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jrosa82fanfics · 6 months ago

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Prompt 1

Warning: E-rated, mild underage, smut at the end (not underage)

Red Hood knew this whole situation was his own fault, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to blame Roman Sionis (aka Black Mask and the biggest pain in the ass ever) for all his problems. He had heard that the man was fucking around with the drug trade again and had come to investigate. While falling into the mans trap had certainly not been part of the plan, he had at least confirmed that he wasn’t doing anything quite yet.

That sadly didn’t change the fact that he was zip tied to a metal chair in the abandoned warehouse black mask had chosen to use for his operations. The lack of any big scheme meant that he wouldn’t have to fight too many goons once he cut himself loose, and so for the past five minutes he had been trying to grab a knife.

He had one in the cuff of his jacket and had managed to scrap it a few times but, it kept slipping through his fingers driving him crazy. He shouldn’t have left his safehouse without checking his weapon placement first but he had gotten a bit lax thinking of this as just a recon mission. Now with every slip of the knife he got more and more frustrated making the whole process even worse.

Just as he’s about to take a break to calm down and let his wrist relax he sees the silhouette of a certain black and blue clad hero. Fuck, he thinks, not him. Anyone but him. The universe ignores his pleads as Nightwing saunters over with a smug grin in place.

“Hey little wing, looks like you're all tied up.”

The groan of second-hand embarrassment Red Hood let’s out is the only reply Nightwing receives. It’s bad enough that the guy had to come rescue him, he really didn’t need to add terrible puns to the experience. He reminds himself that this is all Black Masks fault, and when he finds that idiot he’s taking his pain out on him. No one should have to face their childhood crush in circumstance like these.

When the pressure on his wrist let up and Nightwing steps away he has to remind himself not to stare at the beautiful man before him. His eyes betray him right away by taking in every inch of his body, but before any words are exchanged the doors to the room burst open.

The office at the back of the warehouse is rather small so Jason rushes forward to take both assailants out in the doorway in order to escape. Dick follows close behind and they exit out into a small crowd of hired goons. Like he predicted it doesn’t take long to take them all out and with two of them their the fight last half as long as he expected.

***

They soon wind up grappling to a rooftop, somewhere on Jason’s usual patrol route. Right after landing he turns to face Dick and yells to him, “I had everything under control.”

“Really ‘cause I watched you struggle for like two minutes,” is Dick quick reply. He can’t even stop himself from rolling his eyes at the other man. It also doesn’t help that he right, Jason didn’t actually have the situation under control. He just wished it had been someone else who had come to his rescue, preferably someone he didn’t have a messy past with.

He knows it’s petty to hold onto a grudge, especially one from before his death, but he’s still so angry at Dick for what he did. The fact that he’s still so perfect and amazing doesn’t seem to help the situation either. He just wishes things had gone differently back then.

***

The summer before his fifthteenth birthday Dick had come to spend the summer at the manor. He would patrol on his own at night, while Jason as Robin would go with Bruce. They didn’t interact much at night until the incident, but they did see each other during the day.

Jason hated Dick so much that summer. It was the mans own fault too. Jason had planned on enjoying the pool but wasn’t really able to do so when Dick would waltz around in the tightest swim short ever, water dripping down his abs into the waistband. Jason kept having to quickly lift his gaze from the guys chest for fear of being caught ogling him, though thankfully Dick seemed oblivious.

He also decided to invite his friends from the Titans a few times making it so that Jason not only had to act normal, but also got to compare himself to the way more attractive older people Dick was surrounded by all the time. Jason had known his long time crush on Dick wouldn’t go anywhere but it still hurt to see him spending time with people who he probably liked way more than the new Robin.

He hoped the man had moved on from his resentment, after all they had been friendly for over a year now, but he still found it hard to believe sometimes. He especially found it hard to believe Dick wasn’t doing this on purpose. Everyone else seemed capable of getting out of the pool in a normal manner, but nope, not Dick it seems. He just had to seductively lift himself out, his biceps glistening in the sunlight, water dripping down his chest. Jason refused to drool and had to turn away from the sight quickly which sadly ment he saw the pitying looks being sent his way by Roy and Kory.

He knew Dick had dated Kory and that he had no way of competing with someone so powerful and badass, but he still wished she wouldn’t look at him that way. Like he was a sad puppy that no one wanted to adopt from the pound. If that wasn’t bad enough Roy also had to join in, which somehow was worse, because pity from someone who basically ignores your existence is a special kind of hell.

He rushes inside and doesn’t come out to the pool for the next few weeks if he knows that Dick’ll be there. He manages to get pool time in in the morning since the group seemed to sleep in as a result of the late (even by batman standards) nights. He also dresses normally in loose fitting swim short and a tank top, just in case someone happens upon him, because he refuses to show off his barely defined abs in the presence of anyone.

He only has to see Dick in passing and at dinner on the nights Bruce or Alfred demand it, so he manages to avoid the awkwardness of his crush. The peace lasts for most of June and July, but of course something always happens to him.

He just finished a patrol, had showered in the cave, and was starving so he made his way to the kitchen. Instead of walking in on a make-out session between Dick and one of the Titans (which would honestly have been better in retrospect), he instead sees him trying to cook… something.

It’s clear that regardless of any ability Dick might have that he had chosen to cook while tired, probably too many late nights of patrols and partying, and so now he barely has his eyes opens as he stands at the stove.

“What are you doing? Do you want to burn the house to the ground?” Jason asks as he makes his way over to prevent any such disasters.

Dick jumps, clearly startled by his approach which further proves to Jason that the man shouldn’t be anywhere near a hot stove. Dick seems to realize the same thing as he steps back before blearily replying, “What are you doing down here so late?”

It’s obvious he doesn’t have any idea that it’s actually early by their standards and Jason begins herding him towards the table to sit.

“Don’t worry about it, just nap while I make you something.”

“You don’t have to do that I can do it myself.”

“Like I said before, I’d rather you not burn the house to the ground. Right now you are way to sleep-deprived to be cooking anything.”

This seems to convince him as he does as Jason says and naps while the food is made. By the time two warm mugs of earl gray tea are being placed in front of him along with a plate of waffles, eggs, and toast Dick seems to have gotten himself together. He thanks Jason for the food and digs in.

Eventually he notices that Jason only has his tea and proceeds to offer him a bite of waffle. Without thinking Jason leans in and even licks the fork clean of whip cream. He can’t believe he’s shared an indirect kiss with Dick but before he can become to flustered he sees a look come into the others eyes as Dick stares at his mouth.

He’s about to ask what’s the matter but then Dick right palm is cupping his face and he can’t breathe as he thinks they’re about to kiss. He’s disappointed to not be dragged in for a kiss, instead seeing that some whip cream has been wiped from his face. Then Dick sucks his whip cream covered thumb into his mouth and Jason’s face feels like it’s on fire.

He can’t believe that just happened and doesn’t know what to do. Should he lean in to kiss Dick? Or ignore everything that just happened? Or maybe-

Before he can come up with a single idea Dick leans in and gently brushes a kiss to his lips. As he’s about to pull away Jason wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him back in. The kiss is already mind blowing enough as is, and then he feels Dick’s tongue gently prod at the seam of his mouth.

He couldn’t describe what happened after that, time seeming to lose all meaning as he shyly kissed back and hoped he wasn’t fucking up. His next coherent memory that isn’t just the wet heat of Dick’s mouth is when he pushes closer wanting to feel Dick’s body against his own.

He winds up straddling his lap on the chair and runs his hands through the inky black locks of his hair. He feels Dick’s hands pressed against his waist and then sliding up under his shirt. He wonders if they’re going to go further, if they’ll start dating after this, but the thought is cut off by Dick throwing him to the ground.

For a moment all he can feel is the slight sting of his backside connecting with the hard floor, then he hears Bruce’s steps approaching and understanding dawns on him. Without a thought he races out of the room, heading towards a series of hallways that’ll eventually get him to his room.

***

He had thought Dick just didn’t want Bruce to know about them yet, after all the guy was so overprotective sometimes. Instead, Dick ignored him for a week after that before up and leaving with the Titan on some mission to space. On top of missing his birthday, he made Jason feel so stupid for ever thinking he had a chance with him.

It didn’t help that he wasn’t there when Jason died, hadn’t protected him, like he hadn’t been worth the effort. Then to rub salt in the wounds, when Jason came back he had found out that Dick hadn’t even shown up to his funeral.

Now as they stand on a rooftop together Jason has to resist the urge to fall back under his spell. He can’t just show Dick that he still has feelings for him. Red Hood is suppose to be someone that’s taken seriously and to admit that he still has a crush on Dick would make it seem like he’s still that stupidly naive teenager. Instead of letting the feelings he still harbors show he continues his tirade about how he had the situation under control. Before he can get a single word out Dick is kissing him.

***

POV Switch

As Dick lands on the roof he can’t help the feeling of trepidation that comes over him. The last time he and Jay were together he almost took advantage of the younger man. He can’t help but feel ashamed that he was almost a predator, that he had even seen Jay that way.

Dick had left before he could do something else, something worse. But Jason’s an adult now and Dick doesn’t have a position of power over him. Before he knows what he’s doing he’s leaning in to kiss Jason, cutting his sentence off before it can begin with the press of his lips.

The feeling is different, Jason’s face less smooth, the hair he runs his fingers through longer, but it’s still Jay. The press of his body against Dick has the older man pulling away, not wanting to start something on a random rooftop when Jason’s apartment is so close by. With a quick peck to Jason’s lips he backs away before asking, “Take me home?”

With a nod Jason leads the way across a few rooftops before landing on a fire escape and quickly opening a window. Dick follows and hopes that he doesn’t mess things up this time.

***

POV Switch

As Jason takes the kiss in he realizes it’s somehow better then he remembers it being. He wondered for weeks after it had happened if he was romanticizing the kiss he and Dick had shared, but no.

The warmth in his chest and the tingling of his lips is the same, the rough calluses of Dick’s hands hasn’t changed and yet his skin feels electrified, like every nerve ending is being set alight by the other mans touch.

When Dick pulls away like he had that night Jason freaks out a little. He doesn’t think it shows too much on his face, but the stomach dropping feeling has him close to crying out. He’s grateful he doesn’t do something so embarrassing a few moments later when Dick smiles flirtatiously and asks him to lead the way to his apartment.

He finds his grappling gun quickly and rush home, Dick hot at his heals. When he gets inside he doesn’t know what to do, so before he overthinks things he turns on the bedside lamp.

When he turns back around he finds Dick has already peeled of his mask and is almost out of his suit as well. He starts stripping, his boots and jacket going first, followed by his own mask. By the time he’s down to his underwear Dick is pressing up against him and initiating another kiss.

The kiss last longer than the previous one, with his hands finally getting to roam over Dick back and feel every movement of his body. He doesn’t let himself worry as he’s gently pushed down onto his bed, Dick’s hands removing the last item of clothing from him.

The feeling of the man’s lips on his ankle has him looking down, watching as pecks are placed up the length of his leg, hickey soon marring his inner thigh. By the time Dick’s mouth gets near his hip he’s already hard and leaking precum on his abs.

As he kisses his way inwards Jason can’t help but run his hands through his hair. When Dick licks a strip up his length he barely holds back a moan, using his hand to cover the noise.

“Hey,” Dick says as he reaches up for Jason’s hand, “don’t hold back, I want to know I’m making you feel good.”

With that he wraps his lips around Jason’s cock and suck it down until it hits the back of his throat. Jason expects him to gag, but instead he swallows and takes him further. He barely restrains himself from thrusting up into the heat of Dick’s mouth but before he can get used to the pleasure the heat is gone.

He looks down to find a sheepish looking Dick with red lips. “Sorry I forgot to grab the lube, and really don’t want to finger you dry.”

A blush spreads over Jason’s face as he quickly rummages through his bedside table desperately hoping he has lube and condoms. He finds both, throwing the bottle down to Dick and scooping a few packets out before dropping the box back in the nightstand.

Dick warns him about the temperature of the lube before he presses the first finger in. Jason tries to relax having fingered himself before and knowing he can handle this. As he relaxes back into the sheets Dick presses a second finger in just as he resumes giving Jason a blowjob.

The contrast of the slightly cool fingers and the wet heat of Dick’s mouth keeps him from softening. Before long he’s keening as Dick works three fingers inside, pressing on his prostate with every other thrust.

Dick deepthroats him again, like he had at the start of the night, but this time Jason’s so close that he can’t stop himself as he thrusts up and comes down the other man’s throat. When he cums down Dick pulls off, wiping a few stray drops of cum off his chin. He smiles reassuringly as Jason apologies profusely, his face burning red.

“I didn’t mean to do that, especially not without warning you-”

“Little Wing it’s fine, I could have easily gotten away, it’s not like you held my head or anything,” he says this in a slight coarse voice a grin dancing upon his cherry red lips.

With that out of the way he hears a foil wrapper crackle as Dick tear a condom packet open. He slips it on quickly, jerking a lube covered hand across his length before he grabs Jason’s hips. The feeling of taking a cock inside is definitely more overwhelming then a few fingers. It doesn’t help that he feels oversensitive after the orgasm he had just received but Jason manages to not clench down until Dick’s fully seated inside him.

When Jason nods to continue Dick starts up a gentle rhythm, just shallow thrusts, until Jason wraps his legs around Dick and gently urges him to thrust harder by using his heel on Dick’s ass. The angle of the thrusts changes in the processes and so when Dick starts pounding into him he manages to hit his prostate as well.

Jason cries out, his nails leaving red imprints on Dick’s back as he’s fucked into the mattress. He losses track of time, the only thing grounding to reality is the body above his as he approaches his second climax of the night. Dick cums first, slamming his hips into Jason's hard and leaving bruises on his hips with his tight grip. Before Jason can register the feeling of hot cum flooding his body, he feels Dick’s hand wrap around his cock and pump him to completion.

As they come down Jason’s filter has disappeared so he asks, “So does this mean we’re dating now or are you going to run away again.”

Dick blushes clearly not expecting the question but answers nonetheless, “Yeah we’re dating, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring my past mistakes up like that.”

Jason smirks as he teases his boyfriend, “I don’t know Dickie, you haven’t exactly made it up to me yet.”

Figuring the only way to shut him up was a kiss Dick leans over and wraps him in a tight embrace as he presses their lips together.

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Special thanks to @afoxspainting who provided the prompts I hope you've enjoyed the first one...

Prompt 1: Nightwing rescues Red Hood from Black Mask leading to them getting back together as Dick and Jason had something when Jay was Robin but haven't yet rekindled due to misunderstandings, assumptions, and massive guilt.

Hope this met you're expectations,

<3J

#fanfic #jaydick #fic prompt #misunderstandings #mild angst

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fudgebuggyy · 13 days ago

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✥ The Integral of Us ✥

Pairing: Jayce/ Viktor , Male!OC/Jayce/Viktor

Rating: Mature

Word count: 9k - 2/3 Chapters

Tags: No Hextech AU, Bilgewater lore, married Jayce/Viktor, bearded!Jayce, longhaired!Viktor, Original Character POV, dynamic: married couple adopts little shit

Isak's attention zeroes in on the framed photographs at eye level. One in particular stands out, even in the dark. It’s yellowed with age. Two men grin excitedly, dressed in purple robes and caps as if for a ceremony, faces round with youth, one tall and broad and tawny-skinned, the other slender, elegant, eyes bright as crucibles.

The ears. The cane. The mole above the right-hand corner of his mouth—

✥ ✥ ✥

When two Piltovian toolmakers open up a workshop in Rat Town (of all places) named Coin & Crank (dreadfully), it gets slopped in fish guts and ransacked within a week. A Piltovian’s stubbornness should’ve come with little surprise, and when they rebuilt, the only reason it wasn’t burnt to the ground was thanks to word getting out that the last ransackers fled the Coin & Crank with permanent brain damage.

(Also, look, they're super fucking hot and all the local twinks are having an existential crisis.)

Isak doesn’t see the man again.

Historically, his reserves for luck last long enough to snatch some smoked meats at the market while the vendor’s not looking, a bed for the night, a bath at a brothel. The rest is chickenshit. Isak’s used to the chickenshit: Lovely day, you say? Watch out for the debt collector who’s been running up and down Rat Town for the past two weeks searching for your scrawny penny-less ass because you tossed all your coin at the wrong razorfin down in the betting dens!

He doesn’t mourn much.

Selis has barred him from ever working at the Canary again (“If I wanted to run a rowdy whorehouse, I’d be down in Squidrow!”), and while Danni still loves him, she didn’t bother hiding her disappointment (“I love you, Isak. You are a disappointment, Isak.”).

Isak doesn’t see the man again.

✥ ✥ ✥

Life goes on: an odd job here, an odd job there, followed by wasting all his coin on soggy cigarettes and buckets of terrible ale. He asks Fat Joe for some gold to bet on another razorfin fight. Predictably. He bets on the wrong razorfin. Predictably.

It turns out Fat Joe’s new arm can give you the kind of concussion that leaves you blind for a day.

Isak doesn’t see the man again.

(Predictably.)

✥ ✥ ✥

Not even a month later and Danni has lost interest in her Noxian. She’s swept off her feet by some one-eyed mercenary named Nova (because Danni stores all her luck in her massive tits). She disappears the way she does when she gets sucked into the whirlpool of men or women who promise to take her far away from here, leaving Isak a note at whatever squalid inn he happens to be squatting at.

They’re the alley cats after all, and if opportunity strikes, offering a warm meal and an even warmer bed for the night, you take it, you fend for yourself. Down here, it’s you against anyone and everyone else; even those you don’t hate that much.

Isak's only bitter about it because he, on the other hand, is never swept away by any whirlpools of men or women; he gets blue-balled and tossed off laps after five minutes of conversation.

He tries not to think of the man in the Canary, tries not to think about how he still remembers his name. Tries not to think about the mole above his mouth, or his accent, or his eyes, or his perfectly shaped ears, or his mysterious lover, tries not to imagine they’ve found someone else, some pliable little chumrat who doesn’t know how to suck a man off to save a life.

It secretly devastates him enough he persuades Fat Joe to lend him some more coin before he stumbles down to the betting deans, high off the delusion that maybe, just maybe, there’s a bored god amongst the sea of them, who thinks, maybe, just maybe, he can let this rascal win.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t so terribly that when the monsoon season arrives at the Serpent Isles, it hits like a battering ram: blackened skies, torrential rains, winds that peel the tin roofs off the shacks in the bay.

The waters are too treacherous to be ventured into, rendering all serpents around the isles un-slaughtered and all dockworkers scrambling for the few jobs left like dogs snarling over a bone. Trade slows with no merchant vessels able to dock, meaning the city goes uncharacteristically quiet.

Even though such seasons come around twice a year, Isak never prepares for them properly.

Like clockwork, he loses his bed and board at another inn after this week’s payment falls short, which isn’t so terrible considering he was sharing a room with some struggling bard who kept trying to touch him in his sleep.

With Guppy on one arm and an old flour sack with their belongings on the other, he sets out to the only place they’ll be left alone.

Isak likes to think of himself as an opportunist when need be, meaning hunkering down near the outskirts of Bilgewater’s graveyard is a sound decision.

White Wharf is where the casks woven to grave buoys are left to float, and the people of Bilgewater are a superstitious bunch—you don’t fuck with the dead—so other than the occasional scavenger, the dead are left alone and Isak can enjoy some peace and quiet for once.

He sets up shelter in one of the abandoned fishing huts near the rock, its roof and floorboards left relatively intact. It’s routine by now; he’s the nomad setting up his tent, making a home in whatever hole he manages to squeeze into.

The tarp slung over the ground, his mother’s jade charm hung above the ramshackle door to deter unwanted visitors, his little trinkets set up by the crooked window pane like a magpie lining its nest. His current favorite is the opal-crusted tin he stole from a cheating merchant’s wife in the Eyries. He keeps his baby teeth in it.

Isak gives most of the bread he stole from the temple offerings to Guppy. She burrows into his side, his horned ball of cotton. Yipping contently as he curls around her on the floor. Her heart-shaped belly rises and falls in the dark. Huffing, he pats it, that satisfying pap it makes. He rakes his fingers through her soft fur. She farts. He snorts. “Bless you,” he mumbles, curling around her for warmth, her soft squeals of delight.

Like this, things don't feel that bad. He’s not that hungry, and he’s not that exhausted, and he’s not that alone, and the rot in the planks doesn’t pinch at his nostrils so much, and he imagines this monsoon season will be over quickly. He can wish it almost like a prayer as he watches his mother’s jade charm swing back and forth above the door.

Isak doesn’t mourn much—except when he does, when he mourns everything and everyone, and her most of all.

✥ ✥ ✥

“You want the job or not?”

“You know, it’s thanks to them you can finger your asshole while you jerk off.” Isak ducks before Fat Joe’s mechanical arm whacks him into oblivion, yet again.

Arms lifted, Isak tries not to laugh. “I’m just saying! You seriously want to steal from the Tinkers? Don’t you think that’s shitty? Just objectively speaking?”

“Oh, you wanna to talk about objective shittiness? Remind me of how much you owe me? And then while you’re at it, go ahead and remind me of how much you’ve paid back since.”

“I’ve offered you, like...two handies! You can’t tell me I haven’t tried!” Isak lifts his arms, almost slipping on a puddle of ale as he backs up against the bar.

Because. Yeah. Point taken.

There really is no code of conduct in this shithole. The sad truth is that Isak owes Fat Joe just as much as Fat Joe owes someone else, and said someone else owes enough to someone who will likely lock them in a fishing crate lined with cannon shards and toss them into the bay. It’s a real depressing loop of the luck-less. And so Isak isn’t even that mad when Fat Joe pulls his usual half-baked threat: “Either you take the job, or I’ll demonstrate what this managed to do to a cantaloupe,” he lets the mechanical arm whirr, “and this time I’ll be using your head.”

Isak bites his tongue in hopes that’ll keep him from saying something supremely stupid, like how maybe Joe should stop saying stuff like that because it sounds an awful lot like he fucked the cantaloupe. Isak decides to stare at the half-eaten plate Joe left on the bar counter instead.

“Nothing specific, right?” he says to the potatoes.

“Just go the for shiny-looking shit.” Joe makes a show of pushing a potato to the grimy floor.

Shrugging, Isak shifts to pick it up. “Easy enough.”

“You brought rocks the last time.” Crushing the potato beneath his boot, Joe leans in close.

“They were painted gold!”

“Yellow algae powder, you fucking toad.”

“Damn, Joe, so you remember that but you still need to use your fingers to count—”

This time, Isak doesn’t duck fast enough.

✥ ✥ ✥

So Isak is good at being an opportunist; whore one night, drug mule the next, a barback, a scavenger, he’ll dig through serpent’s guts if someone told him it had swallowed a whole pirate’s loot.

And even though he makes a spectacular harlot, he makes an even better thief.

Small enough to squeeze through cracked windows and storm drains, a chimney once, and the places he can’t get to, Guppy can. There’s a terrible place in the afterlife reserved for assholes who teach their poros to crawl through pipes to open doors from the inside, to grab shiny little keys and toss bags of gold out open windows.

It’s quiet near the temple grounds, the artist’s quarter lined with herbalists and chemists, weaving houses and shops that sell jewelry made of bone coral. Every corner here has been blessed by the priestesses. When Danni still considered herself Buhru, she told him everything around the temple grounds has to be in alignment, it’s something to do with energies, patterns finding their balance, all that spiritual blah-blah. Only the chosen are allowed to stay here, and even fewer are allowed into the temple itself.

Ancient Buhru carvings ripple from the cliffside, they’re engraved in the wood of walkways, in window trims and doorframes. Images of waves, of Kraken tails, the sick and injured healed by the spirits. Bilgewater is for the superstitious, full of believers. They don’t mess with the dead and they most certainly don’t mess with the holy—and again, Isak is good at being an opportunist.

For a moment he settles into an alley across from the Coin & Crank. He scans its weathered timber facade, its mismatched windows, the clean Piltovian script etched into the signage above the door. He’s never seen it before, only pieced it together in his mind during the last talk he had with Fat Joe, who’d pulled some poor street urchin to watch the shop for a week. (“They’ve been closing early because of the weather. They turn off the lamps in the shop and head upstairs, ten o’clock on the dot. You just gotta watch out for the cripple. Sometimes he works at night—”)

Isak watches the rain hammer across the crooked roof before streaming onto a line of potted plants arranged beneath the storefront. A candle flickers behind the porthole on the second floor, big and round, the watchful gaze of a whale.

Lightning strikes.

He checks his pocket watch: It’s almost midnight.

When the thunder rolls into the bay, he moves. Guppy bolts ahead, her stubby legs dribbling through the puddles.

They make quick work of a back window, fiddling with the trap Joe warned them about. (“Place is booby-trapped as all hell!”—He repeated it often enough Isak’s sure he just enjoys hearing himself say booby.) They've broken into enough places to know their way around typical traps; counterweights and pulley systems, sets of spring-loaded clamps. But Isak quickly realizes the Tinkers are clever assholes. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out they’ve set a decoy, and it takes him an even embarrassingly longer time to cajole Guppy into fiddling with the right mechanisms, trying to goad her with scraps of bread he keeps stuffed in his pockets to get her to listen. His cape is soggy with rain and sweat by the time Guppy has jammed the tip of his pocket knife into a set of hidden gears, stopping the mechanism long enough for Isak to squeeze through the window.

They stare at each other in silence, waiting for the satisfying click as the gears are jammed fully.

Easy.

“Good girl,” Isak mouths, giving Guppy a pat to her flank. She answers with a muted chortle.

Easy.

They move quickly. His messenger bag opened, Guppy crawling onto shelves and worktables, tossing trinkets that Isak snatches mid-air. They grab anything, everything, stray coins and brass-like cogs, gold-plated screws, glow stones glimmering apple-green in the dark. A shiny spyglass, a compass shaped like a flower. Guppy throws, Isak catches, they move like the inside of a watch. The two of them inching through the dark as the storm masks each clank inside their filling messenger bag.

Isak works his way across the wide worktables scattered with papers and prints and scraps and tools, ending at the shelves in the far back of the shop. They look thoughtfully arranged in presentation. Filled with books, their spines painted in swirling silver and gold, framed plaques, trophies flanked by paintings and photographs and a collection of objects that don’t look Piltovian: a silver acorn, a prayer bell with its geometric patterns painfully Targon, scarab amulets and white fur pouches, leftovers of what looks like a dagger hilt painted in Noxian red.

There’s so much.

Isak carefully glides his fingers over the treasures—because they are treasures, all of it, special the way only a bounty can be—thinking of the faraway places they must’ve come from. He stops at a comb propped up next to a set of photographs. The comb is made of wood, its dark stain, its swirling clouds and blossom patterns.

Ionia.

Isak reaches for it, eager as a child, and he presses it to his nose, unthinking, eyes closed as he inhales. Something huge and terrible wells in his stomach.

He hears Guppy trot towards the back of the shop. He opens his eyes, his attention zeroing in on the framed photographs at eye level. One in particular stands out, even in the dark. It’s yellowed with age. Two men grin excitedly, dressed in purple robes and caps as if for a ceremony, faces round with youth, one tall and broad and tawny-skinned, the other slender, elegant, eyes bright as crucibles.

The ears. The cane. The mole above the right-hand corner of his mouth—

Click.

Isak has had enough pistols cocked at his back to recognize the sound.

The comb clatters to the floor. His hands shoot up. The hood of his cape slips. Somewhere in the back of the shop Guppy squeals.

“Turn.” A man’s voice, low and liquid.

Isak does what he’s told.

He still remembers his name.

Does he remember his?

In the murky dark, Isak watches as Viktor’s face twists then loosens with something like recognition. His mouth opens. He wants to say something, anything. “I—”

“Vik!”

Another man’s voice bellows through the shop, coming from somewhere in the back. “I give up! Grab the next screwdriver and shatter my eardrums. I can’t sleep in this weather.” The man sputters a deep laugh. The creaking of wood, pounding of footsteps.

Isak’s mind clings to Guppy, somewhere, somewhere in the shop and the panic claws through him so quickly he almost doubles over. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

Viktor’s face smooths out. Isak can’t breathe.

Two things happen in quick succession: Viktor shuffles back and unlocks the door, shuffles forward, cane knocking across the floor as he stashes the pistol beneath the worktable beside him.

The lamps turn on, revealing Guppy frozen in the middle of the workshop, cowering low as she stares up at a mountain of a man. "Oh—How’d you get in here?” The man, the man from the picture, huge in the cramped workshop. Isak knows it’s him even with the beard, the longer hair. He hovers in the entrance to a hallway Isak hadn’t spotted in the dark.

For a second the man softens, staring down at Guppy whose usually twitching tail stands upright in shock.

And then things change.

The man stiffens, looks up, sees Viktor. Sees Isak.

The panic lashes out, zig-zags up his throat to punch him right under the chin. Vision swimming, just for a moment.

The glare in the man’s eyes is all Isak needs to know that he was the one who made sure the last ransackers never returned.

Get ready, get fucking ready—

Viktor clears his throat. “As I said, we’re closed.” They stare at him, his casualness, his voice steady like he’s picking up a conversation. Like his eyes weren’t blown with panic just moments ago, like Isak isn’t choking on breath. “Our opening hours are written on the sign outside. We can take a look at your hand another time.”

Viktor’s eyes flick to Isak’s fingers, resting on the messenger bag.

His fingers.

Did you notice at the Canary? When I was touching you, did you notice?

He can’t help but think of his eyes, what they looked like from up close, the thick fanning of lashes.

Big Man crosses the small space so fast Isak doesn’t have enough time to react, feels him loom as he stations himself between Isak and Victor.

Partner, Isak thinks. The Tinkers, like a surname, like a couple.

The man’s face mars with confusion as he half-turns towards Viktor. “Sorry, I thought I—No, I’m pretty sure I locked the door.”

Viktor shrugs. Isak stares at the worktable where the pistol is stashed. He thinks of all the other weapons hidden around the shop. Holy grounds or not, this is Bilgewater after all. Not that Big Man needs much to bash a head in.

Viktor shuffles past the guy, tapping his cane against a muscled calf. “Latch didn’t catch. I told you to fix it.”

“I fixed it.”

“Clearly.”

The man looks confused again, wary maybe, and he jerks back ready to argue. “No. No, I’m sure that I—”

“Again, as I said,” Viktor cuts him off and faces Isak fully, “thank you for your visit, but we are closed.”

Lightning strikes, its light cleaving between them before the thunder hits.

Guppy lurches into the air, scrambling around the shop and hitting her head on a table leg before she bumbles against Isak. She yips once and loud, and great, now she’s crying, and Isak can’t feel his legs as he drags her up, her stubby paws wheeling in the air as she desperately searches for purchase. She crawls up his chest, digs her wet nose into his neck, whining.

Isak is good at being an opportunist, except when he isn’t, and really, this is it, this is the chickenshit. And if he's being honest, he's too hungry to think straight, he's so fucking hungry he could sob from it, fold from it, and he’s tired. He’s so unfathomably exhausted he wants to open the messenger bag, flip it upside down, dig his knees into the floorboards and let these beautiful men kick him until his skull splits in two, and he can’t breathe anymore, he can’t breathe, and maybe, just maybe, just for a moment, that bored god amongst the sea of them will see this and think, hey, okay, this little harlot really isn't doing so well, maybe we can give him a break?

Will anyone out there just give him a fucking break?

Big Man stares at Guppy for so long even Viktor seems mildly confused.

Then Big Man stares at Isak, then back at Guppy, and then something in his face changes. It’s disorienting seeing someone of this size go from unthreatened to threatened to unthreatened again. Isak’s dizzy from the whiplash. His mouth is dry and his vision goes blurry, and he wants to press the heels of his hands into his eyes, tilt his head back like he’s trying to stop a nosebleed.

“Well.” Big Man clears his throat. “You must’ve come a long way.”

“Yes, and he can come a long way at a more appropriate time.” Viktor jerks his cane towards the door.

Big Man rests his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “He’s not usually this charming. It’s the weather,” he says. “So, you're here because of your hand, is that right?” He looks at Isak’s fingers. Viktor looks at the messenger bag.

The messenger bag. Right. Shit.

“Uh, no, it—Yeah. But, you know, that’s—” Isak clears his throat. His voice wobbling and grating and unfamiliar. “That’s alright. I’ll—uh—head out.” Run? Should he just make a run for it? Toss himself from the next cliff perhaps? Best to just kill himself. “This was…” He nods. Guppy’s butt whacks him in the cheek as she tries to dig a hole into his neck. His focus zeroes in on the unlocked door. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll just—” He shuffles forward, tries to wedge himself past them. He’ll run, he’ll run.

“I’ll head out.”

“Good,” Viktor says, the handle of his cane hooking into the strap of the messenger bag, pulling.

“Nonsense.” Big Man grabs Isak by the shoulder, the messenger bag slipping from the handle, and he ushers Isak towards a worktable in one easy swoop. If Isak thought he had whiplash before, being manhandled this smoothly definitely did it.

Fuck—

“Sit.”

“Jayce.”

“We don’t charge for consultations.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

Isak feels like someone yanked his tongue out of his head. He can’t speak, can’t find the right thing to say, a desire he usually shoves to the bottom of any and all priorities.

Viktor and Big Man—Jayce— have a whole mumbled conversation: What else are we going to do? You’re telling me you’re going to sleep through that? Thunder shattering all around. Might as well do something useful.

Viktor’s brow cocks at a deadly angle, and what follows is an argument carried out with nothing but scrunched noses and eyebrows, which Jayce seems to win by a margin.

Isak sits, struck like a live wire, Guppy clawing at his neck like she’s trying to find a way inside of him.

What is happening right now?

What is happening?

“Alright, let me get the template boards.” Heading towards the hallway in the back, Jayce almost sounds...giddy.

“We haven’t had a single customer in days,” Viktor mumbles, more to himself than Isak. His stare feels like a slap to the face. It’s nothing like back at the Canary.

Isak must really be the unluckiest bastard on this floating pile of garbage.

Viktor nudges the chair so Isak faces him, his cane bullying itself between his legs. He feels for something on the handle, and with a click, the cane shoots up, revealing a blade digging into the floorboards like a splice. As Viktor leans in close the cane, almost sweetly, skims the edge of Isak’s inner thigh. Something hiccups through his throat. Spreads there on the roof of his mouth. Panic, panic and everything else.

“Did you follow me?”

“No, I—I didn’t know, I swear.”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Look, I promise,” Isak tries to swallow but everything in his throat has congealed, “this was just supposed to be some—”

“—terrible coincidence?”

Isak can’t muster an answer. He doesn’t like how Viktor chose the word terrible.

He must be easy enough to read because something in Viktor’s shoulders shifts, just a fraction. “I thought you didn’t do house visits.”

Isak can’t hold back a wheezy incredulous laugh. What the fuck?

“This isn’t our first monsoon season. I suppose I don’t blame anyone for trying. And I have to admit,” almost amused, “I’m impressed you got inside.”

“Wasn’t that hard.”

“Is that so?”

“Maybe, maybe next time—I don't know...hide the gearbox better.”

"It was underneath the floor." Viktor’s faces loses all humor. The cane presses into Isak’s thigh so hard his breath hitches. “You will not steal from us again. Is that understood?”

Viktor kicks the messenger bag underneath the worktable, a pretty Piltovian coin escaping and rolling across the floor before Viktor’s foot slams over it.

Isak swallows. He nods.

“Good.” Viktor seems to believe him. He softens again, and for a moment they look at each other.

He doesn't appear as put-together as he did at the brothel. His long wavy hair scraped into a sloppy ponytail, the collar of his shirt peeled open, his collarbone there, the fine swoop of his neck. Was he asleep before this? The both of them? In a bed upstairs? In the room with the round window and the candle?

Something hot and uncomfortable blooms in his stomach.

When Viktor finally leans back, Isak slumps back in the chair. He feels like a hand has loosened from his throat. He sits there in a pile of himself, bone atop bone atop muscle atop muscle.

He feels useless as he watches Viktor lock the shop doors, get a fire going in the hearth, useless as he stares at the strangely shaped wooden boards Jayce spreads out on the worktable once he returns.

Will Jayce not ask? Why Isak stumbled in here in the middle of the night assuming they were open? Will he not check the latch in the door? Pat him down? Will he not ask?

But Jayce settles on a chair opposite from him, calm as a manatee, and he does not ask.

Mercy doesn’t exist in a place like Bilgewater. It’s so foreign to Isak he can only think of it in the same vein he would miracles or sudden bouts of fortune. Luck so special it can’t possibly be real, even less so for thieves and liars. Luck so extraordinary it’s meant for kings.

There's this thing his body does sometimes—or maybe it’s his head, or his spirit, something complicated. He feels like he’s floating outside of himself, unlatching, unsticking, and he’s inches away and not fully inside, gazing down at each moment as it passes.

His hands are so cold they’re tinged gray beneath the worktop lamp, its long neck craned over his palm, his stumps where his fingers used to be. Joints so cold they're cramped together, arthritic, like a clam.

Viktor and Jayce—the Tinkers—they’re talking but Isak feels like he’s listening from the bottom of a murky tub.

May I? Someone asks, and he nods, and his hand is taken, pried apart so carefully, turned, touched, by thick nimble fingers. The dark hairs on those fingers, the scar running along a knuckle. The silver ring there.

They’re too small for our regular socket fits.

Small enough for a coil spring though.

Maybe adjust the anchor point here? A cool pale finger runs up the stumps of Isak’s own.

Long, steadfast, a pianist’s fingers, or a harpist’s, interrupted by knuckles like pods of poppyseed. The silver ring there.

There’ll be some harnessing necessary.

A strap that loops around the wrist like this, you see?

Too tight?

Too loose?

They discuss things like flexion and extension and circumference. There’s twine and there’s chalk, calipers, instruments that look like rulers.

Has his hand ever been prodded and poked at this much? Looked at this intensely? His ugly three-fingered crab claw.

He sees nothing but these strangers’ hands like creatures tenderly getting acquainted with his own, moving around each other like gears linking, linking, linking, linking—

We have an arrangement. The memory of Victor’s words from the Canary bubble up inside of him.

Isak stares at their matching silver rings. Pretty. Charming.

Have they found someone for their arrangement? Have they been busy arranging?

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, watching. He thinks someone asks him if he’s hungry, but he’s too outside of himself to know. And he doesn’t know if they asked out of politeness or because they were getting themselves something to eat anyways or if his hunger is somehow sitting on top of him, pearling out of his pores like sweat. He guesses he’s always hungry. Maybe he was born hungry, ravenous, gluttonous, terrible.

Then there’s bread and there’s cheese and there’s meat and apple slices.

He eats. Guppy eats. They inhale, shovel as much as they can into their mouths, stomachs like ravines.

The last time they had a full meal was in the betting dens three weeks ago. Or four?

He’s so warm all over. He’s so tired. His jaw aches from all the chewing and his mouth falls open, and he knows he’s saying things, and he wants to say everything, because he has no principles or sense of self-preservation or capacity for shame.

He’s speaking through a haze, from the bottom of this murky tub, bobbing in and out of conversation, unsure about who said what and if he even said anything out loud in the first place.

Freljordian, huh? That's Jayce. His voice is not as low as Viktor’s. It’s affirming and warm, like a shoulder squeeze. He has a voice for stories, for reading aloud, for speeches.

It makes things inside of Isak hum. He hums with it.

Part. My mother was from Ionia. Have you been? The comb on the shelf.

Couple of years back, yes.

We've been, hmm...three times?

Four.

You know that time didn't count. An inside joke.

We’re nomads of sorts. The acorn, the prayer bell, the scarab amulets, the pouches of white fur.

I guess I’m a nomad too.

They speak about everything, they speak about nothing in particular.

Viktor tells him they were scholars once, before they left.

Our old professor had a poro.

A poro in Piltover?

Well, I certainly didn't expect to see one here, of all places.

What are they made of, do you think?

Love. They’re made only of love.

Is that so?

It must be.

What’s his name?

Her name’s Guppy. She followed me here.

Followed you from where?

Everyone in Bilgewater was someone else before this, its impenetrable fog banks hiding you from the past, keeping you.

Sometimes it feels like existing in a vacuum.

Like the afterlife.

Yeah, kind of like that. Like the afterlife…

They speak about everything, they speak about nothing in particular.

From the bottom of his murky tub, Isak blinks and looks up and sees these two strange men at the surface. They're gazing at each other, talking. It’s that look before a kiss.

It's quiet now. The rain must've stopped.

✥ ✥ ✥

There is an extraordinary kind of luck reserved for kings. Isak decides to name it mercy.

#jayvik #jayce talis x viktor #jayce talis x male!original character #viktor x male!original character #jayvik fic #arcane #league of legends #eventual throuple #bilgewater #runeterra #the integral of us

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ashen-sky · 7 months ago

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Red vs. Blue: Restoration

Writing this as I watch, Spoilers ahead

Doc and Wash's conversation feels like an exposition dump, and I can't tell if it's because Wash is being interrogated or the dialogue really is that clunky.

THE AIS ARE BAAAACK. Also poor Tucker, being conscious through it all and knowing Sigma wants to kill him.

I feel like Church's animated explanation feels kind of out of place, not because it's not something he would do but because it feels so modern compared to where the Chorus reds and blues left off. Like it feels more like a dig at the audience than a joke in universe because up until this point they got by with verbal explanations. It would have felt more natural for Church to day "Since we don't have time for you guys to not understand, I made a video" instead of "Since no one can understand anything without fast moving pictures" (or whatever the exact line was).

Also, Church's inability to predict what Caboose says is so funny.

This whole thing is just Valhala and the hunt for the director all over again. Which is fine because at least there's no cyclops. This isn't a complaint, just an observation.

Anyways Church should have withheld Omega, not the memories of why combining is such a dumb idea. Like, one of the pieces that build the basis of his sanity (I.e Delta, Theta, ect.)

Was the pilot supposed to be 479er?

Lmao, Simmons getting "Shut up Caboose"'d and Caboose apologizing.

Caboose still has the confetti gun!

"It looks more like they're making fun of the last four years, which is fine because that's what it started as" -my dad, who I agree with when you look at it like that

Anyways, that was prompted by the security team working from home, which was a funny bit

It was 479er! Pretty sure the VA is different, do love her re appearance.

Love Tucker taking control, Caboose telling him not to blame himself, and Sarge going back was a really nice sequence.

... THEY KILLED SARGE, NOOOOO. I mean, I guess it's character growth for him but... the idiots were all supposed to leave together.

Why does Blood gultch look a bad 3D rendering?

Griff finally got discharged and he stuck around!

It kind of feels like this was roo focused on being the end. Like that campfire scene? It was cute, and the memories were nice, but it felt too final.

Nothing will beat Church's hero speech, but Caboose's speech? The story of Allison and memory? Definitely a favorite

It's also fitting that Tex and Carolina took Meta down, along with the reds and blues, because the Meta exists because of them. And it tormented them. It was their closure, and Carolina getting to fight with her mother made it necessary and not just a rehash of Alpha letting Tex go and the director dying. Also, Tex finally got to do what she wanted. She got to choose her fate.

Also, that twist with Doc made that clunky conversation make more sense. Seeing the freelancers made me happy, and holy fuck finding out Doc was dead was sad.

Wait, I never saw past s16, is one a reference to something? Also, one sounds like 479er, is that the real 479?

Tucker’s after credit scene was sweet... Bow-Chika-Bye now!

All in all, this wasn't a bad finale. I definitely think it would have been better as episodes because the tone wasn't consistent enough for a movie, those Wash bits early on felt a bit shoehorned in. But I don't really think anyone's characters were butchered, even Sarge dying is understandable.

Red vs Blue is about cycles, and this put an end to them all. The AIs are gone, Wash isn't letting the memories of the dead control him, Sarge isn't stuck in endless search of battle, and Griff is free of the military.

The show definitely isn't worse off with this finale, and the memory speeches (both Caboose's and Carolina/Wash's halucinations), are definitely in the top 3 with Church's hero speech for me. I am kind of glad they did this though, because the end of s13 did sort of imply that the AI fragments would be back and this finally and truly put them to rest.

EDIT: I FORGIT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART! Tex being able to kick Meta's ass because she was the Reds and Blues memory and not Alpha or Leonard's was a nice touch. I thought when Caboose was telling the story of Allison it was because it was such a huge driving force for Chruch, but it was because it was Tex and she needed to know who she was.

#anime devil's thoughts #red vs blue #red vs blue restoration

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waitingx2xdie · 3 months ago

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xnoraxcarpenterx asked: “This toy looks so pretty in you… want me to turn it on?”

I could feel it, the cold bite of steel cutting into my wrists. Maybe we shouldn’t have stolen Thomas’s standard issue cuffs for this little, ahem… “experiment”... But it wasn’t as if we had been planning this too far ahead of time. Or, at all, to be honest. No, this had all started in the middle of an argument. Turns out when you spend every night denying your feelings for someone no matter how many times her baby sister walks in on you tangling limbs, they get real freaking upset. But that was hardly a surprise. The real surprise was… that I… cared? I’d never cared for anyone before. So focused on my career, I’d broken the hearts of a few guys, treating them as casual halfway houses on my way through life. One-night stands, two night stands, friends with benefits. They were few and far between, but enough that one or two inevitably caught feelings and got mad when I cut them off. They were supposed to blow off my stress, not add to it. I couldn’t focus on juggling the emotions of childish men who got mad when I stayed up late to type up emails and went to bed when they woke up.

But this one? This one had got complicated… Nora Carpenter. I suppose I only had myself to blame. Or Death. Maybe Death. We’d never really been in this position before. Neither of us had. Nora hadn’t even been intimate with someone in four years. And I’d spent more nights in a library than underneath someone else’s sheets. Never mind the trauma response of being hunted down by death, Nora having witnessed her own son’s tragic end, and me coming with an inch of being impaled on a cold metal pipe. We only really had each other. And work ceased to maintain the same meaning as it had throughout my life. What good was a career when I could be dead tomorrow? Still I slaved away, measuring the risk versus the reward, keeping Nora at arms length, throwing myself into the only thing I’d ever known, rebuffing any effort from Nora’s psycho younger sister to press upon me any notion of deeper inclinations toward the older woman. The fight that had ensued one night, drunk and at the end of our ropes, may have been the most emotional fight of my life.

I hated that. Hated that I got so emotional. Hated that I let it show. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t believe it necessary. And lie I likely would on another day, on another night, once the emotion and alcohol filtered its way from my system, and I came back down to earth to the reality of what Nora and I were about to do. Emily was M.I.A. When she’d arrive back at our new shared condo was a mystery to us all. She’d made a habit of disappearing whenever her own emotions got the best of her, often hiding out at bars or their parents’ house. A few times Nora had even caught her sleeping in the car. Anything to avoid me, I supposed. Still she could come back at any point in time, and like the Devil, or that weird Sixth Sense movie everyone had been talking about, Emily seemed to have a knack for waltzing in whenever I dared let my walls down and allow myself a brief reprieve of intimacy from the war going on in my head. And as Nora herself had called out in our last fight, I’d predictably pull away, deny any feelings, claim innocent and play dumb. We hadn’t been DOING anything. Emily had in no interrupted us in a private moment. There were no "blue balls" here. And I damn sure didn’t have “feelings” for another woman. I mean, how could I love anyone? I had my career to think about.

And that brought us here… Here and now… Plied with wine and a swimming mind, I gasped out in pain, struggling against the handcuffs as tiny little blood drops warmed the very skin that had been chilled beneath the cold touch of steel. Nora had demanded complete control. To place me in a situation where I could no longer run. I’d started tonight’s encounter. Me and my drunken mind. A touch, a cuddle, a kiss, and Nora? Nora had pulled the brakes. She refused to do this again. To go through this again. She didn’t want me to have an out, to renege on these feelings like I had so many times before. If I had a more sober mind? Maybe I’d have found the strength to deny her request. But then, maybe that’s why I was so damn drunk to begin with. So that I couldn’t. Because deep down? I didn’t want to.

A bite of my lip, labor breathing, hot and heavy, shirt unbutton, bra pulled down, my nipples pointed like pyramids in the apartment’s frigid night air, red and engorged from prior abuse. A scratch mark trailed its way down my stomach to wear she’d peeled down my pants, lacy undies and all before unveiling her new toy. Where the Hell she’d even got it from? Or when? I had no fucking idea, but she wasted no time getting me all hot and bothered and using my own juices to lube it up before sliding it home. My walls parted, thicker than any man I’d ever taken before, my toes curled and a shot of pleasure fired up my spine like an electric charge across a wire, forcing it to arch, stomach to tighten and my breath to choke in my throat before being released as a single elongated moan. My heart was pounding. I shouldn’t have wanted this. What if Emily came back? I’d have nowhere to go. No way to deny the obvious. I was entirely at her mercy, in a way I’d lived my life so intent to never allow. A power play that put me, for the first time, at a disadvantage. God, how could I be so stupid?

Her words stilled me.

“This toy looks so pretty in you… want me to turn it on?”

I couldn’t breathe. Fuck. I swallowed hard, pleading eyes, peering across, the buck of my hips spoke greater truths than my tongue had ever been capable of, and with a single notion of courage and lust, I gave her the smallest nod. I needed it. I needed to feel it. I needed to unfurl within her grasp. To come apart at her mercy. To lose myself in her touch. I needed her to make me live.

“P-Please…”

#((-Nora-//-Carpenter-))#((-Kat-//-Jennings-))#((-Nora-//-Kat-))#xnoraxcarpenterx

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yzafre · 11 months ago

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we're flying above the valley below | Interlude 2

AO3

First | Previous

It came down to this: Vexen was, kind of, a complete and total diva.

Look, tracking people was all well and good, but sometimes it was easier to stop and think for a moment and predict. And, here’s the thing: replicas didn’t just happen out of nowhere, it took work, and if Vexen was missing then there was no way he wasn’t the one working on his pet project. He’d throw an absolute tantrum if anyone else tried to take over his work.

Axel had heard Vexen bitch and moan about his working conditions and sub-par environments enough times over the last decade to know that he was picky, and he wouldn’t accept just anywhere as a place to set up. Wherever the Organization-at-large had set up, Vexen would only be at one of a very short list of locations, and where Vexen was, the replicas were sure to be, too.

So, Axel snuck into the Castle that Never Was.

Axel had hoped to not get caught; he’d really hoped to not run into Saïx.

He did not get his wish.

“Did you really think you could go unnoticed here, in the heart of our operations?” Saïx asked, pale yellow eyes frigid as he stared him down, a small, hooded figure at his heels.

“I mean, I got this far, didn’t I?” Axel asked, tilting his head as he tried to get a glimpse of the face beneath the hood, “Honestly, your operation’s looking a bit thin on the ground. Where is everyone?”

“None of your concern.”

“I mean, I always like to know who I’m fighting. Like, say, who’s your friend?”

Saïx paused, nose wrinkling in a way that had Axel hiding a flinch, because that was the look he got when he was calculating the way he could accomplish three separate goals while causing as much misfortune for you as possible.

“Would you like a demonstration?” he asked, finally.

“Uh.”

No, not particularly, Axel thought, but he didn’t get the chance to protest.

“No. i. Attack.”

The small figure moved – it came in fast but, Axel quickly realized, very sloppily. There were no weapons – there wasn’t even magic. There were just ineffectual punches and kicks. Axel almost felt bad retaliating – but not enough to kicking them away.

They went flying back, tumbling roughly across the floor, knocking their hood loose. Strangely silent despite their fall, they looked up, dull blue eyes staring blankly out from beneath a tangle of matted black hair, and Axel – froze.

He knew that face.

He found himself reaching out, instinctively, even as he knew there was nothing there, even as he quickly fumbled through emptiness, only to stretch far away and bump against that clouded, fuzzy space his Flightmate took up in Sora’s heart, all scattered starlight sheltered under his lingering flames. This, in front of him, was an empty shell, there was nothing there, but –

He knew that face.

Heart in his throat, he rushed forward, moving on the offensive, some kind of emotional muscle-memory urging him onwards, have to get her-keep her safe-keep her close-grab her steal her take her home-hide her away.

He’d almost grabbed her before the cost of his tunnel-vision caught up to him in the form of a flat-bladed blow to the face.

He danced backwards blindly, memory of a hundred spars keeping him away from Saïx’s follow up blow and a shower of sparks buying him space to re-orient. When the fire died down, his once-friend stared at him flatly from behind his claymore.

“No. i, stand down,” Saïx said, before fully addressing Axel, “I don’t believe that belongs to you.”

“You sure about that?”

Saïx blinked once, slowly, tilting his head, sleek blue strands cascading over his shoulders like rain, and stars, looking at him hurt.

“Well, if you’re so sure, why don’t you tell me its name?”

Axel nearly stuttered, completely thrown, “What?”

“We’ve pieced together what we can about the puppet from the few notes left behind – project name: No. i. But there are hints that it might have had a name, once, though it has been stripped from our memories. If it truly belongs to you, you should know its name.”

Axel hissed, guilt and frustration tangling together, because he couldn’t, he couldn’t remember her name – and there was nothing in that shell, but it had to be connected, and how could he have forgotten his third so completely –

“Maybe I just don’t want to share. Besides, you can’t keep me from her.”

“Is that so? And how did our last few fights go, again?”

“Hah. Fair enough, but I’ve got a bit of an upgrade.”

He spun his chakrams, letting the power of his Key flood into it, the sharp point of the blade spilling out.

“A Keyblade? You? How unexpected… then, the ranks of the Lights are filling up. Good, our plan proceeds on track.”

“Oh, for the love of –” thoroughly fed up – how did Saïx always seem so composed, so smug, no matter the circumstances, it was infuriating – Axel threw himself forward.

The Keyblade really did make a difference. He still switched back to his chakrams, occasionally, which were better for distance or quick, dancing moves, but up close the Key let him meet Saïx’s blows on more equal ground, let him do more damage when needed. He thought he might actually win –

Of course, that’s when reinforcements came in.

He barely dodged the first blast, the sharp whine of the gun being his only warning. Xigbar dropped down beside Saïx when the ground was clear, reloading his gun with a few sharp movements.

Saïx watched him coldly from the corner of his eyes, “Xigbar. I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss all this drama.”

“I see… and exactly how long have you been here?”

“Long enough to see Poppet get tossed around like a rag doll,” Xigbar laughed, “Not very good, is she? But what else can you expect from an empty puppet? You’ve gotta fill it with something, first. Course, we’ve all learned that has its own dangers, haven’t we?”

What? Axel wondered, but didn’t waste his breath on Xigbar’s riddles. He’d long since learned no answers would be forth-coming.

“Risks can be mitigated,” Saïx said, stepping up beside Xigbar, claymore out and ready.

“Oh? You’ve got plans?”

“Just leave it all to me.”

Shit. He couldn’t stay. One, or the other, he could manage – but both? At the same time? Not a chance. And maybe they wouldn’t do anything too rough – they needed a certain amount of people to fight, yeah? But Axel wasn’t willing to risk it.

He summoned a corridor around himself, feeling the dark magic slowly bloom around him, feeling some old forgotten wound being torn open.

“I’ll be back,” he said – to Saïx? To the empty replica? To that distant, shuddering star? Who could say?

Certainly not him.

Instead, he bailed, landing somewhere to rest for a bit and make a few calls.

“Hey, Kairi.”

#kh #kingdom hearts #fanfiction #wingfic #wrap your wings au #Yza writes a thing

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captains-simp · 4 years ago

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Carol Danvers ~ Put On A Show

(This isn't what she looks like in this fic but it is the ✨I'm gonna make you see the stars vibe✨)

Carol Danvers X fem!Reader Smut

Word Count: 3,569

Includes: lil bit of public teasing, thigh grinding, edging, gagging on fingers, praise, strap on, overstimulation and oral

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Being an Avenger taught you to handle a lot of difficult situations.

You knew how to take down a state of the art quinjet in a minute. You could survive on an unknown planet. You had played a significant part in tracking down and rounding up the last Hydra agents.

And yet no one had ever prepared you to be stuck in a room with a hundred arrogant business men who were desperately trying to impress you with what they thought was power.

You were certain you could have better conversations with a caveman.

You weren't a superspy like Natasha. You couldn't fake interest, put on a realistic smile and pretend to enjoy yourself like she could.

You weren't Tony who genuinely enjoyed himself at those kind of parties and thrived at being the center of attention.

And you weren't Carol who didn't need either of those things. If she didn't want to talk to someone, she wouldn't. It only took one of her looks to make any of the leaches hurry away. She didn't have to worry about the repercussions of doing so because there weren't any. Non of the guests would ever be willing to admit they were intimidated by a woman.

Not that you were jealous of what Carol had. Carol wasn't the kind of person you wanted to be, but she sure as hell was the kind of person you wanted to be with. And that woman was one of a kind.

The distraction of the Captain was definetly not helping you keep your cool. She wore a tight fitting dark blue suit that you had been struggling to stop yourself staring at ever since you had first seen it. Her hair was hanging loose at her shoulders and had become messy from the amount of times she had run her slim hand through it. That alone had your mind reeling of what other ways you could get it to look like that.

You had been lucky so far, everytime you stole a glance at the Captain and her attire she happened to be in convosation with someone else. Although that meant you two hadn't exchanged a single word that night.

Thankfully, you had soon learnt that half of the guests never actually noticed if you zoned out, perfectly content to continue rambling about themselves. While others could zone out themselves as they talked...while they stared at your chest and feuling your urge to smack them.

You were in a dress that you hadn't bought and were far from comfortable in around these people. A thin glass of champagne was clutched firmly in your hand and you predicted it would shatter by the end of the night. You had lost count of how many you had downed with your back turned, stopping once you felt lightheaded.

You had regretted it at first, but you became internally grateful you had saved your heightened senses when you felt a familiar hand rest on your lower back.

Training almost everyday with the blonde Captain had familiarised you with her firm grip and reassuring touch. It was the only kind of contact you had gotten from her until that moment and you treasured it greatly, praying Carol hadn't noticed your slight faulted at the knees.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal this one." Carol stated in a very unafraid tone as her hand pressed into you more. You wanted to melt into her touch.

The man you had been not-really-listening to (because you could not for the life of you remember anyone's name) opened his mouth to speak and probably try to get Carol to stay, was ignored by the blonde who was already guiding you away with her hand.

Of course you didn't protest, throwing a party over it in your head while the butterflies in your stomach danced along to the music. You didn't even realise Carol was leading you to the bar, too focused on the fact her hand never left your back as she walked beside you without a word.

You did however, realise when you almost walked into the bar stall before gracefully (that's what you told yourself) sliding onto the stool. Carol sat down next to you and said something to the bartender you didn't hear or really care about.

When she did look back at you her gaze was piecing along with her usual confident aura. Anyone who pulled off a suit the way Carol did had every right to some arrogance, especially as it somehow made her even more attractive.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress before." Carol said with a knowing smile.

"I don't think you'll be seeing me in one ever again." You respond as you glance anywhere but Carol, unable to hold her intense gaze.

"I'll have to treasure the memory even more then. You look beautiful." Carol compliments and watches you blush.

"You clean up pretty nicely yourself, Captain."

You don't fail to notice the way her jaw tightens slightly at the title, but she's quick to pass it off when the bartender places two bottles down on the counter.

You realise you're still holding your champagne so you put it on the side to swap it with small bottle of beer, already taking a sip to have something to do instead of figiting under Carol's gaze.

"I didn't need you to say it, you know? You undressing me with your eyes was telling enough." You choked slightly on your drink the moment those words left her lips, embarrassment shooting down every last butterfly in your stomach.

"I-I wasn't- it was an accident- I mean! I- um..." Carol watched you ramble with an amused grin and took a sip of her beer herself.

You could feel your cheeks heating up and your fight or flight instincts kicking in.

"I was enjoying the attention." Carol smirked as she moved closer to you so the faint smell of her expensive perfume overtook your senses.

You had been so sure the whole night that Carol hadn't noticed what you were doing. You thought you had gotten away with it all. Natasha's tips on concealing emotions and thoughts were clearly paying off on Carol more than you.

"And its not like it's the first time." Carol almost whispered as her voice dropped in a way that went straight to your core.

The Captain placed a gentle but firm hand on your bare knee as she studied you. Her brown eyes flickered across your face while your own y/e/c eyes stayed fixed on hers.

"Is this a test?" You whispered under your breath.

"Perhaps." She whispered back as her fingers stroked your bare skin slowly. "I'm sure I could test you some other ways though." Her hand was along your thigh now. You desperetly wanted to grab it and pull it up further but you had to remember you were in a room full of very important people.

Carol noticed you glance around the room and must have known what you were thinking because she smirked slightly before withdrawing her hand and standing up from the stall.

"Come." She ordered. You felt goosebumps across your whole body and hoped it wouldn't be the last time you heard her say that tonight.

You restrained yourself to waiting a few seconds before following Carol in the most subtle way you could manage when you wanted to sprint over to her side.

You weren't really aware of where Carol was leading you, but once you rounded the corner away from the party you sped up to close the distance between you both.

After rounding a few corners of the complicated hallway you realised you had lost sight of the Captain. Just as you were about to risk calling out her name a strong hand gripped your forearm and pulled you out of the corridor and into Carol's arms.

Her lips were on yours instantly. She had you backed into a wall before you could comprehend any of what was happened but her kiss was so eager you returned it without any thought.

The blonde's lips were unbelievably soft. They felt perfect against your own as you tried to match her pace.

Her hands were cupping your face with surprising gentleness so you wrapped your hands around her neck to pull her impossibly closer, accidently pulling on a few strands and earning a low groan from her.

She bit down on your lip harshly, making you moan audibly until you were muffled by her tongue invading your mouth.

You could taste the beer both of you had barely started and something else that was strikingly Carol. It was intoxicating and you didn't want it to end.

The friction Carol sparked when she pressed one of her muscular thighs between your bare legs was sinfully blissful. You moaned into Carol's mouth when you felt her very deliberately press against your heat and apply a teasing amount of pressure to your throbbing clit.

"Carol." You whispered her name like a chant. She smirked against you as she turned her attention to you jaw then neck, nipping and sucking at the skin exposed to her. You arched your neck to give her more access and felt your breathing become laboured.

This probably wasn't helped by Carol's hand on your bare thigh, gripping the skin in a much firmer way than she had at the bar and venturing further up.

Her hand disappeared beneath your dress in no time, massaging every inch of skin she came across.

You couldn't help it. Her warm lips, her strong hands and invasive thigh made you feel lightheaded and you couldn't stop your instincts of grinding yourself on Carol's thigh.

You desperatly sought more friction that your Captain's thigh could produce. What started as small rotations of your hips soon turned into full on desperate grinding. Your thin panties were soaked and clung to your skin, you were sure you were going to leave patches on Carol's expensive suit trousers but both of you were far from caring.

You could feel Carol continue to smirk into your neck with each mewl that left your lips. She grabbed your hands and pinned them against the wall above your head and that somehow made you needier.

The beautiful friction against your clit was one that had you moaning Carol's name continuously. It didn't take long for the familiar coil to tighten in your power abdomen and making your movements increasingly erratic.

You bucked against your Captain as you sought you sweet release only to have it pulled away from you.

Carol stepped away with a shit eating grin as she watched you struggle to hold yourself against the wall and give her a confused look.

"Why?" Was all you could manage, embarrassingly out of breath.

"Because I can." She smirked. "Did you want to cum, baby? Do you want to feel your release?"

"Please." You said shamelessly as you gave her a pleading look from your vulnerable position.

"Then be a good girl and bend over that desk for me."

You hadn't even noticed you were in an office, too busy trying to get yourself off on Carol's thigh than take in your surroundings. You didn't hesitate to place your hands on the far side of the desk and bend yourself over it so your ass was out for Carol. You glanced behind you to see Carol smirking as she took in your appearance in the new position.

She stalked towards you and placed a hand on the back of your thigh while the other pushed your back down further into the table. Her hand trailed up under your dress before she ran her fingers over the material covering your ass. Her movements were slow and teasing, trying to enhance your desperation to a place you wouldn't come back from that night.

Her slim fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties and gradually pulled them down, subsequently allowing her fingers to brush over your ass.

Once the thin material dropped to your feet Carol had you spread your legs for her as far as you could while she lifted your dress over your hips.

You guessed she really did like the dress.

Your pussy pulled around nothing as it was exposed to the cold air of the room and Carol's teasing fingers ghosting over your skin.

"Eyes front." She said as she stood back. It was hard to resist the urge to turn around and look when you could hear Carol undoing her belt buckle.

You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan when the blonde brushed the silicone against your folds. You were both shocked and aroused at the discovery that the Captain had been packing all night. You wanted her more at the thought that she had planned this.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt two slim fingers against your lips. You opened your mouth to allow Carol to slip her fingers in and tried not to moan around them at the heated gesture.

You sucked eagerly on Carol's fingers in an attempt to please her and hope it would give you some preparation for the girthy strap. It wouldn't.

You were caught off guard again when Carol continued to push her fingers forward, further than you were expecting at first then more than you could take. You gagged around her fingers and heard a chuckle from your sadistic Captain.

"Good girl." She whispered against your ear before biting down softly.

You were so caught up in the praise you almost forgot about the strap until Carol nudged it between your lips. You tried to grip onto the table more as she slowly pushed the head into your soaking pussy and moaned around her fingers still tickling the back of your throat.

You were extremely unprepared to take something that size, but that only spurred Carol on more and added to your arousal that had your lower lips slick for the strap to ease into you.

Once Carol was half way she paused when you started breathing heavily through your nose as you continued to suck her fingers. But the break was short and without any warning, the Captain thrust the rest of the girthy toy into your cunt.

You moaned around her fingers and pressed your head further into the desk. Carol barely gave you a chance to adjust to the filling of being so full. You're reminded of her impatient nature when she pulls the silicone toy out to the hilt before snapping her hips back against you and causing the strap to burry itself deep inside you again.

You knew Carol was strong and you had seen her doing hip thrusts in the gym before, but you had never imagined the force she would be able to muster when slamming the fake cock into you over and over.

Carol eventually took her fingers away from your mouth and wiped your saliva along the side of your neck before gripping it in her hands, threatening to cut off your breathing and blood flow.

Her pace never faulted. It brought you an intense amount of pleasure everytime that had you stumbling over your words.

'Carol...please...it's- I...so good." Was all you were able to say.

Her name fell from your lips over and over as your cunt clenched around the invading toy. It never failed to hit the hilt of your pussy and brushes against your most pleasurable spot, every movement made it brush some incredible nerve.

You moaned louder as you tried to fuck yourself back on her strap. You were so close to your orgasm and it had already been set up to be the best fuck you ever had so you were so desperate to finally reach it.

"Are you gonna cum for your Captain?" Carol asked as her thighs continued to slap against your own.

"Yes Captain! Please...I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me." She husks as she brings you over the edge and flying through your orgasm. You completely slump against the desk and Carol fucks you through your high.

White blanks appear in your vision but you're too out of it to care.

You're moaning, almost screaming, in the pleasure that's overwhelming you and you don't realise how sensitive you are until Carol continues to pound the strap into you.

"Carol..." You whine at her perfect pace. She's still going so hard, so fast, and fuck she's so deep inside you.

The vigor of her first fucking already had your pussy overworked and sensitive, and yet you can't stop yourself from incoherently begging her not to stop.

"Please Captain! Don...don't stop...so good- so good!" You cry out as another orgasm crashes over you.

You're shuddering now but still swimming in pleasure. You can't stop yourself from bucking yourself back against her.

Carol holds your hips down firmly as she thrusts the strap into your overworked cunt. They're less coordinated this time, more about establishing the control Carol has over you.

You can't form any words this time. The only sounds in the room is Carol's thighs slapping against yours, your whorish moans and the thick strap fucking your leaking pussy. You were vaguely aware of the audible sounds of your pussy before you break into your third earth shattering orgasm.

You're completly limp against the desk and trying your best to breathe normally.

Your pussy is throbbing and pulsing around the strap that Carol very slowly eases out of you and leaves you feeling extremly empty and sore. You know you're gonna be feeling it the next day.

"I don't think I can stand." You finally muttered weakly, not trusting your legs to even attempt to let go of the desk beneath you.

"You don't need to. Get on your knees." Carol ordered from behind you. You shivered at her words and tried to take a moment to compose yourself but the blonde was apparently growing impatient...again.

She held your hips with an iron grip and flipped you onto your back to see her towering over you. You used your arms to help you into a sitting position on the edge of the table before falling down onto you knees infront of your Captain.

Your knees ached from landing on the hard floor but you were much more focused on the smirk playing on Carol's soft lips.

"So obedient, such a good girl for me." Carol cooed as she ran her fingers through your hair and pulled you towards her now strapless core. You could see her pink folds glistening in arousal and you wanted nothing more than to taste her.

"Use that pretty mouth of yours to make me cum, baby." Carol instructed.

You wasted no time. You licked an eager strip through the blonde's folds and moaned against her as you collected her wetness on your tongue. She was so sweet and you were instantly addicted.

You did this a few more times, pushing your tongue further between her folds everytime until you couldn't hold off anymore.

You gripped the back of Carol's thighs and sunk your tongue between her folds. The moan she gave in response made your stomach flip and swell with pride. It was like discovering a new song you wanted to listen to on repeat.

You retracted your tongue and began sucking softly on Carol's wet folds to taste as much of her wetness as your could. You then switched your attention to her throbbing clit and sucked it harshly into your mouth.

"Fuck so good! You've got such a good mouth." Carol praised continuously as you pulled out all of your tricks in hopes of pleasing her.

You kept alternating between fucking her with your tongue as deeply as you could to taking her neglected bud in your mouth. Your efforts soon paid off.

Carol grinded herself against your mouth as she cursed and praised you amongst moans. She was gripping your hair so tightly you couldn't help but moan into her, aiding her pleasure.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck!" She gasped out as you sucked as harshly as you could on her clit.

Her bundle of nerves pulsed in your mouth and you could feel her cunt clenching around nothing as she came with a cry of your name.

She sounded so good when she came. You wanted to hear it again, to see her. But once Carol had finished her high and you had lapped up every last bit of her white liquid she pushed you back gently.

She sat back on the dest as she regained her steady breathing and tapped her lap as she smiled at you.

You had just about enough strength mustered in your legs to allow you to stand up from your position and sit on Carol's lap.

She wrapped an arm around your waist and cupped your cheek with her hand to pull you in for a kiss. She smiled against you as she tasted herself on your lips and kissed you longingly.

"You were everything I dreamed you would be, baby. You did so good for me." You blushed under her praise and buried your head in the crook of her neck in exhaustion but mainly comfort.

Neither of you had any intentions to return to the party after that.

#brie larson #captain marvel #captain marvel imagines #captain marvel smut #captain marvel x reader #carol danvers #carol danvers imagines #carol danvers smut #carol danvers x reader #marvel #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel imagine

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titanicsimp · 4 years ago

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Rising star

Pairing: Enji Todoroki x Female!Reader

Genres: Smut

Warnings: Sexual content including; vaginal and anal sex, creampies, degrading talk, general rough sex, manhandling, name calling, slight voyeurism, thigh riding.

Summary: You have been rising through the pro hero ranks like a rocket, and you can’t help but tease the new number one about it.

A/N: I’m a Enji fucker and I’m proud! 🗣

“And now, the pro hero ranked as number four this year is...”

“Ironheart!”

You could barely believe it as you jumped up from your seat. You made it into the top five!

You waved at the crowd, a big smile on your face as you joined the others on stage. The bright lights and camera flashes were a little overwhelming, but you could get used to it.

God did you feel good. You could take on the world in that moment, basking in the cheers of your fans. Last year you had been ranked twentieth, so this leap was huge.

As the announcer went back to announcing the list, you peaked over at the current number one hero. Endeavor was standing stone faced as always, but you caught him glancing at you from the side.

You smirked. You could practically smell the resentment from here. How thrilling, you would have to pay the flame hero a visit later.

Getting into Endeavor’s VIP room at the event had been a doozy. The guard had been too starstruck, only asking you to give him an autograph. You had cringed at the picture he had made you sign. It was one from the shoot the hero agency made you do, which had been done to market on your sex appeal. But you had pushed aside your agitation and walked right into Endeavor’s room.

The space they gave him is excessive really. The room is extremely spacious even though it’s equipted with two full sized couches, a long coffee table, and a bar with barstools and all.

Endeavor is sitting on the couch that faces the door, busy signing pictures of himself which he’ll be giving out later.

It takes only a second for him to notice you, and when he does he immediately puts on his flames. You chuckle under you breath. Really, who is he keeping the appearance up for?

“Long time no see, Endeavor.” You purr as you stride over to him.

He looks annoyed, so nothing new. “Get out.”

You scoff. “Not even a congratulations? I think I’m rising through the ranks faster than you ever have.”

You notice his eyebrow twitch at your comment. He’s so predictable.

“Number four is still a long way from number one.”

You touch his knee, stroking your hand up his leg gingerly. “Yet I’m standing so close to it.”

He regards you calculatingly with those blue eyes of his. “What do you want?”

You pull back your hand with a bright smile. “Well, I thought we could get to know each other better. Us being colleagues... or perhaps rivals, as some may call it.”

Endeavor crosses his arms. “I doubt anyone would regard us as rivals. You’re too far behind me.”

“Hhmm, you say that but I saw that little glance when we were up on the stage. Seems I’ve been on your mind, Endeavor.” You tell him.

You walk around the couch and go to stand behind him. Most people would back up from his flames, but you had nothing to worry about. The metal wristbands you wear start shifting under the influence of your quirk, quickly ungulfing your arms and hands so the metal fits around them like a glove.

You put your arms over Endeavor’s shoulders without care. He grunts disapprovingly, but does nothing to stop it.

“Your flames feel slightly hotter than last time, good job!” You giggle.

He sighs your name, not your hero name, but your real name. “Stop wasting my time.”

His flames die down and it seems like he really is done playing with you. You retract the metal around you back to look like simple wristbands.

You jump over the couch and sit down next to him, giving him sad eyes. “Who thought a flame hero could be so cold?”

“Especially after our little bathroom adventure last year...”

You feel Enji stiffen beside you. “Or do you do that with all upcoming heroes?”

You throw your legs over his lap, grinning at him. Yeah, that’s what you thought, he hasn’t forgotten.

Though he tries to keep his face straight, you can see it starting to crack. “You still don’t know what’s good for you.”

“I felt pretty good last time.” You quip back, and he finally snaps.

Enji throws your legs off of his lap and grabs your face, his big hand engulfing your chin and cheeks. “You need to be put in your place.”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “Why don’t you help me with that, number one?”

His free hand forces your legs open and cups your core through your herosuit. You both groan when his thick fingers rub over your slit, pushing the tight fabric and your panties against it.

“How do you even fight in this thing.” Enji says disapprovingly.

You roll your eyes. It’s not like you are the only hero in this room with a skin tight suit, and he seems to be enjoying it well enough.

A loud ripping sounds throughout the room and you gasp in shock at the hole he has created in your suit, exposing your panties.

You try to move to stop him before he can ruin that fabric as well, but within the seconds it takes you to react it’s too late. “Bastard!”

Enji chuckles. “Can’t afford to replace them?”

He knows damn well you can. You might not be ultra rich like him, but your hero career sure has payed off.

Sliding his fingers through your wetness testingly, he gives you a mocking grin. You buck up into his touch without embarrassment, he’s doing exactly what you want after all.

Enji’s grabs you and drags you onto his lap without a word. When you go to grind against his bulge, he stops you. He corrects you to sit on one of his thighs, giving you a pointed look.

You smirk at him. “How dirty of you, Enji.”

“Shut up and grind.” He growls in response.

Happily obliging, you sway your hips, dragging your wetness across his thigh. The fabric of his suit is a bit rough, but it only adds to the friction.

Enji brings his hand to your throat, squeezing it lightly as you ride his thigh. You smile at him, softly moaning under your breath.

“Look at you, getting off on rubbing yourself against me like a bitch in heat.” He says with a condescending tone, but his body tells a different story.

You can see the large tent in his pants, making his excitement quite obvious.

A whimper leaves your mouth when his fingers squeeze tighter and a rush of wetness slicks your thighs.

Enji’s gaze turns darker with lust the longer he watches you slide yourself up and down his thigh. Getting an idea, you lean forward and lick across the length of his neck, causing him to shiver under you.

Maintaining a tight grip on your neck, he moves you off of him and then throws you onto the coffee table in front of the couch.

A oof leaves your mouth as you hit the wood, the slam having slightly taken your breath. When Enji looms over you, you shoot him a grin. Would’ve been a real smacker if your skin wasn’t infused with minuscule metal pieces.

The corners of his mouth turn upwards at seeing your reaction. Being able to throw you around without consequence turns him on to no end.

Enji flips you over, propping your ass up. You grab onto the end of the table. If it will be anything like last time, you’ll need something to hold onto.

You bite your lip when he drags his cock through your wetness. God, it’s your favorite part of him without a doubt.

“Are you ready?” Enji asks from behind you, but as you open your mouth to answer, he slams his cock all the way inside of you in a swift thrust.

You scream loudly at the feeling of his thick length stretching you out. It stings a bit, but in all the ways you like.

His big hands grab onto your ass as he starts fucking into you, groaning loudly.

His thrusts are so hard and his pace changes constantly, making you grab onto the table so hard your fingers turn white.

“A slut like you will never outrank me.” Enji growls, his grip on you tightening.

You mewl at his statement. Him talking down to you only makes your walls clench around his cock.

He lifts one hand off of your ass, only to bring it down in a hard slap. Noises and cries escape your lips without stopping as he spanks your ass and continues to ram him himself into you.

“That useless guard is still outside, I wonder if he’s hearing you cry out for my cock.” He pants out.

“I bet he’s enjoying it.” You get interrupted multiple times by Enji’s thrusts, but you get your sentence out eventually.

“Ah Endeavor!” You scream out extra loudly on purpose.

You feel his cock twitch inside you. “Giving him a show?”

You giggle breathlessly. “Come now, don’t be jealous.”

With a rip, Enji tears your suit up further, exposing your asshole as well. You hear him spit on his hand before he presses one finger into your ass. Your back arches at the new sensation and your cunt twitches in pleasure.

“Scream then.” He commands, slowing his pace just slightly so he can finger your ass.

As soon as he feels you relax, he adds a second, and your eyes tear up at the fullness. You start feeling so hot, and you have no doubt that it’s radiating from Enji.

When he rubs his fingers against your wall where he feels his cock, you cum suddenly. Your vision goes blank for a second as your orgasm washes over you, your legs shaking violently.

With a loud groan, Enji follows suit and empties himself inside of your cunt. His pace doesn’t slow down for quite a bit, fucking his cum into you.

When he’s finished, he pulls out of you suddenly, letting his cum drip out onto his cock. He fists his length, lubing it up with your mixed juices.

You can sense what’s coming next, Enji’s fingers still in your ass.

“Tell him what I’m about to do.” He tells you.

It takes you a moment to even remember the guard, but when you do you smirk. Seems like it gets Enji’s fire going, so why not.

“Please Endeavor, fuck my ass!” You yell out.

He removes his fingers and presses the head of his cock against your tight hole. “I’m going to have you walking around with cum dripping from your holes like the dirty slut you are.”

With that promise, he presses forward into you. He goes slower when entering your ass, but you still struggle to keep up.

When fully seated inside you, he gives your ass a loud slap, causing you to yelp out. As soon as he starts thrusting, you both know that neither of you is going to last long.

Enji’s fingers find your clit, rubbing and pinching at it as he fucks into you.

By this point you’re a sweating, drooling mess, and when you approach another orgasm, you whine desperately. “Fuck Endeavor, ruin me!”

His low chuckle makes a shiver run over your spine. “As you wish.”

He starts slamming himself into you, not holding back in the slightest. Your chest pushes against the table aggressively as he fucks you into it.

You cry out his name as with a last rub at your clit, you cum again. The table is a blessing as your legs give out, keeping your body up.

Enji uses your body till he’s cumming again as well. Your body already feels so hot, and his cum filling you ass too doesn’t help. You whimper and flex your sore fingers from grabbing on when he pulls out.

Your ass, cunt and thighs are absolutely drenched in his cum, his thick loads still leaking out of you.

Too tired to move for now, you watch as Enji grabs a marker from the table. He scribbles something onto your asscheek, giving it a final slap afterwards.

He comes into vision after he has adjusted his suit, his figure showing no trace of what the two of you just did.

“Let’s do this again, hero.” He tells you as he throws the marker at you, the last word clearly mocking.

Later, when you go to clean up, you spot what he wrote in the mirror. You smirk as you look at the phone number that he wrote onto your asscheek. Snapping a quick picture of your cum covered ass, you send it to his number with the message ‘I knew you’d warm up to me ♥️’.

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years ago

Text

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader)

I can explain.

Please don't come at me for starting a new project before finishing Cult Girl Doctorate. I hit a wall and needed to take a break. I am trying not to let this one take up too much time.

Y/n is a sorceress-in-training who’s known for being hard to teach. Sensing her potential, Doctor Strange takes her on as an apprentice.

You firmly believed that shattering the urn of Fei-Amie was the best thing that ever happened to you.

It happened a year ago, but it still replayed in your head over and over again. You made a conscious effort to remember it vividly.

Sure, it was terrifying, Stephen Strange's initial look of anger when he heard the ceramic shatter. It softened when he saw that the culprit was just a clumsy sorceress-in-training who looked on the verge of tears with remorse. Still, it was a face you never wanted to see again: his teeth bared, his already sharp features accentuated under the constraints of anger.

It diluted into silent, simmering frustration that revealed itself to you in short sarcastic jabs and body language.

"Just, stop." He cut you off after a string of profuse sorries. With no disarming smile in sight, you could tell he was tense. "Artifacts get broken all the time. Don't cry. It was an accident."

His tone indicated that he was trying to convince himself more than he was you. You were a closed-off person and could hardly stand the idea that anyone out there didn't like you. The idea of the Sorcerer Supreme being mad at you, personally, made you briefly consider ritual suicide. You lowered your head. "Yes, Master Strange."

"Hey, butterfingers." He called out after you as you tried to make a painless exit. You looked back at him and he gestured to the pile of broken ceramic pieces. "You gonna fix what you broke?"

It hadn't dawned on you that an ancient relic could be fixed. Especially one that once contained the ashes of the ancient necromancer Fei-Amie. You were embarrassed to say that your knowledge of manipulating time was surface-level at best, and couldn't think of any other solution.

You wordlessly gathered the pieces up in your skirt and carried them off, striking out any plans to go into town that evening. Instead, you poured through book after book for any instruction whatsoever on repairing broken artifacts. You ran out of desk space, so books were just floating in the air, suspended on pages that briefly mentioned relic breakage.

You started to believe you were given an impossible task. Or perhaps all the resources you needed, he was withholding. Even so, you didn't want to go back to him empty-handed. You changed into your street clothes and opened a portal to the local craft store.

You returned with two types of extra-strong superglue and got to work. First, you made all the pieces come together and had them hover over the desk. Unconsciously, you began to sing as you pieced the urn back together.

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Brown paper packages tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things

"Haven't heard that song in years."

You dropped the tube of glue and the few remaining pieces fell back to the desk. "Master Strange!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He said, though his apology was undercut by his smug tone. "Carry on."

You picked up a piece and began to line the edges with glue.

"Aren't you going to finish the song?"

You looked up to see that he hadn't been just passing by. He was leaning against the threshold, watching you.

"I don't usually sing for an audience." You laughed, uncomfortably. "Just me."

"A man and his sentient cape should not count as an audience," he scoffed. "But, if you insist, I guess I'll have to just listen to Julie Andrews instead."

"What's wrong with her?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh, nothing. She's a treasure." He put his hands up. "But everyone gets to hear her sing. And I take it that only a very select few get to hear your rendition of my favorite things. I just have to be one of them."

You blushed, suddenly forgetting all the words to my favorite things.

"Girls in white dresses..." he offered, an impatient edge to it.

You swallowed. "Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes-"

"Hey, butterfingers." He interrupted again. Before you could object, he pointed to the way that the pieces floated gracefully overhead at the sound of your voice.

"I'd like to see Julie Andrews do that." He said with a wink.

"Looks alright," Master Strange said, running his finger along the tight seams that showed where cracks once were.

"Will it still work?" You asked. That was really all you were worried about.

"Beats the hell out of me." He shrugged. "I didn't know how to use it to begin with."

"What?!" You spat back. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm afraid not." He said, taking the urn and placing it back on its pedestal. "Don't worry, you did a good job. I'm not mad at you anymore."

That was really all you needed to hear. "Thank you, sir."

"You're an apprentice, right?" He asked.

"I'm..." Your voice trailed off in embarrassment. "Between masters right now."

He raised an eyebrow. "If I were to ask around, would I receive glowing reviews from your last masters?"

You admitted it point-blank. "No."

"Let me guess," he folded his arms. "Something didn't make sense to you and instead of giving you the space to question it, they insisted you follow blindly."

You wanted to throw your head back and shout in relief; finally, someone understood!

"Bingo, bullseye." You put your hands up in surrender after being read so easily. "Right on the money."

"I see." He said, tucking that thought away for later. "Could I trouble you for one more odd job before you go?"

"That depends." You folded your arms. "What is it?"

He looked over his shoulder at his cape. "How are you with sewing?"

‘Sewing' was not the verb you would use to describe repairing the tears in the Cloak of Levitation. It was taller and stronger than you and it did not want to be repaired. It was closer to performing surgery on a fully grown mountain lion that could rip your head off at any minute.

"Like putting eyeshadow on a cat," Master Strange said. It flicked its edge contemptuously, while still clinging to his shoulders for dear life. "I'm a licensed surgeon and it won't let me within 20 feet of it with a needle."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." You said, thoroughly discouraged. All he'd given you to work with was a spool of thread and a pack of needles.

He tried with sincere force to remove the cloak, but it wouldn't budge. "Of course, now it knows you're coming at it with the sewing kit and it won't leave my shoulders."

"Maybe I can work with that?" You shrugged. You threaded the needle and hid it in your hand.

You approached the cloak, only for it to shove Master Strange in your way like a human shield.

"Listen, you naughty little blanket." He scolded, turning around to face it as if it were a puppy that had just wrecked the living room. "If you don't let her fix you, you're going in the washing machine. Extra spin."

It shuddered, and, for a moment, you thought it was going to comply. You slowly took a step forward, only for it to dart as soon as your foot hit the ground. It made its escape with a large crash through the heavy wooden doors of the library.

"Hey!" You shouted, chasing after it. "Get back here!"

You caught a glimpse of it headed towards the relic room, so, without thinking, you opened a portal to make it there first. You reached it only seconds before the cloak breached the threshold, with only enough time to grab it by the edge.

"Come here!" You exclaimed, giving it a full force tug. It tugged back, overpowering you to the tenth degree. It dragged you across the room and into the foyer. You yanked on it, only for it to escape from your grip and send you flying back into the wall. You wondered for a second how such a sturdy piece of fabric could possibly be in need of maintenance.

"Bastard." You mumbled, rubbing the spot where your head collided with the wall. The pain didn't stop you, though. You were on your feet within seconds, pursuing the naughty blanket all over again.

You heard the words of one of your many, many masters ringing in your ears; "never outrun what you can outsmart". Or maybe that was from a Garfield comic. Either way, whether or not you could outsmart the cloak was still unknown, but you had to at least try.

You took a second to catch your breath and tried to remember where you saw it heading next. Downstairs, you thought. To the laundry room. The one place you would never look.

You slowly but deliberately descended the stairs to the basement where the laundry was. You turned the light on and saw overturned baskets of towels, clothes, and sheets everywhere. And then a washing machine door slammed shut. You turned your head and saw a twinge of dark red hiding in the washing machine.

You removed your shoes and socks to minimize noise, then picked up a fitted sheet that had been thrown on the ground. You mounted the washing machine and affixed the sheet to the front. The cloak would have to come shooting out the door, and you would ambush it.

You forced the door open with your heel, holding the sheet like a giant net. As predicted, the cloak shot out like a bullet from a gun, getting caught in the sheet. It thrashed around aimlessly, trying to escape, but you had a tight grip and it wasn't going anywhere.

"It's curtains for you!" You said, then laughed at your own joke. "Stop struggling!"

It flailed and fought, but eventually ran out of energy and sunk to the ground. Not trusting it quite yet, you pinned it down with your whole body weight before releasing it from the sheet. As expected, it tried to fly away, but couldn't get anywhere.

"The less you fight, the faster this will go." You said, examining the fabric for any visible tears. The rip presented itself right away. About as long as your hand, right in the center.

"What did Strange do to you?" You asked, pulling the threaded needle from your pocket. "Hold still, I'm going to fix it."

Once the needle hit fabric, the cloak stopped trying to fly away and instead writhed about on the floor like it was about to die. You fixed the tear with as many stitches as you could make, then pulled it shut. Once you knew the thread was secure, you rolled off the cloak and let it fly free.

It shot up, but froze, noticing something was different. It swished itself around, unaccustomed to the feeling of air not blowing right through its center.

"You're welcome." You said with a shrug. "It's not like I had to chase you all around the sanctum to make it happen."

Without any warning, the cloak scooped you up and squeezed you. Your initial reaction was that this was its revenge and you were taking your final breaths, but you could tell it was gratitude by the way it gently set you down on the ground.

"Happy to help." You gasped for air. "Just remember this feeling if I ever have to do this again."

"Not bad, butterfingers." Master Strange told you, though the tone of his voice conveyed he was impressed beyond a simple 'not bad'.

"Not bad?" You protested. "I absolutely crushed it."

He ran his finger down the uneven but sturdy stitching. When his face met yours again, he was smiling with genuine enthusiasm that managed to eek through his dry, sarcastic exterior. It came out as an admittedly very handsome sideways smirk as his eyes scanned you up and down.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll get out of your hair now.” You said, heading towards the open doors.

“Wait.” The doors slammed shut before you could reach them. You turned around to see Master Strange still examining the stitching. "You wouldn't leave without tea, would you?"

A pot of chai tea sat between you, filling the air with an aroma of spicy vanilla. You held the teacup in both hands, determined to never give him a reason to reinforce the "butterfingers" nickname he'd become so fond of.

"Chai is my favorite." You said, letting the scent waft into your nose. "Yerba mate used to be my favorite, but if I drink more than two pots of it I get sick."

"Yeah, definitely don't do that." He chuckled, bobbing his teabag up and down in the cup. "Out of curiosity, are you wondering at all why I invited you to tea?"

"Oh, definitely." You nodded. "I was just wondering about that."

"Would you believe it's just because I find you interesting?" He raised an eyebrow. "Good company, perhaps?"

"Interesting? Absolutely." You agreed. "Good company is debatable."

"I can't believe I never thought to trap the cloak in the washing machine." He rested his chin in his hand. "It seems so obvious now."

"If it makes you feel any better," you shrugged. "It was mostly dumb luck and reckless disregard for my own life, considering it almost threw me off the balcony.”

He glared at the cloak. “What did I tell you about trying to kill our guests?”

It lowered its collar shamefully in his direction.

“Don’t apologize to me!” He scolded. “Apologize to her.”

It turned to face you and repeated the somber motion.

“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “My family adopted a retired army German Shepherd growing up. I’m used to high-strung creatures that could end my life at any second.”

“Well, rest assured, butterfingers,” He said, leaning back in his chair. “This will never happen again.”

“I, uh-” You opened your mouth before you could even really pick up on the implication he was putting down. “Wasn’t aware that there would be a chance for it to happen again?”

“I suppose we should get down to brass tax, then.” He folded his hands in his lap. “How would you like to stay here?”

“Well-” You said, not wanting to come off as too enthusiastic, which you certainly were. “Not if it’s going to kill me-”

“If I could promise you that your life won’t be in constant danger, I would.” He cut you off. “But if you wanted safety, you wouldn’t have started studying the Mystic Arts.”

“Got me there.” You conceded, your made-up objection withering away. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He shook his head. “I’ll help you train and in return, you help me preserve the integrity of the sanctum.”

“So an apprenticeship?” Your eyes widened. "Are you saying you want to take me on as an apprentice?"

“I know you’ve got bad associations with that title, but yes.” He answered. “If it brings back memories of your previous masters treating you like garbage, we can call it a ‘partnership’, if you’d like.”

Partners with the Sorcerer Supreme? You thought, butterflies materializing in your stomach.

"That sounds great, but-" You broke eye contact and fidgeted with your fingers. "I feel like I should disclose that it wasn't really all that one-sided. I am… notoriously hard to teach."

"And who told you that?" He tilted his head. "The ones who refused to teach you?"

You hadn't thought about it that way. "I guess."

"The way I see it, you've repaid your debt and are free to leave," he began. "But seeing how dutifully you reassembled that urn, wrangled my favorite piece of defiant outerwear, and how desperately this place is in need of some life, it might be a good idea to keep you around."

You put your hand over your chest to still your heart. "It would be an honor."

"Excellent." He nodded. "That saves me the trouble of having to convince you."

He brought you to a small but comfortable room with a bed and connected bathroom.

"There's plenty of closet space for all your clothes." He said, gesturing to an antique looking bureau set.

You dumped your duffel bag out on the bed, revealing the extent of your possessions. "Thanks, but this is all I've got."

"Travel light, huh?" He asked.

"Yeah, I moved around a lot growing up." You admitted. "Got no real roots and all that jazz."

"That changes now." He told you. "This is your home now so I want it to feel like it. Make the space your own."

“I don’t know how I can thank you for this.” You lowered your head, still feeling undeserving.

“Don’t thank me yet, butterfingers.” He chuckled. “I’ve been told I tend to be a little on the egotistical side. That I don’t work well with others.”

"It's actually [F/N], if you were curious." You said, sitting on the bed and folding your hands in your lap.

"Okay, [F/N]." he smiled. "You've been in and out of enough apprenticeships to know the drill. Early mornings, late nights. And I've got a laundry list of odd jobs for you that I'm too important to do."

"Naturally." You nodded. His dry self-awareness inspired a little confidence that he wouldn't be a complete tyrant.

"You did a good job today." He said, bluntly. "Thank you for your help. Keep it up and you'll make an invaluable addition to the sanctum."

You smiled downwards. "Thank you."

"Do you often sing when you're trying to focus?" He posited. "Just, as an aside."

You could tell the gears in his neurosurgeon's head were turning, undoubtedly trying to pin some kind of diagnosis on you as doctors were known to do.

“I guess it’s just a force of habit.” You admitted. “I used to play piano, so when I’m working with my hands, it just kind of happens. My last master was not happy about that.”

"Oh, screw him." He waved his hand dismissively. "He pissed away an opportunity to nurture a sorceress with a special gift for the sake of tradition. That's a mistake I won't make."

Special gift? You thought. Nobody who practiced the Mystic Arts had ever referred to anything you'd ever done as a 'gift'. Annoyance? sure. A symptom of ADHD? All the time. But 'gift'? That made it sound useful.

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #what if #what if marvel #doctor strange supreme

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chrisbitchtree · 3 years ago

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Out of the Cold, Into His Heart

For @thatharringrovehoe, who's post about record breaking cold in Indiana in 1985 inspired this, and for @ihni, who wanted to read about my 15 ideas for Steve bringing Billy out of the cold and giving him hot chocolate. 1 down, 14 to go!

***

It was January 4th, 1985. Steve had had no desire to leave his house that day, but Dustin had begged him to take him to a movie and the diner. Most of the rest of the kids were still out of town visiting family, and Dustin was getting antsy, sitting around his house alone while his mom worked.

With not much else playing that neither of them hadn’t already seen, Dustin talked him into seeing Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. That was 94 minutes that Steve would never get back. After fries and milkshakes, Steve dropped Dustin back off at his house, then headed back to his home, taking the backroads, so he could better admire the cold, crisp landscape.

About a mile from his house, Steve noticed a familiar blue Camaro parked off the side of the road, partially obscured by trees. He had no clue what it was doing there, but he got a bit of a thrill at the idea of possibly seeing Billy. He could see just enough to tell that the other boy was in the driver’s seat.

The last time he had seen the other boy was a New Year’s Eve party, four nights before. Parties weren’t really Steve’s scene anymore, but for a lack of anything better to do, he decided to go for a bit. He made the rounds, chatting with a few of his classmates, before deciding to head outside for a smoke, so he could get a breather.

On the back deck was Billy, smoking a cigarette of his own. He and the other boy were certainly on better terms than they had been back in November, especially since Billy had come up and quietly apologized to him for the fight before school one morning, a couple weeks back, but they still didn’t talk much. A big contributor to that was Steve’s growing feelings for the other boy. He couldn’t explain the connection he felt with him.

When Billy turned to see who was joining him, Steve could see a large bruise covering a good portion of his beautiful face. It looked fresh and painful, but Steve didn’t think it was his place to ask about it. They greeted each other, then smoked their cigarettes in companionable silence before Billy waved goodbye, heading back inside.

Steve had taken a couple more minutes before heading back inside himself. He’d looked for Billy but hadn’t seen him again.

Now, as he approached the Camaro, he could see that Billy was horribly underdressed for the weather. It was freezing cold, with the weather reports predicting that Indiana would reach record lows later in the month. And here was Billy Hargrove, sitting in his cold car in just a t-shirt and a jean jacket. Steve knocked on the window.

“Hey, Hargrove, what are you doing in there? You’re going to freeze your ass off!” By the look on Billy’s face, he’d clearly startled him.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m enjoying some time at the Hilton!” He’d tried for a joking tone, but clearly didn’t have it in him. Steve glanced into the back seat, where a thin blanket and pillow laid, clearly being used as a makeshift bed. Steve couldn’t believe it.

“Have… have you been sleeping in here, man? It’s almost 20 below!” Steve said, incredulously. “Speaking of freezing, let me in there. It has to be a least a little warmer in there.” Billy looked at him like he was crazy, but finally unlocked the door so Steve could slip into the passenger seat.

“If you’re so cold, go home, Harrington. I’m sure you keep it real toasty in there. Must be nice to not have anyone around to tell you to turn the temperature down to save money.” Steve sighed.

“Having no one around also means that I had no one to spend Christmas with. Or my birthday, or anything else. Being left alone all the time isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Billy huffed a laugh.

“Sounds a lot better to me than sleeping in my car.” Steve wasn’t sure where to go from here. Obviously, the right thing to do would be to invite Billy over. He was shivering, and clearly hadn’t bathed in at least a couple days. But if Steve had him over to have a shower, that would mean there would be a naked Billy Hargrove in his home. He’s not sure is brain or his dick could handle it. His heart won out over the other two.

“Come back to my house with me. We’ve got a ton of spare rooms. You can sleep and warm up a bit. I can make you some hot food. What about a cup of hot chocolate? You like hot chocolate? I add peppermint, and those little marshmallows.” Billy shook his head, getting a closed off look on his face.

“I’m not going to do that, Harrington. I’d rather keep sleeping in here than be your charity case.” Steve sighed.

“Fine then, stay here. I’ll be back soon.” He looked right into Billy’s eyes as he said it, a silent promise to try to better things. He exited the car, heading back to his own. For some reason, Billy stayed. He could have easily driven away, long gone by the time that Steve returned, but the other boy had some kind of hold on him, so he did as he was asked.

True to his word, less than an hour later, Steve returned. This time, when he approached the car, he was bundled up in a heavier coat than he’d been wearing before, with a hat, scarf, and mitts on. He was holding a pile of blankets, and another big coat.

He opened the back seat and shoved the blankets in, then came around the front, settling back into the passenger seat. He handed Billy the coat, which turned out to have a scarf, hat, and mitts stuffed into the pockets.

Steve proceeded to pull a thermos and sandwiches out of a backpack he’d also had with him. Billy stared.

“What’s all this, pretty boy?” Steve handed him a cup of hot chocolate and a sandwich, then fished some Christmas cookies out of his bag.

“Well, you said you wouldn’t come to my house, so I brought everything to you. I’m staying with you as long as you’re here.” Billy was speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so nice to him. He took a sip of hot chocolate, and they sat in silence, eating their sandwiches. Eventually, Billy worked up the courage to say something. He figured he owed the other boy an explanation after how nice he’d been to him.

“I’m here because my dad kicked me out. I don’t know for how long. Maybe forever.” He shivered, then remembered that there was a coat in his lap. He slipped it on over his jean jacket and wound the scarf around his neck, then jammed the hat onto his head. He was too cold to care whether he looked stupid.

Steve couldn’t believe what Billy was saying. He’d heard a bit about Neil Hargrove’s temper from Max, but you’d have to be a heartless monster to throw your son out into the street, especially in the middle of a Midwest winter.

“What do you mean, he kicked you out? Why?” Billy turned to him, a tear running down his cheek.

“He was coming down hard on Max. I’m not even sure what about. She probably left her skateboard in the hall or forgot to put her dishes in the sink. I hate it when he gets like that with her, so I got in the middle of it. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t deserve that. He got in my face and punched me, then kicked me out. I guess it was the last straw.” Steve placed his hand softly on the other boy’s arm.

“Hey Billy, you’re still a kid too. Remember that. And even if you weren’t, no one deserves to be treated that way. This is not ok. You need to talk to someone about this. It’s child abuse.” He was the first one to ever call it that. Anyone who had even taken a second to notice what was happening just shrugged it off, saying Neil was just showing tough love, and that Billy would appreciate it some day. Even Billy himself had trouble calling it what it was.

‘Who would I talk to? No one’s going to take it seriously, I promise you that. No one has before. At most, he’ll get a talking to, and it’ll be 10 times worse afterwards. It’s not worth it. I’m almost 18, then I can get my own place and get away from this bullshit.” Steve slid his hand down Billy’s arm, taking the other boy’s hand in his own.

“I promise you, Billy. It won’t be like that here. I care about you. I won’t let anything bad happen. Please come back to my house with me. Get warm, relax a bit, and you can talk to Hopper. I swear it’ll be ok. Follow me home.” He got out of the car, heading back to his own.

Billy didn’t know what made him follow Steve, but it was like a magnet, pulling him to the other boy. Once they were back at Steve’s, the other boy handed him sweats and a towel, and directed him to the shower. When he got out of the shower and headed downstairs, he noticed that Steve had changed into sweats of his own, adding slippers for an adorable touch.

He was standing at the stove, warming up a pot of soup, grilled cheese sandwiches in another pan, steaming mugs of peppermint hot chocolate with the promised mini marshmallows on top steaming on the counter beside him.

Once the food was done, he turned it off, and enveloped Billy in a hug. He let him cry. Billy shook with everything coming out of him through those tears. He felt lighter than he had in years, wrapped up in the other boy’s arms. They would deal with whatever came later. For now, he’d just let himself be taken care of.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fanfiction #harringrove fic #my fic #chrisbitchtree writes #billy x steve

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matwith1t · 4 years ago

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A/N: Hiii! I’m fairly new to writing for Mat, but I heard this song and went !!! so I wrote a little something based off it! There’s a part two in the works! I’d love to hear any & all feedback!! 💗✨ @itrocksmysocks here’s your tag 🤩

Summary: Mat felt beyond nervous to meet your family for the first time, but like you predicted, your family absolutely adored him. But when your relationship suddenly comes to an end, Mat unknowingly broke more hearts than yours. (heavily inspired by More Hearts Than Mine by Ingrid Andress)

ITALICS ARE FLASHBACKS

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking // WC: 11.8K // Fluff & Angst

The trees were in full bloom as you drove down the familiar streets of your hometown. The sweet smell of April air wafted through the slightly cracked car windows; and the sun shined just as bright as the smile on your face when you looked over at the person sitting next to you in the driver's seat.

“And there’s the park where I broke my wrist after jumping off the swings,” you excitedly pointed out the window.

Mat chuckled and squeezed your hand as he slowly rolled to a stop at a stop sign. With no one behind you two, he idled the car for a little longer, and took his time looking out the windshield, “And the place where you got in your first fight, right?”

You turned in your seat to face Mat, who had a wicked smirk on his face. With your mouth wide open you gasped, “I was five and they pulled my hair!”

Mat leaned his head against the seat, eyes shut tight with a crinkled nose, as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Always the fighter,” he said as he brought your connected hands up to his lips, and pressed a kiss on the top of your hand.

You tried to contain your smile, but all of your efforts were lost when Mat’s eyes connected with yours. At the delicate soft smile on his face, you couldn’t control the smile that slowly crept onto your face. And the only thought circling your mind was how did you get so lucky six months ago.

Six months ago, you wound up at a mutual friend's house for a birthday party where you met Mat. It started off with talking in the kitchen over drinks, then to beer pong partners where he would clasp his hand around yours after a high five, and by the end of the night, you two were on the couch off in your world talking nonsense as he kept knocking his knees against yours.

Phone numbers were exchanged by the time the party was over, and a day and a half later, you met him at a coffee shop early in the morning.

A loud honk from behind brought you out of reminiscing. Mat seemed just as startled as you as he dropped your hand, checked to make sure no other cars were at the all-way stop, and then hit the gas pedal.

“Asshole,” Mat muttered under his breath as he slowed down and picked your hand back up.

A small chuckle escaped your lips, “We’ll walk around later and then you can see everything again,” you squeezed his hand as a promise, “Turn left here.”

He turned the blinker as he approached another stop sign, “With all of the stories you’ve told me….” After checking to see no other cars, he turned down the street your parents lived on for as long as you could remember, “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

You felt yourself heat up in embarrassment, “Sorry, I––”

Mat shook his head and quickly glanced at you, “Never apologize. I love hearing your stories.”

With a little embarrassment still lingering in the pit of your stomach, all you offered him was a closed lipped smile. Mat took his time driving down the residential street, admiring the quaint neighborhood, as you piped up, “We’re coming up to it on the right––three more houses––the one with the navy blue door.”

With a deep exhale, Mat’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, as he nodded his head, “Cool.”

With scrunched up eyebrows, you tilted your head to stare at his side profile. Because with his knuckles turning slightly white, locked jaw, and clammy hand, you knew he wasn’t anywhere near feeling ‘cool.’

“Why are you nervous?” you asked him sincerely as he pulled up and parked in front of your childhood house, “You’ve met them over FaceTime and they loved you.”

Mat rolled the windows up before turning off the ignition and turned in his seat to face you with a worried expression, “Because it’s your family, FaceTime is barely anything. This is meeting them face to face and that’s…different.”

You appreciated his honesty instead of denying his nerves, “You’ve already passed with flying colors with everyone,” he still didn’t look convinced so you listed your reasons, “My mom loves anyone who makes me happy and I’m very happy with you.” Mat tucked his chin into his chest to hide his blush, “My dad thinks it’s awesome that you’re a hockey player, won’t shut up about it. And my sister likes you because she thinks you’re her in to get her a hockey boyfriend.”

Mat took the key out as he threw his head back in laughter again in a way that made you fall in love with him all over again. The two of you opened your doors at the same time and got out of the car.

“Trust me,” he said with a few small laughs, “you wouldn’t want your sister to date a hockey player.”

You raised your eyebrows at Mat as he popped open the trunk and took out both of your bags, “What about you, Barzal?”

Mat shut the trunk, slung his bag over his shoulder. When you tried to reach out to hold your bag, Mat pulled it back and shook his head as if asking you why you would even try to carry your own bag.

“I’m better than the rest of them.”

This time, it was your turn to throw your head back in laughter; eyes shut tight and nose crinkled. And when you opened your eyes, you saw Mat staring at you, eyes full of adoration. You imagined it as the same look you gave him after he laughed.

You whispered, come on, to him and Mat followed you up the driveway to the front door. Your hand was floating on top of the door handle to open it, but the door swung open. The sudden movement startled you, which caused you to stumble back a bit, but Mat placed his hand on your lower back to keep you steady.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister let out an over dramatic sigh and flung herself into your arms.

You hugged her back, “Hit a bit of traffic.”

Your sister scoffed as she pulled away from the hug, but kept her hands resting on your shoulders as she stood arms length away. She raised her eyebrows and looked over your shoulder, “I’m assuming he drove?” You nodded your head and your sister rolled her eyes, “Guess fastest skater doesn’t translate to fastest driver.”

You masked your laugh with a cough as you peered over your shoulder to see Mat’s face turning a deep shade of red.

Knowing how nervous Mat felt, you rolled your eyes and lightly shoved your sister’s shoulder, “There are laws we have to follow when driving.”

“Touchè,” your sister said as she stepped aside and let the two of you in, “Would be kinda cool if there was something in driving that was like the same as getting in a fight during a hockey game.”

“Are you condoning road rage?”

She shrugged her shoulders, not paying any mind to your question as she focused her attention on Mat, “I’ve seen you get pretty feisty out on the ice––”

“Oh, that’s enough out of you,” your mother chastised your sister as she walked in from the other room, “I told her to wait until the two of you were inside.” She playfully glared at your sister one last time before facing you and Mat with a glowing smile, “Mat, so nice to finally meet you in person.”

Mat set down both of the bags on the hardwood floor, “Thank you for inviting me over, my schedule isn’t always the easiest to work with, so sorry for the delay.” He held out his hand, but your mother batted it away and brought him in for a hug.

“No need to apologize,” your mom said with a smile as she pulled away from the hug, “We’re just happy you could make it here for a weekend.”

Mat smiled and shuffled toward you, but kept his arms stuck to his sides, “I’ve been wanting to come, and I know it’d make Y/N happy,” he looked down at you with a smile that you returned, “So I’m happy to be here.”

Your mom clasped her hands together in front of her and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she continued to smile, “You’re too sweet.” She then turned to look at your sister, “Go show Mat the guest bedroom so he can drop his bag off.”

With a nod, your sister was off, talking a mile a minute at Mat who looked petrified. But you gave him a knowing look, referring back to your conversation in the car, how your mom approves of anyone who makes you happy. With a shake of his head and a slight roll of his eyes, he followed your sister up the stairs to see where he would be staying; in a separate bedroom from yours.

You stood in the foyer with your mother in silence for a few seconds before she broke, “I love him.”

“Mom,” you directed your eyes up to where he was only a floor above and had the possibility of hearing.

She laughed as you followed her into the kitchen. You slid onto one of the barstools as she went to stand over the stove. She picked up a spatula and moved around the vegetables in the pan, as she looked over her shoulder, “He’s perfect for you.”

You slumped forward, and buried your face in your hands, something about this conversation with your mom felt as if you were transported back to high school. Peeking up from your hands, your mom was still staring at you with a smile on her face, “He’s pretty great.”

“There’s something about the way he looks at you,” your mom’s comment struck a chord that caused you to sit up straight.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “He just…He looks at you with a lot of admiration.”

“You’ve spoken three sentences to him.”

Your mom spun around and pointed the spatula at you as she playfully glared, “You don’t see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him. And I’ve noticed it on the FaceTime calls as well.” Her features softened, “You can see how much he cares.”

An electric jolt shot down the back of your spine as you bit the inside of your cheek to contain your smile. Her comments also made you curious. No one else had ever pointed out the way he looked at you, of course your mom pointed it out because she’s your mom…but no one else had.

Did that mean that his friends saw the way he looked at you? Did his teammates notice a difference in his demeanor whenever they saw you two together after one of his games? Did his family notice the way his eyes lingered on you for just a bit longer when you met them?

You didn’t doubt anything your mom told you, in fact, it only made you confident that your relationship with Mat was definitely one for the long run.

Playing off the semi-serious look she gave you, you let out a small laugh, “You’re falling in love with him faster than I did.”

The spatula your mom held fell against the pan with a clatter as she whipped around, “In love?”

With a slight nod, you let a smile overtake your face as butterflies filled your stomach, “Yeah…” you said softly as you remembered the night Mat told you. There weren't any grand gestures, nothing over the top, just the two of you on the couch––with Mat laying his head on your thighs as you ran your fingers through his hair––and it slipped out from him.

“Just as of a few weeks ago,” you fiddled with your thumbs, “Still a bit new, but yeah.” You looked up at your mom who looked like was on the verge of tears, “He makes me really happy.”

Your mom sniffled, “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You smiled at her, but with the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs––and your sister’s nagging about how much time Mat spent in the penalty box last season––your mom picked up the spatula and went back to cooking. Soon enough, two more people came into the kitchen, and your sister picked up a task to help with dinner.

“Do you need help with anything?” Mat asked your mother as he stood next to you.

She waved him off, “No, no––Everything’s almost ready anyway, just relax, I know the drive was long.”

Mat looked down at you, as if asking you if there really wasn’t anything for him to do. Shaking your head, you patted the barstool next to you.

He slid in easily and his hand automatically rested on your knee. Normally, Mat was a very touchy person; whether it be a small hand on your back in public or his hands ventured further up your clothes in private, he always had some sort of physical contact with you. But in front of your family, he was stiff.

So naturally, he placed a hand on you that was out of sight from both your sister and mother.

“Has she harassed you about a hockey boyfriend yet?” You leaned in and whispered to Mat so neither one of your family members could eavesdrop.

Mat chuckled, but shook his head, “No. She did ask a million questions about hockey though, I think she’s trying to warm me up.”

“Keep your phone close, I wouldn’t put it past her to steal a few numbers out of it. She’s had her eye on Tito since she started watching the games.” Your tone of voice was joking, but Mat’s face looked terrified. You knocked your knee against his, “I’m kidding, she wouldn’t disrespect someone’s privacy like that.”

Mat squeezed your knee, which caused you to let out a small laugh, “I––”

He was cut off by the front door opening and a loud voice saying, “Are they here?”

Immediately knowing that your father walked through the door, Mat’s hand from your knee dropped and he moved his chair a few inches away from yours. You let your mouth drop at his actions, but found the whole ordeal hilarious.

You slid off the stool just as your father walked into the kitchen. He set down his work bag and smiled, “Hey, you.”

It only took a few strides to be over to your dad and in his arms for a hug. After a few seconds, he pulled away, and you just knew that he was looking at Mat. And you didn’t need to look at Mat to know that the fear of God was in his bones. He stumbled out of the barstool, placed both hands on the back of the stool to stop it from wobbling, and took a deep breath.

“Mathew,” your dad nodded at your boyfriend, “Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t lost on you that he didn’t tack on the in person like your mom had. In your father’s eyes, he had yet to officially meet Mat, and considered this their first meeting, even though they had talked on FaceTime a handful of times. And if it wasn’t lost on you…You knew that Mat was overthinking it all in his head.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Mat took a few steps forward and reached his hand out, and unlike your mother who waved off his handshake for a hug, your father reached out and shook Mat’s hand, “Thank you for inviting me for the weekend, I–-I know how much Y/N loves it here.” Mat nervously glanced over at you next to your father for reassurance, and you nodded your head as to say good job.

“We’re glad you could find some time in your schedule,” your father stiffly responded.

There was a part of you that felt bad for Mat. You knew how intimidated he was to meet your father face to face for the first time, but there was another part of you that wanted to laugh. Whenever you talked to your dad, there was always some part of the conversation that Mat was brought up in, and it was mostly by your dad. He admired Mat’s work ethic as a hockey player, and was a big fan of hockey himself, so it was a bit comical to see him acting disinterested toward Mat.

“Dinner’s ready!” Your sister yelled out as she carried a steaming hot pot and weaved in between the three of you.

“Does everyone have a drink?” Your mom called out as she carried a pan of vegetables over to the table.

“Is there something I can bring over?” Mat asked your mom as she set the vegetables down.

She smiled, “There’s a chicken in the oven if you can bring that over.”

Mat nodded, finally feeling like he was of use for something, “Of course.”

The two of you walked into the kitchen and Mat released the biggest breath you had ever heard. You let out a chuckle as you took oven mitts out of a drawer and handed them to him, “Alright there?”

As you took down two glasses, Mat slipped on the oven mitts, “I think I was more nervous meeting your dad than I was for the draft.”

You let out a loud laugh as you started to fill the glasses with ice and water, “Don’t worry, he really likes you, trust me.”

“He called me Mathew.”

“And other people don’t?”

You knew where he was coming from, but you wanted to also show him that it wasn’t a big deal.

Mat opened the oven and carefully took out the chicken, “It’s your dad––everyone else called me Mat.”

With a roll of your eyes you picked up the waters and slowly walked toward the dining room with Mat at your side, “He’s just playing the dad card,” you hip checked him, “By the end of dinner I swear you’ll see it.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but the conversation was dropped when the two of you entered the dining room. Mat set the chicken down on the table where your mom instructed and then sat down in the chair next to yours.

Dinner started normally; plates were passed around to be filled up, stories of your childhood were shared, and Mat was able to share some of his stories face to face with your parents rather than a FaceTime call.

Mat perfected the skill of acting suave, mastering easy conversation skills from all the times he’d done press interviews, but no one else was aware that Mat moved his chair a teeny bit closer to yours. And no one was aware how you were slightly sitting on the edge of your seat so that way it would be easier for Mat to hook one of his feet around your ankle.

Again, it was the physical contact that Mat always craved, but you also knew how nervous he was, and skin to skin contact made him feel calmer.

“So, Mat,” your dad started out, and when you heard him not use his full name, you pulled his foot toward you in an I-told-you-so way, “Hockey is quite the career.”

As if he knew that this conversation was leading for him to defend his atypical career path, Mat unhooked his foot from your ankle and straightened out his shoulders, “Yeah, it––Hockey isn’t a normal day job, but I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

“No school?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mat’s index finger rapidly tap against his thigh.

“I wasn’t very good at it––Not that school isn’t important, because it is,” he fumbled over his words, afraid that he said something wrong, “But when playing hockey professionally started to become a reality, I wanted to put all of my effort into that. Studying for a test was like doing a drill over and over again. Making friends was getting to know my teammates. Doing homework was working out at the gym and camps all year round. And now I…Now I play hockey professionally.”

Everyone at the table was silent as they took in Mat’s well thought out answer. To say the least, you were impressed with his answer, and by the relaxed look on your dad’s face, you knew he approved instantly.

Mat coughed awkwardly into his elbow, “I do have a high school diploma though.”

Your sister snorted at Mat’s attempt to prove that he has at least some level of education, albeit not a higher level of education, but education nonetheless. You stepped on her foot under the table and glared at her.

“That’s a very interesting way to look at it,” your dad took a sip of his water, “Being on a sports team––at any age––means you have a lot of dedication, hardworking, have goals, and that you know a lot about teamwork.” Your father’s eyes shifted over to you momentarily before he regained eye contact with Mat, “And I respect that in a man.”

You could see the stress float away from Mat as he tried to hold back his smile, “Thank you, yeah it’s a lot of hard work, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow, “Nothing?”

Instead of panicking like you expected, Mat paused for a few seconds, “One thing,” he glanced over at you momentarily before looking back at your father with a small smile, “I would trade it for one thing.”

You ducked your chin into your chest in order to alleviate some of the attention, but it was a small table, and of course Mat was talking about you, so there was no use. But your sister wasn’t shy in stealing away the spotlight.

“Hockey,” she let out a low whistle, “A very demanding sport.”

Mat nodded, “It is, but you end up building a lot of stamina and you sometimes don’t feel the effects of it until you sit down on the bench for a bit.”

“It’s quite aggressive too,” your mom cut a piece of chicken up, “Between fights, getting smashed against the board….”

“Yeah it can be aggressive,” Mat laughed it off, “I mostly get hit in the face with pucks.”

Your mom and dad laughed at his quip before getting into a conversation of their own. And with your parents not paying full attention to the three of you, your sister decided to slip in another comment.

“High stamina and being aggressive?” she shot Mat a look and deviously raised her eyebrows, “I’m sure Y/N likes that.”

Mat spat his water back into the glass and started uncontrollably coughing into the crook of his elbow at the same time you dropped the metal silverware loudly on the ceramic plate.

Your parents paused their conversation, and your dad looked between you and Mat, “Everything alright?”

Mat held up his thumb as he still coughed, and you nodded your head frantically, stuck in a daze that your sister had the guts to say that at a family dinner.

“Everything’s fine,” your tone was high in pitch, but you knew your parents wouldn’t let the topic drop unless they got a verbal answer.

Your sister shot you a wink and a smug smirk as she nonchalantly picked up a few vegetables with her fork. And when you took a peak over at Mat, his face was redder than you had ever seen it. He could’ve played a full three periods of hockey, without any break time, and still wouldn’t be as red as he was now after your sister’s comment.

Luckily, the rest of dinner went without another crude, double meaning, comment from your sister. And when everyone was finished, it was all smiles and laughs as everyone pitched in to help. Mat teamed up with your mom on dish duty, taking it upon himself to wash the dishes. While you and your sister put the leftovers away, your dad wiped down the counters and swept the floor.

In no time, the kitchen was cleaned and everyone was off to the family room to relax, except you and Mat. A few of your high school friends decided to either stay local for college, or to move back to your hometown after graduation, and they were all very keen to meet up…Especially when you slipped it in that your boyfriend would be visiting with you.

You drove Mat’s car to the neighborhood bar where you had one too many nights where you couldn’t remember everything, but you knew they were all happy memories.

“So how many people are coming?” Mat asked as the two of you got out of his car and he locked the doors.

“Just a few,” you said as Mat came up next to you and slid his hand into yours, “You’re not nervous, are you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “They’re your friends.”

You rolled your eyes as you came up to the front entrance. Mat opened the door for you and you dropped his hand to walk through, “You’ll be fine,” you stressed, “They don’t pay too close attention to hockey if you’re worried about that.”

Mat playfully glared at you, “Were you nervous to meet Tito and the rest of my friends?”

Seeing the point he was trying to make, you offered him an apologetic smile, “You’re right, I’ll stop downplaying your nerves.”

He squeezed your hand and looked down at you, “Nothing to apologize about, I just want them to like me.”

You leaned up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, “They’ll like you because I love you.”

At that sentence, Mat’s face lit up and he looked down at you with the kindest eyes, “I love you, too.”

It had only been a few weeks since the first I love you with Mat, but you knew you didn’t want to hear the words from anyone’s lips but his for the rest of your life.

Before you could get another word out, you distinctly heard one of your friends yell over the chatter of the bar, “With twenty-two goals and sixty-three assists during his rookie season, there’s the 2018 Calder Trophy winner!”

Mat’s face turned red as he looked down at you, “They don’t pay close attention to hockey, eh?”

You dropped his hand and softly punched his bicep, “I bet they have Wikipedia open right now.”

Mat threw his head back with laughter as he followed behind you to the table your friends currently occupied. You introduced everyone to Mat and he easily fell into conversation with them. It warmed your heart to see your friends taking so kindly to your boyfriend.

Even when Mat tried to decline your friends buying him drinks, they didn’t listen to him. One after the other, they walked up to the bar and always came back with two drinks in their hands.

“Now this one,” your friend Tyler pointed a finger at you, “Stood up on that bar,” his finger moved away from you and pointed at the packed bar counter, “And sang Dancing Queen at the top of her lungs when it came on for karaoke.”

You hid your face in the crook of Mat’s neck and his arm that was around your waist tightened as his chest shook with laughter, “The ABBA song?”

“Stole the show,” Tyler chuckled at the memory.

You lifted your head up from Mat’s shoulder, “In my defense, it was the first time I was of legal drinking age and I was having fun.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t done that before when you weren’t of legal drinking age.” Your other friend, Paige, said as she laughed before taking a sip of her drink.

“What?” Mat continued to laugh as he looked down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Even though you were embarrassed by your friends sharing stories that you only half-remembered, you couldn’t help but reciprocate Mat’s smile.

“We have a ton to fill you in on mister NHL-er,” Tyler clapped Mat’s shoulder with his hand and then got off his seat, “What are you drinking? I’ll buy.”

With everyone jumping at the chance to buy Mat a drink, he knew that arguing to pay for his own would be futile. So Mat said a simple, surprise me, and Tyler was off to the bar. Mat had gravitated to talking a lot with Tyler, who actually knew a lot more about hockey than you originally thought, so when he was gone, your friends jumped in on the chance to get to know him more.

And with Mat’s strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his thumb slowly rubbing circles into your side, you stared up at him in admiration. You had only been home for a day, but everything was going even more perfect than you imagined.

The night ended a few hours later, with you and Mat denying any drinks that were offered to you both after Tyler brought him his ‘surprise’ drink. Sober enough to drive the five minutes back to your house, Mat kept his hand in yours the whole way home.

It was only a quarter past midnight, and you were sure your sister was still up, but the two of you still entered as silent as possible. The two of you tiptoed up the stairs, and came to your room, which was closest to the stairs. Unfortunately for Mat, the guest bedroom was across the hall from your parents room.

Mat held both of your hands in his, eyes locked on your fingers that he played with, as you admired the small smile dancing on his face.

“I had fun tonight,” he whispered.

Your smile widened, “I had fun too,” you squeezed his hands, and he picked his eyes up to stare at you, “I’m really happy you’re here.”

“I think your parents like me,” he tried to hide his smirk, but failed miserably when you let out a soft chuckle, “They probably think I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, “You’re getting cocky.”

Mat raised his eyebrows at you, “But am I the best boyfriend you’ve ever had?” His confidence was nothing new to you, but your mouth still dropped as he left you speechless. Mat’s smile widened, “That’s what I thought.”

You dropped one of his hands and whacked his chest, “You’re ridiculous.”

His laughter slowly faded away and the two of you were left standing outside your childhood bedroom door in silence. You so desperately wanted to tug on his hand and tell him to follow you into your room, but you knew he wouldn’t go against your parents wishes under their roof. While he acted a bit egotistical just moments ago about having your parents approval, you knew he was still terrified of them; especially of your father.

Slowly, he brought a hand up to cup your face, and let his fingers trail down your cheek. With his index finger placed under your chin, he tilted your head back so you had nowhere else to look but at his eyes.

His eyes were your favorite thing about him. Whether they were glazed over in the morning just after he woke up, slightly squinted in frustration as a penalty was called on him, or screwed tight when he laughed…His eyes were the first thing you fell in love with.

“I love you,” he whispered the exact phrase that was playing on repeat in your head.

“I love you more.”

Mat slightly laughed as he trapped your lips in an innocent kiss. You had trouble kissing him back with the smile on your lips.

He pulled away, his forehead against yours, as his eyes shined bright in the pitch black hallway, “Not a chance.”

You ignored his statement, because while you two could stand in this hallway and debate on who loved each other more until the sun came up, if Mat claimed to love you more…Than that meant the love he had for you was infinite considering how much you loved him. And it filled you with nothing but happiness.

You leaned forward and pressed another small kiss to his lips, “Goodnight, Mat.”

And for the third time that night, you felt his lips against yours. He pulled back with a smile, “Night, Y/N.”

You placed a hand on the handle and pushed it down, but you watched Mat walk down the hallway and to the guest room before walking into the room where you used to dream of having a boyfriend as wonderful as Mat. After you finished your nighttime routine, you pulled your covers back and crawled into bed.

While you set your morning alarm on your phone, a text from Mat caused your phone to vibrate. A smile erupted on your face as you clicked on it to read.

Can’t wait to see you in the morning…Love you :)

Sometimes, when you and Mat didn’t sleep together at night, you found yourself struggling to fall asleep. But with his text message, and knowing that he was only a few doors down, you slept peacefully.

––

You woke up a few minutes before your alarm, ready to start a new day. And while you didn’t rush your morning routine, you definitely got ready faster than normal. Once you were satisfied with your look, you quietly stepped out into the hallway and tiptoed down to the guest bedroom. Mat liked to sleep in when he didn’t have morning skate or a game, so you expected him to be laying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, with one leg sticking out from under the covers.

But when you cracked the door open a little, you were surprised to see the bed fully made with no Mat in sight.

A small hmpf escaped your lips as you checked your phone. But the last communication you had with him was when you responded to his goodnight text. Curious to find out where he had gone, you made your way downstairs.

When you walked into the kitchen, you saw your mom sitting at the island drinking tea, and your sister leaned up against the counter with a bowl of cereal.

But there was still no Mat.

“Has anyone seen Mat?”

Your sister looked up from her cereal and smirked, “Good morning to you too.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a mug down from the cabinet, picked out a tea bag, and poured the water from the kettle that was still hot. Cupping your hands around the warmth of the mug, you glared at your sister, “Morning.”

“He and your dad went on a walk,” your mom answered.

Your hands tightened around the mug to keep it from dropping to the ground, “What?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Your sister let out a laugh as she shoveled a spoonful of cereal in her mouth, “He looked scared to death when dad asked him to go.”

Ignoring your sister, you looked over at your mom with wide eyes, silently asking her if your sister was telling the truth. Your mom’s bashful smile confirmed it, “He did look a little…uneasy.”

With a groan, you leaned your head back, “He is absolutely terrified of dad.”

“With reason.”

You elbowed your sister in her side and looked at your mom for some reassurance. She set her mug down, “Your father likes him, he just wants some time to get to know him more.”

You took a sip of your tea and sighed. From talking with your dad, you knew that he was fascinated by Mat, but no matter how many times you tried to reassure him…Mat never believed you. Maybe this walk would be good for him, you thought to yourself, maybe this is what Mat needs.

The more you talked to yourself, you started to feel better. That was until your sister decided to share her input.

“I wished him luck before he went. Told him if it didn’t go well to not forget to say bye as he hightailed it out.”

An aggravated breath left your lips as you turned to face her, “Would it kill you to––”

But you were cut off when you heard the door open and laughter fill the front of the house. Your ears perked up and your sister sent you a sly smirk.

When your dad and Mat walked into the kitchen, they were all smiles, and Mat didn’t look the slightest bit nervous. A smile instantly brightened up your face when you saw Mat. His hair was a bit unruly, but he looked soft in his gray New York Islanders sweatshirt and gym shorts. And when Mat made eye contact with you, he smiled.

He made his way through the kitchen and leaned up against the counter next to you. His hip touched yours, and you felt like it was a win considering it was the closest thing Mat had done to show any public displays of affection in front of your family.

“Morning,” Mat smiled down at you.

“Hi,” you reciprocated his smile, “Have a nice walk?”

He nodded proudly, but before he could get a word out, your father spoke up.

“Next time I’m in New York, Mat, let’s meet up for dinner or lunch.” Your father spoke so nonchalantly as he poured himself a cup of coffee that it made you choke on your tea, “I’ll buy.”

You looked between your dad and Mat with wild eyes.

Mat let out a laugh and tucked his hands in the front pockets of his sweatshirt, “That sounds nice. If you’re all ever in New York, let me know and I’ll get you tickets for a game.”

Your parents and sister started their own conversation and you bumped your hip against Mat’s, which caused him to look down at you. With your eyebrows raised high, you repeated your question, “Have a nice walk?”

“I think he pretended not to like me at first,” Mat whispered, “But then we talked about fishing, and then hockey, life,” he tilted his back and forth as he listed the topics of conversation, “you.”

“Me?”

A single breathy laugh passed through Mat’s nostrils, “Of course you were a topic of conversation.”

“And?”

Mat shrugged his shoulders and took the cup of tea out of your hands and took a sip for himself. He looked straight ahead as he brought the mug down from his lips, “He said he likes me.” A smile lit up your face, but before you could say I-told-you-so, Mat handed the tea back to you, “He also told me not to fuck it up.”

You let out a laugh as you leaned your forehead against his bicep. When your laughter calmed down, you looked up at him through your eyelashes, “So far, I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Oh, just a pretty good––”

“Hey, hockey player,” your sister cut Mat off, which caused both of you to pick your heads up to look at her. After a moment of silence, she wickedly smiled, “What’s your preferred alcohol of choice?”

“It’s literally not even nine in the morning,” you deadpanned.

Everyone in the kitchen laughed, but your sister defended herself, “It’s Saturday, I want to know in preparation for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Mat’s voice sounded just as confused as his face.

You rolled your eyes, “She wants to sit around the fire pit outside and drink.”

“That sounds fun,” He looked at your sister with a smile, “I’m not too picky, whatever you have is fine.”

As the day continued, everything went more smoothly than you could’ve ever imagined. Mat clearly got along with your family, which made you happier than ever, and you walked around your hometown with him. While you loved the dynamic Mat was creating with your family, it felt nice to have some alone time with him. Especially when he slipped his hand into yours and pulled you close.

And when you were back at the house, and the sun was just starting to set after dinner was all cleaned up, your dad and Mat went to start the fire pit outside. You grabbed a few blankets, your mom made sure there were seats for everyone outside, and your sister grabbed the bottle of wine and glasses.

The fire crackled as you pushed the screen door forward to walk outside. You set the blankets down on the backs of one of the chairs as you made your way over to Mat, who was sitting on a little bench. With a little skip in your step, you walked over and plopped down next to him.

With your head on his shoulder, he threw an arm around you and pulled you in close. You pressed a single kiss to his jaw, “What’re you drinking?”

He shrugged, “Whatever your dad is having.”

“Show off,” you snorted.

Mat’s shoulders softly shook with laughter, “Need to keep impressing him.”

“You play professional hockey,” it was your sister’s voice that took both you and Mat out of your own little world. She came over and handed you a glass of wine, “You can just breathe and he’ll be impressed with you.”

Mat’s face turned red and you gladly took the wine from your sister, “She’s not really wrong,” you said to Mat.

“But I––”

The three of you stopped talking when you heard the squeak of the screen door open. All eyes were focused on your mom walking out with your dad not too far behind, with two glasses of liquor in his hands.

Your mom sat down in a chair, with your sister giving her a glass of wine too, and your dad walked toward you and Mat.

“Hope you like whiskey,” your dad chuckled as he handed Mat a glass.

Mat nodded in appreciation, “This is perfect, thank you.”

As everyone got settled in their seats, you threw the blanket over you and Mat, because you knew that would be the only way for Mat to feel comfortable holding your hand in front of your parents. And your assumption was correct. With the fire, and it being the beginning of April, a blanket felt perfect, but you liked the way his hand felt between yours more.

“He poured you whiskey over ice,” you smiled into your wine glass, “He loves you.”

Mat tried to conceal his smile, but you knew how much it meant to get the approval of your dad.

That night turned out to be one of your favorite night’s ever. Everyone had themselves a good time drinking, your sister eventually brought out her speaker and played music, and everyone––including Mat himself––had a good laugh when they heard him shamelessly singing along to Drops of Jupiter.

Nothing could compare to the bliss you felt in that moment, holding Mat’s hand under the blanket, as everyone had the time of their life.

–––

Sunday night came sooner than expected and that meant your little vacation was close to an end. Both you and Mat had to get back to New York, but your parents––especially your dad––encouraged the two of you to come back whenever you felt like it.

You were stood by your mom as your dad and Mat were kneeling next to his tires, checking the air pressure.

After a few minutes of hushed conversation between them, that you tuned out, they both stood up. Your dad wiped his hands on jeans, “They seem fine to me.”

Mat looked a bit embarrassed as he brought one of his hands to rub behind his neck, “Yeah…I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden the light started to blink…”

“No worries at all,” your dad said, “Better to be safe than sorry. If it happens again, there are a few gas stations before you hit the highway.”

Mat nodded with a closed lipped smile, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He then looked over at you, “Ready?”

With a nod, you gave your mom one last hug and promised that you’d see her again soon. And just when you let go of your mom and turned around to walk to Mat’s car, you saw your dad and Mat shake hands, before your dad brought him in for a small hug.

Your dad placed a small clap on Mat’s back before pulling away, “Take care,” his eyes fell on you for a brief second, before looking back at Mat, “Alright?”

Understanding the underlying meaning of what your dad meant, Mat nodded his head firmly, “Always.”

After saying bye to your dad, you and Mat hopped in the car for the second time. And this time, whatever light started to blink wasn’t there, and the two of you pulled out of the driveway, with your parents waving.

“Told you you had nothing to worry about,” You turned to smile at him.

Mat rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

As he pulled up to a stop sign, you quickly leaned over and pressed a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you, again, for coming. It really meant a lot to my parents.” Mat sat at the stop sign and turned toward you as your voice dwindled off with your next sentence, “And it meant a lot to me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Mat furrowed his eyebrows in seriousness, “And I had a really great time with your family.” He smiled as he picked up your hand, “I love you, you know.”

You squeezed his hand in appreciation, “I love––”

“Shit.”

A loud honk from behind––And Mat swearing––interrupted your sentence and it caused him to drop your hand, look both ways to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, and stepped on the gas pedal. You laughed at his face turning a deep shade of red as he slowed down his speed.

“It’s not funny.”

You leaned back in the seat and wiped a few tears from the corner of your eye, “It was so––you looked so scared––and you swore––”

“Whatever,” Mat grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face, that you knew he agreed with you that it was a little funny.

Once your laughing settled down, you finished your sentence, “I love you, too.”

With his eyes straight ahead on the road, Mat blindly picked your hand up and gave it a squeeze, “You better.”

And it was that moment that made you realize you didn’t want to say I love you to anyone else, except for Mat, for the rest of your life.

–––

The trees were bare as you drove down the streets of your hometown. Your windows were rolled up to keep the frigid December air outside; and the sun was hidden beneath an array of clouds, just like the nonexistent smile on your face. And when you looked both ways as you came to a stop sign, you were reminded that there wasn’t a person accompanying you in the passenger seat.

Part of you thought about cracking the windows open slightly, because letting in the brisk air would make you feel something other than the numbness that had made a home in the center of your chest recently.

You tried to ignore the sting behind your eyes, but trying your hardest to not focus on everything that had happened in the last few weeks caused your mind to do the exact opposite. In a matter of seconds, you were only thinking about everything that happened nearly two weeks ago. Your frown deepened because how did everything blow up in your face.

Nearly two weeks ago, Mat broke up with you.

For you, it felt like it came out of nowhere. But for Mat, he said that he had been feeling it for a few weeks. It started off with Mat cautiously bringing up how he felt like he didn’t see you enough, then to you defending your work schedule and how hockey had started back up again, and by the end of the night, you had failed to hold back your tears as Mat kept apologizing about how he felt like the two of you were “growing apart.”

You left his place before he could give you another reason as to why he didn’t want to be with you, and a day and a half later, when you made sure he was at hockey practice, you picked up your stuff from his place and left your key on his counter.

The loud honk of a car horn from behind didn’t phase you in the slightest.

Carefully, you checked to make sure there weren’t any cars at the all-way stop, and drove off. You weren’t too far from your parents house, and spent the rest of the drive on autopilot.

Soon enough, you were in front of your old house. With your hands gripping around the steering wheel, you screwed your eyes tight and inhaled a deep breath; I’m fine, you repeated the lie in your head as you exhaled, I’m fine.

With a few more breathing exercises, you decided it was time to face your family. Opening the car door felt like ripping off a band aid as you took your duffle bag out from the back seat.

Sluggishly, you walked up the driveway to the front door. And with another deep breath, you silently whispered “I’m fine” to yourself before placing your hand on the handle to open the door. The first thing you saw was your sister sitting on the bottom step of the staircase.

She looked up from her phone with a surprised face, “You’re here early.”

You mustered up the smallest of smiles, “There was barely any traffic.”

Hesitantly, she nodded her head because she didn’t buy your lie. And she was right not to because you had requested the day off from work so you could get out of New York and to your family as soon as possible. Even though it was one of the most populated cities in the world, you felt suffocated by the thought of potentially running into Mat at any given time.

You needed out of the city like he wanted out of the relationship.

“How are––Are you––You know…” Your sister stumbled over her words, backtracking every time she was about to ask how you were because she knew the answer to that already. She apologetically smiled and itched the bridge of her nose, “Want a hug?”

You took an audible deep breath, and nodded, “Yeah.”

She kindly didn’t point out the way your voice cracked.

With her arms wrapped tightly around you, you squeezed her back as if you were about to fall off the Empire State Building. While your friends in the city had comforted you, there was nothing more comforting than a hug from a family member in a time of distress.

When she felt your grasp around her loosen, she took a step back, but kept her hands on your shoulder, “Do you want water? Or some tea?”

You shook your head and politely declined her offer, “I think I’m gonna put my stuff in my room and then come down.”

She nodded her head with a small smile and you turned around to head up the stairs.

Trudging up the stairs felt like it took too much energy than it should have, but you reasoned with yourself that between driving and being emotionally exhausted…It was fine to feel winded walking up the stairs.

You pushed open the door to your childhood bedroom, dropped your bag on the floor, and went straight to your bed. Unpacking your clothes could wait a few minutes.

Your head was buried into your pillows, the comforting scent of your childhood surrounded you, as you let out a shaky breath. Everything is fine, you repeated, I’m fine. But the more you kept saying the little mantra, the more you felt your throat tighten and the stinging behind your eyes intensify.

No, you scolded yourself as you sat up on your bed, no crying.

So you did your best to distract yourself; you decided to unpack. You absolutely hated to unpack your belongings, especially since you were only going to be home for the weekend, but you hated wrinkled clothing more. And that was your motivation to hang up all of your articles of clothing.

You had just finished hanging up your last sweater, but had let go of it too soon, so the sweater fell to the floor. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you bent down to pick it up, but something blue in the back of your closet caught your eye.

Holding your breath, you hadn’t seen that shade of navy blue in a few weeks.

With shaky hands, and your fallen sweater long forgotten, you grabbed the sweatshirt that was pushed in the back of your closet. And once you brought it out into the light, you sucked in a deep breath, because your thoughts were confirmed when you saw the familiar Islanders logo on the front.

It was as if that sweatshirt was the final key. The final key to unlocking the heart wrenching memory of the day that the relationship you thought would last forever…ended. All you could do was clutch the sweatshirt in your fist and remember.

You remembered the painful sting in your chest when you first arrived at his place and he slightly moved out of the way when you went in for a hug.

You remembered the lightheadedness you felt when you realized that your worst fear was suddenly starting to become a reality.

You remembered the ringing in your ear when he asked if you felt it too.

“Feel what?” The words barely came out.

“This,” Mat stood at the other side of the kitchen as he gestured his hands between the two of you, “This-–This space. This disconnect.” You were left speechless as he rubbed his face with his hands, it didn’t look like he was enjoying himself having this conversation with you, and that left you even more confused.

“What��–Where is this coming from?”

Mat was a very perceptive person, but he ignored the way your hands slightly shook in panic and how your breaths grew shallower.

“I’ve been feeling it for a few weeks,” he confessed in a strained voice, “We’re growing apart––I never see you anymore––”

You let out a laugh of disbelief, “Never see me? You––You just came back from a God knows how long road trip from the west coast!” You waited to see if he had anything to say, but he didn’t. “I work a typical nine to five job, I have time for you. But you––Hockey is––”

“Hockey’s what?” Mat’s voice was challenging as he carried himself across the kitchen to you. He narrowed his eyes, “Want to finish that sentence?”

With a sigh, you took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. This is not happening, you repeated in your head, This can absolutely not be happening.

You opened your eyes and tried your best to remain calm, even though on the inside you could feel your soul shatter. And it would only take one vicious sentence from him to break absolutely everything inside of you.

“I don’t want to fight,” you took a deep breath because you knew whichever way this discussion went, a fight was bound to happen, “But I have time for you. I make time for you. I know hockey is demanding, I know it’s not a typical job, but if we both work at it, we can make more time for each other.”

“What time?” Mat let out an irritated laugh. You wanted to believe that he wasn’t irritated at you, and that he was irritated at hockey instead, but with his earlier confession of disconnection, you didn’t know what to believe.

“You just complained about me being gone for an extended amount of time.”

You picked at a loose piece of skin by your thumb, “I did, yes–—I know.” You let out a shaky breath, “But we talked, we FaceTimed, we kept up that connection.” You pleaded with him, “What do you––What can I do?”

The anger washed away from his face and you saw that it was replaced with remorse.

With his eyes casted downward, he frowned, “Is there…Is there anything left to do?”

You were left stunned at his ease of abandoning your relationship. In the time you had known Mat, he was never a quitter. He never gave up on anything he was passionate about, even with the trivial things that he didn’t quite care about, he always saw them through. He was an athlete…He never gave up on anything.

So why was he giving up on you?

When you took a step back, he whipped his head up to look at you. His eyes were red; full of pain and heartache as if he wasn’t the one surrendering. He took a step toward you, but like a dance, you took another step back.

“Mat, we’ve been together for over a year,” your voice wavered at the thought of all those months with him dissipating into nothing, “What is happening.”

His best response was to keep silent and shrug his shoulders.

Reality hit you like a ton of bricks. This is it, you thought to yourself, I’m losing the most important person in my life. A tear rolled down your cheek as you let out a hiccup from trying to hold your breath to stop the scratchiness in the back of your throat. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he whispered softly.

“Then why––why are you doing this?”

Mat ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep breath as he leaned his head back to look at the ceiling, “It’s holding me back. Everything is just––I can feel it affecting me and it’s not what I want––”

You heard his reasons differently though, instead of ‘it’s’, you heard ‘you.’

You’re holding me back.

You’re affecting me.

You’re not what I want.

All while you felt your relationship was stronger than ever, Mat felt like it was falling apart at the seems.

“I’m sorry,” Mat sniffled, “I’ll always love you, but––”

You shook your head, “You––No.” You brought both hands up to rub away your tears, but when you dropped your arms down at your sides, the tears you washed away reappeared. “You can break up with me, this relationship can be over, whatever.” You glared at him, “But you cannot say that.”

Mat scoffed, “Say that I love you?” You nodded angrily as Mat flared his nostrils, “But I do! I can’t help that this is how I feel about our relationship now, but I loved you then and I love you now! Things just aren’t working now––”

“While I don’t like what I’m hearing, I’ll respect your feelings,” you choked out, “but you need to respect mine and not say those words to me.”

“I want you to know that I still feel love for you,” his voice trembled, “That I’ll always––”

“Then why are you quitting on us?!”

“Because I feel like I never see you!” Mat threw his hands up in the air, “Sure, we can love each other, but what about the actual connection of a relationship? Furthering something that we can make a future out of?”

“I’m always here for you in New York when you get back,” you clenched your jaw, “We see each other as often as possible between our schedules! What do you––Do you want me to come out to away games?” You raised your eyebrows at him, “Because while I wish I could be at every one of your games, I can’t. I have a job. Just like you have a job––”

Mat scoffed, “So it all comes back to hockey?”

“Maybe if you put in a bit more effort, you wouldn’t feel this way.” You fired back.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” your voice softened when you saw his eyes betray him for a moment. Instead of the fiery eyes that burned through you like a wildfire, you saw eyes that looked one sentence away from breaking a dam of tears. And while you wanted him to feel every ounce of betrayal and heartbreak that you were going through, there was a piece of your heart that still loved him too much to put him through that kind of pain.

So instead, you said what you were feeling, which had the possibility to cause the same damage if you had just berated him.

“If hockey is your one true love in life, then that’s great,” you failed miserably at faking a smile, “I’m happy for you. Happy that you found something you can fully commit to and put in effort to make work even when it would just be easier to quit.”

Mat almost reached a hand out to you, but brought it back down to his side after a second thought, as he softly shook his head and whispered, “You know that’s not true–-”

“But it is,” you wiped away dry tears from your cheek with the heel of your palm, “And it’s…Whatever. It’s whatever, but if you don’t put that same effort into your relationships with people––If you don’t prioritize the right things in life––then you’ll end up alone and unloved.”

Mat stood frozen in the middle of his kitchen. And when he snapped out of whatever trance he was under, all he could manage was to shake his head as a single tear fell down his cheek, “You know I’d do anything for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “I’m not asking you to give up hockey. I’d never do that because I know how happy it makes you and it’s your career,” you gave him a weak smile because the realization set in, “But I think that last sentence is a lie.”

“I just––” Mat pinched the bridge of his nose, “Something is off, we’re not the same––”

You shook your head, tuning out more reasons why the man you loved more than life itself didn’t want to be with you anymore. You walked over to where your bag hung over the back of a chair, picked it up, and then walked toward the front door for your shoes.

“Where are you going?”

Once your shoes were securely on, you turned to face him one last time. He looked as if he also couldn’t believe that this relationship was over, even though he was the one who pulled the trigger. His mouth was slightly agape, eyebrows raised in anxiousness, and eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“Home,” you said matter-of-factly, “I really don’t want to hear more reasons why I wasn’t enough.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry––”

You were out the door before he finished his sentence.

“Y/N,” a voice pulled you out of the nightmare that was doomed to play on repeat in your mind for the rest of your life, “Y/N?”

You blinked a few times to see your mom kneeling in front of you. She had a hand placed on your thigh and her eyes were filled with concern. But when her eyes flicked down to what you were clutching on for dear life in your hands, her face dropped as she looked back up at you, “Oh, sweetie…”

“I’m fine,” you sniffled as you itched your cheek. But when you scratched your skin, your cheek felt damp, and upon further inspection of wiping away the wet substance on your cheek, it dawned on you that you were crying.

“Y/N…” your mother repeated your name cautiously, expecting you to hit your tipping point soon.

With a shake of your head, you folded the sweatshirt up. But with the way your hands shook, the folding wasn’t even and the sleeve poked out a bit, so you unfolded the sweatshirt just to re-fold it again, “I’ll donate this somewhere.” The sweatshirt was still uneven, so you refolded it again, “I’m sure someone would buy it fast, it––It’s in good condition––”

Your mom tried to take the sweatshirt away, but you tugged it back toward your chest, refolding it again.

“New York teams are pretty––pretty popular,” you let out a hiccup as your vision started to blur, “I––maybe I can bring this back with me? Give it away as a birthday present?” Your chin wobbled as you felt your breathing come out uneven, “It’ll make someone happy, right?”

Your mom gently grabbed you by the wrist to stop your folding of Mat’s sweatshirt. Sitting on the floor, by the edge of your closet in defeat, you clenched your jaw tight as you sucked in a deep breath. Finally, you looked up at your mom through your teary vision and tried to sniffle away your runny nose.

“It’ll make someone as happy as he made me.”

She didn’t have to say anything for you to bring his sweatshirt––one that still smelled like him––up to your face as you openly sobbed.

You had been in other relationships, loved other people, been upset when those relationships ended…But you had never loved someone as much as you loved Mat. You thought that Mat was your forever––the person that the universe specifically made just for you––But you lost him.

Your mom wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into her chest. Easily, you fell into her and continued to cry as you clutched the last remaining piece you had of him close to your chest. Your mom didn’t say anything as she cradled you; she knew that no words could mend this feeling of cataclysmic heartbreak, so she simply offered you her presence and a shoulder to cry on.

“I––Mom, what did I do wrong?” While your words were muffled in his sweatshirt, she heard you loud and clear, and it broke her heart.

She shushed you as she ran a hand up and down your spine, “You did nothing wrong, absolutely nothing…”

“But he––We’re not––I thought that he was the one,” you peered up from the sweatshirt, eyes puffy and irritated from crying, to see tears welled up in your mom’s eyes. You wanted to ask her why she was crying, but an all too familiar pain ripped through your chest as you let out a whine, “Mom.”

Again, she brought you back into her chest and held you close.

“I––I told him he would end up alone and––and unloved,” you tried to speak through the tears, but your erratic breathing made it hard to get a full sentence out without it sounding chopped up.

She shook her head, “We all say things when we’re upset.”

“No, I––I told him that because I––I don’t want anyone else to love him,” you let out a whimper, “I wanted to be…Want to be the only person who loves him like that.” You blinked a few times to look up at your mom and frowned when you saw her tear stained cheeks, “Why are you crying?”

Your mom let out a small laugh and wiped under her eyes “I feel every heartache you go through,” she sniffled and tried her best to offer you a reassuring smile, “If he couldn’t recognize how great of a person you are, then you’ll find someone else who will.”

“But he’s the only one,” you sat up, continued to hug his sweatshirt close to your chest, and reciprocated her sad smile, “I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else.”

Knowing that the heartache you felt was still fresh, your mom knew that no matter how much she tried to convince you that you would find someone else, it would be useless. “I know,” she swiped her thumb under your eye, catching the last of your tears, “Why don’t you take a nap, I’ll come up when it’s dinner.”

You nodded and made your way over to your bed. Once you were under your covers, the blankets tucked right under your chin, your mom shut off your lights and softly closed the door.

While you should’ve knocked out in a few seconds, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was Mat listing reason after reason why he didn’t want to be with you. Your own personal hell. So, while your eyes stung from crying your heart out, you kept them wide open as you stared at the ceiling out of fear of what you would see when they closed.

A few hours had passed and there was a knock on your door. You let out a small, come in, and saw your dad walk in.

Slowly, you sat up, wiping away a few stray tears, and let out a chuckle when he placed a glass down on your nightstand, “Whiskey over ice?”

He offered a sympathetic smile, “The best cure for what you’re going through.”

For what you’re going through, he said it as if he was still in denial of your break up. Which was fair, because you had never seen your dad warm up so fast to one of your boyfriends.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, “If you’re feeling up for it.”

You smiled in appreciation, “Thanks, but I’m not too hungry…Might try to sleep some more.” Your dad raised his eyebrows, “I’ll eat in the middle of the night when I wake up, promise.”

He smiled and gave in to your promise as he retreated toward the door. He was halfway out when he decided to stick his head back in, “You know, I never really liked him.”

It was the first genuine laugh you had let out in weeks. Because both of you knew how much of a lie that was.

Whenever your dad was in New York, he texted Mat and they would meet up for a meal or drinks, and sometimes they wouldn’t include you in plans. Your dad never missed an Islander’s game, and for his birthday, Mat had gifted your dad a signed Barzal jersey as a joke. They had their own relationship, and in turn, it contributed to the happiness you felt with Mat.

But nonetheless, your dad was always on your team.

After his comment, he slowly shut the door like your mom had done earlier, and this time, you really did try your best to sleep.

Sleep had been impossible since Mat broken things off with you. It took everything in you not to call his number and have him talk you to sleep most nights. And you wished that deleting his number would be enough, because even if you had deleted it, you had it memorized and could easily dial his number with your eyes closed.

But with his sweatshirt that you still held close to body, sleep came a little easier.

PART TWO

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stxleslyds · 3 years ago

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MY TOUGHTS ON THE END OF RED HOOD BY CHIP ZDARSKY.

Dishonour! Dishonour on you, dishonour on your cow!

Well Jason Nation, it happened again, fanon wins over canon. The amount of bullshit that DC made Zdarsky write in this issue is insane, I have never seen this many fanfiction tropes shoved in a single issue in my life.

This book has been a constant insult to Jason’s character and his Red Hood “persona” since the very first issue but I never thought it would end this badly. It’s incredibly sad.

I will go ahead and say it, this tumblr and this post is not “Batfamily” friendly and it definitely isn’t fanon friendly when it comes to Jason Todd.

Fanon is destroying canon for Jason Todd. I am sorry but that’s how I see it, fanon doesn’t belong in canon, I would never get tired of saying that. But here is the thing, DC latches on to Jason’s fanon version because it fits their narrative of “the Batman is all that is right and all must follow his rules or they shall disappear”.

DC has been dying to make Jason bland and flavourless just like Batman. And now here it finally is.

Let’s be honest the story in this book, the new drug, Cheer, Tyler and his mom, none of that shaped this story, none of those things were the support beams for it. It was all about this never ending “daddy issues” thing that DC pretends is going on between Jason and Bruce.

It was all about those two fighting because they “think differently” so in the end they can push Jason towards the “no killing rule” being also the Red Hood’s modus operandi.

Its utter bullshit.

From the moment that Jason had to put a bat suit on I knew that this was going to be a mess. Luckily like I predicted they didn’t make a big deal out of him wearing it but the “Jason admires Batman” feeling was very present in the issue.

I will not talk about how easy it was for that one thug to land a punch on Jason while he was distracted and I will also not talk about Jason being a dumbass for not securing his dumb mask better when he knew the fight will involve gases. I will not talk about it.

Anyway, let’s talk about the Cheer Gas induced illusion, shall we?

In Jason’s illusion he finds Bruce at the manor looking at the picture of Joker’s death (?) and even though that is strange what Bruce says next is even weirder, he says this: “I did it. He was the last one, but I did it…Joker is dead. I am done.”

Now what the hell was that? This is Jason’s illusion, and by the looks of it in his illusion Bruce has killed every baddie in Gotham and left the Joker for last? Am I reading that right? Is this this a joke?

I understand that this is an illusion so the gas is making “real” things that Jason probably doesn’t know he wants, like wanting Bruce to go on a killing spree, which Jason never wanted because he said it himself, do you guys remember the iconic “I’m not talking about killing Cobblepot and Scarecrow or Clayface. Not Riddler or Dent…I’m talking about HIM. Just him.” Because I remember and it’s so important to Jason’s character, Jason never wanted Bruce to go on a killing spree, he wanted Bruce to kill the clown who had killed him when he was only fifteen. Is that so hard to remember DC?

And then it gets worse! Since WHEN has Jason wanted a perfect family life with the people that he has tried to kill, harm or looked down to? Why is “being with a bunch of people who NEVER get together for anything other than “help” the Bat in a fight against a fucking clown” the idea of happiness to Jason? Has this man ever interacted with any of these people in a positive way without the intrusion of a Batman/Robin event in the way? I will give you the answer, it’s no, the answer is no.

Jason Todd doesn’t care for your “Batfamily” bullshit DC, why would it matter to him? Because he was Robin? He was killed by the Joker when he was Robin, and he was killed because the man in charge of him didn’t pay enough attention! Jason Todd who was written as Dick Grayson’s number one hater for so long (and fandom loves that) is now having an illusion where he enjoys happy times with him along the others? Cass and Stephanie? What? Am I missing something, is this actually AO3, is this fanfiction?

I think Zdarsky got confused, this illusion is what would happen if Jason were dosed with fear gas. That must be it, I solved it everyone! Zdarsky just got confused by his own writing!

I wish.

Let’s go back to the sad reality, Jason has a moment in which he actually puts all his training in motion and shakes of the gas’s grasp on him. He does that but he is grabbed by so many people (who are this people?) and he is unarmed and I believe that’s the only reason why Cheer is still alive after saying that he has someone in Tyler’s mom’s hospital room ready to kill her if he doesn’t join him.

(If this were the real Jason, Cheer would have dropped dead instantly.)

But this is not the real Jason and this is not a *real* comic, it’s fanfiction! So just like that time in Batman #100 when Dick was fighting alone as Nightwing (for the first time since his “family” left him alone after losing his memories) the rest of the “family” shows up to fight Cheer and four random thugs.

Yep, its like the MCU had considered having Cap say “Avengers Assemble” when they were fighting a couple of robots instead of Thanos.

What a mess.

Also having Jason say, in real life (not illusion world), “You know what happiness is? It’s knowing that others have your back.” about this group of people is the perfect recipe for a big OOC moment for absolutely everyone. I cannot believe they have dragged Jason back to this awful concept and that they have sank him so low. It’s quite honestly, disgusting.

But the horrors don’t end there, we have a wonderful moment after Jason gives Batman the antidote, Jason stops Batman from punching the living shit out of Cheer. Because I am not stupid. There is no way in the world that you can convince me that Jason just stopped Batman from killing Cheer.

How incredibly delusional do you have to be to write Batman finally killing someone and that someone being Cheer, a guy that was introduced to comics two months ago?

Yes, later its said that between the gas and the antidote Bruce was a little too crazy and couldn’t help himself BUT I call bullshit once more, because Bruce has gone completely bat-shit-crazy on people before! I remember two recent instances in which that happened. Batman #57 in which Bruce beats the living shit out of KGBeast after he shot Dick. And the other one is Batman beating up Jason more brutally than he ever beat up Joker in RHatO #25.

DC cannot fuck with me. I might has bought this digital comic for 8 dollars but I am not buying that bullshit.

ALSO, there was no need for Zdarsky to do Jason as dirty as he did him when he made him say: “If you are going to come down from mount judgement to MY level for once… he’s not the guy to do it for.”

Zdarsky, why did you write a Red Hood story when you hate Red Hood? Couldn’t you have just told DC that you wanted to write a love letter to Batman? Once again, I am reading a Red Hood story for RED HOOD content not Batman content. Is it really that hard? I bet that if Zdarsky had asked DC to let him write a Batman story they would have said yes, there are like 20 Batman stories, they wouldn’t say no to one more!

Can you tell I am mad? And salty?

This post is so long and so full of anger, I am truly sorry for that but I have to write these feelings down or I would explode. And I am not even done, our suffering, Jason Nation, continues.

But first a little break from the pain, Tyler. Thank you after all the pain this book has given me Tyler is back and just like I predicted his mom is fine and he will stay with her, they both have been given a place and money to rebuild their life (not given by Jason nor Dick but I was close enough). The only happy ending that Tyler could have, he had and I am thankful for that, we even got a little adorable moment between the Red Hood and the Blue Hood.

I am weak for these little glimpses of a good Jason take in the middle of an incredibly awful/OOC story. And just to live in my own fantasy world I will headcanon that Jason promised himself to keep an eye out for Tyler and his mom. He would have wanted to know about their life and that they are still out of trouble.

Jason is a good man, don’t you forget that DC, I don’t care how much you twist it. Jason killing Tyler’s dad wasn’t a horrible act, it was fair game. That man was a horrible person, he drugged his child and made his wife (?) almost overdose. You never gave context as to why that man was working as a drug dealer but you told us those things so Jason should never feel like he did something wrong. As far as we know, Tyler and his mom are better off without him.

Having said that, lets go back to the pain of what is reading a Red Hood story.

“I’m giving up the guns.”

You know what, fine, as long as DC doesn’t pull another “I will stop being Red Hood for you Barbara” I will be fine. He can kill people with other things, he used to have the all-blades, he had normal swords and he had crowbars.

I will sacrifice Jason looking hot as hell when he pulls out his guns just to keep him as the Red Hood, all DC has to do is not give him that stupid… bat… symbol… oh no…. oh my god I can feel it… that thing, that horrible thing is making a comeback! NO!

Jason and Bruce’s talk is basic and it doesn’t do anything for anyone, in the end saying that Jason isn’t changing his ways for Bruce but that he is doing it for himself is more of the same. We know he is doing it for Bruce and we know DC is doing it because they cannot handle good, complex and interesting characters. We know that and sadly we have to live with it.

About Bruce’s illusion, well, Bruce has said that he wanted to kill the clown for a very long time and in the King run it was basically said that if Bruce were to be happy then the idea of Batman would die.

Listen, between me and you, sometimes I think that the Joker isn’t that big of a problem for Gotham as a whole, that clown has beef with the Bat and no one else. If Bruce has killed the Joker Jason would have been happy with Bruce all those years ago but killing the Joker wouldn’t make Gotham a safe place and any of his kids happier.

Bruce needs to care for his children, but he won’t do that, he has Dick for that. Taking care and raising Damian? No, thank you, I will not do that. Giving a shit about my son who lost all his memories and is alone? No thank you, I won’t do that and then I will lie about having watched him over. Tim? Oh, never heard of him, sorry.

The last page of this story is the one of Jason arriving home and finding a new suit that Bruce gave him with the bat symbol on it. That symbol that he had ripped off of Jason’s beat up body back in RHatO #25 (nope, I am not letting that one go).

Oh, and Bruce leaving that suit in Jason’s home gives me the same exact vibes as the time that Bruce was like “Long overdue. This is where you belong. As one of us. One of the family” in Nightwing #74 a second after Dick had regained his memories.

I don’t know why but they make him sound incredibly cold and like these people are just his pawns that he needs to rope back in every time they get away from him. It’s very disturbing.

Anyway, that’s all from me, I obviously LOVED this book, best Jason Todd/Red Hood characterisation ever! 11/10 would recommend to everyone including my enemies!

🙃

#jason todd #Jason Todd #red hood #Red Hood #batman urban legends #urban legends #urban legends red hood #red hood and the outlaws #red hood outlaw #dc comics

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notaninterest · 4 years ago

Text

Carnal *1* (A Hisoka x Reader)

[A/N]: Hello! My username says notaninterest, but feel free to call me Cece.

I'm going to be making this into a story! So I do hope you stick around for the other parts to come. This is also posted on my Wattpad if you're interested. I don't know how many chapters this is going to be but it shouldn't be too long. We'll see :)

I update weekly to biweekly depending on how my life pans out. I will let you know when you should expect the next chapter.

I think I made some mistakes with my writing about Nen so I hope that's okay. I'm not going to be completely accurate in my writing. I hope you understand.

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

warnings: heavy sexual themes, smut, Hisoka being fucking hawt

The smell is the same as any other strip club. These grimy places usually never interested him, but tonight is different. It is not the same as the others. He urges for something, something not related to his bloodlust. Yes...He requires a woman. And places like these were full of them. He smiles to himself whilst taking a sip of his alcohol. Nevermind the crowd of inebriated men and some women. His yellow eyes are trained on the dancers, three different ones each accompanying their own respective poles. One of them is a brunette with an aline bob, her hands above her head wrapped around the pole and her legs crossed over the pole with her back facing towards it. She held a look of lust while she arched her back, exposing her full bare breasts further to the crowd as she spun down the pole slowly. While she played the part, her aura certainly didn't feel the part. Hisoka could sense the underlying hatred and disgust this girl has for her job and while she is good at it, she clearly doesn't enjoy it. 'Too boring. Easily manipulated. Not enough fun.' He decides, switching his gaze over to the second girl. This one has long, blue hair reaching to her waist. She confidently swirls upside on the pole, grinding against it upside down. As she reaches down lower, she does the splits midair, manipulating her lower body to face the crowd of horny alcoholics, giving them a peek as to what's beneath the lingerie. A man in the mass of bodies spits out his beer in surprise, quickly throwing money at the dancer. Hisoka rolls his eyes. It's clear as day that she's just a run of the mill slut, perfect for this specific area of expertise. She's clearly in it for it all. Sex, money, and exhibitionism. She doesn't care who watches her or who touches her. She enjoys it all the same. While sensitivity to touch was always a plus, he prefers at least some resistance to his advances. He likes 'em feisty.

The third dancer however...bingo. Her [h/c] hair is what first draws him to her significantly more than the others. The second? Well, he can't sense her aura. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he can't feel it at all. She must be using Zetsu to conceal herself from any Nen users. Little does she know that any other other highly experienced Nen users like himself can easily spot through her deception from just looking at her. Another smile upturns his lips. She will certainly entertain him for the night. He continues to watch her, noting the way her [e/c] eyes sparkle with excitement, nervousness, and some other emotions he can't place. This placates his curiosity more. "Oi, bartender." He calls one of the employees, who walks over while cleaning a glass. "What's the name of that third dancer, the one right over there?" Hisoka asks, pointing over to the mysterious woman. "Well that'd be [Y/N], the most graceful of them all." The bartender gushes, clearly having it out for the lady. "Hmm...'most graceful' you say..." He'd be the test of that one. He continues to stalk you out from the bar, sipping on his alcohol slowly. He needn't be drunk for this experience. No...He's going to enjoy this one to satisfy his more carnal cravings for a longer time. He watches you closely. You were wearing very little, definitely giving the appearance of confidence in your body. That scores high in the point system in Hisoka's head. You were currently positioned so the front of your body faced the pole, your backside facing the crowd. You bent over at the waist, grabbing the pole in front of you and bending to a 90-degree angle. Your toned ass is on clear view to the people in front of you and you slowly rotate your hips, imitating a sexual act in midair. Or, at least trying to. ‘Mmm...she's perfect.’ Hisoka dreams of the acts he'll perform on you, becoming more excited by the second. He continues to watch you, head in his left hand, his drink in the other. As soon as you finish undulating your hips, you slide up against the pole, grinding your pussy against the cold metal. A gasp leaves your lips, one that should be inaudible considering the noise and the atmosphere, but it's a noise Hisoka can hear as clear as day. It's clear that from the pitch in this noise and the way you move your body that you're not experienced in this area, which leaves him to wonder why you chose it. Maybe for the money? No...he doubted that. You didn't lurch your body around the pole as deliberately as the first dancer. There was a secret to your work that he doesn't know of. It becomes painfully more clear that you aren't experienced in any pole work at all, judging by how clumsily you slither up the pole. Your eyes struggle to convey the desire to practically fuck the pole and instead are glazed over in what seems to be a sort of nervousness. To any other everyday individual, you'd look like a professional, maybe graceful as others say. Yet, to Hisoka, he can see right through your dancing façade. Why are you doing this...he must sate his ever-growing curiosity.

As the number finishes and the dancers walk offstage, Hisoka approaches the man responsible for handing out lap dances and the like, going to put his request in nice and early. "Eh?! You request a room for the rest of the night?! S-Sir I'm afraid-" Hisoka holds up a heavy, full bag. "This here is enough jenny to last you a lifetime and even your grandkids if you spend it wisely." He smiles as he hands the packed bag over, watching as the man's eyes light up in greed. He needs this money. And Hisoka can tell. "I'm sure we can make something work. This man here will guide you to your room." The greedy man shoos over a hefty bulk of a guy, who promptly tells Hisoka to follow him. Hisoka smirks, dropping the bag of money on the slimy man's desk. "Very well. Thank you." He thanks, following the brawny dude to his assigned room.

The large man guides the magician to the room furthest down the long hallway. As Hisoka opens it, he notices it to be some sort of suite. He chuckles to himself. The other rooms were smaller. Money sure did get you good things. The strong guard before him tells him that the dancer he requested will be with him shortly before leaving, giving Hisoka some time to himself before you arrived. He investigates the big room for the time being, meticulously looking over things. There was the obvious king-sized bed, massive enough for two bodies. There's a nightstand full of condoms and lube. It has a lamp with a red shade on top of it, which Hisoka turns on. The room fills with an additional red light, making him smile. Yes...mood lighting. He's looking through the dresser across the bed when the door swings open, an angry-looking woman greeting him. He smiles at her, arms crossed behind his back. "Hello, [Y/N]-" "I don't allow any clients to touch me, much less have me for 12 hours straight!" You interrupt as you fume, glaring at the magician before you. "Must be your lucky night then." Hisoka chuckles, running his entrancing eyes over your body. Your minimal clothing was enticing to say the least, easily getting him worked up. But the air of mystery swarming around you fuels his horniness more. He needs to find out what exactly you are up to. The door suddenly closes firmly behind you, clicking locked behind the woman. You panic, trying to open the locked door handle. As predicted, it doesn't budge. "I think what you mean by not allowing anyone to touch you, you also mean you haven't even touched yourself?" Hisoka asks, beginning to walk over to you with his hands still behind his back. Your aura suddenly springs to life, surrounding your body in an instant. Hisoka smirks, continuing his approach. "St-Stand back, clown! I will not hesitate to send you flying!" You stamper, projecting your Nen in an offensive manner. "Hm..." Hisoka ponders, stopping inches away from you.

You're strong, but not nearly as strong as he is. He wonders how long you've been practicing. Must've been a few years now. You place yourself in a defensive stance, one arm angled up at a 90-degree angle and the other positioned a little below that one in the same stance, legs spread apart with one a little behind the other. Ah, yes. Every stereotypical position most fighters took when looking to fight. It looks silly with what you're wearing. And the look on your face was so hilariously serious. That's why Hisoka couldn't stop himself from laughing. He seriously tried to contain it, but the silliness of your posture combined with your facial expression absolutely cracked him up. This reaction serves to royally piss off the woman in front of him. "What?! What's so funny?!" You snap at him, clenching your hands into fists. He laughs himself to literal tears, holding his stomach with one clawed hand. "It's just...Your Nen compares next to nothing against mine, but your effort is quite adorable." The Transmuter purrs, wiping his cheek and taking a step closer to you. You look worried, taking a step away from the man. He responds by simply taking a step closer. "Wh-What do you want from me, f-freak?" You stutter nervously, finding yourself being backed into a corner. "Why, you of course." The magician licks his lips to emphasize his statement. A blush crosses your [s/c] cheeks, your eyes gleaming with fear. The look is so utterly delicious to him.

He chuckles, continuing to walk towards you. You back up until your back is literally against the wall, leaving you nowhere to go expect towards the creepy man. You breathe shakily, making your fear of him clear. "Well, let's get started...[Y/N]." Hisoka smiles, placing his hand next to your head and leaning down to touch noses with you. It's clear his height intimidates you. You swallow and swing, missing your Nen-powered punch by a longshot. He dodges, letting the attack wisp by his right star-drawn cheek. Hisoka giggles at your attempt, grabbing your outstretched hand with his free one and pinning it against the wall you were up against. You look totally helpless, fuelling his desire more. "Oh-ho-ho, trying to hit me are you now? Your attempt turns me on." He teases, fully smiling at your clear look of panic. His eyes narrow as your Nen powers up, sensing that you're up to something. He uses Gyo, centering his Ren in his eyes and watching your aura, watching as it enhances to your hidden fist behind you and to your left leg. So you're an Enhancer, hm? You were going to try to bait him with a fake punch before actually hitting him with your left leg? Okay. He feigns as if he doesn't suspect anything, allowing you to throw your fist at him before pulling back, jumping up and predictably swinging your leg at the left side of his teardrop-stained cheek. He allows the attack to land on him, his head snapping to the side with a frightening speed. Your eyes light up victoriously, but they soon dim to horror as he turns his scuffed up face back to look down at you with a smug smirk. "Any normal person would have flown away with that attack, so I must say I'm impressed. Yet, I'm not a normal man if you can't already tell. Your attacks will provide you with no protection if I haven't already predicted this. It's cute that you think you have an evenly-scored battleground with me." Hisoka chuckles, pinning you against the wall with both of your hands restrained by his at this point.

Your expressive eyes give away your anxiety of the situation, but your face remains hard with determination. The look reminds him of a certain 12-year old boy. This stirs his lust for you up further. He licks at his pale lips seductively, yellow eyes glowing into your own [e/c] ones. Your cold glare sends a spike of pleasure right to his hardened dick. He smiles wider if possible. It's becoming increasingly clear that you have no chance against him and he finds this power over you intoxicating, delicious even. "I have a question for you, [Y/N]. Sate my curiosity if you will." The clown husks, putting his mouth right next to your right ear. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face and you gulp nervously. "Shoot." Your icy voice fills his ears, and he gives a simple, "Hmm." at your compliance. You were going to be so much fun to break. He really chose the right contender to satisfy his needs. He snickers into your ear, his hot breath hitting the shell of it. It causes you to barely shiver. It was almost imperceptible, but not to perceptive Hisoka. He grins with this discovery, deciding not to voice it. You would soon find your body betraying you. "Pray tell what you're doing in a place like this? We both know you're not qualified for sex work, so what really brings you here, [Y/N]?" Hisoka's flirtatious voice whispers against your flesh. You noticeably tense up at the question, your hands forming into fists. Your wrists flex in his grasp. He seems to have hit a sore spot. You don't respond immediately. This moves Hisoka to press his body up against yours. Your almost completely exposed chest rubs up against his completely covered one and you gasp at his movements, clearly not expecting them. "Mmm your body feels delightful up against me dear~ Now answer the question." He lustfully whispers in your ear. You seem frozen in place, eyes wide with surprise. He decides he quite likes that expression, ingraining it into his memory. You quickly catch yourself, squirming against his body. "Let m-me go!" You stutter. Your futile attempts only rub him in all the right ways and he moans deeply, the noise hitting your right ear loudly. You gasp, your cheeks reddening with...desire? You freeze up again. He chuckles. "You feel amazing rubbing up against me like that~ Now...are you going to answer or am I going to force it out of you?~" He mumbles sensually, rubbing his lips against the flesh of your ear. You lick your lips to moisten them, your breathing correcting itself quickly.

"I'm here to collect a bounty." You simply state, watching his pale face out of the corner of your right eye. He laughs. "Liar." He growls into your ear, his hands tightening on your wrists before he throws you behind him. He listens as your delectable body bounces on the massive mattress before he turns around, predatory eyes focusing on your scared ones as you sit up on the bed. "That's the truth-" "Incorrect. I'm simply calling you out on your bullshit." Hisoka grins, beginning to approach the bed with obvious sexual intentions. You back away to the headboard of the bed, your back pressing against the splintering wood. He crawls onto the king-sized cot, stopping as soon as he looms on top of you. The look in his eyes is hungry as he looks down your body once again. He loves the position you're in. Utterly helpless. He places his hands beneath your arms, leaning down so that he's touching noses with you again. "Answer the question. Truthfully this time." He adds, smiling deviously in your flustered face. Your mouth remains shut. That's fine. It's well past time for him to immerse himself in your beautiful body. He reaches underneath you, carefully manipulating his clawed hand to the string of your toppiece. He unties it, the flimsy material of the lingerie falling away from your breasts almost instantly. You puff out a noise of embarrassment, your hands quickly coming to aid in hiding your tits from him. The magician quickly evades this method however, encircling both your wrists in his hands again and pinning them next to your head. He takes a long look at your perfect bust, practically drooling at the sight of them. He truly scored with this catch. He smiles, making eye contact with you again. He does not hide his lust from you this time. "Fine.~ I suppose I'll have to try a different method to coax an answer out of you." He punctuates this by licking his lips, moving his face over your bosom. Your eyes watch, curious as to what he'll do. You look nervous and Hisoka couldn't hold back his smirk. The nervousness only virgins hold. This'll be one hell of a lay. He almost couldn't contain his excitement.

He sticks out his tongue, running it over your left nipple before popping it into his mouth. He gives an experimental suck and watches as your body jolts beneath him. A noise akin to pleasure leaves your throat and you look embarrassed at this, closing your eyes. His smile widens and he continues to suck on your nipple, running his tongue over it at the same time. He releases your right hand when he's sure you won't move, using his free hand to massage your other boob. He kneads the flesh in his palm, squeezing the whole thing harshly. Your back arches off the bed and a groan leaves your lips, your hands squeezing as you squirm beneath him. Beautiful. The way you respond to him. You must be sensitive. He watches your face with his observate eyes, watching as your face relaxes into a sort of pleasured expression. Perfect. He pops your breast out of his mouth, replacing it with his other hand. He continues his ministrations for a few quiet moments, listening as you release more pleased noises. This heats up his body more and as a result, his own face flushes up with his desire. "So [Y/N].~ You ready to spill the beans?" Hisoka asks, squeezing both of your tits rather roughly. You pant, opening your defiant eyes to glare at him. "Never." You huff, shivering beneath him. He chuckles. "Shame.~" He continues to fondle you, this time kissing and dragging his tongue against your stomach. Your muscles tense and untense and a full fledged moan dares to leave your mouth. Sensitive you are indeed. This causes Hisoka himself to shiver, your moan music to his ears. He drags his tongue up your stomach, in between the valley of your boobs and up to your neck, where he centers his attack. He laves his tongue in the area, kissing it too. Your moans double in volume and he smiles to himself. "Dare to share, [Y/N]~?" He huskily whispers, licking up to your earlobe and nibbling it. “Ahn- N-No." You pant, trying to remain as stoic as before. You were for sure a challenge...and Hisoka loves challenges. Chuckling, he bites at the skin of your neck, enjoying your flinch in response. "Fine. Be that way." He responds, returning his attention to your tits. He massages the flesh in his clawed hands, tweaking the nipples at the same time. He pulls them, making your back arch to follow them. He leans down to your face, running his nose against your cheek before kissing it. He moves his face towards your left ear, breathing hotly against it. You freeze up before shivering in response. "Perhaps I'll have to take more...drastic measures." He whispers into your ear, his right hand releasing its grip on your left boob and hovering over the side of your hip where a tie holds up the bottom piece of your sexy outfit.

He pulls at the measly string, untying it from your hip. It loosens the fabric, yet the triangular material protecting your modesty continues to cover it. This is fine. He unties the other string, the fabric effectively falling slack against your skin. Hisoka releases all touches, focusing on your lower body now. You move to cover your most sensitive bits, but Hisoka simply smacks your hands away with force, moving back to take the covering away from you. As you yelp and rub your hands, he uses his to grab the thong, taking it away from your body. He stares at your pussy in all its glory, licking his lips. "Say...~ all this interrogating has got me famished. You don't mind if I have a little snack, right?~" His seductive voice proclaims, spreading open your thighs and settling himself in between them. Your nervous eyes alight his own dilated ones and he continues his prowl. He inhales your scent deeply, moaning. Yes, you smell absolutely scrumptious! "I will not be asking you questions from here on out. I will be demanding them. So, [Y/N]. Tell me why you're actually here." He almost snarls, his claws digging into the skin of your hips, drawing a small amount of blood. You wince, but remain strong. "No." You respond icily, acting as if you weren't intimidated. It's almost cute, but he can smell your fear. You reek of it. He chuckles. "Alright.~" He immediately dives into your pussy, licking a stripe up to your clit. You gasp, an ungodly pornographic moan leaving your throat. Hisoka groans in response to your taste, licking up what is all of you. His practiced tongue flicks against your clit and your body twists around, full-fledged, unembarrassed moans leaving your mouth as his sucks on your sensitive sex. His thumbs spread your lower lips open and he flattens his tongue, giving another harsh lick all the way up. He sucks on your hole and you keen, arching your back all the way up. "W-wait -AH- I think I'm going to cum!" You yell out those magic words, your hands grabbing at his hair. That was fast. This fuels his goal further and he eats at you with much more fervor. He slurps your pussy, eating up all you have to offer. Your moans grow more high-pitched and before the both of you know it, you're cumming into Hisoka's mouth. He sucks up all the cum you have to offer, unabashedly enjoying all of it. By the end of it, you're a panting and sweating mess, while Hisoka remains fresh. "Wonderful.~" He murmurs dirtily against you, lapping at your pussy again. You flinch, panting up a storm. You release your grip on his hair, moving your hands to wipe sweat off of your forehead. "W-Wait. I'm too sensit- OH!" You exclaim as he sucks on your clit, watching your face closely this time. Your cheeks are the reddest he's ever seen anyone's become and your eyes are dilated with desire, something he secretly hurrahs in his head. You look amazing. He watches your mouth open in a frenzied moan and shivers, continuing his attack on your pussy. As he continues, he watches you unravel before him yet again. The sight is damning to say the least. You were a gorgeous sight to gaze at and he almost couldn't let you cum a second time, getting caught up in his own desire. He begins to rub himself against the bed to ease himself, moaning into your clit. The vibrations make your toes curl and you throw your head back in a scream. He watches your face as you come undone beneath him yet again, marvelling at your orgasmic expression. That's a face he's certainly going to remember forever.

You're different from his other whores, seeing how you aren't an experienced one. Also seeing as he didn't perform these acts on his other playthings. You're...special. To him for now at least. Surely you wouldn't mean anything once he's finished with you, right? He creeps up your body once your grip on his pink hair loosens, throwing off his shirt and undergarments, exposing his ripped physique to you. Your eyes hungrily trail down the eight-pack, coming into contact with the tent in his loose pants. "I will try this one last time. Final chance. Tell me what your purpose is being here, now." His authoritative tone falls on horny ears. You shake your head, expression firm. He smiles. "Very well..." He strips off the rest of his clothing. Your eyes are trained on his hard dick, a look of panic behind them. He smiles and positions himself at your entrance, wrapping his hands on your soft hips. You seem to second guess yourself. "W-Wait--" "Too late, [Y/N]. You can't stop me from taking you now." He huskily interrupts, beginning to push into your tight pussy. You yowl, pushing your hands against his muscled abdomen. His grips tightens on your hips and despite your efforts, his cock continues to push inside of you, rendering you helpless beneath him. You gasp, shakily exhaling. Your weak arms eventually give up, falling to the sides of you in defeat. He enjoys your submission, fueling his lust for you. He pushes himself in all the way with a hard thrust, making you cry out in pain as your virginity is given to him. He sits there for a minute, relishing in his victory and at the tightness of your walls around him.

He shudders, his whole body rocking with it. It was painfully noticeable. It feels amazing to be inside of you. That's a fact he couldn't hide. "Oh [Y/N].~ You...ngh...feel marvelous.~" Hisoka moans heavily, his grip on your hips growing tighter to the point of being painful. You quietly groan beneath him, arching your back as he begins to move. He moves out and in slowly, testing the waters. You squeak, grabbling your death grip on the sheets on the bed, bunching the material up in your fists. What a sexy display. It'd be better if it was on him instead. He encourages you to grab his back by lowering his chest to touch yours, putting his face next to yours. He effectively covers your body with his own. You get the gist of what he's trying to do, raking your nails against his back as you grab at it. He shudders at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin and in response, thrusts into your tight pussy roughly. You yelp at the new sensation, throwing your head back as the pleasure surges through you. Hisoka treasures your expression of newfound enjoyment, really relishing in being the cause of it. He nips at your ear, groaning deeply when it causes your inner walls to convulse around him more. He'll use that knowledge at a later time. For now, he hotly exhales against your flesh, making you shiver against him. He sets out a slow and punishing rhythm, slowly pulling out before forcefully shoving himself back in. You cry out each time his hips meet yours, tears forming at the edge of your eyes from the intensity of his fucking. Hisoka simply smiles, deciding to speed things up a bit. He quickens his pace, smacking against your hips more frequently now. "How's it feel, [Y/N]? Tell me - mm - how my cock feels inside of you." He grunts, sitting up to gauge your reaction. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at his dirty talk and Hisoka stops, almost cumming from the expression alone. He pants, pausing for only a moment. He awaits your response while he recovers, watching as your eyes return, your dilated [e/c] eyes looking into his lustful yellow ones. You attempt to roll your hips back onto him, but you fail horribly. You did, however, manage to sink down onto the rest of him, a moan leaving your mouth from feeling so full. Hisoka giggles. "So greedy for my dick~ Tell me how it feels, [Y/N].~" He puts your leg over his shoulder, opening you up more to him. He doesn't move. Not until you choose to respond, that is.

You whine at the lack of friction, glaring up at him with that desireful expression you hold. He smiles. You relent, closing your eyes. "Y-Your cock feels amazing, Hisoka." You admit, gasping and practically screaming as he continues his fucking you from the new position he put you in. Your eyes once again roll to the back of your head from the sheer force that he's pumping into you. You're a sweaty mess while Hisoka remains good as new, the workout hardly giving him any strain. You let out a cry as one of his thumbs connects with your clit, massaging it in time with his thrusts. Hisoka moans as you tighten around him and he continues to push into you, harsher now. Your vocality rings through his ears, heating up his body more if possible. His flushed face grows darker still and he singles in on his primary focus: making you cum again. He breathes heavily, thrusting into you at a now impossibly fast pace. Your moans feed into screams, your eyes closed from the intensity of his fucking you. He continues to finger your clit, focusing on your orgasm. He wasn't even close to his, but he decides that your release is more of a spectacle than his own. He zeroes in on it, listening as your moans reach a higher octave. Then, without warning, you arch your back for the last time, crying out as you reach your peak. Your walls milk him, but he refuses to cum, just watching your face as your orgasm rips through you for the third time. He'd definitely remember that face until he's cut from this world. He pulls out of you, settling on massaging your clit a little longer as you ride out the waves of euphoria. You twitch and moan breathlessly, gasping for air from the come down. Hisoka just watches, enjoying your facial expressions. You were certainly something. He stops touching you when you come down completely, breathing harshly. Your flustered eyes open, looking at his still lust-filled ones.

"I...," You start. Hisoka listens, tilting his head in curiosity. "I was assigned here to find you, Hisoka." You pant, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Your eyes are encircled in that hard set determination yet again as you tell him this. "My orders are to dispose of you." You admit, hardening your gaze. Hisoka smiles...and it's not a nice one. "Is that so?" He chuckles, flipping you onto your stomach.

"Tell me more as you sing for me...[Y/N].~ We've still got ten hours left for you to tell me all."

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Word count: 5,000+

Next chapter should arrive sometime today on Saturday, May 1st. I’m so sorry for the delay ;-;

#fanfic #hisoka x reader #hisoka smut #hisoka x reader smut #hunter x hunter smut

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