaguely cake-shaped – disks, half hidden under an empty bag of flour.

“Oh, that was my first attempt,” Dave grimaced again. “Back when I had high expectations. Apparently there is a difference between plain and self-raising flour.”

“Think the clue’s in the name, babe,” Klaus smiled.

Dave huffed. “I can follow a recipe,” he said indignantly, “but I just forgot about the flour thing.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wanted to get it right.”

“And did you?” Klaus asked.

“Yes!” Dave nodded vigorously, a little shower of flower falling onto his broad shoulders. But then he paused and pulled a face. “Well,” he clarified, “the cake worked okay… eventually.” He looked over his shoulder and then back to Klaus. “The decorating part, not so much though,” he admitted. He scrunched his nose, contorting his face into an expression of dejected disappointment. Klaus thought he looked positively adorable.

“Can I see?”

“Well, the surprise is ruined now, so might as well,” Dave sighed. He stepped away from the counter, revealing the thing behind him that had previously been shielded by his body.

Klaus looked down. “It’s brilliant,” he said automatically. Then, after a beat, he added gently, “what is it?”

Dave grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face, but when he brought it down, he was smiling.

“That bad, huh?” he said.

“No,” Klaus corrected himself quickly. “I mean, it looks great! I can see you’ve clearly put a lot of effort into this. I was just wondering…” he paused, “well, it’s very... I was just wondering what the thinking behind it was?”

“I know you never had your own birthday cake,” Dave said slowly. “Because you and your siblings all had the same birthday. I remember you saying Grace used to make one big cake for you all to share. But it’s not like having your own cake, just for you, with your name on it.”

Klaus’ eyes scanned Dave’s face. Dave was determinedly looking at the cake in front of him. Klaus reached over and took hold of his hand – his sticky, messy hand – and squeezed. The corner of Dave’s mouth twitched in a smile and he shook himself slightly.

“So that’s what I tried to do,” Dave carried on, “make you your own cake. Because you deserve a cake of your own, with only your name on it.”

“Is that what’s going on here?” Klaus pointed to an amorphous smear of blue icing that was bleeding into the runny pink icing underneath and then dribbling off the edges and pooling on the plate below.

“Yeah,” Dave sighed. “It was supposed to say Happy Birthday Klaus.”

“Thank you,” Klaus said, squeezing Dave’s hand again. “It’s perfect.”

Dave snorted. “Hardly!” he said. “In hindsight, I think I should have waited for the cake to cool down before trying to ice it. Plus, I think this icing is too runny.”

“No,” Klaus said firmly. “It’s perfect.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Klaus,” he said firmly, “you don’t need to humour me. I know it’s pants. I’ve seen how well your cakes turn out and this – most definitely – is nothing like them.”

Klaus frowned. “Firstly,” he said, “you grew up in the 50s! I hardly think it was part of the curriculum. Secondly, you’ve met my mom! There’s no way she wasn’t going to make sure all her kids could bake a mean sponge cake! And thirdly – now brace yourself, because this is going to be as corny as the corniest corn bread – Grace also taught us that the most important ingredient in any great bake is the love you stir in along the way.” Klaus looked down, ran a finger through the dribbled icing, brought it up to his mouth and then licked it off his finger, maintaining eye contact with Dave the whole time. “And it’s clear that this cake, Dave, is positively overflowing with that. So, on that logic, this is the best cake that’s ever been baked.”

Dave’s eyes got a little glossy and he pulled Klaus into his arms, burying his face into the crook of Klaus’ neck.

“I love you,” Dave said. It sounded thick and muffled.

“That’s because I’m so damn lovable,” Klaus joked, running his fingers through Dave’s hair. “At least, that’s the overwhelming feedback I’ve got so far from all the people in my life. Oh, no, wait…” Klaus trailed off, grinning.

Dave pulled back, his hands resting on Klaus’ hips. “Well, I find it exceedingly easy.”

Klaus smiled. He reached up, wiped another smear of icing from Dave’s cheek with his thumb then leaned forwards and kissed the tip of his nose.

Dave blinked and looked down at himself again, then at the flour and sticky streaks he had transferred to Klaus’ clothes during their hug.

“Oh dear,” he said, trying to pull away “I’m sorry, baby, I’ve messed up your outfit.”

“I don’t care,” Klaus replied, pulling him back fiercely. “Do you hear me? I don’t care.” He rested his hands on Dave’s chest, his fingers playing with the collar of his soft tee. “And for the record,” he added, “I never want to hear anyone calling my special, surprise birthday cake pants ever again. My boyfriend made me that and I love it,” he nuzzled the tips of their noses together. “I love every sticky inch of it.” He kissed the frown lines between Dave’s eyes, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You still talking about the cake?” Dave asked, his thumbs gently stroking over the strip of exposed skin at Klaus’ waist, his mouth curling up in a smile.

“I can’t imagine what you mean!” Klaus’ eyes twinkled.

Dave grinned and caught Klaus’ mouth in a kiss, a sweet press of slightly parted lips.

Klaus let out a sigh and pressed forwards, their lips moving in a lazy slide. They broke apart, resting their foreheads together and took a moment, just holding each other and breathing the same air.

“Well,” Klaus said, his lips brushing Dave’s as he spoke. “I think we both know what we need to do now.”

“Umm,” Dave hummed his agreement. He paused, then added, “I’ll fill the sink.”

“Good idea,” Klaus grinned. “I’ll grab a tea-towel.”

Dave huffed a laugh and pulled back, grinning. Then he turned to start filling the washing-up bowl with hot soapy water.

Klaus reached up and, with practiced ease, twisted his hair into a loose bun on the top of his head, securing it with a black glittery scrunchie from his wrist. He flicked the radio on and the room was filled with the soft sound of something light and boppy. Klaus flashed a smile and started dancing around the room, collecting the dirty bowls and utensils between enthusiastic little shimmies and finally stacking them in a pile next to the sink.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, laughing and chatting – Dave elbow deep in sudsy water and Klaus drying the items and placing them on the draining board – they were the very picture of pure domestic bliss.

****************************************************************

“And you’re sure I can’t just use the mop?” Klaus squinted at the ceiling.

“Yes, sugarplum, I’m sure,” Dave looked over at him fondly from where he was putting the cutlery back in the drawer. “As is undoubtedly clear from the way I butchered that cake, I’m hardly a domestic goddess. But even I know you shouldn’t mop your ceiling. I’ll pick up some stepladders from the store tomorrow.”

“Or,” Klaus said, “I could just ask Luther to do it. What’s the point of having a giant for a brother if you can’t ask him to clean cake batter from your ceiling every now and again?”

“A completely normal sentence,” Dave said with a grin. Klaus rolled his eyes.

Dave wandered over to the counter and looked down at the cake.

“I’ll just bin this,” he said.

“What?! No!” Klaus said shocked, hopping down from the counter he’d been sitting on and trotting over to Dave. “Don’t throw away my cake!”

Dave suppressed a little smile, looking down at the sticky mess. “Don’t worry, pumpkin, the love-cake speech was very much appreciated. I got the message loud and clear. But you don’t actually have to eat this, you know.”

But when he looked up, Klaus was already holding out two plates and a knife.

“I’m selfish and impatient and can’t wait until tomorrow,” Klaus said.

Dave snorted, but moved aside.

“Make a wish,” Dave said, as Klaus cut two large slices. Klaus turned his face away slightly, smiling to himself. Dave wasn’t entirely sure, but he though he heard Klaus whisper, “No point, I already have him.”

They took their cake and a couple of forks into the living room and settled onto the sofa, their knees touching.

“Ummm,” Klaus hummed, his mouth full. “This is amazing.”

Dave took a careful bite, considering. “I guess it doesn’t taste too bad,” he said.

Klaus sprayed a mouthful of crumbs in his haste to reply, “It tastes so good!”

He swallowed and added with a grin, “One thing I still want to know, though, is why you decided to do all of this while wearing the apron from my sexy maid costume?”

Dave looked at Klaus and deadpanned, “Well, knowing what that costume’s been through, I didn’t think it would matter if I got a little more love batter on it.” Then he winked.

Klaus let out a cackle of laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Klaus looked over at Dave slumped next to him. Tired and dishevelled and warm and happy and alive. And his.

“Like I said before,” Klaus declared in the most dignified voice he could, while simultaneously trying to lick icing out of his beard. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dave looked back at Klaus fondly, a smile playing around the corner of his mouth, and replied, simply, “I wouldn’t have my cake any other way either.”

#klave #klaus hargreeves #dave katz #the umbrella academy #tua #klaus/dave #klaus x dave

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

Text

Empires on the Horizon XVII

Jason is a CEO: Part XVII

masterlist; my links

we are not big grand gestures,

we are little moments

—strung together

on a polaroid wall—

instances that freeze

in time;

timeless anyway

—badpoetry

[image has alt text]

Helping his friends had never been a difficult choice. Even now, three days into what was supposed to be a relaxing holiday, he didn’t feel anything but the overwhelming urge to “sort it out”. Despite the fact that he hadn’t taken more than a day to himself in three years; despite the fact that he was halfway across the world from his home and the people he loved; despite the fact that it was his ex girlfriend who asked for help; despite, despite, despite, that he had woken up this morning with a man who looked like a god and smelt like cool forests and laughed like he was born with an instrument in his throat, wrapped around him. They were all arms and legs and skin. So much glorious, glowing skin. Brown, golden, freckled, smooth, soft, calloused.

And still all Jason Grace could think was, “I need to help her.”

“Percy,” He whispered, “Angel.” How could he disturb such a creature of peace. It seemed almost immoral.

Long black lashes blinked and fluttered, before blurry green eyes trailed the room lazily landing on him. “Well, if it isn’t a good morning indeed.” His gaze travelled the length of their bodies, drinking in the entanglement of their limbs. That voice was made from rolling hills and crunching gravel.

He couldn’t help the smile that fell to his lips as he watched his friend stare at their bodies. “Pretty isn’t it?”

“Ethereal.”

“I have to get up.”

The pout that greeted him almost crumpled his willpower. “Do you have to?” Green eyes were wide. They looked like emeralds under a microscope. Detailed in their pleading. “I can actually stay in bed today. We can have breakfast together, right here.” A brown hand patted the sheets, right near his own fingers. He felt the heat of their skin but nothing touched him.

“I have to help Zoe.” He wanted to snuggle under the duvet and bury his face in the crook of Percy’s neck. “She needs me.”

“What if I need you?” There was no judgement on that beautiful face, just curiosity and mild concern.

“Do you?” He breathed. His lungs were folding in on themselves.

There were several beats of quiet, filled only by their gentle breathing, and the thundering of his heart.

“No.”

Jason cracked in half. He became the canyon in the desert. He became the earthquake in the house. He became the bridge with no rope. He snapped a million times.

“Oh.” The answer was small, and broken.

“I will love you though.”

The world exploded. Jason saw stars become blackholes. Jason became a new universe entirely.

They looked at each other and suddenly he saw the thousands of lives they had lived. He saw the thousand more they would still live. Most especially he saw the one they were living right then, and it was the most beautiful of all.

“Shall we order breakfast?” It was the only thing he could choke out. He would send Reyna’s number to Zoe. They could sort it out. He was here. He wanted to sort himself out.

The beam that graced his friend’s face was worth every screaming thought in his mind that riddled him with guilt.

They both got up to freshen up before diving back into bed, shoulders brushing as they scrolled through their phones and let the sound of a peaceful morning wash over them.

He had thought it would be at least a little weird to be sleeping next to a man he only knew for a year but it felt like some part of him had been comfortable with Percy since the day they were born. Everything was easy: from the way they sat, fitting besides each other, gravitating towards each other; to the things they talked about; every silent question had an answer, every story had shared feelings. Jason knew he wouldn’t fall in love; he would stroll towards it, confident, assured, and excited for the moments to come. He would not look back, not even once.

Breakfast came in a flurry of silver trays and mouth watering smells. They pounced on it as soon as the door shut. Croissants, and pastries, and fruit, and yoghurts. It was a feast that could carry them through the next week. He should have known Percy would order the entire menu.

“Strawberry my good sir?” A brown hand waved near his face, offering him the bright red fruit.

Jason opened his mouth, closing his teeth around the berry which burst with sweetness in his mouth. He couldn’t stop the hum of appreciation that vibrated his throat. The sparkle in those green eyes made him wonder if he should keep making those sounds.

“Are you back at the labs today?” He asked around a croissant, distracting his unsavoury thoughts.

“For a little, and then i have an onsite meeting with the coastal guards and lighthouse keepers.”

“Oh are they a big part of your job?”

He hummed “They know the area and the patterns of the sea better than anyone.”

There was a light in his eyes that made Jason wonder if he ever looked as full of joy when he was talking about his own work. His friend pulled him out of his thoughts with another fruit offering, mango this time.

“I don’t want to talk about work,” He frowned contemplatively. It was rather unfair that even with a crease between his brow, and his mouth quirked Percy still seemed to look like a model, or a god, or something from a Studio Ghibli piece. “Tell me your happiest memory from the last year.”

He leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes as he lost himself to the time reel of the year. It felt both a thousand lifetimes ago and one second from now. “I can’t choose just one.” His eyes are glittering with life past. He refuses to let memories fall down his cheeks.

“Choose three, choose five, tell me everything if you want.” Percy’s voice was a rope over the mountain. He was reaching for it even as he fell.

“The dinner we shared at the university.” He starts. One hand caught the rope.

“The day we met huh?”

“The morning Zoe pitched up at my house and made me late for work.” The ground was so close, and he was still falling.

Percy laughed at the implications hidden in his answer.

“When we danced at the club, I’ve never felt so alive in my life.”

He heard the soft intake from his friend, surprise and… something else coating their thoughts.

The rope was strong under his fingers and he was pulling himself up with ease. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find green ones staring directly at him.

“Do you ever wonder what could have happened if time had slowed down even a fraction of a second the night we met?” The question had sat on his tongue like salt, cutting his tastebuds.

“I’d drive myself insane thinking about all the ways we could have been.” Percy said lowly “I prefer,” He swallowed thickly. Jason wanted to trace the bob of that throat with his tongue. “I prefer to think about all we can do now, now that we can.”

“I think I’ll die if you break my heart.” The fear crystallized him like sugar in a cooling pan. It was the one bridge he still wavered on.

The black-haired man took his hand, fingers cold and warm, and gentle. With a softness that bowed his fear Percy placed Jason’s hand on his chest. His heart was steady, thumping under his palm. He felt the assurance of comfort against his skin. He felt at ease.

“This will belong to you one day,” His friend said quietly, “And when it does it will be fully and completely and without restraint.”

He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t even breathe. All he could do was feel that constant beating heart, and the warmth of a chest, and the glimmer of emerald eyes, and the first blooms of a new beginning.

“I cannot break your heart Jason Grace,” Percy brushed a thumb across his cheek, “Because I will be breaking mine, and my days of self-destruction are long behind me.”

He melted into being and couldn’t help the sigh of happiness that escaped him. If he did nothing else in life, at least he had had this. These quiet minutes that enveloped every fear in a rose scented bag and let the wind take it away. Far, far away.

“Okay.” He finally rasped. His voice was lost to the sea.

Soon after that Percy had to go to work which left him to laze around in their room and snack on the breakfast feast and doze in the warmth of the sun. He didn’t even bother to put on his robe, preferring to feel the rays against his skin, save for the rectangle of boxers he slept in.

Some part of him wanted to get out and do something but it was quickly squished down by every other part of him that just couldn't do it any longer. Couldn't keep him moving and functioning and thinking.

He summoned up the last bit of energy he could muster and called his lawyer.

“Jason, babe.” Her strong, husky voice ran clear through his speaker, “What can i do for you?”

“Hello Arellano,” He couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity of her. So straight to the point, no nonsense, full of energy. “It’s not actually me that needs your help it’s Zoe.”

“Heavens Grace,” He heard the sigh building in her voice. “I mean I loved her as much as the next and I was sorry to hear you guys had broken up but seriously man how are you helping an ex… again?”

He winced, flashbacks of Luke calling on him again and again even after they had parted screaming through his mind. “I’m not technically helping, I’m just sort of recruiting you to help?”

“What sort of trouble is she in?”

“Her father is forcing her to marry an absolute scumbag of a man.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, “You remember the potential business investor, Octavian?”

“Oh gods,” Reyna groaned, and he couldn't help but share in her sentiment.

“Yea.” He pulled a face. “Is there anyway you can get her out of this mess and help her with protective immunity or whatever?”

“I’m gonna have to pull some strings and get digging into some seriously shady shit but I think I can.” He heard the grimace in her voice but there was not a trace of reluctance or potential regret.

“You are incredible!” His sigh of relief was audible enough for the birds outside to imitate it. “I’ll send you her number, and just bill everything to me.”

“You sure?”

“It’s the only way I can help so I will.”

“Then let me get to it.” And then she was gone, already starting the next project.

It’s no wonder they were friends. A bunch of workaholics.

His final call was to Thalia, in which they had a fun little chat that ended with confirmation that Bianca Di Angelo would be paying both Octavian, and Zoe’s father a visit that may or may not result in sudden disappearances and two new people cropping up in another country.

After the morning of maneuvering he couldn't even bear to move from his bed. So he didn't. He wondered if this was what a cat felt like, and then decided it wasn’t possible simply because even cats did more than he had done.

By the time Percy got home, he had showered and was already mostly asleep. Moonlight bathed their bed, the curtains rustled softly, he smelt the sea. The bed dipped just as he drifted off to sleep.

He didn’t hear the whispered, “Goodnight, my love.” that caught in the blossoms by their nightstands. He didn’t feel the gentle brush of fingers against his cheek. All he felt was peace. His dreams were sweet that night.

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stab-the-son-of-a · 3 years

Text

Whumpers Only

I wish I could explain how this got away from me but I have no words. Not quite a caretaker, so, sorry anon, but here you go.

CW: Brief drug and alcohol mention

The itemized call history that crossed Detective Vance’s desk is deceptively extensive and several pages thick, despite being only for a few months’ span of time. Forensics still have their hands all over the cell phone itself, and the detective has a few choice words they could say about the forensic team’s work ethic, but they’re not in the practice of layering their insults in honey. Their bread and butter is to to dig and root around for information, like some sort of truffle pig, and their tongue is regularly knotted. The detective finds themself quite defective when it comes to spinning the same pleasant, nuanced banter, certainly not enough to keep up with the man down in forensics with the sugar sweet smile.

So, itemized call list it is. It took the detective an obscene amount of time to cross reference the numbers against every possible database and to confirm the pattern to the suspect's behaviors and narrow down which numbers are legitimate. Most of all, which of these numbers matches the spurious rumor of a hotline.

A ‘whump’ hotline. There are many, many similar mentions in certain circles and apparently coded messages sent through various forms of advertising, and yet, this is the closest Jesse has come to interacting with that sphere. They’re not sure, but they think that might be why they still can’t bring themself to finish dialing.

The information has always been there, readily accessed in the same sort of way drugs and alcohol are accessible - a thinly veiled barrier, a little social based pressure to avoid or partake depending on the circles. For years, Jesse has been a teetotaler and avoided whump content in any respect, and kept that influence from their life.

It’s odd to abandon that part of their life, that internal badge of never having indulged.

It’s for a case, however, so they finally stop their waffling and dial.

Not long after, on the second ring, someone picks up. “Hello and thank you for calling 1-877-WHMP-NOW, the whump specialist hotline.” The person on the other end, an operator of some sort, offers a friendly greeting.

Off balanced by just how cordial the other person sounds, Jesse hesitates a moment to collect themself. They just have to pretend to want to be a whumper. That couldn't be too hard. “Um…” they mumble, then clear their throat. “Um, hi, I... want to learn to whump. My name is-”

“Oh. Excuse me, I’ll have to place you on hold while a representative finishes with another client.”

The cheery hold music is far more underwhelming than anything else and Jesse frowns at the phone, as if it’s the device’s fault, before sighing and settling on their couch, one leg tossed over the arm while they wait.

And wait.

Eventually they start mirroring the words of the automated voice recording, interjecting with their own commentary in the brief pauses between statements.

“All our lines are busy at the moment.”

“And here at Whump Corp or whatever these moments last a lifetime,” Jesse snorts as they try yet again to find another position on the couch. Their curly hair serves little by way of cushioning from the carpet as they sit upside down. The phone sits a few inches away from their head, speakerphone enabled, and Jesse crosses their hands over their stomach and their ankles behind the back of the couch.

Undeterred, because of course, the message continues, “Please remain patient. Your time is very important to us. We will be with you momentarily.”

“Momentarily means for a short period,” Jesse corrects under their breath. It’s a small pet peeve, something that normally wouldn’t have drawn their attention either, but as they hear the same spiel for the dozenth time, it’s like getting the last final small pebble thrown in their face- just enough to burst the dam. "Not in a short period of time."

“We are currently experiencing greater than usual call volume. Continue to hold the line, and you will be connected as soon as possible.”

“How many people can there even be calling at 11am on a Tuesday?” Gravity draws Jesse’s blood into their head until the pressure and dizziness build uncomfortably. They roll off the couch and root around in their mini fridge for a drink. At this volume, they can hear the same three bar hold music repeat yet again, despite the distance. Cracking the seal on their iced tea, Jesse settles cross legged beside the cellphone. “Don’t whump on company time, guys, jeez.”

“Just a moment please, the next available team member will be there for you shortly.”

Letting out a drawn out groan, Jesse lies back and stares up at the ceiling. It’s been hours. “Starting to think I’m waiting for the next available team member to be born.”

Click. Jesse bolts upright, fumbling with the phone and nearly yeeting it across the room in their haste.

“All of our employees are currently busy assisting other clients,” the new voice announces. The faint static and electric tone warns Jesse that they’ve simply stumbled into another robot. “Your call and phone number has just been noted and a representative will call you back as soon as possible. We thank you for your understanding.”

“What?” That doesn’t make any sense. Jesse runs a hand through their curls, only to freeze as the line goes dead. “What?! No! I did not just sit through hours of happy fun time hold music just to get hung up on by a robot!”

Except that’s exactly what just happened.

They stare down at their screen in acute betrayal. What now? Try again? Their number is now in a whump call center database of some sort.

Half an hour after the call disconnected, Jesse still hasn’t moved from their position. Their mind is a blur as they try to figure out what it is they really ended up doing- if they would have to explain themself and the call to anyone- their family, friends, service provider, work. They don’t even know if anyone will know, let alone if they will care.

The house is absolutely silent, the muted television still playing in the background as they’d forgotten to turn it off or to return the volume.

Silent until the phone rings. Shock and no small amount of recklessness has Jesse answering the unknown number.

“Hello, and thank you for holding!” It’s the operator from before- Jesse recognizes the faint impediment or accent that sharpens the glottal sound of their h’s.

“I wouldn’t call that holding,” Jesse grumbles.

Either not hearing them, or not addressing their commentary, the operator continues, “At this time, I'd like to let you know that this call may be recorded for quality assurance and training purposes. Please answer the following survey questions.”

“I’ve been on hold for hours and you want me to perform a survey? About what? I haven’t even gotten helped!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, friend. Were you highly satisfied with your service experience?”

Bewildered, Jesse cries, “No!”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you receive the result you needed from your service interaction?”

“What interaction?!” Are they in the Twilight Zone? Are they still speaking English? Did they have a stroke and now they’re mumbling incoherently? What sort of madness was this, an elaborate prank?

“Thank you for your response. Did you receive friendly service?”

“I didn’t get any service! Rude would have been preferable!”

“Your feedback has been noted.”

Jesse groans again and scrubs their face.

“Was our service timely and convenient?”

“Not on your life!”

“Thank you for your responses. Now, would you recommend our service to others?”

They can feel their head pulsing and pounding, a twitch behind their temple and their eyebrow jumping, but as soon as they hang up, their blood pressure begins to lower with a rush of relief.

Their iced tea now room temperature and bitter, Jesse takes a few more sips and leans against the couch, resting their neck against the cushion. “What a disaster,” they sigh.

After a few seconds of blissful silence, their phone goes off again. Swiping the decline button with a vicious smirk, they return to enjoying what more of their day they can.

Said enjoyment ends with another call, and another.

“Fine! Hello?”

“I’m sorry, it seems we were disconnected. Please finish providing your feedback so we can improve our services.”

“My feedback is that this was an exercise is madness! You kept me on hold for over two hours, but you’ve repeatedly called me for a stupid survey when before you couldn’t give me the time of day!”

“I’ve very sorry you were not satisfied with the level of response and attentiveness. You are welcome to try calling again tomorrow-”

“Absolutely no-”

“As I was saying, Mx. Vance, you may call the hotline again tomorrow during regular business hours. Thank you for completing the survey and for calling 1-877-WHMP-NOW. Have a whumpderful day!”

“A pun?” Jesse tosses their phone to the couch and storms off to the bathroom to wash the rage and boiling heat from their face. “All that for a stupid pun?!”

Over at the call center, Gladys and Fran sit huddled around the phone, Gladys actually sitting on the desk and perched precariously on the edge. The speaker button still flashes from the abrupt disconnection.

“Did you hear them?” Gladys roars with laughter, holding her aching ribs. It took everything in her willpower and then some to keep quiet, both while listening to the detective while they were on hold, but especially while Fran spoke with them. Now free, she lets loose, uncaring of who else hears her. “Oh God, oh man, I’m gonna bust a rib. Babe, you’re the best.”

“I’m actually proud of that pun. Like, really proud.” Fran takes out their pen and quickly scribbles that one down.

“Uhhh, Fran, I’m pretty sure Craig in finance already-”

They raise up one finger imperiously and continue to write. “Let me have my moment, Glady-girl. Just this once.”

Smiling, she rolls her eyes and slides off the desk. “Since you gave me the best lunch break surprise ever, want to head down to the cafe?”

Fran takes a final quick look at their work space, how messy and disorganized it is now that it’s no longer Gladys’s chair, considers the amount of time left in their shift and how long this high of a well played prank might last, and wheels back from their desk. “Lead the way!”

“Oh, no, you’re my hero,” she insists, dramatically bowing to allow them to go ahead of her. The angle is perfect for a quick peck on the cheek before they make their way down the corridors.

#wcc series #wcc fran #wcc gladys #wcc detective jesse vance #alcohol mention #drug mention #anonymous #kissing cw

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