#hen owns so many fucking jackets

[honeyynymphh]

I had a thought for a fic and bc I love ur writing…

copia x mile high club

first of all, thank you so much!! mile high club certainly is not something I would have ever thought of but it did give me an idea so here it is! Inflight Meal Papa IV x FemReader rating: E words: 2600 tags: dom copia, cunnilingus, sex, fucking on the job, drinking on the job, dirty talk, cheesy af, there is no resemblence to canon like anywhere in this story lmao AO3

summary: as an air hostess you are used to strange people, especially when they have their own private jet. but this was definitely the strangest one.

also Copia still has his moustache because I said so! I know nothing about flying, this is pretty silly and it is not checked so sorry for any mistakes!

Straightening your skirt you stand waiting for the passengers to board the plane. Last minute you’d been called in to help on an overnight flight to Italy by Jack—the usual pilot you flew with. Apparently, some priest was travelling back to his hometown for an important ceremony and his crew were short a few staff members. You would have refused at such a late request, especially as you had to wear a completely different uniform. It wasn’t the airlines—apparently the priest had insisted all the crew fit in with the rest of his staff.

What an arrogant prick. 

But the money had been way above the norm and you rarely were asked to do private flights. And the uniform was not much different than your usual skirt and jacket. Except it was cerulean blue with little embroidered golden details—and a strange inverted crucifix emblazoned on the chest. You were just grateful it wasn’t a nun's habit.

You heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to board and straightened your back, plastering on the practised smile. Many a jerk you’ve had to deal with and today would be no different—no matter how fancy an aircraft it was. You’d had a little snoop before. The whole aircraft was dark wood and detailed with the same shade of blue and gold. The jet was fitted with a main bedroom, kitchen, office and then the main seating area. God must be real generous, you think with a roll of your eyes.

The first person aboard is an older woman, her blonde hair styled to perfection and wearing a severe yet fitting suit jacket and skirt—all in black but detailed with the same hints of blue and gold as your uniform. She smiles at you and you gesture for her to enter, giving her a welcoming smile as you bid good evening. Next is a man…at least you think it’s a man. The smile on your face falters a moment before you right it again on your perfectly painted lips.

His dress is fine. He’s dressed all in black—though his jacket has the same little crucifix on it as yours—it’s the mask he wears that throws you. It’s silver, demonic and completely obscures his face.

Weird. But you were here to serve drinks and food, not care about the passengers and their odd choice of attire. The…man walks past you without a glance and settles into a chair before pulling out a rolled-up magazine from his trouser pocket.

You’re too busy still looking at him when a voice says, “Buonasera, Signorina.”

When you turn towards it, you’re met with a pair of mismatched eyes set in a face painted like a skull. But despite it, it’s still an attractive one and the man’s voice is pleasant—the Italian lilt to his words makes your smile genuine, if not a little bemused. He’s dressed in a dark blue suit, way too tightly fitting that it’s almost indecent.

He takes your hand, the soft leather that encases his hand is buttery soft and warm. He kisses your hand, moustache tickling your skin. He introduces himself as Papa Emeritus the Fourth before he gives you a smile and heads into the plane. You watch, bemused, as he greets the other two—the woman talking quickly and hovering around him like a mother hen. He waves her off with some words in Italian and disappears down to the back of the plane.

That cannot be a priest, you think. Maybe Jack got the information wrong. He looks too…you don’t even know. You rub at your hand. At least he didn’t seem like a complete asshole, nor had he started preaching—and really, that was all you cared about. You kept staring off down towards the back of the plane, mind still fixated on the mysterious man.

“You ready?” says Jack, ducking out of the cockpit.

“Huh?” you say distractedly, head snapping to look at the pilot. 

Another crew member has appeared, she’s wearing the same uniform as you and she’s standing there patiently waiting for you. You had only briefly spoken to her earlier, she had said her name was Sister Hayley you think. A nun. Not that the woman looked anything like a nun.

“Arm and crosscheck?” he says.

“Oh, yes, right.”

When miles above ground and flying somewhere over the Atlantic ocean you’re giving out drinks. The man in the silver mask declines anything, choosing instead to lounge on the plush seating like an overgrown cat while the woman—who had politely introduced herself as Sister Imperator—sat in one of the comfortable chairs at a small desk. You’d given her a drink—a gin and tonic—and then headed down to go find the enigmatic Papa Emeritus.

The office is empty and so you head to the bedroom, the door is closed and you knock politely before sliding it open. You find the man propped up on the bed, book in hand and a pair of glasses perched low on his long nose. He glances up at you and the darkly painted lips quirk into a pleased smile. It makes your stomach flip.

“Sir, would you like a drink?” you ask, standing there with your hands clasped in front of you. “Or something to eat?”

The man gives you a smile, easy and smug. Again you wonder why he was wearing such tight trousers. What the hell kind of church was he from?

“Si, wine, per favore. Anything from the stock in the kitchens. Pick something.” He gives you a long look. “Two glasses.”

“No problem, sir, anything to eat?” you ask. Fuck you wish he’d stop looking at you like that.

His painted lips quirk but he shakes his head. “Just bring the wine, signorina.”

You head to the little kitchen and randomly grab a bottle, simply picking one based on the label. You grab two glasses and then walk back towards the suite. You smile politely as you enter and place the glasses on the little table next to him.

“Is this to your liking, sir?” you ask, holding out the bottle for him to inspect. 

“Papa,” he says, leaning over to peer at the label before he nods. “Not ‘sir’.”

You pour him a glass and place the bottle beside it. “Is there anything else?”

He closes the book he is reading a throws it on the bed, you catch the cover—it’s in a different language but it has a picture of a goat and a pentagram on it. He waves a hand at the other glass.

“Pour yourself one as well, signorina.”

You frown at him. “That is kind of you, but I am working.”

The man winks at you, grabbing the bottle himself and pouring out a measured amount. You watch the liquid slosh in the glass.

“I promise I won’t tell,” he says, extending it out to you.

You take it and hold it awkwardly, the smile on your face fixed. You did not want to get in trouble with Jack and lose your job. But a glass couldn’t help and you’d attended to everyone. You sip it and Papa smiles.

Somehow you end up two glasses deep. It’s not enough to make you drunk but damn it’s enough to make you feel far too relaxed. And you’ve somehow found yourself sitting next to him on the bed. You really should go back though. But it’s been lovely chatting to him, he talks of his flock with affection and mentions Sister Imperator fondly.

“This might be a stupid question,” you ask, the wine having loosened your tongue, “but what exactly are you a priest of?”

He laughs and it’s such a pleasant sound that you can’t help but smile. You’ve grown used to his strange face and it’s somewhat endearing to watch the lines on his face move as he chuckles.

“Not a priest, dolce,” he says. “Once upon a time, si, but now I am Papa.”

“You say that like I should know what you mean,” you reply.

“Like the Pope.” He grins. “Less preaching about the good of man and much more sinning.”

You cannot help but laugh, it sounds ridiculous. “I thought god said sinning was bad.”

“We do not worship a false god of fabricated mercy,” he utters, voice low. You stop laughing at the serious expression on his face, but it melts away when he adds. “We worship the lord below who relishes in sin. We are human, si? So we should take comfort in the pleasures it provides.”

“You’re telling me you worship the devil?” you ask, breath hitching when he leans in a little closer.

“Si,” he says, eyes fixed on you. “And I fear I have not worshipped in his name today at all. Perhaps you can help me, dolce?”

Suddenly his mouth is on yours. You freeze a movement but when you respond, his hands hold your face and pull him flush against him. His mouth is urgent and hot against yours, tongue delving into your mouth while your legs tangle together. Your lipstick is smudged red over his face and you’re certain he’s covered yours in black—you can taste it on your own lips but it doesn’t matter. He kisses like he is worshipping, hungry and possessive. It makes your head spin and you completely forget that this is certainly a breach of conduct. Especially when he’s flipping you onto your back, dragging your legs to the edge of the bed as he pushes your skirt up to bunch around your waist/

“Sorry, dolce, but now I’m feeling rather hungry.”

You hear the snap of your garter belt and feel the tension ease around your stockings so he can pull your knickers down your legs. Before you can draw another breath his face is between your legs, his breath skating over your wet folds before his tongue is flicking against you. You moan, hands instantly grabbing tufts of his peppered hair between your fingers as he works some sort of ungodly magic on your aching cunt.

Fucking hell.

Your back arches as he draws the tension out, leaving you panting on the edge of delirium. His arms move under your thighs and pull you closer to him as he devours you. You pull at his hair and grind against his face, unable to stop yourself from seeking more glorious threads of pleasure to wind tighter around your core.

His mouth breaks away as he can come up for air. You stare at him with a heavy-lidded expression, taking in that wicked mouth all glistening and smeared with paint by your own slick. He looked like the fucking devil and you were more than willing to sell your soul if it meant he wouldn’t stop.

“Cazzo, your pussy is delicious, dolce,” he breathes, nipping at the inside of your thigh.

His face returns to press against your cunt. And that nose! It’s pressed against your clit, mouth wet and tongue searching while his moustache tickles your skin. You arch back and your hands grip the sheets as the plane suddenly rocks—turbulence. Fuck.

Jack’s voice floats through the plane’s intercom system, certainly a mood killer, but Papa doesn’t stop. 

“Please return to your seat, we are experiencing some mild turbulence.”

The craft rocks again but your eyes are too busy rolling into the back of your head as he eats you out like he’s on death row and you're his last meal.

You moan when you feel fingers, leather-clad ones, pressing into your pussy and stretching you. You bounce on his hand when you hit another pocket of turbulence, and his grip on your thigh tightens while the other hand is busy pumping into your wetness. Another pocket and another moan have you on the edge and trembling.

It doesn’t take much to have you rocking along with the aircraft as you come. You try not to moan too loudly and shove your fist in your mouth but Papa leans up and pulls your arm away from your face, that devilish visage hovering over you.

“Don’t silence such pretty sounds, dolce.”

You sigh, luxuriating in the waves that still ripple through you while the plane rocks again. Fuck. You feel his body move away from yours and you sigh. Your eyes had fallen closed as you relaxed but they snap open when you feel him crawl on top of you. He’s rid himself of some of his clothes—well, most of them. A heavily unbuttoned shirt was the only thing on him. You can see the hairs on his firm chest and when you feel his cock pressing between your legs you immediately spread them for him.

When he sinks into your welcoming pussy you moan. The stretch feels incredible and you desperately tilt your hips so he can sink in further. When he bottoms out, you both sigh. Papa has removed his gloves, and his large hands hold your hips, creasing the fabric of your uniform even further as he starts to pump into you.

You’re already so worked up and sensitive that you are already ready to come again quickly. Your walls are squeezing him and the sounds it draws from his lips are downright demonic. Your hands reach up to grip his shoulders so you can thrust up to meet him, both of your movements becoming hurried in your desperation for release.

“Do you want my cock so badly, signorina?” he growls, leaning over you and thrusting into you roughly. Your pant out a yes, or something that was meant to be a yes and only comes out as a string of incoherent nonsense as you nod your head fervently. “You have to come for me first, dolce.”

A hand moves between your bodies and he's rubbing at your swollen and sensitive clit. You cry out, not giving a single fuck that the entire plane can probably hear you. The plane rocks one last time and you hear the seatbelt sign turn off. But you are barely paying any attention to anything else except his cock buried inside you.

The tension in your core tightens again and with another deep thrust he has you coming apart for him. Your eyes shut as it crashes through you but he doesn’t stop. Your hands are gripping feebly at his shoulders, then the nape of his neck, his hair and then fistfuls of the front of his shirt to bring his mouth against yours.

You feel his cock swell within you as he growls against your mouth, teeth nipping at your bottom lips as his hips jerk. You feel him come, painting the inside of your cunt as he continues to thrust into you while his tongue does the same to your mouth. It’s desperate and you’re sweating in your uniform but you don’t care. It feels far too fucking good.

When the high finally eases and he rolls off you to lie beside you, you sigh in relief. Fuck that was something, you think.

“You call that worship?” you pant, turning your head lazily to look at him Your makeup and hair must be absolutely ruined because his is completely ruined. He looks deranged with his hair falling in his face and his paint all smeared.

He hums. “Si. My lord believes in the power of the female orgasm. Is there anything more divine than pleasure?”

You shake your head, mind still foggy with bliss. You utter the only words you can think of. 

“Did you still want your inflight meal?”

He grins at you. “Maybe in an hour or so, signorina. I just ate.”

#this probably isnt what you meant anon lmao #i looked at a lot of interiors of private planes and it made me depressed #wish i were stupid rich #fly to see the mutuals #the band ghost fic #the band ghost #papa iv x reader #papa iv x female reader #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #popia x reader #inbox <3 #my-writing

[ask-the-menagerie]

heyyyy im baaackkk im going to chatter about general headcanonsssss (i stole many from different askblogs and i projected onto them so much. y'all don't even KNOW)

henry stickmin. the guy themself.

•nonbinary as hell. they/them (he/him is fine but they'll kill you if you use he/him exclusively)

•biromantic asexual + poly (i fucking swear i SWEAR im not projecting I SWEAR i took this from the ending the cycle ask blog)

•conjures items (Choices) and has control over time. i love powers

•they always need a Source though but they usually have their hoodie

•despises suits !! give them a dress with a hood and they won't cause any mischief during formal occasions.

•loves ellie n charles. you can take this from my cold dead paws

•conveys love through gifts. has to steal a lot of them

•once came home looking absolutely feral, holding a helicopter toy in their mouth and walking on all fours. they gave it to charles

•surprisingly good at walking on all fours. is like a cat.

•very good at avoiding attention. but if they want they could VERY EASILY steal a show

•wears a binder

•has SO MANY SCARS. some linger from Fails and some just. happen. without a fail. hides a lot of them (coughcough revenged bullet scar coughcough)

charles calvin. the man with the plan

•fuck you (projects onto the pilot) (he/him trans guy.)

•fuck you (projects onto the pilot) (also bi, ace, and poly)

•loves ellie and henry. because i need to mention it every time.

•THIS IS THE GREATEST PLAAAN

•this mf adopted by general galeforce. you can't take this from me

•valiant hero charles is just constantly following around his henry. refuses to move on. will fistfight the grim reaper

•has a minimal amount of scars since he's a pilot instead of an actual fighter but he does have a few. and they're not telling a good story.

•he woke up one day with explosion scars and was.. confused. but thought nothing of it. (henry was very clingy that day. suspicious.)

•conveys love through touch. hugs n stuff.

•one time he had.. one hell of a nightmare. henry was the toppat leader and he had to fight them. he.. killed them, he's pretty sure. he killed them. he didn't let henry escape the hug that day. (but they did look.. kinda terrified when he charged at them for a hug)

•has a funny little helicopter necklace. if he's mad at someone he'll take it off and just. hit them with it. it's not like. a knife or anything. it's made of metal and uncomfortably sharp though. it COULD probably draw blood in a panic probably

•has a very poofy jacket because being up in the air is cold i think

ellie rose. she's there ! i can tell you that

•she/her. i have no further comments on her gender

•bi ace poly because i said so. you can't stop me

•obligatory loves charles and henry

•prefers suits over dresses. does have dresses but recently started giving them to henry

•sleeves? no! (cuts off the sleeves from every shirt she owns)

•conveys love through actions because words are shit and cannot properly convey emotions.

•has. actually jumped in front of a bullet for the others. who immediately PANICKED (henry was so damn close to a Retry. but she was fine!)

•loves when henry literally just brings her any red flower that isn't a rose. it's the funniest shit ever to her.

•if henry's being a little shit she'll pick him up by the hood like he's a fucking cat. has told charles to do the same but he refused

•makes and holds grudges easily. also remembers faces easily. Will fuck you up if you wrong her

•one time had a weird ass dream. her and henry were toppats (which she knows is just. wrong. she might've become one before she met hen and charlie but wouldn't give up triple threat for the world) but they were.. fighting? she was threatening them. they.. betrayed her? they wouldn't do that. right? ((toppat civil war <3))

•good at starting fires but won't do it for any malicious purposes. anymore. she used to

#thsc au #thsc #triple threat #ellie rose #henry stickmin #charles calvin #mod circus

[caltropspress]

FEEDBACK LOOP #11: Infinity Knives and Brian Ennals' "Sambo's Last Words"

But do we got to play Sambo? —dälek, “Abandoned Language” (2007)

Unfortunately, I will not be alive to see my name cleared. That’s what this is about, my name. —Chris Dorner, from the “Last Resort” Manifesto (2013)

They were black and loud. And not detainable. And not discreet. —Gwendolyn Brooks, from “RIOT” (1969)

1.

Infinity Knives and Brian Ennals are not detainable or discreet. You can’t dis- them in any manner—they won’t be disallowed to do anything. No hyperbole, harangues, or holds barred: that’s their daily operation. Allow them to introduce, and reintroduce, and reintroduce themselves. They do so repeatedly on King Cobra: “I’m Brian Ennals, and the funny-looking dude behind me is Infinity Knives.” Ennals dares his employer to do something, punking him with his chest puffed out. We know how the New York Post tried to do Ka—a mild-mannered church mouse on the mic when put beside what Ennals is spitting: the phlegm of plague rats. “I’m just waiting for the meeting at work,” Ennals has said, expressing only the slightest concern at the prospect of a boss googling his name. On the other hand, the statement sounds more like a veiled threat of workplace violence. 

Infinity Knives knows the ledge—so don’t push him to the point of going postal either. His papers say Tariq Ravelomanana, but his p.k.a. is drawn from The Blade Itself, a post-millennium fantasy novel by Joe Abercrombie. But me, I’m visualizing the Cutlery Corner infomercials I watched as a kid, and I’m hearing the clang of swords that precede the RZA challenging us to bring da motherfucking ruckus. You can never have too many names or blades, but Brian Ennals is out here with his government written across his forehead. “The E-R-I-C-K is my name, I spell,” Erick Sermon raps on EPMD’s “You Gots to Chill.” He later told Brian Coleman: “It was like taboo to say your name in a rhyme back then—you just didn’t do that in rap! But that’s how real we were.” The B-R-I-A-N Ennals, for his part, keeps it realer than Real Deal Baudrillard (that would be hyperreal, for all you hookers, hoes, and semioticians keeping score at home).

Chris Dorner’s manifesto to Amerika begins with a meditation on the value of one’s name, asking, What would you do to clear your name? He writes that it’s more than just a “noun, verb, or adjective.” “Don’t let anybody tarnish it,” he writes, “when you know you’ve live[d] up to your own set of ethics and personal ethos.” Me and Knives used to be humble, Ennals says before the serrated horn frenzy on “Coke Jaw,” but now we fuckin’ shit up!

2.  I’m in Chipotle with a robe on.

Ennals channels his inner Fatboi Sharif, rocking a robe with the same bravado that the Savage Skulls rocked swastika-stitched denim jackets in the Bronx in the ’70s. Some real Flyin’ Cut Sleeves swagger. He approaches the Chipotle counter like the Dude saunters through the supermarket, sniffing a carton of half-and-half in the opening scene of The Big Lebowski. “Sometimes there’s a man, uhm, he’s the man for his time and place….” Yeah, uhm, Ennals is the man for this time [100 seconds to midnight] and this place [amerikkka]. He’s a man for all seasons—for all robbin’ seasons, Baltimore-style.

On “A Melancholy Boogie,” he warns of a “swastika on your door,” so his bathrobe is a sort of Robe of Nessus—a garment soaked in centaur blood and hydra venom—eager to tell Nazi Punks to Fuck Off, to smother their faces in the lethal fabric. Call it his own Valkyrie plot, a regular Henning von Tresckow looking to lick shots at Hitler. A negro assassin, in Cube’s parlance. Even when the plan is foiled, he’ll go out gloriously—pridefully and suicidally—falling on a grenade like von Tresckow, who, before pulling the pin, said: “None of us can complain about dying, for whoever joined our circle put on the Robe of Nessus.” Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

3.  Alas, poor Yorick!

Brian Ennals and Infinity Knives are diggity-dead serious, but they’ll just as soon die laughing. Lots of id in the mix, and the idiot box on, because the revolution will most certainly be televised, brother. Ennals might house a burrito bowl at Chipotle, but he’s also Billy Mays, hawking Chipotlaway on South Park: “You love to eat Chipotle, but you hate all those terrible bloodstains in your underwear!” Ennals “wear[s] boat shoes to shoot dice.” He’s ashy-classy: B.I.G. sweating through a Coogi sweater with labored breaths, or LL with the inscrutable single pant-leg rolled up. Despite his partner having the lemniscate appellation [∞], Ennals is the fellow of infinite jest. A rictus grin behind the mic device; a Killing Joke Joker. Hamlet remarked, “Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know / not how oft,” but Ennals holds Yorick’s skull aloft and skull-fucks it. That’s where his gibes, his gambols, his songs, his flashes of merriment are—a ruckus brought forth. Like erasing Rawkus from the historical record by traveling back in time and letter bombing Rupert Murdoch’s son at Horace Mann prep school.

Hamlet was in the churchyard, but Ennals and Knives are “in the sandlot, scared of the beast.” Fretting over the mark of the beast, maybe. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six (Revelations 13:18 KJV). RFID microchips implanted in their foreheads that hiss like basilisks when they cross the threshold of the anti-theft antennae at Wawa. They can’t stanch the brain bleed. In beast mode for the smash-and-grab. On a murderers’ row boat down the River Styx—not whistling Dixie but whistling 666. Ennals can be our “most poetic of poets and [our] leader into hell,” to crib one from Frederick Seidel.

Or maybe it’s obvious, just the beast of The Sandlot (1993), a slobbery mastiff named Hercules. On King Cobra, high and low art collapse in on each other like Building 7. A folksy implosion of images that combines barbarism and grace as well as the aforementioned sex-and-hex-crazed senex Frederick Seidel, like when the poet audaciously claims:

I’m Mussolini, And the woman spread out on my enormous Duce desk looks teeny. The desk becomes an altar, sacred The woman’s naked.

Ennals’ rhymes are as unadorned and brusque as Seidel’s, too—point-blank: he doesn’t have time for multisyllabic antics. He’s too busy juxtaposing PF Flyers and prophetic visions from Patmos. He’s like Dorner gushing at the conclusion of his manifesto about The Hangover Part III, which he knows he won’t live to see. “What an awesome trilogy,” he writes. “Damn, gonna miss shark week.”

4.

…when a multitude of shepherds is called forth against him, he will not be afraid of their voice, nor abase himself for the noise of them.

—Isaiah 31:4 KJV

On Brand Nubian’s “Dance to My Ministry,” Lord Jamar took the lead for others to follow: “The shepherd is here to protect the flock, / With my staff I walk through the wilderness.” But, then again, Lord Jamar is a homophobe and Holocaust denier. So Ennals abases him—smashes his phallocentric staff and passes him a staph infection; Ennals is a Debaser. “If you strike the shepherd,” though, you’ve still got to compete with the sheep—the leaderless flock, the lemmings, the true believers. You’ve got to be ruthless, murderous, a killer of sheep.

In Killer of Sheep, Charles Burnett’s 1978 film, kids from Watts—Black boys—go to war, hurling stones and dirtbombs at each other. Richard Wright wrote about a similar episode in his autobiographical sketch “The Ethics of Living Jim Crow.” Wright’s house was behind some railroad tracks, and his yard was “paved with black cinders.” Like clods of earth to the Watts kids, those cinders provided warzone entertainment—a joyful adolescent understanding that life is strife:

…cinders were fine weapons. You could always have a nice hot war with huge black cinders. All you had to do was crouch behind the brick pillars of a house with your hands full of gritty ammunition. And the first woolly black head you saw pop out from behind another row of pillars was your target. You tried your very best to knock it off. It was great fun.

But Wright’s fun ends when trouble arrives with a gang of whiteboys from the other side of the tracks (literally) that deliver “a steady bombardment of broken bottles.” Broken glass everywhere. One of the bottles catches Wright “behind the ear, opening a deep gash which [bleeds] profusely.” Bad to worse, though, when Wright’s mother gets a look at him: “She grabbed a barrel stave, dragged me home, stripped me naked, and beat me till I had a fever of one hundred and two…. impart[ing] to me gems of Jim Crow wisdom…. I was never, never, under any conditions, to fight white folks again.” Wright’s comeuppance is confusing and sets the tone for the remainder of his adolescence in the era of Jim Crow. 

Brian Ennals is exasperated too, and tired, like Killer of Sheep’s Stan standing in the slaughterhouse with knives chained to his butcher belt. (I’ll give you one guess as to how many knives he’s got.) But where Ennals differs is his willingness to turn a rudimentary work tool into a weapon of mass destruction.

5.  BURN A CROSS ON YOUR LAWN

Birmingham, AL. 1963. The Klan bombs the 16th Street Baptist Church. Louisiana. 2019. Three Black churches burned down in a 10-day span in St. Landry Parish. St. Mary Baptist Church; Greater Union Baptist Church; Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church. Baptism by fire? Must be next time. Or it always has been. “They been burning churches forever, man—that shit ain’t new,” is how Ennals tells it. The 2019 arson attacks were by one Yacubian juvenile named Holden Matthews, the son of a cop (ho hum). Not a hate crime, the authorities said. He had a predilection for Norwegian-style black metal, they said. Burzum be proud. Though they neglected to acknowledge how an adoration of Odin often coincides with Völkish beliefs—that’s Nazis all the way down, stupid. They been burning churches forever, man. Forever, man—like a sanctuary candle on the altar of one of those very churches.

“Niggas’ll look you in the face and say the sky ain’t blue.” Well, I suppose it’s not exactly blue when you consider the billowing black smoke that little Holden’s two-gallon gasoline cans have wrought. So much particulate matter it’s got asthmatics gagging. Ennals says, “A lie’s only a lie if you know it ain’t true.” What a conundrum. The post-truth line is a Gordian knot undone. Like some Wallace Stevens stanza: “...the nicer knowledge of / Belief, that what it believes in is not true.”

How did propagandist peckerwood Joey Goebbels put it? “If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it.” Seek your truth, and speak the truth like Lateef. The white ones with the power—who manipulate the knowns into unknowns—they want to smuggle that lie into belief, but you Ain’t Gotta Lie ta Kick It. Ennals, like Cube, is in the business of exposing White lies. He seems to have historically been less concerned with telling white lies, more concerned with arranging white lines—despite Melle Mel’s warnings to the contrary. (That coke jaw might mean Ennals took Mel’s parenthetical double-negative [“Don’t Don’t Do It”] as a canceling of the apparent get clean command.) “Lie all the fuck you want,” Ennals summarizes, “just know who you lying to.” Be forthright. Enough with the smoke and mirrors.

6.  Smoke circles the room…

Ennals gawks at the same “mystic moon” that Edgar Allan Poe does in “The Sleeper”: “An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, / Exhales from out her golden rim.” But when you’re gazing up, beware as “the pale sheeted ghosts go by.” Ennals’ “sheeted ghosts” are different from Poe's—one ghastly, the other ghostly. When we hear Poe, in his poem, wish that “Soft may the worms about her creep,” we know—in a Nasean twist—the titular “sleeper” is actually ding-dong-dead. Ennals knew it all along. “Taking walks through the cemetery,” he shared on “A Melancholy Boogie,” so that he could “talk to the graves.”

But that smoke-circled moon can function as less bomb-scary, less fright fest, too. Look to Lloyd Addison’s “Umbra,” where he warms to a better vision:

My sun has gone down in drum suite penumbra The mood of this rhythm my body is umbra

That’s a more suitable mood for “roll[ing] joints that look like caterpillar cocoons.” This is an example of Ennals waxing lyrical, poeticizing his most potent pot, but his prototype is blunt. Blunt like I hope Joel Osteen dies tomorrow (“Bluffin’”); or, Fuck Ted Cruz forever—I hope he gets stabbed (“A Melancholy Boogie”); or, The Catholic Church is a pedophile ring that rapes kids (“Bluffin’”). Put a better way, Ennals is Blunted on Reality. King Cobra, in toto, is the sound of renewed focus. “Sambo’s Last Words,” in particular, is a Philly blunt like a chrysalis split with a scalpel. Ennals and Knives surgically remove shredded tobacco leaves from the cavity of the blunt. They cut open a Death’s-head moth cocoon with an X-acto knife. They stare with wonder at all that flutters in Rawlings Conservatory and serenade butterflies: We know we got cha opin. 

7.  FLYBOY IN THE BUTTERMILK

“Fuck being fly,” Ennals raps, “when my momma turned sixty-five, / It hit me—son, she’s really gonna die.” Fuck being fly; Ennals is grounded in the grittiest of realities, as real as a plot of worm dirt and no souls are ascending the sediment. He addresses himself as son—dropping the illest illeism—just like his momma would. Her voice; his head. She’s one of the faithful. “She believes in heaven,” but Ennals “could give forty fucks” about forty days and forty nights. Even if Ennals did find his way to heaven, he wouldn’t sit down—he’s not looking to settle for any sacramental offerings. He won’t sign on for the lunch counter sit-in. He won’t let himself be pummeled by white-knuckled firsts and conked with vanilla malts. He’ll be sitting out Gandhi’s satyagraha.

In 1992, Paris dropped “Bush Killa” and took a similar stance: “So don’t be telling me to get the nonviolent spirit, / ’Cause when I’m violent is the only time the devils hear it.” Loud and clear, man: these are assassination raps. Ennals and Knives, yeah, they’ve got the “libs mad ’cause [they] shot Joe Biden.” In the spirit and style of Metallica, of Aes Rock, Kill one, kill a few, kill ’em all. Fill ’em all with guilt. Ennals and Knives are out for dead presidents to represent them.

8.  HERE TO PREACH THE GREAT AMERICAN FUCK-YOU

Chris Dorner is a motherfucking legend. On NEGRO, Pink Siifu did his darnedest to immortalize the man, but, with this declaration, Ennals clinches the win. On “Headclean,” Ennals raps, “Religion ain’t the answer, / White Jesus is cancer.” In that, he’s kin with Dorner, whose manifesto includes an anecdote from his school daze: “[The principal] stated as good Christians we are to turn the other cheek as Jesus did. Problem is, I’m not a fucking Christian and that old book, made of fiction and limited non-fiction, called the bible, never once stated Jesus was called a nigger.”

“My man robbed 7-Eleven,” Ennals confides in us, only to disappointedly confess, “he got forty bucks.” Ennals' mom may believe in Heaven, but by rhyming her paradise with 7-Eleven, he debases the promised land to that of a multinational convenience store. “I go a level down,” he raps. Bounding down the eight steps of imperfection toward Dante’s concentric rings. “Turning up” and/or getting turnt doesn’t suit his death-drive. He’s asleep at the wheel, channeling Dante’s arrival at the Ninth Circle of the Inferno:

If I had rhymes both rough and stridulous, As were appropriate to the dismal hole Down upon which thrust all the other rocks, I would press out the juice of my conception More fully…

The journey of the soul seems to detour through a Pornhub directory (“dismal hole,” “thrust,” “press out the juice of my conception”) before we receive Ennals’ message. He, too, offers an apostate’s erotic poem: “Satan’s in a blue dress? I’m lifting the Devil’s gown.” For all the Tony Robbins “level up” talk amongst rappers nowadays, Ennals keeps it gully. He flips the script on Michelle Obama’s when they go low, we go high bunkum. Ennals subscribes to the Monstars’ approach: hit ’em high and hit ’em low both.

So it’s no wonder he’s sticking it to the Devil. On “Bluffin’,” he informed us “the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was making Jesus white.” Tricknology, straight out the cave. Black Francis of the Pixies says this “Monkey Gone to Heaven,” but the racists are intent on sending Black folk to hell. Ennals and Knives load up on drugs to counter the effects of the Yacubian experiments. Simian drugs, simian drugs. Everybody’s in love with our simian drugs. 

Meanwhile, Black Francis calculates his own supreme mathematics:

If man is five, then the devil is six, and if the devil is six, then God is seven.

Ennals answers with Seven Eyes and Seven Horns. He’s not strictly anti-Christian, though—he’s irreligious en masse. Ennals and Knives strive for that mass appeal. Even if Cube said he “met Farrakhan and had dinner” on “When Will They Shoot?,” Ennals, again, boils the bullshit down to methane fumes. “Fuck bitches, get money like Elijah Muhammad,” he slanders on “The Not So Tired Sounds of Brian Ennals,” and he all-but-screams “Nation of Islam is Feds” on “Don’t Let the Smooth Taste Fool You.” Ennals establishes a No Hoodwinking Zone, cordoned off with his spine alone—stiff as a bollard. He’s simply intolerant of what Chuck D called “evangelical hustler[s]” on PE’s “War at 33⅓.”

9.  NEVA DIE ALONE

…We hafta die. That is our ’pointed task. Love & die. —John Berryman, “Dream Song 26”

“Lost my fucks, I got no more to give,” Ennals raps, breathlessly approaching a last breath. “Sambo’s Last Words,” though—by my count—has six fucks total. But if these are to be his last six (...six, six in the morning, police at my door…), then these objectified obscenities are bundled in a burlap sack and stashed in a trap house for safekeeping, for a rainy day.

When the bullets rain down, Dorner promises to wage guerrilla and asymmetrical warfare. His manifesto is his War Report. He “embrace[s] death as it is a way of life.” Practical, tactical. “I simply don’t fear it,” he writes, “I am the walking exigent circumstance you created.”

“Sambo’s Last Words” is a last will and testament at one turn, a farewell address at the next. Before your hours go missing, let me tell you how to live. In the same way Ennals objectifies fucks, he also objectifies time—“hours” as a metonym for Time (straight from the slums of Synecdoche, Maryland). Ennals rocks a Flavor Flav corpus clock ’round his neck. You know what time it is, or at least you’re familiar with the expiration date on the bottom of your package. The swing of the pendulum grazes the pit of your stomach. But, “shit really ain’t that deep,” Ennals says—organs not being endless, of course, despite your brags of intestinal length. (Despite my musings making the case these depths are, in fact, fathomless. “Stay awake to the ways of the world, ’cause shit is deep,” Inspectah Deck raps, backing me.)

LIVING: A HOW-TO GUIDE by Brian Ennals: “Fuck as much as you can, love your kids, and pray you die in your sleep.” Fuck, love, die. (Picking up where the final issue of Life Sucks Die left off.) Like an Eat, Pray, Love for blasphemers. Edgar Allan Poe died at the tender age of 40 in Baltimore (of all places), childless from his marriage to his 13-year-old cousin. “I’ll sleep when you’re dead,” it was rumored she told him. Fuck as much as you can renders the love-making harsh, impersonal, but Lloyd Addison again restores the balance: “And the silence neuter feminine night / is sighing verb-breaths of love.” Dorner put it less gently: “I thank the unnamed woman I dated over my lifetime for the great and sometimes not-so-great sex.”

10.  My mind is right next to where the sun sit…

The proximity of sun and sense—in all their astral fury and incandescence—takes me back to Roque Dalton’s “On Headaches” poem. The Salvadoran revolutionary counterbalances how “great” it is to be a communist with the fact “it gives you many headaches.” His reasoning, though sound, reads like a riddle:

Because communists’ headaches are historical, that is they won’t go away with painkillers only with the realization of Paradise on Earth. That’s how it is.

Plainspoken, but persuasive. Dalton’s closing stanza reveals how communism will be “among other things, / an aspirin the size of the sun.” Pass Brian Ennals the bottle of Bayer then, because “everywhere [he] goes [he] keep[s] hearing this dumb shit….” He’s exhausted. (Dorner: “I have exhausted all available means at obtaining my name back.”) Still, Ennals tells us the specifics of this so-called dumb shit:

Too many niggas, not enough kings. Too many bitches, not enough queens.

Ennals affects the Ludacris voice only to dismiss the sentiment—call it Incognegro, he spits a spiteful chant. He’s got no time for half-steppin’ or hoteppin’ (Ennals is decidedly more Kane than Dr. Umar). Undoing whatever oaths might’ve been made: Fuck that! My niggas, my bitches: go get cheddar. And somewhere Puff Daddy’s affluence raps bounce off satellites in the outer reaches of the solar system, residual space debris from corporate radio: I’m the macaroni and the cheese. But Ennals won’t settle for crumbs; he’ll dine divinely: God’s good. Pussy’s better. This is Brian Ennals kneeling in prayer, reciting a Hail Mary: “I ain’t a killer but don’t push me, / Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to getting pussy.”

In a 1991 episode of KRON-TV’s Home Turf, 2Pac appears as an audience member and responds to host Dominique di Prima’s question about a favorite rap song. Pac, facetiously, answers “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer. He elaborates that Hammer is “diluting rap…playing that Sambo role, and the reason everybody’s buying his record is because he’s no threat, and everybody wanna see Sambo dance.”

11.

The narrator of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man (1952) searches for Brother Clifton, only to find him selling Sambo dolls on the street. The sight is devastating:

I saw a square piece of cardboard upon which something was moving with furious action. It was some kind of toy and I glanced at the crowd’s fascinated eyes and down again, seeing it clearly this time…. A grinning doll of orange-and-black tissue paper with thin flat cardboard disks forming its head and feet and which some mysterious mechanism was causing to move up and down in a loose-jointed, shoulder-shaking, infuriatingly sensuous motion, a dance that was completely detached from the black, mask-like face. It’s no jumping-jack, but what, I thought, seeing the doll throwing itself about with the fierce defiance of someone performing a degrading act in public, dancing as though it received a perverse pleasure from its motions.

Clifton, having clearly betrayed his membership in the Brotherhood organization, continues with his sales pitch—now sensationally, rhythmically, spitting entrepreneurial raps like a young Percy Miller:

Shake it up! Shake it up! He’s Sambo, the dancing doll, ladies and gentlemen. Shake him, stretch him by the neck and set him down, —He’ll do the rest. Yes!

He’ll make you laugh, he’ll make you sigh, si-igh. He’ll keep you entertained. He’ll make you weep sweet—

For he’s Sambo, the dancing, Sambo, the prancing, Sambo, the entrancing, Sambo Boogie Woogie paper doll.

This Sambo, this jambo, this high-stepping joy boy? He’s more than a toy, ladies and gentlemen, he’s Sambo, the dancing doll, the twentieth-century miracle.

Sambo-Woogie, you don’t have to feed him, he sleeps collapsed, he’ll kill your depression And your dispossession…

At first, the narrator is “held by the inanimate, boneless bouncing of the grinning doll,” but he eventually looks upon the doll and feels his “throat constrict.” “The rage,” he says, “welled behind the phlegm.” Brother Clifton runs off, pursued by police for his unpermitted hustling, and the narrator walks in the opposite direction, wondering “[h]ow on earth could [Clifton] drop from Brotherhood to this in so short a time?” But he comes upon the pursuit again, and this time Brother Clifton and the cop become entangled, with Clifton delivering an “uppercut that sent the cop’s cap sailing into the street and his feet flying.” The cop regains his footing and fires his weapon at Clifton. For the narrator, “[t]he sun seemed to scream an inch above [his] head.” My mind is right next to where the sun sit…

12.

Infinity Knives has proven himself to be more a composer than yet another (...another) Madlib poser pressing buttons on the SP-404, another Dilla dilettante. “Sambo’s Last Words” is carried by a seething synth line that sounds like Stevie Wonder’s clavinet on “Superstition” if Little Stevie had not been blind since birth but instead gouged out his peepers in a meth-induced psychotic episode, à la Kaylee Muthart. 

King Cobra’s opening prelude, “’Neath the Willow’s Leaves,” communes with the music of “Sambo’s Last Words.” Both equally forlorn but in different registers, a fabrication of salix alba and Saxo Grammaticus. Knives has cited his sources, but I refuse to believe he’s not corresponding across time and consciousness with the ballad “Bury Me Beneath the Willow” (#410 in the Roud Folk Song Index, you suckers!). The willows weep in the wind, overdriven and distorting. Ophelia’s body, drowned, floats downstream: “There is a willow grows aslant the brook, / That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream. / Therewith fantastic garlands did she make.”

“Sambo’s Last Words” is nearly a minute in when we hear a haunting banshee wail—a windy ghoul vocal. No denying it: this is the spirit rising from beneath the willow leaves. Her keening over the ever-steady synths mantle the track like hoarfrost.

But with Knives’ compositions, sometimes the willows wither away in wattage—he goes full electro[cution]. He’ll arrange decade-spanning sounds with soulsonic force, an Arthur Baker writing scores for any night of the living baseheads. He summons ghost-in-the-machine spirits. Neve console! Prophet-5! Micromoog! Lexicon PCM 41 Digital Delay Processor! His studio shouts and susurrations stimulate the central nervous system. Like something out of Shakespeare, Knives “buzz[es] these conjurations in [our] brain” (2 Henry VI, 1.2.102). His beats fluctuate from nerve-racking to numbing agent—they’re a helluva drug. The post-apocalyptic Run-DMC need their mutant Rick Rubin—the same cowl of hair, but less plunderphonics; more polyphonic. Less barefooted guru; more blister-footed Orc. Max Richter bumping uglies with E Double’s “Richter Scale.”

13.

I wanna be a stupid and shallow motherfucker now. I wanna be a tough-skinned bitch, but I don’t know how. —Sparklehorse, “Pig” (1998)

Brian Ennals incites the crowd like an Intelligent Hoodlum. He possesses the ravenous raps of a young Canibus freestyling on a DJ Clue or Tony Touch mixtape, but only if Canibus stopped studying his own alien deoxyribonucleic acid and, instead, took a class with Fred Moten and studied the Undercommons. Ennals, you see, raps for the people. He’s got no time to do a tap-dance, a shoeshine, or a soft-shoe. There are more pressing concerns.

We can’t define, precisely, how Ennals’ be dropping these mockeries of Socrates’ philosophies and hypotheses, but the impact is felt like a bludgeoning. “They worship pedophiles like Socrates,” he exclaims on “Don’t Let the Smooth Taste Fool You.” For Ennals, Western education is forbidden. He flexes with boko haram inked on his biceps.

On “The Badger,” Ennals settles his outstanding rent payments the best way he knows: “I’mma kill my landlord, so I got a heater, / Specifically, a nigga got a 9 millimeter.” Killing landlords…glorifying outlaws…it’s nothing new. Peep Fanon in The Wretched of the Earth:

For example, the gangster who holds up the police set on to track him down for days on end, or who dies in single combat after having killed four or five policemen, or who commits suicide in order not to give away his accomplices—these types light the way for the people, form the blueprints for action and become heroes. Obviously, it's a waste of breath to say that such-and-such a hero is a thief, a scoundrel, or a reprobate. If the act for which he is prosecuted by the colonial authorities is an act exclusively directed against a colonialist person or colonialist property, the demarcation line is definite and manifest. The process of identification is automatic.

Same as Woody Guthrie’s “Pretty Boy Floyd” who knew what to do when “a deputy sheriff approached him”: he “grabbed a log chain [and] laid that deputy down.” Or Dylan's “John Wesley Harding,” another folk hero who “trav’led with a gun in ev’ry hand.” This is why Ennals calls Chris Dorner a motherfucking legend. Because he knows we’ll be telling tales of him for years to come, and he does his part to make it certain. Ennals dons a Chris Dorner costume—his cindered LAPD uniform—and Dorner is the Sambo-no-more. These are his last words. Ennals is the medium for Dorner. Together, they come to understand “the American flag [is] the same colors as cop lights.” Ennals is the medium, and the medium is the massacre. BLACK COP! BLACK COP! KRS-One shouts on “Black Cop” from Return of the Boom Bap (Roy Christopher has noted the seated and spitting similarities between KRS’s album cover from 1993 and King Cobra’s). “Stop shootin’ Black people, we all gonna drop!” When you look for a motive, look no further than that.

14.

Admittedly Sambo, but a man’s gots to eat… Gladly buck dance and show teeth. For that kind of paper? You crazy? —billy woods, “DMCA”

In ’98, Boots Riley wasn’t seeing it woods’ way. On the Coup’s “Busterismology,” he had this to say: “If you ain’t talkin’ ’bout ending exploitation, / Then you just another Sambo in syndication.” Pam the Funkstress cuts crazily while Boots paraphrases Nas for the chorus: When we start the revolution all they probably do is snitch. Ennals allies himself with this Bay Area camp, this armed cell. But his focus is on revenge plots for the time being. On “The Badger,” Ennals is joined by Jim—his Iraq War vet companion, his accomplice—who’s schizophrenic. Ennals himself is a 21st century schizoid man, but it’s Jim who sees crimson and starts spraying during the home invasion. Let me remind you of Roque Dalton, my guy—these headaches are historical. And history keeps happening.

On 2007’s “Runaway Sambo,” Hell Razah emerges from the shadows of the Black Market Militia to set the record straight to hell. “They try to tell me I can’t blow ’cause I ain’t tap-dancing like Sambo,” he raps. He refuses the syndication trap that Boots spoke of: “We not no Buckwheats or Little Rascals, / Or Diff’rent Strokes, or whatever-have-you.” 

In “Angel Puss,” a Looney Tunes cartoon from 1944, “Li’l Sambo” is paid “four bits” to drown a black cat in a lake, though he’s too daft to notice the cat sneaking out of his sack. The cat paints himself pure white, disguising himself as an angel. He haunts and hunts Li’l Sambo down, enticing him with the sound of a set of dice shaking in his paws. Li’l Sambo, though, eventually figures it out and stalks the cat into an armoire before unloading his blunderbuss.

Li’l Sambo needs to turn the blunderbuss on himself, though—that would be a merrie melody. Travel back with me to Yorick’s skull—that stark symbol of inevitable death. Li’l Sambo needs to kill the buffoon in his head with a hollow-point bullet that can penetrate the Stahlhelms that sit atop the craniums, just as they’re depicted in the embroidered patches of the Savage Skulls. Li’l Sambo needs to break into his own mind, get all “Conscious Rap” sick wid it and trespass on his subconscious. In Larry Cohen’s 1972 black comedy Bone, the titular character, played by Yaphet Kotto, busts in on the Beverly Hills property of Bernadette and Bill. Bone holds the couple captive, forces them to empty their bank account, and threatens to rape Bernadette (don’t worry: when it comes down to it, he can’t maintain his erection—his, erm, boner—and the white lady of the house seduces him instead). Through all these funny games, Bone’s blue shirt is bleach-stained from the original poolside tussle with Bill, the husband—a Big Bang of chlorine chaos, a clever mark of Cain inversion.

In his career-spanning sequence of poems, The Dream Songs, John Berryman also attempted an inversion of the Sambo caricature. Berryman’s subject voice is in constant flux, always switching, in the poems. One “Henry”—who is “sometimes in blackface,” according to Berryman himself—goes by “Mr. Bones” when he rubs on the burnt cork. “Dream Song 273” reads like Ennals bars:

Survive—exist—who is at others’ will optionless; may gelded be, be put to stud, and were sweating sold; was sold. —Mr Bones, dat slavey still is of our former coast. —When they make me, Bud, I show my genitals, cold.

………………………………….. Come closer, Sambo. I planting in your face ilex. Your face. You jus like a flex where the bulb failed. Flail

…at one hundred-odd degrees at four in the morning, where the ofays’ cameras were dutyless.— Muscle my whack. We gotta trickle. Seize them Moslem testicles, and pull. Please hurt my owner, twice.

“The Sambo stereotype,” William Tynes Cowan explains, “served two social functions on the plantation: it helped the individual slave to survive, to hide true feelings and true intentions from the slaveholder; and it allowed the slaveholding class to maintain its belief that the institution of slavery was not only benevolent but was a necessary shelter for their innocent, enslaved ‘children.’” On King Cobra, Brian Ennals and Infinity Knives make their true feelings known. There’s zero chance of misinterpretation. They’re not children—that much is obvious. And for any white folks who feel them charming enough to put on a shelf as novelty knick-knacks, they are here to disillusion such crackers, to disabuse them of that belief. They finish what KMD started on the cover of BL_CK B_ST_RDS: they tighten the noose on that Sambo hanging from the gallows.

Images:

Chicago Seed advertisement page, c. 1970s (detail) | The Big Lebowski, dir. Joel and Ethan Coen, 1998 (screenshot) | The Number of the Beast is 666, William Blake (1805-1810) | Killer of Sheep, dir. Charles Burnett, 1978 (screenshot) | Killer of Sheep, dir. Charles Burnett, 1978 (screenshot) | Anne Moody “Sit-in at the downtown Woolworth’s in Jackson, Mississippi,” Anne Moody, May 28, 1963 (detail) | Gustave Doré, Satan in the Inferno is trapped in the frozen central zone in the Ninth Circle of Hell, Canto XXXIV (1861-1868) | Bone, dir. Larry Cohen, 1979 (screenshot) | Kerry James Marshall, A Portrait of the Artist as a Shadow of His Former Self (1980) | The Conjuration, John Opie (1792) | “Angel Puss,” Looney Tunes, dir. Chuck Jones, 1944 (screenshot) | KMD, Black Bastards, album cover, the EMEF (1993) | “New York City street gang the Savage Skulls,” Jean-Pierre Laffont, c. 1970s (detail) | Chicago Seed advertisement page, c. 1970s (detail)

[blakegallo]

henrietta wilson + her collection of hoodies

#911edit #911coc #911women #911verse #dailylgbtq #henwilsonedit #hen wilson #911 #aisha hinds #myedits #// #hen owns so many fucking jackets #these are just proper hoodies #i didn't include any of the zip ups bc those don't count in my head #but sis' whole closet is just hoodies and jackets #and matching sweats #i love it

[saintshigaraki]

THESE ARE HARD TIMES FOR DREAMERS

title from bones by ms mr

pairing: yandere nanami kento x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

excerpt: You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.

a/n: nanami if ur reading this i’m free thursday night. 

tags: yandere, angst, reader is once again full of rage, nanami love what have you done, overuse of the word hate

warnings: yandere tendencies, obsessive and possessive behavior, slight infantilization, noncon/dubcon, gaslighting (?), kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, mention of past suicide attempt 

MDNI!

You can’t exactly pinpoint where it all went south. There’s not a specific date that stands out to you when you actively noticed things taking a turn for the worst. It’s like that fable. About the frog slowly being boiled alive. Except, in this case, the frog is you and the boiling water is Nanami. And in this case, this is not some story your mom used to read to you about the dangers of gradual escalation, it’s your life. If you can even call this monotonous hell you’re living a life. 

You’ve got to hand it to him, you really didn’t see it coming. Nanami’s always been smart like that. Even now, after everything, or maybe even especially now, after everything, you can’t deny that. 

You don’t bother moving from where you lay, sprawled out on the floor, when you hear the first click of many locks signaling that your sweet and doting lover has returned. 

You used to try to rush him, or get the jump on him with the heaviest thing you could find. Once you started to get really desperate, you just screamed over his shoulder before he had time to clamp a large hand over your mouth. 

None of it ever worked, of course. 

It was months ago that you decided hopeless escape attempts simply weren’t worth Nanami’s wrath. He’s faster than you, stronger than you, and far bigger. And he always will be. 

When your relationship with Nanami was still somewhat normal (though looking back you can’t help but notice all the things that weren’t normal, you suppose hindsight really can be quite the bitch in that regard) you never really thought too hard about how much stronger he was compared to you. In some ways, it might’ve even been comforting, instead of just horribly depressing. No one could touch you when your hand was tucked in his. 

It hurts more than you’d like to admit that something you once found such solace in, is now what stands between you and any semblance of normalcy and shred of happiness. 

(And fresh air. God, you miss fresh air so much it hurts, a dull never-ceasing ache deep in your chest. You miss the stars too. Sometimes, when you’re laying on the floor like you are now or in the dead of night when it’s all you can do to swallow down your screams, you try to map out constellations on the ceiling. You’re not very good at it though, and the few constellations you actually remember are starting to slip from your memory like water through fingers, no matter how desperately you try to hold onto them.

You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.)

It takes Nanami’s slightly disapproving hum to snap you out of your celestial spiraling. 

You tilt your head back, just enough to find he’s towering over you. His mouth set in a grim line. His glasses, jacket, and tie have already been discarded, his shirt rolled up to his forearms. The sight of him like this use to make your cheeks burn. Now, it’s hard to rein in the urge to spit at his feet and hiss out every seething thought you have about him burning below the surface. 

But the lecture you’d receive after a ‘tantrum’ like that wouldn’t be worth it. He always manages to twist your words, your own feelings, sometimes even your very sense of self, until you can hardly tell what’s up and what’s down. Until you can hardly distinguish your reality from his. Until all you can hear is Nanami’s voice in your ear, reminding you of everything you’ll never be. Of just how helpless you are. 

(It’s like his hands are around your throat, choking and choking and choking.)

And once you’re nothing but a sobbing heap on the floor, he’ll pull you into his lap, tuck your face against the curve of his shoulder, and rub soothing circles into your back while saying something along the lines of ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll always be here take care of you’ until your sobs have quieted to the occasional hiccup.

You hate it, how he manages to make you feel so dependent on him. He’s so, so good at knowing just what string to pull so that you’ll unravel completely, just so he can put you back together again with his painstakingly gentle hands. 

Nanami’s smart like that. 

So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue. 

“You’re insistence on laying on the dirty floor when we have a perfectly good couch and bed truly astounds me,” he says, monotone. 

You don’t justify his sarcasm with a response, partly to stall what inevitably will come after this and partly to annoy him. Nanami doesn’t like it when you ignore him. It’s one of the few things you have the power to do that manages to get under his skin. 

It’s these little rebellions, you’ve found, that make all the difference. 

You eye the couch warily, it’s plush and huge. The perfect place for an afternoon nap. Nanami had traded out the smaller one he’d had before, for this one, a few months after you’d started dating. He’d wanted one big enough that you two could comfortably lay together as you slept and he read. You spent countless hours there, tucked into his side, with the setting sun warming your skin. 

It’s also where you had told him that you wanted to end things. That he’d gotten too overbearing, too controlling. That you felt suffocated. That you still loved him dearly, but that you couldn’t do this anymore. It’s where you left him as you walked out with only a single bag in hand. 

That night you went to sleep in some shady motel room and woke up back in Nanami’s bed with a padded handcuff chaining you to the frame. 

These memories from before have a way of coming back to haunt you, they pass through the walls, whispering poison in your ears, caressing your skin one moment just to dig their claws in deep the next. 

They mock you as you sit and rot and dream of stars you’ll never see again. 

“You’re stalling.” He always manages to sound so distinctly unimpressed with you whenever you don’t follow one of his unwritten rules (and God even if you were actively trying to follow them, there are so many that keeping track of them is nothing short of an impossible feat).

You finally get to your feet, wringing your hands in a way that you know makes you look weak and pathetic. Just the way Nanami likes you so that he can swoop in and take such good care of his little darling love. 

“Kento, I-” 

“Save it,” he says, already walking towards the bedroom. 

You could put up a fight, but all that’d do is make him angry, and then you’d have to do what he wanted anyway and deal with being tethered back to the bed for a few days while Nanami fusses over you like some sort of deranged mother hen.

You make your way over to the bedroom, already starting to strip, ready to get this over with as soon as possible. 

You’re half-naked by the time you enter his room. 

Even after months and months of this, the humiliation of standing nearly naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed never dulls, it’s still just as sharp and awful as the first time he made you do it. 

(It’s like you’re peeling back your own skin, defenseless as he rubs salt in the wound.) 

You suppose you should feel lucky that he lets you keep on your bra and underwear. Not that the undergarments he bought you really cover all that much, but in these four walls, beggars can’t exactly be choosers. 

He takes off his watch, setting it carefully onto his dresser before walking over to you and starting his nightly inspection for any cuts or bruises you may have received (or given yourself) throughout the day while he was off at work. Off in the world you’ll never see again. Just the thought is enough to make you want to scream. 

You used to be able to wiggle your way out of this, before the incident, as Nanami has dubbed it, but now it’d be a cold day in hell before he doesn’t painstakingly go over (almost) every inch of your skin with a careful eye and calloused hands. 

His thumb always brushes terribly gently over the scar a few centimeters to the right of one of your jugular veins, where you had attempted to slit your throat after you realized that you would probably never escape this place. Never escape him. 

You’d never seen Nanami as scared as when he walked in on you holding a knife to your throat. And you’d never seen him as angry as after he’d wrenched it from your hand using a type of speed that shouldn’t even be humanly possible. 

He took a full month off work after that which coincidently also happened to be the worst fucking month of your life. 

He cups your face in his large hand and presses a kiss to your temple. A sign that he’s deemed you just as pristine as when he left you and that he’s very pleased by it. 

You want to bite his hand. You want to rip his flesh from the bone. You want to hold his heart in your hand and crush it. 

(You want to go home. You want to feel the earth beneath your bare feet. You want to sit on a roof in your childhood neighborhood and watch the sun dip below the horizon and drown the world in golden light. You want to step out on an autumn day with winter just around the corner and smell the crispness in the air, feel it claw its way into your lungs. 

You want to remember what it’s like to be human.)

Nanami’s lips are on yours before you can think, soft and enticing. You could push him away or just say no. He’d listen. Not even he can apparently justifying forcing you. 

(We all have our limits, don’t we?)

But you don’t. You haven’t in a long while. And you hate yourself for it more than you could ever hate him.

He loses his shirt rather quickly and you manage to discard your bra before he lifts you up and tosses you on the bed. You don’t get a second to breathe before he’s over you, monstrous and awful and so terribly beautiful. 

He takes a moment to caress your face, his knuckles brushing over your cheek so tenderly that it nearly makes you sick. You’re thankful when he finally says, “Open up.” 

You do as he says and in the next second two of his fingers are stuffed into your waiting mouth. 

“Suck.” 

And you do, without hesitation, because you know what’s coming next. You know that for the next hour or so, there’ll be no denying the fact that you’re alive, that you’re not some ghost haunting these halls. It’ll prove that it’s blood that flows through your veins instead of stone, that you have not yet started to rot in your own skin. 

He he pulls his fingers from your mouth without a word and leaves a trail of burning kisses down your sternum and stomach. He wastes no time pulling your underwear off and attaching his calloused thumb to your clit, rubbing tight little circles in a way that has you keening almost immediately. 

In an embarrassingly short amount of time you’re wet enough for him to comfortably slip a finger in. Just one of them reaches spots you never quite manage to hit on your own, and you hate how much you love it. It has you moaning, nearly loud enough to drown out the lewd squelching by the time he adds a second finger. 

“You’re so, so good for me,” he murmurs, voice rough. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate that the praise has you clenching his fingers in a near vice grip. You hate that he still affects you in any way after what he’s done to you. After what he’s reduced you to. 

You don’t have time to stew in your self-loathing before his fingers find that spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. 

(And this is the reason you don’t push him away. 

You’ll never step foot under the night sky again. But here, with his fingers hitting all the right spots in your cunt, you’ll make your own galaxy and pretend that it holds a candle to the real thing.)

With the pace he sets, his constant low grunts of just how lovely you are creaming around his fingers, and the way his thumb never lets up on your puffy clit, you’re coming within minutes, you spasm around his digits so hard that the stars you so love burst behind your tightly shut eyelids. 

He eases his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his dark eyes half-lidded and nearly glowing in the dimly lit bedroom, burning straight through you. 

You’re the one to look away first. You always are. Shame settling heavily in your gut. Shame that you enjoyed it, shame that you didn’t push him, shame that you’ll do this all over again tomorrow.  

When he finally sinks into you, he does it slowly. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t, sometimes you wish he’d make it hurt. It’d be easier to hate him instead of yourself if he did. 

When Kento fucks you like this, chest to chest, there’s not a single part of you not swallowed whole by him. 

You hate it. 

You hate yourself more for moaning when he changes the angle and starts fucking you so hard and fast that your hands can’t help but scramble for anything to hang on to, they tear down his back, drawing blood which seems to only spur him on to go harder. 

“Kento I-- I’m-,” but you can’t finish the sentence, not when you can feel your orgasm teetering on the edge, so, so close that it’s painful, you just need- 

“You want to come?” He asks, his voice annoyingly steady.  

It’s unfair of him to expect you to be able to answer when he has you nearly folded in half. You can hardly even think. 

(But when has Kento ever really been fair?)

“Use your words, darling.” His lips are right against your ear, his tone unbearably condescending, and maybe a bit mocking. 

You hate him for asking you to beg. 

You hate yourself more for giving in. 

“Kento, please,” you whine. 

He laughs, low and mean, you feel it in your own chest and for a moment it really is as though you are nothing but an extension of him, a limb left useless without Nanami guiding you. You hate it. You hate it.

Eventually, he relents and brings his thumb back down to your clit, resuming those tight, firm circles, and that’s all you needed to finally push you over the edge.  

This time, when you come, there are no stars to comfort you. Just Kento’s eyes, bright and burning. 

Your cunt clamping down on his cock is all it takes for him to let out a low groan and still completely inside you, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt is awful in it’s familiarity. 

His eyes finally close as he drops his forehead against yours, breathing your air and forcing you to breathe his. 

He closes the gap between your lips, gently, sweetly. You can almost pretend for a moment that this is the Kento you knew years ago. Who held you so sweetly and smiled when you smiled. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until he kisses your temple tenderly and wipes away your tears. He’s not worried, you cry more often than not after he fucks you. You don’t really want to think about why. 

You let your mind wander as he carries you bridal style to the bathroom, where in a minute he’ll run a warm bath for you two to share, then afterwards he’ll dry you off with the utmost tenderness, then dress you himself before carrying you to the kitchen where he’ll set you on the counter as he makes dinner (you won’t be allowed to help, of course) then he’ll force every last bite down your throat if you refuse to eat (he hasn’t had to do that in a long while though), then he’ll have you curl up on his lap, head tucked into his shoulder, as he reads. After about an hour he’ll bring you back to the bathroom where he’ll brush your teeth for you because you never do it right, and then he’ll drag you into bed no later than 10:30 PM so that you can do it all over again tomorrow. 

“Do you want the lavender or rose soap today?” Nanami asks you. 

You ignore him in favor of trying to remember the details of your galaxy, but it’s already faded away to nothing by the time you close your eyes. 

a/n pt 2: i feel like it was painfully obvious that this was my first attempt ever at smut. i’m so sorry yall. i really did try. 

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #nanami kento #yandere x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere #jjk smut #nanami smut #jjk imagine #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen x you #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #jujustu kaisen smut #yandere nanami #okay....i feel like thats enough tags lmao #vicwrites #vicwritesjjk #tw yandere #tw dark content #tw noncon #tw kidnapping #tw suicide mention #tw gaslighting

[seijorhi]

Unprofessional

as promised, the MSBY manager AU 💕 

MSBY Black Jackals x female reader

TW non-con, smut, gang-bang, nsfw(ish)

You second guess yourself, now that the Captain’s right here in front of you, fidgeting in your seat like a little kid sent to the principal’s office.

In all fairness, you were the one to ask him to come in early, figuring that it’d be easier to say what you needed to before everyone else arrived, rather than having it eat away at you while you waited for practice to end.

Yet under the scrutiny of his dark eyes, you wonder whether you should have just let it slide. At least for a few more weeks. Taking a formal complaint to the higher ups was a step too far, and you hadn’t wanted to bother the coaches this close to the start of the season for something so… trivial. Meian seemed like the better choice. He’d listen to you and be able to help; you trust the Captain and you know the team does, too. If he told them to back off, they would, you’re almost positive. But now that he’s here, there’s this nagging feeling of-

A hand touches your shoulder, and you flinch at the sudden contact, jerking back to the present. 

“Hey,” he says, a slight frown marring his features. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me - don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been a little out of it lately.”

There’s nothing but concern in his eyes - no judgement, or irritation, and something inside of you eases just a fraction. This is Meian, right from the moment you signed onto the team - granted, only a few months ago - he’s done his utmost to make sure you’ve felt welcomed and part of the team.

You take a breath, offering him a small, tight smile. “I-it’s um, some of the guys- well a few, I guess…” your fingers twist in your lap, and Meian squeezes your shoulder lightly in response. 

“Miya hitting on you, right? Getting a little outta hand?” he surmises. 

And for a split second, you’re surprised. But really maybe you shouldn’t be. Miya’s the one who’s overt about it, drawling stupid, cheesy pickup lines whenever you walk in, slinging an arm around your side and dragging you close, all the winks and the innuendos about as subtle as a tank.

Of course Meian noticed, but that’s just how Atsumu is. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it because nobody but you seems to mind. And maybe, if that’s all that it was, you’d be able to grin and bear it, but it’s not. 

“Yes and… no.”

His brows draw together. “No?”

Taking another deep breath, you begin to tell him everything. Miya’s incessant flirting, all the hugs and touches that fell just the wrong side of what you considered professional. They’re a tactile team, with one notable exception, and you understand that, but the way Bokuto, Hinata and Miya feel comfortable just grabbing you and dragging you around, interrupting you in the middle of whatever task you’re doing to make you pay attention to them is a little alarming. 

And then there was the incident last week, when Inunaki had caught you smiling at your phone during their cooldown and called you on it, which drew the attention of the rest of the team - only to have Bokuto snatch it out of your hands and start reading through your messages. Of course, Meian was there for that, putting a stop to it only when the wing-spiker had started reading them aloud, much to your mortification.

But he hadn’t been there two afternoons later, when an old friend of yours had swung by to pick you up and you’d had to deal with half the team glaring daggers at him over your shoulder like a pack of overprotective mother hens.

Even Sakusa, who usually kept his nose out of the others’ nonsense, stood off to the side with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, glowering at your friend until you both disappeared from sight.

The texts that blew up your phone in the hours that followed crossed so many lines, it honestly scared you a little. 

Meian doesn’t say a word as you talk, the words flowing easier the more you tell him. It’s not that anything they’re doing is wrong per se. They’re not hurting you, and you think that aside from Miya, the team’s attitude is coming from a good place - some protective, irritating big brother kind of thing. 

There’s nothing wrong with it, except the fact that you don’t want any part of it. You’re a professional and this is a job - a new one, an important one. If you ever want anybody to take your dreams of coaching a pro team seriously you cannot have so much as a whisper of anything less than absolute professionalism. God forbid, if rumours start spreading that you were sleeping with somebody on the team you can pretty much kiss your dreams goodbye. 

At the end of it, Meian’s chin is resting on his fist, faint dissatisfaction pinching at his face, and for a moment, you’re worried that he’s about to chew you out for wasting his time - you know he’s stressed with the start of the season only days away - but he only sighs, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head.

“Thank you for telling me, I’ll talk to them.”

And it’s like this huge weight just falls off your shoulders and suddenly you can breathe easy. “Thanks, really,” you tell him, and the smile on your face is genuine this time.

“Anytime.”

—

You don’t know when he finds the time to pull them all aside, but the next morning when you walk into the gym and Bokuto catches sight of you, golden eyes widening in delight, he starts to bound towards you-

“Bokuto.”

-and stops mid-stride, face falling like a kicked puppy. His shoulders slump, glancing over his shoulder at the Captain, watching the both of you through narrowed eyes.

He doesn’t say another word to the wing-spiker, turning back around to continue his conversation with Adriah - something about tightening up their blocks before the game against the Adlers - and despite the fact you can see half the team’s attention drawn towards you both, none of them say a word either. 

It’s strange, compared to the last few weeks, it’s suddenly like you’re a ghost. They thank you when you pass them their towels and bottles, and for once Hinata sits still when you help him tape up his ankle, though his eyes still follow your every movement with unnerving focus.

They’re polite and respectful, but unless you’re directly addressing them or they need something, it’s like you don’t exist. 

Even Atsumu manages to keep his comments to himself when it comes time for the team to stretch out, though judging from the scowl on his face whenever he glances towards the Captain, he’s not particularly thrilled about it. 

There’s one more day before game day, and they’ve got bigger things to worry about, but for you it’s like you can suddenly breathe easy. You don’t have to tiptoe around your own discomfort, you can just do your job and help them. It’s not that you hate them, not even Atsumu - though he does grate on your nerves at times - you just can’t afford to let them fuck this up for you.

They’re your team, and you’ll help them and you’ll stand on the sidelines and cheer and support them until you’re red in the face. You’ll celebrate with them and commiserate if they lose, but there has to be a line. 

And maybe finally they’re realising that.

Meian sends you home while the others head off to the showers with a clap on your shoulder. “Go home. Today’s been long enough, and you need your rest. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

You don’t fight him on it, already feeling the exhaustion creeping through your body. 

But after months in this job, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to find that by the time you’ve had a quick catch-up with the coaches about tomorrow’s training, changed and gathered up your things, you find yourself falling into step with Sakusa, freshly showered and also on his way out. 

Dark eyes find yours, but he doesn’t say a word - at least until the two of you reach the big double doors at the gym’s entrance. “Do you need a lift home?”

It’s rare of him to offer, but you suppose that it’s later than you’d normally leave, the sun already disappearing beneath the horizon. Nevertheless, you shake your head, “No, it’s only a ten minute walk, I’ll be okay,” you say. And almost as an afterthought you smile and add, “Thank you, though.”

He regards you silently for a moment, but simply shrugs his shoulders, “Fine.”

Sakusa turns to leave, heading off to the carpark when a sudden thought strikes you, and before you can think better of it, you call out to him, “Your lineshots were incredible today, by the way. You played well. And please don’t forget we’ve got an early start tomorrow!”

It’s a pointless statement, on both counts. Sakusa doesn’t crave praise the way some of his teammates do, and you can imagine how little it means coming from you of all people. He’s also the most punctual, usually the first in, preferring to get stretched and warmed up before the rest of the team arrived. But the change in plans was kind of last minute and a reminder never hurts.

Sakusa pauses mid-stride, glancing back at you once more over his shoulder. “I know,” he says, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but you swear there’s something different in his eyes as he stares back at you. Not angry per se, but… you can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s odd, you think, out of character for the usually aloof spiker. “Captain told us.”

—

It’s still dark when you arrive at the gym, and the lights are all off, not a soul in sight. That in itself doesn’t strike you as odd though, checking your phone you see that there’s still twenty or so minutes until you were all supposed to meet, but you would have thought that the coaches at least would’ve been here, or Sakusa maybe, if not Meian.

“Mornin’ princess,” a familiar voice drawls, and you jump a little at the sudden weight of his arm draping over your shoulders.

Atsumu’s smile is far too wide and upbeat considering it’s only a little after six in the morning. You’re used to a dead-stare, don’t-talk-to-me-until-I’ve-had-caffeine Atsumu, and it’s almost startling enough to make you forget the arm he has around you.

Either that, or you’re just bewildered that he’s actually arrived early for once in his life.

“You’re awfully chipper,” you mutter, trying to shove his arm off of you as you walk in tandem towards the gym. It’s a pointless endeavour - he replaces it a moment later, tugging you closer. “And early. Do you normally do this the day before the season starts, or can we expect to see you bright and early every morning for training?”

The corner of his lip quirks into a lazy smirk, and Atsumu laughs, “Nah, I’m actually late. All the others are already here.”

You’re halfway through fishing for the keys when he just pushes the door open, and you falter. “Wait- they’re here already?” you glance inside, and the lights are all still off and there’s not a soul in sight, but- “I thought Meian said we were meeting at 6:30.”

There’s something in the way that his smirk widens that’s almost unsettling, but he’s already pushing you forward, flicking on the lights as you pass.

“Oh, he did.”

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, but it’s too early and you’re too tired to try and decipher Atsumu’s cryptic bullshit. He already has you on edge with how close he’s got you - you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the familiar scent of his cologne invading your nose. “Fine, whatever. Just- just put your stuff away, grab the others if they’re here and I’ll see you on the court in a few minutes.”

You try to shrug off his arm, but his grip only tightens, “Nope,” he says, firmly steering the both of you in the direction of the locker room.

“Miya,” you start, squeezing your eyes shut. You can already feel the beginnings of a headache taking root in your skull, but Atsumu just chuckles lightly, patting your shoulder. 

“Relax, wouldja? Jeeze, yer so tense!” 

With no other sound but the eerie echoing of your footsteps across the linoleum floors, his laugh is too loud, too grating. It sets you on edge, and you have to bite back a scowl of your own and remind yourself that you only have to put up with him a little longer - just until Meian gets here. Unperturbed by your silent irritation, Atsumu continues, “We know how hard you’ve been working lately. We came in early to say thank you, y’know, for everythin’ ya do for us.”

And for one split second, regret fills you, snuffing out the spark of irritation simmering through your veins. Here you are, seconds away from slapping the setter when he is - for the first time in his life - actually trying to do something nice for you. You sigh quietly, smoothing your expression over as he slows down and pulls you to a stop.

He lets you slide out from under his arm, your back to the locker room door, moving so that he’s standing directly in front of you. You open your mouth to speak, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but once again, Atsumu beats you to it. “Yer the best manager we’ve ever had.” He takes your hand in his, twining long fingers with yours and steps closer.

Too close.

“Atsu-”

“We really do care about you - love ya, even -  which is why it kinda felt like a kick in the balls when the Cap came and told us ya wanted some space. Said we were bein’ too ‘overbearing’ and ‘inappropriate’, just cause we want ya nice and close.” Dark eyes harden, “It hurt us, baby. You gotta realise that.”

The grip he has on your hand is painfully tight, but you don’t have a moment to focus on that. Not as Atsumu sweeps forward to close the distance between the two of you, his lips crashing against yours. Hungry. Demanding. A tongue snaking between your lips, melding with your own.

His arm snakes behind you to open the door, and for a moment you’re stumbling backwards into the dark-

Only it’s not dark, not as the blinding fluorescent lights flicker on around you, and you’re not stumbling, not as you collide with a warm, muscular chest and strong arms find your middle to steady you. 

“You took too long,” Bokuto whines, and you’re yanked from Atsumu’s hold and spun, barely having a second to register the gleaming golden eyes before he’s dragging you into a needy kiss of his own.

Dizzy, lightheaded, your heart thumping erratically, you can’t think straight as his hot, wet mouth moves against yours. Greedy fingers grope and squeeze at your body - utterly frozen in shock, pliant under his touch. 

“Aw, quit yer whining, Bokkun,” the blonde growls as Bokuto finally pulls back enough to grant you a few precious gulps of air, gazing at you with a kind of love sick adoration that makes your stomach clench. 

A scoff sounds behind Bokuto, “A bit rich, coming from you, Miya. The two of you just are as bad as each other.”

It’s then that you realise the three of you aren’t alone. Wide eyed, on the edge of hyperventilating, you glance over your shoulder to find two pairs of eyes watching; russet eyes blown wide, enraptured, and swirling black depths, narrowed and glaring over at the blonde. 

Hinata and Sakusa.

It doesn’t feel real. Even with everything they’ve done so far, their possessive behaviour, their smothering affection - even the kisses, it feels like a fever dream. 

Even as Atsumu’s fingers are tugging your jacket off and Bokuto drags you forward, you can’t bring yourself to accept it, to properly fight back against it.

(Not that it would make a difference. They’re professional athletes, and there’s four of them against one of you.)

When your eyes fill with tears, Hinata’s there to brush them away, smiling down at you as he shrugs his own shirt off. “Don’t cry, angel. We’re gonna make you feel amazing, just wait!”

His words don’t fill you with ease. They can’t, not when he has that manic excitement bleeding through his expression - the same one you know he gets when he’s lost in the game, flying across the court like the laws of physics don’t apply to him. 

Hands are on you everywhere, teasing and exploring, too many to keep track of. Your clothes are pulled off, tossed aside and discarded without a second thought, and theirs follow suit. Fingers are tweaking your nipples and palming at your breasts, smoothing over the curve of your ass and trailing between your legs to play with your clit. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, ain’tcha? Our pretty girl, gonna be such a good little cockwhore for us.”

There’s lips against yours, at your neck, trailing down the column of your throat with a pleased hum. And between the kisses, you think that you’re crying, pleading for them to stop and let you go, but nobody listens as you’re manhandled onto one of the benches.

Your legs refuse to obey you, trembling as you try to kick out and wriggle away, only for rough hands to find your hips and drag you back. “C’mon, baby. Be good for us, you’ve already made us wait so long.”

Somebody smacks your ass and you jolt, crying out, only for a hand to soothe over the welt, another squeezing at your hip in a mockery of reassurance. “Don’t make us have to hurt ya, sweetheart.”

It’s easier, you think, to just close your eyes tight and pray that any second now, you’ll wake up in your bed to the blaring of your alarm. But the moment they flutter shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip as fingers dig into your thighs, warm breath ghosting across your sex, a low voice whispers in your ear, “Look at me.”

And you have no choice but to obey, forcing your eyes open to find Sakusa standing to your side, stroking his cock. It’s pretty, you distantly think, and you suppose that it suits him. Well groomed, long but not terribly thick with a slight curve, flushed pink at the tip and glistening with the pre-cum beading at his slit. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, cupping it with a gentleness that feels out of place, considering the hunger burning in the black depths of his irises. 

He doesn’t say another word as he coaxes your mouth open and guides your head forward to take his cock into your mouth, but the low moan that escapes him as your lips wrap around his length makes you shiver. 

Sakusa isn’t gentle as he fucks your mouth, his thumb stroking your cheek as fresh tears well, but it’s hard to focus on that alone when Hinata’s face disappears between your legs, his tongue laving at your cunt, eager for a taste of you.

It doesn’t take long for the other two to join, and you’re manoeuvred between them, forced to sit on Bokuto’s lap, his thick cock stretching you out while Hinata sits between your legs, diligently slurping at your folds, sucking at your clit, one fist wrapped around his own length, lazily pumping it. Sakusa continues to use your mouth to get himself off, uttering backhanded praise between instructions, hissing in pleasure when he hits the back of your throat and you choke around him, while Atsumu has one hand playing with your tits, the other gripping yours, forcing you to jerk him off. 

It’s too much for your brain to take. 

Your sobs and whimpers, already muffled thanks to the cock in your mouth, are lost to the symphony of grunts and moans, lewd squelching and the sound of skin slapping against skin. There’s too many hands touching you, too much pain fused with unwanted pleasure, overwhelming you as heat and panic and terror build up inside of you, and it feels like there’s an inferno burning beneath your skin, and you can’t breathe and you just want it all to stop, you want to wake up, and-

Suddenly, the door to the locker room snaps open, and all five of you freeze in place as the Captain stops dead in his tracks and eyes the scene before him. 

There’s no possible way for Meian to misconstrue it, not with everything you told him. Not with your face flushed and teary, your eyes glazed over and all but broken from the sick, twisted debasement his teammates have subjected you to. You’re naked, your body littered in love-bites and bruises, spread out before him like a feast.

And still, your eyes meet his, silently pleading for him to say something and stop this.

Meian takes a single step forward and a muffled whine leaves your lips as the cock inside of you twitches insistently. Sakusa draws his hips back, pulling himself free from your mouth, and despite the burn in the back of your throat, you swallow and try to speak.

“Please.” It’s little more than a squeak, hoarse and choked, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. 

The Captain barely acknowledges that you’ve spoken at all, his attention fixated instead on your body; the way your pussy’s clenching around the base of Bokuto’s length, the tremor of your thighs under Hinata’s rough hands, the way your tits rise and fall with every quickened breath, your lips, swollen and beautifully fucked, glistening with spit before finally, those dark eyes meet yours once more.

And slowly, a grin breaks across his face. “You’d better hurry it up, the others aren’t too far off.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere atsumu miya #yandere bokuto kotaro #yandere hinata shouyo #yandere sakusa kiyoomi #yandere atsumu x reader #yandere bokuto x reader #yandere hinata x reader #yandere sakusa x reader #tw non con #i honestly don't know how i feel about this one #but it's done #i hope y'all like it anyway #i'm posting it before i can overthink it

[fific7]

Ticket to Ride - Part 6

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance, in which he gets a taste of his own medicine. Here we are at the final part!

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral and unprotected, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit and my photos of Murano & Burano)

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

{…𝕠𝕣 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖?}

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy awoke early the next morning, reaching over to his phone on the bedside table and tapping the screen to see what time it was. Seven. Plenty of time to have a shower and make his way down to the breakfast room.

Standing under the stream of hot water, he couldn’t help feeling apprehensive. What if she had done another runner? He wouldn’t be able to cope with that. He didn’t think she would have, but…. he just wasn’t 100% sure what she was thinking or feeling right now.

After his full disclosure of what he’d got up to with Madani followed swiftly by his confession of love last night, he felt more optimistic but he could tell she was still conflicted.

He’d just have to do whatever he could today to persuade her to give him another chance.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Making your way into the light and airy breakfast room at just after eight, you couldn’t deny you were pleased to see Billy, sitting up super straight like a well-behaved schoolboy, already at a table.

His face broke into a huge smile when he spotted you, and you could see a large measure of relief wrapped up in it. You knew he would’ve been wondering if you had run out on him again. But no, you’d decided overnight to at least see how things went today on your trip to the Lagoon Islands.

He’d thrown you a curveball by telling you he loved you last night, and while you were relieved to hear that he hadn’t slept with that woman (his anger when you’d pushed him on it had finally convinced you that he hadn’t), you still weren’t exactly happy with what he had admitted to doing. It was still cheating in your book.

Could you ever really trust him again?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy fussed over her like a mother hen when she sat down across from him at the table, jumping up and rushing over to the buffet table, picking out a selection of toast, focaccia, butter, jams and Nutella for her along with a couple of mini pain au chocolat croissants. They were her favourites so he felt quite proud of himself as he laid the plate before her like the spoils of war, before making his way to the coffee machine and creating a cappuccino for her.

“Thank you, Billy - you’re spoiling me,” she said with a small grin. “Your every wish is my command, Princess,” he smiled back, hand covering hers and stroking gently. Now she started properly laughing at him, and he huffed, slightly offended. Once she’d calmed down a bit she said, “Honestly Billy, you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot. All I need from you is complete honesty.” Billy tried to look as convincing as he possibly could, “I will be, sweetheart, I promise.”

She took a sip of her cappuccino, and fixed him with an intense stare. “Bearing that in mind, Billy, just what exactly was going through your mind when you were making out with Madani?”

Billy blew out a big breath; he hadn’t seen that coming. “Well… uhh… nothin’ really. I was just doing somethin’ I had to do, and needed to get it over with as quick as possible.” Another sip of coffee, another intense look from her. “Uh-huh. So you didn’t enjoy it then? Is that what you’re saying?”

Billy suddenly felt like he was back on very thin ice. He could feel himself squirming in his seat, and fought to keep still. Madani was, in all truth, a pretty woman.

Fuck.

What should he say in reply to that?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your eyes were drilling into Billy’s, and he looked about as comfortable as someone who’d just found out he’d got a scorpion down his trousers.

His face flushed pink, so you could guess what that meant. He cleared his throat, and then said in a low voice, “Look, she’s not bad lookin’ so it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could’ve been.”

You smirked, not ready to let him off the hook yet, “So you were attracted to her, then. Not sure I’m happy to hear that, Billy.”

“NO! No, I wasn’t. Well.. like I said, she’s not unattractive but I’m not interested in her.”

You picked up your knife and aggressively sliced right through one of croissants. The look on Billy’s face was priceless. No doubt he’d guessed that the croissant was a surrogate for a certain part of his anatomy.

“Sweetheart, they weren’t long or involved kisses… not real ones, not like between you an’ me,” he said in a worried tone, very unlike his usual assertive manner. “Sweetheart, you’re the one I’m in love with. The only one I want to be with.” He was gazing earnestly at you, hand covering yours.

You cut off another piece of croissant and popped it into your mouth.

Billy would have to work a hell of a lot harder than that today if he was going to get you back, you thought.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Once the vaporetto had moored alongside the jetty you walked on board the boat up the ramp in front of Billy, while the disembarking passengers walked down the other side of it as it swayed from side to side, the boat moving in its own wake. The crew member who’d expertly tied up the boat a few moments ago was still calling out “Palanca, Palanca” as you headed through the covered section to the open area right at the back, sitting down on the bench seat in the stern and turning your face up to the sun.

Billy sat next to you, scooting as close to you as he could, suddenly lunging in for a hungry kiss. Two mothers with children in tow emerged through the doors leading from the salon, and you pushed him away while hastily smiling at the newcomers, saying, “Giorno” to them. Both of them smiled at you, returning your greeting, but then their eyes slid over to Billy and you saw both sets widening as they looked him over. You sighed. Having a hot boyfriend sucked sometimes. And Billy was looking particularly hot today in leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans and combat boots.

However, you noticed that Billy’s eyes were glued to you, still gazing at you ever since you’d fended him off. You didn’t think he’d even glanced at the other two women.

OK, Russo - one point on the plus side to you, you conceded.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was paying full attention to his girl. He felt slightly triumphant that he’d managed to steal a kiss, and she’d only shoved him away when he’d vaguely heard the salon doors opening behind him.

He was so worried that she still hadn’t made her mind up whether to take him back or not, and he knew that today was his final chance to convince her to do so. Whatever was in his power to do, he’d do, to make that happen. And he wasn’t dumb, that meant not paying any attention whatsoever to any other females in the vicinity. He’d guessed that a couple of women had arrived along with the kids he could hear squealing and laughing just out of his sight line, so he made sure he kept his eyes trained solely on her.

Her lips curved upwards in a small smile as she looked back at him.

Pleased, he thought - ha, think I just scored a point there.

He wondered how many more of those he needed to rack up to finally win his woman back.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

There were no direct vaporetti lines to the Lagoon Islands so you had to firstly go to Fondamente Nove, which was a busy hub for several of the numerous lines. You wanted to visit two of the main islands; Murano - where Venetians had made their famed glass items for centuries - and Burano, an island of fishermen and lacemakers. You were really excited to go there, as the houses were painted in a rainbow of colours. Legend had it that this was so the returning fishermen could spot their own individual houses as they returned home across the lagoon.

You needed to find the ferry stop for Line 12, which luckily Billy spotted just as the two of you were about to walk right past it. There was a vaporetto arriving just as you did and swiping your travel passes, you went aboard and took seats in the salon. This ferry was a slightly different type to the others you’d been on, longer and lower and was soon packed with locals and tourists alike.

It took a little while to arrive at Murano, alighting at the Faro stop. They still produced glassware on Murano but nothing like as much as they had in the past. You and Billy wandered alongside one of the main canals, looking into the windows of all the little glass shops until you came to the entrance of one of the big glass foundries.

They offered tours of the workshop and of course also had a shop, so the two of you paid for the tour and watched in amazement as an old man took a fiery red and yellow blob onto the end of a pole, and blew and turned it until it started to take on the shape of a little vase.

In the store, you browsed along the shelves looking at all the glassware on display, until you suddenly noticed you were alone. Glancing around, you spotted a dark head over in the corner at the cash desk and were heading over there when Billy turned round. His trademark smirk appeared and he hurriedly picked up the little paper carrier bag which was on the counter by its handles and strode towards you.

“See anything you like, sweetheart?”

Smirk getting wider. You eye-rolled and grabbed his arm, noting at the same time that the female sales assistant was still gawping at Billy, even though he now had his back to her. You tugged him towards the door, asking, “What’ve you just bought?” as you went. He shook his head, “Can’t say. It’s a surprise.” You glared at him, “Billy….” but he just kept grinning as you left the store and wouldn’t say anything, even though you nipped at his wrist just below his leather jacket sleeve with your nails.

“Wanna get a coffee?” he suggested, as you resumed your canalside stroll. “Yeah, okay,” you replied, stopping next to the outdoor tables of a small caffé and sitting down, Billy joining you. He slid his hand over yours, “M’glad we’ve got this time together today, sweetheart. Wanna make you understand just how much you mean to me.”

You nodded in acknowledgment before waving at the waiter and ordering two double macchiatos. You carried on, “The main problem I have, Billy, is how I’m ever going to trust you again? You might not think you cheated, but that’s what it is in my book.”

Billy looked over at you, eyes wide, sad …and scared.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy had then looked up and thanked the waiter as the coffees were placed in front of you both. He really didn’t know what to say, to be honest. He knew Frank - and no doubt Karen - also thought that it had counted as cheating. But he truly hadn’t. Well…. Cheating Lite, as he’d already designated it in his head. But not proper, down-and-dirty, long-term cheating. It had been a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less. He just hadn’t considered the bigger picture. At all. And that had been a big mistake.

He took a sip of his coffee, and cleared his throat before spilling out what had just gone through his head. “Y’know I’m not exactly an expert at relationships, angel. In fact, I’m sure you’ll agree I’m totally shit at them. I need you to keep me on the straight and narrow. Tell me how things need to be. Please don’t give up on us, don’t leave me… please.” Billy was completely and utterly pouring out his heart to her, and he prayed she could see that.

His girl looked at him, some anger and hurt still in her eyes but she managed a shaky breath and looked down into the depths of her coffee cup for a few moments.

Billy held his breath.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your eyes met his again, “But how am I going to trust you again, Billy, tell me that? Every time you say you’re working late, how d’you expect me not to think you’re meeting up with her or someone else?”

Now it was Billy’s turn to look down. The silence stretched out to a few minutes, and you did nothing to break it. Eventually he looked up at you again, “M’tryin’ to think of how I can prove to you that I’ll never, ever, do something like that again - whether it’s work-related or not.”

He reached across and slid his long fingers between yours, holding onto your hand so tightly it felt like he’d never let go.

“Firstly, I give you my word as an ex-Marine that I won’t ever pull a stunt like this again. Secondly, I’ll be the most attentive boyfriend you’ve ever had. In and out of the sack.” You tried to hide a smile, but you knew he’d seen it. “Thirdly, I’ll put a tracker on my phone, and I’ll hack you into my messagin’ and email apps so you’ll have absolute access to my location and comms.” He was smirking back at you by now, he felt this was going pretty well.

“But you’ve got access to burner phones, Billy.”

His smile dimmed, while his brain scrambled to come up with a solution to this inconvenient fact. You saw his eyes light up and the smirk returned, “Easy. I’ll put Frank in sole charge of issuing them and I’ll tell him not to give me any unless it’s absolutely necessary for an op.”

“Could just buy them in Walmart’s,” you dropped into the slight pause after he’d finished speaking. His face fell again, and now you burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, Billy - I get the message. I see that you’re doing your best to be honest and transparent. There’s no need for you to put all that tracking and hacking in place.”

Billy beamed at you.

“I’ll just get Micro to track your ass.”

His mouth dropped open as you spoke.

“And monitor all your calls and texts.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Woah! thought Billy, didn’t think she’d be getting King Nerd involved. That was probably Karen’s idea. Gee, thanks Karen. But he would agree, what else could he do? And he’d offered to track himself, so it didn’t really matter in any case, did it?

“Uhhh…” he stuttered, “….uhh yeah, whatever you like, sweetheart.”

She smiled over at him, a genuine smile. “It’s OK, Billy. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She side-eyed him, “Unless you give me good cause. Like… coming home stinking of another woman’s perfume ever again.”

His hand went over his heart, and he put on his best puppydog eyes. “Angel, I swear on my life - never. Never. Ever. Again.”

She nodded. “Okay, Billy, I’ll take that as you being on oath now, just like when you joined the Marines.” His eyes widened and he nodded fast. “Yeah. I am. I’m on oath.”

He watched as she drained the very last few drops of her coffee. “Okay, Russo! Let’s go,” she said standing up and picking up her bag.

“Yes, ma’am!” He jumped up and saluted, taking his place at her side as they retraced their steps to the Faro stop and their next vaporetto.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d hopped onto the next Line 12 ferry which arrived, and recommenced your onwards journey to Burano. Sitting inside the salon again, the loud chatter around you from the mostly local passengers almost drowned out any conversation you and Billy tried to have. He finally leaned right up against you, snaking his arm round your waist, his lips against your ear.

“Got you a little somethin’, sweetheart.” He handed you the gift bag.

Opening it, you saw a mass of tissue paper inside the bag and took it out. “Careful!” he warned, so you slowly opened up the paper and saw a delicate rose pink heart trinket box sitting at its centre. You lifted its little lid up and then replaced it, delighted with it. Smiling at Billy, you said, “I love it!” into his ear and kissed his cheek. His lips returned to your ear, “See? You have my heart.”

Now you rolled your eyes heavenwards, “I’d stop there if I were you, Russo. Cheesy really doesn’t suit you!” He burst out laughing. “Hey! Give a guy a break. He’s over here layin’ his heart and soul right out in front of you.”

You leant in and kissed him on the lips, before pulling back and saying, “And don’t read too much into that!” But Billy was already grinning happily back at you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was happy. His steps were light as he walked beside her from the vaporetto stop along a small street, lined with stalls and shops selling souvenirs and lacework, which eventually led to a square.

She loved the trinket box! he thought, very pleased with himself. The minute he’d seen it he knew that she would, and had decided to buy it on the spot. While he didn’t want her to think he was trying to buy her back, he’d just wanted to make some gesture to show her that he treasured her, the same way she’d treasure the little things she put in it.

He blurted all of this out to her as they strolled along. She stopped walking and looked at him, amazed, “Billy Russo! I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He felt shy suddenly, and he could feel his face heating up. What was happening to him? Is this what love did to you? He didn’t hate it. “It’s how I feel,” he mumbled, looking away from her. He felt her hand on his cheek, “Well, keep that up and maybe, just maybe…”

She turned and started walking again, and Billy hurried to catch up with her. I won’t push it, he thought, I’ll just leave it be while I’m on a winning streak.

There was another street leading off the square which was full of trattorias and caffés, and they chose one of the restaurants to sit outside, the tables rapidly filling as more people from the vaporetto stop arrived.

She’s definitely looking at me more kindly, he thought. Things might just be okay after all.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After a delicious lunch of pasta and several glasses of wine, you and Billy started exploring the little canals and streets with their cute colourful houses. They looked so bright and beautiful in the sunlight, and you imagined the fishermen back in the day sailing home and being able to see their own little house from afar.

You reached the waterside, beside a quiet little square with houses all around it and some grass in the middle, clothes on washing lines strung across it, blowing in the breeze. There was no-one else around and suddenly you found yourself pressed up against the wall of one of the houses, Billy’s long fingers on the nape of your neck, his hand on your waist. His dark chocolate eyes were gazing into yours, a soft look in them. But you could also feel something a lot harder pressing into your hip, and you saw desire spark in his eyes.

His mouth was on yours and he kissed you, the sudden passion of which took you by surprise. He pulled back, his forehead touching yours. “I’ve missed your touch so much,” he whispered, “…every minute of every day since you.. since you left me.” You laid your hand on his chest, “I missed you too, Billy - even if I did hate you at the time.” He chuckled, “Do you still hate me?” You looked into those beautiful eyes, “No, I guess I don’t. Although you’re still walking a line, Billy.”

He nodded, “I know. I do know. But promise me you’ll give me another chance?” You smiled at him, pushing yourself away from the wall and him, “Let’s see, shall we?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy tapped on her hotel room door, and gave her a devilish grin as she opened it. He’d made sure to wear a white tank and a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. He knew she liked him in those.

She was already in her sleepwear - an oversized Anvil T which she’d stolen from him ages ago - and leant against her door, looking back at him, amused. “Why Billy, whatever brings you here?”

He just kept grinning at her and also leant against her doorframe. As if she didn’t know, he thought. She’d had to spend the entire journey back from Burano fending off his hands and mouth.

“Just checkin’ you’re OK, sweetheart. See if there’s anything you need.”

She laughed. “And what could I possibly need, Billy?”

He angled his body so that she couldn’t fail to get a great view of his toned torso and more importantly, the very obvious outline of his erection showing in his joggers. If there was one thing Billy had complete confidence in, it was the effect his body had on women.

“I can think of one or two things, sweetheart.”

He was ecstatic when her hand reached out and grabbed him round the back of his neck, pulling him into her room. “Uhuh… maybe you should show me what those are.”

Billy’s grin got twice as wide.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You gave a huge sigh as Billy pushed inside you, hearing an answering one from him and you ran your hands up into his lush hair. You couldn’t deny it, you had missed him. And his enthusiastic lovemaking.

However you were a little taken aback when he began moving slowly and sensually on you, instead of his usual frenetic pace. He was stroking your hair, placing little kisses all over your face and neck, running his hands over your body, whispering “I love you, love you so much” between his languid thrusts. He slid a hand down and massaged your clit, so well that you climaxed within a few short moments. Not long afterwards, you heard him gasp and he released into you, with a long groan.

The two of you lay in silence, side by side but still entwined. Then Billy leant across and kissed you, softly, slowly, with passion. “I can’t be without you, angel.” The puppydog eyes were out in force again as he gazed at you, “Please. Gimme another chance. I’ll be a better boyfriend, a million times better.”

You continued to look back at him, then gave a quick nod, “Okay. Yes, okay Billy. But one… just one transgression…” His hands went up in supplication, “Understood! Not one transgression will be made.”

“And you make sure to tell that thirsty bitch back in New York that her little dates with you won’t be happening anymore.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“Already done.”

He saw her eyebrows rise.

Oh. Oh, she thinks that means I’ve been in touch with her.

“No, sweetheart…. Frankie took care of that for me while I’ve been away.”

She smirked, “Pleased to hear it.”

Billy let out a sigh of relief, he was going to have to be so careful over the next few months. He’d only just got her back! He couldn’t let a stupid, chance remark or two ruin it. He ran his hand over her hair again. “I’m so happy, y’know? M’never going to take you for granted again.” He saw her smile widen in the darkness of the room.

“But, sweetheart, you gotta promise me something too.” She looked at him, puzzled, amused, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. No more runnin’ out on me and flyin’ halfway round the world.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep @supernaturalcat7 @obscurilicious @strawb3rrydr3ss @bruxa0007 @aleksanderwh0r3 @theshadowkingsqueen @bat-luna-cat @carlywhomever

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic

[tillthelandslide]

Quarantine Antics: Henry Cavill Smut

Authours note: This is the first piece of smut I have done in years so I really do hope you all like it... Please me nice XD I have only ever written one piece of smut before so I’m pretty new to this. If you have any feedback please don’t be afraid to comment or message me (but again please be nice XD). Also sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes, despite reading this over like 10 times I tend to miss them somehow XD Enjoy - L

You were over the moon when Henry had asked you to live with him during quarantine. You had always loved his mews house in London, loving how the old stables had been converted into house, it began to feel like home to you the more you were there with Henry so were overjoyed when he asked you to stay with him.

"We don't know how long we'd go without seeing each other and I can't live that long without you" he said all those months ago, you remember being so happy that you basically jumped on him, begging him to take you to his room, soon to be your shaded room.

Now it was months later and living together was perfect, sure you had a few arguments and tiffs but it made for interesting sessions in the bedroom.

Henry spent some days just relaxing with you, some days on calls for the Witcher season 2 and some days playing PC. You were a huge gamer too so often played alongside him, chatting amongst yourselves about the games you were playing, both chuckling at each other when one got a bit too invested. You too were an actor so you mainly spent time reading over scripts for upcoming shows, doing calls with your manager, directors and many more people. You both loved what you did but quarantine certainly did give you both (particularly Henry) a well-earned rest. It also meant that your relationship which was fairly new could blossom a bit more.

You had just woken up, your head throbbing a tad making you groan lowly. You placed a kiss against Henry's forehead, smiling when his lips turned up a bit. You slipped out from the duvet, Henry's hand falling from your waist. You took Henry's shirt from off the floor, slipping it over your head, loving the way it drowned you. You walked to the kitchen, your bare feet tapping lightly against the cold tiles. Kal jumped up at you making you giggle slightly, petting his head you placed more food and water in his bowls. You began to make coffee and tidy the kitchen from yesterday's dinner. Henry walked in as you were taking some paracetamol for your headache. He groaned lowly upon seeing you in his shirt, walking behind you and placing his arms around your waist and his head on your shoulder.

"Morning gorgeous. I still can't get used to seeing you in my shirt every morning, love it more everyday" he says as you turn around and placed a gentle good morning kiss against his lips.

"What do you want to do today Hen?" you said running your hand through his untamed curls.

"Was thinking we could have a little gaming session?" he said making you smile.

"I have quite a bad headache today so I think I'll pass on that" you said, turning round to make two cups of black coffee.

"Aw lovie, I'm sorry, that sucks. We can always find something else to past the time?" he says, grabbing his coffee and making his way to the couch where Kal had taken most of the space up.

"Kal. Mummy and Daddy need to sit" Henry says making your stomach flutter. Kal instantly moved, panting up at his dad.

"Good boy" you said, placing your coffee on the table and sitting next to Henry, he swivelled you round so your legs were resting in his lap and your bottom was close to his thighs.

"wouldn't want to stop you from gaming if that's what you want to do baby. I can take Kal out for a..." you say raising your eyebrows so Henry knows without getting Kal too riled up.

"You sure?" he says raising his eyebrows back at you.

"Positive, the fresh air might do me good" you said making Henry nod in agreement. He leant forward placing a soft kiss to your lips, you instantly melted against him, his tongue slipping past your lips slowly, you gently sucked on the tip of it making Henry sigh against you before moving his lips to a different position against yours, massaging each other perfectly. Kal jumped up out of jealousy making you giggle as Henry groaned.

"Who knew you could be such a cock block aye?" Henry said rubbing the big dog behind his ears.

"Aww is Daddy being mean to you? Just want to go out huh?" you said making Henry smile at you.

A little while later you had returned from walking Kal, placing a bowl of water on the floor of the kitchen and some food down before hanging your jacket up and walking to the small living room. You found him on his PC at the end of living room, a headset sitting on top of his head, flattening his hair a little.

"Hi gorgeous" he said, pausing the game and placing a hand against your thigh as you came to stand next to him, he leant up a little as you bent down to place a kiss against his lips.

"Kal is all tired out now" you said making Henry smile.

"How's the headache?" he said pouting up at you cutely.

"Better" you said placing another kiss against his lips, scratching his stubble lightly, making him groan. He pushed his chair back slightly before pulling you down into his lap.

You straddled him against his chair, his thick jean clad thighs resting against your core. He nibbled your bottom lip before suckling it into his mouth, running his tongue over it shortly after. You could feel him getting harder against you, making you sigh against his mouth as you brought your hips down further against his, bringing your core closer to him.

"Hmm" he groaned as you began grinding against him.

"Think I've been playing long enough" he said, picking you up effortlessly and walking the both of you to your bedroom.

He threw you down onto the bed, your head landing perfectly amongst the pillows as you giggled, grasping the bottom of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. His lips found yours again, placing more kisses against each other, moving to a better position when it felt right. You placed your hands on his firm shoulders, running them over his chiselled chest, down over his abs before landing on the button of his jeans. His own hands interrupted yours as he too took your shirt off, sighing happily when he saw a new piece of lingerie in which he didn’t recognise.

“Hmm, this is nice, new?” he said, placing his lips against yours, nibbling your lower lip before pulling back to allow you to answer.

“Mhmm, got it for you” you said, leaning forward to place kisses against his chest “well I like it he moaned deeply and you felt him get lighter, allowing you to successfully flip the both of you over so you were now straddling him. You popped the button of his jeans open and placed open mouthed kisses along his chest, sucking at his collar bone making him thrust up at you lightly, grunting as he did so.

“So strong for such a little thing” he said, his own lips finding your neck and sucking until a love bite formed. One of his big hands landed on your back, skilfully undoing your bra whilst the other found its way into your jeans making you push down on him.

“You’re so wet” he said, pulling your bra off and groaning before placing sweet kisses against your breasts.

“Hmm you’re so perfect my love” he said, sucking a nipple into his mouth making you moan blissfully. Your fingers reached under his chin, softly pulling his face towards yours so you could kiss him. Your tongue entered his mouth but his quickly took over and he gained dominance as you ground down on him.

“Need you” you said simply, making him groan loudly and flip you over again, his hands quickly pulling down both of your jeans, taking yours and your underwear fully off but being impatient with his own pulling them and his boxers down until they were barely over his bum. He thrust into you roughly making you gasp against him. He pulled all the way out before thrusting into you again, groaning loudly as he did so.

His eyes met yours as he kept up the rhythm, your fingers came to gasp at his face, wanting him closer to you. You loved it like this, the both of you looking into each other eyes whilst you fucked like animals, it made it rawer and more passionate.

His hips angled upward reaching further into you making you cry out in pleasure.

“My angel, you feel so good. Pulsing against me” he said “fuck” he said, head tilting backwards, you looked down to where you were joined, moaning at the sight making Henry look down too.

“Taking me so well, it’s like you were made for me” he said, as he made a particularly hard thrust.

“Henry. You’re so big, I feel so full” you moaned as he hit your g spot making you scratch down his back.

“That the spot?” he said, his forehead resting against yours as you nodded. He pulled out making you groan. His hands came down on your knee, bending it so your legs were over his shoulders before thrusting back into you, you could hear how wet you were, your juices mixing with his making you groan.

“Better?” he said, reaching your g spot with every thrust now thanks to the new position.

“Hen. That’s it” you said, kissing him as you could feel the both of you getting close.

“So Close. Fuck. I. Love you” he said with every thrust. His pupils were blown wide, taking up most of his eyes, his hair was a mess with how much you were running your hands through it, he was glistening with sweat. He looked absolutely ethereal.

“I love you. Come for me” you moaned out, one last thrust and you both came together, you moaned loudly, Henry catching it with his lips, his hips stuttering against yours. You could feel your core pulsing against him rinsing him for all his worth.

“Hmm you’re too good to me” he said pulling out as he placed another kiss to your lips, his tongue meeting yours for a passionate kiss. He got up out of bed, kicking off his jeans and underwear, walking into the bathroom to get a flannel to clean you both up.

You heard Kal bark lightly making you laugh loudly when you heard Henry say “Not now boy, Daddy’s tired, Mummy’s just given me a run for my money and I would love to just go ravish her again without any interruption on your behalf”.

Henry came back wet flannel in hand, pausing at the door, he sighed deeply, smiling at you “you are so beautiful, the things I could do to you” he said, his thumb coming up to pull at his lips, he thoroughly enjoyed seeing you this blissed out.

“Well? Are you going to just stand there and gawk or are you going to… how did you put it? Ravish me?” you said, making him drop the flannel and crawl onto the bed, his body covering yours once more.

You flipped him easily, straddling him again. Your hand grasped and his thick length which was still hard getting harder and heavier in your hand. He leant forward to kiss you as he groaned, you pulled back making his lips graze yours. You smirked teasingly, your hand wrapping around his shaft, moving it up and down making him moan out in pleasure.

“Baby please” he begged. You then began stroking up and down at a pace that seemed to work for him. His hand came up to your jaw, pulling your lips to his, tongue stroking yours and your hand continued on his cock.

“Need you” he said, you took his cock, placing it at your entrance before slowly sinking down, sighing out when you had taken all of him. You began bouncing on him quickly, already close to your second orgasm of the day.

Henry’s fingers began rubbing your clit, making you moan deliciously at him.

“those sounds” he says, his voice dropping a register or two sounding very similar to Geralt.

“Hmm. Fuck” you mocked, using Geralt’s lines against Henry, he chuckled against you.

“You shouldn’t tease me Miss” he says, staring deeply into your eyes.

“Hmm? Why’s that sir?” you said, making him groan before he quickly began thrusting up into you making you scream his name in pleasure.

“That’s it. Let everyone hear” he said, moaning your own name. He came shortly after, his come shooting up into you making your own orgasm arrive.

You collapsed against him, both breathing deeply against each other.

“The love I have for you woman” he said, placing one last firm kiss against your lips.

“Hmm. I love you too bear” you sighed, climbing off him getting up to get the wet flannel and cleaning the both of you up before lying next to him. Your head on his chest and one leg draped over his, his hand on your back which began to trace random things against it. Both of your eyes were shut, completely blissed out, completely in love with one another.

#henry cavill #henry #henry cavill and kal #henry cavill angst #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fan fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill geralt #geralt #geralt smut #geralt of rivia #the witcher #henry smut #superman #august walker #napoleon solo #august walker smut #napoleon solo smut #august walker imagines #geralt fluff

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

CH28- Hens, Stags and Cubs Part 2- Stags

Summary: It’s the boys turn as Frank, his soon-to-be Brother and Father in law, and the rest of the Circle Of Truth head out for a night on the town.

Warnings: Bad language, some racey themes discussed, but no actual smut, but just in case- NSFW, 18+

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Word Count- 4 k ish

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Ch28 Part 1- Hens

Houston do you hear me? Ground control can you feel me? Need permission to land.

 Frank slipped his arms through his blue suit jacket adjusting his shirt and belt once through. The Circle said dress smartly and despite his earlier squabbles with himself over not wanting to really put forth any effort into his stag, he was now looking forward to a few drinks at Ferg’s before hitting up a few of the nicer bars around town that required less tacky tropical attire.

He stepped back, and gave himself the once over in the mirror. He straightened the collar of his white dress shirt, leaving the top two buttons open as he was foregoing a tie- that was a step too far. His hair and beard were both longer having allowed them both to grow out, and he had to admit that he did kinda like it.

It wasn’t the first time he’d allowed it to grow out a little, but had shaved it again when Alex was younger thanks to the fact he liked to fist his hands in it. And damned it, it hurt. However, when they’d been looking through their phones a couple of months or so back for some photos to use for a board at the wedding,  Fliss had made an off the cuff comment about how she had loved what she dibbed his ‘Professor’ look.

So he’d let it grow, and Fliss was very appreciative. An appreciation she made perfectly clear every time she’d shudder and purr with delight when it brushed the inside of her thigh as he ate her out, or rubbed on her neck and jawline as he thrust into her.

Nope, Frank couldn’t deny, it had its perks. One, strangely, being that it made him look older. It was an image that seemed to suggest he had all his shit together, a proper, mature father and soon-to-be respectable, married man.

Frank snorted, who the fuck are you kidding, Adler?

Picking a piece of fluff off his suit slacks, he turned and made his way out of the bedroom, cursing angrily as he nearly tripped over Fred who was sprawled at the top of the stairs. “Find somewhere else to lay, you furry orange bastard.” He glared at the cat who merely eyed him shrewdly. He headed down the stairs and then into the family room at the back of the house. Fliss glanced up from where she was sat giving Alex his night bottle and she smiled as he crossed towards the sofa. “Hello, Sailor.” She grinned and Frank chuckled as he gave her a kiss. “You look great.” Frank quirked an eyebrow, “you sound surprised.” “Not at all.” She shook her head. “I just don’t see you in a suit that often. I like it.” “Don’t get used to it.” He deadpanned and she laughed as he stood back up straight. “My cab is about 3 minutes out so...” “Dada!” Alex interrupted, babbling his latest word as he moved his bottle away from his mouth. He made grabby hands towards Frank and Fliss quickly took the opportunity whilst the tot was distracted and wiped his mouth. Alex pushed the cloth away with a loud protest and, smiling, Frank picked him up and pressed a kiss to his head. “Where’s Mary?” “In her den.” Fliss gestured with her head. “She was watching a film.” Frank headed over and opened the door. Mary was sat on a bean-bag, a bag of chips by her side on the floor along with a can of soda. She turned to look at him.

“How many times have you seen this?” Frank nodded towards the TV were Will Smith was currently chasing down an alien through New York.

Mary shrugged, “it’s my favourite.”

“Yeah, it’s your Mom’s too.” Frank chuckled. “Anyway, I’m off now, Stack. Be good.” He instructed and she rolled her eyes.

“You don’t have to warn me every time you go out.” “I know, but I like to.” He replied simply. “I’ll see you in the morning. Love you.” “You too.” She replied, turning back to the film. Frank rolled his eyes, he supposed he should be grateful she’d actually acknowledged him. He made his way back towards Fliss, adjusting Alex in his arms who was now rubbing at his eyes, a sure sign he was starting to get tired. “Come here, baby.” Fliss smiled as Alex yawned and Frank passed him over, before he felt his phone go off in his pocket.

“Cab’s here.” He said, shoving it back in his pocket. With a final check to make sure he had his wallet and keys he leaned over again to give her another kiss. “See you later, love you.” “Love you too, have a good night.” She beamed. Frank smiled as he headed out of the room, casting a final glance over his shoulder, before he made his way to the waiting car. **** Frank took the steps up to the entrance two at a time and pulled open the door. Immediately, a loud cheer hit his ears and he looked over to see the Circle of Truth boys, along with Bill, Steve, his old boss Alan, and a few of the other guys from work all stood by the bar. That in itself wasn’t a surprise. What was, however, was their attire. They all wore identical, bright yellow Hawaiian print shirts and cowboy hats.

Not a suit in sight. He’d been well and truly had.

With a groan, Frank shook his head as he approached, an annoyed and frustrated laugh bursting from his mouth, “fucking fuck you all.”

He greeted them all with various insults, handshakes and it was then that he spotted Steve who had his phone raised, pointing it at him.

“Are you filming me?” Frank demanded.

Steve grinned. “Yeah, Fliss wanted to see your reaction.”

“She knew about this?” Frank asked, although as he said it he realised that of course she would

Steve nodded. “It was her idea.”

That didn’t surprise Frank either. “Son of a…”

“Don’t you be calling my wife now.” Bill thrust a beer into his hand, causing the men to laugh even more.

“I hate each and every single one of you.” Frank shook his head, before he took a drag of his beer and then sighed as a cowboy hat was dropped on his head.

“Looking good, Frank!” Mike Ferguson, the owner, grinned as he dropped a bottle of tequila onto the bar along with a heap of shot glasses. “On the house, congratulations buddy.”

“Cheers.” Frank grinned before he looked round at Greg and nodded to the bottle. “Well, as best man I think the job of pouring falls to you.”

Greg smirked and slapped Frank on the back between his shoulder blades. “Don’t worry Frankie boy, I got you covered.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.” Frank muttered and Greg laughed, before he reached for the bottle.

*******

Four large beers and several shots later, Frank had completely forgotten the fact he was stood in his favourite dive bar, dressed like a banker and sticking out like a sore thumb. They’d originally planned to hit a few more bars, but as the odd free round of drinks kept getting slipped their way by order of Mike, who himself had abandoned his post behind the bar and was stood with them instead, they’d decided to stay put. Which suited Frank just fine.

“You should come to the wedding.” Frank looked at Mike. “I mean not the beach bit as that’s limited numbers but the party after, you’re more than welcome.”

“Shouldn’t you check with the missus first?” Mike asked and Frank shook his head.

“Nah, she’s cool. Besides, we’ve kinda lost track of how many are turning up. It’s turned into a free-for-all. No stuffy sit down dinner, just food trucks and drinks,” he waved his hand, grinning. “And music. Good music. I can’t wait to see her face when the entertainment turns up.”

“You mean she doesn’t know?”

“Nope.” Frank’s grin grew even larger. “That’s the one bit of the day she trusted me to organise. And it’s gonna blow her socks off. Not that she’ll have socks on…well,” he took a sip of his beer, “she might if she’s wearing her cowboy boots like she keeps saying she is.”

“She’s wearing her boots?” Bill snorted from Frank’s left.

Frank shrugged. “I don’t give a shit; she can wear what she wants. As long as I get that ring on her finger, doesn’t bother me.”

Mike chuckled before he excused himself, having been called away by a member of staff and Frank sighed, turning to Bill.

“Feels like I’ve been waiting for this forever.”

“What, your stag do?”

“No, marrying Fliss!” Frank shook his head as Bill snorted, the pair of them turning to watch the pool tournament that they’d both been spectacularly knocked out of in the early rounds as it was reaching a conclusion. Simon was facing off against Steve, and as ever, Fliss’ older brother was in a fiercely, competitive mood.

“Well,” Bill took a sip of his drink, “you’ve both been through a hell of lot when you think about it. You’ve been together, what…”

“Coming up three years.” Frank answered. “Engaged for almost two.”

“Had a baby…”

“Yeah.” A soft smile spread across Frank’s face. “God, he’s fucking awesome, Bill.”

“Adopted Mary.”

“She’s awesome too.”

“Repaired your relationship with your mother, you’ve built yourself a home, twice if you count the first apartment we did up and you moved into. You’ve helped Fliss expand the yard, you’ve changed jobs and built a career, and yes, I know that’s still a little bit of a niggle at the moment but,” Bill shrugged, “it’s a hell of a lot to cram into three years. And that’s without mentioning the shit that dead cunt tried to pull, or the trouble you had with Pud’s waste of a space sperm donor. And we won’t mention that because this…” Bill’s elbow slipped a little as he rest it on the bar, waving his hand around, “because this is a happy night.”

Frank nodded, clinking his glass against his soon-to-be father-in-law’s. “Amen.”

The two men took a sip of their drink and Frank looked across the bar before he suddenly had the urge to bare his soul to the man stood beside him, but not before he ordered them both another pint. Once the cool beers were slid over the bar he turned to Bill.

“Can I tell you something, Billy?” Frank asked, and without waiting for an answer, he continued. “I really don’t know how, I mean I can’t even remember my life before her. You know? Like, I was an asshole and a different girl every weekend but when I met her it just changed. And I didn’t even look back.”

“Frankie, my boy…” Bill smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s love for you, son. You’re the second chance she deserved the first time and it warms my old heart to see her so happy.”

“Yeah, but I don’t just love her…like, I really love her.” Frank continued. “You know, she loves Mary and never hesitated. Right from the off. And then we had Alex and…she's an amazing mother.”

“That’s Lissy for you. Heart and soul into everything.” Bill smiled and Frank dropped his eyes to his pint momentarily, before he looked up.

“And thank you, too. You and V both, but you…well, you stepped in as someone I've come to respect and admire in my life, someone I love as a father. I appreciate you, Bill.”

Bill took a deep breath and beamed, his eyes watering from emotion, or alcohol, Frank wasn’t sure. But then when Bill spoke he knew his words were from the heart.

“Frank, when you join the Gallaghers, you’re in for life.” He smiled. “Yeah, I’ll admit, I was worried at first, we all were, after everything she went through but, well, we knew a few weeks in that you were in it for keeps.” He smiled, holding his glass up. “And here we are. Two weeks off your wedding date.”

“Yeah…” Frank grinned, clinking his glass against Bill’s. “Fourteen days, I’m counting them all.”

Shortly after, Frank felt the pressure in his bladder and excused himself to take a piss. After he’d finished in the bathroom he then, for some reason, ended up on the decking outside. He stood by the edge, leaning on the wooden railings as the various people behind him continued their chatter and drinking.

The temperature had dropped a little, and Frank took a deep breath, the cool night ocean breeze sobering him up a second and, as he watched the reflection of the moon and the lights of the bar bouncing off the surface of the waves, his mind moved to what was to come.

He was marrying the love of his life. The mother of his son, the woman who’d become a mother as he’d become a father to his niece. The person who’d seen him at, quite possibly, the lowest part of his life and loved him without a second’s hesitation.

And God, did he love her with the same ardour. As he thought about how he’d left her before, on the couch with their one year old son, he found his mind straying to his own father. He wished his dad could have met Fliss. They’d have gotten on like a house on fire. Hell, Diane would have maybe opened up to her eventually too, but then again, if Diane, and his Dad come to think of it, were here, he'd most likely never have felt the need to escape his mother the way he did. He’d still be teaching in Boston.

And he wouldn't have met Fliss in the first place.

Damned, that was a mad, sad twist of fate. As much as he wished his family was still all around, and had never been torn apart, it physically hurt his heart to think of his life before Fliss…was that fucked up? To be almost grateful life had worked out the way it had?

He jumped a little as a hand slapped him on the shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Greg stood by his side.

“Wondered where you’d got to. The killer tournament’s finished so Simon’s lining up another. You in?”

Frank smiled. “Yeah, sure.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, was just thinking about stuff.”

“Not second thoughts, I hope?”

“Fuck no!” Frank scoffed, “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“Good to know, because if you were about to back out, well, her dad and brother are huge, get what I’m saying?”

The two men laughed and headed back into the bar, Frank greeted by more cheers as he made his way back over, another shot of tequila being thrust into his hands.

The tournament struck up, and Frank found himself recalling his first date with Fliss, explaining how she’d hustled him big time and he realised there and then he’d found his match. Somehow the conversation then steered to the rest of the men talking about how they met their respective partners. Bill eagerly told the tale about how he’d met Verity, and how shockingly like Fliss she had been at that age, when Simon stood up straight, chalking the end of his cue.

“Well, you know that they say,” He grinned. “if you wanna know what your girl will look like in her older years check her mom out.”

“Well, Verity is a stunning woman.” Frank shrugged.

“Yeah, she is,” Bill paused, “and she has great tits."

The entire group let out a laugh as Frank choked on his beer, Steve’s groan audible over the noise. “Seriously, Dad?”

“What?” Bill looked at his son. “You think that because I’m almost seventy we don’t do it anymore?”

“Fucking hell.” Frank shook his head

“I need shots...” Steve turned to the bar. “Lots of shots.”

**** Fliss was in the family room when Thor sat bolt upright from where he’d been sprawled beside her on the sofa, his head cocking to one side. Then, she heard the gravel of the drive crunching, accompanied by the opening and shutting of car doors, and hushed voices. A glance at the clock told her it was one in the morning. Whilst she hadn’t been intending on staying up on purpose for Frank to get home, she’d gotten engrossed in a film and had taken the opportunity to crack open a bottle of wine and relax whilst both kids were in bed, and she had the house to herself.

She then heard her brother’s laugh and there was some noise at the front door, Frank’s voice ringing out along with the sounds of a key being scraped along the lock. She waited, as the voices grew louder before she stood up and made her way into the hall. She opened the door to see Frank in between her brother and dad, a glazed, drunk expression on his face as he was paused, hand outstretched, key where the lock should have been.

“Heyyyy, baby!” He beamed. “Look,” he turned to Bill, “there she is, my Lissy.”

“Here I am.” Fliss chuckled, “someone had a good night.”

“We need a new lock.” Frank looked at Fliss. “The key doesn’t fit this one.”

“No, you just couldn’t find the hole…”

“You’ve never had any complaints before.” Frank quipped back, and at that Steve sniggered. Bill, however frowned.

“No, that’s…don’t…”

“Dad, they’ve had a kid.” Steve shook his head. “And after what you said in the bar, you’ve no room to talk.”

Bill hiccupped a little, as Frank stepped into the hallway. “Speaking of which, we should go, your mum might be-“

“Okay, stop, right there.” Fliss groaned. “That’s gross. So…yeah, just don’t.”

With a grin Bill swayed on the spot at little as Frank dropped a huge, sloppy kiss to Fliss’ cheek. “Trick to a successful marriage, my girl. Keep the passion alive.”

“Oh Jesus.” Fliss groaned as Steve and Frank laughed. “Shut up, you’ll wake the kids!”

Frank slapped a hand over his mouth as Steve saluted her. “Yes Ma’am.”

It took Fliss another two minutes or so, but eventually she had finally managed to get rid of her dad and brother off the step and into the cab. She shut the door behind them and then walked into the family room to see Frank, leaning unsteadily against the kitchen counter.

“Flissy, you gonna marry me?” He grinned.

“Yes, Baby, I am. You know this.”

“No, but, Friss, can we jus... jus... hang on.” He paused, holding up his finger, clearly having to think about what he was trying to say, “Lissy, I jus wanna get married now, fuck all the rest.”

“Fuck the rest of what, Sailor?” Fliss watched him, trying her best not to laugh.

“Well I wanna fuck you.” He grinned and at that she snorted.

“What else is new?" “But look, ser... sersly, fuck everything and let's just go in the morning.” Frank slurred as he gestured with his hand. “Mary can be the business... No, witness.” “Okay. Whatever you say baby. We’ll just cancel the beach and the tent and all the food and go tomorrow morning.” Fliss agreed.

Frank nodded, and then grinned.

“Fliss?”

“Frank?”

“Can I bend you over this counter?” He pat the surface as he wiggled his brows.

“Maybe tomorrow.” Fliss nodded. “Now, I think we should go to bed.” Frank smirked and she rolled her eyes. “Come on.”

With a monumental effort, she managed to turn off the lights and TV and got Frank to the stairs. He’d made it up them all more or less before he tripped and then lay down, his head resting on the carpeted floor of the landing.

“Hmmm, maybe I’ll rest here.”

“Frank, you can’t sleep here.” Fliss sighed.

“But it's so.... soft.”

“The beds even softer, sweetheart. Come on,  I’ll let you rest your head on my chest and I’ll stroke your hair.” Fliss coaxed, but nothing. His eyes were closed and he simply smiled, rubbing his face against the carpet.

Fliss looked at him, before she rolled her eyes and stepped over him, deciding to leave him where he was. She couldn’t pick him up, and she couldn’t make him move if he didn’t want to. He would come to no harm, might even end up with Fred as a pillow.

She walked towards their room, when with a total delayed response, to her offer, Frank’s head shot up and he looked up at her.

“Wait, I’m coming.”

He stumbled to his feet, banging into the wall a little, and Fliss was just about to tell him to keep the noise down when the door to Mary’s room flew open.

“You woke me up.” Mary glared at him, her arms folded.

“So?” Frank shrugged. “It’s Stackersday, Sat…I mean Satursday, Stack…”

“Technically now it’s Sunday.” She replied. “As it’s like half past one in the-“

“Shhhh.” Frank cut her off, holding his finger out to cover her lips. “No one cares.”

Mary looked at Fliss who merely shrugged, biting her lip as she tried not to laugh at the indignant look their daughter sported. With a final groan, and a shot at him being a pain in the ass, Mary rolled her eyes and turned back, shutting the door behind her.

“Did she just call me a pain in the ass?” Frank wobbled over to Fliss who nodded.

“She’s not wrong.” Fliss mused and Frank narrowed his eyes.

“You’re the pain in a ass.”

“Why?”

“I know you made them all wear those shirts and hats.” He hiccupped as he followed her into their bedroom. "You...yous sneak... brat" "Words, Sailor. Complete sentences." Fliss helped him out of his jacket and Frank shook his head.

“Mmmm nope."

Eventually, Fliss managed to get him out of his suit, ignoring his various quips about her getting him naked and once he was down to his boxers she ushered him into the adjoined bathroom. After he’d taken a pee, Fliss heard him stumbling about as he flushed and washed, before he staggered back into the main room. He landed with a loud huff on the bed, before he rolled onto his back and managed to wrestle under the covers.

Fliss settled besides him and he shifted onto his side, reaching out to give her a soft kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She smiled back.

“No, but I really love you.” Frank urged. “So much, I can’t…”

“Frankie, I know. I get it.” She whispered, kissing him again. “Now come on, do you need some water before you got to sleep?”

“Nope.” He shook his head as he propped himself up a little, slipping before he steadied himself on his elbow. He glanced at her in the soft light of the lamp and grinned. “Your boobs really are great Liss.”

“Thanks.” She arched her brow.

“Like, I just...” he moved his left hand and gave one a squeeze. “They’re so pert…and round. And they fed Alex…”

Fliss snorted as she turned and flicked off the lamp before she settled down, her hand guiding his head onto her chest.

“Like pillows…marshmallows.” Frank’s voice was muffled as she snuggled into her chest.

Less than two minutes later, he was out for the count.

With a soft smile, Fliss kissed his head. Despite him being a pain in the ass, she kinda liked it when he came home drunk. He turned into such a huge, soft meatball and she adored it.

“You’re going to be such a hungover Cranky Frankie tomorrow, Handsome,” she whispered as he slept, his soft snores filling the room, “and I don’t fancy being in your shoes when Mary gets her own back on you for waking her up.”

**** Ch 28 Part 3

#riding on #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Midnight Magic

A/N: Wrote a smutty part 2 to accompany you lovely folks! 🥰🥰

MASTERLIST

Henry Cavill x Reader

Also, if I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 1855k 

Warnings: MUCH PROMISED FLUFF, dirty talk, implied smut, foreplay, kissing, language, teasing

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

Y/N wasn’t someone to demand attention but tonight was a different story entirely. Whether it be the holiday magic in the air or the sheer happiness exuding from her beaming smile, they’d never know for sure.  She glazed into the fireplace awaiting the arrival of her midnight kiss to show up. The embers flickered uncontrollably creating a spellbinding illusion of comfort. The cerulean blue hue of her dress was majestically magnificent, custom designed to perfection leaving little to the imagination. Paired with a sexy high slit revealed the majority of her right leg; just enough access.

This New Year’s Eve Henry had the peculiar notion to get dressed up as if they were enjoying the evening out. Y/N almost died of happiness then and there seeing the childish reflection in her husband’s hypnotic orbs. 2020 was one helluva year and though it brought them closer than ever as a couple, Y/N wasn’t blind to the hardships occurring throughout the world.  

His loins stirred excitedly as lust glazed over his features growing semi-hard. The only barrier holding them from going at it like teenagers. He licked his lips in anticipation eager to have his wife all to himself. No lavish parties or parades of people to entertain this year, just the lot of them, alone and horny. He continued admiring her from afar pouring two flutes of champagne for the pair.

“You look positively scrumptious this evening, Mrs. Cavill.”

Henry silently crept from behind sneaking up unsuspectingly slow. Goosebumps riddled her gorgeous skin rippling in masses. His breath ticked the tiny, delicate hair adorning her neck shooting a pleasurable surge to her limbs. Both endlessly love drunk on one another. His sensational touch alone kicked every sense into overdrive, heightened every emotion he emitted. Y/N reached back entangling her fingers with his newly deemed ‘quarantine curls’ she’d loved to tug on. Small bites traced down her neck leaving small marks in his wake of destruction.

“May I add how delectable you are in a tuxedo, Hen? My god, my poor ovaries must be working overtime.”

A salacious smirk broke out on his lips eyeing her lustfully.

“You haven’t the finest clue what I want to do to you right now, my love.”

Her hips grinded back on their on accord knocking the air from his lungs. All his remaining blood rushed to the tip of his cock as his belly stirred in playful chaos. They swayed back and forth to the melody playing in the background both reflecting on their last year together.

Henry lined himself up with the shell of her ear wrapping his bulky arm firmly around her waist drawing her as close as possible.

“I’m truly astounded this is our 12th year celebrating as a couple.”

Y/N smiled thinking back when they first met. The year was 2008, Henry was a newly promoted regular to a Showtime series called The Tudors. Y/N was a brilliant writer, the brains behind the complex operation. Henry considered her the beauty and brains; Y/N hated when he talked down about himself saying she’d never once doubted the man who became a wonderful husband and even better daddy.

One unparticular day he’d spotted her struggling to balance a pretty hefty pile of scripts and tumbled right into him. Luckily, his super-size and strength kicked in just in time catching the eye of the attractive stranger. In that moment, Henry knew there was something about this woman he craved to figure out. He was just the lucky bastard on the reciprocating end.

“And thank god your parents volunteered to take the kiddos for the evening. Some private adult time is just what the doctor ordered. We owe them BIG time.”

Y/N winked leading him to decipher the meaning behind her blanket statements. She stepped from his grasp breaking his hold on her. He whined at the loss causing Y/N to eye him curiously.

Oh, you little tease.

Henry’s frisky nature broke through lighting the atmosphere around them. Due to the ongoing pandemic and what not, Henry and Y/N found themselves in wintry London at their main hub of a home. Henry’s roots were deep-rooted and his plea so passionate as she agreed to move across the world with him. Their lives halted for the better allowing the family to spend more time than usual as a unit. Though initially hectic and overwhelming, they were secretly thankful for these little moments with their four children. It was a time they so dearly valued at their imaginative ages.

“Oh, I bet my pops could sense the sexual tension oozing off you, darling. You smell mouthwatering.”

“Hush! Besides it is completely natural to pursue a sexual relationship with my husband outside of our children. Gotta keep you coming back for more…”

“Oh sweets, you have no earthly idea how bad I want to fuck you every day of my existence. You are absolutely divine and somehow all mine.”

“I can’t take all the credit. Nobody’s ever made me cum the way you managed to figure out. You play me like a damn instrument.”

“With pleasure.”

“Ugh, you’re insatiable.”

“Oh, come on. Your sex drive is just as insane as mine. Admit it!”

Y/N bit the inside of her lip collecting her thoughts. Henry pried and teased her ribs forcing her to his whims.

“Fine, fine, you win! I’m a ravenous feign when it comes to you. You’d think having kids would cool my jets but then I see these gorgeous faces I birthed and it’s like I reset. Poof, just like that.”

“Well you’re a phenomenal Mum and quite the MILF too.”

Henry inhaled her perfumed scent taking a long sip of bubbly; anything to keep him from combusting.

“Let’s toast, love. We must.”

“My my, how time flies when you’re having fun.”

Her manicured fingers reached for the chilled glass looking up at Henry and his three-month-old beard. She rose her glass slightly higher in preparation for his speech. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she admired her husband.

“Thank you for loving me, Henry. Seriously, you changed my life in so many profound ways.”

The sap in him was beginning to show as his eyes watered with unshed tears; “My love, it is I who should be thanking for you the unending shower of love and affection. You are the beautiful mother of our four wonderous kids who are the absolute lights of my life because of you. You’re a woman worthy of many praises than my silly ramblings. Cheers to you and for another adventure of a year!”

She swatted his chest immediately shutting him up; “Don’t say that! I am just as equally lucky to have found someone who gets me for …me. It’s a wonderful feeling to have you by my side even if I did have to kiss a few frogs.”

“No doubt I the best possible selection.”

Y/N played along jesting back; “I wouldn’t go that far, maybe the easiest?”

Gob smacked Henry’s wit was rapid fire; “If memory serves, you were there too. And just as ravenous.”

“I was about to get nailed by an insanely hot British man. Can you blame me?”

“One look from you and I was a bloody puddle. I had to recite rugby players to keep from losing my shit.”

No matter life’s challenges the past years of their lives, their resolution to stay equals and lovers was stronger than ever. A sinful glow overcame Y/N as she stared directly up at him; “Cheers to you fucking me stupid then?”

“As you wish.”

She refused to glance away maintaining his smoldering gaze; her Y/C eyes screamed sex. His pupils dilated just as his heart speed up voraciously. Both subconsciously tilted their heads oppositely neither daring to move first, unwilling to yield. Y/N challenged his masculinity testing him. Many words could be used to describe Y/N but priss wasn’t one of them.  

“Oi, you are a true keeper.”  

Y/N checked the matching wrist watch completing her outfit; “T-minus 15 seconds until 2021 is here.”

Still unbreaking of her gaze, Henry stayed silent taking in the beauty of his wife. He could stare at her for the rest of his god given days and die a spectacularly happy man.

10,9,8

“Oh Hen, another marvelous journey with you. Can’t wait to see what 2021 has in store for us.”

7,6

She stared down at his inviting pout unable to look away nor did she truly want to.

“Maybe thinking about another baby?”

Her eyes bulged from her skull as shock illuminated from her pores.

“You’re joshing me?”

His lack of response was more than confirmation enough.

5,4

“There’s something so ridiculously sexy about you being pregnant. I always knew I wanted kids but with you, oh with you I want to have as many as humanly possible. Our very own football team.”

Confusion stamped her features at his terminology. Sometimes Henry forgot they were from different countries.

“Football as in soccer. You know the game with the checkered ba—”

Y/N cut him off; “Jeez baby, save your mansplaining. I’ve been on this side of the pond long enough to understand your oh so clever references.”

3,2

The pros and cons bounced around in her head, doubt never far behind but the mischievous joy coming off him was tantalizing; “Let’s do it.”

2,1

Cheers rang ecstatically from the television as fireworks commanded their attention but they only had eyes for one another. Henry closed the gap kissing her feverishly. He was forever seared into her brain ruined for all other men. Lost in the moment, Y/N barely had time to set her glass down untrusting of her own balance anymore. Henry followed shortly behind. Now with her newfound freedom, Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck locking him in place. His questioning tone was almost cause for concern before his façade shattered.

“Really? I do so enjoy seeing you round with my babe. So, fucking irresistible.”

Henry’s jacket was long removed strewn over the couch. That left him standing only in his tight button up and trousers. Y/N merely leaned back his direction bringing his attention towards the zipper aligning her spine. Henry chuckled undoing her dress too easily watching the zipper flair apart. He couldn’t resist admiring the flex of her muscles and how striking she was. Tugging the material over the curvy hips, Y/N noticed Henry was far too overdressed.

“Take off your clothes, now.”

“You bossin me round, babe?”

His muscular tush ignited in minimal pain as her hand connected with his ass whipping rather harshly. A small red welt appeared instantly. Henry stood shocked as Y/N’s smug smile decorated her face.

“You really shouldn’t push me. I don’t like my authority questioned.”

Henry’s mood shifted at her use of roleplay knowing he was in for a well and good night. Henry stripped removing his boxer briefs last. Y/N strutted towards her bedside dresser pulling out a pair of metal handcuffs. Dangling them in front of him, she grinned bashfully; “You’re going to sit your ass on that bed and I’m going to tie you up now. Got it?”

~~~~~~~~~

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[221bsunsettowers]

Buck/Eddie: Now I’m Pacing Back and Forth, Wishing You Were at My Door (Fake Dating/Undercover AU)

Fandom: 9-1-1

Pairing: Buck/Eddie 

Summary: 

Fake Dating/Undercover AU requested by anonymous

No matter what he does, no message from Buck appears.

And Eddie understands he's spent less than a few hours with this man, that people wouldn't understand why there's this twisting aching tug inside his gut at the knowledge that Buck could be hurt, could even be dead, right now. That he might never get to have another moment with this beautiful, kind hearted, funny, complex man who kisses like he's got Eddie's heart in his hands and reads to Christopher like there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.

For Tropetember 2021, can be read on Ao3 here

CW:  a few uses of the f word, a very brief mention of sex trafficking with absolutely no details (one line in the newspaper Eddie reads)

"Look, I'm really sorry, but please go along with this, and you can absolutely tell me off later."

In that split second, Eddie realizes that the gorgeous guy at the bar, the one he hasn't been able to tear his gaze away from since he walked in two minutes ago, has seemingly magically appeared in front of him.

And he's kissing him.

Really kissing him. And he's really fucking good at it.

"Hey, babe," the guy says with a smile, pulling back just enough to run his hands through Eddie's hair (and isn't Eddie thrilled he was too tired from work to style his hair, making it so much easier for whoever the hell this is to really get his long surprisingly gentle fingers right up in there).

"Hey," Eddie manages to breathe out, pretty sure he's stuck in a state of total shock and awe here, and the mystery man chuckles, and Eddie's pretty sure that he spots a blush spreading right up to a birthmark that's just the perfect size to press his lips against-

Eddie makes a tight fist, hoping against hope that the sharp jolt of his fingernails digging right into his palm will snap him back to himself, and out of whatever world he's fallen into where all he can think about is dotting tender kisses across a stranger's beautiful face.

Mystery man backs up, looks sad suddenly, and that definitely doesn't help Eddie's desires to just kiss it and make it all better. "It would be great if you wouldn't hit me," the guy says softly, hands loose and open, "though I would get it if you did." And no, Eddie thinks, no absolutely not, he would never. He's always known that's not a good path to ever let himself go down, using his fists to solve something, but he can't ever imagine mixing violence with the man in front of him.

"I wouldn't," Eddie assures him, "never. I promise." The man looks relieved, then a smile spreads across his face, and he reaches a hand out, gently opens Eddie's closed fist and soothes the stinging nail marks with soft strokes from the tips of his fingers. Eddie feels callouses, and a small scar, but before he can process that information further, the man's other hand is latching onto Eddie's belt loop and tugging him in close again.

"There's two guys, both tall, one has black hair, one brown,"  the guy murmurs into Eddie's neck, his arms tight around Eddie's back, and Eddie can't help but lean into the touch, letting his own arms drape around this mystery man's waist. He can't honestly remember the last time someone held him quite like this, so even if it's a (gorgeous) stranger (with a tender touch) Eddie's going to let himself have this. "Brown haired guy has a big jagged scar running up his cheek, black hair's wearing a leather jacket with a red lightening bolt on both sleeves. Where are they in the bar?"

Turning his head slightly, Eddie spots the two men who fit the descriptions, over in the back by the pool table. He tells the mystery man as much, and feels a whoosh of relieved air against his neck before the man is pulling back again. "Pretty sure you just saved my life there," the man says, and behind his cocky grin Eddie swears he can see his lower lip trembling. "Thank you."

And with that, just as quickly as he appears, the man is gone. Eddie throws down a twenty and runs to the door, but there's no one there.

Eddie doesn't tell anyone about what happened. Definitely not his son, Christopher, when he gets home from spending time with his Abuela. And not any of his co workers at the store, definitely not. He can already hear Chimney saying he's been spending too much time in their thriller section (only Hen knows it's actually romance books Eddie sneaks behind the counter, and she promised not to tell anyone). And he especially doesn't want to admit just how much he's been thinking about his mystery man since that night.

So when said mystery man comes flying through the door of Eddie's bookstore and small cafe right before closing on Monday, Eddie is the only one who is both surprised and also secretly thrilled.

"Oh, no way!" the man calls out excitedly, grinning despite the blood dripping from the large slash on his left palm. "It's you!" (Okay, so the blood does definitely put a damper on things, Eddie thinks, though apparently not for the mystery man, who seems completely unfazed.)

Hurrying behind the counter in the cafe, Eddie grabs a towel and their first aid kit, guiding the man to the nearest overstuffed armchair.

"You going to introduce us, Eddie?" Hen asks, and Eddie knows he's in for it when he sees the gleeful looks she and Chimney are giving each other.

"I'm Evan, but everyone calls me Buck," the man says with a smile and a wave, Eddie tugging his injured hand back down with an exasperated huff of air. He's barely had a chance to even start cleaning out the wound when two more men burst in through the front door.

Eddie immediately recognizes them as the two men from the bar, jagged scar and red lightening bolt. Their body language screams "extras from a mob movie" at Eddie, and he moves in front of Buck before he even has time to think things through. "What the hell are you doing here?" Lightening Bolt growls in Buck's direction, and again, Eddie's only excuse is that the mystery man now known as Buck has overridden his common sense, because Eddie crosses his arms across his chest, and-

"He's visiting me, who the fuck are you?" Eddie spits back. Hen and Chimney are wide eyed, and Eddie can feel Buck tensing up at his back, ready to spring up at a moment's notice.

"We're pals of his, now who the fuck are you?" Lightening Bolt (apparently the better spoken of the two) growls, again, and Eddie is really getting fed up with this guy. Eddie takes a second, scrolls back through his memories in the bar (he barely has to, considering how many times he's replayed that kiss in his head), adds in some wishful thinking, and decides to go for broke here.

"I'm his boyfriend," Eddie asserts, and he can only hope that the three people behind him don't give the game away. Eddie takes a step forward, hoping to keep the attention on him and not whatever facial expressions he can only imagine Hen and Chim are unable to stifle (and he's afraid to know what look is on Buck's face). "This is my store, and I don't like your attitudes right now. I don't like anyone bothering my boyfriend."

"Didn't know Sam had a boyfriend," Jagged Scar says, and Eddie can see why he's kept quiet, his growl is far less impressive. Sam is certainly not the name Buck just gave him, but Eddie's already this far in, he might as well just keep going.

"Well he does, and I'd really like to spend some time with him, so you can show yourselves out," Eddie says calmly, and feels Buck put his (non-injured) hand on Eddie's waist, leaning into his side.

"Thanks, babe," Buck murmurs, nuzzling his face into Eddie's neck, laying a soft kiss behind Eddie's ear, and Eddie desperately wars against every single strand of his genetic code and emotional state to keep his face from turning beet red.

Jagged Scar looks at Lightening Bolt to find out their next move, clearly waiting for his cue. Lightening Bolt stares at Buck and Eddie for another minute, almost daring them to break and spill the beans, but when they simply stare back, Lightening Bolt heads for the door, Jagged Scar right on his heels.

"Make sure you tell your boyfriend you're busy tomorrow, Sam," Lightening Bolt calls back over his shoulder, before slamming the door closed. The second they are out of sight, Eddie feels the breath whoosh out of him, sitting down hard in the nearest chair and burying his face in his hands.

"Man, you were amazing!" Buck exclaims, grabbing Eddie by the shoulders and shaking him. "You are badass under pressure."

"Hen, Chim, you guys can leave early today," Eddie calls out from behind his hands, his tone leaving no room for argument. Chim utters a protest anyway, clearly wanting more details, but Eddie can only assume Hen has dragged him out because he can hear the door close and then silence.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks softly, his voice far more hesitant than Eddie has heard it.

"Have I gotten myself into something dangerous?" Eddie asks quietly, voice less muffled as he pulls his hands away from his face, but still stares down at the ground. He doesn't trust himself to meet Buck's eyes and thus completely override his preservation skills.

"These guys are simple," Buck promises, the sincerity in his voice drawing Eddie's gaze up again, despite his best efforts. "They wouldn't use anyone to get to me. They'd just get me."

"Okay," Eddie nods, then shakes his head vehemently. "No, wait, not okay. Are you in danger?"

"Can I sit?" Buck asks tentatively, and Eddie nods again, standing up and drawing a chair over. As soon as Buck sits down, Eddie takes hold of his injured hand again, opening a clean wipe and gently returning to cleaning out the wound.

"I can't really tell you anything, I'm really sorry." Buck's voice is so full of regret and loneliness it takes everything Eddie has in him not to leap across the table and take Buck into his arms. "What I can say is I promise you I'm not a criminal, I would never put you in any danger, and I'm doing the best I can to stay safe. It would have been a lot easier if I could have avoided those guys before they saw me, like you helped me do in the bar, but someone must have told them where to find me."

"I believe you," Eddie says simply, and the smile that springs up across Buck's face almost blinds Eddie, and he can't help smiling back. "Now is your name Buck or Sam? I have to know what to call my fake boyfriend."

"My first name's actually Evan," Buck answers almost sheepishly with a small shrug of his shoulders.. "But my last name is Buckley, so all my friends call me Buck. Sam, it's a...a temporary name." Trailing off, Buck peers down at the floor, like he's taking notes on the soft blue carpeting.

"Buck it is then," Eddie agrees with a soft smile, and Buck looks up again, the smile back on his face as well, and Eddie's heart can't take the fact that he's the one who made Buck feel happy again. So instead he focuses on carefully bandaging Buck's hand

"I heard your friends call you Eddie?" Buck asks shyly, looking up at Eddie through his long lashes, and yep, that's definitely doing it for Eddie too.

"They did," Eddie replies, lip between his bottom teeth as he examines his work before relunctantly releasing Buck's hand. Glancing back up, he meets Buck's gaze and smiles, nodding his head once. "And you can too."

"We're friends, huh?" Buck asks, and Eddie's pretty confident that is literal sunshine streaming out of Buck's smile.

"I won't be a fake boyfriend for just anyone, you know," Eddie banters back, cheeks tinging red in the warmth of Buck's soft grin.

"I hope not." Buck reaches his uninjured hand out and wraps his fingers lightly around Eddie's wrist. Eddie knows Buck must be able to feel how his pulse is racing, but he can feel that Buck's pulse isn't exactly steady either.

Then the shop door opens, and Christopher is there, grinning from ear to ear. Abuela leans in to give both Christopher and Eddie hugs and kisses goodbye, and to give Buck a very interested stare, and then she is back in her car and Christopher is in Eddie's arms, giving his own very interested stare at Buck.

"I'm Christopher," he says matter-of-factly, eyes twinkling mischeviously. "Did you know that Pluto is half as wide as the whole United States?"

"I'm Buck," Buck replies with a very similar mischevious twinkle to his own eyes. "Did you know black holes can burp up stars?"

"Cool!" Christopher is absolutely delighted, grabbing Buck's uninjured hand and tugging him towards the Astronomy section of the bookstore. Before Eddie knows it, Chris is on Buck's lap, Buck reading him a new book about the solar system, and Eddie is helpless to do anything but watch them fondly.

A shrill beep suddenly comes from Buck's left pocket, and he pulls out a phone, making a very disgruntled face as he stares at the screen. "I'm sorry, buddy," Buck tells Christopher softly, as he helps Christopher up before standing up himself. "I have to go."

"No, Bucky, stay!" Christopher pleads, turning his patented puppy dog eyes on an unsuspecting Buck, and from what Eddie can see it looks like Buck is two for two in winning the Diaz boys over simply by existing.

"I wish I could, Chris, but I'll come back as soon as I can," Buck promises, and Eddie is scrawling on a post it note before Buck can suddenly disappear again.

"Let me know you're safe, okay?" Eddie asks softly, holding the note with his phone number out to Buck. "Whatever is going on tomorrow that you can't tell me about, just please let me know you're okay, even if it's just a quick text."

"Yeah?" Buck whispers, gaze darting between the number and Eddie's face like he can't stop looking at either.

"Yeah, Buck." Eddie reaches over, gently squeezes the back of Buck's neck, and for just a second, Buck leans in, their foreheads lightly touching. Then Buck steps back, bending down to return Chris' hug, waving as he steps out the door.

Tomorrow comes, and Eddie can't help checking his phone. And checking it. And checking it again. No message from Buck.

Eddie makes sure the battery is still charged, the volume is turned all the way up, the ringtone is set to the most blaring noise he can find, the wifi and the data are both in working order.

Nothing.

No matter what he does, no message from Buck appears.

And Eddie understands he's spent less than a few hours with this man, that people wouldn't understand why there's this twisting aching tug inside his gut at the knowledge that Buck could be hurt, could even be dead, right now. That he might never get to have another moment with this beautiful, kind hearted, funny, complex man who kisses like he's got Eddie's heart in his hands and reads to Christopher like there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.

Christopher's been asking all day when they can see Buck again, and Eddie doesn't even know if they ever will be able to see Buck again. He tells Christopher he's not sure, and his son looks as heartbroken as Eddie feels, and after a night of no sleep and gutwrenching nightmares, Eddie grabs the first newspaper he sees Thursday morning and pours through it.

Overnight, there's been more violence than Eddie can even try to fathom, and so it's not until the third page that he finds what he's looking for. Evan Buckley, detective with the LAPD, successfully disbanded a sex trafficking ring that had been operating out of a small local pier. The officer will be awarded a medal for his valor. The article doesn't say which station Buck works out of, so Eddie drops Chris off at school, giving his son his solemn vow that he will get Buck to visit the second he finds him. He calls Hen and Chim, tells them he won't be in until later.

It's the fifth station Eddie tries.

He's got a routine down by now, hurrying into the station and heading towards the first person he sees.

"Hi, excuse me, does Evan Buckley work here?" Eddie asks, heart dropping as the woman shrugs, but then an older man walks up behind her and approaches Eddie.

"Captain Bobby Nash," the man says, extending a hand which Eddie shakes, most likely far too enthusiastically, but Eddie's long past caring about what anyone who isn't Buck thinks about him. "Can I ask why you're looking for this officer?"

"He...we..." Eddie takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself. "This might sound crazy, but we met for like two minutes, then we met again at my bookstore, and I bandaged his hand, and he made my son laugh, and I really like him, and I promised Chris I wouldn't come back without him, so here I am." He shrugs at the end of his speech, because honestly, what else can he do at this point?

"You must be Eddie," the captain says with a smile, and then Eddie's being led past the entryway and through a sea of desks and ringing phones, until there he is.

Buck.

Looking exhausted, a bandage on his forehead, another just showing over the top of his Henley, but there, alive, breathing, and about a foot away.

"Buck!" Eddie calls out, voice loud and relieved grin huge, and he will admit to no one but Buck himself that he is actually blinking back tears as he closes the gap. Buck is just rising to his feet, eyes widened in surprise, mouth curling into a matching grin when Eddie reaches him and pulls him in by the back of his shirt, clutching tightly to the stretched taut fabric as he wraps the younger man in his arms.

He feels Buck melt into his arms, moves one hand to cup the back of Buck's neck, presses a kiss to Buck's temple when the typically taller man curls his face into the crook of Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie can't begin to imagine how heavy this job must feel sometimes, what it must have taken out of Buck to pretend he was the same as men who would sell people to the highest bidders. So he takes on whatever weight Buck is able to let slide off his shoulders.

"Fuck, I was so worried," Eddie breathes out, "When we didn't hear from you, I thought...god, Buck, are you okay?" Pulling back slightly, Eddie turns his medic eyes on Buck, gaze sweeping over the banadages, a gentle touch ghosting across Buck's forehead as he lightly taps Buck's chin up, checking for any visible concussion symptoms.

"Cap made me get checked at the hospital, promise," Buck says, blushing under Eddie's scrutinity. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know, I just..." Dropping his head, Buck mumbles, "Wasn't sure if you meant it."

"If I meant it when I said I wanted to know you were safe?" Eddie asks, first utter disbelief and then complete warmth tinging his tone. Buck nods, eyes still on the ground, and Eddie swoops right back in, tucking Buck back into his arms. "Of course I did. Every word. Chris won't let me back into the house unless I've got you with me."

"Really?" Buck tilts his head up, arms now around Eddie's waist, and Eddie nods and smiles, and Buck smiles back.

"You make quite the impression," Eddie teases gently, and then lets his hands slide up to cup Buck's face, and leans in. Buck meets him halfway, their lips press together, soft, tender, once, then twice, then again before Buck lets out a pleased little sigh and Eddie grins fondly, resting their foreheads together.

"Captain Nash, can I borrow Detective Buckley?" Eddie asks, eyes twinkling, and he hears the captain laugh, feels the clap of a hand on his shoulder.

"Please," Captain Nash responds kindly, "I've been trying to get him to leave, but he just keeps insisting he has more work to do."

"I could take a break," Buck offers up shyly, and Eddie nods enthusiastically, bringing another laugh out of the captain.

"Finally use up some of that time off, that's an order!" Captain Nash calls after them, as Buck practically hop skips his way out the door, grin broad as he looks down at his and Eddie's intertwined fingers.

#buddie #9-1-1 fanfiction #buck #eddie #Buck/Eddie #buck x eddie #au #alternate universe #alternate first meeting #strangers to lovers #Eddie owns a bookstore #Buck is undercover #Buck is a cop #Buck is absolute gorgeous chaos in the best way #even in this universe eddie is immediately smitten and buck is a glorious dork with inscurities visible from space #fanfiction #hen and chim and bobby make appearances #christopher diaz is a national treasure #tropetember #fanfic #writing #221Bsunsettowers writes #otp: you two have an adorable son #otp: you are not expendable #otp: you act like you're expendable but you're wrong #otp: because evan #otp: you can have my back any day

[tainted-wine]

(Snapped a pic because I lost the darn ask)

Thank you, anon! She didn’t exactly forget in this case, but bear with me. This crack is basically a happier ending to Spring Bird Survival Guide. It was supposed to be a couple sentences long. I don’t know how it turned into nearly 3,000 words. I...I wrote a whole fic.

....Enjoy?

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

(NSFW)

“Why did you stop taking them?” He sounds more confused than you’ve ever heard him, the slight shake in his voice betraying his fear.

You didn’t mean for him to catch you in his bathroom, positive pregnancy test still in your hands. Your plan was to figure out when would be the appropriate time to tell him, assuming that he didn’t catch on to the constant nausea added to your pains. At least this saves you the trouble of keeping secrets.

“Because…the Commission can go fuck themselves.” You take his hand and place it right above your womb, hearing his breath hitch. “Let’s start a family, Keigo.”

Hawks knew that this was beyond stupid. It was stupid of you to put yourself in this position, it was stupid of him to even be considering this, and it was stupid of both of you to attempt such a thing behind the Commission’s back.

But his birdbrain didn’t care about any of that right now.

He pulls you in for a suffocating kiss. “My little hen is about to become a mother hen.” He takes you to bed and claims you out of pure joy.

—————————————

That buzzfood article was frankly right. Mutant bodies didn’t make any sense, and what they could do to other people’s bodies made no friggin sense either. As time passed, not only was his seed growing inside of you at an alarming rate, something felt off. These weren’t the kicks of a single fetus, it felt akin to a strange cluster of objects crammed into your womb, shifting about in a way that sometimes made you shudder.

You haven’t been able to see a doctor at all—Hawks wanted you to stay in his house at all times and away from the public’s eye—so there was no way to properly check, but it didn’t take too many guesses to figure out what was happening.

“You didn’t tell me that I’d lay eggs!”

“I didn’t know!” Hawks swears that he didn’t hatch out of an egg himself and had no way of predicting this.

The development of the eggs only took about a month. When it was time to birth them…

“I hate you! God, I hate you so fucking much for putting me through this!” You screamed in pure agony as tears streamed down your face, using every ounce of strength in your body to keep pushing.

Hawks was kneeling between your legs, caressing your thighs lovingly as he watched his offspring’s vessels emerge from your stretched hole. “I’m sorry, baby. You can chew me out all you want later, alright? Just keep pushing. You’re doing great.” Oh fuck him. Fuck him and all of his comfort, making you do this on his own bed, without the security of doctors who actually know how to do this properly. Squeezing out three baby-sized eggs was like a temporary vacation in hell.

Once the eggs were all brought into the world, Hawks wrapped them up in blankets and placed them under a lamp. He knew that there were actual incubators for couples like the two of you, but he’d rather keep them cozy with his personal belongings instead of some lifeless factory-made device.

“I’m not farming chickens that I’ll eat later. These are our kids.”

You’ve been too exhausted to argue, having lost a frightening portion of your body weight. Hawks was having a little too much fun in gorging you, trying to hand-feed you meats of all kinds.

Another month goes by, and you think something must be wrong because those eggs shouldn’t be cracking already, right? But amazingly, you watch as gooey newborns flail about until they have fully broken out of their protective shells. Hawks sadly missed the hatching, but when he comes home and sees his three sons for the first time, he cries.

Somehow, you’re still surprised when they grow quickly. It was concerning. Is that healthy? Three more months pass, and all three of them have fully feathered wings. Hawks teaches them how to fly and use their quirks, and they learn with carefree laughs and smiles on their faces. Healthy or not, you’re going to do everything you can to keep these little fledglings happy.

—————————————

“Let’s have more.”

Your eyes nearly pop out. “More? Already?”

You both sit on the roof of the house, your three boys chasing each other across the starry sky. Both of you have to always remind them to stay quiet and within Mommy and Daddy’s sight when they play outside.

Hawks places his hand over yours. “They could use some more siblings, don’t you think? I’ve got more than enough to provide for them.”

It sounds stupid. Doing any of this was stupid, honestly, and you’re not looking forward to carrying more of his eggs. Yet, a simpler part of your mind wanted this, to take as many of his children as possible, and you decided to listen to it.

“Alright.”

—————————————

The Commission was destined to find out sooner or later, though you’re not sure how. You were eventually fired after your long absence that you refused to give them an explanation for. It’s possible that they still managed to spot your kids while they were outdoors, despite you and Hawks’s many precautions.

You were watching your new clutch of eggs—four of them this time—when the winged hero arrived, the features on his face pressed into a tranquil fury that made you shiver.

“He wanted to take them,” he said lowly through gritted teeth. “He wanted to take our kids and turn them into heroes. Into fucking weapons.”

You held him, feeling his anger ebb with your soothing rubs across his back, right between the base of his wings. “What do we do? We can’t hide from them. You can’t talk them out of anything. Oh god, Keigo, what do we do?” You felt completely helpless, knowing that you couldn’t stop them if they decided to take your little angels away.

Hawks looked to the pile of sleeping boys, having worn themselves out after a hyper game of tag that required you to keep a close eye to ensure they didn’t break anything. At just a little less than a year old, they could be mistaken for being around the age of ten. “They’re really skilled fliers already, aren’t they? Even have great control of their feathers.” He nodded to himself, lost in his own head. “Yeah...I’ll show them weapons.”

The sinister air around him was scaring you. “Keigo?”

His face returned to a cheerful smile as he planted a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, mother hen. I’ve got this under control.”

“But what about the deputy? He’s going to come for our kids!”

You felt his whole body shake from his deep chuckle. “No he’s not.”

And that’s when you noticed it. The dried specks of reddish-brown on his jacket, almost like a splatter. Blood.

“I killed him.”

—————————————

It won’t be long before the Commission goes after Hawks for killing one of their own, so he wasn’t going to give them time to plan.

You didn’t appreciate him taking the kids behind your back, and you had no idea what danger he was putting them in until you heard the news.

The Hero Public Safety Commission HQ had been attacked and overwhelmed.

—————————————

By the time your second clutch hatched, Hawks already had full control of what was once the HPSC. He gave you a tour through the remodeled building, your kids roaming the halls excitedly as if they didn’t just overthrow an entire organization. Some of the employees greeted you warmly, some gave forced smiles. One of them bowed respectfully with a twitchy grin.

“I’m happy to be a part of the Hawks Hero Force, ma’am. We are going to make great changes.”

You...didn’t know what to say to that.

You stuck to raising your kids while Hawks did whatever diabolical shit he was doing, but it was hard to ignore the growing tension in the city. He and his kids have been holding off opposing heroes for weeks, all of them trying and failing to bring down the rising power of the number two hero. You saw the debates on television. People were arguing whether the dissolution of the Commission was for Japan’s benefit and that Hawks should be supported, or question if Hawks should be trusted at all for disposing of the very people that got him where he is today. What was even his game plan?

You didn’t care much yourself. The only insight Hawks has given you was that he was setting up a city that would be safe for all of his children. Sounds good enough to you.

In just a few more months, your other four kids were eager to join their father’s cause. You and Hawks no longer mention the rapid growth of your offspring...and the short lifespans they likely possess. There was no point in letting those fears resurface.

You hug them all, telling them to visit Mommy on weekends and always keep their feathers clean and sharp for battle.

“Don’t worry, Mommy! We’re gonna teach those heroes not to defy Dad!”

—————————————

The part of the HQ building Hawks led you to was like a bizarre fusion of a love hotel room and a nursery. It was such a strange setup, that you almost forgot to question the young lady that has been following him around.

He gives her a few pats on the shoulder. “This here is Hina, one of my most loyal followers. She’s been on my side since the beginning.” Hina gives a polite smile and bows in your direction.

And then Hawks lays it all on you. How he wants kids at a quicker rate, and his female supporters would be perfect for this...you’re dumbstruck. Your belly was already swelling with his potent seed for the third time, and somehow that wasn’t enough?

“I promise you there’s nothing else to it. Isn’t that right, Hina?”

The woman stood tall and nodded. “I’m only here to help Hawks in his cause.”

Hawks gave her an approving smile before turning back to you. “And if you’re not convinced, just stick around. I welcome the audience.”

The suggestion catches you so off-guard that you agree to it. You take a seat on one of the beds (holy shit this was a goddamn breeding room) and watch him and Hina settle on one right next to you.

“All fours, missy.” Hina obeys his command and prepares herself on her hands and knees.

You watch. You watch Hawks rub her moistened folds while stroking himself until fully erect. You watch him slowly push in, hearing the sharp intake of breath from Hina. He stays at a moderate pace, holding her hips and gently rocking her with his thrusts. It’s…odd, watching the men you’ve had seven (so far) children with take another woman to bear more.

The girl that was a complete stranger to you was sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, but that still wasn’t enough to hold back her moans. Still, it was hard to pay attention to her, because Hawks’s eyes were locked onto yours. Even as his breaths and movements quickened, even as Hina began to shake and collapse onto her elbows as she reached her climax, he never tore his gaze away from you. He finally did when his eyes shut tightly as he buried himself balls-deep into his dear follower, blessing her with several spurts of his sperm into her welcoming womb.

You couldn’t help but rub your own belly at the sight.

He unfolded the sheets and helped the dazed woman get settled into the bed. “You should get cleaned up later, but for now, just rest.” He said softly.

Hina mumbled nonsense, already half-asleep.

Hawks straightened himself out before walking over to you, excited to rub the stomach that cradled his chicks. “I’m gonna give you all the children you could ever want, baby. And remember,” he gave you a kiss of pure love and passion. “I’ll always only have eyes for you.”

You smiled and hugged him tightly. All of the children in the world…Keigo’s children. “Sounds perfect.”

“Soon, I’ll have all of these beds filled.”

—————————————

Hawks and his children have amazingly lowered Fukuoka’s crime rate by a significant amount. You never imagined living in such a peaceful time. You didn’t understand the interviews and articles, the ones that expressed fear and outrage over being attacked by winged individuals for doing anything that can be perceived as villainous. There were heroes still trying to destroy the Hawks Hero Force, creating alliances of their own to face this new dominating power. They were usually taken care of pretty quickly—all it takes is a flurry of sharp feathers from several pairs of wings to crush the foolish rebels.

You don’t understand why they resisted so much. All they had to do to avoid Hawks’s wrath was be a law-abiding citizen, and also not harm his kids. Oh yeah, anyone—hero or not—that made the mistake of injuring you and your man’s angels had this weird habit of…disappearing.

You had about fifty of them by now. Fifty winged beauties that keep the peace with proud and innocent smiles. Not all of them were yours—they had many mothers now—but you treated them all like your own.

One would expect Hawks to start losing track of his precious eyases, but he remembers every single one of them like they hatched yesterday. Each name…every voice…every face…he didn’t forget any of them, and loved them all equally. When they weren’t enforcing laws, they were cuddling and playing with their father or mothers.

You wandered through the incubation room, looking over the many nests that held your future. The mothers-in-the-making were resting in their beds next door, their bellies growing each day.

This is what paradise looked like.

—————————————

3 years later...

Buzzfood.com

(NOTICE: Buzzfood would like to remind citizens that next Saturday is Skewer Saturday of this month. Please be prepared to offer a chicken skewer to any descendants of Hawks that are currently residing in your neighborhood. If you need help searching for the best skewers to purchase in your area, take a look at our recommended restaurants here. Citizens that do not participate in Skewer Saturday will be taken in by the Hawks Hero Force and punished accordingly. Show your appreciation for our crime-free country!)

Great Hawks Celebrates His 1000th Child

By Yuki Burushito

Another great day in Fukuoka! But this day in particular just might be the greatest day yet! Why, you ask? Our beloved leader Hawks has brought his thousandth child into the world! A public ceremony was held to welcome this beautiful girl on this earth and, more importantly, this blessed country. Hawks and his wife were in tears, and I must say, seeing this vulnerability from such a powerful man moved me like nothing else. May your precious daughter one day join her brothers and sisters in the eternal battle of keeping the peace!

Speaking of peace, we must not forget that even though Japan is enjoying its best years in history, our peace is still being threatened every day. There are villain groups lurking in your city’s slimy cracks, plotting to destroy everything Hawks has worked so hard to create. They even have the audacity to call themselves heroes. We all know that the only heroes needed today are the noble winged ones that fight to keep us safe and comfortable. One group in particular insists on giving Hawks a hard time whenever they can: the One For All Alliance. The majority of the members in this gang are former students and teachers from the now-defunct U.A. High School. Their influence may be spreading, but our love and support for Hawks will always smother their poisonous lies!

We must do our part in ensuring that Japan retains its place as the World’s Paradise!

—————————————

You find him on the roof of his house, watching your three eldest boys fly freely as the orange dawn painted the city’s skyline. Only three years old, yet their bodies were strong and hardened, one of them sporting facial hair similar to their father’s.

He of course panics and scolds you when he spots you trying to climb with your bulging stomach. You only roll your eyes as he helps you up. You’ve gone through this reproductive process more than enough times to know your body’s limits.

“They wanted to reminisce for a while,” Hawks explains, back to watching the playful flights. “They make three years sound like it was ages ago. Then again…” His proud gleam twisted into something sadder, his mind entering that dark pit he tries so hard to avoid.

You cover one of his hands with yours. “No matter how long they have, we’re going to keep working to make sure they enjoy every minute of their life. You’ve given so much to all of your children. Be proud of how great of a father you are.”

The smile he gives is soft and warm. You’ve been seeing those more than his cocky smirks lately.

The sun continues to rise as you both kiss under its morning rays, lost in each other’s love. He only pulls back to speak again. “How about we gather some of the youngsters for a trip to the amusement park? It’s been a while.”

You can’t hide your worry at the suggestion. “Are you sure? Villains love to strike when you’re not active.

He gave a smug grin. Ah, there’s the old him. “They do, and they still get their asses kicked. My kids can handle it. I’ve got all the free time in the world, my little hen.” He holds you close and you both return to watching your darlings fly.

“More free time than I know what to do with.”

#asks #bnha #hawks #smut #barely #hawks x reader #crack taken kinda seriously

[its--fandom--darling]

Oh Baby

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Prompt: ~when he wears THAT flannel shirt~

Rating: SPICYYY, breeding kinkkkk, 18+ pls and thank you

A/N I don’t know if this gif is from man of steel or not. But this flannel just gives me Clark vibes so go with me in my thinking for the time being and enjoy!

 You loved fall for many reasons, the colorful leaves, the sound that they made on the sideway, the nip in the air and the warm drinks. But your all-time favorite reason was that come fall Henry always broke out his flannel shirts and there was one in particular that set your blood racing. It wasn’t really a flannel shirt, it was more of a jacket, but because he ran warm he wore it as one as he didn’t need the layers underneath. He’d co-opted it from the set of Man of Steel and it never failed to set your blood racing. No matter what you were doing, when you saw him in that shirt, time stopped.

So when you saw him stroll into the kitchen with it on, unbutton, chiseled torso on display, you nearly dropped your mug.

“Henry,” you breathe, looking him up and down.

              “Yes, baby,” he asks, smiling.

You squint at him. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” you ask.

              He chuckles. “What am I doing exactly?”

You huff and wet your lips. “Hen,” you whine, “you’re teasing me.”

              He smiles, revealing his pearly pointers. “how so?”

You stomp your foot, “Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, you know what that flannel does to me because if I wasn’t on the pill you’d have your own personal rugby team running around by now.”

              He crosses his arms and smirks. “I wouldn’t be upset by that?”

You raise your brows. “Oh really?”

               He nods, “maybe not a full rugby team but having a couple of rugrats running around wouldn’t be so bad.”

Your stopped flutters at the thought of it, more so at the act of conception. You bite your lip and step closer to him, reaching out to run a finger along the cut of his abs. “You wanna have a family with little ol’ me?”

              His eyes darken, “Yes, I would like nothing more than to see you round with my child.”

You feel wetness pool in your panties as you run the palms over the plains of his chest. You cup his hairy pecs, “why don’t you show me just how much you’d like that.” You run your hands up to his shoulders and wrap them around the his neck.

              His big hands fall to your waist and he leans close to your lips, teasing you by lingering just out of reach, before lifting you up and tossing you over his shoulder and storming up the stairs. You giggle and watch his ass flex in his jeans as he climbed the stairs. He tops the stairs and heads to the bedroom. He sets you on the bed and steps back to undo his jeans. You groan when you notice that he’s going commando. He moves to take off the shirt.

“No!” You shout as you tug your shirt off over your head. “Leave it on, “ you order, before pushing your leggings down. He pushes his jeans down, kicking them off before he practically lunges at you.

              “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck. You drop your head back against the mattress and arch into his chest.

“Hen,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

              He abruptly grabs your wrists and presses them against the mattress. “Not tonight,” he growls, grinding against your pussy. You moan and wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts and grinds harder against you, pressing a brief kiss to your lips.

“Please, Hen, just fuck me,” you beg, chasing his lips after he pulls away.

              He chuckles and reaches between you to play with your clit. He circles it gently and you twitch under him. “Gotta get you ready first, baby, don’t wanna break you.”

You whimper as he slides his fingers out and pushes two fingers into your cunt.

              “So wet for me aren’t you princess?”

“Yes, sir,” you gasp as he crooks his fingers just right brushing against your gspot.

              “Can you take another one?” he asks, nipping your ear.

Yes!” you almost shriek.

              He chuckles again and pushes a third finger into you.

You arch again, closing your eyes and getting lost in the waves of pleasure. You’re lingering on the edge of climax when he pulls his fingers out of you. You huff at the loss of pleasure.

              “Ready for me?” he asks, reaching between your bodies to grasp his thick cock and teasing your pussy with it.

“So ready sir, please, please, please, put a baby in me,” you babble incoherently, desire fogging your brain.

              He growls and pushes into you, bottoming out in one thrust.

You arch into him again, your nipples brushing against his course chest hair, the cozy flannel blanketing your torso where it hangs over you. You hiss when the cool metal of the snaps nip at your heated flesh as he thrusts. “Henry!” You moan, breathily.

              He lets go of your hands to grip your hips to help you meet his thrusts.

You slide your hands under his flannel and around his back, digging your nails into his strong muscled back.

              “Princess, I’m not gonna last.”

“Cum, cum inside me, Henry,” you gasp, as he thrusts grow sloppy. You squeeze him tighter in your limbs and as your pants grow louder in ear.

              “Fuck, you feel so good, you like the idea of me putting a baby in your belly? Huh, you gonna let me knock you up?”

Your pussy flutters around him as he talks. “Yes, Henry, yes!” you gasp, biting his earlobe.

              He grunts, “Gonna cum, gonna fill you up, princess. Make you a mum.” He growls, snapping his hips one last time before cumming into you.

You moan at the warmth of it as it oozes into you. You pant into his ear as you two come back to your senses. “Wow, that was really something.”

              He presses a kiss to your cheek and nods, “Yes it was.”

You run your fingers through his clipped curls before pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Henry,” you whisper, cupping his face.

              He grins down at you, “I love you too.”

You two lay there intertwined as the sweat cools and Henry breaks the silence. “I was serious you know.”

              You hum, eyes closed. “About what?”

“About kids, (y/n/n),” he murmurs, softly.

              “So was I, Hen. I’m not quite ready yet, but if I’m going to bring human beings into this world, it’d be with you. There’s no one else.”

              He beams at you and kisses you softly. “The feeling is mutual, (y/n/n).”

“I’d say it was after that performance.”

              He smiles, “What can I say, it gets me all hot and bothered to think about you carrying my child.”

“I was not against it.” You say, with a giggle, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Besides that was the best Flannel fornication yet.

              “flannel fornication?” he mutters, his brow furrowed.

You nod, “Yes, have you not realized that everytime you wear that flannel, we end up here, or the couch or the floor.”

              He chuckles, “so that’s it? That’s what gets you going?”

You nod, “yes, you just look so good in it, that and it reminds me of Clark Kent.” You tease as he pouts at you. “Seriously, Hen, it just makes you look so good, all broad and rugged. It just makes me crazy.”

              Henry nods and pulls out of you before flopping next you. “Noted.”

“You’re never gonna take it off now are you?”

              “I’m thinking about it,” he says, tucking his hands behind his head.

“Well then, after your done thinking about it, think’d you be up for round 2?”

              “Definitely, princess, just give me 5 minutes.”

Tagging: @persephone-is-here-omg @angryschnauzer @viking-raider @soldatsaleannan

#alliesautumnwritingcelebration #henry cavill x reader #smut smut smut #fluff

[ithebookhoarder]

Can I get 83 off the angst list with Javier??? It's: Stay there I'm coming to get you

100 ways to say ily Prompt 83: “Stay there. I’m coming to get you” (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

A/N: Ooo, right in the angst. Let’s get to it! I also assume you meant this prompt list rather than the angst one as that’s only up to 20 ;) Don’t worry. I got you tho! I hope you like it x  Apologies for my terrible attempts at Spanish, so let me know if I got any of it wrong.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood, references to death (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist:

-------

“Javi?”

“Y/N?” 

The sound of his voice was soft as you held the phone to your ear. You could hear the soft echo of music playing in the background telling you he was definitely at home. 

Why wouldn’t he be, given the hour? It was the morning. 3 am to be precise. He should have been asleep. You should have been asleep, but no, you’d had to chase this lead alone. Like an idiot. A strong willed idiot who should have known better. 

But no. The idea of being able to catch one of Escobar’s top employees had been too tempting an opportunity to miss despite the fact the ambassador had said otherwise. In fact, he’d said fuck no, telling all of you to wait it out and get another source to confirm it. 

Apparently a friend of one of Javi’s ex informants wasn’t what they called reliable... even though she had direct access to the people supposed to be gathering tonight at the club you’d been staking out. 

Two hours you’d watched from your car, having snuck out to do so. If Javier and Steve had wanted to behave for once, then that was their call. They could stay and fill out paperwork to their hearts content. 

You didn’t need them for what was supposed to be a routine stake out and observation mission. 

Or so you’d thought. 

The fact you’d been made by one of the gang about thirty minutes after you’d entered the club had put a pretty big dampener on your plan. You hadn’t noticed as they’d arrived, recognising you after you’d almost caught them at a raid only days ago. 

The sicario had slipped away, managing to leap across one of the roofs as you’d chased them across. Had Steve not grabbed your arm and told you it was too dangerous a jump to risk, you’d have followed. 

But here he was, back and ready for payback... and he’d been quick to point you out to the others surrounding him. 

You knew it had been risky to be here and unfortunately, you were proved horrifically right. The fact you’d got away was a minor miracle, even if you were now bleeding. Badly. 

Damn bullet had missed but the graze was agonising, causing you to wince as you clutched at your side, trying to stem the bleeding as best you could. 

“Javi... I messed up.”

“Y/N, hermosa. What is it? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

His questions were relentless, firing one after the other as he detected the fear in your voice. The pain and regret too. 

“I’m ... I’m in an alley... by Fiebre... I’m sorry...”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s ok,” Javi soothed, panic underlying each word. You could hear him clattering about, most likely grabbing his keys and rushing out of the apartment next to yours. He didn’t need to ask to know what you were doing or why you were there. He knew you too well. He also knew you wouldn’t be calling like this if you weren’t in trouble. Trouble serious enough he had to get to you. Fast. “I’m on my way. Just stay there. I’m coming to get you.” 

A tear rolled down your cheek as the air suddenly felt a lot colder. Like Javi had just turned on the stupid faulty AC unit in your apartment, like he always did when it got late and he was staying over to look over material or keeping you company. 

God. What you’d have given to have him there to hold you right then. To wrap his familiar leather jacket around you like he always did when you forgot a jacket of your own, still forgetting that the hot days often fell into cooler nights. 

You longed for its touch, its scent, its comfort as you stared at the sky and prayed you lived long enough to regret this. 

“Fuck.” Your car was just down the street. You were so close but you didn’t know if you had the strength to make it there. “Javi... I’m bleeding... the bullet... it hit my side... it won’t stop.”

“Y/N, baby. Listen to me. We’re coming. Steve and I. It’s gonna be ok. Just keep talking to me, ok? Put pressure on it and don’t fall asleep. You hear me?”

“Javi-“

“I’m fucking serious, hermosa. You hear me? You better keep your damn eyes open long enough so I can look at them when we get there, and you make some stupid wise crack about all this.”

A car door slammed. Voices rang out over the line. You could hear an engine start. 

“Javi... I love you... I really do...”

“Y/N? Y/N?”

His voice sounded desperate, terrified even, as you faded away, failing to reply. You simply felt the edges of your vision beginning to dim and the inevitable pull of sleep tugging you toward an abyss you knew there would be no coming back from. 

You couldn’t fight it any longer.

A single tear trickled down your cheek and you felt the phone drop from your hand onto the cold concrete beneath you. 

“I’m sorry.”

——— 

“-y tienes suerte de que te quiera mucho. Odio los hospitales. este lugar es jodidamente horrible. No puedo dejarte aquí solo. no cuando te vas a despertar en cualquier momento. ¿Me escuchas? Tú vas a-“

The voices were coming in waves, washing over you and disappearing just as quickly. 

It was hard to try and hold on to, even if you wanted to. This voice in particular was soft and tempting, familiar even... Coaxing you in over and over every time you slipped back into the darkness that was so warm and soft. 

You’d always been a deep sleeper, slamming your alarm harder than necessary whenever it tried to wake you. 

Now was the same... even if you knew it shouldn’t be. Even if you felt odd, like you were supposed to be somewhere and you’d forgotten... 

But where?

“She should have woken by now-“

“Javi, calm down. She’s gonna be fine. The doctor said so. She just needs to rest. Have a little faith in her. She’s tough. She’ll pull through this.”

“But if she doesn’t ... Steve, I can’t...”

“Hey. Look at me, Peña. It’s gonna be alright. Now come on. Connie said she’d bring some clothes for you...”

There they were. The voices again. 

Somehow, you knew that they were trying to pull you back to wherever you were supposed to be. 

To the aching you felt. To the mechanical beeping you could hear. To the painfully bright lights hovering overhead. 

To the weight and warmth of someone’s hand holding yours. 

To the familiar face pressed against the bed as he slept, holding you hand tightly as if scared to let you go. 

“Javi?” you croaked. 

Like that, he was awake. 

You worried he’d have whiplash, he sat up so fast, eyes wide in disbelief as he realised you were awake. “Y/N? Oh, thank God!” 

“Y/N?”

“Steve?” you rasped, noticing your other partner as he leapt out of his chair in the corner of the room. The relief was clear as he smiled and hurried to the door. 

“Thank god. I’m gonna grab a nurse.” 

“Ok.” You smiled and turned to Javier who was still holding your hand tight, watching you with bloodshot eyes. “What... how long was I-?”

“Three days,” he whispered. “You really scared me there for a second, hermosa. You... you lost so much blood and they weren’t sure you were gonna make it.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The sight of tears in his eyes was more painful than the bullet hole that was currently sending white hot agony shooting through your side. You’d never seen Javi so torn up before. Never. The worst was when he’d sit silently and smoke for hours without even moving. 

As much as you hated that, you’d take that any day over this. Knowing you were the cause. 

“No. Don’t be,” he dismissed swiftly. “I mean yeah, I wanna shoot you myself for running off and pulling a dumb fucking stunt like that but I get it... I really do. I’d have done the same thing. Hell, I have done the same thing. I just wish you’d asked me to come. Or even Murphy. We would have.”

“The ambassador had his eye on you after the raid this week,” you protested weakly, wincing at the pain in your side as you tried to sit up. “I couldn’t risk you or Murphy or your jobs like that.” 

“Fuck our jobs.”

“Javi -“

“No, hermosa. Listen. I mean this. You come first, understood? Always,” Javi snarled, kissing the back of your hand. “I love you and I mean that. Life isn’t worth it without you. This job means shit all without you. You come first? Ok. Always. Seeing you lying there with all the blood on you... it made me realise a few things and this is one of them. I don’t want a life or a future without you in it.” 

You couldn’t help it as the tears began to flow again, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. You couldn’t help but reach out and brush your fingers through his hair as you’d done so many nights before. 

“I love you too, Javier Peña.”

“Good. Remember that when Steve gets back and starts ripping into your ass,” Javier teased, lightening up now that your were awake and talking again. “I won’t be able to save you then, carino. Sorry. Sicarios are one thing, but Murphy? He’s almost as terrifying as Connie.”

Oh fuck. You’d forgotten about Connie. Oh she was gonna kill you. Big time. 

That woman was the biggest mother hen you’d met in your entire life. She’d also probably have your ass on house arrest for the rest of your life after this stunt. 

“Shit,” you whined, dropping back against the pillows. “It was good while it lasted.”

“And good thing we get to do it all again another time,” he hummed. “Just ... not for a while, ok? Not until you’re on your feet.” 

“You mean, not until Connie says so?”

Javi didn’t even flinch as he nodded, deadly serious. “Yep. 100 percent.”

------

Translation: “and you are lucky i love you so much. i hate hospitals. this place is fucking horrid. i cant leave you here alone. not when you are going to wake up any minute now. you hear me? you are going to-”

#ithebookhoarder #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x you #javier pena x you #narcos x reader #narcos imagine #narcos fanfic #narcos headcanons #steve murphy #connie murphy #pedro pascal #requests #answered #prompts

[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 6/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

Eddie gets cleared with two weeks to spare, and they celebrate by making out on Buck’s couch for so long it actually starts to hurt.

Buck can admit that as excited as he was to give this thing of theirs a go (“You can call me your boyfriend, Buck, it’s not a bad word”), there was still a part of him that was nervous. Nervous about how it would affect him, would affect both of them, especially now, when they’re physically and emotionally exhausted as they hurtle closer and closer to Beijing. For the first week, Buck kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to realize this was a mistake and break it off cleanly, before they got in too deep. He knows what a monster he can be when he’s strung out on stress, and only Maddie has ever been able to see past the short words and shorter temper and get him to breathe again. 

But one day, after an awful practice that brought the monster out in full force, Eddie found him hiding out in the locker room, fuming by himself and at himself. He didn’t chastise him like he could have (like he should have), didn’t tell him he was overreacting or that he was too much. Instead, he did what had become such a pillar in their friendship: he sat next to Buck and waited. And when all the anger and frustration finally seeped out of him, Eddie was there with a warm, solid, grounding hand to pull him back to his feet and away from the edge he was mentally leaning over. No judgement or invalidation, just genuine empathy. 

And that’s all it took for it to slot into place for Buck. That no matter what, they’re friends — best friends — first, and their very unique life paths means they understand each other on a level that no one else can. Being boyfriends just means they get to do more fun things together now, like making out on couches like the real teenagers they never got to be.

The weeks after Eddie’s clean bill of health fly by, and they’re heading to Lake Placid before he knows it. Buck’s excited — he’s always excited for Nats — but he also feels a looming sense of foreboding, like any minute, something is going to go terribly, terribly wrong. The last time he competed here was four seasons ago, when he won his last Nats gold, two weeks before shattering his leg and Olympic dreams in one fell swoop. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? Maybe the universe has decided that the Olympics are not for him, and this weekend will result in a last place finish or another injury or something else that takes everything away from him again.

He feels a warm palm against his and a squeeze, looks up to see Eddie watching him, framed by the snowy mountains whizzing by the bus window. His brow is creased in worry, like he can see the storm starting to swirl in Buck’s head. That worry, the way Eddie knows him, is strangely grounding, pulling him out of his dark cloud enough to actually enjoy the view of upstate New York they have as they make their way to their hotel.

The pre-competition routine is easy, familiar, and Buck lets himself get lost in it, block out any and all doubts that keep trying to sink their claws into him as the weekend gets closer and closer. Eddie’s there every step of the way too, not at all the distraction Buck had been worried about for way too long, but a welcome calm in the clusterfuck of his emotions, something for him to hold onto and gravitate back towards when it all starts to be too much. He can’t believe he survived this season — or any other season — without this to balance him out, but he knows for a fact that he’s never letting it go.

It’s the morning before shorts, and Buck is woken up by obnoxious pounding on their hotel room door. He feels a groan rumble through Eddie’s chest where it’s pressed against his back, smirks as he feels his arms wrap tighter around his waist.

“If we’re quiet enough, maybe they’ll go away,” Eddie whispers.

“Get up losers, we know you can hear us,” Chim yells through the door. Buck throws back the covers, chilly morning air making him even more irritated, and yanks the door open, coming face to face with Chim and May.

“Oh thank god, he’s wearing pants,” May sighs in relief.

Buck squints an eye at her. “It’s 8:00am, what could you possibly want from us this early?”

“It’s team bonding day,” Chim says with a grin. “We’re going to Mirror Lake. Grab Eddie and your skates and meet us at the bus in 15.”

“What if we had our own plans?” Buck asks, crossing his arms. “How do you know we weren’t gonna spend all day in bed having—” A hand clamps over his mouth from behind him before he can finish.

“We’ll see you guys down there,” Eddie says. He shuts the door on them and pinches Buck’s side, turning toward his suitcase to find clothes.

“What?” Buck asks, laughing. “I was gonna say having a movie marathon, you didn’t let me finish.”

That earns him a sweatshirt thrown at his head, but Eddie’s looking at him all fond and soft when he throws it, so Buck’s not complaining.

Mirror Lake is the very definition of “winter wonderland” — the ice seems like it’s never ending, so clean and smooth you almost feel bad skating over it. Mountains and forests surround it on all sides to hide it away from the rest of the world, and Christmas lights are still strung up in the trees and around houses. It’s fairly empty this early, just a small group of kids playing a pickup game of hockey near one of the inns. A dusting of snow covers and muffles everything, bringing a sense of stillness and calm that’s unmatched anywhere else.

Buck takes a deep breath and revels at the bite he feels in his lungs. All the thoughts and voices filling his head finally quiet down, and he can just be here, enjoy this time with his friends without worrying about what’s going to happen tomorrow or next month. He knows it won’t last long, will all come flooding back as soon as they leave the lake, but he’s going to soak it all in while he can. 

He’s fallen behind the group a bit as they spread out, taking in the sight of everyone — Maddie and Chim holding hands and matching strokes like always, Hen and May making up some kind of obstacle course, Bobby and Athena lost in deep conversation as they glide. He keeps looking until he spots Eddie, a little ways from the group, moving and spinning to the music only he can hear in his head. He’s as graceful as ever, confident in every movement, but there’s peace in him too — he’s at ease, free from the pressure of competition and perfection that Buck knows rests so heavily on his shoulders. The early morning sun bathes him in golden light, but it’s nothing compared to the smile sent his direction when he catches Buck watching.

He’s so beautiful it actually takes Buck’s breath away.

Eddie makes his way back to him, the light following in his wake. His smile is even brighter up close, but Buck only gets to enjoy it for a moment before he’s being pulled into a kiss so sweet and slow and perfect it makes him dizzy. Eddie pulls away just as quickly as he came in, the smile replaced with a smirk, and Buck barely registers the words “Race ya!” before Eddie’s speeding off to the other side of the lake. He’s stunned for a minute before he pushes off too, catching up with Eddie and doing his best to cut him off the rest of the way. Their laughter echoes off the mountains, surrounding them in their own joy, and Buck for the life of him can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie’s in first and Buck’s closing out the group, because apparently the universe gets a kick out of watching him suffer.

They’ve been in this same situation so many times before, and he used to be able to turn his irritation at another flawless skate from Eddie into determination, propelling his own skating to be as close to perfect as possible. Now, though, he feels...proud. And happy for Eddie, because despite the weeks out and any lingering pain, he was flawless again — everything perfectly landed and rotated, a commanding presence on the ice. It’s a weird feeling, but it’s also nice, especially when Eddie winks at him and mouths good luck as he makes his way to the kiss and cry, and Buck’s whole body fills up with giddy butterflies.

Turns out butterflies work better than anything else for him — he’s 10 points in first place after shorts, and he feels so electric, so on top of the world he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Until he sees Eddie again on their way to the presser, costume still sticking to him with sweat in all the right places, hair mussed and cheeks rosy.

Then there’s only one thing he wants to do, and he can’t believe he has to be polite to reporters before he can do it.

He manages to be nice and not stare at Eddie the whole time, but he snaps as soon as they get back to their hotel room, pushing Eddie up against the door as it closes and kissing him fast and dirty.

“Is this your way of distracting me so you win tomorrow?” Eddie asks, breathless from the kiss, fingers threading through Buck’s hair as Buck trails kisses down his jaw and neck, pausing only to shove Eddie’s jacket and shirt off so he can get to more skin. He stops again just as he gets to Eddie’s chest, his breath ghosting over a nipple and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Eddie’s pupils are blown wide when he meets his eyes, and the blush on his cheeks and crawling down his chest is so pretty Buck could write sonnets about it.

He smirks, the novelty of the effect he has on Eddie far from wearing off. “Do you want me to stop?”

Eddie shakes his head, cupping Buck’s jaw to pull him back up. “Fuck no, don’t even think about it,” he says before kissing him hard again, tongue licking into his mouth immediately, and Buck can practically taste the quiet, subconscious sounds Eddie makes as his fingers run down his chest and stomach. He quickly thanks whoever made track pants a part of the Team USA uniform before shoving Eddie’s down his thighs and finally getting a hand on his cock, already hard and leaking. Eddie whines as Buck breaks their kiss, but it settles into a sigh as he resumes his trail down his body. Normally he’d spend a lot longer working his mouth over as much of Eddie’s skin as he can reach, relish in the salty sweet taste of it and hit all the places that make Eddie’s hips buck forward without his permission, but he’s only got one goal in mind at the moment. He’ll make it up to Eddie later.

He finally swallows Eddie down, hears a “fuck” and a thump above him as Eddie’s head hits back against the door. He knows exactly what Eddie likes — the first week of their relationship was pretty much dedicated to figuring out all the best ways to make each other fall apart. Eddie gets a hand in his hair again as he hollows out his cheeks and hums, vibrations sending another wave of shivers over Eddie, making his hips rock even more. Buck looks up, and Eddie looks wrecked, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, head thrown back and neck bared. It’s a miracle, really, that Buck doesn’t come right then and there.

“Christ, Buck, I’m—” Eddie tugs on Buck’s hair in warning, but it just makes Buck go faster, coaxing and coaxing until Eddie’s spilling into his mouth. Buck just barely has time to finish swallowing before he’s being yanked back to his feet and into a searing kiss, Eddie wasting no time in tasting himself on Buck’s tongue. He barely registers where Eddie’s hands are until he feels one wrap around his cock, steady and determined. He’s so keyed up now that it doesn’t take much — a few twists of Eddie’s wrist and a bruise sucked onto the underside of his jaw has him spilling over Eddie’s hand before he knows it. 

He presses kisses to every part of Eddie’s face he can reach as he comes down, soaking in the warmth radiating from him, only stopping when Eddie not so discreetly tries to wipe his hand on Buck’s pants.

“Hey!” he cries, laughing at the look on Eddie’s face. “Go wash your hands like a normal person and come meet me in bed.”

“Room service?”

“Duh.” He kisses Eddie’s nose before flopping onto the bed and flipping through movie rentals. The rest of their evening is quiet, full of bad movies and french fries and conversations about everything and nothing, and Buck feels an ease that he never feels the night before free skates. Tomorrow may be make or break for him, for both of them, but in this little cocoon of theirs, his face tucked into Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s arms around him as they drift off to sleep, the worry and nerves and anxiety feel too far away to touch him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The worst part is that he knows it’s a dream.

He knows if he jumps in real life, he’ll always come back down. Maybe not gently and maybe not on his feet, but after half a second of air time, he will touch the ground again. 

But now he’s taken off and he just keeps going — it’s completely impossible, but he’s still scared. Scared of the unknown that he’s propelling towards, scared that he can’t control his body or where it’s going, scared that it’s all going to end and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Fear turns to pure terror as his weight shifts of its own accord and starts sending him back to the rink he’s made up in his head. He thinks (hopes) he’ll wake up before he makes impact, but the panic is still clawing at him, sinking into his bones and running all the worst case scenarios though his head. He crashes through the ice but it doesn’t stop — flashes of disappointed faces, snippets of voices tinged with pity for him and the fact that he failed once again. It’s cacophonous and overwhelming, but he catches specific voices — Maddie, Bobby, Eddie — that try to push through, try to pull him out, but it’s not enough. He’s falling into the nothingness of his own failure and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it.

He finally wakes up, his skin feels like it’s buzzing, alive with lingering panic. He’s got an arm around Eddie’s waist and his face pressed into the back of his neck, and he takes a minute to breathe him in and get his heart to slow back down. It’s early, barely light out, but Buck slips out of bed, grabs the comforter from the other one, and quietly slides open the balcony door. The snow is just starting to glow from the first rays of sunlight, and everything is quiet, still, a direct contrast with the thoughts and feelings still swirling in Buck. He sits on the little bench facing the surrounding forest, does his best to focus on the chill in the air and the quiet nature sounds around him, tries to shut out everything else and be right where he is.

It takes a while, but it helps. 

The sun is fully up by the time he goes back in, and Eddie’s just finishing packing up his skating bag. Buck’s bag, actually. Eddie’s is already set by the door. He feels on the verge of tears again, but not in a bad way.

Eddie turns to him as he slides the door shut. His eyes track everywhere, like he’s cataloging Buck, taking stock before making a move. Buck’s stupidly grateful for it — he feels like one wrong move could send him cracking all over again, and it wouldn’t be Eddie’s fault, but he’d get the brunt of it. But Eddie knows him better than almost anyone, so whatever move he makes will be a good one.

He watches Eddie move slowly toward him and reach for his hand, giving Buck every opportunity to back up and say no. That’s not at all what he wants, so he meets Eddie halfway and laces their fingers together.

“Do you need another minute?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck shakes his head. “I’m okay. We have to leave soon anyway.”

“Will you believe me if I tell you that everything’s gonna be fine?”

“Probably not.”

Eddie nods. “Okay.” He tugs Buck toward him, gently kisses his forehead, cheek, and lips. “We need to be downstairs in 30 minutes.”

Buck squeezes his hand and heads towards the bathroom. He steps into the shower and tries to convince himself that Eddie’s right.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Channel your nerves, Buck. Everyone here is rooting for you. Show ‘em what you got.”

Buck nods at Bobby before pushing off the boards. He hears On the ice, representing the 118 Skating Club of Los Angeles, Evan Buckley and the applause that follows, but it sounds tinny and far away. He’s trying to channel everything — his nerves, doubts, fear of failure, whatever — and make it work for him, but it’s not as easy today. He feels heavy, like his body isn’t quite in line with his mind and what he needs to be doing, and he knows he’s going to be fighting himself for every element for the next four and a half minutes.

The music starts and he tries to float with it, use it to push through the extra gravity he feels and lift himself up more. He lands his first jump — his triple axel, usually one of his strongest — but feels himself wobble, knows his GOE will be low. He misses the second jump on his first combo and has to mentally comb through his program to figure out where he can tack it onto to make up points. On and on it goes — he doesn’t fall, there’s no monumental breakdown, but he’s subpar, doesn’t meet his own expectations and probably doesn’t meet those of the USFSA. He finishes with the fakest smile he’s ever slapped on his face and all but sprints to the kiss and cry.

Nats scores are always inflated, so he doesn’t do bad, but he’s certainly done better. There are three skaters left, including Eddie, and a terrible part of him hopes that the other two eat ice so he can still finish on the podium and salvage his spot in Beijing.

They don’t. Naturally. He sits in the green room as they each have the best skate of their season and leap frog over his score. Eddie’s last to go and he lays it all out there, like he’s already at the Olympics, but Buck’s hardly mad about that. He’s a force, attacking every jump but still keeping a softness in his movements to match Jeff Buckley’s voice. Buck’s got chills up and down his back during his last step sequence and into his final pose, and he knows it’s a gold medal by a mile. And he’s happy for Eddie, ecstatic even, but he also feels his heart break a little bit, because Eddie winning puts him in fourth.

The pewter medal. A stupid consolation prize that only the USFSA gives out. He’s technically still on the podium, but it somehow feels worse than if he’d finish last.

“You had a great Grand Prix this year, that counts for a lot more than Nats,” Eddie says on the ride to the airport the next day. It’s the first time Buck’s let him talk about it without changing the subject or kissing him or literally walking into another room. He’s run out of energy to avoid it anymore. 

“They’ll want someone consistent, and that’s clearly not me.”

“You have the second highest overall score in the country this season, fifth in the world. They can’t ignore that.”

Buck shrugs, picks at an errant string on his hoodie to avoid looking Eddie in the eye. He feels lips press to his temple and unconsciously melts, head moving down to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“It’ll all work out. We’ll be in Beijing together, I know it.”

Eddie’s always so confident, so sure in his convictions and unwavering in his beliefs. Buck loves him for it but it’s also unnerving, because he wants to believe as hard as Eddie does, but he knows how this goes. He works and works and pushes and pushes but in the end, it’s not far enough. All his hard work, his literal blood sweat and tears, can’t get him that extra inch closer to where he wants to be.

It happened four years ago, and he can feel it happening again. And this time, he won’t be able to blame a broken leg for his failures.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Buck, stop shaking your leg, you’re gonna trigger an earthquake.”

Buck scowls at Chim but stops. It’s been three days since Nats, three days of waiting, knowing that at any minute, the USFSA is going to post their final Olympic team. He’s been on edge for 72 hours because they won’t have an idea it’s happening until it happens, and he thinks he might be starting to go insane.

“It’ll be soon,” Maddie says from where she’s leaning on the boards. They’re all supposed to be warming up, a long day of practice ahead, but they’re congregated around the benches instead, anxiety crackling between all of them like lightning.

He doesn’t even notice his leg starts shaking again until Eddie places a hand on it to stop him.

“Opening ceremonies are in three weeks,” May says as she stretches on the floor. “They’re cutting it awfully close if they don’t announce, like, today.”

Chim groans as he stands up from the bench to join Maddie. “Why is it even taking so long? They’ve seen how the season’s gone so far, there can’t be that much left to deliberate.”

“Do you think they’re actually still deciding, or just waiting because it’s dramatic?” Buck asks.

Eddie snorts. “Probably the latter.”

“Guys!”

They all turn towards the doorway to the locker room, and Buck feels his blood run cold. Hen is there, looking calm as ever on the outside, but he meets her eye, and he knows.

“They just posted the list. Bobby has it up on his computer.”

Chim grabs Maddie’s hand and sprints, and May is hot on their heels. Eddie gets 10 feet in front of him before he realizes Buck hasn’t followed. He’s frozen in place, hands numb, heart beating so hard he’s worried about his ribs. Right now, on the bench, he can convince himself he’s living in a world where his dreams haven’t been crushed, where he still has a chance. Once he takes a step, that all ends.

Eddie comes back for him, grabs both of his hands and waits until Buck meets his eye. When he does, he gives him that small, soft smile Buck knows is just for him, and it feels like he’s saying I believe in you. It’s enough to get him moving.

They catch up with the others just as they get to Bobby’s office, and they jostle and crowd around the desktop, trying to get a clear view. Buck’s thankful for his height and looks over everyone, the world quickly narrowing to just him and the computer screen.

From the top, the list goes men, ladies, pairs, dance, so he starts from the bottom to delay any disappointment. 

He feels the tears prick when he sees Chim and Maddie listed, his smile nearly splits his face at May’s name. Eddie was inevitable, but his heart still soars when he sees it written out.

And then.

And then.

His name. His name, just above Eddie’s. 

Evan Buckley. Right there, clear as day, in Times New Roman font.

He’s glad Chim and May are already crushing him in a hug, because he’s pretty sure his knees have given out.

This is real. This is happening. Eddie is squeezing his hand and Maddie is crying and it’s happening.

They are officially, officially, going to the Olympics.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #LET'S GOOOOO reading this chapter over again made me so excited for y'all to read the last two chapters #also WORLDS IS HAPPENING NEXT WEEK and it DIDN'T GET CANCELLED i'm pumped #fs au #ficcery

[augment-techs]

“I’m—I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” for Ziggy and whoever you want

The blood soiled the clothes he'd been wearing for less than two weeks as easy as anyone else.  Since he'd been fifteen and drawn into the sentry ranks with almost no choice in the matter other than surrender or death, this was something he'd gotten used to. Waiting forever to get new or barely used clothing, only to have it damaged or ruined just after from his inevitably poor luck. Someone actually being there to care about Ziggy in the aftermath of having been inflicted with pain and injury was an almost entirely new experience, though. * Ziggy had been undergoing a lot of new experiences--same as every last one of the other sentries--since the Ranger Slayer ascended Drakkon's throne and set to work making an effort to make the world better. Though, maybe he had the other sentries beat, just the tiniest bit? Even his closest friends and mentors in their small, cloistered group of those not considered heartless, who actually cared about the people out in the world they were supposed to protect, didn't have a superior officer (a Red Sentry CAPTAIN) that was summoned by the Ranger Slayer herself into the throne room the same day as the transfer of power after all the speeches; that allowed Ziggy to tag along because, "Well, everyone will find out by tomorrow, anyway. You might as well put that motor mouth to good use." Ziggy had been under the wing of a goddamn Coinless spy. A General among the people that had been fighting the good fight since before Ziggy was born; who had been hugged by the last vestiges of Angel Grove's living Rangers (Dillon and Scott had to hold him along his shoulders when Ziggy had told them in the barracks that night, he was bouncing in his bed hard enough with such a big smile that it was like he was two years old again without a basic understanding of social constraints; Summer and Flynn just tried not to look too smug that all of them were getting free meals from their own Captains T.J. and Kelsey over having won a bet they'd all made about their favorite Red Sentry) and took his helmet off in front of Ziggy for the first time to introduce himself, not as Captain Williams, but as Eugene Skullovitch, "Skull for short, though. I think you've earned it, kid." Then Ziggy had been introduced to his Captain's best friend in the whole world (Summer had squeaked and almost shouted that she knew who Ziggy was talking about when he described him, "That was Bulk, Ziggy! THE Bulk!") and gotten the biggest hug in his whole life while being doted on by the vast bear of a man speaking of him in glowing terms that had Ziggy limp as a kitten blushing like mad, "Oh, you're the Ziggy I've heard so much about! Skull talks all about you on the wireless, but I think he might have been joking just a tiny bit when he said you're seventeen. Be honest, you're more like fifteen, right? All this hair and wiry muscle, you have to have been pulling his leg?" "Bulk," the Ranger Slayer, who insisted on being called Kim (jesus-fucking-christ) by anyone Skull called friend (which really just meant trust-worthy or not a complete asshole) among the ranks, had put a stop Bulk's mother henning with a gentle tap on the man's shoulder, "Not everyone is built like we were in the old days. I'm sure he'll get more meat on his bones as things improve." It had been awkward after, Ziggy walking with his Captain back to their rooms to find Ziggy's group of friends and the two other Captains; with all of them just gaping at the man's face like they'd never get the chance again. The days that followed with the rebuilding and the Coinless in the halls and taking care of the general populace that had to be told of the change in power and the defeat of Rita. It was tiring, but Ziggy had gotten to spend ten times as much time with his friends and just...not being an enforcer for Scorpina or Drakkon or the like, that he actually allowed himself to relax into the way things were going.  He'd signed up for night classes that some of the Coinless and retiring sentries were teaching. He'd been granted two days a week where he

didn't have to dress in his Black Sentry fatigues, could sleep in, could enjoy himself. Ziggy should have known that not all the new changes were appreciated by everyone. There were sentries, after all, who had been totally okay with the way things were with Scorpina, who were afraid of Drakkon like everyone else, but had been prepared to live their lives entirely by the pathological psychopath's way. There were those that had found Skull's being a spy to be an insult or actual betrayal. Those kinds of people always noticed that they could never address their issues with who they thought was the source of their anger; they never would have confronted Skull, even alone, even on his days off where he went out in leather jackets and jeans and could still beat anyone who bothered him into the ground, no problem.  So, Ziggy really shouldn't have been surprised to being decked the one day he'd gone out alone to check out some of the new apartments and prefabs he and his...friends? Could they really be called just that when they all kissed and touched more than any other groups Ziggy had ever seen?...were thinking of moving into since the barracks had become a little too impersonal to them. And, maybe, he was less surprised about the beating, than he was about how many people were doing it in tandem, with such efficiency as to render him unconscious within the first five minutes. * Yeah... Ziggy was more surprised to wake up, not in some filthy alley that had once been a desolate place to have battles with the walking corpses Rita Repulsa had walking around taking out everyone they could, but on a couch that could almost pass as new. His wiry frame tucked into blankets like some precious thing, head on a pillow that was so fucking soft it was unreal, the smell of the place a familiar comfort without knowing just where he was... The pain of his arm being swabbed with medical ointment. "OW OW OW!" "Ah, calm down you big baby," Skull practically grumbled like a much put-upon old dog answering the whines of a puppy that had stepped in a puddle and scared itself, "It hurts because it's working. This is actually good medicine and not that watered down crap the medics try and conserve." "How would you know that," Ziggy questioned with as much fizzy sass he could muster with a handprint around his neck, one eye changing color around the edges from the sucker punch that laid him out, countless cuts and scrapes, and a possible concussion that Dillon was gonna be pissed about when he arrived at Skull's apartment in the next hour when he got off his sentry shift, "You steal it out of the medical wing?" "I grow my own herbs, actually. Having a background in Classics means I'm good at recollecting things that might actually be useful when I need them. They might not be fully up to code, but they usually work anyway." Callused fingers dipped into a glass jar and traced the bruising Skull had already gone over, adding a warm, clear liquid that clung to the scrapes and coloring that his skipping stone, underwater eyes kept wandering back to; the feeling cool as mint and the smell mixing in with whatever Skull was boiling in the fireplace on a chain--not entirely unpleasant, but it still had Ziggy squirming in discomfort of being doted on in any capacity. "I'm..." Ziggy started again, trying to ignore the itching behind the eyes when Skull moved into checking the marks around his neck, spider-like and delicate and kinder still than he had any right to be with someone he'd had to defend without being asked, hauled back to his own home and been made to feed and water and treat better than someone like Ziggy deserved. (He'd done so much for Ziggy already, from the moment the Red Sentry Captain had kept him from getting a thrashing by a Yellow Sentry when Ziggy had screwed up one time too many and mouthed off; from the man getting him transferred into Dillon's squadron under supervision from Commander Park with Skull checking in every couple of days; from bailing Ziggy and his friends and ordinary people out of fires

and floods and death holes the cursed spirits of Repulsa found them in too many times to count.)  "Yes?" Skull prompted, pausing to wipe his hands on a wet cloth and wrangle the kettle out of the fire. He poured something that smelled delicious into an adorable little leaf and butterfly embossed teacup on a saucer with two little sticks of shortbread on the side. "I'm fine," Ziggy finally got out as he took the offering, taking a sip of something spicy and warm before trying to continue through the stopping point in his throat, "I've had worse." Skull took a huge swig from his own cup like it was nothing more than a shot and looked directly at the boy he'd made his charge, regardless of whether it was a good idea at the time, "And that last bit is exactly why I know you're not fine." The young man tried, he really tried to contest that, but his eyes were wet now, and Skull raised his hand to stall anything his famous motor mouth could pour out into the air between them. "But you will be."

#world of the coinless #boom! comics power rangers #power rangers rpm #ziggy grover #ziggy/dillon/sumjmer/scott/flynn #mmpr #ggpr #post-shattered grid #eugene skull skullovitch #farkas bulk bulkmeier #kimberley hart #ranger slayer #ask fill