#* father — shaking hands built to hold too tight ! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hitlikehammers · 5 months ago

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you definitely need a 💐LADY WHISTLEDOWN REVEAL💐 for Steddie to follow up on the ✨Morning After✨ the Carriage, don't you???

Regency/Bridgerton AU

once last time: for @hbyrde36, @pearynice, and @penny00dreadful 💜

For perhaps the first time in his life, Eddie is at a loss for his words.

Possibly, it is because there are no words. None that he knows, at the least, and he knows a great deal of them—too many for his own good, according to some.

Though—possibly—it is because his heart is pounding so violently, somehow in his chest and in his throat all at once, that the breath for words at all is lost on him, and if it weren’t, the words would end up pummeled somewhere on the way out his mouth anyway.

Double-edged sword, really.

It is in true Edward Munson form, the way it comes out in the end, the way he confesses without truly confessing. It’s been a growing pit in this stomach, despite the glorious splendor of the past weeks leading up to their nuptials—nuptials!—and the Queen’s renewed obsession weighs, true, though she’s off the scent for now. But when Eddie’s father drove his family to ruin, and his uncle gave up freedom in the Highlands to enter back into society, to house his mother and his own half-fear-made-feral self before the age of seven, to make the Munson name respectable again, not least for spending most of his worth on the property across from the storied Harringtons—but then there was the one specific boy of the family, about Eddie’s own age, who had to come to the Munson’s every day for a month, almost certainly against the wishes of anyone who stood to reign him back and failed, an entire month before Eddie would so much as kick the dirt between them, let alone dare for eye contact.

Which is to say: Eddie started the strongest and dearest relationship of his life with cowardice, without even knowing yet that Steve Harrington wasn’t built to back down from a challenge for the life of him, despite the scars he bore for his stubborn virtue.

It wouldn’t really be true to Eddie’s own well-worn character, now, if he were brave about any of this.

Which is how he ends up slinking to Steve, who is sprawled comfortably on the settee with a book, before dropping a thick, twine-bound collection of pamphlets, years of publications that fall on Steve’s chest dramatically, though Eddie can’t even claim to have planned it so: he’s simply shaking too much to have handed over the evidence poised to damn him with anything like composure.

He trembles even as he stands taut, spine too stiff and shoulders too sharp, hands clasped behind him as Steve sits up, eyes the bundle curiously, unties it carefully and…reads Eddie’s last rites in his own pen because the dawning of clarity isn’t slow: what the papers are is crystalline.

That these are original drafts, in Eddie’s pen, is even more undeniable upon finishing just the first column: Eddie’s writing pen was a gift from Steve early in their years, and he’s never parted with it—too attached, too sentimental—not least when it started to show its age, blotted messy at the ends of lines, especially on a damning ‘s’ at the stop of a sentence.

So many sentences; to spell out his own.

Steve is quiet, as he thumbs through a few more issues: but it’s clear the perusal’s unnecessary. Likely meant just to buy time. Eddie feels an ache in his chest that he can’t place a name to; feels a burning on the ring finger of his left hand that he holds too tight: fearful. Afraid the minutes are numbered, now, before he loses the promise there forever.

But he could not have beared to trap Steve into marriage under the pretense of a lie. He may have already done damage irreparable but, but—

Whatever he can still salvage, for Steve if not himself: he has to try.

“So.”

Eddie’s attention snaps back into the moment as soon as he hears Steve’s voice; startles at the weight of the pamphlets falling atop the table to hand at his side.

Eddie feels Steve’s eyes upon him but…hells beyond if he can lift his own to meet them.

He’s a boy kicking at dirt all over again.

“So,” Eddie breathes; barely. His sentence, his sentence, and all the loss undoubtedly to follow with, and—

He’s too far in his own mind, in his own pulse too heavy to have noticed the approach of anything, even his beloved, until his beloved’s hands are framing his face, those sunrise eyes steady on him. Warm.

Still love there, in them. For him.

“Thank you,” Steve lets his thumbs roam Eddie’s cheekbones; stretch to the line of his jaw where it starts: “for finally trusting me.”

Eddie’s comprehension of time grinds to a halt; he thinks his pulse takes the brunt for how it stalls-still from its racing.

It takes him at least three tries to make a noise from his throat, and even then it’s mostly just a sound, rather than any words to comprehend:

“I,” he manages more as a squeak that he follows with a cough, which does little to clear his voice but a great deal to jostle his heart back to pounding as he flounders:

“I’m sorry?”

And Steve’s brows furrow, but only for an instant; an instant is all it takes to read Eddie top to toe and then soften, to use his hands to pull Eddie close for a chaste kiss that still holds so much:

“Oh, angel,” Steve breathes between their lips as Eddie feels the tremors still tight-wound through his person threaten to break him, to widen the cracks he is composed of wholly, now, and shatter him to bits, but then there is Steve, and Steve is holding to him, and then he’s…he’s speaking incomprehensible words that take too long to even begin making sense:

“You could not have imagined that I didn’t know?”

Eddie’s silence is the only necessary answer, and then Steve’s eyes are widening in shock alongside something close to horror.

“Oh, oh, come here,” the realization in the words is so tender, and honest, and Steve flutters his hands a little in his haste to lead Eddie to sit, to press against Steve’s body so he can melt into Steve's solid hold. And Steve presses his lips to Eddie’s temple, almost aggrieved and unbearably gentle, but the note of incredulity is undeniable as he asks soft, a low rumble through his chest, close under Eddie’s ear:

“Were you so anxious, my darling?”

Eddie doesn’t know what sound he makes, if he makes any at all—he did not anticipate this, he did not anticipate anything like this at all and so he likewise has no idea how it means to progress from here; his pulse feels all the more precarious as it hangs in a balance he cannot predict—but whatever comes from him, sound or some other indication only Steve can see and sense, he is being wrapped tighter, closer, cradled into the soft shirt, mostly unbuttoned to soft tufts of hair across Steve’s broad chest.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes against the top of Eddie’s head, laces their fingers together to kiss before dragging them to better secure Eddie against him, holding their twined hands to his ocean-deep pulse:

“We are family,” Steve murmurs with a certainty that shakes in Eddie’s bones—irrefutable. “Always have been, really,” he adds, a little rueful; “and soon by law and name, but your passions are my passions,” and he squeezes Eddie’s hand once in perfect time for both their unmatched heartbeats, finds the hidden moment where Eddie’s still-sprinting blood matches Steve’s steady drumbeat and somehow the surety, the intimate certitude in that peerless moment holds like a palm soft to Eddie’s frantic heart itself that cradles him, inside and out; talks him down from fears of unknown reprisals.

“Your struggles are my struggles, to remedy immediately,” Steve kisses at Eddie’s curls like a promise, more a vow; “your triumphs are mine to hold close and celebrate in full with you, for you.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat, but only as a precursor to the warmth the floods the whole of him as Steve adds, even more like true vows against Eddie’s own soul:

“Nothing you could ever do or be would make you less the whole of my heart,” Steve cradles him dear, caresses along his jaw; “certainly never something like this.”

Eddie’s heart throbs heady, surges and expands and he has to focus on breathing a bit more, for a few long seconds, because to be told that, to be touched like this, to be loved this way—

“How,” Eddie has to clear his throat to be heard and still his voice lands thready:

“How did you find out?”

And Eddie isn’t truly ever surprised by how he loves Steve in turn, he doesn’t remember what it feels like to breathe as less, but: Eddie will never not love, in an especially giddy way, how Steve lights up in something a little wily, here, a little mischievous, and now how it’s spiraled along with a glistening adoration that tingles through Eddie with every tap of his pulse.

“First,” Steve cranes his neck to grin lopsided Eddie’s way; “Whistledown was always among the cleverest minds in the ton,” and Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand in his as he peppers kisses along the crown of Eddie’s head, wholly unprompted, just because he can before he concludes with a sweet little shrug:

“There are perhaps only three people in the requisite radius who fit the terms, and two are my own sisters.”

Eddie cannot—does not want to—contest that point. It isn’t wrong, but more than even that: he’s honored to be counted alongside Lady Nancy and Miss Robin, equally formidable in unique—and therefore frighteningly complementary—ways.

But he does fear his fortunes to come, should they not be as forgiving as it seems their brother is—against all odds, though Eddie should never have doubted his beloved just because his own conscience ached; Steve is stalwart and steadfast, and Eddie’s heart has never rested safer.

He will come to know that in the very veins of him, with time. He’s certain.

They both will; Eddie knows it.

“Second,” Steve’s adding on, stroking their still-clasped hands up and down his own chest; “the way it’s written,” and then he’s lifting those hands to kiss again, his smile a tangible thing to feel, and a swift beam of relief to loosen lingering tensions in Eddie’s muscles:

“I may have been blind to precisely how you’ve lived within my heart up until these past weeks,” Steve returns their hands to his chest again and presses in emphasis on the beating he speaks of, the home Eddie feels safest in, now he knows he’s welcome wholly; “utterly spectacular weeks, weeks I could never have imagined,” Steve hums, then grows a touch more serious as he murmurs:

“But you’ve lived in my heart near all my life, Eds,” Steve says simply, then smiles to answer back to the question asked of him:

“The flourish in your theatrics is telling, beloved,” Steve speaks it like an open secret, and something he rejoices in. “Perhaps not to the masses, only because you did not advertise them to their fullest extent for as many years as I’ve been…” he worries his lip endearingly through a losing fight against a grin:

“Privileged enough to experience them in their entirety. To experience you,” and Steve leans to snag a kiss quick before smiling full: “in your entirety.”

Eddie bumps his shoulder against Steve’s in indignation, earning first a yelp and then a hearty chuckle as he protests with very little fire in it, too much soft-sweet joy rising in him now for the ever-more-pressing proof that he is accepted, that his work, his creative purists change little, maybe nothing between them, save that Steve said…

Steve said he would celebrate him. As if Eddie were someone to be proud of.

“You’ve chided and shrugged me off for it, for all my wild theatrics—“ Eddie cuts off the spike of emotion threatening to well in his eyes with wholly put-upon affront as Steve ducks his chin to kiss sloppy, playful, just short of Eddie’s cheek, a little farther back as he defends:

“Lovingly, darling,” and there is humor, ready and easy between them but there is truth, more solid, the bedrock of any other thing:

“No matter the kind of love,” Steve nuzzles him fondly, no—no, it’s so much more than fond:

“Always lovingly.”

And what is Eddie to do in the face of that, save but to sigh against Steve’s chest where he’s held, still; to nuzzle there a little in kind and if the steady lulling of the motion matches Steve’s heartbeat within moments, well: who is Eddie to protest the song that his whole world moves in time with?

“But third, my dearest,” and here Steve’s voice deepens, then lightens to a whisper as he breathes against Eddie’s curls:

“Robin knew.”

Eddie stills. And then he shoots up and braces himself over Steve with eyes wide enough to water as he gasps:

“No,” he barely mouths because, because yes Robin knew, or Eddie suspected—her interest in his dealings with the printer was too sharp, too pinpointed before it died off entirely. Which could have meant she found better distraction, but: she hadn’t.

Which meant: she’d almost certainly fulfilled the curiosity she’d already chased.

But no one had spoken, not a single person had come even in confidence to accuse—

“Oh yes,” Steve sighs gravely but there’s a smirk in it; he teases; “I was the only one she told, I do know that, but.” And Steve shrugs, shakes his head before he lets out a harsh whoosh of air as Eddie falls back upon his chest—at least now they can match, the wind knocked out of them both.

“Of course the possibility alone was always a gamble,” Eddie eventually concedes, draped over Steve once more—a little defeated, though he can’t quite put a finger on why. “I simply…presumed you’d have spoken if she’d,” he gestures aimlessly; “shared her knowledge.”

He doesn’t expect the response to come in the form of a sharp cackle, of Steve easing them both to sitting, but somehow still tangled up and pressed together tight.

“I’m not so proud as not to own fully that I am a terrible gossip,” Steve says without a shred of shame for it, and it is true, Eddie may well have learned his own lack of shame in the enterprise from the man held against him in the first place.

“It brings too much joy, why would I spoil the fun? For anyone, least of all for you,” he asks honestly, which is maybe shortsighted; Eddie knows he’s caused strife with his pen, but he’s never told falsehoods, and he’s never sought to ruin anyone who didn’t cause ruin thrice-fold first.

“I’d have helped you write it in an instant, if you’d wished,” Steve says, almost wistful, the last thing Eddie expected when he entered the room, his shaking hands full of damning evidence; “though of course you never needed my help.”

“I’d have wanted it,” Eddie is immediate to affirm despite his surprise, because his adamance is stronger; because any moments spent with Steve, now or then, before or since becoming what they are, have never been less than a privilege and a delight; “a couple’s activity, far more appealing than the promenade,” Eddie huffs a laugh, still a touch incredulous for how this all is playing out before him, still a little bewildered that his anxious, whirring thoughts and heavy heart were for nothing at all.

He trusts Steve unreservedly, but, surely, surely there is something…

“If I were to continue,” Eddie nudges, hedges with perhaps quite foolish daring; “you would not mind?”

But it isn’t even a surprise when Steve simply leans against Eddie and draws him sideways toward his chest, breathes gentle into Eddie’s hair and kisses his head as he reaches to play with his fingers, to spin his engagement ring.

“Darling, even if I thought it dull as bricks,” and Steve speaks it with such, such warmth; “it brings you joy. And that is my joy.”

And Eddie’s heart soars for the…for the knowledge that this is his life. That this will be his life: forevermore.

He leans to kiss Steve whole and full, and he’s met as passionately, as ravenously, until they soften to gentle pecks, back and further.

“Together then, I think,” Eddie declares, their lips still close so the words drag between their mouths, breathy with devotion; a new flavor of commitment as Steve’s eyes rake over him, widen first to then shine blinding:

“Truly?”

“Every soul deserves its desired secrets,” Eddie reaches to trace Steve’s jawline; to marvel because he doesn’t think he’ll ever see fit to stop; “but there is no part of me that I desire to keep secret from you.”

Steve smiles at him a little longer, before he reaches around Eddie and grabs below the stack of issues—Eddie’d balanced it all on his folio, with the blank sheets and his beloved pen.

“May I?” Steve lifts the case less than halfway sheepish, more than halfway impish; “I think you need a bit of a sendoff.”

Eddie blinks, largely adrift save for Steve’s heat so near to him: anchoring.

“Where am I going?” he asks, bewildered even as Steve's smile grows wider still.

“Wedded bliss in perpetuity is the hope,” Steve presses his lips firm and fast to the left corner of Eddie’s mouth; “but in practical terms?” and then he kisses just the same at the corner on the right before he stands to make toward his desk:

“Quite soon, our honeymoon.”

And oh: but they haven’t spoken overmuch about such a thing but, but…

They’ll be married, and then they’ll be free to…be. Together and in love and wherever and however they wish, as long as they wish it—they get to be husbands and revel in it, wanton and cow-eyed and blissfully besotted.

Eddie must spend long seconds daydreaming—wholly justified, he would note most heartily—because he comes back to himself in the moment, next to Steve where he’s seated again, tapping Eddie’s thigh with the stiff parchment he’s covered in his endearing looping script waiting for Eddie’s attention, which, of course he gives in an instant and oh:

Most Dear and Gentle Reader,

All good things come to their ends, or else their pauses, their crossways and forks in the road. And whichever this communiqué ultimately lands upon happily, my farewell to you now comes on the wings of pure delight: to announce the end of the season with love, with the culmination of a tumultuous journey where not every player walked at the same pace, but one that was nonetheless undertaken together, unreservedly, and met hand-in-hand at the turn of its tale to new chapters. New journeys to seek and embark upon with joy.

I admit my attentions have been distracted of late, so you must forgive what comings and goings I may have missed in the interim. Nevertheless, I think none have slipped my notice so monumental, and indeed relevant to prior missives, as the dramatic and dearly heartwarming culmination of the tale of one of our most scandalous subjects of inquiry, not least because he has not always relished the attention: here, though, he might see the end of his delightfully roguish absurdity, but may our loss be his gain, as it is most certainly his husband-to-be’s.

To wit: Sir Edward Munson has done the honor of pledging the pleasure and privilege of his unmatched mind, his unreserved compassion, his unequaled wit, his inimitable fortitude, his most miraculously peerless heart, and the indescribable joy he brings by merely breathing in proximity, to one Lord Steven Harrington: a man not wholly deserving, but forever committed to the pursuit of earning all of the above, and worshiping with gratitude his beloved, as is only right and proper when one is blessed so thoroughly.

The very sort of happy ending we rarely see played out in these pages to such heartwarming conclusion—for we may seek scandal, but we none of us can deny the unparalleled appeal when matters of true love rise to the fore. And triumph magnificently.

But do not despair in my absence, however long it proves to stretch—there is pleasure in the pathless woods, after all. Journey well, dearest gentle readers, in the whiling.

Eddie swallows hard upon the final words landing, settling in his chest.

How on earth did he get here? How in god’s name can he possibly deserve…this? All this?

With this impossible gift of a man, he—

“So?” and Steve’s tone is just slightly anxious, and oh. Oh, none of that.

Eddie tosses the spectacular, unthinkably praise-filled draft to the table and grabs Steve’s chin, tilts his face up to kiss him, long and hard and deep until they’re both gasping.

“You astound me endlessly,” Eddie breathes, settling his brow to Steve’s as he nearly breaks his face, he feels, for smiling so wide, in such wonder.

“Didn’t think I had it in me?” Steve smirks a little, but nips at Eddie’s lips all the while, and it’s thrilling beyond reason.

“I think you’re capable of just about anything,” Eddie says honestly, caught up in the feeling of it soaking through his ribs.

“Sap,” Steve laughs, but it’s a nearly giddy sort of thing before his tone softens, silken almost, as he bumps the tips of his nose against the side of Eddie’s own; “I had a good teacher.”

“Who in your family reads romance?” Eddie asks, frowning to deduce. Possibly the little ones outside their mother’s notice but—

He’s interrupted in the work of it by a gentle smack to his shoulder.

“The columns, you delightful knob,” Steve rolls his eyes at him, and Eddie’s too buoyant, too effervescent with joys innumerable that he cannot help but lean, nip at Steve’s lower lip and tease back:

“You do delight almost voraciously in my kn—“

He earns himself another smack to the shoulder, and a delightful flush to Steve’s cheeks, and Eddie laughs deep in his chest, his cares of no consequence; invisible really.

“Could you possibly think I didn’t read every single issue once I knew they were yours?” Steve asks, more chiding than anything, like he takes a genuinely dim view to Eddie thinking otherwise; and now Eddie must revise his position—his cares are of no consequence, here, save one:

To worship this man, with all that he is, with every moment life sees fit to grant him, and never to cease, only to grow.

“I love you so,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin; “so much more than I know how to say—”

“I know it though,” Steve says with clarity, with confidence; “I know it,” and he reaches to trace Eddie’s lips as he asks, less out of doubt and more to confirm, to swell with what it means to be sure: “just as you know it?”

“I do,” Eddie whispers, and he feels it, the swelling of certainty, of loving beyond words and yet being wholly sure of their weight.

“You quoted Byron,” Eddie runs the tip of his nose along Steve’s jaw, awestruck.

“I listen when you talk,” Steve answers simply; “always have,” which pings exquisite chords in Eddie’s chest, his heart dancing steps it’s never learned, save in loving the man beside him.

“And it felt appropriate. Bookending an era, one might say,” because of course Eddie began with such words, and, he, it, this…

It is perfection. It is so far beyond the realms of what he has earned or deserved and yet—

“Have I upset you?” Steve’s voice breaks in, only a touch of hesitation; “should I apologize for so thoroughly shocking you?”

“Never,” Eddie cups his cheek and draws him in to prove it.

“I love finding out new things about you,” he adds warmly, breathless when they part, warmer still for the heaving of Steve’s chest against his own.

Steve himself takes a moment to catch back his breath before he raises a brow in askance. Eddie, less the athletic type, is still this-side of breathless but: perhaps it is better that way. More reflective of the way his chest seizes while it keeps at stretching him wider, wider, wider still to hold his ever-swelling heart.

“To know that the adventure of learning you, is not only the adventure of a lifetime, but an adventure for a lifetime,” Eddie wonders at him, confesses the core of his deepest heart with joy and pride and abandon as he holds Steve’s face dear between his hands:

“Words fail that privilege, my dearest.”

Steve leans into his touch, and runs his hands up from Eddie’s chest, pressing possessive near his bounding heart, before both slip to either side of Eddie’s neck, stretching to cross behind and drawing him in adoring, ethereal for how his eyes shine:

“A privilege in itself, spoken from so fine a wordsmith himself,” Steve murmurs, close enough that the shape of the words on his lips brush Eddie’s like their own kiss, and then, more than any kiss, he mouths deep in earnest:

“How I love you, Eddie Munson.”

“And I you,” Eddie breathes, his heart a mallet for all the most ineffable, unthinkably rapturous reasons; “another thing words fail for the depth.” Eddie shakes his head, tries to breathe into and out through the wholeness of that feeling in him as a rule, his new norm.

“I’d live inside your heart if I could,” Eddie finds himself exhaling slow, almost overcome, the words spilling on their own for wanting, for feeling this much: “I’d hold you close inside mine.”

“And here you stand, saying you have no words,” Steve whispers, leaning close, cheek to cheek as they both breathe so close their chests lie flush; they can both feel the hearts pounding beneath the other’s ribs.

“I said no such thing,” Eddie corrects brightly, but it’s so featherlight, it’s a certainty that’s nearly weightless save that it’s singlehandedly shifted his entire world:

“I said words failed the feeling,” Eddie mouths against the barest hint of Steve’s stubble; “and to that I still hold.”

And if it means exactly what it feels like: Steve holds the same.

Because the way he leans away only to dive back in to devour Eddie, relentless, passion bleeding between them so fast and full that Eddie thinks he can trace the way it bruises them both so deliciously, marks them reverent and exuberant; the way Eddie feels a sparkling coursing through his veins and sees it reflected in Steve’s eyes in the moments they’re forced to part for breath just to plunge back in again within mere moments, to drown only to better learn to breathe at all—

There are no words for this.

But the truth is undeniable that the both of them feel it.

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certifiedskywalker · 2 years ago

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Trapped in the Highest Tower - Daemon Targaryen

The Red Keep is a castle crumbling under the weight of secrets. Everyone hides something...what's a little more if it means you and Daemon can be together?

Hightower!Reader

Warning(s): strong language

“Set your political squabbling with Daemon aside and see what I, your child, see.”

“I see only that he is stringing you along, tying himself to you to get his sword closer to my throat! Do you not see how your base decisions threaten me and all I have built for this family?!”

As they fell from his lips, your father’s words echoed in your mind like the ricochet ringing of the bells outside of the Red Keep. A warning or a death knell, you knew not the difference. Coming from the mouth of Otto Hightower, it all sounded grating. Gratingly cruel too, when he narrowed his cold, grey eyes and furrowed his shrewd brows.

“By dallying with Daemon, you squander every opportunity that has arisen for your sister,” he pressed on, a snarl curling his hairy lip.

In the pour of poisonous accusation that dripped from Otto’s tongue, you saw your sister: auburn curls like your mother’s and soft brown eyes to match. Your father wielded Alicent’s sweetness like a sword, stabbing madly toward the Throne. Yet, he stood like the Seven’s loyal, infallible Father while he claimed that Daemon wielded you in the same manner. They dueled, even when apart. You tired of the blood and the ache in your bitten tongue.

It was your turn to snarl, to strike.

“Alicent’s opportunity or yours?” Otto’s stern features flinched before they fell completely at your rebuttal. You saw the battlefield was leveled then, with neither soldier holding any edge. You showed Otto that you had seen through his veil of good intentions, and he showed you his hand of spies, how easily he could work the brick of King’s Landing against you. Against you and Daemon.

Only the bare, bitter truth remained, and neither of you was quite yet willing to face it.

Wordlessly, Otto turned to leave your chambers, green robes trailing behind him like an emerald shadow. With the shutting of the door behind him, you turned towards your bed, trembling hand reaching for one of the wooden poles that held up the canopy. Your fingers closed around the dark oak as you gasped, desperate to fill your lungs and squash the ache in your chest.

As you wheezed, your fingers squeezed around the wood so tight you feared it might splinter. Your wild eyes watched the flexing of your knuckles before drifting to the sheets, the silky, black robe that sat atop them. Your father caught you post-shedding of the robe, caught you decked in peasant garb, your midnight rendezvous attire. Still struggling for a full breath, you looked down from your bed to your wears. Beige and grey that covered it, hid your well-fed form.

As you looked, eyed the tears in the clothes Daemon had scourged for you, a dark spot appeared on the fabric of your trousers. It was a tiny dot above the knee, damp to the touch. You rubbed at it with your free hand and only after a second spot appeared did you realize you were crying. Still trembling, you released the canopy pole and wiped furiously at the gathering spots of wetness on your knees.

The edge of your bed caught you as you sank low, legs shaking too hard to keep yourself upright. You curled on the sheets, rubbing at the fabric until your palms began to burn. So stuck in the heat that numbed your hands and in the sound of your rapid, ragged breaths, you missed the scraping of stone against stone. You missed how the candlelight flickered to make way for a shadow that crept toward your bed.

“You’re late.”

At first, it was Otto’s voice, another of his fatherly accusations. The thought made you stiffen, stilled your burning hands. Puffy flesh stung as you looked up and saw the true owner of the voice through tears in your eyes. Daemon saw you then, the streams that raced down your cheeks and the defeat in your brow.

“You are far more than late,” he murmured, softer than his first words. “What happened?”

You felt your upper lip twitching up into a snarl, your body still fired to fight your father, but smothered it by turning your head down. Through the blur of unshed tears, you gazed at the stone floor, the crack in the wall that whispered of Daemon’s secret door. He knew the passages well, and showed you the routes during a night out. How bitter that memory tasted now.

“Darling.”

Despite the pet name, Daemon’s tone was cold, cut-ice-smooth like the sheets you sat on. Yet, you still did not look back at him. Even when he knelt before you, his knees kissing the kissing in devotion, you did not look back at him. Only when two of his fingers hooked beneath your chin did you consider it.

“Tell me,” he pressed, fingers pulling you by your jaw to face him. When you met his gaze, he clarified his ask: “who did this to you?”

You saw only him, his lightning-strike-lighted eyes and his sharp features, the lines on either side of his lips that whispered of his signature smirk. You saw him until you saw his free hand reach out, trembling as he wiped a fresh falling tear from your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against your skin with a shocking softness. “My father,” you murmured, “he knows.”

Daemon’s hands fell from your face, his own face unreadable. He remained knelt before you, gaze tracing your features as a hunter might carve the meat from a carcass. His hunter mind was thinking, setting a trap for your father in his mind. You saw Otto then, in Daemon’s narrowed eyes and scheming thoughts.

The bells rang in your ears at the sight. He is stringing you along.

“And you.”

“What?”

“You did this.”

In a rush, Daemon stood, walking away from you with his back turned. “What the fuck do you mean by that? How am I to blame for your cunt of a father’s-”

Then, it was your turn to stand. “You plot his downfall at each turn. Even now, you use my tears as an excuse to wet your blade and darken your thoughts.”

Daemon scoffed and set his jaw as he turned to face you. His long, silver hair framed his furrowed features as the strands flowed over his shoulders. You could feel his burning rage just as you felt the lingering heat in your rubbed-raw hands. His cloak did little to hide his fire and tensed frame, his large hands curling into fists. Yet, the look of the Prince filled your chest with a lightness that betrayed your words.

“Have you ever held feeling for me? Seen me as any more than a…a tool, a weapon for you to wield for the furtherment of your family name? You’re no better than him, my father.”

“Mind your tongue,” Daemon hissed, stepping toward you with purpose. He closed the distance he had put between you. His hands rose once more and cradled your face. When you tried to free yourself from his grasp, his hands grabbed at your waist and held you to him, close.

Close enough to kiss, and so Daemon did. His lips found yours in a fervor, desperate and wild. It was as if Daemon thought he could scorch your father’s allegations from your mind with his touch. It nearly worked too, as you melted into him. Your body leaned against his, your hands rising to his face to cup his jaw. Yet, just as you were about to surrender yourself to him entirely, retire the accusations that held you so, Daemon pulled himself from you.

Your eyes fluttered open and focused on his kiss-swollen lips before you found his gaze. There was no coldness in his face, only warmth. One of his hands roamed up your waist to your face to trace your features. Daemon dragged the pad of his thumb down the slope of your bottom lip with a tenderness that seemed beyond himself.

“You are my family,” he said, kissing you again, but softer. He pulled away just enough he could speak, his words pressed against your lips. “And I hold far more than feeling for you, darling.”

“Daemon-”

The Prince leaned back to look into your eyes. “Your father will tell no one of us, save for my brother, and Viserys is much too…preoccupied with your sister for much else.”

You shuddered at the thought and Daemon hummed knowingly, his hand brushing over your cheek in an attempt to soothe you. “My father sees Viserys’ grief as an opportunity, for his family.”

“Himself,” Daemon clarified, and you nodded. “And my brother’s eyes are covered by his Hand. He cannot see Otto’s true intentions and has trapped himself in the dark.”

“Yet, we see,” you said, hope in your tone. Daemon tipped his head in interest. “We do not have to watch. My love, let’s not stay trapped here with them.”

“Leave Viserys?”

“I would be leaving Alicent,” you said, and the idea made you ache. She was blind too, to your father. She was perfect for Viserys that way.

Daemon frowned, his face turning toward the floor before he leaned into you. His head fell against your shoulder and you held him close. His hair stunk of smoke and dragon, but he was yours.

“We could claim Dragonstone for ourselves,” he said suddenly, his voice muffled slightly by his hunched-over form. “We could wed in the way of my House, wait out the coming storm of succession madness my brother is blindly brewing.”

Daemon lifted his head and met your gaze. You held it, unwavering despite the thought of leaving your blood behind. In the night, you and Daemon saw each other, clearer than before. You leaned forward and kissed him; Daemon welcomed your lips and it tasted like a vow.

Inspired by that one Tweet. You know, the one that read: “The sluttiest thing a man can do is lift your chin with two fingers, brush the tears from your cheek, and say ‘Who did this to you?’ while trembling with poorly contained feral rage.” That one. Only, knowing Daemon, he would do that and be the one to blame…

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boywifesammy · 1 year ago

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imagine repressed & closeted transfem dean who never figures it out. imagine the sheer amount of guilt, fear, self-hatred and disgust he’d feel at what he is. big, clunky, dangerous. he takes comfort in his power, but it makes him feel sick. when he looks into the mirror and sees his hard edges, his body feels like it’s trying to rip open from the inside, yet he has no idea why.

dean plays his father’s wife until he dies. he takes care of sam and raises him as if he’s his own son. he’s a housewife in everything but reality. he desperately wants family, desperately wants to nurture, but his body isn’t built for that.

he’s taught by john and the world that he has to be strong. he has to be a man. he can never show emotion, because it’ll only be a weakness, and weakness is deadly. dean can never have a family because his body is wrong and he can never love like a woman because he cannot be weak.

so dean holds tight to those little moments of female connection with sam and his father like a dirty secret. he lays in bed at night and pretends he doesn’t think about being softer and lovelier. he stares at himself in motel mirrors until it makes him sick. he builds muscle and crops his hair short because this thing inside of him terrifies the hell out of him and he has to do anything to keep it at bay.

women comment on his looks a lot. when he’s young, they call him pretty, beautiful, gorgeous. they compliment his soft green eyes and plush lips and spattering of freckles. secretly, dean loves it. it makes that thing inside of him flare up in joy, which is why he knows that this is dangerous, and not something to be indulged. he stays up at night obsessing. shaves every morning and runs his fingers over his soft cheeks, flutters his long eye lashes, tries to find the soft edges of his cheekbones.

this thing is slowly eating away at him. the closer he gets to it the more volatile he feels. he jerks off under the blankets with a hand over his mouth to stifle the gasping, whimpery sounds he makes. the sound of his own voice scares him. his throat chokes up when a guy hits on him and john gives him a glare. one time he puts a finger up his ass and comes so hard that he sees stars, not because of the stimulation, but just from the idea of being wet and slick and pliant between his legs.

dean loves women and it makes him feel sick to the very core. he wishes that he loved women in a normal way. instead, he sees their curvy bodies and an awful, disgusting mixture of greed-lust-jealousy rocks through him. it’s all a strange, roundabout way of wrecking himself, because it’s extremely easy to play the role they want him to play, but god if it doesn’t hurt like hell.

dean loves fucking women. he’s desperate in bed but he’s always sure to be gentle with his thrusts. it makes him feel less disgusting. he likes shoving his face into a chick’s pussy, eating her out until she’s dripping, or nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he fucks her wet cunt. he likes listening to their gasping whines and moans. the feeling of it all makes his teeth clench with guilt; her cunt on his dick, his strong thighs, the way she keeps moaning his name. but it’s so easy to pretend in moments like these.

dean puts his face into her hair, and smells her citrus shampoo as she wails out cries. he doesn’t imagine being her, but he focuses on her noises, on the softness of her body and the wetness of her pussy. he always cums silently, his entire body quivering and shaking, because he’s too scared of the noise that’d come out of his mouth if he opened it.

when rhonda hurley makes him wear her panties, he nearly throws up on her carpet from how hard his heart is beating. they’re silky on his dick. rhonda calls him pretty, beautiful, she strokes at his flaccid penis through the panties and kisses messy lines up his belly. dean is hard and shivering by the end of her teasing, leaking through the panties and flushed from head to toe.

rhonda is both the best fuck that dean ever has and his worst fears coming to life. she calls him good girl as he fucks her. it ends embarrassingly early. when dean cums, it’s with a gasping cry of her name and a girly little keen that haunts his nightmares. he doesn’t remember ever cumming so hard in his life. he shook with aftershocks for minutes after, dazed and disgusted with himself.

rhonda gives dean her number. he never calls her back. after dean leaves that town, he burns the panties and stops shaving his stubble so short. memories of rhonda make him angry. he sinks into hunting and drinks until he’s cross-eyed. dean takes solace in the horror of violence. he bathes himself in that disgust and he feels right at home in the middle of it.

sometimes, dean can’t sleep at night from how sick he feels. he tries to figure out why, but he can’t place the reason. it eats him up inside. makes him feel like a monster. he thinks that he may just be a disgusting freak of a man.

as dean gets older the comments about him getting pretty melt away. he knows he’s objectively extremely attractive, in a male model sort of way, but it doesn’t match up with the images in his head.

the thoughts get more and more humiliating as time goes on. he’s not a twink anymore and he can’t be fantasizing about being fem, but he can’t stop it. he stays up at night itching in his own skin, brutally aware that he’d look hideous and disgusting in anything girly. his body is too big and bulky. he’s a freak for being into that sort of thing.

dean eventually admits to himself that he might be a little gay. he keeps it on the dl, visits gay bars when they hit more liberal cities, and doesn’t ever repeat the same place. he likes being dressed up and bent over. he chalks it all up to a crossdressing fetish, and while that’s humiliating and sickening, it’s easier than having to deal with whatever it is that’s going on with him.

dean aches inside perpetually because he is flawed. he wants to hold his child in his arms and wear dresses and flirt shamelessly with men. he knows he’s a freak for it but he’s accepted that he’s going to perpetually live with this pain.

he gets older and older and the dysphoria gets so fucking bad that he can’t even look in the mirror anymore, but it doesn’t matter at this point. he’s completely disconnected himself from his body. he’s a sick, perverted freak in the body of a man and none of it feels right. he uses his body like a tool, a weapon, and he purposefully keeps it masculine and well-toned to push back any illusions that he’s anything but a man.

and sometimes, he’ll go to gay bars and let himself get railed to incoherence. he’ll drive three towns over while sam’s asleep and put on his makeup in an alleyway nearby. he always looks for men bigger than him. men who’ll call him pretty and beautiful and treat his ass like a cunt.

and if he’s lucky, maybe they’ll let some other words slip. maybe they’ll call him babygirl or darling or play with his pecs like tits as they pound him deep. and sometimes, if he’s really lucky, he’ll get to wear something pink and lacy. sheer panties. a bralet. stockings or a necklace.

he always cums in the first few minutes on those nights. he doesn’t mind being fucked until the other guy finishes, as long as he keeps calling him a good girl for taking it.

dean always throws up in the club bathroom afterwards. he spends hours wiping off all the makeup from his face and sleeps in the impala for the night. he gives himself another wipe the morning after and tells sam that he was out with a one night stand. it technically isn’t a lie.

one time, sam makes a joke about dean being a woman. he pushes. he calls him a pretty lady, and dean is horrified when his eyes wet a bit at it. he can’t take it. he starts the fight, but sam wins it. he pins dean down and starts to yell at him. then he sees that dean is crying. he isn’t making any noise or shaking, but his cheeks are wet.

don’t, is all he says. it hurts like hell to get out. sam seems confused, but he doesn’t question it. he doesn’t make the joke again. dean forgets about the whole thing and pretends he doesn’t feel the weird looks sam sends him sometimes.

dean dies like that, alone and angry, in a body that’s all hard edges and grief and hatred.

he’s the same in heaven. he can’t imagine being any other way. he doesn’t even know what he wants, what would make him happy. most days, he’s happy with driving his impala aimlessly, drinking while watching sunsets and tuning into the world around him. thinking, and thinking, and thinking. about rhonda hurley and her satin panties and his father and the soft, warm thing buried inside of him.

dean doesn’t know why he feels sick inside when he looks at himself, but he’s too broken to ever figure it out. the only thing that he knows is that he doesn’t feel guilt the same in heaven. that means that when he has those strange dreams of warm kisses, strong arms around his tiny waist, and the warm, beating heat of his child’s heart against his own pillowed chest, he can spend some time in bed in the morning trying to recollect the memories without hating himself for it.

#oc #supernatural #spn meta #transfem dean winchester #mtf dean winchester #sam winchester #character analysis #trans headcanon #me ramblibg incoherently again about tbe nuance and intricacy of trans winchesters #this ended up WAYYY longer than i intended #but god my heart HURTS just thinking about her #transfem dean is so uniquely devastating she tears me up inside #i use he/him prns for her here because it works better with context #and she never actually comes to terms with her gender #but god i love her to bits she’s my little girlie

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writeforfandoms · 1 year ago

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Welcome to New York 5

Find the series masterlist

Things are better, work is going fine.... Until work spills over into personal life in the worst possible way.

Warnings: Violence, blood, reader gets injured (cuts and a bruised ankle), Miguel is still mean.

Word count: 2.3k

Before you knew it, an entire week had gone by. Work was just that: work. But it was also kind of fun. Lyla wasn’t always around, but she was funny and sassy. Peter B. checked in on you, often with Mayday in tow. He was just a little disruptive, but that was okay.

(You’d gotten trapped for thirty minutes holding Mayday and playing with her while Peter went on a convoluted explanation of the last mission he’d been on to a black-and-white world. The video from the mission, when you found it later, had been extremely weird to watch.)

But you were at least making progress.

“Any plans for your weekend?” Peter asked as he and Mayday walked you to the cafeteria. You’d worked through lunch and were consequently starving.

“Not really. I was thinking I might try going somewhere new.” You shrugged, unconcerned, even as you stepped around two Spiders stopped in the middle of the walkway talking.

“Oh yeah?” Peter raised an eyebrow at you.

“Well, I was reading about this restaurant that sounds really good, and I’ve never been. It’s in the undercity, which will be an adventure.”

“You should ask Miguel,” Peter suggested, as if that wasn’t the worst advice anyone had ever given you.

“You’re joking, right?” You glanced at him to gauge his sincerity.

“Why would I be?” Peter grinned at you. “It makes perfect sense! Miguel lives here, he knows lots of places, I bet he can give you advice.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” you mumbled, shaking your head.

“Why?” Peter looked confused, the poor clueless man.

“Pretty sure Miguel is too busy for that kind of trivial thing,” you tried, heading for the elevator in hopes that making it clear you were leaving would halt this trainwreck of a conversation.

“Nah, he’s probably bored,” Peter said, waving an unconcerned hand.

“I’ve got things to do,” you tried again, dodging around yet another clueless Spider-person in the middle of the walkway. Honestly, weren’t they supposed to have that tingle-thing? Or were they all just socially clueless? Seriously. Rude.

“Well, alright.” Peter sighed. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. Thanks, though.” Your smile was small and a little tight.

“Just be careful, alright? Can’t be losing my favorite archivist already!”

“I’m the only archivist.” You frowned at him.

Peter just laughed and waved you off before shooting a web. Mayday laughed and waved to you as her father swung the two of them away.

Well fine then.

But you couldn’t deny your little smile as you took the elevator back down to ground level.

There were some good things to having no real friends in the city. You could live by your own timeline. So if you wanted to get up early and go on a lazy meander to a little coffee shop, then down to a park, there was nobody to argue with over timing or where to go.

On the other hand, there was no one to help you figure out how to get the tram down to the undercity, or how to navigate down there. You hadn’t expected just how different it would feel, without sky above your head. Sure, streets were marked and there were maps and you could navigate, but it felt… different. Weird.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Fortunately, you had time to explore a little. You didn’t stray too far from the restaurant you wanted to try, you weren’t quite brave enough to really explore. Another day, you told yourself. Another time, after you’d had another successful adventure or two down here and knew you could do it.

You were not really brave, and you knew it. You liked exploring, but you liked being safe while you explored. It made sense to you.

The undercity was fascinating in its own way, because it was so different. Much more densely built, the lighting was almost orange, fading to red at points. Buses and trams passed constantly, the press of humanity somehow more claustrophobic down here.

Which made sense, given the lack of space in any direction.

You’d just finished in a shop when you heard the crashing and the screaming. You froze, gaze darting around, trying to determine which way that had come from and what exactly was going on.

You didn’t have to figure it out. Because it came to you.

It turned out to be a man with mechanical legs grabbing onto buildings and hauling him around. But the edges of him were soft, the colors muted and almost runny.

He wasn’t from this universe.

You were forced back into the shop as people swarmed past, getting out of the way of the villain. Which was fine. Not at all like the shop was in the line of danger or anything.

You really hoped the Spiders knew about this one already.

“Get away from the windows,” you said to the shop assistant, already backing away yourself. There was a chance this would get ugly.

The person outside glitched, something you’d seen in footage but never in person. It was a riot of colors and shapes mixed with screaming, and you winced. It looked painful. It sounded painful.

And it apparently only made him angrier.

Four of the legs hoisted him back up while the other four lashed out. Windows broke, glass shattering and scattering through multiple stores. One limb grabbed a car, sending it careening off course.

You hit the floor, pulling the shop assistant down with you. They definitely didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of this.

“Stay quiet,” you murmured, hoping they were able to listen and understand. “Help will be here, I promise.”

They nodded once, shaky, scared. They couldn’t have been older than 19, still a kid, still figuring themself out.

You really hoped they made it past 19.

Your work bracelet chimed softly and you jumped, spooked. But you still tapped it. A line of glowing orange text appeared just above the band.

Stay out of trouble, help is on the way.

Well. They definitely knew something was happening, at least. Cool. You could work with that.

One of the flailing limbs crashed through the remains of the window, sending more glass everywhere. You covered your head briefly before peering out again. The glass reflected the orange light from the street, almost like tiny glimmers of fires scattered across the floor of the shop. The villain was moving away from the shop now, roaring something about Spiderman and revenge and something something. You weren’t quite paying attention to him now that it seemed like he was going the other direction.

“Stay down,” you hissed, motioning the assistant. They just nodded, eyes huge, hands over their mouth. Okay. Good. Not moving.

So, naturally, you moved.

There were two other people in the shop, and you managed to check on both of them. They were both okay, scared but okay.

Okay. So far so good.

And then you made a mistake. You lost track of where the villain was and where the fighting was.

A red and blue blur flew past the shop, and you jerked around to watch. The blur didn’t even hit the villain before one of those mechanical arms batted it out of the air like a fly, sending the blur away from the villain.

And towards you.

You were not sure how the Spider did not hit you, but they didn’t. You did end up flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and shaking.

Yeah nope. No more moving around until you got the all clear.

“Sssssspidermaaaaaan,” came the low hiss from outside. The ground shook gently with the impact of those mechanical arms, getting closer until two arms landed just outside the shop.

The Spiderman who’d been sent flying sat up, a little dusty now. “Is it just me or have you been practicing?” he asked mildly.

“Spiderman,” the villain hissed, face contorting in rage. “At last.”

“Definitely been practicing,” Spiderman quipped, getting to his feet. “I think you need less time in the batting cage, doc.”

You didn’t see what happened next, because you went from too scared to move to being dragged across the floor. Shards of glass caught against your clothing and your skin, pain sharp and sudden.

And then you were dangling upside down, blood rushing to your head, ankle protesting the tight grip something had on you. You jerked, reaching for something to try to steady you, only to yelp when you were moved further away from the floor. You were pretty sure people were talking - you could hear voices, kind of, past the rushing in your ears. But you were stuck looking at the one Spiderman, hands out at his sides, tense but unmoving.

Oh great. You’d turned into collateral damage. You choked back the hysterical laugh, trying not to shake. You were absolutely going to die and there was nothing you could do about it.

Several things happened at once. There was a roar, like a motor, the Spiderman in front of you shot out webs, and the mechanical limb holding your ankle tightened to the point you cried out in pain… and then let go.

You barely had a chance to fall before someone caught you.

“This time, stay put,” Miguel growled, setting you down surprisingly gently. He stayed for a moment, the blanks where his eyes should be narrowing. “You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” You blinked rapidly, head still rushing with the change in directions. Which way was up and could the room kindly stop spinning?

He muttered something in Spanish that you didn’t catch, low and hard. “Lyla, let medical know we’ve got an injured civilian coming in,” he ground out.

“Yup, already told ‘em,” Lyla said, familiar voice comforting now. You blinked.

“Wait here.” Miguel set you down carefully. Or, he tried to. One of your hands grabbed him, needing the steadying contact. His grip was surprisingly gentle as he removed your hand.

And then he was gone, running off to join the fight in bringing down the villain.

You huffed softly and focused on your breathing, because that was better than focusing on the pain. Which was a lot. And kind of all over. Your arms and back hurt the worst, but your ankle wasn’t exactly painless either. And all of it throbbed in time with your pulse, still rapid and hard.

“Oof, you’re not looking so hot.”

You peeled open your eyes to glower up at Peter. For once, he didn’t have Mayday with him, even her carrier absent. So was the pink bathrobe, actually. He actually looked more or less respectable. “Thanks,” you muttered dryly.

“Come on, let’s get you back to HQ.” He stooped and picked you up carefully. You stifled your pained noise by biting down on your lip. Hard. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You got her?” Miguel loomed larger than life over Peter’s shoulders, the faint orange glow behind him drawing your attention. Two other Spiders were pulling the villain through a portal, undoubtedly to HQ.

“Yeah, I got her. You go do your thing.” Peter nodded to Miguel. One arm kept firm hold of you while the other shot a web, quick to pull you both up and out of the undercity.

You did not even try to resist the urge to cling to him, dignity be damned. This shit was terrifying. The webbing looked far too thin to support your combined weight, and the fact that you had no control over any of this was just making things worse.

Fortunately, it was a quick trip to HQ. Because if it had been any longer you might have cried.

“Here we are,” Peter said, cheerful once again. “See, you’ll be fine.”

“You’re the worst,” you breathed, eyes closed tightly to try and combat the motion sickness. “How are you so cheerful.”

“Force of habit.” He chuckled as he set you down. “Right, I’m gonna leave you be, let me know when you’re done!” He backed out of the room, waving to you when you looked.

Medical was not bad at all. Like the rest of HQ, it was a little higher tech than you were used to - all top of the line equipment and even specialized things that looked custom built. (Which made sense when you thought about it, because, y’know. Spiders.)

A few stitches, one ankle brace, and several bandages later, you were cleared to go home. And given some spare sweats, since your clothes were bloodstained and ripped.

You were just sitting on the bed trying to gather the energy to get back home when you heard the Spider doctor’s watch beep. And, well, you didn’t mean to overhear, but she was hanging out right outside your room.

“Yes, Miguel?”

“How’s she doing?” Miguel didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. That tracked with what you knew of him.

“She’ll be fine,” the doctor said, voice quiet. You leaned forward a little to hear better. “Nothing major to worry about.”

Huh. Miguel was worried about someone? You knew he had a heart but damn.

“Keep me updated.” Miguel definitely made it an order, not a request.

The doctor chuckled to herself, her footsteps starting up again and fading as she walked away.

Huh. Weird. Well, kudos to whoever got Miguel to care enough to check in. You didn’t waste any more time calling a cab to pick you up outside, groaning softly as you hobbled out of medical and to the elevator.

Time to go collapse at home now.

#welcome to new york #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #f!reader

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fritextramole · 8 months ago

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heal the holes in me

part 2 of a Nate Archibald playlist - best heard in order

tracklist and quotes under the cut

This Year ~ The Mountain Goats

I played video games in a drunken haze I was 17 years young Hurt my knuckles punching the machines The taste of Scotch rich on my tongue

Going Underground ~ The Jam

We talk and we talk until my head explodes I turn on the news and my body froze

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out ~ The Smiths

Take me out tonight Because I want to see people And I want to see life Driving in your car Oh please, don't drop me home Because it's not my home, it's their home And I'm welcome no more

It’s Obvious ~ Au Pairs

Spending time nowadays By my side That's oh so nice

Fall for Me ~ Matt Doyle

It never has been easy, lover, standing at your side Always thinking you've got something to prove And while I hate to have to blow your cover But it's only pride

Dance With Somebody ~ The Midnight

Take off your armor, let down your hair You could sit on your hands or you could get closer, if you dare And it's not that the rest of us don't have to fight For every bit of love and every bit of light But tonight, it's Friday night

Dance With Me ~ Dirty Honkers

Your hand was shaking as I held it tight We were alone beneath the stars

Triple Dog Dare ~ Lucy Dacus

They put our faces on the milk jugs Missing children 'til they gave up Your mama was right, and through the grief Can't fight the feeling of relief

Video Games ~ Trixie Mattel

They say that the world was built for two Only worth living if somebody is loving you And, baby, now you do

Unwritten ~ Natasha Bedingfield

Let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find

Love My Way ~ Psychedelic Furs

In a room without a door

I Like Me Better ~ Lauv

If we lay, let the day just pass us by I might get to too much talking I might have to tell you something

Ultralife ~ Oh Wonder

Blood running in my veins I've never been here before And I got love falling like the rain I never could've asked for more I got so much soul inside my bones Take a look at me now I'm young forever in the sun

Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) ~ Edison Lighthouse

I'm a lucky fella And I've just got to tell her That I love her endlessly

Oh, What A World ~ Kacey Musgraves

Oh, what a world, don't wanna leave All kinds of magic all around us, it's hard to believe Thank God it's not too good to be true Oh, what a world, and then there is you

Ecstasy (Apple of My Eye) ~ Strawberry Switchblade

Doing all we want to do Seeing things we've never seen Going places we haven't tried to be

Neptune’s Jewels ~ Mystic

Something about my lifestyle makes love so strange

Sundress ~ Zoo Culture

Just picturing you and I on an island in the sky so high That no one can reach us, nobody can preach to us

Big Jet Plane ~ Angus & Julia Stone

Gonna hold ya, gonna kiss ya in my arms Gonna take ya away from harm

Perfect Day ~ Lou Reed

Just a perfect day, problems all left alone Weekenders on our own, it's such fun Just a perfect day, you made me forget myself

What I Got ~ Sublime

Love is what I got, it's within my reach

uuu ~ Field Medic

Lovin' you sure makes me afraid of losin' But I don't care, I can't slow down now

Real Love Baby ~ Father John Misty

Our hearts are free So tell me what's wrong with the feeling I'm a flower, you're the bee It's much older than you and me

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy ~ Queen

When I'm not with you, think of you always I miss you (I miss those long hot summer nights)

Hazel ~ Roy Blair

Can't take back what I've been born with My family's gorgeous, flaws and all I won't ignore them, they're important Keeping these friends until the end

Age of Consent ~ New Order

I thought that you might like to know I received your message in full a few days ago I understood every word that it said

Moon and Waves ~ Haroula Rose

Why does every river's flow reach for the sea? Can they be lonely? Seeking some truth to reveal? Serving their purpose for eternity

august ~ Taylor Swift

For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Cancel plans just in case you'd call

#gg #ggplaylists #nate archibald #gossip girl #source: senamarais

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the-bottom-of-the-abyss · 1 year ago

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beautiful lies

Cross posted on AO3. On a Starfield kick lately and thinking of making a continuation that is multi-chaptered and has a happy ending.

Per the title, this was inspired by Beautiful Lies by Birdy. But there are a few songs that are perfect for listening to when reading:

Beautiful Lies - Birdy Wonderful Life - Smith & Burrows Not About Angles - Birdy I Guess - Mitski

SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE GAME!

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

“Goodnight gumdrop. Try not to stay up too late, alright?”

“No promises, dad.”

Ren leaned against a doorframe, watching her husband tuck Cora in, attempting to be strong and keep a soft smile on her face. The latter wasn’t difficult; watching the father and daughter interact always sent gentle pangs to her heart, though now they were tainted with a bittersweet helplessness.

Sam's fingers lingered in Cora's hair, his kiss on her forehead held a desperation to etch this moment into his memory. “I love you, Cora. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Cora lurched up from where she was lying to throw her arms around her dad and hugged him tight. The scene, once a source of warmth, now felt like a cruel twist of the knife, and Ren couldn't shake the haunting doubt that whispered in her mind. Ren found herself second-guessing, no, triple-guessing why they were about to go through with this. This reality was enough, for Ren at least.

Ren could feel the sorrow attempting to claw out of her throat, but she pushed it down, not wanting to break down just yet.

“Night, Ren!” Cora said, pulling away from her dad.

Ren kneeled next to Cora’s bed and looked into those big, bright eyes. Only a year before did Ren meet the two people that would change her life for the better, but she was irreversibly entangled.

“Night, kiddo,” Ren told her, brushing a stray curl aside. “Thank you for being the best copilot a captain could ask for.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Ren weakly replied. “Yeah, you were.” She managed a strained smile and kissed Cora's forehead.

A family was all Ren ever wanted. And now…

Sam rose from the bed, helping Ren stand. Ren looked at Cora for a final time, attempting to imprint every detail. Sure, she’d see a version of her again but not her Cora. Not the Cora that asked her so sweetly for a small space for books on her ship and Ren built her a whole damn library in a cargo hold. Not the Cora that so fiercely stood up for what she believed was right. Not the Cora who effortlessly claimed a piece of Ren's heart

Sam led them both out of Cora’s room within the ship and shut her door. Only then did Ren let the tears fall freely. He didn’t say anything, but Ren felt Sam’s thumb rub circles on her hand in comfort while he directed them to their room on a separate floor.

In the hallway, Ren's steps echoed a somber rhythm as she followed Sam to their room. The weight of the moment pressed on her shoulders, the heaviness of impending loss settling in. They walked in silence, a silence that spoke volumes, carrying the unspoken grief that lingered in the air.

Once inside, Ren relinquished any semblance of composure. A guttural sob, raw and wretched, clawed its way out of her mouth. She clutched Sam's jacket in both trembling hands, as if the fabric could anchor her in a reality that seemed to unravel with each passing moment. Her tears stained the fabric as she cried into his chest.

His arms enfolded her in a protective embrace. Gentle hands rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“Darlin’,” he whispered, sounding at a loss at the sight of her breakdown. Ren didn’t cry often, normally choosing to bury her emotions down deep, but this? She couldn’t bury this feeling, no matter how much she’d like to. She had finally attained everything she longed for – friends, a family – and now, it unraveled before her like a cruel joke. She already lost her best friend days ago to The Hunter and now she has to lose her family too.

But what cut the deepest was the realization that this was their choice, a conscious decision to traverse this path of heartbreak.

“Tell me, Sam,” she pleaded through her sobs, voice strained. “Tell me we don’t have to do this.”

His response was a gentle whisper. "You know we have to," he murmured, his lips pressing a tender kiss on her temple. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of inevitability, each syllable driving home the painful truth that they were architects of their own agony.

And the worst part was that she knew he was right. They had to do this. They couldn’t just ignore the Unity. This is what Constellation was about, the exploration, being pioneers of the unknown.

She pulled away and cupped his face with both hands, looking at those blue eyes that drew her in from the very first day. The heartbreak she was feeling was reflected in his eyes, and the decision seemed to physically weigh on him. Ren couldn’t imagine being reborn and Sam not knowing her, not remembering what they had been through, how much love blossomed between them. She couldn't fathom a Sam who didn't recall their first kiss outside The Hitching Post or the blissful moments as a family, exploring with Cora – experiences neither Ren nor Sam had the chance to live in their own childhoods.

“Promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything,” he assured her.

“Promise me we’ll see each other again.”

Sam’s eyes closed, pain etching across his face, and a solitary tear escaped. He turned his face, pressing a tender kiss on one of the palms cradling him, not answering her.

“Lie to me, Sam,” Ren pleaded desperately as he looked at her again. “Please, just pretend for tonight.”

A beat passed and Ren held her breath, needing to hear the words.

“We’ll see each other again, Ren. I promise.”

A broken promise never felt so sweet.

“Okay,” Ren whispered through a watery smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

Sam nodded a silent agreement that hung heavy with the weight of the inevitable. He pulled her into a desperation-soaked kiss, both of them ignoring the tears and shaking hands. Sam guided her to lay on their bed and he climbed on top of her, the weight of him anchoring her in the moment.

Ren removed his hat and tossed it over the side of the bed, threading her hands in his hair, taking time to remember what it felt like between her fingers, each strand a fragile thread connecting her to this reality that was slipping away from her.

It seemed like Sam was on a mission to imprint every inch of her with kisses, a desperate attempt to etch their intimacy into their memory, trailing kisses and bites down her neck, across her collarbones. Layers were removed with trembling fingers and desperate hands.

When he pushed into her, it felt final somehow, an act laden with the weight of farewell. Ren couldn’t help the tears that fell as he pushed inside her again and again, mirroring the unspoken grief that Sam couldn't conceal either, evidenced by the wetness that dripped onto her chest every so often.

The pleasure was intense, as it always was, but alongside it was the accompanying grief that this would be the last time she was this close with her husband, her chosen partner for life. When they finished, they did it together, hands intertwined, and lips pressed together in a desperate embrace, the room bearing witness to the culmination of their love and sorrow.

Sam rolled off of her, and as they laid side by side, he faced her, his fingers tracing the leaf tattoo on the side of her face with a tenderness that echoed the fragility of the moment.

“You know,” he said, voice scratchy with an underlying sadness, “we’ll meet another version of each other. I wonder what that will be like.”

Ren, staring into his eyes, couldn't bring herself to utter the brutal truth she had learned from The Emissary: Ren died in almost every universe. This one was an anomaly. Perhaps it was a selfish choice, but she couldn't bear to inflict the agony she carried on him. What purpose would it serve to reveal that he was destined to witness his wife's death in his arms, over and over again

The room, once filled with the echoes of their shared passion, now housed a silence, a quiet acknowledgment of the inevitability of their journey. And in that moment, as they lay side by side, Ren stared into his eyes and though about their love, a love destined to repeat its tragic cycle in countless universes. Whether it was traveling to the Unity or death, was tragedy the only thing waiting for them?

“I’ll never stop looking for you,” Ren whispered, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone in a tender caress. “I’ll look for you in every sunrise, on every planet, in every breath of fresh air.”

Sam, his hand over hers, held onto the fleeting warmth of her touch. “And I will always look for you, darlin’. Maybe… maybe the universe will do right by us, let us find each other again.”

“Maybe,” she echoed, the word leaving her lips like a fragile prayer, though she couldn't find belief in her own words. “Maybe the universe will be kind.”

“I love you, Ren.”

“And I love you, Sam.”

#sam coe #cora coe #starfield

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let-love-run-red · 1 year ago

Text

Trouble

AO3 Link | Masterlist

It wasn't supposed to happen. You were nineteen, in your first year of college with the world ahead of you. You were pretty enough you thought, you could have your pick of any man on campus or at any of the dozens of parties you went to, but you didn't want any of them.

You wanted him. He's thirty-two, with a short temper, faded tattoos and a face carved from stone. Miguel O'Hara. Your fathers best friend.

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral F receiving, biting, scratching, marking, age difference (all legal)

You wanted him. He's thirty-two, with a short temper, faded tattoos and a face carved from stone. Miguel O'Hara. Your fathers best friend, despite your father being seven years older than Miguel. They'd met through work, both big minds from Alchemax. Your father was a physical engineer and Miguel a geneticist. You weren't sure how they met but you were glad they did.

You'd only known Miguel a few months, he stopped by with a tank of propane on your 19th birthday when your father had forgotten to refill it. You didn't hold it against your father, it was just him, doing his best. Miguel stuck by the grill with your father, avoiding your friends and staying a respectful distance away, but you took one look at him and decided you needed him.

"Honey this is my friend Miguel, Miguel this is my daughter (y/n)." Your father introduced when you had sauntered close enough. Miguel held out his hand for a polite greeting but you opted to go in for a hug instead. You heard his breath hitch slightly when you wrapped your arms around his chest, his broad chest built like a brick wall. He wrapped his arms around you anyway.

He cleared his throat when you pulled away and nodded to you with a deep blush across his tan cheeks. You turned to walk away, letting your hips shake just a bit more as you did and hoping he noticed.

He did.

The next time you saw him he was a guest lecturer in your genetics class. He'd looked good in a tight T-shirt and jeans but even better in tighter suit and slacks that hugged his thighs in all the right places.

You'd stayed after to speak with him under the guise of having more questions, walking down the halls of the building with him just a little too closely. If he noticed he didn't make a move to step away from you.

"If you ever need help, give me a call." He'd handed you a business card with his name and number on it along with an interesting logo.

"Help with a first year class?" You asked with a small smile, wondering why he'd bother himself with questions that simple.

"With anything." He smirked, turning to walk out the door. You felt heat rising in your cheeks.

The third time was the charm. You'd texted with him a bit, keeping it loosely related to classes and college, but trying to learn more about him, slipping in small compliments here and there. He played along with you.

He was in the driveway under his car trying to fix something or other that had gone wrong. Your father was inside for a moment and told you to go out and ensure Miguel didn't need anything.

He was lying on his back on a creeper, front half under the car and his long legs stretched out in front of him. His shirt rode up just enough that you could see his defined v-line and trail of dark hair leading under the waistband of his jeans.

Miguel heard footsteps and slid out from under the car to see you standing over him, one foot on either side of his hips giving him an easy view under the sundress you wore with a small pair of lacy panties underneath it. He sat up quickly and smacked his head on the underside of the bumper, lifting his hand to his forehead and wrapping his other around your ankle.

"Ay carajo," he hissed through clenched teeth and you grinned sweetly.

"Miguel are you alright?" You asked, squatting down so you were hovering over his hips, setting a hand gently on his chest. He lowered the hand pressed against his forehead and narrowed his eyes at you.

"You're playing a dangerous game, you know that?" he asked, letting his hand wander up your leg to the inside of your thigh, squeezing slightly. You couldn't help but smile and shifted so you were sitting on his hips with your knees on the ground.

"I like games." As soon as your weight was against him you heard his breath catch and couldn't ignore the growing hardness between your legs. You lightly ran your fingers over the bit of his skin showing between his jeans and his shirt and he took a deep breath.

He squeezed your thigh harder, letting his hands trail up and under your dress. You were blocked from the view of the door buy the car and the view of the street by the curve of the driveway. His thumb ghosted over your sweet sensitive spot and he pressed down, watching with a sly smirk when you gripped his belt with a sharp breath.

The door opened and you quickly shot to your feet as Miguel sat up, doing his best to hide the obvious strain of his jeans. He cleared his throat and you fixed your dress trying to ignore the dampness forming in your panties.

"Get it figured out?" Your father asked, holding a wrench in his hand. Miguel cleared his throat with a cough and reached to grab a hand wipe from the pack sitting beside him to clean his hands.

"Yeah, pretty sure it's the serpentine belt." His voice sounded strained.

"Figured it was. (Y/n) go check in the shed I'm sure I have an extra one." Your father said. You furrowed your brows. You had no idea what a serpentine belt was but turned to walk around back to the shed anyway. As soon as you were behind the house you heard Miguels voice.

"I'll go help, she might not know what it is." He excused himself and you all but ran to the shed. Miguel burst through the door a moment after you and shoved a cinderblock in front of the door as a sad makeshift lock.

He pinned you against the wall in an instant, one hand around your throat and the other grabbing at your hips as he crashed his lips against you. It was uncoordinated and sloppy and rough. He growled into your mouth, ever so gently squeezing the sides of your throat. You gasped and he shoved his knee between your legs. You took the chance to grind yourself against his thigh and he pulled back just enough to smirk.

"Desperate little slut, flashing me your panties and fucking yourself on my thigh," he whispered, mouth right beside your ear. He nipped at your earlobe, using his thumb to turn your head away from him. He kissed his way down your neck, biting occasionally.

That was the first time he fucked you. Quick and dirty and he finished on your ass, staining the black lace underwear you wore, before pulling the crotch of your panties back in place and tugging your dress down. He grabbed something off the shelf in front of you, smacking your ass, and kicking the cinderblock aside like it was nothing to open the door, leaving you breathless.

The next time he took more time with you. Your father had gone out for the night, some work social with the other engineers, and Miguel stopped by to bring you dinner. He knew it was just you, alone. You invited him in and he accepted.

After a few minutes of idle chatting he had you laid out in your bed, kneeling on the floor between your knees with your legs draped over his shoulders, feasting on you. He was patient and took his time, keeping his arm around your thigh and hand on your stomach so you couldn't squirm away.

His tongue was soft and firm on your clit and his fingers were thick and stretched you perfectly. You fisted your hand in his hair and tried to ground yourself as he worked you open with his fingers. They were long and he knew just how to curve them to hit that perfect spot deep inside your pussy. You could feel your wetness leaking from you and knew his hand would be covered, but you couldn't help it.

He sucked roughly on your clit and you whimpered, squeezing your thighs around his head. He growled lowly, the vibrations making your back arch. He pressed his hand on the inside of your thigh and squeezed hard enough to leave a red handprint as he pushed your thighs away.

"If you smother me you don't get to cum." He pulled away, kissing your thigh with a smirk. He nipped at you and you whined, parting your thighs and trying to arch your hips towards him. He chuckled darkly, giving your thigh a quick sharp bite before turning his mouth back to your cunt.

The constant stimulation from his fingers already had you close, so close, but you couldn't push yourself over the edge. He licked and sucked at your clit, alternating between using the tip and flat of his tongue, listening to your mewls to judge his actions.

You felt a build up in your stomach, crossing your ankles behind his shoulders, trying to resist the urge to smother him with your thighs or pull away from him as you grew more sensitive. You arched your hips into him, taking a fistful of his hair and pushing his head further into you. You felt him chuckle and dug your heels into his back.

"Miguel, Miguel, I'm gonna cum," You panted between heavy breaths, dropping your head back on the covers and urging yourself to relax. He hummed against your pussy and the vibrations sent you over the edge, sending a white hot wave of pleasure crashing over you. You gripped his hair and pulled him into you, closing your thighs around his head and digging your heels hard into the back of his shoulders.

He coaxed you through your orgasm with his fingers and tongue, getting every last bit of pleasure you could give. You felt yourself going from pleasured to overstimulated and gave a small whimper, trying to pull away from him.

He was quick to pin you down with both hands on your hips, licking a stripe from your pussy to your clit before tongue fucking you, his nose pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You let out a moan and put your feet on his shoulders, trying to push him away. He growled and wrapped his arms around your thighs to pull you in. You tossed your head back as your frayed nerves burned and you felt him trying to drag another orgasm from you.

"Miguel, I can't, mmf" You tried to plead with him and he moved one hand to pry your thighs apart so he could breathe easier. He looked up at you, his gorgeous scarlet brown eyes pleading with you through dark lashes. His dark hair fell over his forehead, disheveled and stuck to his forehead by a thin layer of sweat on his brow.

"No he acabado mi hermosa niña, una más." His tone was pleading before he turned back to your soaked pussy, closing his lips around your sensitive clit causing you to cry out. Tears welled in your eyes as he forced another orgasm from you, your sensitive pussy fluttering and squeezing around nothing.

"Good girl, come for me, let me taste." He muttered against your skin, gathering your cum on his tongue for another taste. He guided you through your second orgasm, gently pressing a kiss to your swollen clit before kissing his way up your body, letting you taste yourself on his lips when he kissed you.

You kissed him for a moment, running your hands down his sides and slipping them under his shirt, letting your fingers ghost over his toned abdomen. He was quick to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere in your room. You admired the faded tattoos on his chest and biceps before turning to what you really wanted.

You tugged at his belt, trying to pull his hips closer to you. He smirked before leaning back in and kissing your neck just under your jaw. You fussed with his belt, trying to undo the buckle without looking as he continued kissing his way to your shoulder before biting down harshly. You knew it would bruise in the morning and you tugged at his hair.

"Really?" You asked when he wouldn't release his teeth. He huffed against your skin before pulling away, nosing into your neck and biting again, albeit more gently than he had your shoulder. He moved his hands to his belt, undoing it and his button, pushing his jeans and boxers to the floor and kicking them aside.

"I like to bite." He whispered against your skin, supporting himself on one hand and using the other to stroke himself a few times, working himself up for you. You wanted him so badly, wanted him to fill you all the way up, more than your own fingers ever could.

"I noticed, jerk." You snapped. He bared his teeth playfully before lining the head of his impressive cock up with your entrance, pushing in slowly. Just the tip was in but he had you throwing your head back with an open mouthed smile.

He paused, running his hand over your stomach and hips, up your sternum, squeezing your breast before letting it rest on your throat so gently. You heard him swear under his breath before pushing further in, giving you a few seconds to get used to his girth. A luxury he hadn't given you with your little quickie in the shed.

You reached up and ser your hand over his on your throat, encouraging him to choke you again. He groaned and gave in, squeezing just enough that you felt dizzy and smiled. He dropped forward again, catching himself on his forearm and shoving his face against your neck as he thrust fully into you leaving you gasping.

"Please Miguel, please," You begged, locking your ankles together over his lower back and trying to pull him deeper into you. He smiled against your skin and rocked his hips, trying his best to tease you you realized.

"Please fuck me I need to feel you, need to cum on your cock," You pleaded, letting your hands roam over his well-muscled back. He pulled out only to slam his hips against yours harshly.

"Fuck, pretty words, you're so pretty, do you beg all the boys to fuck you like this?" He groaned between clenched teeth, giving a few test thrusts, angling his hips until he found the perfect spot inside you and you dug your nails into his back with a shake of your head.

"No, just you, mm just you Miguel." Your body ached for him as he thrusted into you.

"Good girl, you're all mine." His voice was low and gravely. Just loud enough for you to hear over the sound of skin meeting skin and the lewd noise of his cock sliding in and out of you. He kissed your shoulder before sucking hard enough to leave a dark mark, biting at you when he pulled away. You arched your back into him and gripped his shoulders.

You could feel a third orgasm building in your stomach. Your body was loosened from your previous two and the third crept up on you quickly as his cock stretched you open and rubbed against your walls. You gave a small whimper, his only indication you were about to cum, and he kissed you softly. A stark contrast to his previous attentions.

"Buena chica, eso es, tan bonita," He breathed against your lips as you came for a third time that night, pussy squeezing and milking his cock. He stifled a moan and dropped his head to rest his forehead against your collarbone, fucking you through your final orgasm as you squeezed around him. He let out a moan, louder this time, and tried to pull out. You locked your ankles behind his back and his eyes widened as he shot up, looking down at you.

"Please, I'm on birth control I promise," You pleaded. You didn't want him to leave, you didn't want to be without him. He considered, for one torturous moment, and you thought he'd pull out and leave you empty but he shook his head.

"Fuck you're trouble." He groaned, thrusting into you a few more times before pausing, his muscles tensing and his head tipping back as he came. His chest heaved and you thought he was the most beautiful man in the world like this.

***

It was like that for months. Quickies in the back of his car on campus, sneaking off to the bathroom when he came over, Miguel bringing you dinner and fucking you senseless over the arm of your couch when your father was out.

Once he'd suggested taking you out for dinner after and you'd laughed, not realizing he hesitated before laughing with you. If anyone saw the two of you together they'd likely assume he was your father. He wasn't that much older but eleven years wasn't exactly an acceptable gap at your age.

You started going to his apartment after your father had nearly walked in on the two of you when he came home early from a work social. Miguel had given you his address and a key "for emergencies" in case you needed a place to go. He'd said it with sincerity, but flashed you a wink when your father turned his back.

Some of the best sex you had was in his bed, on his cool scarlet sheets. You never stayed long. This was just sex. Mind blowing, body numbing, sex. He was just your much older friends with benefits that nobody could know about.

Often times you'd stay with him after, lying in bed and telling him about your classes and friends, asking him about his work and his past. He explained all the stories behind his tattoos, how he got through college, and you felt yourself getting more attached to him as he told you about his life.

Your thighs burned as you bounced on his cock and he held your hip. His other hand rested on your stomach with his thumb rubbing harsh circles over your clit, trying to pull another orgasm out of you. Your hands were on his chest to steady yourself and the closer you got to your peak the harder your nails dug into his skin. He clenched his jaw, trying to stave off his own orgasm, you assumed.

"Come on pretty girl, cum on my cock," He cooed and you moaned. You could never refuse when he said it like that. Your rhythm faltered as your thoughts went fuzzy with your orgasm. He grabbed your hips to help you keep your pace, thrusting up into you to chase his own high.

He swore under his breath, frantic curses in spanish that you only partially recognized before he leaned his head back and exposed his throat. He held you onto his hips, pushing up into you as much as he could as he gasped quietly. You leaned forward and kissed his throat, rolling your hips with him.

You laid forward, resting your forehead against his collarbone, breathing heavily with his spent cock still sheathed inside you. He ran his large hand down your back, pressing gently and coaxing you to lie on his chest. You accepted it and he turned to kiss your temple.

"Good girl." He murmured, you couldn't help but preen under his attention. He had his own set of bruises and love bites on his shoulders, coupled with the scratches on his chest from your nails. You could feel his heart beating under your fingertips from where your hands were tucked against yourself and listened to his soft breaths that fanned over your ear.

You were exhausted tonight. Finals were taking their toll on you and you'd come to Miguel for some much needed stress relief. You felt your stress lift with each orgasm he'd drawn out of you and with each thrust of his large cock into you. You felt him run his hand over your hair and couldn't help the small smile on your face.

"You going home?" He asked gently. You wrinkled your nose. The smart decision was to go home, sleep in your own bed, but you were tired and he was warm.

"No." You said simply, nuzzling your face further against his neck. He chuckled, the deep rumble shaking your body. He moved to sit up and you whined as you clung to him. He wrapped an arm around you to steady you.

"Ok, we're going to shower then." He commanded before tightening his grip and standing off the bed holding you in his arms. You huffed as he lifted you effortlessly.

"Miguel I can't go another round." You whimpered. You looked up at him and he shook his head earnestly.

"No no, just to clean up," he soothed, "we're both sweating." He smiled. You shook your head. You wanted to sleep, but a shower sounded nice and you didn't even have to walk so you relented. He set you on the cold counter as he turned on the shower, letting the water warm up and fetching two towels from under the sink. He leaned against the counter between your knees, caging you between his arms and smiling down at you.

You grinned back up at him and searched his eyes. Usually his gaze was full of lust or indifference, there was something softer tonight. He hummed, satisfied, and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead after pushing your hair away from it. He pulled back and pulled the shower curtain back, inviting you to join him.

You leaned against him when you got in the shower. Your legs were still unsteady from the hours you'd spent here already. He supported your weight and turned so his back clocked the relentless water from the showerhead from hitting you in the face too much.

You were nearly falling asleep leaning on him while he washed his hair. You had your arms around his waist, enjoying the warm water that flowed over his shoulders and down his chest. After a few minutes he hummed to grab your attention. You looked up at him and he cradled your cheek in his hand.

"Let me wash your hair." It wasn't quite a command but you didn't dare refuse either. He turned so the water was at your back and carefully blocked your forehead so the water didn't run down your face.

"Venga querida," He stepped back so you were out of the water. You opened your eyes slightly to see him focusing intently on lathering shampoo into your scalp. You watched as he works, brows pinched tightly. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he worked and you huffed an amused breath onto his chest.

He stepped forward, to rinse the shampoo from your hair, taking care to get all the suds out before picking up the bottle of conditioner. He worked it through your hair and you smiled, lowering your head to press your forehead against his chest. You felt his hum rumble through his chest. You noticed he hummed when he was content, and you often poked fun at him for "purring."

When he'd finished with your hair he turned the water off. He reached onto the counter and grabbed a large fluffy red towel to hand to you. You wrapped it around yourself and watched him step out of the shower to wrap a large navy towel around his waist. He grabbed a smaller bath towel and ruffled his hair, shaking the water off his hair.

He left you to get ready for bed in the bathroom, offering you a brush or a comb and an extra toothbrush and some toothpaste he had. You thanked him and finished getting ready to sleep.

When you left the room you saw him tucking a clean sheet onto the bed. He looked up at you with a lazy smile and nodded to his bedside table.

"I got you water. And clothes to sleep in." His voice was soft, you chalked it up to him being too sleepy to be sharp. You changed into the clothes he offered, a clean pair of boxers and an oversized black t-shirt. It smelled like his detergent and cologne.

You climbed under the covers, getting comfortable and tucking the pillow under your head. Miguel walked into the bathroom to get himself ready for bed, and you picked up your phone that you'd plugged into his charger when you got there.

You sent a quick text to your dad to say you'd be spending the night at a friends before receiving a facetime call from your friend. You debated your options before answering it. It was late, she may need something.

"Why does your life360 show you in the middle of an apartment complex?" She asked immediately. She held the phone close to your face to examine your surroundings as you rolled onto your back. "Those aren't your sheets." She stated. You snorted.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." You quipped lightheartedly. She rolled her eyes.

"Did you use protection? Is he cute? Was it good?" She asked in rapid succession. You smiled slightly and shook your head.

"We're safe, he's hot, and yes it was good." You said. You heard the door of the bathroom click and muted the call for a moment. Miguel eyed you curiously.

"Facetime with my friend." You explained. He nodded in understanding and flipped the lamp in the corner off before making his way to bed. You unmuted the call and your friend held the phone closer like she was trying to see around it.

"Is he there? Can I see him?" She asked, voice laden with curiosity. You considered it, you'd never mentioned Miguel to any of your friends before but they knew you were seeing somebody. You weren't sure if you wanted to show her, to let your arrangement leave the safety of his warm bedroom.

"Miguel," You caught his attention as he settled into bed before he reached to turn the bedside lamp off. "can I?" You asked, angling the phone. He laid back in the bed and lifted his arm, gesturing for you to curl up against his side. You shuffled around and rested your head on his shoulder. He leaned in and kissed the top of your head, his jaw just coming into frame. You angled your phone up to show his profile.

Her mouth dropped open, and Miguel smirked, lowering his head to rest the bridge of his nose against your head. His hair was still damp and splayed on the pillow around his head like a dark halo. Your friend sucked in a breath and he grinned, flashing shiny white teeth before turning his head and opening his eyes.

"Hi." He said simply, and she raised her brows when she heard his voice. You couldn't help but smile as she seemed at a loss for words. You giggled lightly and Miguel lifted his hand into frame to wave at her.

"Hi, are you the reason she's late to class sometimes?" She asked as soon as she'd managed to gather her thoughts again. You felt your cheeks burn and Miguel looked down at you accusatorily.

"You've been late to lectures?" He asked. You glared at her through the camera and she laughed as you scowled before bidding you a quick goodbye and hanging up the call.

"(Y/n)," His voice was firm, "have you been late?" He asked again. You smiled sheepishly and turned to bury your nose against his neck, reaching over him and dropping your phone on his bed. You kissed his neck gently and heard him snort.

"Only a few." You mumbled against his skin. He rolled to face you and bundled you against his chest with a huff. You pulled your head back and traced one of the faded tattoos on his chest.

"No more." He said seriously, a warning. You rolled your eyes.

"You're not my dad." You quipped and he reached down to give your ass a sharp smack. You jumped and he growled playfully.

"No but I'm old enough to be." He reached behind him and flipped the light off before pulling you back into his arms, settling in to sleep for the night.

#love writes #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara/fem!reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fluff #smut #fluff #unprotected sex #oral f!receiving #tw biting #tw scratching #tw marking #multiple orgasms #tw choking

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tatteredtome · 1 year ago

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Antebellum

THE GREAT FLOOD IS COMING

HISTORY IS STUCK IN A LOOP

YET STILL, YOU KNOW ONE FACT REMAINS TRUE

THE VIOLENCE HAS A PURPOSE

"Wake the fuck up tranny."

Your flimsy cot rattles to and fro as a leather boot slams into the side, jostling you awake. Hazel eyes drink in the sight of the man above you. Crude buzzcut. Jowls and all, a simple clergyman's suit enshrouding stoicism. He taps the leatherbound book at his side, gesturing towards the rickety door connecting threadbare dorms to outer halls.

"Yes Father, I'll be there in 5."

He scowls, glossy eyes grazing over each interconnected wire hooking your spindly back into the charging station embedded within that bed. They glide down your frame. You didn't bother wearing a shirt to bed. One last lingering look at both mounds, before turning on a dime and striding off. It felt good to be viewed like a piece of meat.

You carefully unhook every strand and tube with practiced precision, singular digits moving incisively. You'd done it a thousand times before. You'd surely do it a thousand more times. A quarter lay rusted. Another clump all but fraying. They didn't have any replacements available. So long as your core processor was recharged, you'd be okay.

The floor was hot. Sometimes, a part of you wished they'd gotten rid of that sense. Touch. It didn't really matter, even if it did burn, your skin was welded to withstand inhumane temperatures. Military flame retardant. Steady footsteps carry you across concrete flooring, stopping in front of a 5'4 mirror.

Of course it was 5'4.

It was made specifically for you, after all. One request. Holding dainty, creamy white arms out. Spinning. Patchwork freckles dancing alongside supple curves. Moving both hands up to cup plump breasts. B+. You shake your short, tousled brown hair about. God. It always made you smile. You looked positively angelic.

Putting on your gear is all but automatic. Urban camo pants, rugged leather boots, skintight black shirt. It was almost a shame you had to put the ballistic vest over top of it. Standard issue, extra protection, Father's order. The less bullet holes, the better. Vest secured, you slip on a pair of mottled gloves. Tight fists.

Naturally the door creaks as it slides open, dislodging built up dust and debris. Empty halls stretching onward for what seemed like miles. When you first got here, getting lost was a daily occurrence. Now, it was physically impossible to lose your way. Mapped. Steps that cause the concrete to sizzle and pop. Further and further. Another rickety old door.

Stepping through it reveals an archaic hangar, fit to burst with every manner of military hardware imaginable, old and new. Heavenly breeding grounds. Of course, Father stands waiting, just as he always does. You run your hand along dormant caterpillar tracks and sleeping tail rotors. The stimulation felt quite nice. Touch still had its perks.

5 minutes after you awake, you're standing right where you should be.

Father bows to you. An iodine lump of steel sits behind him, fused plates linking hands one after another. Bolts and bolts and more bolts. It dwarfed the two of you. You knew they used to carry special units in these.

Nowadays, all it took was one person.

Father stands upon his mahogany podium. He opens the scripture to page 547. Cracked spine. Slipping between bible verse and mission outline. He never bothered to teach you Latin, interested as you may be. That was for the blessed to interpret and for you, damned as you were, to receive with open arms. The next words, however, were all too familiar.

"They're hiding out in some nearby ruins, 11 klicks southwest of here. You know the drill. Get to work."

Father shuts the gospel, reaching underneath the podium before donning a kevlar shroud of his own. .44 magnum bulging from creased pants. Licking your lips, you hurriedly clamber over to the back entrance of the vehicle. Hook two phalanges in. Pry tarnished doors open. Step inside dutifully.

There was enough room for..... well, certainly more than just you. Long, blistering hot, metallic benches left cooking in the wrathful sun day and night. Your cherished infant lies in waiting, nestled warmly. Right where you always sat.

You sit down, pulling that belt-fed beauty into your dainty lap. Cradling it so lovingly. Father steps into the truck soon after you, key in the faulty ignition, calloused hands on the steering wheel. The engine groans like a dying possum. Still fighting for some semblance of livelihood.

You're off without another word.

It trundles along. Bumps and cracks and divots no match for its divine strength, wheezing as it may be. Nothing would be able to stop you now. You peer out the windows.

Floodwater had pushed survivors further and further inwards, trekking vast distances for a modicum of stable, unsoiled earth. What the water washed away could not be claimed again. This was perfect for the two of you. It meant easy pickings. Ruined SUVs and derelict coupes sat frying upon endless pavement. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 and as far as the eye could see.

Father recites verses. Your optical sensors fixate on passing roadsigns. Great grub, 2 miles down the road. Southern living, 5 miles down the road. You wouldn't kill a child, would you? Take him into your heart. Accept him. Please.

You recalled quiet dinners at quiet dinner tables. Corn on the cob and racks of ribs and collared greens and biscuits. Raving news reporters and a raving older figure seated at the head. That's all you're going to eat? Kids in _____ are starving right now, you know.

The next exit barrels into full view, Father judiciously turning off and making his way onto the main road. Bare, concrete synapses giving way to verdant greenery sweltering under God's radiant judgement. Pristine white houses certainly not so pristine anymore. Curious plaques situated wherever eyes wander. This plantation housed _____.

You stare into the glass, at your ever vivid reflection. Pearly white skin. Not a blemish in sight. No need for shampoo or conditioner or anything of the sort. Weaved microfiber strands gleaming proudly. God. It always made you smile. You looked positively angelic.

Past picket fences left undaunted. Past clean carcasses resembling bovines. Past rest-stops and mom and pops. Past arched windows beneath heavenly pillars. It all breaks. Just as it always does. Just as it always will. The grass turns to crisp, the trees follow suit, and both are swallowed by cement. Father frowns, cyan orbs regarding the change with disdain. Narrowing.

"It wasn't always like this. Things were different back in the day. Better."

You don't respond, simply nodding at the eyes visible in the rear view mirror. The buildings are much denser now. Red and blue monuments. Flickering 7s and Qts. It'd take many, many more years for the floodwaters to claim them, for the raw heat to raze stone and brick alike. Great grub, a friendly, barrel chested man in overalls standing proudly out front.

You always wanted a little figure of him. Ancient cartoons where he laughed and twirled alongside daughters in sundresses.

You never received that figure.

Father pulls into a vast parking lot, tipped shopping carts strewn amongst shattered car windows. The building was bright orange. Somewhere you'd been before or maybe not. He parks the car, turning the ignition off and stepping out. You pull your newborn up to each breast, kissing the barrel before exiting as well.

Wooden beams piled high obscure both clear entrances, blotting out any visibility of the building's scorching innards. Father scans it, clicks his tongue disappointingly, before turning to view you. He reaches out a single hand, gripping your shoulder with divine vigor. It makes your head spin and your mouth salivate.

"Go now. Dispatch them with fervor, Ezekiel."

You smile.

"Yes, Father."

He nods, stepping back into the wheezing creature. All on your own.

You fasten the strap around your shoulder tightly, making sure your child is secure before moving forward. The way is all but blocked by solid oak, save for a tiny gap at the top. Easily finding purchase, you ascend the tower with great haste, arriving at the top without breaking a sweat. It was physically impossible.

A loud thud echoes throughout the gargantuan building as your boots hit the ground. Dark. Pitch black in fact. You used to be so accustomed to the static hum of electricity everywhere you went. Now, it all lies dormant. Darkness isn't a problem, mechanical servos clicking into place to facilitate sickly green vision.

Row after row of shelves spiraling off into the guts of the establishment. Enough light bulbs to supply whole neighborhoods. Rotund appliances abandoned. Black Friday sale magazines half burnt, a few measly deals remaining. You take a look at the dangling signs.

"Paint, lighting, garden, hardware, lumber....."

Muttering the words like a prayer meant to lead the way, scrutinizing. Deeper. The paint isles are a mess, caulking and semigloss staining forgotten merchandise. Your hands glide over sample cards. Little Princess, Midnight Blue, Mountain Olive..... Blackberry Harvest.

Something makes you stop on it. You flip it around. The corner is slightly bent. You want to remember. You want to remember so badly. What had you forgotten?

"Violet kinda gal, huh? Judging by your attire, I woulda guessed black was more your style."

The voice is a little whiny. Shrill. You turn to regard it. Black tanktop. Ginger waves loping downward. Tan trousers above pink sneakers. Enough to know this is your target.

"Maybe, I'm not sure."

You adjust your hands. Grasping the grip buried a few inches beneath the barrel. It's not hard for you to level it at her chest. It never really was too hard. It puts its hands up in protest, taking a few hesitant steps backwards.

"Woah there..... I just want to talk. I know what they've done to you, what they do to us all. We're the same, you and I."

The concern in its voice appears to be genuine, as does the way those brown orbs soften. It'd be so easy to melt right into them. It'd be so easy to melt it.

"You don't know me. We're not the same."

Absolute. Efficient in response time. It's not hard for you to level it at her chest. It never really was too hard. You pull the gun up higher, aiming it right at the bulge in its throat. Now its fumbling. Anxious. Sweating bullets that glisten neon green. You want to paint it red already but something keeps nagging at the back of your mind.

"Please, I just thought..... I don't know, that we could talk? Reach an understanding? You don't have to be-"

Deafening. The sound of a bullets slamming against concrete at mach speed, ricocheting off into parts unknown. Your face is bent with unadulterated animosity. Proud marching. It's whimpering now, scrambling to pull at a handle wedged within cavernous pockets.

Your boot comes crashing down on its frail fingers. Grinding back and forth. Wet, popping noises as bones fragment and crunch under foot. It feels so good. It lets out a muffled shriek, desperately beating on your steel legs.

"Stop..... I can't..... I've come so far....."

Its sobbing now. Repugnant. You drop down onto its stomach with the full force of your divinity. Padded gloves running over hair infested thighs, onto that disgustingly flat chest. Broad shoulders. Perfect for grasping onto.

"You're going to die here."

It looks into your eyes. You slam its head back into boiling concrete, ushering out another terrified mewl, deeper than the last. You slam it down again. And again. And again. Painting the ground a crimson, eggshell pastiche. Timeless Ruby. It struggles underneath you. It's no use.

Satisfied with your work, you stand up. It reaches out a timid hand. Trying to get out a few last words.

You level your gun and unload on its windpipe, tearing it to shreds before anything can be uttered.

Father is standing outside the truck when you get back. He bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead. Wrinkled lips parting.

"Good job, doll."

Your heart flutters.

Every night, before routine memory maintenance, I stare into the shattered mirror next to my cot.

I look at the girl staring back at me.

Sometimes I squirm. Sometimes I feel myself. Sometimes I giggle a little.

I always, always.

Smile.

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moonpiemoonshine · 1 year ago

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Sway pt.3

(A Elvis Presley fanfic)

Guilt and fear is all Jadyn could feel when she knocked on the front door of Graceland. She knew that if she didn’t show up it would look bad to Elvis and that he maybe would never ever talk to her again. On the other hand she knew this could also be a bad idea just cause Elvis could resent her for not taking good enough care of his mother and he could put the blame on her. When the door opened Jadyn was slightly relived when she saw his father. She could barley muster a word up to him, looking at him with a sorrowful expression. Elvis’s father looked at her with a look of guilt and pity knowing this must’ve been hard for her.

“Oh Jadyn… you know you didn’t have to come, he would’ve understood. He wouldn’t hold it against you” his words where soft and full of pity. He gave the girl a sympathetic look slightly trying to get through to her.

“I know but she meant a lot to me, and Elvis means a lot to me so I need to be here for him” she replied in a low and gentle manner.

His father understood her intentions and lead her into the house. The loudness that usually filled Graceland was now gone. The large amounts of people in the house talking in almost a whisper and a more gentler manner. Jadyn was led through the house towards Tom Parker. When he had seen Jadyn he was quick to engulf her into a tight hug. Parker rubbed the girls back up and down trying to sooth her shaking body.

“My girl. Everything will be alright, with you here Elvis will be just fine. So no tears” he cooed while holding the girl.

All Jadyn could respond with was just a nod and when she pulled away from the embrace, Parker had lead her up the stairs to Elvis’s mothers room. Jadyn hated hearing the muffled sounds of Elvis’s wails and cries, the sound almost making her feel sick. When she was shown where Elvis was at it made her feel even worse. Seeing Elvis crying and grasping for dear life of his mothers old clothes, the sight alone made Jadyn want to crumble into pieces right next to him. Parker had left the two to have some privacy and when he was fully out of sight Jadyn had gotten on the floor of the closet, sitting across from Elvis. He looked at her through his teary and puffy red eyes. Tears slowly built up in the girls eyes as she looked at the man across from her, she put her hand on his knee looking at him with a sorrowful expression but still holding much compassion and sympathy.

“Elvis… I’m sorry” Jadyn began in a cracked voice, trying to stay strong for him.

“She’s gone Jadie! I left her and now she’s gone!” Elvis spat out clutching the bottom of one of his mothers dresses, basically crying into the fabric and almost hiding his face behind it.

“Elvis everything will be okay, she still loved you and you leaving wasn’t your fault” Jadyn tried to reassure him. “You’re mother loved you, and thought about you every day… I’m just sorry I couldn’t take the proper care of her I promised I would” she said tears now falling from her eyes. “I swear to you, I’ll do anything to fix this”

“Promise me, promise me you won’t leave me. Take care of me like you did with mamma. Please! Promise me!” His chant was desperate and harsh. His red puffy face scared Jadyn and made her uneasy. She knew this wasn’t him thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, and frankly neither did Jadyn.

“I promise Elvis, I promise to never leave you” her weak agreement was quiet. She pulled Elvis into a tight hug, letting him sob and cry into her shoulder. She hated feeling him tremble and basically crumble in her arms.

When Parker came back he asked for some time with Elvis and Jadyn parted with him. She reassured she would be just outside the door for him. Jadyn was too distracted by her feelings to even comprehend what Parker was talking to Elvis about. She was using all her strength to not cry and break down against the wall. She had never wanted to see him like this, she hated seeing him so hurt and sad. When him and Parker left the closet he was quick to hold himself on Jadyn. She held him in her arms, trying to sooth and comfort the crying man. Parker lead them down the stairs and had Elvis’s father take him outside to talk to the press. Jadyn watched worriedly through the window, not knowing any way to make Elvis feel better when he comes back out from the interview.

With what little time there was with Elvis being back home, Jadyn spent all her time with Elvis. It wasn’t filled with the usual chatting or talking of music, their time together was mostly in silence. Jadyn didn’t know what to do so she usually just sat and tried to comfort Elvis. When Elvis had to go back to Germany it was a sorrowful goodbye, but I had to be done. While he was gone in Germany Parker went back head first into Jadyn’s success. She had landed many new tours and performances. Jadyn had produced two new albums in Elvis’s absence.

Jadyn had become a even bigger star, touring all over the country. She had been on a tight schedule, but always wrote Elvis whenever she could. These tours had slowly started to take a toll on her though. She was getting terrible migraines and had been taking pain killers to put them at bey. She started forgetting when to sleep and when to write Elvis. She enveloped her entire life into this new lifestyle.

When Elvis had left and came back from Germany he had went head first into acting. Elvis had always wanted Jadyn to come down and see him but Parker had always told him ‘she’s too busy being a star’. Elvis had been able to get her busses phone number and had started to call her. He would catch her either before or after a show. Their phone calls were sweet but short. She was either on a time crunch or too tired to talk long. One night he had called her before a show but she was groggy and not thinking straight because of a migraine and the heavy pain killers she was taking.

“Elvis! So nice to see- hear your voice” she boomed out through the phone. Elvis could tell something was off with the way she was talking, “My show is gonna be on tv you gotta watch!”

“I know Jadie. I always do” he said in a calm collected voice, “but you okay Jadie. You don’t seem alright”

“I’m fine! Don’t worry about little old me” she replied with a giggle. She had fallen while on the phone and the loud crash had worried Elvis even more.

“Jadie! What’s wrong!” He almost barked through the phone.

“Oh nothin. Tripping over my own feet” she said between giggles.

“Darlin you’re worryin’ me” he spoke in a gentle manner scared for her.

“Oh hush, I’m fine. Nothing is gonna happen-“ the line was cut and the phone was hung up. Jadyn had hung up the phone on accident while getting off her bus to head to her show. This abrupt ending of the phone call cracked Elvis’s worry to the max.

Later in the night during her performance, her stage presence was less than what it had been before. She was still and barley danced. Her head was pounding during her show, and the strain in her voice was very much present. When Elvis watched her show from his tv he knew he had to do something. He decided to go to Texas to watch her next show so he could talk to her face to face.

When the next show came Jadyn’s mind was in a heavy fog. She could barley even comprehend who was around her. When she was on stage her vision was blurred from the pounding in her head. She sang and danced but it was slow, tactile; she was making sure that she still presented herself in a good light. About halfway through her show she had felt faint and was practically stumbling around the stage. She had taken a twirl but with the movement she had collapsed. The loud thud of her body and the sound of the mic hitting the ground had silenced the crowd. Elvis had panicked and raced to the front of the crowd not caring if anyone saw him. Jadyn’s dance partner had picked her up and carried her off, Elvis was quick to follow behind him and her crew. The crowd was roaring in worry and almost screaming for answers. When she had finally gotten back to her bus, Elvis was given the run down on her migraines and on the excessive pain killers she was taking. Elvis took matters into his own hands and decided to take her back to Graceland to take care of her. Parker was able to make a fake excuse of why she was on a short break.

(Stay tuned to pt.4)

#Elvis #Elvis Presley #Elvis fanfic #Spotify

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3katanas · 1 year ago

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If it had been anyone else's throat he held his blades to he wouldn't have allowed them to be pushed down. Only his respect for Harry had him lowering them when the hook that had long ago replaced the other's hand touched them. Slowly allowing them to drop, but not withdrawing them, his body almost trembling from the restraint it was taking to keep his temper in check.

It was the hand to the back of his neck though that had his eyes widening, arms dropping on instinct. A foreign instinct. One that he'd truthfully never really experienced but some part of him recognized. Something about the look on Hook's face, time ages and weary, had his arms fully dropping out of the way, and then....

.....he was being held.

Strong arms encircling his ridged, tense body. Holding on so tight it felt as though he could break within the circle and not fall apart. The he world around him freezing, his breath catching in his throat, eyes still wide open in shock as his temper zeroed into a dangerous point before shattering into bone-shaking agony. Those words breaking through him like a tidal wave upon the shore as he was asked....

...asked if he was ok by a father.

Then more came. Words of thanks for not leaving Harry's side. As if he'd been any help when he'd almost been too late....had been for a few moments.

The reality of everything came crashing down. Damns he'd built to keep everything back shattered as that tidal wave of emotions broke through. Shattering him anew as he crumpled forward, swords slipping from his hands to clatter to the ground as his arms moved of their own accord. Practically clinging to the older pirate as he broke down in his arms. Silent sobs tore through him as the grief, pain, fear, and rage destroyed him in the safety of a father's arms.

Killian was surprised when the tables were turned and he was against the wall with two swords at his throat, his eyes locked on with the dark eyes of his sons partner and he could see just how badly the other was taking the events that had passed. Usually he would have lashed out himself when someone had a sword to his throat, or had spoken to him with such disrespect and anger, but Killian remembered that this swordsman could still be seen as a kid by some people.

He was pretty sure there wasn't much age difference between his son and the boy in front of him.

Ignoring all of his self-preservation instincts, Killian lifted his hook to slowly lower the boys swords while his normal hand moved to cup the back of the boys neck before he tugged him forward into a hug. Holding him tightly.

"Yer an idiot lad" Killian muttered to the boy, his temper wasn't aimed at Zoro, it was aimed at the situation his son had been in, his main thoughts had been on his son but also the swordsman who had stuck by Harry’s side throughout it all. "I didnae come here ta attack ya, nor berate ya for not protecting our boy... I came ta check on you"

"Gil told me... he also told me how you barely ever left our boys side, keeping him company to a point that ya didnae eat and barely slept... I know from experience how terrifying tha' is" Killian tried to remain unaffected by the pain in the youngers eyes and voice, but he couldn’t, especially since he was a father before a pirate these days. "Thank you... for staying with him, I know how stubborn he is about being careful, I cannae blame ya for any of this and yer right, this was all on me."

#n4kama #I AM NO OK #ZORO IS NOT OK #tw emotional damage

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introloves · 4 years ago

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Just thinking about being super Domestic with Aone! He starts thinking about what a great little wife you’d be and how sweet you are. One day you casually mention what a great father he’d be if you guys had children and it does something to him! 💓

papa! aone + housewife! reader + HEAVY BREEDING KINK + talk of pregnancy (no kids) + princess complex + pillow princess! reader + overly protective! aone + praise + mating press + squirting + size kink + overstimulation + dacryphilia + creampie + f! reader

— word count; approx 2k

you treat him so gentle- a big man like him coming home to you after a long day of work always brings out a near overwhelming need to take care of him, to be there at every beck and call, waiting for him so pretty, looking towards the door with every second coming closer to him coming how to you.

everything you do for him doesn’t go unnoticed, aone doesn’t say much, but he returns your sweet kisses with an equal amount of love and adoration for his sweet little wife.

you’re near ravenous when he finally comes home, shrugging off his coat, boots taken off at the door, handkerchief in hand to wipe any lingering dust and dirt from his hands- not wanting to dirty any surface you’d spent all day cleaning. he’s even apprehensive in giving you his coat- looking at you with pinched lips, grunting while gently placing it in your waiting hands.

he doesn’t touch you until he’s all showered, even when you insist that it’s okay, the dirt beneath his nails from working, from being outside all day makes him feel dirty, you’re his princess, his pretty baby- how could he ever think to lay a soiled finger onto your soft and well taken care of skin...

he usually relents to your whines, begrudgingly bending down to place a quick kiss to your pretty lips- puckered and waiting for his own to press onto yours. he makes a straight line to the bathroom, showering, rolling his shoulders back once he steps out- towel secured ‘round his hips, and once again walking in a practiced route to your shared room.

he doesn’t change, he can’t because as soon as he’s out, you’re sat on the bed. pillows, blankets- comforter fluffed daily in anticipation for him to fuck you.

eyes eagerly drinking in his every step, water running down rounded out muscle, not so defined- not anymore. the home cooked meals that you make for him has treated him well, form fluffed out with muscle that’s more fitted for his job, it’s dense and packed in, thick. it makes your pussy throb.

“how was work papa?” you question sweetly, legs spreading wide to receive his body, slick folds wetly (and loudly) parting for him while you pin your knees on either side of you, giggling at the way he sucks a breath in every time, eyes looking at the pussy he so adores, mouth salivating.

he loves coming home to you.

he loves how soft you are, warm- thinks there’s nothing better smelling and more comforting than sinking deep- so very deep into the tight and wet heat that is your pretty pussy.

letting the towel fall at the foot of the bed, his cock hangs in a thick curve over his heavy balls, pretty white pubes decorating his crotch, tummy clenching in anticipation, it’s a sight seeing him get hard, thick length bending with how big he is- even fully hard there’s a delicious curve, gravity not too kind to him.

“good... i missed you.” aone mumbles. huffing as his now cleaned, calloused- thick... such thick hands reach to finally touch, soothing up the expanse of your legs, wondering how someone so pretty- so beautiful is laid out beneath him, pussy drooling for a cock like his.

you purr, smiling, body twisting- pushing up as his hands press you down.

“missed you more... was thinking about you- ‘bout something in particular.” you mumble, lidded eyes wandering up to his neck. watching the pretty blooming blush roll down all the way to his chest- wanting to reach up and remark and fading hickies, fingertips ghosting along faded lines of your nails dug in the moment of overwhelming passion.

“hm.” he hums, giving you his whole attention as you speak- looking at your lips as you form every word, planting heavy hands to the apex of your legs, digging the pads of every finger into the giving flesh, encouraging you to continue with a nod, all while kneading and squishing your body.

“was just thinking what a good papa you are- was thinking if you’d give me a baby... to keep me company while you leave.” you breathe, pulse quickening at the thought- head spinning the second the last word tumbles free, all because you’re suddenly pulled down.

it’s near audible, a lowly groan spreading forth from the deepest parts of his chest while he huffs- pale chest rising and falling rapidly, cock visibly throbbing- balls clenching, there’s even a moment where he thinks he may cum.

“f-fuck- a baby?” he exhales, tipping his head back, the stutter making you look at him with a hint of curiosity.

blinking away the base need to shove his cock inside, blinking away the need to push your head into the bed and dump load after load of his cum inside you, all with the intent to make you round with his kid he pulls your legs up he comes down towards you.

all to make you fat and pretty and waddle around while he takes you hand in hand everywhere you need to go.

he doesn’t realizes his hips have instinctively rutted down into you- too caught up in the thought of holding you while fat with a baby the two of you made.

hands dimpling your soft skin- muscle memory carrying every action, already folding you down, knees nearly pressing against your chest, heavy cock slotted onto your cunt, squished between your bent legs.

“i’ll give you a baby. my princess wants a baby.” he grunts, gone dizzy. all of this taking place in mere seconds of you spilling the thought. he says it like it’s a command from you, tunnel vision suckering him in, barely able to see you in the absolute need to give his princess everything her pretty heart desires.

you don’t know where he’s gone, obviously lost in a heavy headspace- popping the head of his still throbbing cock into you, crying in suspense. this is all so exciting, he’s always so eager to bring you what you want, always willing to move the stars and moon for you and now he’s answering to the fantasy you built up all day.

“p-papa!” you squeal, sucking in a breath when he barrels into you with a near punishing thrust.

this is different, he’s different. he’s always cautious with every thrust, but there’s no regret or remorse while the second slam of his hips knock into you. kicking legs just barely able to squirm at all with the way they’re perched on his broad shoulders, you watch as they dangle, watch while he stares you down, his own body moving with intent- drilling into your sopping pussy.

“papa!” you yell this time, soft hands holding onto his arms, his large palms resting on either side of your face while he folds himself down, the creak, sway of the bed dangerously loud- sucking every breath from inside your lungs.

he’s never been this rough, never- and your lips curl with every open mouth yell.

he fucks into you like you’re not there, thick cock splitting you open- filling your cunt, bringing you so very early into a blinding orgasm.

it’s so wet- eyes wet, pussy wet while you squirt and gush, crying out tiny little whimpers of his name as every wave of orgasm takes you. it splatters all over his thighs, painting his tummy, dripping back down onto you hotly.

this is all he needs, needs you wet and messy, needs your pussy swollen and slicked with need and cum so you can take such a big cock easier- if you take it easier he can use every inch of strength he has to dig the swollen and still throbbing cockhead right up to your cervix. he can almost see the swollen ring so ready to take his cum, displacing your own weepy orgasm, making room to receive all of his own thick, milky orgasm.

“good girl- my good girl.” aone nearly chokes, unfocused eyes zoning down onto your bent form, pussy lips and folds sucked in and out in with each drag.

you’re melted, reduced to a babbling little baby under his large mass- doing so well, taking someone so strong and so big like him with nothing more than a few overstimulated tears. drool forming at the corner of your mouth, the only thing you can do is wait for his cum like the pretty princess you are.

“papa- ‘ts too much- too much.” you gasp, wandering eyes roaming up his neck, landing on hardened eyes.

“no- no it’s not. you want a baby. i’m giving you a baby.” he speaks- knowing this is hard on someone treated like a doll, soft hands digging into the veined arms of his, same hands that never work too hard for anything at all, all because he insists on treating you with any and everything.

and just like everything else, he knows he needs to cut this short- knows you’re tired and wanting to drift off onto a nap, so aone fucks you deeply.

he needs to bend further and kiss away the tears spilling down your soft and plush cheeks- heated with the exertion he’s putting your body under, gently apologizing. the high and heated coiled need to breed you slowly waning, now just needing to paint your pussy with his cum.

“it’s okay- it’s okay, papa loves you- you’re okay.”

the gentleness, lowly and grunted words truly bring you peace, trembling under him- hiccuping at the thrusts he gives you, exhaling heavy when he tips forward to an orgasm finally.

sealing hips down to your own, rutting with securely placed knees down onto the bed.

he pushes you up a good amount, crinkling the bedding around your limp body, pistoning shallow thrusts, each one stickier- messier, harder to deliver as he cums. thick cock pulsating in need, sinking into such silky gummy walls all shaped to the form of his large cock.

he huffs equally shallow breaths, tired- so tired from an intense fucking, balls squeezing up tight to his body, every contraction followed by a deep squish of him to you.

“fuck- fuck.” aone groans, his shaking form transferred down to you, slowly bringing your aching legs off the perch of his shoulders. he gathers the last bit of strength residing in his body to take care of you, once more- with a gentleness only found in someone who’s been cautious of their own strength their whole life, he places your legs onto the bed.

you’re still dizzy as he does so, unable to keep the seizing of your muscles down- body heated and sweaty with how he folded your form into his desired state, slowly blinking your eyes more and more open.

blurry gaze landing on him, watching with a slowly growing smile as he looks at you with a reserved guilt.

“it’s okay.” you whisper, only able to whisper for the time being- “i’m okay.”

but even with what you say, he brings a large palm to your tummy, holding it there- reminding himself that it was to give you what you wanted. you just look so broken now, limbs unmoving, all dead weight while he positions your body much more comfortably.

with a nod, he pushes down any worry to hold you tight- swollen muscle wrapping your precious body up. your giggles bringing forth a near exasperated smile from him- wondering how his sweet baby still can be so... sweet after being fucked like that.

sleepy face burying into the crook of his neck while he fights to keep his softened cock inside you, pulling his princess onto him, slotting the plushness of you against his body.

“pretty.” he mumbles once the two of you are relaxed, basking in the tiredness throbbing throughout two fucked out forms.

“pretty baby.” aone whispers, bringing down a large hand to your tummy.

you can’t lift your head off his chest to give him a sweet smile, instead giggling with how well your papa takes care of you, how well he loves and gives you everything your pretty pink heart wants.

#aone #aone takanobu #aone smut #aone takanobu smut #haikyuu smut #aone x reader #aone x reader smut #aone x y/n #aone x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #smut #one shot #requests #no.name

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tendous-whore · 3 years ago

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Wait wait, I really liked ‘Home is with you’ 🥺😫 but my angst self just pictured the aftermath of part 1…. But with Y/N birthing her and Toji’s baby…. Naoya being single again and one day running into baby Y/N/Toji and seeing what could’ve been …. 🧍🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️ only if you’re down

it should have been me

Pt. 3 to do you think of me too?

summary: (requested/continuation of do you think of me too?) just when he thinks you’re out of his life, everything he sees reminds him of you. so when you cross paths yet again, naoya is reminded of a life that could have been his.

warnings: angst?? probs fluff hehe lol

notes: I just finished this about what feels like a reallllly long time so it's unedited & probably kinda long or short idk hehe but I AM SO DOWN 😩 down bad 🥴 also hope yall like it!!

Toji Fushiguro, was a man with no fears, that is, until he met you. He remembers that fateful day, how he had stumbled upon the strange creature, buried beneath the tall tree, and hidden in the silence, away from the bustling world beyond the mountain. At first, he admired from afar, of the quietness that enveloped your dormant frame, of how the hushed forestry claimed you ever so graciously, to remain here, where you belonged. And you did, despite the kimono, splotched with mud and dirt, you had settled in well, that even the cherry blossoms and wisteria petals swayed in rival, envious of your beauty.

And so was he.

Naoya Zen’in, bowed before no one, not even you. The delicately groomed bride of his, molded to his exact liking hardly deserved kindness in this world of men. You were simply a woman, destined to serve below his feet. Even so, he recalls the feeling in his chest that fateful day, to be relieved. Fitted before him, so elegant and beautiful, he felt the greater promise you held. Finally, he had found someone worth his future; to finally hold fertility within his palm and seep his pride further into the motherland, by the means of you. The hunt for an heir would soon be a distant dream, and that made him feel untouchable. So it was truly a shame to have wasted true beauty, to never be perfected, again and again, to never get it right. And that feeling pitted below his stomach returned, only nastier, until the mere sight of his wife sickened him. A barren creature deserved nothing, like yourself. Only to be forgotten, driven away, and never to be seen again, or so he told himself.

but did he mean it?

Broad shoulders hunch forward, firm arms pulling you closer to his center, shielding your body from the rain and chill bite of the air. It was a habit, one he couldn’t seem to shake, not when he wanted to hold you close and away from the world. In the distance, a low hum and rumble buzzed the skies, grey and dim of light. But even in this downpour, when your cheeks slightly stung from the cold, you loved it.

The man you’ve come to know, hardly enjoyed the cold, the rain, and the snow. He didn’t get why you did, but when he presses himself to you, his hand pulled against your waist, when he hugs you so tight that you can’t breathe, you find it hard not to chase the unforgiving frost. Because it’s the warmth of him that makes it worth it. And he knows, how you make the chase, with him on your heels, ready to cook you up like warm soup on a winter day. It makes it all the more easier to indulge in these feelings, to be tender for you and only you. He can’t deny the soft spot he holds in his heart for the woman who tore down his walls and built him back up, because Toji Fushiguro was in love, and everyone could see it, even him.

“I'm not going.”

"It is beneath me."

"Not anymore, not now."

"Be grateful anyone would want you."

He remembers the morning, of the conversation with his father. It gave him a headache, one that rang in his ear and made him clench his jaw in annoyance. The painful throb between his neck and shoulders reminds him of the exchange, that it's difficult not to think about. Since his separation from his second wife had become public news, Naobito became overbearing, the pressure of him everywhere practically suffocating Naoya. He had tolerated it, until today, until he had begun to trifle with the affairs of his relations. So, he stormed out, needing a fresh breath of air, something to calm him before he had the patience to see Naobito again.

This was not the first time he had suggested arranged marriage, in fact, he had done it before. He remembers the face of the man, presenting his best to appease him, to tie their clans in marriage, and form a peaceful alliance. He agreed, solely because the woman before him was no other he had seen before. Soft on the eyes, and as passive as a lap dog, one he once held the leash to. And it was a good marriage while it lasted, but this was not what his father had in mind.

"It is beneath me." He repeated, like a mantra. Like he was trying to convince himself.

The thought of asking for another's hand in marriage like some desperate whore was out of the question. If anything, women should be flocking to him, begging to be his, to serve and wait for his word. And yet, despite the files that piled his desk, drowning with portfolios and promises from regional clans and distant villages, he refused to look at any of them. Because the truth was, none of the women had a chance, not when their competition was you.

Naoya's mind had become muddled, always dazed, and now irrational. He couldn't explain why his throat closed when he thought of you, or how his chest drummed loudly at the mention of your name. But it was when you had appeared at his door those months ago, remarried and expecting, that the pit in his stomach churned with mixed emotions. Even as you are gone, cast away from his life and rebuilding it with another, he finds it difficult to move on.

Not when he sees the sight before him

thinking, how it was supposed to be him.

"Let me." Toji says.

His hands are already taking the tiny bundled-up blanket from your hold, but you don't protest, in fact, you find yourself leaning into his reach, sliding the soft fabric onto his chest. Your husband smiles, his face dipping against the swaddle, his lips ghosting over the soft skin of the baby's cheek. You find yourself drawn to his side, peering into his arms, at the life you had brought to his world.

"He looks like you."

"Everything is you." He says.

His eyes never leave the tiny face that gazes back at him, small outstretched hands clinging onto his jacket, reaching for the rough material before your husband is tucking them back into the woven blanket. His son resembled Toji, there was no mistake, but he found that there was more of his wife in the kid. He had your eyes, the exact color he had fallen for, his face carrying your distinct features too. His hair was the only thing that he seemed to take from his father, but you always argued with him on the matter. You were always so stubborn too, pushy when you had a point, and in a way, he was too. Your son was hardly any trouble for him, but he was definitely a mama's boy, Toji felt it. Still, he enjoyed moments like these, living in the moment, as long as you were here too.

There was a moment in time where he wasn't sure if he would make it this far if you hadn't been there. After the night you had given birth, there had been complications, bad enough to have scared him so much, shaking him to his core, that as he had waited outside the room, head buried in his hands as he tried to see a life without you, he couldn't. Beyond this point, these white walls and cold hallways, Toji didn't was to live a normal life if you weren't in it too. That was his honest truth. There was only one thing in the world that he feared the most, and that was losing you.

"Look at us." You smile.

Your voice pulls him from his thoughts as you nod to the glass window, the reflection in it mirroring the two of you as you stared at the portrait painted in the pane. Like one of those family paintings, with Toji standing tall behind your figure, your hand rested against his arm while he holds your son. It's an image you want to engrave into your mind forever.

But he wants to burn it.

He hardly ever leaves home, and if ever, only for meetings. But he's never been to town, his aversion to the modern adaptions people flock to keeping him away from the bright lights and expensive shops. All he ever needed was his quiet residence, but up until now, not even he can find peace within his own house. Walking the crowded strip, the concrete below his feet clicks against his shoes as distant chatter fills the air. It's no different than the whispers of his servants, but at least the strangers that fill the streets don't avoid him, rather, they pay no mind, continuing on. And maybe he kinda liked that, to be invisible for only a moment, to pretend he was a mere passerby and not Naoya Zen'in.

And sometimes he wished he was someone else.

Someone stronger, a man who was a little bit kinder, someone who was just a bit better than he could ever be. Maybe if he was, he wouldn't have to wake in the morning, reaching for the empty spot next to him, hoping that if he wished hard enough, you would be there, that in those cold sheets, warmth would linger for a moment.

But as his feet cement to the ground beneath him, his eyes transfixed to the opposite street, he finds himself swallowing his breath, stuck in his throat. The rain is still pouring, and thunder booms from the sky above, but he doesn't care that his clothes stick to his skin, he can't. Because something familiar claws at his chest, something distinct about the way that face hits him as he gazes from afar. The way his hair sticks out, his eyes angled, nose turned in such a way, he can see himself. But the longer he stares, the more he sees you, the way that smooth face flaunts your soft expressions. And he thinks to himself, how perfect it would be, if he was Naoya's, not Tojis.

People slip past him, hurrying to hide beneath the building canopys but he hardly cares, not as he is watching the striking woman from across the street. Her mouth moves, talking as she nestles her face against the small blanket, swaddled in her arms, the man beside whispering into her ear as they stand beside a shop, beneath the tent and away from the cold.

Naoya pretends it's him next to her, to be the man to tell her how pretty she looked with their baby, as she smiles bashfully when he slips an arm around her. He pretends that when you look at the man, it's him instead, when you tiptoe, pressing your soft lips against him, Naoya is the one kissing back. And when you pull away, smoothing his cousin's damp hair away from his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, down to his chest so carefully, he imagines how it must feel. Because he remembers the time you did something so similar when the two of you rushed for cover beneath the cherry blossoms during a storm. And it's that exact sight, of you giving all of what you once shared with him, to someone who wasn't him, that grounds him back to his reality.

The truth, where you stood across the street, with Toji and your son, and here, where Naoya stood, alone, thinking to himself. Wondering if you could ever see him, that you would see that even a woman like yourself could bring a man like him to his knees, begging as he watched you walk away yet again, wishing;

that it wasn't Toji.

but him instead.

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godblooded · 2 months ago

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“no.”

the word is strong but not stubborn, endless but not defiant. in whatever universe she may be the engineer supreme, in this one she is naught but alana stark — and what torhild does not understand is that creator is always less than creation.

can she not see he’s beholden to her? isn’t it obvious his palladium heart works harder and harder to hold all this adoration he’s dying to bestow? can she not see the way his weary muscles, worn away and grafted to metal not so unlike her, have grown exhausted in their efforts, too?

scarlet-shaded limbs, shiny, glimmer from where they peek beneath a billowing black hoodie, brief cherry glints of gunmetal and red. they are more alike than the other would allow herself to think; and they are not one another at all. stark is not a suit — has never been, even for the yearning he has always felt to be. she is quick to remind him they were built and he wants to plead on his knees that yes he put them together with his own two hands and with tears streaking his face he wants to throw himself into her grip and ask what what what he could do to earn when a sliver of her forgiveness, even the pale glitter’s glint of a start. and so here he is, lower and lower, shaking his head.

“it’s not about me. it’s about you. and it’s about my responsibility—“ he wheezes softly, but doesn’t move his position, “—my responsibility to you. i didn’t make you with the intention of happy families — if i did, don’t you think you’d like me? you hate me, and that’s okay. if i was you, i’d hate me too. you’re fucking—“ he wheezes again, and blinky dims and flickers bright, “—right.

—how— howar — howard—“

the d hits his tongue with a thud that takes effort to strain out. his throat’s dry with the attempt. the shirt beneath — a slight too tight, an admonishment he will always receive in favor of his comfort — winds and shadows around the soft grey of iron limbs. only her left leg is still flesh.

“—didn’t like me. he hated me. and that was okay, too. but i — i didn’t mean for any of this. i don’t… want you to have gone through this. i feel like you’re my children, that’s what it is in my heart. and if i just — if they felt i’d abandoned them?

—no. no. no no no no no. i don’t want to be forgiven. i just want the chance to do right by you. however i can. do whatever you want to me. take whatever from me would help you. just do that. just let me help you.

i don’t deserve to be a father. but i can’t — i have to do something. i have to. you can’t pick who you love. or who loves you. that’s not enough. love doesn’t — fix anything.

but at least it means the place i’m coming from means it. i mean it.”

man of iron knows how flaws, knows his fallability. man of iron’s weary, sorry, crimson body given up whole for the fate of the world. one little earth holds heavy, heavy, heavy on his shoulders. and he doesn’t falter, smiles often when he steps into the light. it creases the corners of his mouth sadly, seriously.

“and yet i’m looking at you. doesn’t that mean something, torhild?”

the light in a chest cavity gives away anxiety, leaves a steady, still brightness that tugs at those fractured ribs. he takes one knee, the other, bows until palms touch the flat floor. creator isn’t truly creator at all, bent low enough as he can get until blinky shudders in protest at the pressure pushed against.

“tell me what i can do. how i can get you to forgive me. i can ask you to believe me, yeah. whatever. but. you have to know i’d do anything for you. tell me what i have to do to prove that.”

#ic. alana stark.#threads. alana stark.#opposite. torhilde. avalior.#[good afternoon i had this half replied to and screamed into my own ass about how i HADNT finished it. kat go through your drafts challenge.#hey Leon what UP.]

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salemwritesxx · 3 years ago

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𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼.

𝔹 𝕒 𝕜 𝕦 𝕘 𝕠 𝕦 𝕂 𝕒 𝕥 𝕤 𝕦 𝕜 𝕚

⇴ male reader [24, pro-hero, alpha, quirk: ice-phoenix] ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ summary: Bakugou and [Your.name] were dating, about to get married. Though one morning, everything that was dear to [Your.name] was brutally ripped away when he found a letter from his fiancé. Katsuki was gone, no traces left behind. And now, after three years [Your.name] was suddenly confronted with the reason when he meets his ex-fiancé again in a small town in Hokkaido.

↣ rating: mature ↣ warnings: abo universe, male pregnancy, bonding (biting for the bond mark to appear), drama / angst that turns into a happy end though; angst ending version read here.

AN: This was inspired by @amgjiks ’ request they sent in a few months ago! posting this story under your original request feels kinda “wrong” since I’d be ignoring half of what you requested basically so imma keep the original for when inspiration kicks in, in the future :)

part 2.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Walking along the streets, you didn’t have a destination in mind. Just walking around and letting fresh air clear your fogged up brain. You had been overthinking – again. It was one of those days were you couldn’t help but think back to three years ago. Tomorrow three years ago would have been the date were you and Katsuki would have said “Yes”, but alas… it all came differently.

Running your hand through your hair, you sighed deeply.

“I need to stop thinking about this. It’s been so long! Like this, I will never be able to forget him.”

But how were you supposed to forget the love of your life? Especially when it all came so quickly and out of nowhere? One day everything was fine, the next, he was gone. And as much as you tried to find him, despite him stating in the letter you shouldn’t try, it was all in vain anyways. It’s as if Bakugou Katsuki had never existed. Even his parents, that were always very much in love with you as their son-in-law, completely ignored you and cut you off.

It was such a deep cut, even time wasn’t able to heal anything. The last three years were rough. Sleepless nights were a normal thing by now. And while media praised you for working so hard on your hero career, you just pushed yourself like that so you wouldn’t need to think about the past. Because when you were working, it all just faded away.

However, after collapsing one day, the agency forced you to take time off and so you landed in Hokkaido. Far away from the bustling streets of Tokyo, your gloomy small apartment and your work place. With nothing to do, you found yourself overthinking day and night. If you just could ask him one question.

Why?

Putting on his scent-blocking collar, Bakugou suddenly felt a little tugging on his t-shirt, hence he looked down. [Eye.color], big eyes stared at him and the toothy smile immediately had him smiling as well.

“Are you ready to go outside, Hiroto?”, he asked his son who looked so much like you, reminding him every day what he had done.

“MH! Can I bring Popo?”, Hiroto’s big eyes sparkled a little, making it very difficult for Katsuki to say no, hence he nodded a little.

Watching his son, it only took a few moments before he came back with his stuffed animal, it was a phoenix. Rather, it was your merchandise. It… was complicated.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeess!”

And so, Katsuki locked the door behind him, leaving to go for a walk around the block and a quick park visit.

Leaning against a bridge, you stared down, still pondering. If you had just acted differently, maybe you could have saved your relationship. Whatever it was you had done, it pushed him away from you and it was eating you inside to not know what the reason was.

You didn’t know how many hours you had been wandering around town, trying to stop thinking, but as always, you only thought harder the less you had to do. Hence why you decided to go back to the inn you were staying at.

After hours outside, Hiroto was tired, his plushy Popo hugged tightly against his chest as he silently walked besides Bakugou along the streets. One more time, Katsuki tried to pick his son up, “Hiro? Want me to carry you home? Aren’t you tired?”

“NHN!”, he shook his head, “Daddy is never tired when he fights the bad guys! So I am also not tired.”

Hiroto was stubborn as he kept walking besides Bakugou who was just sighing a little. It was his own fault, but he couldn’t lie to his son. Without even thinking about it, Katsuki talked about you whenever you were on TV. He didn’t know why he just couldn’t keep quiet about you being Hiroto’s father. So now, whenever you were on TV, Bakugou had to lie and say you were in another country fighting the bad guys, even though you were still in Tokyo, mere 4 hours away with the train. But Katsuki couldn’t come back. Not after he had hurt you so much. It was his decision to raise Hiroto alone. You deserved to be successful, it had been your dream. Kids just weren’t a thing you had planned for, at least not with 21.

Being caught up in his own thoughts, Bakugou didn’t see you on the other side of the street. Neither did you see him. Both of you staring ahead, thinking back to three years ago, what had been and what it could have become. However, something connected you both. You never had a chance to bond with him, was it a tradition in your alpha family to bond during the wedding night, but your connection was different. Said connection was looking up and across the street.

Hiroto just looked around tiredly when he saw someone. Someone he had seen on TV multiple times. The little boy didn’t know how many times he had wanted Katsuki to show him YouTube videos of you fighting.

“HAAAHHH!? DADDY!?”, a piercing cry came from the little one, shaking you and Katsuki awake. The latter immediately grabbing Hiroto, but.. it was too late.

“HIRO?!”, he yelled, though his son ran across the streets.

You, on the other hand, were so incredibly confused. There he was, standing literally on the other side and then there was a little child, running towards you and calling for you. Was this the “Why?” you had searched for, for so long? You couldn’t think about it when your legs moved on their own to get the kid out of a potential dangerous situation.

It was a blessing that the small town didn’t have much traffic, hence why you could easily run towards him, scoop him up and get back to the safe sidewalks in mere seconds. You didn’t want to imagine what could have happened in a busy city like Tokyo.

Then you stood there, awkwardly holding Hiroto who was crying and sobbing into your t-shirt while Katsuki’s own emotions were all over the place. The Omega had never imagined the possible chance of meeting you again. After three years, all he had built up from scratch to have a comfortable life far, far away from you, as to not disturb your career, it all broke apart.

However, Bakugou wasn’t the only one hearing something shattering, your own heart dropped into your stomach. The already broken pieces shattering more when you saw the pure horror displayed on his face. This was not how you imagined meeting him again. He hated you. You were certain of that. Whatever you had done to him, he never wanted to see you again. It all was so clear to you now it almost brought you to tears then and there.

Your inner Alpha was strongly urging you to just grab him, Katsuki was your Omega, even if you never had a chance to mark him, that’s just how it was. He was yours. But…

Slowly pushing your son away you put him into Bakugou’s arms. There were no words said, the only thing disturbing the silence was Hiroto’s sobbing. Especially when you loosened his tight grip on your t-shirt, he started squirming and screaming, trying to grab onto you more. He had seen you on TV so many times and now you were right in front of him. Yet, Hiroto had to watch when you turned around and left him behind.

You had so many questions rushing through your head, but at the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to utter them out loud. Not after seeing Bakugou’s expression. This was never supposed to happen. Even if your heart yearned for answers, especially regarding his son… your son?

Without thinking about it, Katsuki put Hiroto down to let him run after you once again. It was such an impulse thing to do, he truly didn’t know why he had done it. Though after three years, why should he hide anymore when you had seen everything now? Also… after so long, he might have not been able to ignore his heart’s desire and yearning any longer.

It was so incredibly hard to ignore Hiroto’s crying and just walk away as if it had never happened, but for the sake of Katsuki’s happiness, you chose to go. However, a sudden tug made you stop. Looking down you saw ice around your ankles. It was weak and thin, easily breakable really. Hiroto’s? When you turned around, he had already clutched your leg tightly. Why?

When you looked back up, Bakugou also stood in front of you, his ruby eyes shimmering a little.

“Do you … want to talk?”, he finally asked, his voice breaking at the end though as he tried his hardest not to cry. What was he doing? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you in like three weeks, it had been YEARS since he left without any other word. Why would you even want to have anything to do with him or Hiroto?

“Yes!”, you said and it truly caught the Omega off-guard. After everything he put you through… If he was in your position he probably would have been so angry and furious, but you just seemed exhausted and tired.

But finally, you would be getting some answers.

All night long, you couldn’t sleep. After you had calmed down Hiroto enough, Bakugou gave you a little piece of paper with his address on it. “I work until 7. So we can talk without any disturbance.”, he said when he gave you the information. It was probably for the best. You didn’t want to imagine what would happen when your feelings would overcome you out in a café. [Your.hero.name] seen screaming in Hokkaido – you could see the news all over the internet already. So, it was probably for the best to meet him at home.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous. How had your ex-fiancé been living his life the past three years? It was all exciting and scary at the same time to find out those things.

When you knocked on his door, your inner Alpha was impatiently pacing up and down. It was as nervous as you. But when the door opened and Katsuki stood there, you were sure for the first time in the last 12 hours, that it wasn’t a dream. Walking inside was heaven and hell at the same time. Everything smelled like him. The Omega’s scent was so familiar, but another one was mixed in – probably Hiroto’s.

“A friend of mine is looking after Hiroto tonight so he won’t be dragged into this.”, he said, nervously fumbling with his scent-blocking collar.

It was weird wearing it at home, but for you and himself, he had to wear it. His Omega had been going in circles ever since he met you again yesterday. It wanted to be taken and to be honest, Bakugou was also close to surrender to you. But it wasn’t that easy. You probably had so many questions.

“Oh… Yeah that’s for the best. Katsuki.”, you suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallways.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry I can't wait, but you need to tell me now. Hiroto, he… called me Daddy and he has an ice quirk… so I am not wrong to assume that he is… our son?”

Katsuki could vividly feel your emotions, the Omega was shuddering, his throat dry and hands sweatier than usual.

“Yeah…”, was all he could choke out.

“Oh.. my God.”, you just mumbled to yourself. Hearing it out loud was like another punch in your stomach.

“Did you… leave me when you were pregnant?”, was your next question, still standing in the middle of the hallway.

However, Katsuki couldn’t even blame you. There were so many questions left unanswered.

“We were too young…”, his ruby eyes were shimmering again with tears, but he tried his best to keep them at bay.

“Too young?”, you were speechless for a moment, before looking back, “Why didn’t you tell me?! Why did you just… leave? Why… did you do everything yourself?!”

Now you were finally angry. After so long, you just couldn’t understand why he would leave you without saying anything. It could have all come differently if Katsuki would have just been honest!

“You had your career?! A baby didn’t just… fucking fit into our lifestyle! What else could I have done?!”, Bakugou yelled back. He knew it would come to this.

“SO?! You also had your career, we were both working hard to become well-known heroes so that’s not a fucking excuse. What else?? You seriously ask me?!”, you gestured wildly.

“You wouldn’t have wanted to raise a child, it was too soon!”

“It was NOT your right to decide that for me!”, you yelled, your voice breaking as tears welled up.

Bakugou once again being a little taken aback. His heart was racing and his tears so close to falling.

“You could have asked me, we could have worked it out.”, the first tears successfully fought their way out as they rolled over your cheeks.

“I loved you SO MUCH. If it was possible I would have literally brought you the stars from the sky. I would have done anything. And you? You just leave. Without anything but a letter telling me you cannot marry me. Do you have the slightest idea how I felt?”, your voice was shaking and breaking here and there, but it was freeing to finally let it all out.

“I thought it was for the best. I didn’t know what to do.“, Bakugou’s voice was so uncharacteristically weak and small.

“You didn’t know?? Did you never trust me, Katsuki? Was I just- such a horrible Alpha to you? Did you think I’d force you to an abortion? Was I not good enough to be a father?!”, you asked trying so hard not to scream, but all these pent up feelings, it all just gushed out without any sort of valve to stop yourself.

“That’s not it! I knew you wouldn’t do that, I just-“

“WHAT? Please tell me why! Why?! Why was I not worthy to be your mate? Why did you refuse to tell me and just leave?! Why did you chose raising OUR baby alone, I-“

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?! I don’t know! It was a fucking stupid decision out of nowhere!”, he finally screamed back, tears cascading down his face.

“Don’t you think I have regretted it? Do you think I LIKE being a single parent?! I know I fucked up. I know I threw it all away because I panicked, okay?! I just panicked and before I knew it I was on the train.”, Katsuki sobbed, desperately wiping away his tears.

“We were so fucking young! We had planned to marry, we were talking about saving up for the future to build a house, to have a family in like 10 years or more. But… But I just messed up! I forgot to take my medication before going into Heat, it was my fault I got pregnant- I… I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Throw everything we planned out the window because I was too fucking stupid to remember.”, his voice broke horribly, being squeaky from time to time as Bakugou’s guilt just overflowed.

The Omega was shaking and instinctively, you and your inner Alpha wanted to protect him. Hence why you wiped away your tears and took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“I know I messed up. Fuck.”, he cried and yet laughed at himself. Hands buried in his hair, Bakugou just wanted to cease to exist in that moment. He had done so many things wrong in his life. The only good thing that had ever happened was meeting you and falling in love with you and even that he destroyed.

He was gasping for air due to talking nonstop while gesturing with his hands wildly. And then, you just hugged him. Your Alpha scent surrounding him and soothing him. Your arms strong and warm, just perfect to melt into them and let everything loose. Oh, how he had missed that.

“I just… wish you had given me a choice. I wish you would have trusted me more. I would have done anything for you and our baby. It would have been hard, I know, but I am sure we would have been able to make it work.”, you quietly said while soothingly caressing his back and letting a quiet, calming purr erupt from your throat. A sign how close you truly were as you would never purr for anyone else than Bakugou.

“I’m sorry.”, Bakugou sobbed and clawed at your clothes, “I love you and I missed you and.. it was so hard alone, but I know I don’t have any fucking right to complain about it because it’s all my fault and I hurt you so much and-“

You hugged him a little tighter.

“I regret everything, I… I… can you forgive me? Can you give me a second chance? I know I don’t deserve it. I know…”

Had you ever seen him so weak before? No. And it truly tugged on your heart strings. There is nothing you wanted more. Get back together. Be happy again. But-

“Katsuki… have you ever thought of coming back to me? Like, if I had never shown up, if I had never found out… wouldn’t you keep on living without me just fine? Don’t you think this is your guilty conscious speaking? You don’t want me. You don’t need me.”

That was the last thing you said before you pulled back from him at last. Bakugou was quite speechless, just staring at you, red, swollen eyes and a tear-stained face made it hard to just go. But it was for the better. Even if he had regretted it, he was never pushed so far as to come back to you. Like that, maybe it was for the best.

Though before you could turn away, he grabbed your hand.

“Katsuki…”

“I wanted… during the pregnancy, after Hiroto was born and every time I saw you on TV, I was so close to leaving all of this. But at that point, I was too fucking scared. I had no right to go back… There are so many letters I’ve written and never sent. [Your.name], I… I literally have a suitcase ready to go. I’ve been waiting for some sort of sign or I don’t know and now? You’re here. Right here in front of me. I know it’s foolish and I’m stupid and have no fucking right to demand this from you, but please… Let me come back. Please forgive me. Please… be Hiroto’s father.”

He had never in his life begged. His superiority complex definitely wouldn’t allow for any of that, but right now was different. He realized the hurt he had caused. How wrong he was. Bakugou had regretted running away in the first week of living in Hokkaido. He always told himself it was “the right thing”. So maybe it was pathetic that he came crawling back, but if there was a slight chance you would take him back, he just had to take it.

You just sighed. Your heart was confused. While your heart screamed yes over and over again, your brain was telling you no. What if it was just a spur of the moment thing? What if he would leave you again when things would get tough?

But then, you looked down and onto his hand. The gold engagement ring you had gotten him around four years ago was still on his ring finger.

“You still… wear it?”, you asked as you reached for the hand that gripped your wrist tightly. His hands were shaking still – you have never seen him like that.

“It’s the only thing that kept me connected to you…”

“Katsuki…”

Reaching out, you cupped his face with your big hand, the Omega instinctively leaning against it. It was okay. Even if you were to get hurt again. Even if you forgave too quickly. Everything was okay now as you leaned in to connect your lips.

Holding onto you immediately, Bakugou’s fingers clawed at your t-shirt not wanting to let go ever again. Your lips melting together, emotions overwhelming you both as you pressed him into the wall. One hand reaching up to his collar. It took mere seconds for it to snap open. Then it fell to the floor, unleashing all of Bakugou’s Omega scent.

It being overwhelming was quite the understatement. Your knees were weak and legs shaking. You couldn’t resist the urge to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Oh my God…”, you moaned as you slowly slid down onto the ground with him, Katsuki just whimpering as he hugged your body as close as possible.

He would never let go again – never!

With your teeth gracing along his neck, your sweaty bodies collided over and over again. Bakugou only able to sob as he held on to your hands tightly, nails digging into your skin and almost drawing blood.

You were hovering above him, hearing his cries and sobs. The sweet scent from his neck being so irresistible. You just wanted to bite. Mark him. It had been a tradition in your household to do so on your wedding night, but…

“Do it…”, you suddenly heard.

Bakugou could barely choke it out, ruby eyes filled with tears of pleasure as he whispered one more time, “Do it… It’s overdue…”

And then, without thinking twice about it anymore, you grabbed him tightly while your teeth sank into his skin.

A marvelous burning pain rushing through his body almost made Katsuki pass out. The sweet torture of being bonded to his mate was almost too much. That was all he had longed for, for so long. He didn’t know why you would take such a coward like him back, but he was so grateful and plain… happy.

Once you opened your eyes the next morning, it all felt like a dream. Especially when you reached to your side and it was empty.

Sitting up abruptly, you looked around – definitely not your room. So what happened last night was not a dream. However…

Without putting anything on, your heart was beating so fast when you rushed outside the bedroom door. Flashbacks to three years ago were haunting your mind.

“Katsuki?”, you tore open the next door, prepared to just see another letter on one of the tables.

Though it, thankfully, wasn’t the case. There he was, standing in the kitchen, your flannel from yesterday the only thing covering his body while he was talking to someone on the phone. Unintentionally, tears had formed in your eyes, but now, you just sighed shakily and wiped over your eyes quickly.

Bakugou, who had turned around once he heard you calling for him, certainly had his heart sinking in the pit of his stomach.

That was his fault.

“Okay… okay, thank you.”, then he ended the call and turned to you, “Sorry, it was about Hiro. Akitoshi will bring him over before lunch.”

“Ah? Mh, okay.”

“Hey…”, putting his phone onto the table, he walked towards you. The Omega’s strong arms wrapped around your waist as he cuddled against your chest.

“I am not running away again. I promise.”, Katsuki barely whispered.

Hugging him tightly with your hand buried in his hair, you just quietly sighed and then kissed his forehead before leaning your head against his.

“I know. I just need some time.”, you also said quietly and Bakugou understood.

Hence why he reached out to cup your face, smiling softly.

“I love you.”

A small smile also flitted across your lips. Your hands cupping his own as you leaned down to kiss him.

“I love you, too.”

Walking back into the bedroom, Bakugou soon lost the flannel again as he slipped into bed, snuggling against you; legs tangled and naked bodies melting together. Unintentionally your hand had slipped down to his belly. That’s when you felt uneven skin and a scar underneath your fingertips. Yesterday, you were caught up in all your pent up emotions too much, so you didn’t notice.

It was his C-Section scar.

“Katsuki?”

“Hm?”

“Tell me about Hiroto.”

Subconsciously, his lips curved into a smile. That you wanted to know more about your son melted his heart but also made him feel more guilty. If only he could turn back time.

“Yeah.”, and then, he started talking and you just listened to the soothing voice of your Omega.

There were three years to catch up on, but due to Katsuki telling your son about you all the time, at least it was easier for Hiroto. With how he was clinging to you yesterday, it was obvious he loved you even though he had never met you in person. And you wanted to be there for him at last. You had only met him yesterday for a brief moment but your heart was already filled with so much love that you wanted to give to him.

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: I’d love to know what y’all thought of this story? :) once again I took inspiration from the request and I am pretty happy with the outcome!

#salemswriting.#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x male reader #bakugou x reader #bottom bakugou #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #abo #mpreg #omega bakugou #bakugou

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