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heli-writes · 13 days ago

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A dragon's heart, part 15.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of mate marks, trust issues

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: I know, I know... It's been wayyyy too long. What can I say? Live happened. Also, I was super unmotivated to write since I didn't know where this story was going. But... I had some intense thoughts about it. So... voilá!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Carefully, y/n traces the soft pink skin on her neck. She wishes she had a mirror and looks at the scar that Katsuki left behind. She presses her lips together. Right now, she's sitting in the tub washing off the grime and sickness of the past week. Ever since waking up, Katsuki has been uncharacteristically attentive and careful around y/n.

Part of y/n still wants to be angry with Katsuki but she finds it hard to be harsh towards him when he lingers around her like a shy dog who got punished by its owner. She notices how he tries to keep his hands on himself. Only late at night can she feel him touching her gently when he thinks she's already deep asleep.

There's a rustle from the curtain that marks the doorway back into the tent. Katsuki enters the bath hut without announcing himself. Quickly, y/n tries to cover up herself with her arms.

“Nothin' I haven't seen yet, doll.”, Katsuki comments dryly.

It sours his mood that y/n is clearly uncomfortable with him seeing her naked. He thought that after the marking, she'd feel more relaxed and secure around him, but clearly, that's not the case. Instead of strengthening their relationship, the marking pushed them back. Y/n doesn't seem to trust him like before.

He strides over to the tub and holds out some fresh linen for y/n. Hesitantly, y/n takes the cloth and gestures for Katsuki to turn around.

Katsuki turns around in defeat. He tries to suppress the feeling of annoyance rising within him. He promised to take care of y/n, but he also wants them to be happy, preferably together. This also means gaining her trust again and making her see that there's nothing for her to fear.

He hears how y/n gets up and dries herself with the linen. When he turns around, he helps y/n get out of the tub by extending an arm to her.

Y/n waddles into the tent leaving wet footprints behind her. Katsuki watches for a moment how the footprints start to fade before following her.

Maybe I should get her some slippers. The floor must be cold, Katsuki thinks.

When he enters the tent, he sees y/n wrapped in the linen on the bed brushing her hair with her fingers.

She might need a hairbrush for that long-ass hair, too, he ponders.

Y/n looks up and meets his eyes.

“Are there any fresh clothes?”, she asks him and points towards the pile of old clothes on the floor.

Katsuki understands and pulls out a dress he asked one of the older women to make for y/n. He picked the color red to match his eyes and Drami's scales.

Y/n pulls a face. The dress Katsuki is presenting to her is way too revealing. Not in a I-don't-like-showing-off-what-I've-got way but in a it's-way-too-cold-for-that way. Y/n shakes her head disapprovingly. She doesn't fail to notice the disappointed look at Katsuki's face.

“I can't wear that. I'm gonna be sick. Again. Do you want that?”, she tells Katsuki.

Y/n hops off the bed and strides towards Katsuki's closet and starts pulling out more suitable clothes. Katsuki watches her with a scowl. While he finds it endearing that y/n keeps wearing his clothes, he's a bit disappointed that she refuses the dress he had made for her.

When y/n has found everything she needs, she gestures for Katsuki to turn around again. Katsuki sighs and drops the dress on the bed. Adverting his gaze, he starts peeling an apple.

He hears the rustling of clothes. He looks up again when he feels a dip in the bed. Y/n sits there bundled up in way too many layers of his clothes. Katsuki thinks she looks like a drowned rat in it. None of her attractive features are visible in the baggy clothes she's wearing. For a moment, he wonders if that's how her people dress their women but then he remembers the dress she wore when they first met. Actually, where did that dress go? He should keep an eye out for it.

Katsuki sighs and hands y/n the peeled apple slices he cut for her. Y/n happily grabs the plate and starts munching on one of the apple slices.

“Katsuki, you in there?”, he hears Kirishima call from outside the tent.

“Yes, what do you want?”, he calls back grumpily.

After a short moment of silence, Kirishima calls: “Can I come in or are you indecent?”.

Katsuki can feel the blood rising to his face as he gets up from the bed.

“Shut up shitty-face! Come in and tell me what you want!”, he yells back.

Swiftly, Kirishima enters the tent. His eyes fall onto y/n who gives him a small wave.

“The missus is happy, it seems?”, he asks his friend and leader who only gives him a low grumble in return. Kirishima sighs and shakes his head.

“Look, I know you're the leader and everything but let me give you some advice: Spending time with the mate is all good and well. Y/n having a baby would sure be good news to the tribe, but...”, Kirishima starts and Katsuki throws a mean glace his way.

“... but you also should show your face around the settlement. People are starting to question where their boss is.”, Kirishima finishes.

“What are you telling me, Kirishima? That I'm neglecting my role as chief?”, Katsuki barks back.

Kirishima gives him a blank look.

“Yes, Katsuki, that's what I'm saying.”, he answers his friend. Katsuki growls at that and turns around to y/n who almost finished her apple.

“The men talk.”, Kirishima informs him.

“They always do. What do I care about?”, Katsuki answers.

“They talk about you. That you neglect your duties. That this foreign woman bewitched you. That the course we're steering isn't for the good of the people.”, Kirishima says carefully.

“What course?”, Katsuki snaps at him. Kirishima holds his sharp gaze.

“They say that you're in over your head. They think you're afraid and therefore you restrict the tribe's movements. Some even express that the plan of focusing on women probably won't work considering that your own mate almost passed.”, Kirishima explains matter-of-factly.

At that, Katsuki grinds his teeth. Kirishima is loyal, so he's sure the man is telling the truth. But who do these men think they are? They've never led a whole tribe, let alone trying to save one from extinction.

“Fine”, Katsuki says, “Then let's give them something real to talk about.”

~*~*~*~

Y/n watches Katsuki put on his armor. He's been on edge all morning and she doesn't dare to question him about what's going on. He won't understand anyway which will probably put him into an even more sore mood.

Suddenly, Mitsuki enters the tent. She's holding a bowl with a blue paste inside.

“You're a fool.”, she tells his son.

“What?”, he snaps at her while sitting down at the edge of the bed securing a dagger to his side.

“You can't tell me that you think this is a good idea.”, she says but Katsuki only scoffs.

“I'm sure you heard what they say. They start to think I'm an unfit leader. I guess it's time to remind them why I've become their leader in the first place.”, he tells her as he gestures for his mother to

come closer.

Mitsuki only sighs and looks disapprovingly at her son. Then, she steps closer and starts painting stripes and other patterns onto his face and body. Y/n watches intently. She notices that the patterns are different than the ones that were put onto her when she was shown off to the tribe.

“You know I shouldn't be doing this.”, Mitsuki comments.

Katsuki doesn't answer.

“Painting you for war is your mate's task.”, she tells him and Katsuki scoffs again.

“She'll learn in time.”, he replies.

Mitsuki throws a glance at y/n.

“If you say so.”

~*~*~*~

After Mitsuki finishes painting Katsuki's body, she leaves the tent. Katsuki takes a moment to ready himself. Once they leave the tent, it will be all high energy until he returns.

He turns to y/n who is watching him intently. When he doesn't say anything, she tilts her head

questioningly.

Katsuki pats her head and gets up. He grabs his sword and secures it to his belt.

Suddenly, they hear drums outside of the tent.

“The drums of war are calling us.”, Katsuki tells y/n, “Time for us to go.”

He gestures for y/n to get up and follow him outside. Y/n does so without complaining.

Outside, it seems as if the whole tribe is on the street. Y/n sees all men wearing similar paint on their faces as Katsuki. Also, they're all heavily armed.

Y/n looks around alarmed. What's going on? Are they being attacked?

Suddenly she spots Kirishima in the crowd. He's wearing a dim expression. Kirishima makes his way over to Katsuki and y/n.

Y/n oggles at the swirling red patterns that were drawn around Kirishima's armor. Katsuki elbows her roughly and she quickly adverts her gaze.

When Kirishima reaches them, he only says: “You're a fool, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, I've been told so today already.”, Katsuki grumbles.

“I'm not sure if organizing a raid in Todoroki territory is a smart way of securing the loyalty of your subjects.”, Kirishima points out.

“They need to be reminded that I can easily kill them if I have to. The best way of reminding them is to wring a few necks of Todoroki soldiers.”, Katsuki tells him.

Kirishima gives him a long stare.

“I'm sure that's the best way to make your men believe in your leadership skills.”, Kirishima says sarcastically.

A blonde man passes them and gives Katsuki a clap on the back. Y/n remembers that she had seen him before on the day that they arrived at the settlement.

“We're gonna blast these suckers!”, the man whoops and disappears in the crowd again.

“Denki seems to agree.”, Katsuki notes and Kirishima sighs.

“Denki's an idiot. He'd pick a fight with a bear naked and still think he could win.”, Kirishima complains, but Katsuki only shrugs.

“Do you really think we'll have to fight Todoroki soldiers?”, he asks his chief. Katsuki nods.

“Considering the scouts report and the rising military presence even in the outskirts of the kingdom, we need to be prepared to fight trained soldiers with swords instead of scared farmers with pitchforks.”, Katsuki points out.

Now it's Kirishima's turn to sigh.

“Well, your plan for this raid better be good. I'd really hate to die because our chief's a fool.”, Kirishima replies and starts walking. Katsuki gestures y/n to follow him.

Y/n notes how the entire tribe is walking in the same direction. She didn't know that many people lived in the settlement. There are mostly men and some elderly people. However, she also spots some women here and there. When she tries to smile at them, they quickly avert their gaze.

Katsuki tucks at her arm and pulls her forward. Only then she notices where they are going. Towards the gorge where the dragons live.

The dragons are lined up infront of the gorge. Y/n spots Katsuki's dragon almost immediately. The red one is a lot bigger than all the other dragons, even the mean-looking black ones. At least the green one's not here, y/n thinks and shudders.

She watches as some of the men say goodbye to their loved ones and then heave themselves up on their dragons. She sees a man kissing a woman who looks just out of place like herself. She doesn't seem to enjoy the kiss.

“Y/n”, she hears Katsuki say and she turns to him.

Katsuki is staring sternly in the dragon's direction before turning around to meet her gaze.

“I'll bring glory to you and our tribe.”, he tells her. He doesn't know why he does. It's not like she'd get it.

Softly, he traces the side of her face. Y/n looks up to him with big eyes. He grips her hips and pulls her hips against his.

“I'll come back to ya.”, he promises while running his hand through her hair. Y/n steadies her stance by putting her hands on his chest. Katsuki runs his hand up and down her back before placing it in her hair again. Slowly, he pulls her face towards his and kisses her deeply. Y/n's frozen for a moment, but then she kisses him back carefully.

Eventually, Katsuki pulls back. He places a last kiss on her forehead. Y/n watches Katsuki striding over to his dragon and mounting it. The men cheer.

With a mighty gust of wind, Katsuki and his dragon rise to the sky. Y/n watches as the men follow him. The swarm of dragons set off east and the drums are pounded until the dragons look like tiny ants in the sky.

Y/n turns around and watches the remaining people retreat to the settlement. She's a bit unsure what to do next. Most likely, she can return to Katsuki's tent. But then what? Katsuki and Kirishima are gone and it's not like Nadia will be of any help. Speaking of which, y/n hasn't seen Nadia around anywhere. Did she not come to send off her husband? Probably not, y/n concludes.

Suddenly, a cold, strong hand wraps itself around her arm. Y/n whips her head upwards and is met with a pair of ruby eyes. For a moment, she thinks that Katsuki has returned for her. Of course, that's not the case. It's the woman that Katsuki argued with.

Great, y/n thinks, from all the people helping me out, it just has to be her.

Mitsuki yanks her arm and y/n stumbles after her. They walk back into the settlement in silence.

Mitsuki takes her back to her tent. Inside, her ladies-in-waiting are working on a variety of tasks. Mitsuki points her toward an ancient-looking woman who is sewing. Y/n walks over timidly and the old woman pats at a cushion beside her while talking. Obviously, y/n doesn't understand her but when she hands y/n a torn shirt, a needle and yarn, y/n understands that she wants her to help sewing.

Y/n isn't a great seamstress but she's repaired enough clothes to know what she's doing. Her family never had much money, so she's used to repairing things over and over again. Also, it's kind of a meditative task.

For the next few hours, y/n keeps sewing one clothing piece after another while listening to the chattering of the old woman. She has no clue what the woman is going on about, but she doesn't seem to be unsatisfied with y/n work. Maybe she's just trying to make conversation, y/n thinks. Y/n decides that she likes the old woman.

Eventually, the pile of clothes that needed mending is worked through. The old woman puts the clothes into a basket and with a few words to y/n, she's walking outside the tent. For a moment, y/n thinks about following her. However, the woman gave no indication that y/n should follow her.

Maybe I was just supposed to help out with the clothes, y/n thinks. She turns around looking for Mitsuki. Maybe the woman has a new task for y/n, but the woman cannot be found anywhere. None of the other women are paying attention to y/n, so y/n takes a moment to observe them.

There are two older women peeling potatoes. The women are engrossed in a loud conversation. A young girl is sitting next to them cutting the peeled potatoes into thinner slices. She looks timid and doesn't chirp into the older women's conversation.

Best not to bug these two, y/n decides.

On the other side of the tent, there are two other women around Mitsuki's age, sharpening knives. The one with the blonde hair and the black streaks looks kind of brutish. Y/n contemplates approaching them since her father showed her how to sharpen knives before. Before she can decide against it, she forces herself to approach the women.

The women look up when y/n approaches them. They ask her something but y/n doesn't know how to respond, so she only points at the knives. The women exchange a glance but then make some space for y/n. The woman with the blonde hair starts showing y/n how to sharpen the knife, but y/n already knows the procedure, so she simply takes one of the knives and starts sharpening it. The women watch her for a good minute before deciding that y/n doesn't need any help.

The three of them work in silence which y/n appreciates after the old woman has talked her ear off. Also sharpening knives is a more demanding task than mending clothes. Y/n has to concentrate so that she won't slip and cut herself.

She's so deep in concentration that she doesn't notice Mitsuki entering the tent again and approaching them.

Y/n continues her work and when she thinks the knife is sharp enough, she lifts it against the light to inspect the edge of it. When she lets down the knife again, she notices Mitsuki standing next to her.

A shiver runs down her spine. Gods damn it! How did I not notice her?, y/n thinks.

Mitsuki takes the knife from her and inspects it. The other two women and y/n watch her intently. Eventually, Mitsuki lowers the knife and nods. The blonde woman claps her back. Mitsuki barks an order towards the women and they go back to work. Mitsuki swirls around and leaves the tent again.

I guess that's as much approval as I will get from her, y/n thinks taking the next knife.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[It's been so long, I don't know who of you even is still reading this story. So, I'm probably going to reset the tag list.

Please comment beneath this update if you'd still like to be tagged in future chapters. If you don't tell me to continue to tag you, I won't.

You're new here and want to be tagged? Please also comment beneath the latest update.]

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imastrangeone98 · 9 months ago

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Homecoming

(A/N: boothill my cyborg my love my life my everything-)

WARNING: fem!reader, SMUT SMUT FRESH OFF THE PLATE MINORS GTFO ILL WHOOP YO BUTTS, probably ooc!boothill but whatever it's fine lmao, his exact birth name isn't known so I didn't put a name for him- if there is one I'll replace it; but I found some X art that called his baby girl "cherry" and I really liked it so I'll use that, and way too much plot as always

"Well, hello there! What'cha lookin' at, sweetie?" You bend down to the little girl's eye level, peeking at where the child's gaze is locked on, then smiling in understanding. "You like those ones? They're moon lilies; they're flowers that are really special!"

"Pe... shal?" the little girl babbles, and you laugh.

"Yes, dear. Special." You pluck one of the flowers, beautiful with light blue petals and golden pollen, and offer it to her. "They mean loyalty, and undying devotion, because they only grow in places they like, and they won't grow anywhere else."

"Loya..." the girl mumbles. You chuckle and pick her up, carefully tucking the flower behind her ear.

"Now, where's your mama? Or your papa? I'm sure they're worried sick about-"

"Cherry! Sweet pea, where ya at?!"

Your ears prick, and the girl giggles and claps at the sound. "Well, I guess we found him."

You maneuver through the crowd until you find the source of the call: a man, tall and lean, with flowing black-and-white hair and piercing gray eyes.

Oh. He's beautiful.

The little girl squeals with delight at the sight of her father, and his head whips towards your direction. He sprints over to you and takes the child in his arms, pressing her close to his chest.

"There ya are, ya little rascal! What'd I tell ya about runnin' off?! Ya had me worried sick!" He kisses her forehead, then looks at you. "Thanks, I would've lost her without ya."

"Of course!" You wave it off, hoping he doesn't notice your hot cheeks. "I will say, she has good taste in flowers! If you'd ever like to buy a bouquet, you should bring her along!"

"Flowers? Oh..." He looks at his daughter, finally noticing the moon lily tucked in her hair. His cheeks flush a bright red. "Aw, man, I'm sorry for the trouble, I can pay for it-"

"Oh, don't worry about it, it's on the house! But I do hope this won't be the last time I see her!" You wave at her, and she giggles.

The man laughs at that. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind." He then stretches out his hand to you. "I'm [???]."

"(Y/N)."

He repeats your name slowly, thoughtfully, then smirks. "Guess I'll be seeing you around, lady."

"I'll be looking forward to it, cowboy."

Your eyes crack open.

Instead of a bustling marketplace, you're in a small shack in the middle of nowhere.

Just a memory.

You rise, body aching with fatigue and heartache, but you force yourself to push it to the side.

There's work to be done. You grab your phone and send a message.

ML: The USB is ready. I'll leave it at the usual place.

BH: ca nt maek it cme her

You stare at the coordinates your contact sent you with a groan.

You don't do face-to-face, too much risk. And the information you collected is time-sensitive; you're not sure if you'll be able to make it to the abandoned planet of Mavorosa in time for it to still be valuable, and your spaceship isn't one meant for such great lengths.

But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: Oswaldo Schneider is likely to make an appearance at the upcoming IPC Centennial Gala, and BH has proven themself capable of terminating that sick bastard.

You know you're not strong enough to do it yourself, but BH is. And anyone capable of taking down the son of a bitch who destroyed your home, your planet, your lover, is worthy of your trust.

So you bite your lip and bear it. You'll work something out.

ML: ok. I'll be there tomorrow @ 18:00, don't be late.

BH: k

You roll your eyes. Never mind.

With a heavy sigh, you carefully take out the picture/ only one you have of him. With your little girl in one arm and the other wrapped around your waist, he stares back at you with a grin. Bright, beautiful, alive.

"Don't worry, darling," you whisper, tracing the lines of his cheek and hair on the photograph. "We're one step closer to our goal. That bastard's a dead man walking now that we got BH on the case. They're good; strong and capable, I know they'll get the job done for us."

You gently press your lips over his image. And for a brief moment, you let yourself pretend that the paper is a good replacement for his callous skin.

"Once everything's done, I'll go over and join you and our girl. We'll be together again, I'm sure."

He smiles eternally at you, and you find yourself smiling back.

"Wish me luck, darling. Help me be strong."

[...]

His little girl adores you.

Each time he comes by the market, the first thing she whines for is to see the flowers. And you always indulge her, lifting her in your arms so you can show her all the pretty little blooms you have in your small cart. You give names to each one, tell her what they mean as though she understands you.

And you laugh. And he finds himself thinking that his little girl is a good judge of character, because he's starting to adore you too.

And it's becoming obvious, since Nick and Gray give him the occasional nab and jab, wondering out loud when they're going to see him get married and give them another grandchild. His siblings too, always cackling and yapping about how he might be the first to hang up his boots and settle down.

He rolls his eyes, but he's not too displeased by the idea. You're soft and sweet, with a kick of spice to match- the thought of settling down with you and Cherry on the farm is surprisingly sweet.

So he leaves Cherry to her loving grandparents and invites you out on a moonlit stroll through the hillside meadow, the one with the perfect view of the blooming moon lilies and the spring lake that reflects the starry night sky.

"I've never been here before," you gasp in awe, eyes aglow as you absorb the scenery. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah," he murmurs, gaze fixated on you and the moonlight in your eyes. "You are."

You turn your head, and your eyes meet. "Huh? Did you say something?"

"N- nothin'!" He faces the lake, and hopes you don't notice his red cheeks. "Said nothin'."

You laugh, and god, he melts at the sound. Then you rub the back of your head, and turn away, blushing. "I... I think you're very beautiful too."

His brain short-circuits. "Pretty... you think I'm..." Then he gasps dramatically. "So you did hear that! You sneaky mouse!"

He playfully tackles you, and you both laugh and chortle as you wrestle one another to the ground. But then he opens his eyes and finds himself on top of you, hands intertwined, faces so close he can feel your breath, smell your moon lily scent.

The moonlight bathes you in silver, and god, he wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you senseless, run his callous hands on your soft skin, wrap your plush thighs around his hips and-

"Can I...?" he whispers, weak and wanting. "Just... just a taste, I swear..."

You stare up at him, eyes so big and wide that he swears the moon itself disappeared to light up your gaze, that he doesn't notice you untangling your hands from his until you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Just a taste, cowboy?" you tease. "You don't wanna try... anything else?"

You raise your hips and grind on his pelvis, and he moans and kisses you, hard.

Eager hands dart across skin, tearing off clothes. He runs his hands over your plush tummy, hooks your thighs around his hips and moans when he finally enters you.

He'll never forget this moment. Even if he were to die and be reborn, he'll never forget you. Your pleasured moans as he slides himself inside your tight heat, your teary smile as you open your arms to let him press his chest against yours, your starry eyes so full of love and desire that mirror his own.

You make love for hours, the stars and moon lilies your only witnesses.

"-hill. Boothill."

His eyes crack open.

Instead of a blooming moon lily meadow, he's in the underground repair shop.

Just a memory.

He rises with a groan, mechanical joints creaking from the lack of use. "Done already? I was havin' quite the nice dream."

The mechanic rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I can tell. Anyway, speed upgrades are done; the rest of your body is the same- sensory receptors are good, memory chip still intact, et cetera."

She rambles on and on; he's used to tuning her out at this point. As long as his body is in peak condition, he doesn't need to know what else extra she's stacked on him.

"-and the dick. Make sure to test it out at some point."

He blinks. "What'd ya say?"

She groans. "The dick, Boothill. Make sure to test it."

"What dick are ya talking about? If you're trying to say I'm a piece of shi-"

"I added a dick attachment to your body, dumbass." She points towards his crotch. "I had an extra one that I really need to get rid of, so I'm giving it to you. Use it, rip it up and toss it, I don't care- just get it off my back!"

And with no further explanation, the mechanic practically throws him out the store, slamming the door with extra ferocity. Boothill lies on the ground, blinking a few times in shock, before checking his pants, and lo and behold, there is a silicone dick attachment. Sensory receptors and everything, he hisses when he pokes lightly at it, the wires in his body jittering at the unfamiliar sensation.

Doe eyes and a teary smile flash in the back of his mind.

He suddenly jumps to his feet with a vengeance and slams on the door. "You cheating, deceitful shirt-bag! Take this fudging thing off right now! You hear me, woman?! Take this shirt off right now!"

He's no doubt starting a commotion, a crowd drawing in to witness his rage-induced ranting and raving. But then his phone dings, and he's forced to put a pin in it, taking out the shitty device to hear the alarm: Meeting with ML @ 18:00! Meeting with ML @ 18:00! Be there or be square!

Ah, shit.

He can't miss this meeting, not even to blow a hole right between that shitty mechanic's eyebrows. ML is too valuable to lose, having provided him with incredibly detailed information on Oswaldo Schneider and the IPC time and again. Almost as if they have an agenda against that sick bastard as well.

Well. The enemy of an enemy is a friend, right? He'll take what he can get. And if they end up turning their back, well, he's sure his bullet is faster than their legs.

So he leans to the door, whispers a deadly "I'll be back for you, baby," and dashes to his spaceship to head over to Mavorosa.

And as he's prepping for flight, he looks over at the picture on the dashboard.

It's the only one Boothill has of you. The three of you, together- him holding little Cherry in one arm and your waist in the other, you wrapping your arms around him and your baby girl with your sweet smile and moon lily eyes.

He brushes a metal fingertip over your face.

"Just hang in there, moon lily," he whispers, a clump in his throat. "We're one step closer; ML's got some good intel on the son of a nice lady that destroyed our planet- our home. That destroyed you."

Boothill lost the ability to cry long ago, but the corners of his eyes itch all the same. He gnaws on his lip so hard, drops of blue blood trickle down his chin.

"I swear to you, darlin', I'm gonna get our revenge against that beautiful bench. He'll wish he never set his filthy sights on our home once I'm through with him." He gently picks up the photo and presses his lips to your image. "And then I'll come home. To Cherry, Nick and Gray, my siblings. I'll come home to you. We'll get started on that house we talked about, maybe some runts so Cherry can be a big sister..."

He swallows, then carefully puts the photo back on the dashboard. The lump doesn't disappear, so once the spaceship is cruising through the stars to Mavorosa, he sets it on autopilot and descends into the belly to go to his chest of valuables. He opens it up and delicately takes out the moon lily crown.

The one he was working on for you, a promise of his undying devotion. Before the world exploded in fire and ash. Before the IPC decimated his family, the moon lily meadow... decimated you.

He closes his eyes and raises it to his face. Even preserved, the petals are still soft to the touch, and smell just as lovely.

Just like you.

He won't let your death be in vain. He won't.

The lump in his metal chest morphs into rage.

Boothill opens his eyes.

[...]

If not for the Stellaron, Mavorosa would be a wonderful planet. A once lively city now stands abandoned, its skyscrapers and glass structures being embraced by nature once again.

You stand on the rooftop, mask and voice synthesizer on, fidgeting with the USB, simply observing everything when-

"So this is what you look like. I thought you'd be bigger," a male voice calls behind you.

Your body freezes. That voice... it sounds like...

No. You must be wrong. Maybe you've been so lonely that every male voice just starts to sound like your deceased lover.

"I thought you'd be here earlier," you reply with your warped voice. "Time is precious to you and me both, BH."

"Sorry, had to wrap up some... personal stuff on my end. I'm here now, ain't I?" The oh-so-familiar yet distant voice chuckles. "Well. Business ain't gonna settle itself. Where's the drive?"

"Where's the payment? We both know I don't work free."

He huffs. "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Don't worry, I got your cash. Just fork over the drive, no need to make things difficult, not after everything, yeah? Haven't I earned your trust by now?"

"You realize how difficult face-to-face is? It takes a substantial amount of effort to get this intel, not to mention the possibility of being-" You turn around in your exasperation-

And you drop the USB.

Tall and metal. Flowing black-and-white hair. Piercing gray-and-red eyes. Sharp teeth.

"Y'know, I've always wanted to be a gunslinger, just like Nick," [???] cackled, whipping out his revolver and making dramatic poses with it. "Maybe be one of those boothills of legend."

"I'd rather you not," you murmured as you brushed off some dirt off of his shirt. "Those boothills always died on their feet. I'd rather you not die at all."

He softened, and with a smile, he put down his gun and sidled up to you, bringing you in his embrace, warm and strong. You breathed in his comforting scent and sighed happily.

"Don't you worry about that, hun." He kissed your cheek, then square on your mouth. "I ain't goin' nowhere. You can't get rid of me that easy!"

BH. Boothill.

How could you not notice earlier?

Your mouth dries. You can't move a muscle.

It's him. Mechanical, but very much alive.

"Hey, watch the merchandise!" he hisses, pointing at the fallen USB. "I need that, don't you forget it!"

"How are you..." you weakly gasp, then you grab the USB. "Here. Take it. Forget the money."

You slide it over to him, and he stops it with his foot. But his eyes narrow at you.

"Whaddaya mean, 'How are you,' huh?" He walks towards you, slow and leisurely, like a coyote cornering its helpless prey. "You say that like you're shocked I'm still around. What'd ya do, huh? Sell me off to the IPC?"

"No!" you cry, shocked. "I would never-!"

"Why so jittery, partner? What are you hiding?" He smirks, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "How about a show of trust, huh? You take off that cute little mask of yours, I don't shoot you dead, and we keep our little arrangement goin'. Sound fair?"

You turn around, eyes searching for an escape route.

Aeons above, you need to leave. You can't show him your face. You can't remind him of everything he lost, the people he couldn't save. You can't hurt him any more than you already have. You're afraid. You want to hide. You're selfish. You want to tell him. You're in love.

You want to die. You want the ground to swallow you alive. You want to hole away in your shack and wallow in your grief, descend into a spiral of what-ifs: what if you tried harder to find him? What if you searched the whole IPC ship you snuck on trying to resolve things peacefully until you found him? What if you ran out earlier and tried to bring him with you? What if, what if, what if-

"Now that you got some measure of my grit," he whispers in your ear, suddenly standing behind you, "I'm sure you know how this ends, yeah? C'mon now, take it off."

You pant heavily, head dizzy with his close proximity- god, even with the metal, he still smells the same. "I- I can't-"

"Feelin' shy? Alright, I'll do it for you."

"No! Please, no!" You swat at his hands and try to break free of his iron grip, but he grabs you hard and pulls you against his chest.

He cackles, metallic and bitter. "And here I thought I finally had an ally, but no- you're just like the rest of 'em shirt-bags." He whips out his revolver and raises it to your head. "Take. It. Off. Now."

You want to cry. You don't want to hurt him.

Slowly, with trembling hands, you take off your mask...

And his gun falls to the floor.

Doe eyes. Soft cheeks. Scars. Floral scent.

"What made you wanna be a florist?" he asked you once, helping you water the rainbow roses. "They're pretty and all, don't get me wrong. But don't you want somethin' more exciting?"

"On the contrary, I think they're very exciting," you explained. "They all have their unique personality; some need lots of love and care, and others don't mind if you go missing for a week or two. There's flowers that only stay with you for so long, and there are others that will love you for as long as you'll let them."

He grunted. "Sounds like you'd do just fine without me."

"Oh, please." You put down your watering can and embraced him from behind. And just as planned, he melted at your touch. "Moon lilies love the moon, but they need the sun to grow. And that's exactly what you are to me."

"The moon?"

"The sun."

ML. Moon lily.

It's so obvious, how did he not realize it sooner?

He lets you go. You immediately stumble away from him, hands covering your face in shame.

Boothill has no lungs, yet he feels his chest collapse.

"(Y/N)?" he calls to you, weak and desperate. "Moon lily? That's really you, right?" He reaches out, hand shaking. But when he grazes your shoulder, you hunch further into yourself. "I- I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to scare ya. Please..."

Boothill willingly let go of his humanity. But right here, right now, he wishes he still had his skin.

"Please, darlin'... turn around? Let me see you, please."

You shiver, tears spilling down your cheeks, and slap a hand over your mouth. You can't hurt him, you'll never hurt him. "I can't... I can't see you."

His body wants to collapse. He wants to grab you by your shoulders and kiss you senseless, look at you from head to toe and sing praises to Lan for protecting you and keeping you safe.

But you won't see him. You won't turn around.

"Why?" he whines, like a pleading child. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not the same anymore!" you sob. "I'm not your moon lily anymore! I don't want to remind you of everything you lost! I don't want to hurt you anymore! You don't know the things I've done, the blood I spilled, all to destroy the IPC!" You sink to the floor in despair, echoes of the dead haunting you, swarming your mind. "I can't bear to see you hate me for being alive when everyone else died. I already hate myself so much, hated myself because I couldn't save anyone else! I thought I lost you, but now I realize I didn't search for you at all! I didn't even try to find you, I..."

You cry and sob and scream. You pound the floor with your fists. You pull at your hair, your clothes, your skin, so hard that drops of blood water the cement.

Boothill's eyes itch with tears that will never spill. His chest burns with a profound grief that will never truly be his own.

"You think I don't feel that way about myself?" he finally whispers. Bravely, he takes a step closer to you. "From the moment the bombs fell, I was never the same. I changed too much to be that man you met at the market- hell, I don't even have the body anymore." He sits just behind you, close to touch but not close enough. "The blood I spilled would be enough to fill oceans. But I'm still here. I still remember everything. I still remember you." His hand, feather-light, brushes your arm. You don't pull away. "I thought I lost you. When I went back to the ranch and couldn't find anyone there, I thought you were one of the piles of ashes on the ground." He chokes as he speaks, but he pushes on. "I never hated myself more. I failed to save them; I failed to save you."

You shake your head, but he gently rests his head on your back, right between your shoulder blades. He breathes you in- dust, machine oil, and moon lilies.

You smell so alive.

"How could you think I'd ever hate you," he whimpers, "when there's no one I hate more than myself? No, sweetheart, I could never hate you. I never will. Nothing you do could ever make me hate you. So please, turn around..." He grabs a fistful of your shirt and tugs. "I'm begging you. Let me see your face, please."

Your heart breaks. You couldn't fathom how much he suffered, how lonely he must have felt, the self-loathing that coursed through his wires every time he looked in the mirror.

Just like you.

"Don't hate yourself," you sniffle, rubbing your eyes. "Nothing you do could ever make me hate you either. What happened wasn't your fault; you didn't know what the IPC was going to do until it happened."

He lets out a small huff. "I could easily say the same about you. It wasn't your fault either- neither of us could've known until it was too late."

You exhale shakily. "Do you really mean it? Not hating me?"

Boothill smiles. "Every word."

For a moment, you're afraid. What if he doesn't like what he sees? You know he's not a superficial man, but you're still not the sweet florist he remembers anymore.

You suck in a deep breath. He's not the same man you remember, but he's still your cowboy, your Boothill.

Slowly, you turn around, and...

Oh. His face is just how you remember. His beautiful silky hair, the red targets in his eyes still framed within familiar stormy gray. When you reach out with trembling hands to cup his smooth cheeks, he melts in your touch just how he always did.

And melt he does. He nearly moans at your soft touch, pressing his cheek into your palms to keep your focus on him. He drinks up every detail of your face and commits it to memory- your beautiful moony eyes and the dark circles under them, the faintest hint of a scar curling from the edge of your jawline into your neck, your soft hair that smells of moon lilies.

You're still you, the sweet florist he fell in love with all those years ago. And now you've returned to him, and this time, he'll never let you go.

He sits you on his lap and embraces you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and savoring your scent. You wrap your legs around his waist and make yourself comfortable, admiring his metal body, tracing patterns into the steel.

"I love you," he whispers with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I never stopped loving you, not for one second."

"I'm sorry I didn't look for you," you confess. "But I kept you in my heart every day. Even when we weren't together, you were always a part of me."

"I'm here now." He pulls away to admire you, his thumb brushing your bottom lip as he gazes at you with what you could only describe as reverence. "I'm right here with you. I'm not leaving you ever again."

Boothill didn't realize how much his world lacked color until he kisses you, but now he swears he can see every color in the spectrum flash before his eyes. You taste just how he remembers, sweet and salty with your tears. When you pull away for air, he dives back in to reclaim your lips, hooking a hand around your neck to keep you in place.

He won't let you slip from his fingers again. And you clearly feel the same way, because you tangle your hands with his hair and tug him closer, pulling him on top of you.

"Please don't be a dream," you cry in his shoulder, and it damn near breaks his heart. "I don't want to wake up if it is."

"Darlin', those dreams are better off in Penacony; I'm right here. Does this," he kisses your cheek, "or this," he squeezes your ass and relishes in your squeal, "or this..." He grinds into you, and you gasp, squeezing his shoulders with a whimper. And fuck, maybe he was a bit too harsh with that mechanic, he should send her flowers or something, because your face contorted in shock and a hint of reawakened pleasure is a drug he will happily become addicted to. He nibbles on your ear and whispers, "Any of that feel like a dream to you?"

"...No." You stare at him, moon lily eyes abloom with hearts and love and fuck, he wants you, he needs you.

And your eyes are reflected in his, because you're so captivated by how the targets in his gaze morph into blood red hearts that drip with love and devotion. You want to give him everything, bring him under your skin and into your heart so you'll never be separated again.

"I love you." You smile and open your arms for him. "Let's never be apart again."

Boothill's brain short-circuits. He can only remember the minutiae of what happens next- tearing off your clothes, your hands running across his metallic chest, his sensors working in overdrive to let him process your touch, your smell, your taste, as he kisses, nibbles and sucks his way across the canvas of your body to reach your core.

But just as he's about to taste your liquid gold, you tug on his hair. He immediately moves up to your face, nuzzling into your neck to comfort you.

"What's wrong, moon lily? I'll be gentle, I promise," he reassures you, but you bite your lip and shake your head.

"I know. But I don't want that right now; I want you to fuck me."

You spread your legs, once again revealing your soaking pussy to his hungry eyes, and fuck, his mouth goes dry at the exquisite feast before him. And his new dick feels the same way, as the electricity in his body jolts it to life, straining against his pants.

He swallows. "Yeah, baby. I want you too, but I gotta prep ya, or it's gonna hurt."

"Don't care!" you whine, and on Lan's Arrow, you're so cute with your pouting and wailing. "I need you, Hillie, I need it, I need it-!"

Ah, fuck. He can't say no to you, and he won't start now.

So he rips off his pants, and after a few quick pumps of his new cock (yeah, he'll send some flowers to the mechanic as a thank-you), he grabs hold on your hips and thrusts forward.

You shriek at the burning sensation, scrambling for grip on his shoulders as he penetrates deeper and deeper. Fuck, it's been so long since you had sex of any kind, and it shows. You moan loudly, shamelessly, so sensitive to the buttons his cock presses perfectly against your walls, that you cum instantly when he bottoms out, hips meeting yours with a soft thud.

"Fuuudge," Boothill groans, each syllable drawn out in pleasure, "you're so tight, sugar~ I can't even move..."

His brain might just melt from the overload of sensations. Your pussy's so tight, so wet, he's damn sure he near ascended to aeonhood. And your face is so adorable when cumming, he makes sure to engrave every part of it into his neurochip and brush the hair out of your eyes, moving his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, guiding you out of the afterglow.

When you finally blink the stars out of your eyes, you see Boothill hovering above you, rubbing your cheek with hearts in his eyes.

"God, you're so fudgin' gorgeous." He grins, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, and a shiver of excitement runs down your spine. "Think you got another for me?"

You whine, "Still sensi- AH!"

He immediately sets a vigorous pace, hips slamming against yours in a hypnotic rhythm. He fixates on your breasts, and leans over to take a hard nipple in his mouth to suck and lick and nibble. You squeal and pull on his hair. He bites your skin in retaliation.

"Easy, moon lily," he moans, quickly stifling it with a kiss. "Hold on to me."

He grabs under your arms and lifts you onto his lap. His cock sinks impossibly deeper inside you, the tip nudging at your cervix. With a shriek, you bite his neck to try and ease the discomfort, but it only excites him more. With a guttural groan, he thrusts up into your sopping hole, bouncing you up and down with rough hands to set an even rougher pace.

You're still so sensitive; too much, too fast, and his cock fits so snugly inside you that you're already spiraling towards another release. But you don't want to make that journey alone, you want Boothill beside you.

So you grab his face and devour his mouth, pressing your tongue against his to savor his metallic taste. He moans against your lips, hips stuttering in an effort to keep up with you.

"Wanna make you feel good," you pant heavily. You carefully slide up and down on his thick cock, head thrown back as it hits your sweet spot. "Wanna... wanna cum with you!"

"Y- you are, baby," he groans against your neck, each word punctuated with a deep thrust. "You're makin' me feel so- darn- good-"

You're so close, you can see the faintest glimmer of stars again. Or maybe that was the sparks from his body as it overworks to keep his sensors running, so he can keep feeling you, tasting you, fucking you.

"Hillie," you gasp when the stars start to overwhelm you. "Hillie, I-"

"I know, baby, let go, I'm right with ya." He kisses you, over and over, thrusts sloppy as he chases his high, sensors working overdrive, wires sparking to further push him over the edge. "I'm- fudge, fudge, fudge-!"

He chokes, and you both come undone together, chasing that relentless wave of pleasure side by side. Stars collide and burst in showers of gold and silver, and your strength all but fails you, so you collapse in Boothill's arms, rubbing your cheek on his cool chest.

He catches his breath, letting his sensors rest as he basks in that afterglow. His wires are probably fried after such an intense sensory overload, but he can't bring himself to give a damn. Not when you're sitting so pretty in his arms, eyes just barely able to stay open.

You're so cute when you're sleepy, it's hard to not bite your cheek like he used to do. But tonight, he'll be generous and resist the temptation; you need your rest.

He runs a hand through your hair, and he once again finds himself wishing he still had his skin. But he sets that aside, preferring to be lost in your sleepy smile instead.

"Love you, Hillie," you coo drowsily, head nodding off.

"I love you more, moon lily," he whispers back with a kiss to your forehead.

In a moment, he'll bring you on his spaceship and clean you up, then tuck you in the spare bunk next to his charging port. He'll have to look at that USB you painstakingly put together for him sooner or later.

But for now, right here, he's not going anywhere.

His moon lily came back to him.

Boothill has finally returned home.

[Post-Credit]

"What the actual hell is this..." the mechanic sighs as she stares at the large bouquet of blue flowers.

She wonders if she should toss them out before she notices the card.

Thanks for the added bonus, Doc! - BH & ML

Her eyebrows raise. The handwriting's too nice and legible to be that Galaxy Ranger's, so...

She chuckles. "I figured it'd come in handy sooner or later."

She sets the bouquet on her desk and continues on with her work.

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

A/N: holy shirtballs BOOOTHILL MY LOVE AAAAAAAHSHDHDBSK I LOVE HIM SO MUCH LIKE I NEVER LOVED A CHARACTER BEFORE

...if only he loved me back just the slightest, cuz I lost 50/50 and went hard pity to get him. But I did win his lightcone so I guess it's even...?

#honkai star rail #boothill #boothill x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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stevie-petey · 6 months ago

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blurb idea? stug isn't having sex yet obviously but maybe dustin walks into bug's room while they're lying really close on her bed reading together and he flips his shit like OH MY EYES and they're like ...boy we're literally just sitting here. and steve's over for dinner and dustin refuses to look at him and claudia's like ok what's up and you're like literally nothing he's so dumb

i love dramatic dustin with stug so YES !!

enjoy <3

"so jo just rejects laurie? like, flat out, brutally rejects his marriage proposal after years of being best friends and basically already in love?"

"i mean, there are some nuances youre missing, but yeah. basically."

"what kind of sick book is this?" steve shoves the book away from him in disdain. his nose is scrunched up, offended, and you refrain from kissing it all better.

you fix a piece of hair thats fallen in his face as he lays next to you on your bed. "jo and laurie are tragic, i'll admit." your words are rough from reading for hours. steve always insists that you read the books for him, he claims youre better at it, but you know its because he loves the sound of your voice. "but its what makes the book so wonderful, dont you think?"

steve rolls his eyes at you. "your obsession with tragic romances concerns me. what, are you going to reject my proposal next? make me beg on my hands and knees for you?"

"technically you already did beg on your hands and knees for me-"

"wait, you didnt say youd accept my proposal."

with a sly laugh you clear your throat and bring the book back up to your face, continuing to read. steve stares at you as you read the heartbreaking words aloud, his eyes travel the length of your neck and the slope of your nose. the scene youre reading breaks his heart more than hed care to admit. youve been reading little women to steve for a few weeks now. he really thought itd be jo and laurie in the end.

lost in the way you voice lilts between jos soft rejection and lauries broken pleads, neither you nor steve hear dustin calling for you until its too late.

the boy barges into your room and nearly shrieks his head off when he realizes steve is in bed with you. "my eyes!" he cowers to close the door, covering his face with his grubby little hands.

"dustin!" you shout at him, throwing a pillow at him to shut up him. hes being dramatic, you and steve werent even doing anything. your boyfriend is lying next to you while you read him a long and horrendous breakup scene from a classic book. if anything, the two of you should be doing literally anything else.

steve rolls off your bed and lands on his feet in one fluid motion before running over to your brother. grabbing dustins shoulders, he shakes him to try and stop the screaming. "hey! alright, can you quit it?"

"no! you were-you-my eyes!" dustin scrubs at his face with utter turmoil. he hadnt even known that steve was in his house. normally the asshole makes his presence known, stops by dustins room to say hi. its why he barged in in the first place.

had dustin known hed walk into steve in your bed, he wouldve brought a goddamn flame thrower with him instead.

"we were reading, you moron!" youre next to steve now, desperately trying to quiet your brother before your mom asks whats going on. hes already bad enough, but if your mother finds out steve had been in your bed as well, thered be permanent hearing loss.

"read at your desk! thats what those damn things are built for!"

steve shoves his hand through his hair, agitated. "oh, and who are you? the desk police?"

"'desk police'?" you stare at the teen, disappointed. "thats the best you could come up with?"

"im under a lot of pressure right now. cut me some slack."

"i want you dead."

both you and steve turn to dustin, shocked and disturbed by his words.

"okay, thank you for sharing your feelings, dustin." awkwardly you pat his shoulder. at least hes being honest and open with you. "not necessarily what i wanted to hear, but im proud of you for sharing-"

"he wants me dead and youre commending him?"

"not now," jamming an elbow into steves side, you shut him up and focus on your brother again. "now, is there a reason you barged in or can we go back to reading?"

dustins grimace on his face seems permanent now. his nose is slightly upturned, his eyes distrusting. narrowing them at you, he takes slow, calculated steps back out of your room. "dinner is ready," he says tersely before leaving entirely.

"well, this will be fun." steve sighs, and you nod grimly.

dinner is not fun.

dustin doesnt look steve in the eye the entire time. he sits as far away as possible from the teen. when asked to pass the bread, dustin pointedly ignores steves request and throws a roll to you. the bread nearly knocks your mothers water over and shes finally had enough.

"goodness, dusty! what has gotten into you tonight?" she exclaims, settling the glass that threatens to spill.

mouth full of mashed potatoes, his eyes light up evilly. before he can even think about opening his obnoxious mouth, you kick him underneath the table. your foot connects with his shin and dustin wheezes mashed potatoes all over his meal.

"dusty!" your mother gasps, alarmed. she looks at you in concern while steve snorts into his glass of water. "what is going on with you three?"

"nothing, mom." grabbing the bread that was thrown at you, you pick it apart with your fingers and make a delighted sound. "dinner is lovely tonight, by the way."

"i love what youve done with the mashed potatoes, mrs. henderson." steve is quick to add, jumping in. he makes a whole show of scooping up the mashed food and shoving it into his mouth, moaning in pleasure. "is there garlic in this?"

your mother, always easily distracted, claps her hands with joy. "why, yes! i wanted to try something different. do you really like it?"

"i adore it."

later that night you find yurtle the turtles mealworms underneath your pillow.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #ask #thaliagracesgf #m speaks #come home blurb #m's writing #set in between seasons 3 and 4 !#steve harrington blurb #dustin is so dramatic #hes me

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idontknowwhatimdoinglol · 10 months ago

Text

yandere mother hera x reader x yandere father zeus (forever)

you have always been adventurous, even when you were little you always tried to run from olympus and explore the mortal lands. much to the dismay of your parents who had to chase you down everyday, to stop you from continuing to run and keep you safe with them they promised you that when you had come into your full powers that you could be free to go wherever you want. of course the promise was a lie and they had just hoped that you would forget about it by then but unfortunately for them you never did. today was your birthday and the day that you had finally gotten your full powers, you had planned to leave for the mortal realm as soon as the celebrations ended but your mother wanted you to join her for tea afterwards, you knew how hard it was for her to let you go so you went just to reassure her that you would be alright.

-----

you sat across from your mother in her room, one of her crows laying in your lap as you sipped your tea. hera stared at you a bit sadly, with anger behind her gaze. "so you're leaving so soon? you dont even want to stay until morning and gather your things?" she asks bitterly. you sigh setting your tea cup down. "mother we've talked about this, you and father promised when i was a child that i could go explore the world when i got my full powers, and now that i have you have to follow through on that promise." you explain softly, not wanting to hurt her further. her hands ball into fists under the table but she quickly calms herself down. "we we're not expecting you to remember that by this time" she says before giving a soft smile. "but if you insist and this will make you truly happy then i will not stand in the way." she says standing up with the tea pot, taking it to the other side of the room to refill it. you pause for a moment not believing what she said. "really? i can go?" you ask hopefully. she nods returning and filling your cup wit hmore tea. "yes my darling, if it makes you happy then i will not ruin it." she smiles with a glint of evil behind her eyes, but you miss it picking up your cup. "speaking of, where is father? i haven't seen him since the celebrations." you ask taking a sip of the tea, cringing a bit at its strange taste but not wanting to be rude and tell your mother that she made the tea wrong. "oh he is simply, unpacking some things" she says setting her cup on the table, you miss nearly all of what she said, a sudden headache setting in. you clutch your head a bit grunting in pain. "is something wrong my dear?" she asks with fake innocence. "suddenly i feel quite sick" you say, the room starting to spin. "i think i may go lie down a bit before i lea-" you start, but faint before finishing, the only sound in the room in your cup hitting the ground. before you fell hera managed to catch you with her powers. she sets you back on the chair stroking your hair. "I'm sorry my darling but i could not let you leave me." she says kissing your forehead. a few moments later your father walks in. "are they alright?" he asks walking closer, hera smirks. "of course, i would never hurt them their our child. they're simply unconscious for now. by morning they will have no memory of anything that happened today" she says stroking your hair. zeus leans down and picks you up, before taking you to your room with hera following close. both already discussing the lie they would tell you of how you had gone to the mortal realm and been hurt to the point that you lost your memory, but dont worry they'll keep you safe. after all youre their precious child, why would they ever hurt you? besides now you can remain theirs forever

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hurtspideyparker · 2 months ago

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An Unexpected Irondad Christmas 🎄

Peter was having a very boring Christmas.

May was working a 12 hour shift, all his friends were busy with their families, and the streets were too quiet to patrol.

It seems even criminals have a conscious.

While the presents under the tree were strictly off limits, May did let him open his stocking on his own. Therefore his special Christmas breakfast included a hot chocolate bomb and microwavable bacon, his lunch a festive green and red gummy bear salad, and dinner... he was honestly a bit sick of sweets, so box mac and cheese it was.

Peter is browsing channels for a good Christmas special while the water boils when a knock booms through the apartment.

Peter frowns, remote hanging limply in his hand while he tries to recall if he's expecting someone. Sometimes Ms. Hacket from down the hall gets lonely and comes for tea.

The knock sounds again, more impatiently, and Peter sets the remote down to answer the door.

He opens it a crack and then freezes.

"Mr. Stark?"

He's in a nice coat, long and black with a collar and three buttons. His hair is fluffed up with specks of white, and his dark sunglasses have droplets of water from the melted snow.

"Hey kid. Merry Christmas. Or Hanukkah. Or... whatever. Happy holidays."

Peter opens the door more fully now. He can see that Mr. Stark is holding something, several plastic bags stuffed heavily.

"Merry Christmas to you too. Um, I didn't get you a gift or anything, was I supposed to?"

Tony looks down at the bags in his hands like he forgot they existed.

"Oh. No, definitely not. This is a funny story actually. Y'know, I have this big Christmas dinner at the tower every year, beautifully catered food, all my friends around a big table, Pepper makes this delicious coffee cake for dessert. We drink, stuff our faces, the more drunk of us sing stupid holiday songs. It was really nice actually, considering most of us don't have families to do that stuff with."

He looks wistful, eyes not in the present.

"That... sounds really nice Mr. Stark," Peter says when Tony spends too much time lost in thought.

"Yeah. Well, the band broke up this year, all my friends are gone, or hate me, or both. Pepper's in Florida with her parents, who also hate me, especially because of all the on-again-off-again stuff, so I definitely wasn't welcome there. Rhodey can't travel with his injuries. And I—" he breaks off into a laugh, hysterical and whining, "forgot to cancel the catering order!"

Peter stares at him with wide eyes. The man only falls further into laughter, but the glisten in his eyes is anything but joyful.

Eventually he calms, straightening up and showing off the bags in his hands, "I have so much food, really nice, expensive, well done food for a big family of super humans and spies, and I'm completely alone! I even offered Happy a Christmas bonus to stay and eat turkey but apparently he actually has family—"

"You bribed Happy?"

"Christmas. Bonus."

He holds out the bags to Peter, "anyways. You're a growing boy, your aunt seems hardworking. You guys deserve nice food so. Here. You take it."

Peter's hands hesitate to reach out but Tony simply dumps the bags into his twitching palms anyways, the boy nearly dropping them from the unexpected handoff.

"It's untouched. There's turkey, ham, ribs, three types of potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, extra gravy for Nata—uh, feta bites, balsamic glazed carrots, peas, corn, stuffing, fresh baked rolls... you get the idea. Just didn't want the food to go to waste and I know your aunt can't cook to save her life so. Actually, where is she? Should probably be an adult and say hello."

Peter stares in amazement and intimidation at the bags in his hands. He can now see they're full of food containers, dozens of them.

"She's not home. Holiday pay is pretty good so she's at work."

Tony takes his sunglasses off, blinking at the kid.

"Oh. So you're alone? That's depressing."

Peter has to bite his tongue so he doesn't point out the older man's much lonelier, much more depressing predicament.

"Yep. I don't mind that much, I'll see her later tonight and open presents. I've just been watching movies. And thank you so much for all this food Mr. Stark, you didn't have to think of me."

"It's no problem, really."

They both stand there for a moment. Tony looks around as if the chips in the door frame are paintings at Le Louvre, and Peter stares at the man with his awkward posture and red marked hands from carrying all the heavy food.

"Did—did you want to come in?"

"I suppose I could spare a few minutes," Tony answers without delay, shoving past Peter into his home.

Continue reading on AO3 ☃️

#irondad and spiderson #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #mcu #marvel #marvel mcu #christmas #ao3 link #marvel fanfiction #may parker #ao3 fanfic

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queenofapeacefuldawn · 1 year ago

Text

SxF Crack Theory: The Identity Of [REDACTED]'s Father

Hear me out here.... but, maybe, Twilight's father could be Yuri's boss, aka, the SSS Lieutenant.

Now, this might be a crack/joke theory, but here is the evidence I have to back up my claim (yes, I'm presenting it because I'm just Like That):

(Warning: Manga spoilers ahead)

Exhibit A: Physical Characteristics

Here is a picture of Agent Twilight:

Here is a picture of Yuri's boss (who, from now in, will be referred to as YB, for my own convenience):

We can see that Twilight and YB have very similar facial characteristics: bluish-grey eyes, blond hair, and a similar face shape (nose, jaw).

We never see Twilight's father's full face: only the lower half, because he has presumably forgotten his face, along with his mother's (King of Emotional Repression™️), but we can see that his jawline and shape of his mouth are very similar to Adult Twilight.

Oh, and look at that- rather pronounced cheekbones, if I do say so myself. Where else did I see those? Hmmm

Exhibit B: Ambiguous Fate

During the War Arc, we're never told about [REDACTED]'s father's fate. We just know he never returns to his family: and the reason why he left for the very last time, was that, "Things have been heating up at the border. I need to take a little business trip." The fact that his, a (presumably) rather important man's, body was never recovered: nor were [REDACTED] or his mother informed of his death. Of course, his body could have been lost in the bombings, or the part of [REDACTED] finding out about his father's dead could have been omitted, but for most of the part, we're left to assume about his father's dead. And... this sounds familiar to another instance...

Like the instance of [REDACTED]'s friends. He (and we) assumed they'd died in the warehouse as children, but later we see that they're alive and in the army (only to die a second time, RIP), but this time, for their deaths to be confirmed: for [REDACTED] to only receive their dog tags after the failed campaign.

This may have been a setup: for Endo to reintroduce [REDACTED]'s father, later in the story, as YB.

Anyway, one thing I've learned after reading and watching so many books, comics, and TV shows: never assume a person's dead, not unless their body/proof of their death has been explicitly shown. This belief was only reinforced after [REDACTED]'s friends.

And, [REDACTED]'s father's last known place was around the Westalian-Ostanian border. He could have escaped in the crossfire, theoretically...

Exhibit C: Fatherly Nature (?)

We all love a good found-family dynamic in the workplace. It's there with WISE, it's there with Garden, and it's kinda there with the SSS.

My main argument about this stems from the chapter which focuses on Yuri's work.

We see YB continuously worry about Yuri's physical health, in panels like:

Obviously, this doesn't happen only in this chapter. Whenever Yuri's there, YB is also there, yelling at him to a) go to sleep, or b) STOP GETTING HIT BY BUSSES OH MY FUCKING GOD IT CAN'T HAPPEN SO MANY TIMES TO ONE PERSON-

And, of course, there's the Yuri Sick Fic chapter:

Not gonna lie, this point is extremely weak, if I brought this up in court I'd be laughed out of there-

Anyway, I just wanted to put this in.

If it does turn out that YB is [REDACTED]'s father then. Bestie. Buddy. How are you managing to be a better father-figure to some insolent kid who gets hit by busses than you were to your actual son, like 20 years ago. Maybe he learned along the way.

Exhibit D: Symbolism (???)

Oh, look, another point I'm pulling out of my ass! But whatever, you're reading it <3

During the War Arc, we see Twilight sustain two major injuries:

One, as a child, when his home is bombed:

And two, as an adult, in the army:

and these injuries are both to his left eye.

Of course, this has given rise to theories of him not being able to see his left eye, it being his blind spot, and Yor guarding his blind spot on missions, etc., etc., which I love bc ✨Twiyor✨

Getting back on point, if we look at YB, we see that he has injuries too... or rather, remnants of them, what with the scars he has...

which, are also on his left eye. Huh! Interesting... this might just be me, but could this be parallels to how similar he and his father were? Are? His father also wanted peace between Ostania and Westalis: but he taught his child that in a very harsh manner (by slapping him), but Twilight wants to teach Anya that in a kind manner. Whenever we see him teaching her, he never loses his cool with her (of course, he loses a lot of hope, but this man's a pessimist, what can we do).

Also shows how much kinder Twilight is, compared to his father.

---

Of course, these points are very weak, and it might just be that Endo reused some character designs for efficiency, but let me be, ok!! This is a crack theory!!! Let me be a clown!!!! AKDFJSJF

If I'm being honest, this post was inspired by a convo I'd had with my friend, around the time Chapter 86 was released. She was theorizing that [REDACTED]'s dad is the Shopkeeper, and I was theorizing it was this dude. Of course, our theorizing was sidetracked by Chapter 86, and a certain panel within it, but... WHATEVER.

So, what are your thoughts? Obviously, my own theory is very weak (for example, why would the SSS accept a Westalian citizen into their ranks? Why would he even join the SSS? Could he have defected? Abandoned his wife and kid?), but this was fun to think about, lol. What are your theories? I think the Shopkeeper-is-the-dad theory and the YB-is-his-dad theory are both cool, so, what do you think?

(Also, yeah, I know, his dad could very well be dead. I just refuse to believe it, bc I'm just Like That <3)

#spy x family #sxf #spy x family manga #spy x family headcanon #spy x family theory #spy x family manga spoilers #spy x family anime #agent twilight #loid forger #yuri briar #sss lieutenant

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annwrites · 9 months ago

Text

⸻ forever. ⸻

· pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you & billy go to a vegas casino. the next day, you have a scare & make a commitment. · word count: 7,560

The next day, you and Billy stay snuggled up in bed watching TV.

Even though Billy continuously changes the channel every few minutes as soon as you get interested in something just to drive you nuts. The two of you nap, eat, talk, and every once in a while, get on each other’s nerves just for fun.

But, as you lie with your head on his chest and he with his fingers in your hair, you’re completely content to fall back asleep listening to his steady breathing and the beat of his heart.

You wake in the middle of the night to Billy tossing and turning beside you while muttering unintelligibly.

His brows are furrowed, and his body is slick with sweat.

You cup his cheek in your hand, and quietly shoosh him, while telling him to wake up.

When his eyes do finally open, they're full of fear.

He gazes up at you and his face crumples.

"Oh, baby doll," he says before burying his face between your breasts and wrapping his arms around you.

You twine your fingers in his hair and hold him to you. "It was just a nightmare. It's okay."

"I lost you," he whispers. "You...fuck, you stopped breathing. I—"

"Shh, it wasn't real. I'm right here. Shh."

You let him cry softly against your chest until you eventually manage to coax him back to sleep by reassuring him over and over again that you're all better now, that you're still here.

"I love you. Just try and go back to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay?"

He nods, pulling you closer. "I love you, too."

While still a tad under the weather, you feel far better the next day, and are honestly itching to get out of the motel room, even if it's just to go sit outside, or ride shotgun while Billy drives around letting you sight-see.

You're just coming out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, when Billy comes back into the room carrying breakfast with him.

He kicks the door closed with his boot, and he has a brown paper bag held between his teeth, with to-go cups in one arm, and a couple more bags in the other.

He looks up to you with a raised brow as he begins setting everything down and then he nods toward the bed. "Take all that off and get back into bed."

You come over to him. "I feel better today. I'm tired of being stuck in this room, Billy. It's been days now. Can we please go do something?"

You bat your lashes at him, then press yourself against him, and he groans as you slip a hand in his pocket. "Pretty please?"

Before he can tell you, yet again, to get back into bed, you swiftly remove your hand, with his keys now dangling from your fingers.

He sighs, holding out his hand. "Yeah, you're hilarious. C'mon, give 'em."

You back up a step and hide them behind your back. "As soon as you promise to let me out of here."

He studies you for a moment. "Maybe in another day or—"

"No, today."

He crosses his arms, his jaw flexing. "I said no. And that's final."

You step closer to him and reach out for his hand, but he snatches it away.

"No. Do...do you have any idea what you put me through? I thought..." He shakes his head. "Don't ever fucking do that again, alright?"

Your lip twitches. "I will do my utmost to never get sick again. I promise."

You press yourself against his chest then. "Now let me outside."

He sighs. "Only once you've had breakfast."

You snuggle closer. "Deal."

"If you so much as sneeze, I'm taking your ass back."

You roll your eyes.

He's been like this since before you stepped out the door. He even forced a thermometer under your tongue before letting you go out, which had read a perfect 98.7°—a temperature that should've pleased him, but he'd instead frowned.

You've tried joking that he just wants to keep you all to himself for another day, but you know it’s because he’s terrified of you getting sick again.

You turn in your seat to face him and run your fingers through his hair.

He fights against his lip twitching at the tender gesture, and then he sighs. "Alright, where to? Unless you want me to pick?"

He looks at you then with a smirk now on his face. "We are in Sin City. Could always hit a sex shop, then head back and create our own entertainment for the day."

You lean over and kiss him deeply, and when you pull away, he has a brow raised, thinking he's talked you into it.

"Nice try."

He leans back, and rolls his eyes as he turns the car over.

"Billy, stop, we can't go in. This is ridiculous. They're never going to buy your fake; I'm sure they see them everyday."

Billy is currently pulling you alongside him...into Caesar's Palace.

He'd gotten the idea to go gambling, and not even offering to go to a sex shop to try on skimpy lingerie manages to talk him out of it. You even throw in that he can finally cuff you to whatever he wants and have his way with you if he’ll only turn back around, but he doesn’t listen to a word.

You've tried tugging unsuccessfully against his hand, unable to pull him back an inch in the other direction. Instead, he leads you further inside. And, just when he thinks—ignorantly—as he passes the hotel lobby, headed in the direction of the casino floor, he’s about to get away with it, a large man dressed in a suit, who’s probably twice the size of Billy, steps in his way.

Billy doesn’t shrink away from his authoritative presence, but you hide yourself just the least bit behind him as you glance up shyly to the security guard.

"Somewhere you're headed?" He asks—his voice a deep baritone tune.

Billy looks up at him with a bored expression, nodding behind him. "Got a few greenbacks that're just burnin' a hole in my pocket."

He goes to step past him, but the man side-steps, once again blocking him.

"ID card, pal."

Billy retrieves his wallet, and hands him the requested piece of information.

He studies it with a raised brow, then looks at Billy.

"Billy Squier? You really thought someone would buy that?" He tosses it back to him. "Go on, get out of here."

Billy shrugs, tucking his wallet back away. "Like I can help that we share the same name."

He smirks, flashing him a dazzling smile. "The Stroke is a damn good song, though, ain't it?"

He glances at you, then back to the security guard.

The man chooses to ignore Billy, honing in on you. "You got a fake for me, too? Let me guess: Stevie Nicks? No. Cindy Lauper."

You hold Billy's hand more tightly. "I—"

Billy interrupts you. "She left hers in the car."

He lets go of your hand.

"Listen, man, what's it going to take? My money's good, ain't it?"

He pulls out a wad of rolled up cash, counts out a few bills, then reaches forward, and he feigns shaking his hand—the bills disappearing into the other man's grip. "Just trying to show my girl a good time. What, you've never been young and in love before?"

"You ever been employed before, kid?"

He shoves the money back against Billy's chest. "Go on, before I have to use force."

Billy gives him a glare before turning back around and wrapping his arm around your waist. "C'mon, baby, we'll go blow a grand at Circus Circus instead."

Somehow, you and Billy get lucky at the next casino. You show up just when the security guards are changing shifts and sneak right in. Your heart is pounding, and you can’t tell whether it’s your palm or his that’s sweaty, but you eventually come to wrap your arms around one of his as he weaves between slot machines and craps tables.

You glance around and lights twinkle in your wide eyes in the dim lighting. The space is illuminated by colorful overhead chandeliers, and neon slot machines. There's even a section of the room that's modeled after a carousel.

You look up to Billy then, continuing to walk alongside him.

"Can I play a slot machine?" You ask sweetly.

"Once I win at blackjack."

You frown. "Do you even know how?"

He stops, turning back to you. "Baby, I've got skills you've never seen."

You hook your finger on his black half-unbuttoned shirt. "That's likely."

He shakes his head. "Keep it up."

When he turns away, you smack his ass and he laughs.

You stand behind Billy, actually impressed.

He'd not been lying about knowing how to play cards. While nearly every other person sitting at the table had eventually folded, or busted more times than they were comfortable with, and thus left with bruised egos, Billy's chips are just continuing to pile up.

You don’t like the way some people are eyeing his winnings, however.

You lean down close to his ear as he holds his cards close to his chest. "Billy, I think that's enough—"

"After this hand."

You sigh, frowning. "You said that twenty minutes ago."

He taps two fingers against the table and the dealer slides another card his way.

"Like I can help that I'm on a roll."

He looks up at you, smirking. "Think you might be my little good-luck charm."

You shift on your feet. "You have way more than you came in with now. Can I please just go try a slot machine?"

He glances at the dealer and watches as he turns over a card, and a smile breaks out across Billy's face as he throws his own cards down before slamming his fists against the table. "Woo! Winner winner, baby!"

He pulls more chips in his direction, which you quickly grab in your fists, heading in another direction with them. You hear him curse from behind you, but he quickly gathers the remaining ones on the table before following you to go cash in.

After finishing up with the casino’s teller, Billy securely pockets away a few hundred dollars—practically beaming from his winnings. He then hands you a five and nods toward the slot machines. “Go nuts.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Only five dollars?”

He leans down close to you. “You want more, guess you’ll have to blow me.”

Your expression then morphs into a scowl. “You’re so—”

“Y’know, my dice, when I play craps later?”

You turn your back to him, and head toward a slot machine. “That is so not what you meant.”

“Not my fault that my cock is all you can think about.”

After losing once, you’d been ready to burn the entire building down. But after a few times? You’re seething.

You yank on the arm one last time and it then demands more money.

“Oh, that is such bull. It took all my money!”

Billy glances at a few others who are seated at nearby machines, and a muscle in his jaw feathers when he sees them looking your way as you continue to make a scene.

“I didn’t win once. This game is rigged. I want a different machine!”

He can’t believe you’re getting this upset over losing five dollars that hadn’t even been yours to begin with, anyway.

“Honey—”

“Don’t honey me, I want another five,” you state, holding out your hand.

He crosses his arms. “I think someone might have a bit of a gambling problem.”

The vein in the middle of your forehead makes an appearance—he’s never seen that trick before. “I wanted cherries. I kept getting fucking bananas and—”

He steps closer to you, needing to calm you before someone calls security. “Sweetheart, I will give you all the banana you want when we get back to the motel. But right now—”

“I said cherries! See, you’re not even listening to me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

Good Lord, you’re acting like a little kid. And he typically relies on you to be the mature one. Seeing you so pissed had been funny at first, but now you’re getting a bit scary.

“Alright, fine, I will pop your cherry when—”

You lean your head back and groan in irritation.

“Too late for that now, isn’t it?” You state, leveling him with your gaze.

He finally reaches up and squeezes your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “You want to get us kicked out?”

“No,” you mutter through fish lips.

He smirks.

You look adorable like this. So tiny and angry with your face all squished in his strong grip. Like a pissed off kitten. “If I give you another five, will you promise—if you lose—to control your temper, and behave yourself, and not be a sore loser?”

“Yes.”

He releases you, giving you the promised amount of cash.

“Motherfu—”

He yanks you up from the stool by your upper-arm before you can finish that expletive. “Alright, time to go. You’ve had enough.”

“Just give me another—”

“Nope, you’ve had enough.”

“But—”

“No buts. C’mon. You’d leave us high and dry if I let you have your way.”

“You are so not getting lucky tonight.”

“Already did. Sounds like you’re the one who didn’t.”

“Oh, you son of a—”

Once the two of you are back at the motel, you’ve thankfully calmed down.

Billy is almost afraid to leave not just his money, but the keys to the Camaro anywhere you can get to them, lest you return to the casino for a second round. Third, really.

But, once you’re in a bubble bath and softly humming to yourself as you wash up, he figures that you seemed well-enough over it.

After bathing, you stand over your bag of toiletries with shaking hands and wide eyes, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare down at a tampon that’s been hidden at the bottom of the bag.

You’re late. Very late, by your standards. Your period has always been like clockwork. If it is ever ‘late’, it’s by no more than a day. Ever. And even that is a rare occurrence. Far and few between times has it happened.

But today makes five days.

The two of you have used protection every time. But…what if there had been a hole in one of the condoms? Or some of his semen somehow leaked out or…

That night on top of the Camaro.

But he’d finished on your stomach. Not inside of you.

No.

This isn’t happening.

You are not—

“Are you about done in there? I need to take a piss.”

You jolt, and drop the plastic tube on the floor, before turning to stare at the closed door, unable to form a single word. Until you manage to choke out, “just a sec”.

“Gettin’ all dolled up for me just to go to bed?”

Your eyes sting with unshed tears.

God, you want him to just leave you be for a few more minutes so you can collect yourself. Because right now? You feel on the verge of a hysterical breakdown.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. Your face has gone pale, all blood is now drained from your lips, and your eyes are wide and terrified. And you’re shaking like a leaf.

You begin taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself.

Oh God, you feel like you’re about to pass out.

It’s nothing.

You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, that is all. Yes, that makes perfect sense.

From the moment you left Hawkins, you’ve been on a non-stop rollercoaster of emotions. All the traveling, the fighting, worrying about money, worrying about each other, worrying about the future, you getting sick—it’s a perfect recipe for a late period.

And it’s only five days. Just because it’s typically always on time doesn’t mean it can’t be late every now and again, right? Sometimes bodies are weird. They don’t always operate how they’re supposed to. Obviously, or so many diseases and disabilities wouldn’t exist. And stress can wreak havoc on the healthiest of people. So, you have nothing to worry about. Right?

“Sweetheart?”

You quickly gather your things and do your utmost to ignore how your stomach is now in knots, and your shoulders are tense, and your jaw is locked tight.

You swing open the door and stare up at Billy.

“All yours,” you say, stepping past him.

A moment later, you hear him relieving himself.

You let out a breath of relief that he hadn’t noticed you’re now upset.

You barely touch your dinner.

Billy notices, but you use the excuse that you aren’t all that hungry’.

He stares at you for a moment before stealing one of your shrimp and telling you that he’ll eat them if you aren’t going to. He doesn’t notice your palm pressed firmly against your stomach beneath the table.

Once the two of you are in bed, you’d turn your back to him and try to fight back tears.

If…if you are…will happen to the two of you?

You’ve been so sure, since after that night in Texas, that you’ve finally found the one now. But this… A baby will ruin everything. He’ll leave you. This much he won’t stand for, you’re sure of it.

You’re both eighteen—kids yourselves. What the hell do either of you know about being parents? You don’t have any idea of how to be a proper mother, since you’d not been given an example of one yourself. And Billy has his history with his father.

You haven’t had that talk yet: what you want when it comes to kids. You don’t even know that he wants them in general. You don’t know what you want, either…

Just as your terror begins to grow, you feel his hand slide along your hip while his erection presses against your back.

You feel sick at the sensation of it. That part of him has now destroyed your entire life. And you’ll be the one forced to deal with the consequences—the fallout.

You’d been right to be abstinent before. This is his fault. He hadn’t stopped until he’d buried himself inside your head. He’d pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled until you didn’t know where else to run but into his arms.

No. You can’t think like that. He loves you. He’s made some mistakes, but you understand why; have chosen to forgive him. You love him, too. And what if you’re just getting yourself all worked up over nothing? What if you aren’t indeed pregnant, and are only causing yourself further stress, which will only serve to delay your period further?

Billy presses his lips to your neck, and he reaches under his t-shirt, which you’re wearing, cupping your breast. “Want me to help you get undressed, honey?”

You bite your lip until you taste blood—fighting back tears. “I’m really tired. Maybe not tonight.”

You say it so quietly that he barely hears you.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Told you that you should’ve stayed in bed. But no one ever listens to Billy.”

You don’t respond. You just take his hand and wrap his arm around your waist, praying to God he doesn’t notice that your own is shaking.

You toss and turn most of the night.

At one point you lock yourself in the bathroom to cry while Billy sleeps. You clutch at your stomach and pray to God that you’re not what you think you are.

If you are, and he does leave you, what will you do? Where will you go? Everything will fall out from under your feet then. You’ll have nothing. No one. He’s your entire world. Everything. He’s everything. Your everything. You’ve come to lean so heavily on him—to rely on him at every turn.

If he leaves you behind… You want to die at the thought.

The next morning, you’re exhausted, and Billy quickly takes notice over breakfast, which you barely touch.

He brushes his foot against yours and he reaches for your hand, concerned with the lost-in-thought look on your face. Are you getting sick again?

“Baby?”

You look up at him. “Hm?”

“You alright, angel?” He asks before reaching up and pressing his palm to your forehead.

You don’t feel feverish…

You nod slightly, then look back down to your cereal, which is now just a bowl of mush, and idly stir it.

“I think you’re still just getting over that cold. I should’ve made you stay in yesterday. How about you go lie back down and get some rest. We’ll just hang out here for the rest of the day. Alright?”

You nod, then get up and strip before lying back down.

You quickly fall asleep.

When you wake, the TV is on and the volume is low.

Billy is sitting up, with one arm around you, holding you close to his leg.

You stare at the closed curtains, wondering what time it is, but don’t want to ask, because you don’t want to talk. You don’t want him to notice that something more is wrong than you just ‘being under the weather’, even if you know you feel back to normal now. You don’t want him to keep digging until you’re finally forced to cave and tell him what’s really going on.

So, you close your eyes instead, and force yourself back into a dreamless sleep.

Billy lets you sleep through lunch, but he now stands at the foot of the bed frowning, considering whether to wake you for dinner.

He’d gotten you a cheeseburger—one of your favorites—so he’s sure you’ll eat it.

He tucks some hair behind your ear, then gently shakes you awake.

“Dinner’s here, beautiful. Time to get up. Once you’ve eaten, you can go back to bed.”

You moan against the pillow, wishing he’d just left you be.

You don’t want to eat, because the moment you open your eyes, your stomach starts twisting into knots again. But you fight the feeling of nausea down, telling yourself to, at the very least, act fine. Pretend like you feel as much.

You sit up then and smile slightly at him.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and hide your face from his view. “Better.”

He sighs. “Good. That’s good.”

He leads you over to the table, and you force every bite down.

Billy makes another sexual advance that night, shortly after lying down.

He slips his hands between your legs. “I can do all the work tonight, if you want?”

You simply pressed yourself into his chest. “Could you just hold me instead? Maybe…maybe tomorrow.”

He remains silent as he slides his strong arms around you and holds you close, whispering that he loves you and to get some more rest. That he’s sure you’ll feel better in the morning.

You do not, in fact, feel better in the morning. More rested than the day previous, yes, but your nerves are fried.

You’d raced to the bathroom to…expel your bowels from nerves at least twice in the night, and now your stomach is truly on empty. But just the thought of eating makes you feel sick.

You lie in bed awake—even if you’d rather not be—and listen to Billy quietly snore beside you. You sit up, then gaze down at him, trying to memorize every line and facet of his face and body before you lose him for good.

Tears sting your eyes at the thought of being alone again. Though, you won’t be totally alone, you suppose.

If you are that…will it look like you, or him? Will it have his eyes? His beautiful head of hair?

You don’t think you can bear it: having to look upon a perfect reflection—reminder—of him every day, while simultaneously knowing he’s never coming back.

How could you have let this happen? What if you get rid of it instead? Somehow, that thought makes you feel worse. A little bundle that’s equal parts you and him…gone. Just as a tear slips down your cheek, he begins to wake.

You quickly wipe it away, and smile as he opens his eyes, while he looks up at you, stretching.

He reaches a hand up to your cheek, cupping it. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“You been up long?”

You shake your head. “I just woke up a couple minutes before you did.”

“Admiring your sleeping beauty then, huh?”

You smile at the sarcastic comment. “Most certainly.”

He slides his other hand up your thigh, stopping close to your heat. “You want to?”

You shift under his touch.

How to tell him no yet again? You’ve not been intimate in days, and you worry that continuing to reject him will only serve to hurt him, if not make him suspicious. But the thought of him buried inside of you right now… You simply can’t.

He notices your silence and his smile fades.

“Guess not.”

He removes his hand before getting up. You watch silently as he nervously runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m gonna go take a leak,” he says before padding over to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Your chin wobbles, knowing you did it anyway: hurt his feelings.

Billy lays on the horn, waiting for traffic to move. He glances at you who is busy staring out your open window.

He knows something is wrong, but you won’t tell him what.

He reaches over and slides his hand up your leg, and his ego takes a hit when you recoil at his touch. He sighs, then rests his hand back on the shifter.

“Come the fuck on, man!” He shouts at the line of cars in front of him.

He then looks back at you. “What? Are you still sick?”

You clasp your hands. “No. I’m just…tired.”

He leans his head back, rolling his eyes. “Heard that a lot the last couple days. Don’t know how. It’s not like we’ve screwed much recently.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t really care about that. He’s fine with waiting on you. It’s the fact that you’re keeping something from him that’re starting to really get under his skin.

You begin to shake from anger. “After everything, and that’s still all you still think about. Not like I should be surprised. Since we met that’s all you’ve thought with is what’s in your pants.”

He jerks his head in your direction.

The two of you haven’t fought like this in a minute. “Excuse me?”

“You want to get laid? We’re in Vegas. Go pick up some hooker on the strip. You should have enough for it after the other night at the casino, I’m sure.”

He grips the wheel tighter. “The fuck is your problem? Huh? You got somethin’ you want to say to me?”

You look at him, and his expression softens when he sees the tears gathering in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice breaking before you bury your head in your hands.

He unbuckles, then reaches over and wraps his arms around your trembling frame. “Shh. Baby, please tell me what the fuck is going on. Did…did I do something?”

How to say yes and no?

You look up at him then with tears now streaming down your cheeks. “I’m late.”

His brows furrow. “Late? Late for wha—”

His face falls, and all color drains from it in an instant, leaving him lightheaded. He remains calm, as calm as he can manage—for the moment.

“How late?” He asks, deathly serious.

“F-five days.”

“And the latest you’ve ever been is?”

“A day. And rarely, at that.”

He stares at you for a moment, then swerves onto the shoulder, parks, and he quickly gets out, slamming the door behind him.

“Fuck! Motherfuck! Why does this shit keep happening to me? It’s going great one minute, then it all just turns to shit!”

You turn away from the window then, refusing to listen anymore as you begin to sob while clutching your stomach. You reach forward, toward the dash, now hyperventilating, and you try to catch your breath as your ears begin to ring.

A moment later, Billy gets back in the car, then forces his way back into traffic.

“We’re not going to freak out until you’ve taken a piss test and we know for sure,” he states.

Both of you stand in the family-planning aisle of a CVS, staring at their plethora of a selection of pregnancy tests.

Billy reaches forward with a shaking hand and he grabs a two-pack in a pink box.

“Should… Do you want this one?” He asks, looking at you.

You shrug, your lower lip trembling.

He puts it back, grabbing a blue box next. “This one sounds like it should be fairly accurate. Ninety-eight percent.”

He tosses it back onto the shelf. “Why the fuck are there so many? What’s the goddamn difference? I mean, Jesus, it’s like buying condoms. I mean, the things are supposed to be fuckin’ fool-proof, right? Why make shit that leaves you guessing in a situation like this? It’s ridiculous.”

You stay quiet, knowing he’s talking more to himself than he is to you.

He picks the blue box back up in one hand, grabs your hand in his other, and he leads you up front to the register.

Billy tosses the test onto the counter, and the older woman behind it eyes up the two of you as she scans the box, telling Billy his total.

You just stare at the floor as he pulls out a bill, telling her to keep the change.

“You all have a public restroom?”

Billy waits outside the door as you go, and silent tears slip down your cheeks as you place the cap back on the test, then set it on the sink to wait.

It’s maybe two minutes later before his patience has worn through and he pounds on the door, making you jump. “What’s takin’ so long?”

You walk over and crack the door open before staring up at him. “It takes fifteen minutes.”

His brows raise. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

He barges in and shuts the door behind him. “Why the hell don’t they put that on the goddamn box?”

“They did,” you reply quietly, showing it to him—right on the front. “See?”

He snatches it away from you, staring at it like it’s his own worst enemy, then tossing it in the trash.

He begins to pace back and forth in the small space with his hands on his hips.

Meanwhile, you stand silently against the wall and watch him.

“I can’t believe this is fucking happening. This—coming out here—getting to California, was supposed to be a new fucking start and now… I’m eighteen-goddamn-years-old. I can’t be a dad yet. I’m not ready. I mean, Jesus, I don’t know that I want kids ever. I can’t stand ‘em now. Annoying little shits. And they’re expensive as hell. Even if you think you’re ready, you’re fuckin’ not. We don’t even have a place to live. What? Am I gonna stick a crib in the fucking backseat of the Camaro? Fuck!”

When he looks at you, his heart drops.

You’re standing against the wall shaking, with tears streaming down your face while you bite your lip to try and keep quiet. Both of your hands are clutching your stomach, and your face has gone pale.

“I’ll get rid of it,” you whisper.

Then you continue, “Oh God, what’s happening to me? I can’t… I can’t do this alone. What am I supposed to do? How…how am I going to live? What will happen to my baby?”

You hang your head and begin to sob.

You think he’s going to leave you? Alone? To this?

He steps over and quickly wraps his arms around you. “I’m sorry. Baby, I’m right here. Sweetheart, look at me.”

He takes your face in his hands. “Angel, I’m not going anywhere. If you are…it’s not like I didn’t play a part in it. You should know by now that I’m in this for the long haul—that you’re it for me. I know you deserve better than me. You always will. But I’ll try my best, alright? To be a good dad, I mean. I had a shitty fuckin’ example, but maybe I can learn from his mistakes. I’ll take care of you.”

He presses a palm to your stomach then. “Both of you. We’ll…we’ll get married. I’ll be better than he was. I have to be. You deserve that.”

You blink up at him, now speechless. Did…did he just propose? “You…want to get married?”

He smiles, kissing your forehead. “It’s the right thing to do. But I’m not gettin’ down on one knee, if that’s what you’re expecting. Not in this nasty fuckin’ restroom, anyway.”

You glance to the test. “I think it’s been enough time now.”

You walk over to it and fill with relief—joy—when you see the minus sign.

You double over the sink, laughing lightly. All that stress and for nothing. Nothing at all.

“Oh, thank God!” You exclaim, laughing some more, feeling like all is right in the world again.

“I’m not pregnant. We don’t have to get married now! We can just—”

You stop talking when you turn around and see that Billy isn’t nearly as elated as you are. He’s not even smiling. Nor is he looking at you. Instead, his hands are gripping the metal support beam behind him, and his eyes are trained on the floor.

“I—”

He quickly brushes past you then, wrenching the door open. “Let’s go.”

Once the two of you have returned to the motel, he still hasn’t spoken another word to you.

He instead goes into the bathroom and slams the door behind him. He even goes so far as to lock while he showers.

You press your ear up against the door and listen to try and ensure that he’s okay, but can hear nothing over the sound of water.

So, you instead sit on the edge of the bed and patiently wait and think of how best to apologize for what you said.

You’d just been so sure that he would be relieved as well. He said it himself: that he isn’t ready for a baby yet. Then you wonder…had it been your comment about marriage that upset him?

Is…is he ready for that? Are you? When you think of it: wearing a ring he’s chosen for you and taking his last name while vowing to spend your life next to him, it doesn’t fill you with fear or doubt or unease. It fills you with love, joy, and a feeling of security.

When Billy emerges quite some time later, he tries to hide it, but you see it: his eyes are bloodshot.

Your heart breaks, now knowing what took him so long.

He had been crying.

You pad over to him and wrap your arms around his middle as he chooses a t-shirt for bed. He doesn’t do that, though: wear pajamas to lie down next to you. And now he suddenly feels the need to shield himself from you?

You press your cheek to his bare back. “Did you mean what you said about getting mar—”

“Just fuckin’ drop it, alright? You’re not knocked-up, so now we don’t have to get hitched. Let’s just go to bed.”

“But—”

“Like you’d want to anyway.”

“I do.”

He freezes, suddenly imagining you saying those words in a different context.

He slowly turns back around to you. “What?”

You stand on tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck before running your fingers through his damp curls. “I want to if you do.”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “Really?”

You smile, nodding. “I’m sorry for what I said. I wasn’t thinking. I was just relieved that I wasn’t pregnant. I…I’m already yours in every other way. Why not this one, too? Billy, no one else is ever going to love me the way you have—do. Just like you, I don’t want anyone else. You’re what I want. I can’t imagine having to start over with someone else after…after all of this. The thought of losing you…it was tearing me apart. Having to think of living a life without you in it…”

You trail off for a moment, swallowing down the lump that’s forming in your throat. “I’ll marry you.”

His lip twitches and his eyes grow glassy.

He then crushes you to his chest and he holds you close while cradling the back of your head. “Okay.”

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

You and Billy are currently browsing through selections of gently-used clothing at a local thrift store, trying to pick out outfits to wear to the Little White Chapel. But every white dress you come across has something wrong with it: holes, tears, rips, yellowing, or it’s just a tad outdated, or way too frilly.

Until you find a hanger buried behind numerous other items.

As you look the dress over, you begin to smile.

You then wander over to Billy, who’s looking through men’s dress clothes, and poke him in the back.

When he turns, a grin forms on his face.

He grips the soft material, looking at you. It’s a white babydoll dress with silver sparkles that dance against the material from the overhead fluorescent lighting. There’s even a matching veil.

“It kind of smells like mothballs,” you say.

He smirks. “Don’t worry, baby, you won’t be wearing it long.”

Once Billy has picked out a pair of dress slacks that he feels are a tad too tight—until he notices that you’re unable to remove your eyes from his rear, which causes him to deem that they fit just fine after all—as well as a white button-up shirt, he goes over to the lingerie, and he gets lucky when he finds you a garter.

The two of you then go up, and you stand by his side and smile up at him as he pays for your purchases, and then he asks about using the changing room.

Once the two of you emerge, even he’s blushing.

So, you take his hand in yours, and head back out to the car together.

“Can we stop at a pawn shop first?”

He glances to you. “For?”

You reach in the backseat, grab a shoulder bag, then pull your dad’s Rolex out. “I want to trade this. For a ring. For you.”

He nods then, sniffling. “Course, baby.”

“What about that one?”

Billy shakes his head. “It’s fuckin’ hideous.”

You raise a brow.

He’s worse than a woman when it comes to jewelry, apparently.

You squint while staring into the late-night pawn shop’s display case, before you kneel in front of it and practically press your face up against the glass.

You smile and point while looking up to the middle-aged shop-keep behind it. “Can I see that one?”

He nods, then unlocks the display before grabbing the ring you indicated, and he hands it to you.

You grab Billy’s left hand, and slide it onto his ring finger. And it’s a perfect fit—a simple gold band.

You stare up at him.

He looks at the man. “Will the Rolex cover this?”

“More than,” he replies with a smile.

Billy looks back at you. “We’ll take it.”

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻��჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Once the two of you are sitting in the parking lot of the small chapel, it’s only then that you notice that Billy is shaking.

You reach for him, but he quickly exits the car, then makes his way around to your side and he opens your door for you.

He doesn’t look at you, however.

You then reach up and cup his cheek while taking one of his hands in yours. “Are you okay? We…we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you want to wait, I’m okay with that. As long as we’re together—”

He shakes his head, his hand trembling in yours. “What if…what if I fuck this up? I’ve already done it enough times already. I nearly lost you back in Oklahoma, and then again in Texas. What if I turn out to be just like him and I hurt you, or—”

You brush your thumb over his lips, quieting him. “And I always came back. Or you came for me. Billy, neither of us are perfect. No one alive is. But…that’s the point, right? Of falling in love. You love someone despite their flaws. Or…help them through them. You don’t just give up when things get hard. I know what—who—I want. We’ve both said it: that we belong together.”

You press yourself against his chest and he wraps his arms around you while kissing the crown of your head. “So let’s go make it official. No one is ever going to love me like you do.”

He rests his cheek against your veil. “Okay.”

You pull back and look up at him with hopeful eyes full of love.

“Let’s go get married.”

“And do you, Billy Hargrove, take this little lady to be your lawfully wedded bride? To have and hold tender and sweet, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for riches—God willin’—or poorer, for better or worse, ‘till death do ya part?”

Being married by an Elvis impersonator is most-certainly going to be a story to remember.

Billy tucks a lock of hair behind your ear before tracing your jawline with his thumb, his other hand is currently holding firmly onto your right one. “I do.”

He reaches into his pocket, and when he pulls out his hand, a silver ring is held between his thumb and index finger.

Your brows furrow.

He told you back at the pawn shop that he had your ring already covered, but had refused to elaborate on how until you were standing before one another exchanging vows.

He swallows thickly.

“It was my mom’s,” he states, glancing to you before sliding it onto your finger.

Unshed tears threaten to spill forth on both your parts then.

“And do you, lil’ mama—Y/N—take this young stud, to be your hubby? To have and hold tender and sweet, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for riches or poorer, for better or worse, ‘till death do ya part?”

Your lip trembles as you stare up into Billy’s beautiful, warm eyes. “I do.”

You slide the gold band you’d purchased less than half-an-hour ago onto his finger once again.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada and the Lord Almighty, I do so pronounce you husband and bride. Now, my good man, kiss your lady.”

Billy leans down, cups the back of your head, and then he crushes his lips to yours while dipping you—his other arm wound securely around your waist.

A woman who works at the chapel snaps a few pictures of the two of you kissing, holding one another, and beaming at each other, as well as at the cheap, disposable camera she holds in her hands.

After the two of you exit the chapel holding hands, laughing, and even crying a little, you get back into the car and Billy drives you to a bar, insisting on having some form of a reception, even if it’s just the two of you.

In reality, he deeply wants to have his first proper dance with you.

You stand in the middle of the room—the place near-empty; it’s a tad dingy and small—and wait for Billy to select a song from the jukebox over in the corner. You know he’s found whatever he’s looking for when a small smile comes across his lips.

He comes back over to you, takes one of your hands in his, and he leans his forehead down against yours just as Bob Dylan begins to hum the beginning of Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door. He rests his other hand against the small of your back, pulling you in close to his chest.

You close your eyes, reach up, and tangle the fingers of your other hand in his hair while the two of you sway back and forth to the slow song.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You open your eyes, and tears slip down your flushed cheeks as you press your lips to his own. “I love you.”

When the two of you return to the motel, Billy leaves the door to the room open, and he blares the song Don’t Stop Believin’ from the car’s stereo outside. He tugs you up onto the bed with him, and the two of you begin to jump up and down on the mattress while holding onto one another. You smile, laugh, and feel happier than either of you ever thought you could be—would ever be.

He crushes his lips to yours while holding your face in his hands, and then he pulls back. “Promise me that you’re mine for forever.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Forever.”

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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whirlybirbs · 4 months ago

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Had a dream about having a relationship with all might and I needed to read a fic to get it out of my brain… bruised ego effectively ruined me for the better.

I am haunted by their dynamic and their relationship! hello secret lovers for decades!! they just make me sick with their lovey dovey eyes to each other

Toshinori Yagi's mouth is hot against yours, his hands bunched into the back of your sweater as you gasp and break away only long enough to take a breath. The kiss is tender and desperate and brimming with longing that's spilled over into a stolen moment in the dark of the fall evening.

The two of you are supposed to be doing rounds on the campus — it's Halloween weekend. There have been rumbles of parties planned in the dorms all week. Principal Nezu assumed assigning All Might and Derecho to the residence hall rounds would deter the shenanigans. After all, you're the two most respected teachers on staff:

All Might, and the ex-villain who served as his co-hero for nearly eleven years.

(That's certainly all you two are to anyone else; in private, it's a separate matter. It's love and it's home, it's holding one another's hearts in your hands. All Might and Derecho... the rumors are true but only you and him know that.)

Toshinori's bangs tickle your nose, and the one huge hand that cradles your cold cheek brushes your scarf aside. He's pressed you to the brick wall of the dorm, out of sight and out of mind. He looks handsome like this — bundled up in a jacket and his patterned scarf. His dress shoes nudge your boots.

It feels like he's sixteen again. It feels like he's whole. He's loved you for years but this moment sits different in his heart. Everything he's fought for: you, these kids, this school, the sound of peace... It's all here, in the palm of his hands.

He hunches over you to steal another kiss that sweeps you into the clouds, that drags you up into the stars; it's one you fight back from, one that makes you smile and giggle against his lips.

He never had time for kissing back in school.

Even during the height of All Might, he had to make time for it. But with you, it was easy.

Things look different than they did all those years ago.

You're both older now. He's lost weight, and his injury is waning the days of his career. Your hair is longer, there are more greys. You both have wrinkles when you laugh and it's a blessing. This age. All of it spent together, all of it spent playing this game of All Might and Derecho, of Toshinori Yagi and you.

And still, he's got it.

"We've given them thirty minutes," you rasp against his cheek as he nips at your jaw; your breath curls in the cold air, "By now, the third years have definitely started in on the drinking—"

You're right. You are.

"They're kids," he rumbles; his voice is like warm velvet, "Let them have fun."

"We're the fun police tonight, Toshi," you remind him as his hands wander beneath your jacket and sweater; greedy hands anchor themselves to the soft skin of your sides, "You know the rules, no parties on campus."

"I went to parties," he breathes against your throat, "Look how I turned out."

Maybe he's right. Another thirty minutes before the next round won't kill them. Right?

...Right?

Whatever. Their teachers deserve to have a little bit of fun, too.

— a reference to this fic here ;

#bruised ego #all might x reader #mha imagine #toshinori yagi x reader #all might x you #(SLAMS FIST) EVERYONE'S FAVORITE TEACHERS ARE FUCKING.

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literallyjusttoa · 6 months ago

Text

Finally got around to doing this, here are some rough sketches of my idea of how Lester looks each book! Some books are more different than others, like I don't think much changed between books 1 and 2, but I had fun doing this! Look under the cut for some notes about things I added for each design.

Book 1: Not much changes from how he's described in the books. All of the clothes he borrowed from Percy are a bit too big for him, but the flannel he borrowed from Will fits pretty well, only being slightly too long (I think Will has like, an inch over Lester)

Book 2: Basically the same as book 1 Lester. He keeps the flannel Will gave him, but it gets pretty beat up over the course of this book so he has to switch it out before book 3 :(. Hair is just a lil bit longer, and he gets clothes that fit a bit better. Headcanon time bc if Rick won't give me substantial Thalia and Apollo interaction I'll make it myself: Thalia gives Lester archer's gloves at the end of TDP, which he wears for the rest of the series. He didn't even think to wear gloves bc as a god he wouldn't need them, but Thalia noticed his beat up to shit hands at the Waystation and went "bestie... bestie no...." and gave him a pair.

Book 3: Will's flannel has been swapped for a big coat and Lester get his iconic pink camo pants. His hair is long enough to start getting weighed down a bit, and also way messier bc he's been in the labyrinth for like a month. The beat up sneakers he was wearing in books 1 & 2 get replaced with much more reasonable boots. Eyebrow scar shows up, a reminder from one of the many concussions this poor man has suffered. Also another HC time! Georgie gives Lester a little handkerchief that he wears for the rest of the series (I was gonna use Paolo's handkerchief, but Lester canonically gives that back so boo)

Book 4: The Lester looks like shit book /j. His hair is now long enough that he should really be doing something with it but he is not. He has a zip up hoodie now to cover up all his fun purple veins. Just more beat up in general honestly. Also I hc that Apollo actually lost some weight here (both bc he wasn't really eating well before getting to New Rome bc of stress/grief, and bc he got really sick and continued to not eat well while that was happening) But it obviously doesn't do anything to help his self-esteem or mood in this book. Kind've a visual way of being like "the superificial flaws Apollo clung to in the first book weren't the real issue, he was just hyperfixating on them to distract himself from what he was really upset about, so when the superficial issues get solved he doesn't even notice bc he's grown enough as a character to cut the bullshit and focus on what's really bothering him." or idk something like that. I like to contrast this with a hc I've mentioned before about the time between books 4 and 5, which is that the physical flaws Apollo whined about in book 1 (i.e. the acne and his weight) get "worse" throughout the road trip from California to New York, but Apollo truly just does not care that much about that shit anymore and that's why it doesn't come up in the narration.

Book 5: Final Lester! It's been over a month since the last book so I'm taking liberties and saying Lester's hair is long enough to pull up now bc I want him to be able to do that goddammit. Final outfit is borrowed from Percy again, so that's why it's so big. He also has a pendant that Lavinia gave to him bc they're besties. Also I forgot to mention it, but his shoulders are slightly broader here (and have been getting broader throughout the series) bc he's been working those muscles so much with the constant archery.

Also I didn't draw his quiver bc honestly I forgor, but I like to imagine he's been getting little pins and bobs from a lot of his friends that he's been sticking on his quiver strap. A few examples that come to mind are:

Kayla: A classic hot topic pin with a sun with sunglasses on it.

Leo: A pin made of scrap metal with the alchemical symbol for fire carved in.

Agave: Pinned a clover to Apollo's quiver for good luck. It didn't stay on there long, but it was the thought that counted.

Hazel: A piece of citrine decorated with metal cords.

Lavinia: Another classic hot topic pin, this one is heart shaped and has a picture of Hatsune Miku on it.

Jason: One of the monopoly houses he'd been using to mark the positions for the temples. A lot of the little houses had fallen off the diorama during the car crash at the beginning of TTT. The night after, Apollo asked Reyna if he could make sure the diorama was fixed. Reyna agreed, and he put it back together based on what he remembered. He spent an hour or so gluing on houses and hotels for Mars, Somnus, Fons, Salus, and on and on, until he got to the last one. A red hotel meant to show where the temple of Apollo would go. Apollo poked a little hole in it, and fastened it to his quiver with a bobby pin. It's nestled close to where the strap meets the quiver itself, so it's less likely to fly off.

Meg: Pinned a rose petal to his quiver right before he went to fight Python. It lasted for even less time than Agave's clover did, but again, it was the thought that counted.

#sunny speaks #long post #trials of apollo #toa apollo #lester papadopoulos #apollart #fun fact: all of the colors I used for these were color picked from the covers of the books they came from!#oh and i forgot to mention he also get more freckles as the series goes on bc he spends so much time outside

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silv3rswirls · 1 year ago

Text

taking care of their drunk girlfriend

Anon asks: Seventeen when they have to take care of their drunk gf? Maybe they're sick, or need a ride home, lost something? However you want to write it!

Note: Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Drinking/being drunk, throwing up in Vernon's, some light mentions of creepy men in Hoshi's

♡Seungcheol♡

Normally you wouldn’t go out much without Seungcheol, especially when you planned on drinking and having a carefree time, but your coworkers insisted. Everything was fine initially, until they all ditched you and you were left alone at the table. Your tipsy fun ending, and leaving you sitting there with a new bout of nerves sitting in your stomach as you looked around. So you text your boyfriend, complaining how they left suddenly, how you felt uncomfortable on your own and would be heading home soon.

Cheol on the other hand feels his face heat up in anger when he gets your messages. He can practically feel your sadness through the texts. He picks you up instead of letting you catch a car home. He fully plans to give your coworkers an earful if he sees them. For the rest of the night, he sighs in frustration and comments about how rude or angry he feels about it, how could they leave you like that? He stays in the rest of the night with you, cuddling and talking until you start to drift off to sleep.

♡Jeonghan♡

You went out for a friend's birthday, leaving Jeonghan with a warning that you wanted to really party with her tonight. He gave you the go-ahead, so long as you checked in now and again with him and kept your location on so he didn’t have to worry. So there he was, comfy in bed watching his show, enjoying an evening alone when he got about a dozen texts from an unknown number; you had lost your phone, your keys, you wanted to come home, etc., etc. etc. He’s out of bed to get you in an instant, but he’s complaining the whole time. How could you be so careless? What do you mean you can’t find your purse? Was no one in their right mind over there?

He’s bothering everyone around you for your lost items, looking everywhere he can think of. While you're clinging to him, feeling emotional over the whole ordeal as he drags you about the club. You’re very lucky that he found your items being held behind the bar. He takes you home and puts you to bed, still (lovingly) teasing you over your drunken mishaps, you won’t be forgetting this anytime soon.

♡Joshua♡

Oh no, you’re not feeling well? Joshua’s taking you home the instant you complain about a stomach ache and the drinks just not agreeing with you. You had gone out with him and some of the other members for dinner and then some drinks afterward, but it seemed your body just didn’t want to partake that night. He grabs your coats and makes sure you’re bundled up for the cold outside and then you go straight back to your place. You get comfy, he makes you drink some water and just take it easy- he doesn’t care if you think he’s overreacting, he’s in sweetest boyfriend in the world mode and doesn’t plan on stopping.

♡Jun♡

He got home after you, shockingly enough. You had gone out to celebrate a big promotion at work, while he had been stuck late at the company. He felt bad not going out with you but had promised you to celebrate tomorrow. He even picked up a little cake for you on his way back, leaving it on the counter with some flowers. And when he went into the bedroom to greet and suffocate you in a big hug- you had already passed out. The sweetest boyfriend in the world mode activated instantly. When you refuse to get up he starts making you comfy. He takes your shoes off, tries his best to wipe your makeup away, and brushes your hair. He moves you under the covers, tucks you in and leaves a bottle of water and some medicine at your bedside table. He snuggles next to you, ready to celebrate a slow morning with you.

♡Hoshi♡

You were hiding in the bathroom. The stall locked and your eyes glued to your phone as you tried to focus on texting Hoshi, trying to ignore how the room felt like it was spinning. You had gone out with friends- you hardly ever went out, let alone drink much, but they had pestered and pushed for you to let loose for once. Of course, the night you finally decide to go out, they’re creeps crawling all over the place, and your friends have all wandered off. It was becoming too much, you didn’t want to go back out there, let alone wait outside for a car home. With nothing else to do, you texted your boyfriend pleading for advice on how to handle the man outside waiting for you.

Hoshi tells you to stay put and comes to the club, pushing through the crowd of people and bee-lining for the bathroom. He knocks repeatedly, telling you to come out so he could take you home. And when the creep from earlier tries to stop you, grab at your arm and say something about you coming to dance with him- Hoshi argues with him instantly. He holds your hand on the car ride back to his apartment, he makes you lie down and rest until your tipsiness starts to calm down. He clings to you all night and morning, promises to never let you go out alone and be harassed like that, apologies, and is extra sweet on you.

♡Wonwoo♡

Lost? What do you mean you’re lost?? Wonwoo keeps texting you, but all he gets are messy, misspelled messages about how you’re lost, your friend left you, you want to go home, etc. Luckily, you still had your location on so he ventures out to find you. He hadn’t expected your big night out to end like this, lost? He can’t wrap his mind around the situation; especially when your location is down the street from the club where you met your friends. He’s pretty worried though, but hopes you found safety in the cafe it seemed your phone was at.

And there you are, sitting in the cafe and frowning as you wait for him; drunk and feeling far too silly to get up on your own. He smiles and lets you cling to him as he guides you and home. He’s laughing and shaking his head the whole time you stumble and babble on about nothing in particular. He makes you drink some water and settle into bed, and he sits up well after you fall asleep to watch over you.

♡Jihoon♡

If he didn’t love you so much, he would tell you off the moment you mentioned walking home alone that night. You went out with coworkers and called it a night when you started feeling tipsy. You tried getting a car home but failed. You missed the bus and the next wasn’t scheduled any time soon. So you walked home, it wasn’t that far. The next morning you off-handedly mention it to Jihoon, who nearly drops the plate in his hand. He repeated what you said with a question, nose scrunching a bit as he took it in. He’s mad and spends all morning telling you how dangerous it was, how you should’ve called him and he would’ve left the studio to get you or got you some kind of safe way home.

♡Dokyeom♡

The two of you went out together to celebrate a friend's birthday. He decided not to drink, not really in the mood for it while you were happy to drink alongside the birthday girl all night. He takes care of you the whole time. He doesn’t let you wonder, holds your drinks, and watches your drink when you leave for the restroom. He even sneaks in glasses of water whenever he can. He takes you home with him, makes sure to help you get your coat and shoes off, and lets you flop onto the sofa with a happy sigh.

You both had a pretty fun night, or so he thought until he noticed tears shining in your eyes. You throw yourself onto him, crying and rambling about how much of a good boyfriend he was, how much you loved him, and how he always took such good care of you. He’s about to start crying alongside you. Hushing your tears, and carrying you off to bed. You fall asleep cuddled together.

♡Mingyu♡

You went out with an old group of friends you haven't seen since graduating. You hadn’t been keen on the idea but decided to give it a chance. Unfortunately, old drama was brought up and you were caught in the middle. Nonstop arguing and jabbing at one another, the drinks weren’t helping so you decided to leave and let them hash the rest out on their own. Mingyu hadn’t expected you home for another few hours. But when you come home early, tipsy, and red with anger? He’s at your side in an instant. When you start to recite all the drama between your friends that happened? He’s listening intently, taking mental notes, and gasping at every twist in the story. He’s agreeing with you 100%, he’s so entertained hearing your drunken rants, and sides with you completely.

♡Minghao♡

Minghao had advised you not to drink too much when you mentioned going out with your sibling for their birthday. You kept his warning in mind the moment you began to feel the room spin a little too fast and a nagging pain in the back of your head started to pound. You called it an early night and caught a cab to his place. He was a bit surprised to see you, as you had planned on staying with them for the night. But he can’t turn you down. You’re complaining about your head, how you’re not feeling well and just want to be around him. The sweetest boyfriend in the world mode activated. He gets you water and some medicine, offers to make you some tea, and maybe even tries to get you to eat something small. He lets you cuddle and lay on him all evening, rubs your back, and massages your head to try and help. If you’re still not feeling well the next morning, the sweet treatment continues.

♡Seungkwan♡

Honestly, he’s not above scolding you in your drunk state over how unsafe it was for you to drink so much tonight. He’s not truly mad at you, he just wants to make sure you’re taking good care of yourself and being safe. He doesn’t care if it's going in one ear and out the other, but the moment he notices your eyes well up with tears he’s lowering his tone and asking what’s wrong. He feels bad, holding your hand and apologizing if he sounded too harsh. He lets you cry all you want on his shoulder, cuddling into the crook of his neck and drunkenly ranting about any little thing that stuck in your mind.

He decides to put you to bed, urging you not to worry anymore and just to rest now that you’re emotionally drained, drunk, and getting sleepier every minute. He will properly pester you about your recklessness tomorrow, and for now, he’ll let you cling to his arm and drift off to sleep- eagerly of course.

♡Vernon♡

He’s trying his best, really he is, but his words offer little comfort in the moment. You’re drunk, hunched over in the bathroom throwing up everything that was in your stomach after a rowdy night out. He’s just standing in the doorway asking if you’re good at first. Eventually, when everything begins to calm down he’s kneeling beside you, rubbing your back and asking if you’re okay again. While you brush your teeth and rinse your face he gets some water and waits for you to crawl into bed and curl up next to him. He rubs your back and tells you it’s okay, he’s not upset with you for getting sick or drinking too much. He tries to stay up with you until you can fall asleep, and if he passes out before you he makes you promise to try and wake him up if you need him.

♡Dino♡

You both went out drinking to celebrate a friend’s promotion. Laughing and enjoying the cheery atmosphere until it was time to head back to his apartment. You flop in the living room, both silent as you soak up the alcohol and comfy vibes; until you mention that you’re hungry. He sits up instantly because no way- he’s starving and takeout sounds amazing right now. He orders nearly the whole menu for you, not even caring what he ends up getting for himself as long as you’re happy with what he gets. You stay up late, trying and failing to finish your feast before going to bed. Giggling between bites and poking fun at each other.

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junedenim · 1 month ago

Text

trying to be good

make sense

warnings: angst, smut, piv, i guess fluff

word count: 3.8k

He's perverted wrapped in shame clutching a bottle. He left his embarrassment two hours ago and his eyes stay on you. It's too early to be drinking and he's not, at least not completely. He took two swigs and found himself on a park bench looking for something to do. Something that won't make him feel totally lost and hopeless.

He doesn't usually do this kind of thing so that doesn't make him a pervert, only perverts and weirdos sit and stare at woman every day. He doesn't whistle or make a noise, in fact you probably can't even tell he's there.

Except you keep looking over at him. For that he should be feeling the weight of embarrassment but he can't manage to tear his eyes away. Maybe that's because he has nothing left. Feeling a mood of embarrassment would mean he could actually feel something. Yet, he doesn't feel embarrassed, he feels compelled.

It's like spotting a deer in the meadow. It's not shocking for the deer to be there but it to show itself to him with no fear of being shot dead; it's a gift of beauty.

You sit on the grass with two other girls They don't show themselves to him like you have. They're shy with their backs turned to him. You face toward him, you brush your hair out of your face, and look directly at him. You're challenging. It's like you're playing a game of chess and you're close to outsmarting him but not quite.

He'd probably look like a homeless slob if it wasn't for his clothes. His eyes are heavy, there's his unkempt beard, and a cigarette hangs from his lips so sloppy that a slight blow of the wind would send it crashing to the ground.

Your legs are exposed to the sun and to him. He begs to kiss them just like the sun is now. There's enough fabric to cover the rest of you, to leave something to imagine, to make Alex feel like a pervert. God's gift to men wasn't women, it was this woman.

He stands up and your eyes go large. He gets a kick out of freaking you out and he don't know when he became so deprived or maybe he's always been this way, just held back by his own insecurity that he can't even feel anymore.

You break the stare and turn to your friends, sharing a laugh as if you had never strayed away from the conversation to stare at the man walking toward you. Your heart is beating wildly, he can imagine it. He can almost feel it from the desperation he's feeling. All the numbness fading away, wearing off with each footstep.

As his feet meet the grass, your eyes meet his, up through those lashes, beckoning him to move further. And then he keeps walking right past you. Some would say it was that old shyness pulling him away, but he feels the joy that overcomes him from the thought he disappointed you and left you grasping for more and how alive that makes him feel.

The rustle of grass behind him as your shoes hit makes that sick smirk kill him, split him in two. He's tempted to take a swig but the cigarette won't let him. There's a light touch to his shoulder, you not letting him slip away.

He turns around and you stand with less shame than him. You stare. He stares. You leave him in silence and it has thrown him on his back, knocking any ability to breath out of him. "Yes?"

You hold your hand out in front of him revealing money laid out for him. The bill stares at him, taunting him. "I, uh, don't need that, love." He knew he looked rough, the kind of man a woman like you wouldn't approach, but he didn't think he was that down on his luck. He fixes the cigarette and straightens his jacket.

You giggle. "You dropped it."

"Oh," he voices, a sound dipped in laughter. He shrugs, trying to earn cool points back. "Keep it."

You shake your head. "I don't need it either. Not that bad."

"What's that mean?" He questions blowing off smoke behind his shoulder acting like some refined gentleman, trying to scrub the image of a thug.

"I don't know." The bill still lies in your hand pointed to him for the plucking like you're offering him something more than his money back. "Take it. Give it to someone else."

He looks back over at your friends watching the scene. They avert their eyes when they see him looking. He chuckles at his newfound fate of being a chick repellant, at least to some. "We could split it. Get dinner together."

You smile but look with a furrow to your brows at him. "I don't think this is enough for dinner."

"Alright, then let me take you out to dinner. My dime," he offers. Whether suavely or not, he throws his cigarette off to the side. He eases into himself, not feeling a care for what the answer is. He's confident by the glint in your eyes that he doesn't have much to worry about. Even if he did, he could just drown himself after.

But you nod. "I'd have to get my purse."

"Alright, then get your purse," he commands. You dash off and he watches the pull your friends have on you. A mix of confusion and glee for you. You come running back to him in a prance that strikes the same as a doe leaping.

You're locked in a pace with one another. There's an unmistakable space between the two of you. There isn't much warmth in the silence. "You having a good day?" He asks for lack of anything else.

"I think so. You?" You're flirtatious and, as aware of your every move he is, you're even more zeroed in on yourself. So well aware of what makes his insides twist and turn. He would guess that seducing most men is much of the same. People don't tend to vary in what they like. It's all much of the same.

He shrugs. "So-so."

"So-so, how?"

"Well, you see I was over there on that park bench," he points back to his former resting place, "having as worse a day as a person can never and I can't stop looking at this girl."

"Am I girl?" You tease.

Alex lets out a chuckle. "It would seem so."

"Why were you having a bad day?" You ask. He can't tell if you really care or if you're trying to fake concern. He used to not be a person who cared about those things but now he's stuck in this unforgiving mindset.

He tilts his head to try to signal something like maybe the truth will fall out of his ear and not his mouth. He'll lie. There isn't any other way but to lie because what's the meaning in the truth—and god, fuck, he's been so messed up. This isn't how his brain used to work. Why the fuck can't he get back to normal?

You seem sweet. You have a sweet smile and sweet eyes and you laugh in a way that sounds real, he doesn't think you're faking it, yet, he can't help but believe that you are. He can't imagine you getting any joy from him. He can't imagine being all that funny.

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he says.

You nod and don't ask further. He can't make up his mind if he likes that or not.

"I don't usually do this," you let out. "I don't feel comfortable around a total stranger, especially a man."

"And you feel comfortable around me?" He has a hard time not thinking of himself as off-putting. It's tough to imagine a person taking interest him because he puts them at ease. He's been called the opposite. Anxiety-inducing and uninviting. His disposition as of late hasn't given off sunshine and lollipops. He's a storm cloud and he dreads it but there's nothing stopping the downpour.

You think it over. You nod. You smile. You say, "Yeah. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"My father never let me get bumpers," you tell him, holding up the blue bowling ball beside your head. Your tiny fingers slip into the holes looking so fragile like the slightest move might snap them like twigs. "He called it cheating so from an early age I had to learn how to bowl without it. Still, I suck at it."

"You're beating me," he reasons. He spreads his arms out across the orange and yellow chairs. He watches as you lift your arm back and swing it through down the lane. It veers to the left.

Some might say you aren't wearing the best attire for bowling. The short dress might work for a picnic in the park but it doesn't make well for movement. He doesn't mind, obviously. He doesn't watch the ball, he watches you. It hits two pins but he watches your two legs instead, one bend slightly, your right giant out-of-place bowling shoe rubbing against the left one.

"I'm a frame ahead of you," you tell him. "You got a strike. I got nada."

You sit beside him and take a sip of the water the alley just served you. "We're only a few frames in."

You reach out for the small menu. "Should we get something to eat? Pizza? Do you like pete-za?" You exaggerate, looking to him with big curious eyes.

He chuckles and hides his amusement in his glass of water. "Yeah. Yeah, I like pizza." He likes the way your eyes dart over the tiny menu in an effort to look through every option they have before officially deciding on pizza.

You lift your eyes and meet his dark ones completely fixed on you. A smile tugs on your cheeks. "It's your turn."

He pulls away because you make him, not because he wants to. He wants to stare, he wants to play along. This game—not the one you've bought to play, but the one between words and looks—is placing him back together. "Eager for defeat?"

You sigh, "It would be nice to get this over with."

"And then what we would do?" He picks up his ball and lets it hang at his side.

"Eat pizza." You're matter-of-fact, throwing the menu down and staring at him in the way only a sick person would stare at him when he has a blue ball in his hand. He could drop it then drop to his knees. The undefinable weight on his back has been pushing him down to the ground anyway.

"Why delay the inevitable?" He could be a gentlemen. He could take you on a proper date and after the third date he might attempt to invite you back to his place but all manners have gone. They flew out the window long ago. It's desperation now.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You're serious. You could be an actress if you didn't quiver. Your face is accusatory. You would've terrified him a couple of years ago but he has since lost the shield of caring. There's no use in pretending. He doesn't need in act. He'd leave right now if he didn't pay for the game and has a mouth that salivating for a slice of 'za.

"Uh-huh, sure."

Your shoes scrap on the cement and it annoys the fuck out of him. You walk lazily as if you're regaining the ability to walk and he doesn't want to wait. He doesn't want to walk at snail's pace. He wants salvation.

"Do you have a problem with women?" You ask. He hasn't said anything so it can't be about the shoe. Maybe he hasn't fully shaken the shyness and you've mistaken yourself to be the first woman he's ever looked at.

He laughs at the question. It's fake. It's an act. It's a cover-up. Lying. He shouldn't do that anymore. "No. Why? Do I seem like it?"

"No. I think I have a problem with men."

Oh.

You're being vulnerable and he's the fucking jerk. He's always the jerk and everything makes sense. All those things that landed him on that park bench. They weren't a lie. He is self-centered and he might be a prick. She was probably right. He's been elsewhere lately, long before she even said those things.

"Why?" He can care. He used to. He was sensitive and he cared too much and it hurt him. Feeling numb wasn't a constant. He loved being the shoulder. He loved putting effort in. He loved being dependable. Then, one day, he lost it all. Or maybe it was more gradually then he'd like to believe. He lost parts of himself along the way but it's just easier to blame her than to blame himself.

You sigh and knock into him by accident, at least it looks that way. It might be some seductive ploy you have to get men wrapped around your finger. Fuck. He rubs his forehead and tries to make sense of himself again. Listen.

"I worry all the time whether people like me or not. Like my sister is so carefree and she doesn't focus on what people think of her. Meanwhile, I spend days agonizing over whether I said the right thing or not. I'll probably look back on this moment, exactly what I'm saying now, and find myself to be so fucking stupid."

"Don't." It's quick and it's final. It's his only word. You glance over with an uncertainty in his eyes. Other people feel this way too, he never thought that before. He thought he was the only one to feel this cut loose from the world, floating off into space. You've grabbed the wire and try to tug him back down. He can catch his breath.

"Why?" Your smile is no longer teasing. It's a friendly invitation. A person in need of reassurance. He sees himself in you. Maybe it's the other way around too.

"'Cause I'm gonna spend all of tomorrow thinking about if I said the right thing."

"You didn't. At least not yet," you assure him.

"So, there's still time to fuck up?"

"There always is." You're laughing at him but he doesn't mind. He can take the brunt of it if it means hearing you laugh. It's what breaks the ice within him. Things feel less big when he finds such enormous pleasure in something so small.

You tilt your head and look through his eyes into the window of him. "But I'll forgive you."

Sex is a savior. All that sin rhetoric is such bullshit because it feels like a cure-all right now. This is the type of sex that leads to addiction. He wants it every which way but he'll take this. Whatever this is.

You're naked. He's naked. He thrusts into you from above and he feels like he's squashing you like a bug beneath a book. He'd pull away if you hadn't pulled him closer. Every inch is being consumed until there's no space left to separate.

It started slow. Carefully leaning into each other after the front door shut. There were kisses, plenty of them all over, though he can't remember now. He kisses your lips as a reminder. It's sweet, a taste residue provided by your chapstick.

Now, it's fast. Not an unbelievable pace but one that's toe-curling and gives you both a need to catch your breath. He hears yours up against his ear. It's the rhythm he follows. You claw at him. He eats him up inside. Everything feels oddly calm for something so rushed and loud.

The bed creaks. Something that makes him cringe and you giggle. Then, his knee cracks and he feels the weight of age smack itself down on him. You giggle some more, but then you reach out. You trace the scowl lines that cover his face. You smooth out the skin with a soft touch and a careful smile. You know exactly how to mold him. You know exactly how to make things feel alright.

At least for now. In the middle of the rising action, right when things reach their tipping point. Truthfully, that probably was the tipping point. Not the orgasm that follows but the ability to be seen and no longer feel like everything must be pushed under the rug. There's no need anymore, not in front of you. He can care.

His back rests on the mattress and he brushes the strands out of the way. You lean over off the bed, picking your purse off of the floor. You take out a piece of gum, the long stick kind, crumbling it into your mouth, and offer him one.

"Does my breath stink that bad?" He questions.

You shake your head. "No, I just like gum."

He takes it. The sugar punctures his tastebuds. Artificial watermelon makes him pucker up, so overwhelmed by the taste. "I can't remember the last time I had bubblegum. You like this?"

You both are on your backs but you've turned your heads to one another, each of you smacking away. "Yeah. Why? You don't?"

"I thought it would be mint. I didn't know people over the age of 10 bought bubblegum."

He's grateful you laugh. He probably wouldn't have. He would have thought the whole time about how maybe he was too old to be doing these kinds of things, even as minuscule of bubblegum. You seem to take it with ease.

"I like it. It reminds me of my youth. It's what keeps me looking so young." You stroke your cheek, even you are well aware of that baby soft skin.

"You are young." He doesn't know your age but it's ease to assume. He reaches out to take the cheek in his hand, giving him the ability to feel that youthfulness, the preciousness, and the vulnerability penetrate him.

You're still like his hand is a smooth wave passing over you, a breeze taking its time, the mist quenching the heat. You place your own hand over it like you would like to keep him there as if he might possess the same powers you do. "So, do you like the gum?"

Alex chuckles and leans closer with no ability or wish to pull away. "I think so. I've never been able to blow a bubble."

You brighten up. "Really?" Your eyes are wide with a grin to beat him over the head with. "It's quite easy. You just stretch the gum over you tongue, make sure there's no holes, and then you blow."

He ends up spitting it out right onto the mattress. He falls onto his back and you lean over on him in an eruption of laughter. He hides his smile with his hand as the weight of you lands on him and your hand pokes and prods at him, tickling him more.

Somewhere in the process the gum smooshes onto the sheets. You attempt an apology but it just comes out as more laughing. "At least it wasn't stuck in your beard. I got it stuck in my hair once and I had to cut a whole patch of it out."

"Was it noticeable?" You're back to lying side by side, a slight space formed where the gum is now glued on.

"Oh, completely and school picture day was the next week. It was awful."

"I'd like to see that."

"Never," you vow. You shift, sinking further into the mattress and closer to him. "Why is your hair long? Are you growing it out?"

He blows air out, emptying his lungs, and trying to make sense out of something he hasn't be able fully understand yet. "I'm doing something with it."

You hum and don't ask any further. Your hand reaches out and strokes down the strands of his hair. Your nails soothe those never-ending pains his brain has been firing off. You look content, perfectly comfortable here. He could be that.

"I've kind of let myself go lately. I've been a bit of a mess. Feel like I've been stuck in this spiral that I can't get out of. A riptide of...feelings, uncontrollable feelings. Nothing or everything. I just want to feel like myself again."

You're quiet, attentively listening, stroking his hair. Your breathing keeps him steady and not completely falling off the edge. You smile, just a bit. "This too shall pass."

He wakes up before you but doesn't know what to do. He isn't sure if he should make breakfast or take a shower or wake you up. So, he just lies there and waits. You've sunk into the pillow enough to leave marks when you wake up. Your hair is tossed, some falling into your eyes. A touch to move it away could wake you but he touches anyway.

He tried to make this surface level but as you stir and your eyelashes flutter he feels like he has brought all this pain on himself. Everything he tried to avoid is laying right next to him. He shouldn't have engaged in this.

"Do you wake up with a scowl?" You ask. You fold your arms up and rest your head on them.

He shakes his head, trying his best to rest his face. "I'm just thinking."

You hum. "You do that a lot. See, I talk too much that's my problem. There are worse things to suffer from."

"I'm doing that questioning your every move thing."

You hum again. He almost expects you to take out a pen and paper and start taking notes. You study him. He can feel your eyes trace his skin. "What answers are you getting?"

"What?"

"Well," you sit up and lean over him, "you're asking all these questions of why you did that or said that or what to do next so what's the answer?"

He's silent, unsure of what to say. He feels dumb. He probably does have a problem with women, one that he can't ignore with you leering over him. You answer for him, "I think it's because you wanted to. You don't make a lot of mistakes if you ended up in bed with the girl and she spent the night. Especially when she's telling you she had a lovely time."

Alex cracks a smile. He can't say much else. The truth was in your words so instead of speaking he reaches out and tugs you down to him. With your skin still bare and mind at ease, you rest your head on his chest.

Everything slows down. The slightest touch feels important. It grounds him. He doesn't want to escape this. He wants to relish in it. He can't remember the last time he didn't want to escape something. How desperate he has been to escape this intimacy. But this closeness is what he always needed. To feel someone else understand him.

"I think you're laying on the gum."

a/n: i don't know what this is or if i like it but it's something.

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #junedenim

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