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eating-plastic · 11 months

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Carnival Lights: Henry Barrow x Reader

Warnings: mentions of murder (come on, it's Henry), swearing, some mean!Henry, naive!reader, sunshine!reader x grumpy!Henry (my favorite dynamic lol), some fluff, probably grammatical errors

Word Count: 3434 words

A/N: This is for that anon that asked me if I wrote for Henry Barrow (assuming that they wanted me to write something for him lol). I know I said I was going to take a break from Killer Frequency, but the “people pleaser” in me wanted to get something done. So yeah, I hope this isn't too disappointing. I also hope that my interpretation of Henry is to your liking (you gotta get creative when given a blank slate like him 😆). As such, I also hope anyone else that is a fan of this skrunkly also enjoys this as well. Oh, also, this takes place before the events of the game during Marie and Henry's "national murder tour" leading up to Gallows Creek. Just thought you should know that. Bye!

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Sparkling lights and the sound of upbeat music and screams of excitement flood your senses as you skip through the crowds attending your hometown's yearly carnival. You had always partaken in the festivities ever since you were a child, and the event still filled you with joy. Some of the older booth vendors and ride operators even knew you by name.

You had originally shown up with two of your friends, promising that they wouldn't get too "lovey-dovey" with each other since they were a couple, but that was broken about 15 minutes into your arrival. Feeling like a third-wheel, you broke off from them, not really caring too much. You could easily enjoy yourself here without them.

After you finished playing a game where you had to try and hit cartoon sea creatures with a water gun (and failing since your aim wasn't the best), you decided to head to something you knew you were good at: the funhouse maze.

You knew the maze like the back of your hand, and could easily make it from the entrance to the exit, so you decided to see how many combinations of routes you could go. You wanted to know every nook and cranny that these dark, black light lighten halls had to offer.

Once you got bored, you began to make your way to the exit. Once at a crossroad where you needed to turn right, you stopped when you heard a man let out a shout of frustration. Worried that they were lost, you made your way towards the noise to help them out.

'God fucking damnit,' Henry thought. He was so fucking close to getting the man his mother told him to kill. He was right on his tail and then...he was gone. Now he was lost in this Goddamn maze and it was all his stupid fault because he knew he wasn't good with mazes. It was a good idea in theory, since the man would be all alone with no one would hear him scream. But of course in practice it had to bite him in the ass.

He tore his mask off and shoved it into his large duffle bag at his side. God, was it making it hard to breathe in this stuffy prison. Not to mention how that man was probably long gone by now.

'Augh, what am I gonna tell mom?' worry began to flood his mind. She was no doubt going to be pissed at him.

Luckily for Henry, his unaware savior was approaching.

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

As soon as you rounded the corner, you were now facing a man of decent stature, with long hair, a black trench coat, and a large duffle bag at his side. It was quite odd attire to be wearing in the middle of summer, but maybe he was just a worker at the haunted house who wanted to try out the maze on his break. He also seems to be oblivious to your presence, muttering to himself.

"Hi!" you chirp, causing the man to jump and spin around.

"The hell are you doing, here?" he hisses.

"Uh, it's a maze at a carnival. I'm here having fun," his harsh tone was completely lost on you. "You're lost, right?"

"What do you think?" he snarls, but you just laugh.

"Yep! I thought so! Come on, I'll show you the way out," you grab his hand, noting that he was wearing black leather gloves. Also odd, but once again that could've been just another part of the haunted house attire.

The man rips his hand from your grip as if yours had burnt his. You look back at him confused, but just shrug and begin to run off towards the exit.

"Hey, wait!" the man shouts and begins to chase after you, making sure to be on your tail so he could leave.

Eventually, you and him were able to taste the fresh air of the carnival, with the added smell of fair foods. You turn to look at the man, only to be taken aback a bit.

He looked to be a boy about your age, with piercing eyes but a very handsome face. You also noticed that he was unfamiliar to you.

"Huh, I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?" you smile at him, but he just turns to walk back towards the crowded rows of booths. "Hey, wait up!"

You decide to follow him. If he was new, you didn't want him to be overwhelmed or lonely.

"I'm Y/N!" you grin, but he just continues walking forwards. His eyes scanning the crowds and his jaw tight.

"Oh, you don't talk much, huh? That's okay! What do you wanna do? Do you wanna get something to eat? Oh! Or we co-"

"Look, don't you have friends or something that you can go hang out with?" he asks sharply. Unfortunately for Henry, the tone was once again lost on you.

"I do, but they'd rather make out in the tunnel of love than hang out with me," your tone drops slightly which makes Henry's eyebrow quirk up. After a couple of seconds though, just shake your head and smile back at him. "It's okay though, because I met you! I love meeting new people!"

'Jesus, what was your deal?' Henry thought. You were like a Care Bear in human shape. So sickeningly sweet that it was making him feel weird. How could someone like you exist in the cruel world his mom had told him so much about? Has it not broken you, yet?

"Oh, look! Bumper cars! You wanna go do those?" you beam up at him. Henry sighed. If he put up with this, maybe you would leave him alone. Besides, you provided him good cover. A new face like him dressed the way he was all by himself may drive suspicion. So he turned his head to look at your eager face and uttered one word.

"Fine."

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You weren't bad at bumper cars, but you also didn't win. Not that you cared though, especially since your mystery man had won. You were surprised at his skills and made sure to tell him.

Henry listening to you gush over him was odd. Not used to getting such praise from someone who wasn't his mother. And like with his mother, it made him feel good.

You continue to skip through the crowds with him at your side. He was still scanning all of the people around you, but his jaw wasn't tight anymore. That elated you, as you took it as him finally enjoying himself. You both stop when you hear someone call your name.

"Is that you, Y/N?" the voice of an older man called from a game booth. Your face brightens and you run to him, Henry following after you.

"Frank! I haven't seen you in ages!" you hug him over the booth's countertop. Henry tenses up and watches the man closely.

"You're one to talk! I haven't seen you since you were just 'this' tall," Frank levels his hand to show just how small you were when he had last seen you. He opens his mouth to speak again, but stops when his eyes fall on Henry. "Hey, Y/N, who's your friend?"

"He's new in town! I saved him from the maze!" you chirp.

"Ah, okay," he drawls, looking at Henry suspiciously. Upon seeing you look at him fondly though, he puts on his best "friendly face" and holds his hand out. "Pleasure to meet you, son."

Henry looks at Frank's hand before shaking it, still analyzing the older man. You are completely oblivious to the tension, as you look at the milk bottles that are stacked up in the booth.

"Hey, Frank! Care if we play?" you pull some tickets out from your back pocket. Frank's mood changes at the sound of your voice and smiles at you.

"Of course! You and your friend here get three shots," he kneels down to hand you three baseballs first.

You throw all three and only get three of the six bottles down.

"Oh, well! Your turn!" you turn to smile at Henry and move out of his way. Frank hands him three baseballs just as he did with you. He takes the ball, pulls his arm back, and....

All six bottles tumble down with a force that startles both you and Frank.

"Well I'll be damned! I have never seen anyone knock those bottles down like that! You play baseball, son?" the older man asks Henry, amazed.

"No," he says, shortly.

The older man clears his throat at the awkward silence before looking towards the stuffed animals that hung around the booth.

"Well, you won. Pick out your prize."

Henry wanted to just walk away, but looked at you in his peripheral. You were staring longingly at a pink elephant plush that had a cute, cartoony face. He points to that one.

"This one right here?" Frank asks, taking the elephant down. Henry nods. "Alright! Here ya go."

Henry takes the stuffed animal and nods at him.

"Bye, Frank!" you call as Henry begins to walk away from the booth.

"Bye, Y/N! See you next year!"

As soon as you both are five feet away from the booth, Henry practically shoves the plush at you.

"Here."

"What-?"

"You wanted it. I got it. Now take it," he says shortly. You look up at him, confused, but he still continues to walk forward and scan the crowd. You take the plushie and smile at it. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen, with the softest fur you ever felt.

You squeal and pull Henry into a hug, thanking him. He tenses up and pushes you off.

"What the hell are you doing?" he scowls.

"I-I'm sorry, I-I just w-wanted to...," you trail off, hurt evident in your voice and eyes.

Your change in demeanor causes Henry to feel guilty, and the couple of eyes he could sense on him only added to that feeling. He sighs and rests his hand on your shoulder.

"Look, I'm...I'm sorry, okay. Just...just warn me before you do that again...please," his voice is now soft as he looks at you, wanting you to know that he did really feel sorry.

"Okay," you whisper, still feeling miserable about making him uncomfortable.

"Hey, why don't...," Henry thinks for a second. "Why don't we go on a ride, huh?"

"Okay," a smile forms on your face. "Which one do you wanna go on?"

"Whichever one you'd like," Henry gives you the first genuine smile you had seen that night. This causes your own smile to grow and you take his hand to lead to one of the more thrilling rides. Henry doesn't rip his hand away this time, allowing you to drag him to where you wanted to take him.

Once at the ride you wanted to go on, you handed your elephant to the ride operator and Henry hesitantly gives up his bag, before you enter the ride.

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By the time the ride had ended, you and Henry were wobbling in the best way possible. Henry let out a shaky laugh. He had never felt so alive. Where had this been his whole life? You let out your own laugh at Henry's reaction, before you and him collect your belongings and go on to do more rides and games. While walking, and even making some small talk with your mystery man, he stops when he spots a phone booth.

Henry thinks about his mother, about his mission. He had to call her, to tell her about how he couldn't get a good opening. He wouldn't mention how he was getting distracted or how he was having fun with a living ray of sunshine. He knew how she would probably react if he was honest.

"Hey, uh, Y/N?"

"Yeah?" you look up at him, beaming.

"I, uh...I have to make a phone call. I-I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay! I'll wait right here!" you chirp.

He nods and gives you a small smile, before walking to the booth.

Henry enters the booth and sighs. He rummages around in his pocket before finding some quarters and inserting them into the machine. He lifts the phone and inserts the number to the motel room he and his mother were staying in. He waits, tapping his foot nervously as he waits. Then it stops, and a familiar voice speaks from the other end.

"Yes?" his mother says.

"H-Hi, mom."

"Oh, Henry!" her voice is cheerful. "Did you finish your 'assignment'?"

"No, I haven't. I can't get a good opening," he doesn't mention that he had lost the man to begin with. "Besides, this one person won't leave me alone. They're constantly following me around and bothering me."

His mom sighs on the other end and thinks.

"I'll be over there in a bit. Keep trying, dear. And remember, if you do find your opening, do what you must. Poor kid," she mutters towards the end of the statement.

Henry's stomach drops. He knows instantly what she meant. He didn't want to hurt you. You had nothing to do with...with all of this. You were an innocent, sweet person in this miserable world. Why get rid of someone like you?

"Henry, sweetie, you there?" his mother questions.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, I, uh...I was just looking around. Look, don't worry about coming over. I got this, I promise. I'll call you if I need you, okay?"

"Hm...okay," she pauses, clearly skeptical at her son's words. "Please just stay safe, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, mom. Bye."

"Goodbye."

There is a click, and then the line goes dead. Henry lets out a shaky breath and sets the phone back on its cradle. A knock at the booth startles him out of his thoughts. He turns around to see you looking at him, concerned.

He opens the door to the booth and steps out.

"Sorry," you apologize. "I just wanted to know if you wanted something to eat. Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah, yeah...don't worry about it, okay? Food, uh...food sounds great."

"Okay. What would you like?" Henry thinks for a moment before cracking a smile at you.

"Surprise me!"

You nod and walk off to find a food booth. You knew exactly what you wanted to get. You had been craving it ever since you entered the carnival grounds.

Henry followed behind you, curious as to what you were going to get as you passed booth after booth. Then you stop, just what you were looking for.

"I was wondering when you were gonna show up," a woman greets you.

"Hi, Pam!" you smile at her and hand her some dollar bills. "Two candied apples, please!"

"Two?" Pam cocks her head to the side until her eyes fall on Henry. "Oh, I see."

She smirks, interpreting the mystery man besides you and how you were lovingly holding your elephant plush as a date.

A few moments later, Pam turns back to you and Henry with two candied apples in her hands.

"Enjoy, you two!" she winks at you when you and Henry take your treats. The two of you walk once more, while Henry investigates the sweet in his hand. You look over at him and laugh.

"What? Have you never had a candied apple before?"

"Uh, no actually. Are...are they your favorite?" he asks.

"Uh huh!" you nod eagerly. "I have to have at least one when the carnival's up!"

It was true. Ever since you had the teeth to eat them, candied apples had been your favorite treat, even with all of the cavities you had gotten over the years because of them.

Henry slowly raises the apple to his lips and bites down. The taste causes him to pause. He had never tasted something so sweet. It seemed fitting that they were your favorite.

"You like it?" you ask.

He nods his head, before he takes another bite.

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"So you really aren't gonna leave tomorrow?" you look at Henry sadly.

"Yeah, I-I'm, um...I'm afraid so."

You had learned that Henry was just visiting your hometown on a road trip with his mom. You thought that was fun, because your family always goes on road trips every summer, and yet you were going to miss your new mystery friend.

"Oh, Y/N! There you are!"

You and Henry turn around, seeing your two friends running towards you.

"Yeah, we were really worried!"

That causes Henry to stare daggers at them. They were worried? If they were so Goddamned worried about your safety, then they wouldn't have abandoned you.

"Uh, Y/N...who's this?" they both look at the man beside you that was making them feel uncomfortable under his stare.

'Good,' Henry thought.

"Oh, this is just my friend I made who kept me company this whole time," your voice is still cheerful, but you were still trying to guilt them. Henry smirks at that.

"Oh, well, uh...it's-it's getting late. We should start heading home."

Your eyes widen at that and you look down at your watch. It was almost midnight. God, your parents were gonna kill you.

"Yeah, you guys head to the entrance. I'll catch up!" your friends look at the boy besides you. Despite being the same age as them, something about him didn't seem right. They slowly turn around and do as you told them. As you watch them go, you hear a certain someone mutter something behind you.

"Henry."

"What?" you turn to look up at him.

"That's my name," Henry says.

You try the name out and smile. The sound of you saying his name made his chest feel weird.

"You look like a 'Henry'," you quip.

"That a bad thing?" he quirked an eyebrow at you.

"Nope!" you giggle and shake your head. Your demeanor changes and you awkwardly fiddle for something in your back pocket.

"Here," you hand him a small slip of paper.

Henry takes the paper and unravels it, a phone number revealing itself to him.

"Just in case you wanna keep in touch, o-or you know...just letting me know if you're gonna be in town again," you sheepishly state, squeezing the elephant in your arms. You had written your number down when he went off to make his phone call. You felt silly since you didn’t even know his name yet, but you knew you liked him either way.

"I, uh...I think I'll do just that," he smiles at you and puts the paper in his pocket. You smile back.

"I'm gonna hug you. Is that okay?"

Henry laughs, before opening his arms to you. You wrap one of your arms around him and he wraps his arms around your waist. Neither of you want to pull away, knowing that it would mean the end of your night together and who knows how long until you see each other again.

Unfortunately, your friends were waiting for you and he had a mission that you were unaware of. You pull away first.

"Goodbye, Henry," you quickly press a peck to his cheek. He tenses, but then looks at you shyly.

"Y-Yeah...goodbye, Y/N," a shade of pink crosses his face. He then clears his throat before pointing to your plushie. "You take good care of him."

You giggle and nod your head, before turning and walking away from him. Not even five feet away from him, you turn back and wave both your hand and your elephant's arm goodbye. Henry shakes his head and smiles, lifting his hand up to give a small wave of his own.

He stood there, watching your figure get smaller and smaller, until you disappeared into the crowd entirely.

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The man was killed swiftly in the haunted house of all places. No one suspected a thing, believing that the body was just a prop and the screams just sound effects.

Now Henry was laying down on his bed in the motel room his mother had rented. She was in the bathroom washing his knife and mask.

He could still hear the noises of the crowds cheering, feel the shakiness in his limbs after a thrill ride, taste the candied apple on his tongue, and feel your kiss on his cheek.

Perhaps when he and his mother got into the next town and had to split up again, he would see if that number you gave him was real.

#killer frequency #killer frequency game #killer frequency x reader #killer frequency game x reader #henry barrow #henry barrow x reader #x reader #rita writes

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the-iceni-bitch · 2 years

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Like a River Flows

Kinktober Day 16: Lactation

Relationship: dilf!Steve Rogers x tattoo artist!wife Reader (Goddamn Prince Charming Looking DILF AU)

Words: ~1.3k

Summary: Steve will never get enough of you.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (genital piercing, breeding kink, drunk sex, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk) needy/sneaky dilf!Steve, some spoilers for the GPCLD verse but nothing I haven’t hinted at, established relationship, mentions of parenthood, alcohol consumption, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: I’ve missed them so much, they’re adorable ☺️

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

You giggled into Steve’s mouth when he growled playfully as he pinned you against the door, running your fingers through his hair and tugging when he struggled with the key. Tonight had been the first time you had anything to drink since he got you pregnant, and the three glasses of wine had hit you a little harder to an expected, though not in an unwelcome way, plus Steve had a few more bourbons than he normally would have since the kids were with his mom so neither of you had to parent. Hence, the two of you had been feeling each other up for the past hour and probably made your poor Uber driver extremely uncomfortable.

“Ah shit, there we go.” Steve practically lifted you off the ground when he finally got the door open, kissing you hungrily and trying not to trip over his own feet while he shoved his hands under your dress as you started to unbutton his shirt. “Finally have you all to myself for a whole night, I’m gonna fucking ruin you, doll.”

“Maybe I’ll ruin you, Daddy.” You laughed again when he made a noise like he was in pain against your lips, letting him slide your dress down your shoulders and kicking it aside before you began to undo his slacks. “I’m gonna ride you until you pass out from screaming, Stevie.”

“You goddamn teasing minx, shit.” Both of you winced when he shoved the bedroom door open a little harder than intended and it slammed into the wall, but then you were both naked and ready and he could worry about possibly denying the wall in the morning, dragging you onto the bed and pulling you on top of him as he ran his hands over every inch of you he could. “Missed you so fucking much, lemme in this fuckin’ pussy, I’ll put another baby in you, you’re gonna be so full of me.”

“Greedy boy. You’re gonna keep me knocked up constantly, aren’t you?” You bit his lip gently when he just nodded eagerly at you, sliding a hand between the two of you to grasp his cock and whining when you teased the cool metal of his pierced tip over your weeping hole. “Want it, always wanna be full of you, fuck.”

As soon as you started to sink down on him you had to brace your palms on his chest, your eyes fluttering closed while you felt that welcome and familiar burn that always came when he first stretched you open. Steve’s gaze was fixed on you when you finally managed to focus again, that enamored look he always got when you were on top making you moan before you began moving your hips slowly as his fingers dug into your soft flesh in encouragement. It felt like his cock was in your throat, but that was why you both loved this position, always wanting him to be as deep inside you as possible.

“That’s it… oh god, that’s fucking it, doll, you feel so fucking good.” Steve was already getting so loud as he watched you start to ride him, groaning and whining and smacking your ass while he thrust his hips up to meet yours. “Just use me… ah fuck, wanna feel this perfect little cunt strangle my dick, don’t stop.”

“Shit, Steve, ‘m gonna soak that big fuckin’ cock.” You started bouncing wildly when you felt your cunt starting to throb, tossing your head back and sobbing when he slid his hands up to squeeze your full breasts. “Oh god, ‘m gonna do it, gonna come so fucking hard… fu-fuck!”

The hour’s worth of teasing each other combined with the fact that you didn’t have to hold anything back made the orgasm that ripped through you almost painful, a harsh cry leaving your throat while your entire body spasmed violently as your pussy fluttered and squirted all over Steve’s dick. Even with the exertion of that extreme burst of pleasure, you couldn’t stop moving, your body rolling sensuously over Steve as you bit your lip while he kept kneading your tits in his giant hands.

“So fuckin’ beautiful… oh my god.” The sudden warm wetness Steve felt running down the backs of his hands was going to make him pass out, the sight of your milk flowing down his arms and still dribbling from your nipples as you rode him making him let out the most pathetic whimper you’d ever heard in your life. “Baby, holy fuck.”

“What? Ah shit. I knew I should’ve pumped before we left, why…” you cocked your head and frowned when he suddenly couldn’t seem to meet your gaze, the false innocence of his expression making you roll your eyes before you started to grind against him again. “Fuckin’ perv, you planned this.”

“Dunno what you mean.” Steve just squeezed your tits again and licked his lips as more creamy liquid ran down his wrists, bringing his gaze back to your eyes and looking absolutely pathetic even as he rocked his hips to meet yours. “Babyyyyyy…”

“So sad, c’mere.” You grabbed his hair and yanked his up until he could bury his face in your chest, sighing when he growled and immediately started sucking on your nipples. “Steven…”

He only grunted in response as he swallowed the sweet taste of you greedily, cupping your breast and kneading it gently so your milk kept flowing into his mouth. Being able to drink from you always made him go feral, his noises low and full of need as he lost himself in you completely. The yelp you let out when he suddenly sat up even more so he could kneel and drive into you deeper went completely unnoticed, Steve growling before switching to your other nipple and drinking deep as his cock throbbed and twitched inside you.

“You… oh fuck.” He could only mumble stupidly since he refused to take his mouth off you, groaning as he kept suckling and gazing at you through his lashes, his hips punching up into you with almost no rhythm. “You taste so fucking good.”

“Stevie, holy shit.” You had to grit your teeth so they didn’t crack together, he was fucking you so hard, making your cunt gush all over him while you panted desperately. “Don’t stop, ‘m so close.”

“Yes, gimme, want all of it.” Steve felt you clench and he lost it, pulling his lips back so he could gently bite your nipple and purring when you screamed and squirted all over his lap. “Mine.”

All you could do was hold onto him tightly and whine when he started pumping his cum into you, burying your face in his hair and sobbing as he kept sucking on your tit while the two of you stayed molded to each other as you came down. Steve didn’t want to let go of you, but he did once he felt you relax, rolling the two of you until he had you pinned to the bed so he could nuzzle into your chest and give you that dreamy look that you adored.

“Don’t give me that damn look, Steven.” You tugged on his hair affectionately when he whined as he started to lick your chest clean. “We agreed a year before the next one, swear you just want me pregnant so you can drink from me all the fucking time.”

“Maybe.” He grinned as he crawled up your body so he could press his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth and purring when you sighed for him. “If only that damn baby didn’t hog all of it.”

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oh-surprise-its-me · 8 months

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Hi! I’m back. So I saw a thing earlier that said Tom is from Hawaii. If Tom and Ron are from Hawaii, does that mean they surf in their free time? Would Jake follow in their foot steps and take up surfing as a hobby? I’m betting Chris would be very for seeing his mean all wet and glistening from the sun even if he himself doesn’t go anywhere near the water and instead stays in charge of their beach towels and coolers, watching his boys surf. I love your and Aki’s writing of these boys so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Oh my god I love youuu. I know you’ve been following this since the beginning and I greatly appreciate it 💞 (sorry this is a late reply!!)

So in my au Tom grows up in New York but he does know how to surf. Chris loves to swim but thinks surfing is an idiot sport. Thanks to almost drowning with David when he was 18 ( this post )

Ron and Tom both learn how when they’re in the first year of the Navy. (Here’s Tom rescuing someone from drowning in case you missed Aki and I rambling at each other)

But here’s them surfing in California teaching like 16 year old Jake combined with Chris thirsting later on..

—

Jake slammed into the water again. He pushes off the bottom. “Goddamn it!” “Hey!” He glares at tata. “No this is crazy how do you two do this.” Tom shrugs from where he’s sitting on the board. “Long time doing it kiddo. You’ll get there.”

Jake pulls himself up on the board. “Or I lay on the beach with dad and watch you two be stupid.” Ron laughs from where he’s sitting a few feet away. “If you wanna be done for today go ahead I know you’ve got plans with Javy.” Jake whoops. “Love y’all even if you want me to die out here!”

He gets a combined love you back. He sighs. Sees where his dad is reading in the shade. Stupid lucky idiot who gets out of this every time by saying he almost drowned. Jake lands back on the sand and runs back to his dad. “Hey! They said I’m done. Gonna go put my board at home then go out with Javy if that’s cool?”

Chris blinks up at him. He was so absorbed in his book he forgot they were surfing. Jake looks so much like his dads it’s adorable. “Go ahead baby. Have fun be safe. Be smart.” Jake nods. He drops down so Chris can kiss his head. “Love you dad!” “Love you too honey.”

Chris rolls over, he props himself up. He scans the waves for a second looking for his husbands. He finds them. He smiles slightly when he sees two of the women surfers floating there talking with them. Oh she must be blind if she thinks Tom is straight.

Chris grins. He can tell they’re trying to escape them. They always were too nice for their own good some days. He watches as the paddle back to shore. They both slip out of the water.

Goddamn.

He picked perfect men. Those shoulders. The abs. The hair.

The dicks.

Chris shakes his head. If he gets turned on at the beach again they’ll never let him live it down.

The Tom reaches him first. He tosses the board down without care. He slams to his knees and grabs Chris into a bruising kiss. “Woah-!”

Chris moans. Tom pulls away after a few seconds. He sighs and lays on the towel. “What the hell baby.” Ron laughs. “The girl out there wouldn’t believe that we weren’t single. Guess he wanted to prove it.” Ron sits more carefully on the other side of Chris. “Your kid is like you with surfing.”

Chris laughs. “He is my kid through and through. He’s smart enough to know it’s a dumb idea.” Tom nips his thigh. “Only cause you almost drowned you’re saying that.” Chris gently smacks his head “yeah you’re so right. I feel like I’m valid in that.”

Tom presses a kiss to where he just bit. “You’re right sorry.” Chris smiles at him and puts a hand in his hair. Tom leans closer like a giant cat. Ron smiles at the two of them. “You are so fucking cute.”

Chris grins at him. “That’s what the guy who I was talking to earlier said too!” Tom sits up and glances at Ron. “Someone asked you out?” Ron tilts his head, “do we needs to kill somebody?” Chris throws his hands up, he puts one on each of them. “All right cavemen no you don’t. He was very nice but about fifteen years too young and not two navy boys who fell for me.”

The two of them glance around for a second. They both shove Chris back onto the blanket. It’s late in the day. Most people are gone. They start licking and kissing his neck and cheeks. “Hey!” Tom pulls back he licks his lips, “you taste good. Let’s go home.” Ron nods. He pulls Chris up and kisses him again.

They all pack their things together. They walk back to the house. Chris catches them in a kiss when they’re walking up the board walk. “Jakey is gonna be gone for a while tonight.”

His two men grin at him. “Looks like we’ve got plans then.” Chris laughs. He pulls them into another kiss. “Alright let’s go.” Ron kisses his cheek with pinch to kiss hip. Tom follows with a kiss to his shoulder and then bite to his ear.

It’ll be a good night. Hopefully Jake will sleepover at Javy’s

#ron slider kerner #chris seresin #tom iceman kazansky #top gun #tom x ron x chris #ron x chris x tom #ron slider kerner x chris seresin #tom kazansky x ron kerner #chris seresin x tom iceman kazansky #jake hangman seresin #slider is jake's dad au #mac writes top gun #young jake seresin

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rcksmith · 3 years

Text

Not you — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “Five Hargreeves x fem!reader, Fluff prompts 9, 52 and 53, please? (You can do this whenever you feel like it) Five and Y/n are both hit by one of Hazel and Cha-Cha’s bullets in the Gimbel Brothers store and they immediately go to the academy (Five wants Y/n treated as soon as possible.) after they’re fine, the siblings start to question them on Five’s protectiveness over Y/n”

“Hii could I request 4 & 23 off the fluff prompts for Five pls ty 😌✨”

Fluff prompts:

4. “Sweetheart, you’re my entire world”

9. “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?!" "No, that girl is my wife!”

23. “i’ve dreamt about this.”

52. "Help her first."

53. “There are no limits when it comes to you. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope you guys like💖I decided to compile these two requests, since they were the same energy and they prompts connect to a central plot. I added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. Good reading.

I used here some fragments of the central plot of Five, but, guys, keep in mind that he is 20 years old, and that when he comes back to 2019 Five does not make a mistake in the calculations. I changed the location of the fight too, but a really I hope you, Anon # 1, don't mind.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: blood, mention of death, swearing, fluff too.

— — — — —

You remembered perfectly when you met Five Hargreeves, the commission's golden ball, The Handler's award-winning shamrock. If you closed your eyes, even after years, you could still smell the male cologne wafting in the air, and you could relive the same feeling in the pit of your stomach that you had when he looked at you with those obsedian eyes.

Five Hargreeves was gorgeous. Absurdly gorgeous. But absurdly arrogant, boastful, presumptuous and completely absent of any delicacy in relation to empathy and kindness. He was the type who would open the door for you to enter first, but who would be the first to make fun of your erroneous reasoning.

And that was why, at the time, when you were assigned to be his partner, you lived in conflict with what you really felt. It was a mixture of tantrum and physical attraction.

But unlike all the people around Five, when he spit fire at you with all the anger at his difficult temper, you didn't run. In fact, when it exploded the first time in front of you, you crossed your arms, arched an eyebrow and looked at him with boredom.

“Have you finished your show yet?” You said, as if you didn't care, leaning against the hood of the car while Five screamed through the 7 winds “Stop to imply with everything.”

Five had been your partner for a few months now and it became clearer each day that the irritation was mutual. He made it perfectly clear that you pissed him off until his last hair.

But, unlike you, it was for another reason.

Shit, you were a fucking goddess! Your beauty was notorious, but that was not all that caught his attention. You were smart, canny, brave, Five never saw you in fear of any situation or shaken by any scene of blood. You knew your goals and went after them. It was strong, decisive, and, goddamn, he loved it. You had a fist, you were firm, and you always made it very clear that you were no helpless maiden.

It felt like you had gotten out of his imagination, from the daydreams in which Five rambled about what kind of woman he admired. And, hell, you came with the full package. It was a combination of overwhelming beauty, intelligence, dexterity, and he never thought that someone like that could be real.

But of course you were. And now Five was completely irritated because you were real, and not just another his dream and daydream in which a sublime woman starred.

“To Imply?” Five turned to you, eyes on fire “To Imply?!”

“Like a 2-year-old who didn't take his afternoon nap. It's not the end of time, it doesn't have to be childish.”

Now Five felt himself ignite. He was a dry, rough fire and you were gasoline, igniting everything saw ahead.

Was that damn woman calling he a child?! You?! Just you, the person whose Five wanted to tie the bed and do all kinds of sinful things.

Oh hell no!

Five came forward, furious, like an angry god, his coal eyes never leaving your direction.

“Childish, isn't it?” He snarled “I'm going to show you the childish!”

Five held your face tightly in his hands and pressed your lips to his. Fierce, needy, set on fire, lost in half sentences of feelings about you. He slid his hands to the back of your neck, closing his fingers in your hair and invading your mouth with his tongue, letting you taste the caffeine, danger and lust he had.

You sighed, or Five, or both. You held him as close as he was, with the two of you being on the same mission: to conquer, to take, to possess. But Five had an extraordinary intensity, a magnitude that managed to win you

Then your touch became more docile, your kiss became submissive and you were surrendered. When Five walked away, not with his body, he still held you against him, but with his head, enough to look you in the eye, you sighed.

“I’ve dreamt about this.” You gave up your game, because you couldn't pretend anymore, and Five responded by kissing you again, this time tasting your whole mouth.

After that day, Five and you never came apart. You two were like a dynamic duo, crime partners in the morning and intense lovers at night.

But Five spent so much time with affection, love and caring being denied that when, on a night when work got the best of him, Five fell into the bed you shared in a Motel room, very close to your lap and you smiled sweetly and ran your fingers through his black hair, establishing the affection there, Five was catatonic.

His wild mind wanted to take it away and go, tell you to swallow those loving gestures and that he would never need them. That they were a nuisance, a distraction.

But his body and heart... well, they begged Five to stay another second. Just one more second enjoying that touch, the care, the importance that someone felt for him. He liked to be pampered, who knew.

So he ended up falling asleep with your touch and, after that day, Five realized that if his body and heart couldn't get any further from you, then no one would ever take you away from him. You would stay with him, until the end. As long as you wanted to stay.

And you wanted to. You wanted all the stages, all the moments, all the fights. You wanted Five, completely. And after some time like that, he said that you two were going to get married. It wasn't a request, it wasn't a speculation, it was a fact and that's it. You laughed, it was Five's style to be embarrassed about something and treat it more coarsely, just because he didn't know how to deal with the emotions he felt.

“Of course I do.” You reassured him by bringing your hands to his face, tracing affectionate circles on his cheek with your thumb.

“You would have no other option.” He grunted, not looking at you, trying to divert attention from his own racing heart.

You laughed and sealed the future of the two of you with a kiss.

After five years of making it official, Five said he had found a way for him to get home. And as he spoke, you noticed a flickering hesitation in his eyes. You knew, at that moment, that Five would leave it behind if there was a chance that you wouldn't want to go along. He promised to love you, in joy and sadness, in difficult times and in good times, and he never broke a promise.

Five Hargreeves would stay for you. In 1963, in 1988, in 2019, it didn't matter the season, the year. It wouldn't be worth anything if didn't have you by his side.

But, like him, it was logical that you would never abandon him, ever. So you went along. It was together in the murder in 1963, it was together at the time of the target, and it was together when he jumped in the portal. You were with Five when he reunited with his family, they all amazement by the 13 year old little brother who disappeared to reappear as a man of 25. On top of that accompanied by a girl.

But Five still couldn't administer his emotions properly, he still couldn't say that he missed his brothers and that being without his family had been terrible. His past contained many shipwrecks and he did not know how to open up about it. After so many years alone and then killing without any judgment, it was difficult to connect with emotions.

So, instead of saying everything that screamed inside him, after just some time with the siblings he took your hand and pulled you out, telling the Hargreeves that he would go after a decent coffee.

“I wish I could have talked to them better.” You grumble whit Five and he rolled his eyes.

“As if they were going to understand the things you were going to explain.” He murmured, covering the whole issue of the Commission and time jumps.

“This is not difficult to explain.” You raised your left hand, signaling the silver circle that hugged your finger.

Five laughed, sipping his coffee.

“You will be my wife forever, there is plenty of time for you to tell that.”

But as soon as Five's words had just left your lips, blowing in the air like fog, the door to the store opened, and you two didn't have to turn around to find out who they were. Years on the commission have earned you enough training to even recognize the sound of their footsteps.

The exchange of looks that Five and you gave was enough to know what each one was thinking and how they would act. That was your secret language, the superpower that you two shared. No words were needed to understand each one like the back of your hand.

You took a deep breath, while your fingers on your right hand steadied yourself on the coffee cup and Five on the knife. There was no waiting for speeches, exchanging words, you both knew that the Commission would send the best agents besides you, and Hazel and Cha-Cha were not known to be late at work.

Then the action started, Five turned and teleported with the knife, shoving it into the leg of one of the agents covered in rabbit masks. You didn't stay behind and swivel your chair around, throwing the sizzling coffee into the second's hands, causing him to drop the gun on the floor. You didn't wait to kick him in the chest, making him stagger backwards as you got up from the chair. You and Five were good, but so was Hazel and Cha-Cha, and you couldn't count on the powers to dodge physical attacks.

Everything was very fast indeed, windows were broken, punches were exchanged, blood was plucked. But when you looked to the side and saw who was probably Cha-Cha pushing Five against a broken glass stake, you understood why love at work was so dangerous. You understand completely. Because you've lost your focus. It took a thousandth of an instant for years of training and improvement to be thrown out the window. Only the possibility of Five getting hurt got you off track, and that was fatale.

The agent who fought with you took advantage of your distraction, reaching for the gun that was on the floor in that split second. And a shot reverberated through the place.

Suddenly, the world for Five stopped the axis. Everything was suspended, appalled, frozen. And in that very second, his body shivered from head to toe, as if misfortune had sighed in his neck. Five Hargreeves never feared anyone, even death itself. But as soon as he heard the sound of the shot, Five tasted death. Was rough, metallic and cruel, the blood drained from the body and the world released a dark and funeral note, sinking into a black sea.

Because fear is not the bullet hitting you, but someone you love.

Five turned back, eyes wide, hands shaking, and he didn't know what was beating faster: his fear or his heart.

He would remember that moment as the most cruel and frightening of his entire life, years in the apocalypse and killing had no comparison to the terror that was seeing your white shirt start to be stained with blood, the bullet hole marking your abdomen. You looked up at him, shocked, livid, and Five could see death perfectly, pulling the vitality out of your eyes.

He didn't think, he didn't reason, he just teleported himself to you, taking your body in his arms and teleported you two away from there. Five’s hands were shaking, a visceral pain snaking through his body and suffocating him with the worst sensation Five had ever felt in his life.

He took you both to the Hargreeves mansion in the blink of an eye, his powers failing when the blue flash left you both in the giant living room.

“Five!”

Maybe it was Luther's voice, or Klaus, or Diego, he didn't know. Everything was a distant echo, a note submerged in the water. Five saw or heard nothing but your body in his arms, your eyes closed and face frighteningly pale, his right hand, which was pressing on your wound, was already soaked in blood.

It was too much blood, the smell was overwhelming, and for the first time in a long time, Five Hargreeves was in despair.

Hands touched his shoulders, and Grace's voice was heard in the background. But he didn't want treatments, whatever the goddamn his wounds were going to be.

“Help her first!” Five shouted, his voice finding strength in the terror he felt. And also in fury.

The Handler would pay for that, and so would Hazel and Cha-Cha. And, by God, the whole world would pay if you never opened your eyes again.

“Right now.” Maybe it was Pogo “But, Five, are you…”

“No!” He ordered “She first!”

Then Grace's hands took you out of his arms and Five refused to leave you for even a second. He was beside you at the operating table, holding your hand, with him bloody fingers of your blood and the agent he had fought.

But Five didn't care about the himself state, the people around it, or anything. His eyes were focused on you, his face frozen in a livid expression.

And when Grace said that you would need a blood transfusion and Five barely let her finish speaking before rolling up the manga and extending his arm, the siblings Hargreeves and Pogo were shocked. What they saw in Five's eyes was not a man afraid of losing someone, but of losing the person he loved.

I shouldn't have come back. Was Five's first thought when the surgery ended well and you were still asleep. It was his fault that you almost died. And everything was buzzing in Five's head like a propellant.

“So…”

Klaus appeared in the kitchen, with the siblings, while Five was washing the blood from his hands, now calmer since you were alive.

“That was heavy.” Luther let out a little gasp, a kind of choked laugh.

“Aren't you going to tell us what happened?” Allison sat at the table.

“She almost died because of my decision, that's what happened.” Five replied, turning and picking up a cloth from the table, drying his hands.

“Five...” Allison made his eyes go towards his sister “Who is she, actually ?”

Five gave a bitter laugh. Who were you? How would he explain it?

You are everything. The reason wake up everyday was good, what made the summer breeze and the sun's rays warm, the reason why his world was still spinning.

Who were you? It was absolutely everything for Five.

“Someone very important.” His whispered escaped.

“So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend ?!" Luther looked at Five in shock, as if the possibility of him having a girlfriend was absurd.

“No.” Five looked at Luther with fire in his eyes, his voice hoarse “That girl is my wife!”

The room's breath evaporated, everyone was dumbfounded and bewildered. But Grace came in at that moment, saving Five from continuing that conversation.

“She woke up.” His mother's voice was soft, and Five dropped everything he was doing and disappeared into the blue flash.

The first thing he noticed when he entered that room was you sitting on the bed, your back against the headboard.

“Hey...” the smile you gave made Five's world spin again.

He didn't wait a second before walking up to you in quick steps, holding your face in his hands and sealing your lips in a desperate kiss, as if that could prove that everything was fine.

“I thought I lost you.” He whispered against your lips, hands shaking, thumbs stroking yours cheeks.

“Bad vase doesn't break early.” You joked and Five laughed softly, his forehead touching your. “Were you hurt?”

He denied it, still with you, as if letting you was impossible. Maybe it was.

“I got distracted, I'm sorry that we let them escape and...”

Five interrupted your sentence

“Sweetheart…” You stopped, bewitched by his tone of voice “You’re my entire world.”

Five wasn't calling Hazel and Cha-Cha right now. He would kill that entire Commission later. Later. Now the only thing that mattered was you.

“I shouldn't have broken our contracts with the commission. I shouldn't have put you in this.” He said “But ... but I am very selfish, and even though I knew it would be better to let you go back to the Commission, I cannot live without you...”

“Hey, I not go come back.” You held his hands that were on your face, looking at him with love "My place is with you.”

“I promise you that I will never let anyone else hurt you. Even if I have to kill every single person on this planet. ” Five guaranteed “There are no limits when it comes to you. I'll do anything to keep you safe. ”

You smiled, put your lips together in a passionate kiss and whispered:

“I only need you, my love. Forever.”

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hoodieofholland · 3 years

Note

Reader getting mad at tom and their baby, who's in her arms, makes the same face expression as you when you are arguing to tom, and when he realizes his daughter is the exact copy of you he starts laughing because it's so cute seeing the way she replicates your faces and you are totally oblivious

Yeahhhh i took a long break from writing, but decided to post this since it was practically finished a while ago. Hope you like it as my come back! (Also hope i still know how this website works lol)

Warnings: just fluffy stuff.

"I just asked you to do one thing — one thing only — and you managed to forget it, Tom! Oh, my God, I need to feed her, I need to make sure everything is okay with her, could you just for one goddamn second pay attention to what you're doing and not forget she's a two years old! For God's sake!".

Tom has his eyes wide, mouth agape, surprised at your reaction. Yes, he did forget it was nap time for you daughter and he did forget she wasn't allowed to eat whatever was coming from his own plate, but she just looked at him with those beautiful eyes, the ones that matched yours, a perfect combination of you and Tom. He just sat on the floor, feeding her with some fries and enjoying her giggling sounds while she played with some toys.

"Darling, I told you I'm sorry, okay? I really didn't mean to do anything wrong, and I know there's so much over you right now, but I can take care of her, I can-"

"How am I supposed to trust you to take care of her if you didn't last one evening without going out of her routine?", you gasp, holding your daughter firmly on your arms. She was playing with your hair, too distracted with it to pay any attention to their parents' argue, but it was soon going to change.

"I think you're overreacting", he pointed and soon enough regretted what he said.

"Oh, you think I'm overreacting?", sarcasm was washing over your words. "Oh, Anna, he thinks I'm overreacting". The little girl started to giggle, eyes turning to look at her mother, who had a scowl on her face. "I'm not overreacting, Tom, you know how hard it is for me to go back to work, knowing my daughter might be needing me, and it doesn't help at all knowing things are not running as well as when I'm around!".

Tom had a pout on his lips, ashamed of having disappointed you. He knew it was going to be hard for you, being away of your daughter so soon, when the two of you were so close during her first year, but he made a promise of taking care of her, as he wasn't filming right now and had the most flexible work out of the two of you.

"Darling, I-", Tom started, but his eyes catch sight of your little girl twisting her nose and pouting, what instantly got he worried. Soon enough, the girl made a disapproving face, frowning in irritation.

"What, Tom?", you sigh heavily, "I'll put her to sleep. Can you just look over her for twenty minutes, so I can finally have a shower? Or is it too much to ask for?"

"Y/n, c'mon, don't say it like this-"

And as your expression changed, so did your daughter's. Tom couldn't let it pass without noticing how Anna matched your anger expression.

"Well, so don't act like this anymore", you sigh heavily. "Look, I'm really tired, it's like I haven't had a day off for years..."

You kept on talking and your daughter looked at you with concentration each time you changed a singular thing on your expression, mimicking it just right after. Tom observed it with adoration and amusement, letting a chuckle pass through his lips unintentionally.

You gasp loudly. "Seriously, Tom? What is so funny?" You arch a brow, and so does Anna.

"Oh, no, this girl is literally an actress and she's barely walking on her on yet", he laughs, shaking his head as he takes Anna from your arms, while you stayed confused.

"What?"

Tom kisses his daughter's cheek, smiling with his eyes sparkling with joy.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see this! Look, she’s matching your expressions”, Tom holds her tighter, bouncing her little body on his arms. “What is it, Anna? Mamma should forgive daddy? Yeah?”

You can’t help but laugh at the way your daughter claps her hands together, as if she could tell what Tom was trying to do while making you forget about your complaints with her cuteness.

“Yes,sweethear, I do think so. I think mamma should see how much daddy is sorry about what happened, and that he loves her so, so much, and that he thinks she’s the most beautiful mother in the world”, he whispers to Anna, who’s giggling right now. You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’re unbelievable”

“But is it working?”, he bites his lower lip and you laugh.

“You still gotta watch her. I’m gonna take my shower now”, you press a kiss to her forehead, “Then we’ll see about that”.

“As you wish, my love”, he smiles, taking your daughter’s hand and waving it at you as you go to the bathroom´s direction. You knew there was no way you wouldn’t forgive Tom the minute you walked out of the shower, but at the end all that mattered was how much he cared.

#tom holland blurbs #tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland fic #tom x reader #dad!tom #dad!tom x reader #tommy

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avintagekiss24 · 3 years

Text

leave out all the rest | c. beck

→ pairing: chris beck x black!reader

→ word count: 5387

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

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

flashbacks

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was day four hundred and sixty three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not before his mandatory three week quarantine that is.

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

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

You were packing your bag before the call even ended.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beck! You cool it in there!”

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

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

"I swear to God—"

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

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

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

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

"Just a few more seconds baby. You’re doing so good."

There’s another click— Sam closing the door behind you. Water fills your eyes again, emotion choking up in your throat at the gravity of it all. All of the screaming. All of the crying. All of the hating him and loving him and missing him for seven hundred and twenty seven days all culminating right here, right now, while he’s just three feet away from you. The sky used to be the thing keeping you apart— now it’s just a wall. A door— that you can’t walk through.

"Baby, Chris says gently, "Come on baby. Open the door, honey."

You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the keypad, fingers gripping the keycard so hard they start to burn. Open the door, honey takes you back. Takes you back to the day that he told you he was going up— that he’d be gone for a year.

“Open the door, honey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You sniffle, staring at your reflection in the mirror in your small bathroom.

“You knew this was coming. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“A year? A year, Chris? I’m just supposed to put my life on hold for you for an entire year?”

He sighs through the door, “I’ve worked my ass off for this, you know that.” You do know that, you’re just being selfish. Needy and selfish, “I know we’ve got plans baby, but it’s just a year. One year and then I’m all yours—”

“Yeah, until the next time you decide to go up there. This is what Melissa warned me about. You get addicted to it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” you retort, “I know you.”

That makes him laugh, and then you’re laughing because he’s laughing, “Open the door, please.” Chris sighs again.

As soon as you turn the knob, he’s pushing through it, lifting you up off your feet and twirling you around— to make you laugh again.

You were standing on a precipice that night and neither one of you knew it. Your lives, both individual and combined, would change forever and that was the night that set it all in motion.

The keycard digs into your fingers and palm, bringing you back into the present. Back into the hallway, back in front of Chris. You blink, linking eyes with him again, finding them soft and down turned, his head tilted as he presses his fingers to the glass.

"Let me hold you," he says soft. So soft that the glass between you gobbles it up. But you just know that’s what he said. You just know.

The door clicks in your ear, a breeze is in your face as Chris throws it open, and then you’re consumed. Arms wrapped around you, hard chest against yours as you’re lifted right off of your feet. He’s so warm— he’s always been so damn warm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, leaning back a little as you push your face into his neck, “This moment was the only thing keeping me going.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, pushing your face into his shoulder, your tears wetting his NASA sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry, I was so selfish,” the words are clipped and broken, heavy on your tongue, “Chris, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, it doesn’t matter.” He sits you back on your feet, rubbing your back with both of his large hands, “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

You cry openly into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and pushing your hands up into his sweatshirt, under the thin t-shirt underneath— just to feel his skin, “I missed you so much.”

One, two, three, four pecks of his warm lips on the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, holding you tight as he takes a deep breath, “All that’s over now, hmm?” you can feel the smile on his face, “We don’t have to miss each other anymore.”

A yawn pushes out of your mouth as you stretch out tight, sore muscles screaming. Eyes flutter as you shift, another deep breath pushing out your nose as you nuzzle your face into the pillows, body cocooned in warmth. You’re drifting again, quick, when an abrupt panic races through your veins without warning. Your stomach drops, skin instantly flushing with heat as you spring up, eyes as wide as saucers as your breath rushes.

That’s when you hear it, an all too familiar sound. A pencil, tapping slowly, methodically, against something. It calms you instantly. It’s real, you’re real, Chris is real, and you’re here. He’s here.

You swing your legs over the edge of the small bed, tucked in the corner behind a small partition. There’s a soft light glowing underneath it and a single red blinking dot emanating from the corner of the room— a camera. You push your hair out of your face but keep your fingers on your cheeks, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. There’s a murmur, Chris mumbling to himself and you can’t help but smile.

You stand and start moving towards the noises, padding soft and slow as his mess of brown hair and hunched back comes into view. He stands, switching out an X-Ray on the viewer before he plops back down into the swivel chair, staring at it for a second before he starts flipping through the large, open text book just to his left. There’s a little white board off to the right, leaning against the wall, the days he’s been “gone”, seven hundred and twenty seven, scribbled in his messiest of messy handwriting.

The little slice of time watching him sends you right back to your college years, waking up in his dorm room, finding the bed empty and him huddled over a too small desk, furiously flipping through a thousand page text book. You’d sneak up on him, just as you are now, barely dressed and sleepy eyed. Dig your fingers into his hair, scratch his scalp slow. Giggle as his shoulders slump and his head falls back a little, him moaning all the while.

“God, that feels good.”

“You let me fall asleep.”

“You cried yourself to sleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you… you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Hmm, more like two. What are you doing?” you ask, pushing around his side and crawling into his lap, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Looking at our X-Rays from earlier today. I’m working on another paper for the Institute.”

“Trying to see if you guys are still earthlings?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through you, making you smile, “Kinda, yeah. Our body masses have changed dramatically— our bones are longer, I’m not shitting you.” You giggle again at the enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s just a few centimeters, but still. Our brain waves are a little different, metabolism has sped up… it’s incredible.”

You keep the small smile on your face as your fingertips drift over his chest, rubbing slow as you feel his eyes fall to you, “You should get back in bed,” he says, squeezing your knee gently, “You look so tired, baby.”

“Not without you.”

He laughs again, “My circadian rhythm’s all fucked up, I can’t sleep.”

“Then it looks like you're stuck with me,” you kiss his chin and then cuddle back into him, “Don’t mind me.”

Mind you, he doesn't. He just goes about flipping pages and scribbling down random thoughts, marking up his pile of x-rays and fumbling through his and the rest of the crew's medical charts. You push your hand up into the arm of his navy blue NASA sweatshirt, raking your nails up and down his forearm absentmindedly as you breathe him in. Your other hand wanders too, tracing the band of his dark sweatpants before skipping up into his sweatshirt, brushing over his stomach and up to his chest.

The pads of your fingers outline the muscles that are still there, his pecs, down and across his soft abs, before back up and over a cheeky nipple. He jumps slightly, crinkling his nose as he smiles big and hard, “Babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You bat two big eyes up at him, the weight of going almost two years without catching up with you right at this moment. A hum vibrates in your throat as you stand, taking a few steps away from him before you toss your eyes over your shoulder, licking your bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. You hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers after a few moments, watching him drag his big eyes down your bare legs and then back up over your powder pink satin shorts and matching camisole.

“Come to bed, Dr. Beck.”

He’s up and on his feet before the words are out of your mouth. Warm fingers interlace with yours as the two of you move back towards the bed, falling onto the soft twin size mattress. His weight dips into the bed as he sinks his knees into it, pulling his sweatshirt over his head as you crawl towards the headboard. You draw your legs up, swaying them gently back and forth, palms flat on your thighs as you inhale deep, watching as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

The smile on your face grows larger as he crawls over you, pushing your legs open with his soft hands before he settles right between them. Chris takes his time looking at you, smiling soft as his eyes drift over your face, his index finger dragging down the bridge of your nose, over two full lips, and down your chin and neck. You let out a quick breath when the pad of that sneaky finger dips just inside your tank top— right into your cleavage.

He cups your face, his thumb resting on your lips, brushing gently, “I’m never leaving you again,” he whispers, blue eyes filling with earnest as they bounce between yours, “I mean it.”

You turn your head into his palm, pressing your lips into the soft, warm skin, planting kisses, “You promise?”

The delivery is breathless. Quiet. Small. Almost begging him to mean it. He takes a deep breath, pushes it out slow before leaning in, closing his eyes as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. That’s when he kisses you— slow. Deep. Tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth. Massaging the roof of your mouth before sliding along your tongue. He even moans a little, lets his body— muscles, bones, brain— relax. Lets himself melt into you because it’s just been so damn long.

It ends slow, the kiss. Chris grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling gently before he rests his forehead to yours. Eyes closed, his big, skilled hands and fingers flirting with your calves—pushing over your knees and then down your thighs to come to rest on your sides and hips.

“I promise.” You slide your hands up and down his sides, letting your eyelids flutter as he continues, punctuating his words with more gentle kisses, “We can start that life you’re so crazy about,” he laughs when you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, “Buy you a house.”

“On the base?”

“I thought you didn’t like the base?”

“I don’t… but I kinda... do.”

“Then yeah, on the base if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes are still closed as hot lips press against your face— the crook of your nose, underneath one eye, cheeks, and then chin. You push your fingers up into his hair as he forges a path with his lips and tongue— down your neck, over two collarbones, down your arm— all the while his hands move upward. Up into your silk top, nimble fingers playing with two tight nipples before he rucks the silk top up to your chin.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“What about them?”

“Them, who?”

Pointing with your foot towards the blinking red light in the corner, “Them.”

He laughs and you laugh, covering your face with your hands until Chris pries them away, “They’re nerds, babe. We’ve already made them so nervous they’ve left the control room.”

You honestly can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Not since he left you suppose. It’s a nice sound, for both you and him, filling up the small space, making it alive and lived in instead of clinical and dry, “That’s not nice, Chris!”

He shimmies the thin material up over your head, casting it to the floor, “It’s the truth! I should know. Remember the first time I saw you naked? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye for a week.”

The memory makes you laugh, soft and dreamy-like, “That was so long ago.”

Chris catches the tone. It makes him halt, for just a second, his eyes shifting away from you. Guilt. For holding you at an arm’s length for so long. For making you number two. For making you wait for him for so damn long.

You tilt your head, eyes searching his. Gentle hands claim his face, pulling him back into your strong gaze, “Stay with me,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, “You’re buying me a house.”

“Ah, yes,” with one fell swoop, your shorts are pulled down your legs, right over the tips of your manicured toes and thrown to the floor, “One story? Two?” He asks, back up on his knees.

“Umm, maybe just one,” You answer, sitting up, slipping your hands into the dark sweats still covering his bottom half, “A two story house is too much to keep clean.”

You pull, but not all the way. Just enough to see his hips and that little tuft of dark hair underneath his belly button. You can’t help yourself and lean forward, kissing his stomach, giggling when he jumps a little. When you do it again, kiss him, and then a third time, and a forth, he gives in. Sweeps your locs over your shoulders and pulls them into a ponytail in his hand. That’s when you hook your thumbs back underneath the thick band of his sweats and pull a little harder, pushing the material right over his hard cock, making it bounce.

Chris kicks out of the sweats, grabs your face in his hands and tilts it upward. Leans down and kisses you again— soft. Sweet. All while rubbing small circles into your cheeks with his thumbs. He stays there, forehead to forehead, eyelashes spread over his buttery, quickly blushing red cheeks as you palm him, dragging your hand from the base right to the tip.

It doesn’t take much— never has. After a few strokes, he’s wet and red all over. Chest, neck, cheeks. Mouth agape, pulling in ragged breaths as his eyelids flutter. He swallows hard, and then hums quick, deep and throaty before inhaling through his open mouth. You push upward, kissing him as you continue slow strokes, sweeping a thumb over his wet tip.

Fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh, down low, first by your knee. Then, slowly, they skirt upward, not groping or kneading, just brushing— flirting with your skin until they reach their destination. You gasp, mouth falling open as adept fingers— not only just in general, but with your body specifically— push through wet folds.

“One story it is then,” he breathes, hot, unhurried, “A dog and a,” he slams his eyes shut, hissing and grunting when you squeeze him, “Fuck baby,” he swallows again, lips trembling as he nuzzles in, rubbing the tips of your noses together, “A dog and a cat.”

Your free hand wraps around his neck, fingertips pushing into his hair as your head tips back, hips start to shove forward, eager for his touch— wanting those fingers inside. When Chris obliges, sinks his index and middle finger into your cunt— touch starved and needy— you mewl. Making a real sound for the first time in seven hundred and twenty seven days. It enlivens you both.

Chris pushes you back, lays you back onto the small mattress, spreads you out. Keeps his fingers inside, pumping slow, curling, massaging. Thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing. He lays between your legs, coming face to face with your most intimate and blows gently. Warm air sticking to balmy flesh. Big blue eyes flick up to yours, then back to your sweet, licking his lips as a squelch fills the room.

His tongue darts out, slips along the inside of your thigh. Your hips react instantly, jutting upward as a sharp breath fills your chest. A long arm pushes up your body, fingers prodding your breast, tweaking a nipple before he palms the skin, but not for long. Within seconds, his fingertips are pushing into a willing mouth. Your tongue, swirling around thick digits as you grab onto his hand, holding it there.

Warm air tickles damp skin again as he blows on you, “Have some babies,” he offers quick, the words muffled by your flesh as he finally laps at you, tongue slipping through sticky folds, flattening against your slit as he massages the delicate, “How many you want, baby?”

Nothing but a bitten-off groan answers him. It comes for many reasons. His fingers somehow delving deeper, lips brushing over your cunt— the thought of babies. Little brown skinned, curly headed babies running in the backyard with that dog and cat. Wide smiles, complete with missing teeth, loud laughter, declarations of love as they jump into mommy and daddy’s arms.

“Oh yeah,” heavy words breathed into your ear, a hunk of man now laying on top of you, cock pressing at your opening, “My pretty girl wants babies,” the wetness makes it easy for him to slide in— all the way in— bury deep, “I’m gonna give them to you. You’ve been so good.”

He’s moving, hips pushing and pulling as he cups your face in his hands, presses his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Stuff you— full of— my, fuck,” a deep moan, another quick hiss as he bites his bottom lip, overcome by the warmth, the wet— the tight, “Fuck, you feel good.”

Feverish lips are on yours again, teeth nibbling as his hips shove into you. Soft and swift. A palm covering your breast, fingers pressing, kneading and working sensitive, responsive skin. Nipples hardening, heat blooming across an ardent canvas of skin, pulsing hips eager to meet his.

Chris cups your chin, pushes upward so you're forced to keep slitted eyes on him and him only, “You want my babies? Hmm? Tell me baby,” you can only whimper in response, digging your nails into his sides, drawing your legs up and around him as he plunges deep, “Come on honey, use those words. Tell me how much you want my babies.”

He fucks into you hard, jamming his hips just once— the sound of skin on skin slapping out loud and off the walls. It arches your back, the sudden, quick thrust. Sends you right up into his chest. Chris pulls you into his lap as he falls back on his ass, extending his legs, heels digging into the mattress as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and tight, fingers spreading out on your back.

Hips roll into one another. Fingers grip his calf as you lean back, hot, sloppy lips on your chest, over and between bouncing tits. A taut nipple pulled right into his wet mouth. Slippery tongue swirling and flicking, teeth nibbling before he sucks on the tight nub, teasing it further.

Then he’s holding your hips, forcing you down onto his cock. More rushed, sticky words falling from swollen, red lips, “You want me to fill you up? Hmm? Tell me.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, overcome by it all. The emotion of it, the physicality of you and him tangled together— the words, how many years you’ve waited to hear those words.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he purrs, thrusting harder, faster, “You want me to come in you, don’t you? You’d love it if I came in you, huh? Knocked you up? Gave you a baby?”

You kiss him hard. Cupping his face, moaning sweet into his wet mouth, “I want it,” it’s breathy— desperate, “I want it, Chris. I want it.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.”

It’s feverish after that. Pushing and pulling. Grunting, smacking— lips on lips, skin on skin. Large hands gripping, fingers pressing into the meat of thighs and calves and ass and tits. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs, your ass, slide up your back— around your neck as your head falls back. Those fingers find your mouth, push just inside as he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling your hips closer, helping them rock.

His fingers are out of your mouth, cupping your cheek now. Smoothing hair out of your face as it strains. You try not to get loud, slam your eyes closed, purse your lips as your toes curl and stomach tightens… heart flutters.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your closed eyes before prodding at your lips, “Don’t do that, honey. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. Come on, let me hear you.”

“No, I—“

“Don’t be modest,” his tone shifts, going stern and deep, and that’s all it really takes for the noise to flow, “I wanna hear you.”

But he knew that.

It’s a sweet little hum, and then a gasp before it’s clipped by an obscenity— a shaky, desperate, filthy word that dissolves away into a loud groan and then… it’s all downhill from there.

You couldn’t hold it in if you tried. It’s been too long. A pent up aggression, a nervous need all finally working its way out of you. You pull him close— crush your chest against his, wrap two liquid arms around his neck, press your face right against his. Chris loops an arm around your waist, squeezing your opposite hip, pressing his fingers right into the soft skin until it hurts.

But it’s good, the pain of the squeeze. It helps you right over the edge, makes you finally cum after seven hundred and twenty seven days. Slow at first. A warmth just taking its time as it spreads. The feeling sort of foreign because it’s been so long— your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

When it does catch up, brain and body finding each other, dormant synapses kicking on with a jolt, it’s not just a warmth. It’s molten now, searing and stirring, passing through veins and muscles and skin and bone— it’s that deep. Toes curling so hard they go numb, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you throw your head back.

You’re sure the scientists and military guards can hear you three floors down.

Chris leans in, hot, wet, shiny lips pressing against your chest, over your tits with sloppy kisses, hips still churning into yours until they just can’t. Wet walls closing in, clamping down as they spasm, that molten enveloping him. His hips freeze quick with the first spurt, but find a haphazard rhythm as he comes. Fills you up just like he promised.

He pushes those warm blooms of silk deep with now pointed, long strokes. Not a drop escaping— it’s all for you, after all. Supply and demand and all that.

The mattress is a dream beneath you. Inviting and soft as he lays you into it, still rooted deep as he rolls you onto your side. An arm snakes around your hip, a palm and long fingers anchoring in the center of your chest. A hot, flushed cheek presses against yours as lazy wet lips drag along the back of your neck. Languid thrusts at random intervals keeps you gasping as he tucks his knees and thighs into the backs of yours.

“Say it again,” you whisper after a few quiet minutes, breath still heavy, chest still heaving.

Chris plunges into you again, soft and sweet and deep, “Say what, honey?”

“That you won’t,” the words break off, a moan replacing them as he kisses a trail down your arm, fucks into you once, twice, three times, “That you won’t leave me again.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

When you wake up the next morning, that little whiteboard with the days scribbled on it is erased. All it says now?

Day one.

#bad things happen bingo #5k...holy god #chris beck #chris beck x reader #chris beck x black!reader #chris beck x you #you x chris beck #reader x chris beck #the martian #chris beck fanfiction

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inkykeiji · 4 years

Note

Many sad thoughts running through my head but I can imagine Dabi having trust issues as you and the other anon saying. Him being afraid of getting left behind. I feel like he would say “I didn’t mean to say I love you” at some point because that’s a type of vulnerable he doesn’t want to be but it’s just one of many thoughts

AHHHHHHHH anon anon why must u hurt me like this?????? pls my whole heart just broke at this and i uhhhhh wrote 1.7k words about it,,,

❅ cw: soft dabi, angst, rly sappy ❅

It seems to happen at the most random of times. It isn’t like the movies, isn’t ever after some profound incident or momentous occurrence shared between the two of you—no, it’s always right after the most mundane things; after he catches you brushing your teeth in a cute matching set of panties and a tank top, sticking out your tongue at him, mouth full of foamy white toothpaste; after he finds you curled up on the couch buried under a fluffy blanket, nothing more than a lump and a head as your eyes rapidly scan the pages of the book in front of you, entirely absorbed in whatever world it’s built for you; after he walks into the kitchen to see you by the sink washing a few dishes, hips swaying and head nodding as you hum along to whatever song is blasting through your headphones.

But God, does it hit him like a motherfucking bus every single time, punches him in the stomach without warning, knocks the breath straight out of him.

He’s usually good at keeping it to himself, usually able to swallow it back down when those three little words begin to creep up his throat, dancing on the back of his tongue and restricting his breathing.

But eventually, he messes up.

You had started it, right after you had finished sprinkling the pizza stone with some flour while he was rolling out the dough, wiping your powdery fingers down his t-shirt, then swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, leaving a streak of white flour painted in its path, a little mischievous smile on your face and glint in your eyes.

He retaliates immediately, grabbing a pinch of flour from the bag and flicking it right in your face.

“Dabi!” you gasp, but your shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as you wipe at your face, fingers only managing to leave more strokes of the substance instead of clearing it. Your hand dives into the bag, grasping a handful of flour, inhaling deeply—enough to expand your entire chest—before blowing air out of your mouth, casting tiny, thick explosions of white at him, speckling his shirt and dusting his inky hair.

“Oh, you little brat,”

And, fuck, you look so goddamn beautiful, giggles ringing out around the room, flour strewn in your messy, tousled hair, smears of it across your cheeks and neck, sprinkled on your clothes, eyes bright and breathing laboured with exhilaration as you daintily leap away from him.

They’re bubbling up in his chest, those three stupid little words, climbing up, up, up his throat to settle on his tongue, light and sweet, floating in his mouth like candy floss and melting on his tongue only to be resurrected by another one of your giggles, or playful yelps, or squeals of his name.

And he’s too preoccupied to remember to swallow them down, to chew and chomp on them until he’s crushed them into a thousand tiny pieces as he chases you around the kitchen while you throw clouds of flour at each other, too enraptured by the soft, cute, precious sounds he’s endlessly pulling from you, too hellbent on hearing more, a man possessed.

Because he hasn’t laughed like this in ages, isn’t sure he’s ever laughed like this in his entire life, and they just slip out, when he finally catches you, chest heaving a bit from the thrill of it all as large hands curl around your shoulders.

“God, I love you,”

They’re muttered softly, just a huff of breath, really, blanketed by his laughs and yours, and you nearly miss them.

Nearly.

And then, everything stops. Your laughs abruptly cut off, and he wishes he’d have missed the sharp intake of breath you inhale through your mouth, lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring at him as your body freezes up, going rigid in his grasp, feet fused to the floor.

He stops, too, lets go of you so quickly you’d think your skin burnt his palms through the thin material of your shirt, sapphire eyes growing wide—wider than you’ve ever seen them before—as his mind catches up with his mouth, stumbling a few steps back from you.

He wants to say something, anything, but his voice is caught in his chest, fading into pathetic squeaks of breath any time he tries to force a few words out. And it aches, heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage, breathing shallow—almost ceased completely—as he stares unblinking at you, sharp, tingling anxiety flooding his veins.

And you—well, you’re staring at him with this look in your eyes, something that he can’t decipher, and it makes his stomach lurch. It’s a look he’s never seen before, your eyes shining as you gaze at him, almost glittering as you stare at him, unmoving, unbreathing, unexplainable. Are you upset? Angry? Disgusted? Stunned? A combination of all four? None at all?

The fact that he can’t tell, that he doesn’t know, when he prides himself on being able to read others so insanely well, ignites flames of anger that alight his entire body, right to the tips of his fingers and his toes, blazing straight through the anxiety and simmering in his chest, eyes hardening as they glare back at you.

A beat passes, your ears ringing from the thick, tense silence draped over the room, and then he’s pushing past you roughly with a choked snarl that sounds a little like a mix between a sob and a growl, and storming out of the kitchen.

He’s cut off all communication entirely, has been ignoring you for a few days now, only leaving his bedroom out of absolute necessity and refusing to answer any of your countless texts that have been collecting on his lockscreen, refusing to even touch his phone. He doesn’t want to see what you have to say, desperately tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t scared of what your messages might reveal, isn’t terrified of that impending rejection he’s so sure is lurking on the horizon.

But there’s only so long he can keep avoiding you before you finally catch him in the kitchen, just past three in the morning, fixing himself a late-night snack.

“Oh, thank God,”

He whirls around at the sound of your voice, cobalt eyes gaping for a moment before narrowing into sharp slits an instant later.

“Dabi, listen—”

“No,” he growls, eyes flashing. “You listen, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, alright?”

Leaping in front of him, you block his path, prohibiting him from leaving the kitchen and speaking quickly. “Yeah? Well I do!”

“I don’t care,” he spits viciously, the ache throbbing deep in his chest—at the very core of his body—reminding him otherwise. “There’s nothing to talk about, anyway! It’s not like I meant them,”

And that—that gets you to stop, tripping a little over your own feet as you stumble back like he’s physically slapped you, a soft, hurt little whimper getting caught in the back of your throat as tears rapidly pool in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Wh-What?”

He glares down at you, molars grinding together as his nose twitches.

I didn’t mean to say I love you.

What a pathetic fucking sentence—it’s almost laughable, the corners of his lips quirking up in a sardonic little grin. Your breath hitches, and his shoulders tense at the sound.

‘You aren’t supposed to know I love you’ is much more accurate, his mind sneers at him. Coward. Fucking coward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, though his voice is beginning to quiver, trembling hands curling into tight fists in an effort to stop it, short nails biting into the flesh of his palm as the skin stretched taut over his knuckles turns bone white.

“Didn’t mean what?” you whisper, glistening tears finally spilling over and streaming down your cheeks, leaving gleaming trails of salt water behind them. “Say it, Dabi,”

He’s got his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head, knows if he opens them, if he looks at you, that he’ll break, shatter into a thousand pieces, split himself open at the very core of his body and bare his entire soul to you.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

His jaw flexes once, slowly exhaling out his nose.

“Dabi, look at me,” a pause. “Please?”

“No.”

“W-Why?” the word escapes your lips in a little whine, broken up by your sniffles.

You know why.

But it’s those little half-sobs, the ones that keep catching painfully in your chest, that do it, interspersed with your soft whimpers as you plead with him—please, open your eyes, just look at me for a second, please!

Unable to stand it any longer, his lids finally rise, slowly revealing sparkling sapphire, glowering at you, his harsh gaze protected by a thin shield of water.

He hates this, hates not having control over his own fucking body, over his own fucking thoughts, hates the unfamiliarity of it all, of the unpleasant fluttering in his stomach and burning in his throat, swallowing thickly past the hard lump that’s formed, constricting his breathing.

Revolting, his inner voice snarls at him. You’re weak, letting some stupid little girl get to you like this, as if you even—

Your touch silences the voice, cutting it off midsentence, his whole body flinching at the soft, small hand resting so tenderly against the curve of his face, subconsciously nuzzling his cheek into your palm a second later, eyes slipping shut again.

“Dabi,” you begin, and something has changed. You no longer sound hurt, no longer sound wounded, your voice gentle and—

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening to him right now. Panic grips his heart, puncturing it with its claws, sending blistering, sharp pain searing through his chest and slicing him open, raw and vulnerable.

“Please, don’t,” he whispers, words tumbling from his lips without his permission, voice frail, fragile, broken.

Don’t. He doesn’t want to hear them, doesn’t need to hear them, can’t bear to hear them—not if they’re false, fake, uttered out of misplaced pity and sympathy.

“I love you, too,”

A pathetic hiccup gets caught in his throat and he chokes on it, chest stuttering as he shakes his head, lids clenching tightly against the unfamiliar sting of tears, lips pressed together firmly to stifle the tiny distressed sounds that keep crawling up his throat, trying to escape.

There’s no way, she’s lying, how could she ever—

“Yes,” you whisper, thumb caressing his jaw. “I love you, too,”

#dabi x reader #dabi #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi angst #dabi fluff #???? just BARELY #TW SOFT DABI #AHHHHHH anon i am screaming endlessly into the void #sweet anon 🥺#clari gets mail

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loversandantiheroes · 3 years

Text

Pedro Pascal Characters Ranked by Cuddle Rating

A less-than-comprehensive guide by me, a Touch-Starved Bitch (TM).

1. Frankie Morales. Hands down, #1 olympic gold medal full-contact cuddler. I mean look at the man. You know his hugs are world-class. Equal-opportunity spooner. Might expire from sheer bliss if you let him snuggle into your cleavage while you play with his hair. Occasionally he might get a little too excited about it, but he’s more than willing to ignore that not so little problem. Honestly, Frankie is the god-tier rank of cuddling. He’s warm, he’s solid, he’s sweet, and he makes you feel just as safe as you make him feel. Man’s got a hug like home and you will never want to leave.

2. Ezra. Ok ok hear me out. I know, I know. But trust me this man is like a fussy stray cat. You’re gonna be kept at a distance until he knows he’s not gonna wake up with a plug dagger or a laser scalpel at his throat, but after that, god help you, he is pushing himself into your hands every chance he gets - wrapping himself around you, nuzzling against your neck (the nose drag up your pulse point is a trademark Ezra move and you cannot change my mind), draping over your lap, the whole works. Honestly, give the man head scratches and he will never stop purring.

3. Whiskey. Is my bias showing? Yes. Now hush, this is my list, I make the calls. Whiskey would be higher up the list if he wasn’t such a fucking menace. Not even accounting for the amount of time it takes him to actually express some goddamn non-sexual physical intimacy, you just gotta take into account the fact that this man enjoys being a little bit of an ass. Cuddling Whiskey frequently turns into a wrestling match, which in turn frequently turns into other things. But the times when he’s sweet are worth the gamble, because there is nothing in the world that’ll make you feel more loved than when all that man wants to do is be still and hold you.

4. Marcus Pike. Look I know nothing about this man except that he moves fast and he digs pancakes, so I’m betting he’s either a little desperate or just a guy that is intensely sure of himself and his feelings. I’m banking honestly on some combination of the two, but I’m also willing to put money on high cuddle quality bc fuckin’ look at him. Points deducted because as per that one gif I can’t find there’s a lot of hand fidgeting, which can be a little distracting.

5. Maxwell Lord. Surprise contender! Loses points only for the absolute tenacity of his koala-clinging technique. Maxwell is not a man for whom affection or stability was ever in abundance, and he craves it like air. Can be a bit overwhelming. Just remind him you’re not going anywhere and he’ll relax a bit. Wins some points back for just being soft as all hell. Seriously, this man is immensely cuddly under all those terrible power suits. He hates it, doesn’t fit the image he feels he should be striving for, but he’ll start to feel a bit better about it if he knows you actually like that about him.

6. Marcus Moreno. Would be at #2 if it wasn’t for the fact that you are always getting interrupted. By Missy, by his mother calling, by Miracle Guy texting to be a pest because it’s funny, or by the next damn crisis. You’ll only get to cuddle this man properly in five minute increments and it’s a goddamn crime because Marcus Moreno is the epitome of the “I’m gonna be so good at huggin’“ meme. You will absolutely have to drag this man to a b&b and hide his phone if you want to get any decent snuggle time. Seriously though, Marcus is soft and those are prime huggin’ arms, man.

7. Pero Tovar. Don’t let the grump fool you. Pero is not a man who gets much softness in his life, but he’s a glutton for it when it comes along. Not very good at asking for it, though. Tends to just yank you flush to his chest with a growl and grumble about how you need to stay here. The griping is worth putting up with, honestly. He’s the restless sort, though, so it never lasts quite as long as you’d like.

8. Javier Peña. Yeah. Javi’s not really a cuddler. Which is a goddamn shame because if ever there was a man that makes you want to just velcro-stick yourself to him, it’s Javi. Oh he can be sweet. He can be tender. But straight up cuddling? That’s a level of domestic intimacy that is a little too much for him. And more’s the pity because my god the man fucking needs it. If you happen to bust down enough walls to actually get there, though, you can pretty much high five God for the blessing.

9. Din Djarin. Oh bless his heart. The cards are really stacked against him here. You are in for the slowest possible burn if you’re after a cuddle from this man. He’s touch-starved as all hell, sure, but it is going to take a very very very long time to get him comfortable enough to let you move past the armor (and god knows beskar does not have a high cozy rating). And even then it’s going to be incredibly overwhelming for him after so long without it (the man flinched at the tiniest touch from his tiny green son, a wholeass hug will bluescreen him for a week). It’s absolutely worth it to persist, but you better be the patient type.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters x reader #pedro pascal character hcs #frankie morales #ezra #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #marcus pike #maxwell lord #marcus moreno #pero tovar #javier peña #din djarin

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in-ky · 3 years

Text

An Old Scent [4] - Negan x Reader (A/B/O AU)

Summary: During summer break, you decide to come back home to visit your dad, Rick. Over the course of your stay, you realize that your dad's friend is pretty hot.

Warnings: literally just seduction and smut for this chapter lol, biting, ~aggressiveness~, pet names, fingering, penetration, edging?, breeding kink, soft aftercare negan :)

A/N: so this is the first smut i've ever written! i hope it's alright, some feedback would be awesome :) i hope you guys enjoyed my first story! 3k words

The next few days were a blur. Negan would come in, give me food, water, and a backrub, and then leave me to my own devices. I wanted to ask him for more, but for some reason I never did and he never tried anything. That wasn't to say he didn't want to. I could tell that my smell alone had an effect on him. That was obvious by the noticeable bulge he sported when he got up from by bedside and exited my room. Yet the alpha had an insane amount of self-control. So I got myself through my heat.

When my head finally cleared of the fever, the first thing I did was text Bee.

'All good now.'

'Thank the gods. So??? How was he? Am I going to be an aunt?'

'I wouldn't know. It didn't happen.'

'You guys didn't fuck? Jesus, you should get an award for the most disciplined omega on the planet.'

'I wouldn't go that far haha. I still want him more than anything.'

'Well, who says you have to be in heat for that to happen?'

'Fair point. Talk to you later, xo.'

I tossed the phone onto my mattress and crossed over to my dresser. Now that I wasn't a moaning mess, I had some semblance of self-control. Which meant that I could seduce Negan in a way that I wanted. In a way that would make him pounce and fuck me until we passed out. He had gone out to the store for a restock of the pantry so I had about thirty minutes to get myself together for him. I foraged through my underwear drawer until my fingers wrapped around a pair of black lace underwear and a matching bra. My lips curled wickedly. If this didn't get him riled up, I didn't know what would. I laid out the set on my bed and moved to my closet for the perfect outfit. I was still wearing Negan's shirt and boxers. They were admittedly very wrinkled and a bit stained from all the fluid that had been produced from my body in the past few days, but Negan didn't seem to mind. I reminded myself to follow up on his orders before I put my plan into motion. I flicked through the hung up clothes before settling on a cute black dress with a sparse sunflower pattern. It was low cut and showed off all of my goods. Perfectly. I put that safely next to my undergarments and headed out of my room.

Peeling off the clothes was harder than I thought. They were a bit crusty in some areas, particularly the crotch, and I almost felt bad for ruining Negan's clothes. Almost. I folded them as best I could given their condition and placed them reverently in the center of his bed. I found a piece of paper and scrawled a note over the middle. I folded the paper in half and put it on the pile of clothes. I nodded in satisfaction and headed into the bathroom for my shower to scrub off the remaining fluids that still clung to my skin.

~~~

My heart raced as I heard the front door click closed. I could tell by the footsteps that it was Negan. That and the fact that all I could smell was that goddamn smell. The scent that could drive me crazy with just one breath. A sudden doubt edged at my mind. What if he didn't want me. What if I was misreading the signals? I shook my head roughly, clearing the negative thoughts. Even if he did reject me, I could play it off to the endings of my heat...besides, I was leaving in a few days and I could wait to be heartbroken in Colorado.

My heart stopped it's assault on my chest cavity when I heard his heavy steps ascend the stairs. He cleared his throat and entered his room. I could hear a small growl escape his throat. He had found my present. I closed my eyes and imagined him suffocating himself in my smell, much like I had when I saw the clothes in the bathroom. I forced myself back to the present when I heard the crinkling of paper. He gave a little scoff of laughter and I heard him cross the hallway and twist my door open.

"Hey what did you wanna talk abou-oh." He trailed off and stiffened as his eyes caught my body. I was laying on my side, one hand propping up my head, the other draped over my round hip. The deep cut of the dress exposed my breasts as well as some of the bra to him. I saw him drag his tongue over his lip and it ignited a fire in the pit of my stomach. I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the side of my bed, rising to my feet and sauntering over to him. I watched him watch my hips sway with every movement.

"I just wanted to thank you," I purred, voice dripping with seduction "for taking such good care of me." His jaw tensed as I placed my hands on his chest, running my palms up to his shoulders and pushing off his leather jacket. "I really appreciate it."

"What are you doing?" He whispered. I could tell it was taking every ounce of control he had to not grab me by the throat and pin me up against the wall. Little did he know, that's exactly what I wanted.

"I wanted to return the favor," I said, blinking wide eyes up at him "Surely there's something I can do to show you how thankful I am, alpha." His eyes closed and a growl rumbled through his chest at the name. My hands trailed down his chest to his abdomen. But before I could reach his belt, Negan grabbed my wrists. I pouted at him.

"Careful, omega," He warned, eyes dark "don't start something you're not willing to finish." My frown turned into a sultry smile. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him where his ear connected to his jaw.

"Please, Negan," I whimpered in his ear. His grip on me tightened "Alpha, fuck me."

"Shit, doll, you don't have to ask me twice." Negan growled. His hands grabbed my waist and hoisted me up around his midsection, hurriedly capturing my lips in a bruising kiss. He thrust his tongue into my mouth as he walked us over to my bed. It was all a blur as I fell onto my back and he moved away from the kiss. He bit and sucked at the skin of my neck, attacking my pulse point in the best way possible.

"Alpha." I moaned, tugging at his shirt. He grunted against my neck and continued his trail of love bites until he met the collar of my dress. Negan growled in disappointment at the lack of skin and used his large hands to tear at the fabric. I gasped as the cool air of the room met my heated skin. He let out a feral groan as he drunk in the sight of me in the black lace set.

"I hope you didn't like that dress." He mumbled as he tossed it over his shoulder, returning to his suckling.

"It was too small." I gasped, finding my hands entangled in his hair. "Ugh, Negan!"

"Fuck, you're beautiful." He hummed, one of his fingers trailing down the middle of my stomach towards my rapidly pulsing core. I whimpered as he got closer, hoping that he would dip beneath the waistband, but he continued over it, cupping my sex over my panties. "And so damn wet. Shit, darling, is this all for me?" My eyes fluttered open to see a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He was a bastard. But I was too aroused to care.

"Yes, alpha, all for you." I gasped, sitting up and tugging at the bottom of his shirt. I pushed it up his body and over his head. He lifted his arms and I pulled it off him.

"A little eager, are we?" He snickered.

"Negan, you don't know how fucking bad I need you," I whined "I was dying during my heat. I needed my alpha." I pulled him back on top of me, pressing my lips against his. My face was starting to burn because of his stubble, but it felt amazing.

"But I do fucking know, princess," He gasped between kisses, pulling away with one of my lips between his teeth. "It was so difficult not to flip you over and fuck you right then and there. I knew you wanted me, but I wanted to wait until you weren't some sex-crazed beast to admit that."

"Well I'm done now," I grinned, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him close. He hissed as his clothed erection rubbed against my pussy. "So fuck me right here and now." I bit his ear lobe and peppered kisses along his jawline until I met his lips again. He chuckled against me, lips curling into a smile.

"Can-fucking-do 'mega."

He unhooked my bra and tossed it to the side, capturing one of my hardened nipples in his mouth. His tongue added with the scruffiness of his beard was enough to make me toss my head back in pleasure. A string of profanities left my lips as he moved to the next one, kneading the one that he just left. My insides were burning and I needed him lower. Thankfully, he began to kiss down my navel, leaving bites to mark his path. When he reached my panties he used a combination of his teeth and his fingers to drag them down my legs. Once they were gone, he kissed up my calves and my thighs, stopping in front of where I needed him most. He planted one of his hands on my hip and used two of his other fingers to spread my lower lips apart. I let out a moan at the action, bucking slightly into his touch.

"Stay put for me, doll," He ordered before giving my hip a kiss "I know you want my knot but I've gotta get you ready first." I just whimpered in response. He slowly entered his two long fingers into my aching cunt. I let out a heavy breath and grasped onto his shoulder, digging in my nails. He deftly curled his digits upward, hitting that sweet spot almost instantly. I cried out in surprised pleasure. I figured Negan was experienced but he knew where everything was. He scissored his fingers and I gasped at the stretch. It had been a while since I actually had something moving inside of me. I could only imagine what his cock would feel like. The thought made my walls clench around him. When he brought his thumb up to press gently on my clit, I dug my fingernails deeper into his skin. He worked the pad in circles, bringing me to an edge I was very willing to jump off.

"Fuck, Negan, I'm..." I huffed, eyes screwing in pleasure.

"Do it baby, cum for your alpha." At his permission, I let the tight band snap and my legs shook with the intense orgasm that crashed through my body. I breathed heavily and arched my back. When the intensity subsided, I collapsed back and brushed the hair back from my face. I felt Negan remove his fingers from my core and I opened my eyes to see him lapping up my juices that had dripped down his palm. Another spark of arousal was already beginning to form.

"Finally got my taste," He moaned, licking his lips in satisfaction "and shit, doll, you taste even better than you smell."

"Please, Negan," I whimpered.

"Please, what?" He cooed, crawling over me and pressing a kiss to my forehead "Use your words, omega."

"Please fuck me, alpha."

He ripped off his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, letting out a sigh of relief when he kicked the restraining fabric to the side. His hard cock was outlined against his boxers. He was right about needing to be prepared; he was huge, no doubt the biggest I had ever seen. A proud smile formed on his lips when he caught me ogling his goods.

"You ready for my dick?" He growled, tugging down his boxers and letting his cock spring free. It was angry, desperate for any sort of contact.

"Please," I gasped.

"Then present for your alpha." I rolled onto my elbows and knees, sticking my ass in the air and wiggling it in hopes that he would pay attention to my weeping slit. "Fuck you look so good." Negan grumbled, scooting closer to me. He ran the head of his cock up and down my entrance. I whimpered and pushed myself back eagerly. He gave me a slight hit on my ass cheek. "I'm in charge here, don't forget that."

"Y-Yes, sir." I said, fisting the sheets in my hands. Thankfully, Negan wasn't in a teasing mood and he slid himself into my pussy in one thrust.

"Fuuuuck," He hissed as he bottomed out, fingers gripping my hips harshly. I would have bruises everywhere tomorrow. But I didn't mind, it would be a reminder that this actually happened. "You're so goddamn tight. Shit." I clenched my walls around him and he let out a husky groan, causing me to smile. He wasn't completely in control. After I was adjusted to his size, I gave him a whimper as a signal to move. And he did. He pounded into me, hips ramming into my ass with every thrust. He fucked me like a wild animal and every time he buried himself inside me, his cock would hit that perfect spot. We moaned in sync with the sounds of skin slapping skin. One of Negan's fingers drifted down beneath himself and he furiously rubbed at my clit. The stimulation was enough to send me into another mind-boggling orgasm, but Negan shut that down quickly.

"Don't you fucking dare cum until I tell you to, understand me?" He growled, resting his head against my shoulder. I couldn't form words so I just nodded frantically. "I'm gonna pop my knot in you, omega. Gonna fill you up. Gonna breed you so good," He huffed between thrusts "You're gonna look so goddamn beautiful when you're round with my fucking pups. Then everyone will know you're mine." I moaned in agreement. I don't know what I moaned, but it was a combination of his name and a curse. A few thrusts later and I could tell that Negan was close. His breathing was heavier and his hips were staggering against mine and his knot was catching at the entrance of my pussy. "Cum with me, baby," He ordered "Let me feel you." With that I let go, letting my walls spasm around his thick cock. He came at the same time, spilling his seed deep within me. I milked him for every drop.

Out of instinct, I tossed my neck to the side, exposing my mating spot to the man above me. With a growl, Negan sunk his teeth into my skin, bonding us together. Fireworks shot through my body and I collapsed beneath him. Negan rolled us both over onto our sides, still inside of me. He lapped at the blood spotting at his bite mark. It took a few moments for us both to catch our breath, but Negan was the first to speak.

"I'm going to take such good care of you," He promised. It was the same tone that he had used at the dinner table when I asked him about the situation with his ex-fiancé. Sincere, vulnerable. "I might not be the best man, but I promise you I will always be there for you and whatever pups we might have. I've never felt like this before and I just...I don't want to fuck it up." I looked over my shoulder and saw worry in his eyes. I gave him a small peck on the nose.

"You won't fuck it up, Negan," I murmured, giving him a reassuring smile "Trust me, I won't let you." We both let out a soft laugh. "I trust you. You're my alpha. I know you'll be the best one you can be, and that's all I can ask for. You're lucky I'm a very patient person."

"Not in bed, you're not." He teased, giving me a wink. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "I don't want you to leave. You'll have to go back to Colorado soon. I don't know if I can handle my girl being so far away. Especially around other alpha assholes." I felt his grip tighten around me. I lifted a hand and stroked his arm.

"Don't worry about that yet," I sighed, closing my eyes. I would be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about it either. But that wasn't the most pressing issue we had to face. "Let's figure out how we're going to tell Rick first." Negan groaned and wrinkled his nose.

"Can you not mention your dad when my dick's still inside you?" He grumbled. I let out a giggled and kissed his knuckles.

"Sorry," I hummed "just saying, I'm not sure how well he's going to take it."

"Well, he better take it like a fucking champ." Negan huffed "'cuz if he doesn't he's gonna fucking regret it."

"Negan," I warned gently "He's my dad. You're his friend. We're mated now. It's gonna be weird for him. You gotta respect that."

"You really do bring me down to earth don't you," He sighed, nuzzling my neck "I guess I underestimated how much I need you." I let out a yawn and rubbed my eyes with a groan.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" He asked, genuine concern lacing his words.

"No, I'm just tired," I giggled "I haven't been fucked that good before."

"Damn straight you haven't." He smirked. Negan gave my neck a kiss and pulled himself out of me. "You get some rest, I'll clean us up and then we can cuddle. When we wake up I'll make you anything you want, deal?"

"Deal."

Not how I expected my summer trip to go, but I'm very happy it ended like it did.

#negan x you #negan x y/n #negan smith #negan x reader #negan smut #a/b/o dynamics #twd a/b/o #a/b/o kink #alpha!negan #omega!reader

196 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

YES TO THE SNIPPETS YES PLEASE

Thanks to everyone who asked for this! You're amazing! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

You can find the inspiration/ sequel here! Thanks to AJ and Lev for their hcs about the smutty situations, and to the discord for the last snippet!

Combined with a prompt for some relaxed Coops smut

Remus fell on the bed and immediately yelped as if he’d been hit. “What?” Sirius asked, concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Just bruised,” he said with a grimace, rubbing one thigh.

Sirius frowned and knelt at the edge of the bed. “Why are you bruised?”

“I got checked yesterday, remember?” He winced as Sirius gently prodded the base of the bruise and pulled his shorts off; he made a soft, sad noise, pressing a kiss to the blue-black skin. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Still. I don’t like it.” Sirius’ lower lip stuck out slightly in a pout, and he guided his face back down for a kiss.

“Everything else is a-okay,” he murmured, trailing a path of light bites down the column of his neck as he laid back. “C’mere, I’ll prove it.”

The world was starting to go black at the edges, popping with fireworks as Remus scrambled for purchase on the strong forearms by his ribs. Sirius’ hold on him was firm, and had been for the past—oh, god, how long had he been like this? Ten minutes? An hour? Eternity? Another shudder rocked through him and he moaned around the fabric clenched tight between his teeth.

“Good boy,” Sirius panted as he hiked Remus’ shaking leg up around his hip. “There you go, you’re doing so well.”

An unsteady whine broke through as well; the mattress creaked beneath him, and through his delirious happiness he wondered if this would be the day they finally broke it. Sirius was so painfully close to where Remus needed him most, just a little bit more—

“Fucking hell,” Sirius muttered, wrapping his palms around Remus’ hips and hauling him into the right spot. His thighs clenched around Sirius’ waist as he babbled his approval, no longer registering the damp in his mouth or anything that came out of it. “Come on, just a little—oh my fucking god.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. Remus slammed his hand down on the bed with an embarrassing noise of half-confusion, half-protest. Sirius’ voice had gone up about eight octaves; his gaze was no longer dark with lust, but instead laser-focused on something to Remus’ left. “The fuck are you doing?” he managed to snap when his jaw finally released, though his tongue was mostly blocked by fabric.

“Don’t. Move.”

Fear crept in alongside his frustration as Sirius pulled his arms to his chest and scooted toward the other edge. Something is very wrong. The thought sent a wash of cold through him and he carefully sat up, pulling the gag from his mouth. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Why is it getting closer?” Sirius all but whimpered. Remus steeled his nerves and slowly turned to follow his sightline.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he complained. There was no relief, just building crankiness. “Really?”

“Kill it. Please.” Remus ground his teeth and dug a tissue out of the nightstand, then squished the microscopic spider and immediately chucked the tissue at Sirius. “Remus, oh my god!”

“Please tell me there was something more than that,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What do you mean?”

Keep your tone even and calm, no matter how much you want to scream. “Sirius. If you stopped fucking the soul out of my body for a spider the size of a dust mote, you can say goodbye to pre-game blowjobs.”

A moment of silence fell between them. “For how long?”

Remus glared at him and hoped his pink cheeks and shaking legs wouldn’t diminish the threat. “For as long as I see fit.”

“…I love you?”

“Have fun throwing that tissue away. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go shower by myself.”

“Non, mon loup, wait—"

III

The edge was so close he could taste it. Remus arched his back with a low sound as Sirius’ tongue did something truly fantastic—he might not give blowjobs often, but goddamn was he good at it. “Yeah,” he sighed, combing his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “Yeah, that.”

Sirius’ hum sent shocks all the way up his thighs; it took every iota of self-control not to clamp his thighs around his ears. Remus pushed the side of his face into the pillow, riding the waves of a lazy morning and a warm mouth, when suddenly it disappeared entirely.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Did you let the dog out?”

Remus blinked at him for a long moment, then leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes. “Baby, that’s the third time in an hour you’ve asked.”

“Sorry. Is that a yes?”

“Are you kidding right now?”

“It’s a genuine—”

“Nope,” he groaned, sitting up. “Not doing this today.”

Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “But you were almost there!”

“You don’t say!” he gasped sarcastically as he hoisted himself to his feet and shook off the last bits of thrilled dizziness. “I’ll be in the shower.”

“Wait, no, I can do it!” Sirius’ arms wrapped around his waist and soft lips pressed against his mid-back. “I’m sorry, I was overthinking. Please don’t leave me here.”

“It’s like ten feet, love.”

“And you could stay here instead and get a really nice apology blowjob.” Teeth scraped his wingbone; Remus closed his eyes at the pleasant fizz down his spine as Sirius worked a small lovebite into his skin. “Please?”

“Do you promise not to ask about the dog again? Because she’s fine, and very happy with her new chew toy.”

“Cross my heart.” Sirius turned him around and kissed his nose, tugging him back down.

Sirius was a mess, and Remus was beyond smug about it. A helpless moan was music to his ears as he pulled on Sirius’ mussed hair and attached his mouth to the smooth skin that was exposed. “Please,” he whined, shifting his hips harder onto Remus’ fingers. “Please, please, mon coeur, please.”

“How much time do you have left?” Remus asked, channeling as much patience as he could muster. Sometimes, he wondered who the edging was supposed to punish.

Sirius’ whimper was the only answer he needed. “Fuck, fuck—two. Two minutes.”

“Good job.” He pushed his fingers up and Sirius shivered, knees jerking.

“Je veux—” His plea was suddenly and horribly cut off by what could only be described as a screech.

Remus pulled back in an instant, keeping one hand on Sirius’ hip. “Did I hurt you?”

“Jesus Christ, was that a rat?” he sputtered.

Ice water drenched Remus’ insides. “A what.”

Sirius scrambled to sit up on his elbows and rubbed his eyes as he stared at the corner of their bedroom, squinting slightly in the darkness. “I thought…”

“Baby.” Remus could feel the tremor in his voice. “Is there a rat in our room right now?”

They waited in silence for a few more pounding heartbeats before Sirius sighed in relief. “Nope, sorry, that was my shoe. The lace looked like a tail. Woah, are you okay? You look pale.”

“Uh-uh,” Remus managed, sitting back with a slow exhale. His heart receded from his ears to his throat. “Quick question.”

“Go for it.”

“Do you need glasses?”

“No, I have 20/20 vision.” He had the nerve to look confused. “Why?”

Remus stared at him, then shook his head. “No reason.”

Remus could feel Sirius’ heart hammering under his palm, growing steadily slower with each deep breath. He stroked his hair out of his eyes, feeling joy bubble up when a foggy silver gaze met his own. “Hey, you,” he said quietly as he rubbed slow circles on Sirius’ chest. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Sirius’ smile was lopsided and sappy and oh-so-perfect; he bent down for a soft kiss and felt him melt under his mouth. When Remus pulled away, Sirius let out a sigh and snuggled up against his side. “Tu es si beau,” he mumbled, still a little clumsy with his words. “Si beau. Et mignon. Je ne sais pas.”

“D’accord,” Remus said, kissing his forehead, then each of his cheeks.

Sirius suddenly lit up and he touched Remus’ knee. “Pretty! C’est le mot. Je n’aime pas l’anglais.”

“I’m pretty?”

“Mhmm. Like—mmm, starts with a b. Du beurre, but candy.”

Remus bit his kiss-swollen lip in thought. “Butterscotch?”

“Oui.” Sirius nodded decisively and closed his eyes, apparently uncaring of Remus’ vibrant blush or galloping pulse. “Butterscotch. Je t’aime.”

“I love you, too, you muppet.”

As much as Remus loved being railed within an inch of his life, there was something to be said for slow, easy afternoons when the sun was high and they had absolutely nothing to do. Sirius’ hands ran from his hips to his ribs in smooth lines; Remus basked in the feeling and tilted his head when Sirius rocked upward to meet his rhythm.

“This is perfect,” he said, stretching one arm up to brace against the headboard. It was far easier to support himself—and last longer—since he had started working out like the rest of the team. White sparked at the corner of his vision. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“There?” Sirius rolled his hips again and Remus felt his dick throb. “Alright, I’ve got you.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere today.”

“Non, not even—hang on.” Sirius paused and frowned slightly. “Are your arms bigger than mine?”

“What?” Remus laughed.

“Gimme.” Sirius pulled his arm down and he nearly fell over with it, but caught himself at the last second. “Flex.”

“Why?”

“Because your arms are bigger than mine! That’s so not fair.”

Remus snorted, but obliged. Sirius scrutinized him for a solid ten seconds. “I can assure you that your arms are bigger, baby.”

“Hmm.” Sirius nodded and settled onto his back again. “Yeah, I think so. That was close.”

“Would it be such a bad thing if my arms were bigger than yours?” he asked as he began to move again, feeling Sirius’ harden in him. “I thought you liked that I’m stronger now.”

“I do like it, but you already have better back muscles. I can’t let you win that easy.”

VII

Does it count as enemies-to-lovers sex if you’re already engaged? Remus thought as he grabbed a handful of Sirius’ ass and squeezed, pulling a moan from his perfect lips. Because this feels firmly in the enemies territory.

“Are you going to stop saying it?” he asked, struck breathless as Sirius dropped to his elbows and put his face in the pillows.

“Alright, alright, fine,” he groaned, jolting as Remus pressed a hand against his lower belly.

“Where am I from?”

“Wis—Wisconsin.”

“And not…?”

“Fuck me—Minnesota.”

“Thank you.” He slowed his pace by a degree and littered the backs of Sirius’ shoulders and neck with kisses, allowing him to set the rhythm for a moment. “Your accent sounds so pretty right now.”

“So does yours.”

Remus paused in surprise. “It does?”

He sensed his mistake an instant before he saw the grin curling at Sirius’ mouth. “Oh, you betcha.”

And we’re back to enemies. “Where am I from?”

Sirius fell silent as he picked up speed and gripped his hips.

“Where, Sirius?”

“Wisconsin, fucking hell!” He flipped his hair over his shoulder for a second to glare, though the effect was ruined by the clear arousal on his face. “For someone who’s so—merde—laid-back, you’re awfully riled up about this.”

“Look, not all of us can sound like we’re dirty-talking while reciting a grocery list. I can’t let you roast me for that without repercussions.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ voice wobbled. “Oh, oh, oh—”

“Apologize for making fun of me, and I’ll touch you.”

“I’m s—oh.” Sirius’ fingers clenched in the sheets. “Oh, jeez!”

Remus’ mouth fell open. He sat back on his heels in utter shock as his addled brain tried to catch up to the rest of his body. Sirius’ shoulders weren’t shaking from how close he was to tipping over the edge, but from laughter. “Did you just…?”

Sirius flopped onto his back with a smug little smile on his face, still clearly mussed from a roll in the sack but far too aware for it to have been a slip of the tongue. “Oops.”

“You…”

“Oh, no, not the puppy eyes,” he laughed, dragging Remus down to lay on his chest. “I really do think your accent is cute.”

“You’re such an asshole!”

“It was kind of funny, though,” he snickered.

Remus socked him lightly on the arm. “We’ll see if you ever get in my pants again.”

“I will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you love me.” He planted a kiss to his lips, nibbling at the bottom one until the frown disappeared. “Even when I make fun of you.”

“You’re mean,” Remus informed him as he kissed the muscle of his shoulder. “And cruel, and completely unappreciative of the Midwest. You don’t even love me.”

“I’m only in it for the accent,” Sirius agreed.

It was another twenty minutes until they finally got off. Remus spent the vast, vast majority of that time drowning in kisses from his deeply apologetic fiancé, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #smut #18+

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kindahoping4forever · 3 years

Text

My Drug Is My Baby // Ashton Irwin

Thank you to everyone for your patience - I wrote and teased this story quite a while ago but I’ve unfortunately had some real life matters keeping me away from Tumblr. So it fits that I’m back with somewhat of a comfort fic (with a dirty edge because obviously) 😌. No big backstory, I was in a shitty mood, decided a horny smoke sesh in Ash’s backyard was the only cure and I wrote this surprisingly easily (for me). Thanks to @cal-puddies for assuring me that this wasn’t just a “me” fantasy (lol) and for cheering me on in the form of copious clown emojis in the comments section of Google Docs.🤡🤡🤡🤡

Warnings: A boyfriend!Ash fic featuring weed smoking, mention of masturbation and sex toys, dirty talk, brief manual and oral stimulation of a female, dry humping, cum play

Word count: 3300

Masterlist // Ko-Fi and New 2021 Taglist linked above

Let me know what you think!

You close your eyes, stretching out on the patio lounger and losing yourself in the music pouring from the bluetooth speaker on the table next to you. The cool night air blows across you and you surprise yourself with the volume of the pleased sigh you let out; it could just be the state you’re in but you swear it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.

It’s only Tuesday but you’ve already absolutely had it with this week and all day the only thing you could think about was getting home, getting off and getting high. You’d hoped to tackle those last two items on your checklist with your boyfriend but just as you were pulling into the driveway, he texted saying he'd be home late.

You felt disappointed but adaptable and made a nice little evening for yourself: you ordered dinner from that Italian place only you like, indulged in a hot shower that went on for far too long and spent some quality time with your favorite vibrator. To close out your evening, you threw on your panties and one of Ashton's hoodies and headed out back to have a smoke in his “garden.”

It’s not much, just a few pots with flowers and vegetables, but he’s so fucking proud of it, especially since you’ve helped him spruce it up with string lights and furniture, you’ve come to love it as much as he does.

You sigh again as the breeze continues to tickle your skin and you wiggle your toes, trying to decide if your bare legs are actually chilly or if you're just sensitive from your high. You're pretty sure you saw a blanket by the door but that seems super far away right now so instead you just hug your knees to your chest and try to fit them inside your oversized sweatshirt.

"Thought I heard a party back here," a voice teases from across the yard.

You turn to look behind you, delight decorating your face. "I didn't hear the car pull up!" You consider running over to him and leaping into his arms but again, that seems like a lot of work so instead you just sit up on your knees, pucker your lips and wait.

Ashton chuckles, bounding over to plant a soft kiss to your impatient mouth. "Mmm, you taste sweet," he comments.

"Oh! I saved some for you," you exclaim, offering him the three-quarters eaten bag of kettle corn you've been snacking on.

He snorts and shakes his head but still dips inside for a handful. "Midnight snack in the garden and about 20 minutes ago I got five different messages that had no words but roughly three dozen kiss emojis… my love, are you high?" He spots your pipe on the table and turns it over in his hands, exaggeratedly inspecting.

"Why, you jealous?" You giggle as you swipe it back from him.

"A little," he laughs, running a hand over your face and grinning as you melt into his touch. "Had a bit of a day myself."

You pout at his statement, yanking him down into another kiss, mewling as his beard scratches your face. "I was thinkin’ about packing another bowl, come smoke with me, tell me about it,'' you insist.

“Planned on it when I heard you back here,” he smiles. “Might need to go in and grab us another snack though, evidently.”

You stick your tongue out at him. "Oh wow, you're right, I am super sweet," you observe distractedly, now happily licking your own lips.

Ash laughs joyfully, settling into the chaise opposite yours. You start off asking softball questions about each other’s day, wanting to save the bigger complaints for later, when the high can take the edge off. In between anecdotes, there’s that comfortable silence you always love falling into with him. The two of you are thinkers as well as talkers and sometimes you need to collect your thoughts before you launch into the next topic; you love that you both recognize and appreciate that need. You also love the chance to just observe your man, love watching his wheels turn as his mind works, love taking him in, marveling that he exists in your world.

Tonight you find yourself fascinated as he takes the supplies off the table and gets to work, fingers reaching into the stash jar to break off pieces of the bud, long hair falling in his face as he methodically loads them into the grinder. You can’t take your eyes off him, the metallic cylinder seeming to disappear in his large hands, veins becoming visible as he grips it, arms tensing and tattoos flexing as he twists, offering you a soft smile when he notices your gaze.

He stretches in his chair, trying to reach the pipe near you. It takes a minute to register that you should hand it to him, you’re caught up thinking about how big he looks leaning across the table, how his t-shirt pulling across his chest like that makes you want to bury your face in it, how warm it’d be, how safe and content you would feel.

Ashton gently says your name, breaking you from your reverie and gesturing towards the pipe.

You grab the glass piece and happily plop onto his chair to hand it to him, pecking him on the cheek for good measure. He chuckles at your eagerness, shifting to make room for you; he watches amusedly as you attempt to find a sitting position opposite him that is both comfortable and allows you to cover yourself with your hoodie.

“You know you’d probably be warmer if you didn’t come out here pantsless, baby.”

“You know I don’t believe in pants after 11pm, I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing,” you reply with playful indignance, looking up at him triumphantly as you successfully bring the sweatshirt down over your crossed legs.

He cackles as he packs the ground weed into the bowl; he nudges your knee, which you correctly assume is his way of asking for the lighter he knows is in your hoodie pocket. You hand it to him and watch as he lights up and starts to take his first couple hits.

You intended to pay more attention - admire his lips wrapping around the mouthpiece, his fingers flicking the lighter, let yourself be awed at how small your pipe looks in his hand - but you got distracted at the sight of his thick thighs as he sits cross-legged in his favorite basketball shorts. You think to yourself you don’t appreciate Ashton’s legs enough and reach out to tenderly rub your palms over them, humming contentedly when you find his skin as warm and comforting as you imagined.

“Baby...” He squeezes your hand on his thigh, refocusing your attention as smoke pours from his mouth. “You’re in a mood tonight, aren’t ya?” You can tell by his sing-songy tone and goofy smile he’s already starting to relax.

“Been thinkin’ bout relaxing with you like this all day,” you say dreamily. He offers you the pipe and you take it, practically purring when he sneaks his hands inside your sweatshirt and strokes over your legs while you smoke like you did with him. “Just happy you’re home and here with me.”

Ash pulls you into a slow kiss, tongue moving in the same delicate pattern his fingers are tracing on your thighs. “I missed you too, baby,” he admits as he pulls away. “You know I try not to be a downer but it was one of those days where I couldn’t help thinking it would’ve been better if we’d just shut off our alarms and stayed in bed together.”

“God, fucking same,” you commiserate, taking one more puff before passing the pipe back to him. “Tell me what happened.”

The two of you go back and forth trading stories, the pipe and every so often, a kiss. After a while, he decides to pack one more bowl and you lean back opposite him on the chair as he sets up again. You look at the stars, smiling to yourself as the combination of your high, the breeze and the sound of Ash quietly singing along to your playlist makes you shiver. Today was hard but if it’s what you had to go through to end up here in this moment? It was worth it.

You sit up on your elbows when you hear the spark of the lighter. You watch him take a long drag from the pipe and you’re not sure what it is but he just looks so goddamn beautiful, you find yourself overcome. Before you even realize what you’re doing, you crawl over to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

He giggles softly, sitting the pipe aside as you attach your mouth to his neck, giving him what could either be three hundred quick kisses or just three long ones, you’re not sure, your lips seem to be moving of their own accord and really all you’re thinking about in this moment is how much you wish the beard burn you’re feeling on your face was between your thighs.

“You good, baby?” He asks with a slight rasp in his voice, which you suspect is partly from his long day but also perhaps an indication he’s beginning to feel needy for you too. You take a detour to nip at his ear for a second before you kiss your way down his neck again; you work your mouth over the front and you moan when your tongue feels the vibrations of the soft moan he lets out.

You climb into his lap, straddling him and he stretches out his legs to accommodate you. You wrap yourself around him, in a kind of koala hug for a beat or two before quietly murmuring, “Been thinkin’ bout this all day too.” You offer him a deep, passionate kiss that tells him how much you need him, today, everyday and right now this fucking minute.

Ash waits for your lips to slow and then he pulls away, cradling your face, looking into your eyes, searching. His hazel eyes are gorgeous as always but blown wide from smoking; you know yours must look similar but you can tell he sees the love in them, can sense your hunger. He makes out with you for a few minutes, following your lead, waiting to see how far you want to take this.

Your kisses are becoming increasingly heated, increasingly filled with need and he decides to have a little fun with you. His hands run down your back and land on your ass, affectionately rubbing over your hoodie covered backside as he cheekily replies, “Thinking about me all day, huh? What exactly you been thinkin’ about all day?”

A naughty grin spreads across your face. You love playing this game with him. “Started this morning when I had to drag myself out of bed even though I had you naked next to me,” you start, leaning into another slow kiss before you pull back just slightly, staying close enough that your lips brush against his while you speak. “You looked so good when you told me goodbye, laying there half-asleep, cock more awake than you were. Wished I’d taken the time to slip you inside me, started off my day by feeling you get hard for me.” You begin grinding into his lap to emphasize your point.

Ashton licks over your lips, squeezing your ass approvingly as you move over him. “If you’d have done that, I guarantee neither of us would’ve left the house today,” he laughs sinfully. “What else, baby?”

Your hands brush over his bearded cheeks. “Every time I saw my reflection today I expected to see the marks your beard leaves - every weekend I just get so used to seeing my neck and chest so red… I miss it when we have to go back to reality,” you sigh, leaning back on your hands as you grind, exposing your neck, whining a little as he takes the bait and sucks a few spots on your skin, purposefully dragging his beard on you.

“Like that, baby?” He eggs you on, helping you ride him over his shorts, hands now roaming your ass over your panties, your hoodie having ridden up from your movements. “You want to know something I thought about today?” Suddenly his fingers are firmly gripping you and he gently lifts his hips up against your center, meeting your hips a few times to show you how hard you’ve made him.

You nod, gasping as you feel the swollen head of his cock rub directly over your clit, just two thin pieces of fabric separating you. Weed always makes you sensitive but you can’t believe how you can feel yourself already soaking through your underwear, making them feel even thinner than they already are.

You can tell Ash notices it too, his fingers moving down your ass, inching closer to your pussy, clearly having felt the wet spot you’re spreading on his shorts and wanting to feel it for himself. “Mind was wandering while I sat in traffic… thought about that time we got caught in that big jam driving home from the airport? Been so long since I’d seen you… you didn’t want to delay our reunion any longer so you started jerking me off right there,” he remembers, breath heavy.

For a brief second you think he might pick you up and take you inside, fuck you against the glass door or maybe on the table in the entryway. But instead he keeps moving his hips with yours, biting his lip as the friction builds. "Got so hard remembering your lips wrapping around my cock just as I started to cum… I was so sure someone was going to see us but you couldn't give less of a fuck… Jesus, baby, you're dripping." His fingers dance over the wetness that’s spread down to your thighs and you breathe his name as he stills and pulls your panties to the side, sliding his fingers through your folds.

You brace yourself on his shoulders as he teases your clit. “Thought about you all day, Ash... was so ready to let you have me however you wanted as soon as I got home… but then you weren’t here… had to do it myself, think about you some more.” You’re not sure if you’re making sense but you’re so far gone you don’t really care and judging by the look on his face as he watches you grind into his hand, he doesn’t either.

“Saw your vibe on the nightstand, wondered what I’d missed out on,” he laughs, pressing your clit a few more times before bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean. “Might have to ask for an encore performance, you know I love watchin’ you, baby.”

You feel his cock throb beneath you, as if to back up his claim. You groan and grip the tent in his shorts, pulling the material slack against him and squeezing, watching in awe as precum seeps through the fabric, leaving his bottoms almost as wet as yours. You can’t stop picturing how angry and red his cock must be from leaking like this; you decide you need to see it and pull him out of his shorts, whining when you see how shiny and wet he is for you.

You tap his cock on your clothed clit, rolling your hips over him, the both of you moaning at the motion. As good as it feels, it’s not enough and you push your panties to the side again and rub his tip directly against you, whimpering as he growls your name, his hands flying to your hips to keep you moving.

Ashton’s fingers dig into your skin as he holds you against him, thrusting steadily through your wet folds. In your hazy state, you have the briefest thought of slipping him inside you but you’re already sure you could cum from this and it’s just feeling so good… has anything ever felt this good? You don’t want to stop. As you slide your pussy over his length, you can feel every ridge, every vein, you swear you can even feel his pulse as you move against his cock. You can’t stop.

“So fucking wet, baby,” he pants, hips moving wildly now. He slaps your ass a couple times, partly hoping it’ll get you moving faster and partly hoping it’ll get you to cum sooner because he’s not sure how much longer he can hold out. “Were you this soaked when you played with yourself earlier?”

You moan when you feel the sting of his palm. “Of course not,” you huff, nearing your end. “Nothing’s ever as good as when I’m with you… fuck Ash… love your cock so much, don’t even need it inside me to get off,” you ramble as you move eagerly on him. A few breathless whimpers later, you’re grabbing onto his shoulders as you cum and shake against him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck,” he groans, pushing through your wetness once more just as it gets to be too much. You feel his cock jump and then he’s shooting cum all across your pussy; you gasp when you feel the warmth of his release on your thighs, a stark contrast to your cool, exposed skin.

Ashton tries to keep his eyes open so he can watch himself cover you in rope after rope but between the noises you’re making and the relief of finishing, he has to let his head fall back in bliss. You lean over him, softly nibbling at his lips as he comes down.

“Hi,” you coo as his eyes flutter open.

“Hey,” he sighs, dazed.

“Think you ruined my panties,” you smirk.

Ash grins devilishly. “Is that a complaint?”

You coyly shrug and squeal as he suddenly presses the latch on the armrest, laying the chair flat, settling back to easily hoist you up over his face. You let out a desperate “Oh! Ash!” as his tongue licks you clean, eagerly moving across your folds and your thighs, mixing his cum with yours and swallowing it all down.

As he pulls away, he flicks over your clit a couple times, laughing warmly as you nearly jump out of his hold. “Relax, baby, I’m just playin’,” he soothes, pressing a soft peck to your pussy and each of your legs before moving you off of him.

Neither of you can seem to hold back the satisfied smiles painting your faces as you resituate yourselves: him putting his cock away and readjusting his chair, you peeling off your underwear and pulling your hoodie back down before crawling back into his arms.

You lay against his chest and the two of you bask in euphoric silence for a few minutes, curling into each other as the late night breeze picks up. You start to wonder what he’ll do if you fall asleep out here, when he reaches for the long-forgotten pipe, sparking the lighter to finish the bowl he started before you got frisky.

Your eyes meet as he pulls his hit and when he’s done, you press your lips to his, inviting him to pass the smoke from his mouth to yours. You easily finish off the bowl together like that and then you’re back on his chest again, sated and stoned.

“Sorry you had a shit day, love,” Ashton murmurs, pecking your forehead.

“Same… but it’s kinda funny to think that the shittiest days always seem to lead to some of my favorite nights with you,” you muse, softly sighing as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight.

————-

Thank you to everyone who has signed up for the taglist, both for the support and the lovely (occasionally hilarious) feedback! If you haven’t signed up yet, the form is linked above! (If you signed up and your name is crossed out or not listed, I was unable to tag you, please check your blog settings and either re-sign up or send me a message letting me know you allow mentions now)

@matchacal @cxddlyash @2fangirl4u @cashtonasfuck @talkfastromance4 @itjustkindahappenedreally @saywhatnow07 @mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @pxrxmoore @findingliam-o @fedorable-killjoys @trix-arent-for-kids @olivia-foster-irwin @saphseoul @calmsweetcreature @onthecliffside-mgc @feliznavidaddycal @himbohood @maggiesupertramp @wiiildflowerrr @karajaynetoday @ashtonangst @sunshineeashton @aladyofalbion @xsongbirdx @loveroflrh @memyselfandbea @calumrose @youngblood199456 @sunshineeeluke @irwindoll

#5sos smut #5 seconds of summer smut #ashton irwin smut #ashton smut #ashton irwin fic #Kindahoping4forever #kh4f fic #my drug is my baby #smut #thank you for reading!!!!#Feedback is appreciated #Reblogs (with or without tags - but tags are fun!) comments and asks would be a nice treat and distraction for me today lol #ok but fr tho i honestly have no idea where this fic came from like it just happened one day and i am not mad at it at ALL #these pwp experiments have been fun for me and I hope you're enjoying them too!#but don't worry if you're into my longform shit as well I've got a few things in the pipeline there as well #health willing i should be getting back to those soon so once again thank you for your patience #also no one asked but that pic in the graphic of Ash with the joint is probably in my top 5 fav pics of him 😍#shouts to Cass for signing off on that graphic even though it has the tangerine bag shirt which she is violently offended by like morally

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kar-krashew · 3 years

Text

my someplace is here [AO3]

Five times Alec gay panics at a bus stop (ft. umbrellas, jackets, and a bus driver who really isn't paid enough for this).

rated: T

for @rainyhuman and @peachygos (ily!)

This is so cliché and over the top and I have absolutely no regrets <3. Sometimes (always) Alec is a himbo who is in love and his actions reflect this entirely. I don't control these things.

One.

Alec Lightwood doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but the man across the bus stop is absolutely gorgeous, and he’s twirling in the rain like a goddamn movie cliché, and Alec’s first thought is holy shit, so maybe Alec Lightwood is an idiot, and love at first sight is definitely a Thing.

Alec’s second thought is that the man is an absolute maniac— because really, the dude doesn’t even have a coat on— but Alec’s the one with an insane urge to kiss a stranger in the middle of the street, so, whatever; They’re probably both maniacs.

Alec’s third thought is that he’s about to miss his bus. Shit.

—

Two.

For the record, Alec does not usually walk into bus stop poles while staring at his phone, nor does he usually yell out “Ow, shit — !” if the aforementioned event does happen to occur. He does, however, end up doing both of these things at once a week later, and the stifled laughter behind him informs him that someone at the stop has definitely seen him, and he’s never going to live this down, ever.

“I’ve personally found that walking around an obstacle tends to be much more effective, darling,” the someone says, and Alec supposes that was called for, but hey, rude. He looks up to face the speaker, preparing himself to be offended, and—

Oh.

It’s the beautiful stranger from last time.

The man smirks at him from the bench, drenched again, and God, he’s even prettier up close. Brown eyes, smudged eyeliner, water trickling down his neck, with a tunic open down to his navel and pants that look painted on— Alec’s brain is short-circuiting.

“Hit your head a little hard there? Or do you just see something you like?”

“Huh?” Alec glances up from where he’s been staring at the man’s collarbones.

“I asked if you saw something you liked, pretty boy,” the man repeats.

Alec opens his mouth, presumably to say something that would be considered appropriate and normal in this situation, but he somehow misses his own memo and instead stammers out: “I, uh, I have an umbrella.”

He prays the rain will have mercy and just drown him on the spot.

The man’s brow quirks upwards in amusement. “Excuse me?”

Alec, unfortunately, is still alive, so he must now suffer the embarrassment he’s managed to cause himself and find a way to explain whatever has just come out of his mouth. He ducks his head, trying to avoid eye contact as he speaks. “If you want it,” he elaborates, “I have an umbrella I can give you.”

The stranger just looks at him for a moment. Alec’s sure he’s going to be told to fuck off (which would be a perfectly understandable reaction and probably have been his own in this situation) but after another second, the man defies all of his expectations and grins, so wide that it steals a little of Alec’s breath away.

“Handsome and chivalrous, I see. Do you make a habit of offering your belongings to strangers?” the guy asks. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll need it later. Perhaps you should rescind your offer, I promise I won’t harbor any grudges.”

“I have a coat,” Alec insists, “and you’re. . .” —incredibly attractive, doing things to my brain function— “more in need of its services.”

He’s not really sure why he’s so adamant about this, especially since the man is right: he will be needing the umbrella later, but his pride’s involved now, and he hasn’t really been thinking things through for the past ten minutes anyway. He might as well argue about his dumb umbrella with a beautiful man at a bus stop.

“I suppose you’re right,” comes the man’s response. He taps painted nails against his chin as he hums. “I’m not in much of a position to refuse, now, am I? Though, I doubt I’d refuse any position with you involved,” he winks. “But, yes, if you’re being serious, I shall gladly accept your umbrella.”

Alec blinks. He honestly did not think that argument would’ve worked. (He chooses to ignore the blatant innuendo to preserve his sanity for now.)

“Well?” the man prompts.

“Oh! Yeah, sure.” Really, the whole zoning-out-while-staring-at-the-hot-guy thing is going to become a problem very fast if Alec keeps doing it every two minutes. He gathers his thoughts enough to fumble with the umbrella in his hand and give it to the man, who accepts it with a graceful flourish.

“I’m Magnus Bane, by the way,” the man offers. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“I’m Alec. Lightwood. My name’s Alec Lightwood.”

Magnus holds out a ring-covered hand from where he’s sitting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alec. Short for Alexander, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Alec nods. He reaches out to shake Magnus’s hand, adding, “but no one really calls me that.”

Magnus’s smile turns into something incredibly flirty, and Alec can feel his cheeks heating up. “I like to be special, Alexander,” the other says, “and it suits you far better.”

Alec’s not really sure how to respond to that, because the way Magnus says his name is doing things to him, and that, combined with the fact that he’s still clutching Magnus’s soft hand in his own, is probably going to give him a heart attack. He’s about to say something decidedly stupid about Magnus already being special and perfect and amazing when the bus saves him from humiliation and pulls up next to them.

Alec releases Magnus’s grip to awkwardly gesture at the vehicle. “I should really. . . you know,” he trails off, and Magnus blinks at him for a second, surprised.

“Oh, right! You should get going, places to be and all that.” He waves his hand through the air dismissively. “I’ll return your umbrella to you next week, same time?”

Alec smiles dopily as he nods. “That sounds great.” He takes a step back. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Of course.” Magnus gives him a little wave. “It was lovely to meet you, Alexander. Safe travels.”

“Thanks, uh, you too.”

Having to walk home in the rain is so worth it.

—

Three.

Izzy laughs at Alec for the entire week when she finds out why his umbrella’s been missing, then makes it worse by telling Jace, who gives Alec an incredibly long-winded speech about umbrellas as metaphors for protection during sex or something. He also deigns to throw a condom at Alec’s face when he leaves to get the bus, which sends Izzy into another bout of cackling laughter.

They’re both assholes, and Alec is never going to cover for them at family dinners ever again.

So he’s scrolling through his phone at the bus stop, trying his best to ignore the increasingly obscene texts his siblings are sending him, when Magnus shows up, bright and beaming and decidedly dry this time, though he’s still not wearing a jacket despite the cold.

And dear lord. If Alec thought Magnus looked gorgeous while soaked in rainwater, this is something else entirely. Gold-streaked hair, unbuttoned shirt, immaculate matching eyeshadow— fuck.

“Alexander!” Magnus greets. He sits down beside Alec on the bench, and grins as he hands over Alec’s umbrella. “Finally a little dry, hm? Though I might’ve underestimated the cold and left my coat back home.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. “Not that you were wearing one when it was raining.” He’s trying his best not to stare at Magnus’s mouth, but the man is very close to Alec’s face right now, and he cannot be blamed if his gaze slips a few times, okay? He’s only human.

Magnus shrugs, drawing Alec’s sight to his shoulders instead. “Coats are irrelevant, anyway. I haven’t worn mine all week, so I might as well continue the trend,” he remarks, and Alec snorts.

“I don’t think that’s as impressive as you think it is. You sound like a petulant toddler. How have you not had, like, five colds by now?” he says. Magnus feigns a pout in response, and Alec stifles a laugh.

“Such cruelty, Alexander!” Magnus replies, “Ah, I suppose I’ll just have to suffer the elements until I’m finally back home again, since no one seems to harbor any sympathy for me. Woe is me, and all that.” He tightens his hands around his biceps, rubbing up and down to warm himself up while sighing dramatically, and Alec, well,

Alec gets a really stupid idea.

“Do you want my jacket?” he asks. “I won’t be out in the cold for that long, and I’m wearing a much warmer shirt than you are.”

Magnus’s lips part in surprise as something conflicted flashes behind his eyes. “I—” he starts, then clears his throat. “I wasn’t being serious, darling. That’s your jacket.”

“Is that a no?”

There’s a moment of silence before Magnus shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I, uh, I’d love that.”

Alec beams, and Magnus clears his throat again. “You’re horribly trusting of someone you’ve only met twice,” he says, voice a little strangled, but Alec just shrugs as he begins to wrestle the black fabric off of his shoulders.

“It’s just a jacket,” he explains, leaning closer to drape it over Magnus, “Even if I never got it back, at least you wouldn’t freeze to death on your way to wherever you’re headed.” He fixes the lapels dutifully, and smiles to himself. “Besides, you’ve already given me my umbrella. I trust you.”

“Is that so,” Magnus answers weakly, which prompts Alec to look up from his fiddling, and oh wow, their mouths are so close to each other’s.

If Magnus inches in just a little bit closer, then they’d—

They’d—

“Um!” Alec jerks backwards, face flushing, “Yes, uh,” he stammers, trying not to look overwhelmed. It’s not going great, because moving back means that he’s now being treated to the sight of Magnus in Alec’s jacket, and he’s having some issues thinking properly right now. It swallows Magnus’s wrists almost entirely and looks far too plain for his expensive printed shirt, but fuck. It’s possible that Alec didn’t think this through.

Magnus opens his mouth, hopefully to tell Alec to kiss him but also probably to tell him to fuck completely off for whatever move they almost pulled, but the bus suddenly turns the corner and pulls into view, cutting him off.

Alec’s not sure whether he’s relieved or furious about this.

“Next week, then,” he ventures. Magnus blinks at him slowly, then nods.

“Yes, of course,” he smiles softly. “Next week.”

—

Four.

“Remind me again, why your presence is necessary today?” Alec grits through his teeth, tightly gripping his umbrella as the rain pours down on them. Izzy punches his arm, not even looking up from her phone as she does so, where she is no doubt giving Jace a play-by-play of Alec’s every action as they walk towards the bus stop.

“Because I’m never one to miss out on good blackmail content,” she replies, which is true. She’s got about four folder’s worth of content of “embarrassing shit Alec has done” on her phone, most of it consisting of his painful attempts at being straight in high school, and Alec’s pretty sure she’s started a fifth, probably titled “Alec’s horrible attempts at flirting with men,” which isn’t that much better than the straight one. Alec is debating turning around and just walking to his destination so that his sister won’t be able to gain more content for her virtual blackmail folders, which is exactly when Magnus comes into Alec’s field of vision.

Alec freezes in his tracks. Holy shit.

Magnus is standing in the center of the street again, drenched from head to toe with his head thrown back . The streetlights illuminate him from above, highlighting the curve of his neck and the colored streaks in his hair as he laughs to himself, staring up at the stars.

He looks ethereal. Alec’s never been one for the romantics, but he’s pretty sure this is what poets mean when they talk about true love and angels and immortal moments in time.

“Oh, he’s hot,” Izzy whispers approvingly. Alec agrees, because, obviously, but he pretends he’s unaffected and straightens his face.

“He’s probably freezing,” he says instead. Izzy rolls her eyes— she gets that from him, he really should stop doing that— and then, before Alec can stop her, calls out.

“Hey! Hot Umbrella Guy!”

What the fuck.

“Are you insane?” Alec hisses. He was trying to look nonchalant and not like the totally lovestruck idiot he is, but now Izzy is waving at Magnus like a maniac and Magnus has noticed them and is walking towards them and Alec is going to die. He’s going to write Izzy out of his will and then he is going to collapse into a heap of embarrassment and gay panic right here, and it’s going to be his sister’s fault.

“Relax a little, hermano,” Izzy replies, and before Alec can provide her with an alphabetized list for every reason he cannot relax, Magnus is already standing before them, smiling as water trickles from his hair.

God, he’s beautiful.

“Hello, hello!” he greets. Alec suddenly notices that Magnus is wearing Alec’s jacket, which is, well. Something. (Izzy is never going to let him live this down, and also Alec is having a very hard time thinking any thoughts.)

Magnus seems to notice Alec’s wandering line of sight, following it and glancing down, eyes widening. “Oh my god, I was fully intending to return this to you, I’m so sorry. I got a little distracted. I’ll have it cleaned and returned to you next time, I promise,” he explains. Alec shakes his head.

“No worries,” he manages, cutting himself off before he says something even stupider like “it’s yours forever” or “marry me” or something, and Izzy snorts from beside him. Alec hates her.

“Thank you,” Magnus says, then turns to face Izzy, “And what may I call you, dear?”

“I like him,” Izzy declares, in what Alec assumes is meant to be a reassuring whisper but instead ends up being incredibly loud, “I’m Izzy, Alec’s sister. And I assume you’re the elusive Magnus I’ve heard so much about?”

“Izzy,” Alec warns. Magnus smirks and shakes her hand.

“The one and only,” he confirms. There’s a mischievous sort of glint in his eye as he glances back up at Alec, and Alec’s not sure how he feels about Magnus and his sister already getting along so well, but he’s sure it can’t lead anywhere good.

“Well, Isabelle,” Magnus says, “If I asked him, do you think your brother would join me for a dance?”

Alec chokes. “What?” he splutters. Magnus turns his grin to face him.

“If I asked, Alexander, would you join me for a dance?”

“I—” Alec starts, staring down at the hand Magnus has outstretched in front of him. There are so many reasons he should say no, and so many reasons this is a bad idea, but also the most beautiful man Alec has ever seen is holding his hand out for him to take, and what else is he supposed to do? “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

The first thing Alec notices is how soft Magnus’s hand is in his as he pulls him out into the rain, laughing as it hits his face again, and Alec can’t help but laugh along even as water soaks into his shoes and drenches into his socks. There’s something so childish about it; giggling and spinning in an empty street without any music, holding hands like toddlers, and Alec wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’re thinking too much,” Magnus murmurs, then he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “It’s about being in the moment.”

Alec smiles. If only he knew, all he’s thinking about is this moment: how the water catches in Magnus’s lashes, how he’s humming something entirely off-key under his breath, the way he presses against Alec’s chest. Fuck. Alec’s known this man for three days, and he’s halfway in love already.

He closes his eyes against the rain, too, and smiles at the thought: loving a man like Magnus Bane.

Yeah, he could get used to that.

—

Five.

When Alec reaches the bus stop today, Magnus is nowhere to be seen and Alec’s jacket is sitting in a bag at the bus stop with a little post it signed with the letter “M.”

It’s fine, Alec tells himself. Magnus is probably just busy with something else, and this has nothing to do with the fact that Alec froze up awkwardly when Magnus kissed him on the cheek last week, to the point where Magnus had to nervously laugh it off because Alec was too busy panicking.

It’s a flimsy argument, but it keeps Alec from losing his mind for about fifteen minutes until the bus pulls up early and Alec realizes that this is it. He’s not going to see Magnus this week— maybe not ever again, if Magnus has decided that Alec’s gay panic is not worth his time, and Alec wouldn’t even blame him.

God, he feels so stupid. If he hadn’t acted like a complete idiot last time, then he would’ve at least had some closure.

“Sir, are you getting on or are you waiting for another bus?”

Alec blinks, glancing up to see the bus driver raising her eyebrow at him. “Right, sorry, give me just a mo—”

“Alec!”

It can’t be.

“Alexander!”

Alec spins on his heel, turning to face whoever called his name, and oh my god, it’s Magnus. He’s running up to the bus stop, waving frantically, and Alec is overcome with such a large wave of relief that he forgets that the bus driver’s been waiting for him for like five minutes now and he climbs off and runs towards Magnus, only vaguely registering the sound of the bus leaving without him. He doesn’t even care; Magnus is standing right in front of him, panting heavily but still so beautiful and perfect, and Alec would walk home everyday if he got to see Magnus because of it.

“Alexander,” Magnus huffs, gathering his breath. He absentmindedly reaches out to grab Alec’s shoulder, and Alec immediately wraps his arms around his waist to stabilize him. “Oh lord, one second, I ran all the way here.”

“I thought you were gone,” Alec says, still holding onto him. “You left the jacket and I thought—” he trails off.

Magnus frowns. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I thought I’d made you uncomfortable last week and didn’t want to make it worse, but I didn’t realize how rude not showing up would be. I know you probably don’t feel the same way but perhaps we can still be friends? I can be completely professional about it, though you seem to have just missed your bus—”

Alec grabs Magnus’s tunic (because he’s still not wearing a jacket, Jesus Christ) and kisses him.

Magnus blinks at him when they pull away. “Oh,” he says, a little breathless, and Alec smiles.

“I don’t want to be professional about it,” he admits.

“Oh. . .”

Magnus still seems shell-shocked, so Alec makes a move to let go of him, shifting his arm away from Magnus’s waist, but then Magnus leans back in and presses his mouth back to Alec’s and oh, nevermind then.

Alec’s not sure how long they spend there, kissing like handsy teenagers under the roof of the bus stop, but he’s aware of a few cars passing (and possibly another bus), so he’s not ignorant of the fact that it’s definitely been a while when they finally pull away for more than a second. Magnus is staring at his mouth when they part, though, which is not helping Alec’s resolve to actually have a conversation about this.

“We should talk,” he manages, and Magnus nods, still staring at his mouth.

“Right,” he agrees. “That would be a wise course of action.” His eyes flick upwards for just a moment, and something flickers behind them before he beams. “My place is two stops away, if you’d like to talk there. Perhaps we can wait for the next bus together, since we seemed to have missed the one I usually take? It might take a while, though.”

Ah. Alec swallows back a grin of his own. “Of course,” he replies, “I don’t suppose you know any way to keep us busy till then?”

“I’m sure I could think of something.”

(The bus comes late, and they still somehow almost miss it. Alec refuses to take any blame for this.)

—

+ One.

Alec Lightwood didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the man standing at the bus stop is smiling softly at him as he approaches, twirling an umbrella between his hands as he waits, and Alec’s first thought is holy shit, so maybe Alec Lightwood was an idiot, because what else could it have been?

“Hello, stranger,” the man says when Alec finally reaches the stop. He glances down, taking in Alec’s rain-soaked button down and slacks, and grins. “Forget your umbrella back home?”

Alec laughs. “My coat, too,” he agrees. “I got distracted this morning.”

Magnus hums, leaning in to kiss the rain off of Alec’s mouth, and Alec smiles into it, tasting the faint wax of lipstick and the salt of the rain. “Must’ve been a pretty good distraction.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. He leans in again, because he can. They have time. “He is.”

Magnus’s lips have got a lovely little tilt to them by the time they pull away, tint slightly smudged from Alec’s attention, and he’s never looked more beautiful, even with the dingy lighting of the shitty bus stop they’re standing under.

God, Alec loves him. He feels a little stupid with the feeling, and he can’t help but step back out onto the rain, holding out his hand.

“Hey,” he murmurs. Magnus’s eyes light up with understanding. “Care to join me for a dance?” And sure, Alec’s shit at dancing, and sure, they have to get on the bus sopping wet minutes later, but they’re both giggling like idiots and clutching the umbrella together between their intertwined hands and Alec’s got a little ring box in his pocket just waiting for the right moment, so what else matters?

They’ll probably have to invite the bus driver to the wedding, though. It’s only fair.

#my writing #malec #malec fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #i totally forgot to post this here but its fineeeee #also if ur that anon that @'d me ab the phrase gay panic im literally gay <3 thank u

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afriendlyblackhottie · 3 years

Text

P*$$Y Fairy

Summary: you and Chris just like to enjoy each other’s company away from LA sometimes. Part 2 of Risk.

Pairings: Chris Evans x black!popstar!reader

Warnings: Smut, fluff, daddy kink, oral sex (female receiving), weed use

Ask 1: um i just found out that chris evans used to smoke weed 😳 but like the sex tho?? 😩😩😩

Ask 2: how are black!popstar!reader and Chris Evans doing because I loved that one

(A/N: this is like four WIPs combined into one because that second ask really helped me figure out what direction to take the first one in because for some reason I was str.ugg.ling. Apparently all the ideas I had were meant for Chris and black!popstar. Based on P*$$Y Fairy by Jhené Aiko and Positions by Ariana Grande. I also listened to the whole Confessions album while writing this because I don’t care that it came out when I was 11 it’s still so good. Anyway, reblog always 💜 ✌🏾)

Tagging: @titty-teetee @iam-laiya @zaddychris @hqneyyincc @mariahthelioness29 @olyvoyl @liquorlaughslove @harrysthiccthighss @donutloverxo @queenoftheworldisdead @whiskey-cokenfanfic @night-of-the-living-shred @buckyownsmylife @blackmissfrizzle @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression (Just tagging people I know that read the last one)

——————————————————————————-

Things were hectic for sure. You had your career and he had his. Yet the romance was still enough to where you got swept up in. You felt like you were living in an old movie. He was always sending you flowers. When you couldn’t see each other he’d send you cute texts like they were love notes.

No one knew about what was going on, though. Sure everyone had fun on Twitter for a few days, but it quickly became yesterday’s news when everyone thought that was it. You’d sworn to secrecy to the point where your friends had no clue who your mystery man was. When anyone would ask you who sent the flowers you’d just shrug. Even on the card he’d sign with his middle name instead of his first.

He wanted to keep you to himself and vice versa. Like you were each other’s dirty little secret. It didn’t matter that everyone saw the chemistry between you. You like sneaking around with him when the both of you were in town. Sometimes even escaping the craziness of LA to just be together.

Like right now. It was stupid maybe. Everyone was bound to be worried because this was last minute and you’d left your phone at home and yet it still sounded like the best idea ever. You’d been so stressed about your newest album when he’d asked you to go away with him. You weren’t going to turn spending the weekend with him down over stressing and arguing with your producers.

As you laid in bed tangled in the sheets beside him it felt so worth it. The polaroid camera you’d picked up flashed as he took another picture of you as you let out another puff of smoke, you giggled throwing your head back making him do another one. “I think this one is my favorite,” he said, looking down at it with a smile on his face.

You raised up letting the sheet fall from around your breasts so you could look at it. “I love it,” you said, resting your chin on his bicep. He kissed your forehead before moving his lips to yours. He pushed you onto your back getting on top of you, tickling you at the same time until you were giggling again.

“Stop!” You tried to push his hands away still laughing as he took the blunt from your hand flipping over so he was beside you.

You rolled over so you were nestled into him. He was letting his hair grow out for a movie. He looked so damn good with that beard and that hair. You kissed his shoulder needing to feel him against your lips. He shivered looking at you before turning his head so you could kiss him.

He grabbed your hips so he could pull you on top of him. The way he was touching you, made your skin prickle. Your breathing heavy from how intense it felt to have him this close. Your head felt overwhelmed from all the sensations yet somehow it was like it wasn’t enough.

You laid on top of him. Enjoying the feeling of his chest moving up and down against yours. You bit your bottom lip feeling like you could fall asleep like this. He kissed your forehead again before peering up at him through heavy lidded eyes.

You don’t know you let out another giggle before kissing him. Were his lips always this soft. Yet his beard scratched against your skin. It felt so warm and inviting. Probably why you deepened it.

He wrapped his arms around your waist as you got better situated to straddled against his abs. He traced patterns into your skin with his fingertips. The soft lightening of the room only making you feel deeper into this haze you were in.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” You asked him with a lazy smile spreading across your face.

He nodded, sitting up making you sit with your ass against his suddenly growing dick. “Yeah,” he breathed, looking down at your lips before nuzzling your face.

“I love you, too,” you replied, you put your head on his shoulder needing to feel him as close as possible. It never felt like it was enough.

All the flirting you’d done at that interview and this is how you’d ended up a few months later. Heads in the cloud in love. You never wanted to come down. When it was like this, it felt like nothing else even existed.

“Fuck that sounds so pretty,” he said, he smiled against your temple. “You’re so goddamn pretty, Baby. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

You started kissing again except this time he sank you down on his dick. Making you feel so full you thought you might actually explode. He still had the blunt in his hand even as he helped you ride him, through no longer lit.

Your nipples were aching for his lips, but you were too lost to ask him to pay attention of them. His deep breaths tickling your neck yet making you feel more tingly. It was like you couldn’t think anymore. Just feel. Feel how good he always did you.

Combing his soft hair with your fingers. Tugging on the ends every time he went a little too deep. He was already stretching you out so good. It didn’t make sense how deep he got inside of you.

“Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s my girl,” he panted. “Yeah you like Daddy’s dick, huh, Y/N?”

You nodded. “Uh huh.”

“You love me?” He asked bouncing you up and down on top of him.

You nodded this whimper coming out of your mouth. Fuck you were getting so close. He was making you feel so good. You don’t think you ever felt like this before.

“Say it,” he demanded, moving you so you had to look in his eyes.

“I love you.” As your pussy clamped around him he forced you up and down his cock. “Fuck,” you cried, “I love you.”

“That’s my girl,” he said grabbing you so he could put you down on your back. He fully put out the blunt in the astray on the nightstand. He climbed back on top of you, spreading your legs out so wide as he started licking your pussy.

You gasped running your hands through his hair. “Fuck,” you repeated quivering as he tongue fucked you. The grip on the back of your thighs so strong as he had them in the air. His beard burning into your thighs.

“Oh, my god- Daddy!” You gasped as another orgasm creeped onto you. He was quick to move up so he could use that time to push into you. Moving his hips so he was deliberately brushing into your spot.

It was already too much. Why did he have to be doing this to you. “So good for me,” he whispered in your ear. “My girl, huh. No one else’s.”

“Never.” You tilted your head back and be took advantage, kissing prepping your throat with kisses. Then wrapping his hand around your throat gently.

“Love you so much,” he said, before finally bathing your tits in attention as if he was reading your mind. His mouth hitting this spot you’d desperately needed to be touched.

“I’m gonna,” you squeaked out like a warning, “I’m gonna cum.”

“That’s okay, Baby,” he panted. “Cum for me. Don’t you ever not cum for me.”

You started to nod when you felt it. Starting deep in your abdomen before spreading with this warmth over your lower half at the same time that this tingle sparked all over. It felt like you could turn inside out. Or like if he wasn’t on top of you, you might float away.

“That’s it.” He smiled lazily taking in how pretty you looked, your mouth open all wide as you squirted just for him. “Fuck,” he hissed as he began to reach that point soon after.

He’d fucked it into you until he couldn’t anymore before slumping on top of you. Drawing his hands around your waist so your back was arched, head buried in the valley between your breasts. You were pretty sure you could stay like this forever.

—————

At some point you had to get back to life. Inspiration seemed to hit you out of nowhere. Everyone thought you were crazy when you’d told them you wanted to scrape the album, but you couldn’t let the feeling go. You needed to capture those thoughts in your lyrics.

You didn’t want to admit that a huge chunk of the album was about him. About the things you did together. How he’d hold you down and fuck you just the way you liked. How no one else has ever been able to do you like he does.

He’d left to Boston to film another movie. It was kind of lonely in LA without him. It was crazy. You barely got to spend time with him as is even when you lived in the same city. Yet when he was away you missed him. Even the calls every night weren’t enough.

Which led to you sneaking off to Boston. You could try to keep a low profile. At least until you got to the safety of his home.

He picked you up in his Audi also you guess trying to keep a low profile in his baseball cap and sunglasses. Taking your bags after giving you a quick hug and a kiss hoping no one would notice the two of you. It was getting harder and harder for you to sneak away from everyone, but somehow you managed.

Dodger greeted you as you walked through the door. You got down to pet him while Chris went to set your things in his room. When he came back he pulled you into another hug, savoring this one.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said kissing you all sweetly. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” you sighed into him.

After washing the flight off of you and changing into something comfortable. The two of you enjoyed glasses of wine over the pad thai you’d ordered since neither one of you felt like cooking. You talked about finally maybe going public soon. About not wanting to hide it anymore.

You poured another glass of wine as he started kissing down your neck, pressing your stomach into the kitchen counter. He was so hard against you. He’d made you take him right there. First from behind and then turning you around so he could fuck you while you were sitting on top of it.

You scratched at his back as he carried you to the living room, bending you over again over the back of the couch. Somehow that led to you riding him on the stairs. Each time he’d made you cum so good yet still held on.

Finally he’d led you to his bedroom where he fucked you all night. Made you call him Daddy while he was deep in your stomach. Alternating between the intensity of his thrusts or pulling out to put you in all these positions so he could hold out longer.

When it was time for him to finally fill you he didn’t hold back. Cumming into you so deep that if you weren’t on birth control you were sure he would have just gotten you pregnant right then. The thought of it only made it so much more intense.

You’d finally fallen asleep all curled into him. Not being able to keep going any longer. He’d left you worn out barely even able to think. He whispered I love you against your skin.

When you woke up the next morning all wrapped up in him, both of your phones were loud going off. The buzzing noises against the wood of the nightstand made you jump. “What the fuck,” you groaned sleepily as you reached behind you to grab your iPhone. “Hello?” You asked with your voice feeling like it was all worn out.

“Y/N, where the hell are you?” Your agent asked. “And do not lie to me.”

“What?” You asked looking over to see Chris looking at his phone.

“Oh shit...”

“What?” You asked him.

“You’re with him right now?” Your agent asked and you groaned.

You wrinkled your nose as she kept talking because your brain kind of wasn’t turned on yet. “I’ll call you back.”

“Do not ha-“

But it was too late. Chris held out his phone showing you whatever was on his screen. “I’m not gonna lie I have no idea what’s going on right now,” you said putting your face into shoulder.

“Babe, they fucking got a picture of us,” he finally said.

“What?”

“Mhm. At the airport yesterday. Even got a good one of us kissing.”

You groaned. “Wow, we suck at disguising ourselves.”

He laughed bringing you close to him so you could lay on his chest. “I know.” He kissed the side of your head. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good.” You yawned into him. Your phone was still going off, but you just wanted to sleep.

“So I take it your team isn’t really happy that you’re here with me?” He asked.

You shrugged. “To be honest I don’t know if I actually care to even find out.”

He chuckled. “Good. Maybe this was a good thing?”

“Mhm. Now we don’t have to sneak around anymore.” You sighed contently. “I bet Twitter is having fun.”

“Oh definitely.” He laughed.

“I think you broke me,” you told him. Your legs felt all stiff and sore. Liked you’d just come back from a workout.

He placed more kisses on your face. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

“Why so you can break me some more.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Who do you think is going to be the most mad at us for this?”

“Hating ass people on Twitter,” you said with a chuckle. “Who will also be the happiest. I can imagine all the comments now.”

He laughed. “Oh, we’re definitely going to be reading them over breakfast.” He started rubbing your back trying to soothe you back to sleep even as you whispered to each other. You could worry about the outside world later. For right now you wanted to enjoy the cloud the two of you were alone on.

As he laid there, he promised himself that things would be different with you. That no matter what happened he’d stick beside you. Because as Chris looked down at you, your eyes closed all nestled into him he realized he didn’t want anyone else. You were it for him. And it didn’t matter what Twitter or your teams had to say. He didn’t care how crazy life got or how busy the both of you were. Now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

#chris evans smut #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black women #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x famous reader

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aellynera · 3 years

Text

Word of Mouth (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

WORD OF MOUTH

(This has been sitting in my WIPs for-ev-errrrr and I finally got in the mood to finish it, since I haven’t written Santi in a while and I missed him. It’s nothing too involved, just a slice-of-life kind of deal, but I do like the way it turned out. Comments, likes, and reblogs always appreciated!)

I think this one came out as GN!Reader (I’ve read over it a few times but if I’m wrong please let me know.)

Word Count: 2340

Summary: It’s not that Santiago is mad about it, exactly; it’s more that he doesn’t like the way it happened.

Warnings: Some cursing. Some angst. Some fluff. Argument. Two people being stubborn. As always possible lack of proofreading.

Santiago comes off duty and returns to your on-base housing, and he stays quiet for far too long. Usually he greets you with a kiss, or at least a hello, but this time he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t say a word as he goes into the bedroom, peels off his fatigues, and changes into a plain black t-shirt and plain khaki cargo pants.

He doesn’t say a single word.

“Um, hello to you too,” you call out, getting up to follow him. “How was your day?”

He just shrugs and shakes his head slightly. You get the same response when you ask him if anything interesting happened today, how training went, or if he’s hungry.

You haven’t seen him for most of the day, different assignments and different meetings keeping you apart while on duty, but you just know. From his silence and the way he’s acting, you just know. You’ve been trying to find the right way to bring it up, the right time to mention it, and clearly, that time is going to be now whether you like it or not.

He’s found out.

Even when different assignments keep you apart, you do work on the same base and everyone knows you’re together, even if you never officially said anything. It’s really no one’s business but it’s not really a secret, and you live together, so people just assume. And anything work-related was never unknown for long. Word has gotten back to Santiago, and from the looks of it, it has also gotten to him.

The fact that you can’t actually read his expression is what concerns you the most.

You sit down on the side of the bed and sigh again. “Frankie told you.”

Someone who had been in that early morning meeting with you, a particular someone Santiago identified as a best friend, certainty couldn’t keep it to himself. You make a mental note to have a very, very strict conversation with one Francisco “Catfish” Morales the next time you see him.

Santiago considers calling Frankie, so he can repeat exactly what he told Santiago this afternoon, after you’d already gone back home for the day. Instead he finally decides to answer you, his voice flat and dangerous.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s my job,” you reply evenly.

“It’s your job if you get assigned to it,” he runs a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not your job if you volunteer for it. That’s a choice.”

You furrow your brow at him. “Semantics.”

“Selection,” he responds, voice clipped.

You rest your head on your fingertips, four on your forehead and thumb on your cheekbone. “I’m the best person for this mission. and.. it’s not like it’s never come up before. We’ve had this conversation, Santi, we’ve talked about this exact scenario, and you even said that no one was more…”

Santiago raises an eyebrow. “Hypothetical and actual are not the same thing.”

“So, hypothetically, I’m not actually qualified to do this?”

“Actually, you should let someone else be the flag-waver this time.”

“The flag-waver?”

“What, now this hypothetically has nothing to do with being a goddamn hero?”

Your head snaps up and your eyes narrow at him. He glares in return.

“Actually,” you start, but Santiago’s short, humorless laugh cuts you off.

This time, your words drag through the tension like dull razors through styrofoam. “Actually,” you repeat, “this has zero to do with being a fucking hero and everything to do with the fact that no one else could get this done the right way and it is my goddamn duty to do what I signed up for.”

“There is no right way that this isn’t going to be an absolute shitshow.” The venom in his voice is like ice in your veins.

“Thank you for having so much faith in me and my abilities, Santiago.”

Silence falls on the room for a few long minutes as you both fight to check your emotions. You understand he’s angry - and maybe scared, although he’ll never admit it - and he knows you’re absolutely right on all accounts - although he is not ready to admit it.

You break the silence, voice tuned down and level. “Look, I wanted to tell you myself, but I didn’t see you all day. I didn’t want you to find out like this. Frankie shouldn’t have gotten involved. But I am going on this mission. I...I don’t want you to be mad about it.”

He looks at you for a moment, and this time you can read his expression, but it almost makes it worse. It’s a combination of worry, sadness, understanding, and yes, traces of anger. It’s not a look that suits him.

You shift in your spot on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed,” he says softly, then turns and walks from the room.

Oh. Shit.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a thick, uncomfortable silence. It’s been hours since your confrontation in the bedroom, and the fullness of night has fallen without a single other word being spoken between you.

You spend the night in bed alone, and Santiago makes himself mostly uncomfortable on the couch.

Morning breaks and you pull yourself from the confines of the comforter. Not that you had been sleeping very well anyway. It was warm under the covers, temperature wise, but it somehow felt so cold, and you haven't slept well. Your mind refused to calm down.

You shower and dress, going through your morning routine almost on autopilot. As you wash your face and glance into the mirror, one side of your mouth pulls up into a sad smirk as you recall Santiago’s last words from the night before.

Not mad, disappointed.

Your parents used to say that, when you’d done something against the rules, potentially stupid, and possibly morally questionable. It always seemed to hurt more than actually having them be mad at you, and you wince as you realize adulthood has done nothing to change that feeling.

You and Santiago have your fair share of arguments. Usually they’re not serious, even kind of playful. You both like to talk and you both like to be right, so a little verbal battle isn’t uncommon. But you’re still running the previous night’s...it wasn’t a conversation, but was it really a fight? Was it even an argument? No category really seems to fit, and this one just feels different.

You go downstairs and expect to find Santi on the couch, it’s still early, but as soon as you hit the bottom of the steps, the smell of freshly brewed coffee assaults your nose.

He hands you a mug full of the dark brown liquid as you enter the kitchen. You take it with a nod of thanks and he nods back. But he still doesn’t say a word.

It’s a good sign though. At least, you hope it is, anyway.

You sip from your mug as he turns back to the stove, pushing some stuff around in a frying pan. It smells like bacon and potatoes and your stomach grumbles in protest, and you’re not sure but you think you can see the corners of Santi’s mouth turn up just a little.

Also a good sign. Maybe.

You sit down at your usual spot at the table and play with the handle on the mug. You offer him a singular glance and then stare back into your drink. Clearly he’s not going to be the one to talk first. You sigh.

This is not the first time he’s done this. Santiago is a good man, the best you know, and he’s honorable and decent and so fucking kind, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned since living with him, it’s he’s damn stubborn and can be a petulant brat when he wants to. And in typical macho hero Santiago Garcia style, he will not be the first one to cave after an argument, especially when he thinks he’s right.

You’ll give him shit for it later, when all the animosity has worn off, but for now, you’re going to have to cut the tension. You’ve never been good with silence and it’s only been one night and now this brief bit of morning and it’s starting to get to you.

And okay, maybe you’re not always the best at communicating with him, either. So you’ll be the first to break, this time.

You sigh again. “Santi…”

He turns his head slightly, away from his work at the stove, and glances at you. An eyebrow goes up.

“Are we going to talk about this? For real?” you ask.

He shrugs and turns back to the contents of the pan.

A frustrated growl erupts from your chest as you push your chair back and take the three steps over to the stove. You grab the handle and push the pan off the heat, snapping the burner off as you do, and then whirl and stare at Santi. He narrows his eyes and takes a step back, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter by the sink.

“Please say something to me,” you bite out. God, he’s so frustrating sometimes. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first, but you cannot be upset with me for doing my goddamn job. For doing what I signed up to do. Just...fucking talk to me. Please.”

This time it’s Santi who sighs, and he runs a hand through his hair and massages a spot on the back of his neck. “I told you, I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” you nod, “but you really also can’t be disappointed.”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t just be...wait, what?”

“I said,” he says, uncrossing his arms slowly and reaching for one of your hands, “I’m not.”

You just blink at him and bite your bottom lip.

“I just...I don’t like the thought of you being out there without me.” Your mouth opens to retort but he holds up a hand to stop you, and you close it again and he continues. “I know you can do this, I know you’re totally capable and you can handle yourself, you could probably kick my ass on any given day in sparring, but...I just…” his voice trails off and he turns to stare out the kitchen window.

You squeeze his hand firmly and pull his attention back to you. He looks so handsome, his hair still tousled slightly from sleep and his t-shirt wrinkled from being on the couch all night, but he also really does look troubled and it makes your heart drop. “What is it, Santi?”

“There’s always a danger with any mission,” he says softly. “And it just kills me that I can’t protect you. I just want to protect you and have you come back safe.”

Then he’s pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your neck, and you feel wet spots on your collarbone and it makes tears prick at your eyes too. Santi shakes slightly in your arms and you whisper soft, soothing words into his hair.

He’ll never admit it, but you know. He’s scared.

Because he’s not wrong. This mission has the potential to go sideways and tits-up at the same time, and then flip over backwards for good measure. And you have to admit, although you’re not going to admit it to him because that would likely make it so much worse, that you’d give anything to have him on this mission with you. But you can’t. You can just do your job and do it well, prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

A common mantra in your line of work. One that you always stick to.

But you have so much more to lose this time, and Santi does too, and your breakfast is forgotten as you take him by the hand and drag him back up to your bedroom. You lead him to the bed and lie down on your side, pull him down with you, and curl up into his side. He just wraps his arms around you and holds on like you’re a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to come back to you,” you trace your fingers over his dog tags.

“I know,” he kisses under your ear.

You hope you’re telling the truth. He hopes you’re telling the truth. You both hold each other like it might be the last time, even though it won’t because you’re not leaving for several days, but you’re both acutely aware that you have no way of actually knowing when it might really be the last time.

So you just hold each other silently for a while, until a thought occurs to you and you huff out a gentle laugh.

“What?” Santi asks you, peering at you with heavy lids and stupidly long lashes.

You lean up to kiss him on the nose. “Wanna help me run some strategy?”

His answer is cut off by the very insistent complaint from your stomach. He quirks an eyebrow. “Wanna have a breakfast meeting?”

You giggle. “Probably a good idea.”

Santi plants a kiss on your lips and then gets up, holding out a hand to pull you off the bed and you stand, stretching your arms over your head. He goes to the doorway and says, “I’ll go finish making the food. Meet you at the table in 20, Lieutenant.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” you smile at him.

He moves to leave, and then calls out, “Oh, and Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Santiago?” you roll your eyes, another giggle escaping your lips.

He sticks his head back in the door, just for a moment, just long enough to take all of you in with a look of adoration, and mouths the words “I love you.” Then he turns and goes downstairs.

And you know you can handle - no, you will handle - anything that might happen, and your heart soars.

~end~

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

fall apart when it hurts too much

i had like three ideas for this fic so here’s all of them smashed together! ft. carlos and tk actually not being physically perfectly fine after being trapped in a fire, breakdowns in the shower, and an actual apology for that scene.

It's the smallest thing that breaks him, in the end. Ever since the fire, Carlos has been trying to keep a lid on everything, trying not to shatter even though he's been on the verge for hours now. He makes it to the shower, desperate to scrub the stench of smoke from his body, and then he just—

He drops the soap.

ao3 | 2.9k | 2.12 spoilers

Carlos barely makes it five steps from their house before his knees are hitting the tarmac, falling to all fours as his body heaves and shakes with coughing. He can’t catch his breath, and panic lights up in his chest, fingernails scrabbling at the ground despite the pain. Hands are on him, too big and rough to be TK’s, but Carlos doesn’t have a chance to work out who they belong to before they’re shifting under his arms, dragging him backwards even as their house explodes, a blast of intense heat washing over them.

If he had any breath left in him, Carlos is certain it would have abandoned him in that moment. Everything he’s spent years building for himself, all gone in the blink of an eye. It’s too much, and he collapses back down the second whoever’s holding him lets go. His eyes are streaming, a combination of irritation from the smoke, the tightness in his lungs, and a terror that he suspects won’t leave him for a long, long time.

He gasps, forehead pressed to the concrete, and then hands are on him again, but these—these, he knows. Carlos sags gratefully into TK’s arms, allowing him to pull him close and resting his head on TK’s chest, right above his heart.

He still can’t really breathe, and judging by the ragged gasps from above him, TK isn’t faring much better. But his heart is beating.

They’re alive.

Carlos closes his eyes, drifting away from himself as the fire continues to burn and the wail of sirens cut through the night air. TK curls his body around him and Carlos clings to that security with both hands. It means they made it out; somehow, they made it out.

TK’s lips press against his cheek, then his mouth shifts to his ear, voice rough yet still soothing when he speaks. “Baby, we need to move,” he says. “We gotta — They gotta check us out.”

Carlos feels himself nodding, but it’s the only movement he can manage. His entire body is trembling and his mind is frozen, replaying the last five minutes over and over on repeat.

God, had it only been five minutes?

“Come on.” TK tugs at his arm and, after a few tries, Carlos manages to get his limbs to cooperate long enough to begin to rise. A dizziness comes over him without warning and he stumbles, nearly pulling them both back to the ground; it occurs to Carlos that TK can’t be any more steady than he is. They’d been in there for the same time, after all.

Judd catches Carlos before he falls, and he sees through blurred vision Owen doing the same for TK. They’re led - or, rather, carried - to the ambulance, the flashing lights cutting through Carlos’s already pounding skull, and carefully lowered down onto the step. Unthinkingly, Carlos grabs TK’s hand, unsure if the tremor in the touch is coming from him or TK.

Oxygen masks are secured over both their faces and shock blankets wrapped around their shoulders, the soft material comforting. A kind-looking paramedic kneels in front of them, asking them questions about symptoms as she wraps burns Carlos didn’t even realise he’d acquired. He barely manages a nod or a head shake at the appropriate moments, his brain struggling to catch up with it all.

He’s so tired. All he wants is to be asleep in their bed, in TK’s arms, and for this to be a horrible nightmare he’s yet to wake from.

But their bed is gone. Their home is gone, ashes, only the twisted remnants of metal supporting beams left behind.

He’s shaking again, his chest constricting and causing him to cough despite the oxygen mask. Tears fall hot and fast down his cheeks and he practically falls onto TK, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs when he’s caught his breath enough to speak, pulling the mask down. “I’m so sorry.”

TK shushes him, hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay. This wasn’t your fault. We’re going to be okay.”

“But we almost weren’t.” He pulls back to meet TK’s eyes, the first time since Owen and Billy came bursting in. “I—I thought we weren’t going to make it. I should have had a fire extinguisher upstairs, this should never have… I...”

He cuts himself off, talking becoming an impossibility. TK cradles him close, kissing his head gently and whispering reassurances into his hair. Carlos hangs onto every word, not really believing them, but wanting to desperately.

By the time the paramedic ushers them into the ambulance, Carlos’s tears have eased, but the gaping pit in his chest has only grown.

He wishes he could wake up now.

They’re at the hospital for a few hours, run through a myriad of tests before they’re both declared fit to leave. A smiling nurse gives them the news, telling them that they’ll be home before they know it.

Neither of them have the energy or the ability to correct her.

Carlos’s parents come to pick them up, his mom producing a bag of fresh clothes for both of them. Where she got them from, Carlos doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask. He hasn’t said much at all since the fire despite TK’s many attempts to get him to talk, leaning into the doctor’s advice not to do anything that might irritate his throat. He’s not sure what he’s even supposed to say; their house is gone, and that’s… That’s that.

His mom loops her arm through his and walks him through the corridors and out of the hospital. Carlos only half-listens to her talk about fixing up his room for them and what she’s planning on cooking for dinner tonight; he still feels the stench of smoke and ash clinging to his skin, even though they were able to clean up a little at the hospital. He itches with the need to wash it all off, to scrub until his skin cracks and bleeds and the pain eclipses that which lingers in his bones.

TK seems to sense how he’s feeling, constantly providing support in one form or another the entire drive to his parents’ house. Carlos feels guilty for not checking on him, but he’s seconds from shattering. If he tries to focus on anything other than holding himself together, he knows he’ll break.

He realises that makes him a shitty boyfriend, but… But.

His childhood home soon comes into view, a part of Carlos relaxing at the sight. He’s beyond grateful that they came here instead of going to Owen’s; he needs every comfort he can get right now, his mother’s cooking and his abuela’s stitched blanket second only to TK on that list.

He turns to TK as the car comes to a stop, squeezing his hand gently. “This isn’t how I’d imagined bringing you home for the first time,” he jokes, trying for a smile, but it falls flat. TK gives him a token smile anyway, the same weariness Carlos is feeling heavy in his gaze.

“I’m looking forward to seeing what teenage Carlos was like.”

“You already know,” Carlos points out. “I’m pretty sure my mom spilled every story there is the other night when we were… Well, you know.”

TK nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a mere whisper. Carlos doesn’t get it, how even the slightest thought of their house can send him spiralling, but he guesses that it’s just another thing he’ll have to deal with now. As if there wasn’t already enough.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on it any longer, his parents calling for them to come inside, his mother practically shoving the two of them upstairs. Carlos leads TK to his old room by the hand, the decorations almost untouched since he moved out.

“You can just…” He waves around, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess. I’m going to shower, you can go in after me if you want, or I won’t mind if you just want to sleep. Bathroom is the door at the end of the hall.”

TK chews on his lip, not letting go of Carlos’s hand just yet. “I can join you?” he offers, but Carlos shakes his head.

“It’s pretty small in there. Better not.”

TK doesn’t look like he believes him (and why would he? it is a lie, after all) but he nods and lets go. Carlos lingers for a second, then leaves, grabbing the bag of clothes his mom left on his way.

He manages to scrub himself fully once before it happens. There’s still a slight tremble to his hands as he reaches for the soap again, the feeling of being unclean sticking to him, and he just—

He drops the soap.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Carlos stares at where it’s fallen, willing himself to just pick it up and carry on, because that would be the sensible thing to do, right? The normal thing?

But he can’t. Everything—the fire, the house, the goddamn soap—is suddenly all too much, and Carlos has to brace himself against the tiles as emotions he’s tried so hard to ignore pour out of him in a wave of grief and sorrow and despair. He presses his fist to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, cries wrenching from his mouth, so loud that he doesn’t hear the gentle knocking at the door.

“Carlos?”

Carlos gasps, straightening as TK’s voice cuts through the noise. “I’m okay, I’ll just be a second,” he calls, but obviously he’s not convincing enough as the door creaks open, TK’s face falling when he catches sight of him.

“Oh, Carlos.”

TK steps into the room, silently undressing and stepping into the shower with him. He bends and grabs the soap from where it fell and creates a lather on his hands, looking to Carlos for permission before going any further.

Carlos wordlessly nods, so TK begins rubbing the suds over his body, touch soft and feather-light. They don’t say a word, and it’s not… It’s not relaxing, exactly - Carlos doesn’t think he can relax tonight - but it’s… It’s something. It means he’s not alone, which is all Carlos could ask for in this moment.

A slight pressure on his shoulder tells him to turn around, so Carlos puts his back to TK, facing the spray of the showerhead. He doesn’t know why, but not having to look at him makes it easier, somehow, to say the words that have been spinning in his mind since this nightmare began.

“I’m so sorry, TK,” he whispers. “If we had just had an extinguisher, then—”

“Then, nothing,” TK interrupts, not pausing in his motions. “I used to be a firefighter, Carlos; I know from experience that when a fire burns like that, nothing can stop it. My dad, Billy, and Judd all had extinguishers, and they barely made a dent.”

“I still should have done more. You were so calm, and I was just panicking.”

“Firefighter. I’ve been in plenty of burning buildings before; you haven’t. And, trust me, I was scared too.” TK sighs, his hands stilling on Carlos’s shoulders for a brief second before resuming. “Listen to me,” he whispers fiercely, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You have nothing to apologise for, you hear me? Nothing.”

When Carlos wakes the next morning, TK is sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him, his hands twisting together in his lap. The set of his shoulders is tense, and Carlos can imagine the look on his face right now. He pushes himself up onto an elbow and reaches out, intending on comforting TK the way he’s done so many times over the course of their relationship.

What he’s not expecting is for TK to flinch away like his touch burns. Carlos frowns, sitting up fully and crawling over the bed to sit next to him. “Babe?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

TK shakes his head, subtly—though, not subtle enough—shifting away from him until there’s a clear gap between their bodies. It’s so far removed from last night when they could barely stand to let go of each other, and Carlos has no idea what’s causing it.

“TK?” he tries, keeping his hands to himself this time. “Please, TK, talk to me.”

It takes another agonising minute before TK finally, slowly, turns his gaze to Carlos. His eyes are wet and red-rimmed, and he can’t seem to look directly at him for longer than a few seconds. He clears his throat roughly, rubbing the material of his borrowed sweats between his fingers.

“Remember last night?” he says quietly. “When I said you had nothing to apologise for? I meant that—you don’t, but I do.” TK takes a trembling breath, then turns to him with a gasp. “Carlos, I—”

“Stop,” Carlos interrupts, shaking his head. He thought they’d moved past this; he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “I already told you, it’s okay. You were in shock, you were angry… I get it, okay? You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do.”

“TK—”

“Carlos, please.” A couple of tears slip down TK’s cheeks and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away, a desperate look in his eyes. Carlos hesitates, then sighs and nods, gesturing for him to continue. “Thank you. I… If I thought it meant anything, I would say that I’m sorry a thousand times over. I mean, I am, of course I am, but they’re just words, right? The same as saying I wish it had never happened in the first place, because the point is that it did happen and I can’t ever take it back. You had done nothing but support me, and I just—I hit you. There’s no excusing that. I don’t even know if there’s any forgiving that.”

Carlos frowns. “Of course there is.”

“Well, maybe there shouldn’t be.” TK looks down at his lap, shoulders curved inwards. “I wanted to use so badly that night,” he admits. “I was going out of my mind over my dad, and I’d convinced myself that I’d lost you. That I was going to lose you both. It was so tempting to go to the nearest bar or dealer and make it all go away for a while.

“Then I realised that I would only be hurting more people if I did, and I couldn’t do that. I’m not… This isn’t me trying to excuse what I did to you. You don’t deserve that, and I understand completely if you can’t trust me anymore, or even if you want me to leave. I’ll do it, whatever you want, just say the word. I can’t take it back, but I’ll do anything so that you feel safe.”

TK sniffs, his head bowed so low he’s almost folding in half. Carlos hesitates, then slowly reaches out, taking TK’s hands in his own. “TK, look at me?” he asks softly.

TK does, pain written all over his face, and it breaks Carlos’s heart again.

“I forgive you,” he says, squeezing as tight as he dares. “I forgive you. You might not think you deserve it, but I promise you that you do. I won’t pretend that what happened didn’t hurt me, but I understand why you did it.” He pauses, weighing his next words carefully before he speaks, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Not that he thinks TK will react like before again, but he refuses to make him feel any worse about the situation.

He makes sure he has TK’s eyes on him before speaking, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “But,” he starts, sighing heavily, “you are right. It’s not an excuse, and we are going to have to deal with this soon. Maybe not right now, but we need to have a conversation about these defence mechanisms of yours and how we can make sure you don’t feel the need to fall back on them again.”

TK nods. “I’m going to go to a meeting tomorrow, and I’ll talk to my therapist as soon as I can. I’ll… I’ll be better, Carlos, I swear.”

“I know you will.”

Carlos shifts closer so he can wrap an arm around TK. He stiffens at the touch, but slowly leans into it, carefully resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mumbles.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Carlos counters.

TK snorts. “I think you’ve given me about thirty.”

“And you’ve deserved every single one.” He kisses the top of TK’s head and strokes his side. “I don’t think you could ever do anything bad enough to drive me away. That’s not who you are, TK. You’ve made mistakes, yes, but I love you and I will keep loving you even if you think I shouldn’t because I know my boyfriend and I know he’s a good man.”

TK sniffles, his arms coming up to wrap around him. He hesitates a second, a palm hovering over Carlos’s chest, trembling in mid-air as the seconds drag out. Carlos holds his breath, waiting, then smiles as TK slowly brings it down, letting it rest just over his heart.

The touch is light, barely there, but it’s something. It’s progress.

They’re both more than a little broken, more than a little hurt, but they can heal. They will heal, as long as they’re together.

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