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madaboutmunson · 2 years ago

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Again - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Full list of Again series links inc AO3 Link

Steddie fic where Steve and Eddie are in their mid 30's and everyone has sort of drifted apart

This chapter is a bit exposition heavy.

Taglist: @adaed5 @grtwdsmwhr @swimmingbirdrunningrock

Thank you to @callme-keys for all their help with this 💚💚💚

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On the drive home, it's quiet as usual Corey is absorbed in his game, Mackenzie her music, so Steve only has his thoughts for a while. He thinks about two things. First, he thinks about how nice a surprise it had been to see Eddie. Maybe he was due a meet-up with some other friends soon, perhaps something more organised. Secondly, that Morgan kid, well, not the kid himself, Mackenzie's interaction with him.

Steve waves his hand to get her attention and then looks in his rearview mirror at Mac, "So, what did you think? Wanna go back, or shall we try elsewhere? I'm sure there might be others D&D clubs around, right? It's a super popular game! We might just need to drive further out, which is not a problem at all." Steve raises his eyebrows, hopefully.

"Do you want me to find a game somewhere else?" Mackenzie says with a suspicious smile narrowing her eyes at him playfully.

"No! No. Not at all." Steve knows he's given himself away by how high-pitched his voice has gone and the raised eyebrow from Mackenzie and her nodding, turning to look out her window again.

He felt pulled in two different directions, he did not want to put Mackenzie off trying new things, but he also didn't want one of those new things to be that little, probably stoner punk squatting at his house. So he tries a different tactic. "Hey, you know what, it's fine. Eddie's there, and I know he's cool. He'll make sure you're ok there. We go way back" Steve nods to self-affirm and taps the steering wheel to self-soothe.

"Oh, is that why you were whispering to one another behind a book? There was me thinking maybe you'd found something there for yourself, Dad," Mackenzie smirks.

Steve could be mad, but when she smirks, it's his smirk on her face. It just floods him with fondness. He pretends it goes over his head, she's already certain she's smarter than him, and maybe she's right in many ways, to be fair.

"I have no interest in playing any nerdy games unless, of course, you were running one, and needed a player, then I'd happily help out."

She gives an eyebrow raise and upwards nods, laughing to herself. At least he'd succeeded in convincing her he didn't get it. He looks thoughtfully back out onto the road. Truth be told, for a good while, just before he'd met the kid's mom, in fact, he'd been purposefully trying to forget about Eddie. After everything, when everyone was still recovering, Steve felt something. He'd often tried to convince himself it was just a friendly fondness, but sometimes his thoughts would wander a little too far. Steve understood it a little more now, but it was just a big no-no at the time. Society generally was not that accepting, especially with the epidemic that the gay community had been scapegoated with, and then by the time he'd made his peace with the fact that maybe there was something more than friendship. Eddie left. He just packed all his stuff and left. Eddie kept in touch with a few people, but not Steve, at least not directly. For a little while, Steve thought Eddie hated him for something, but then he got an invite to his engagement party. He didn't go. He made up some bullshit excuse and drowned his disappointment in a bar. As luck would have it, the very same night, a beautiful woman, inside and out, happened to be doing the same over someone else, not four seats away from him.

Steve remembers her waving down the bar to get his attention, pointing at him and making a charade for heartbreak. He had raised his tequila shot at her in a cheers motion, and she raised hers back. She waved him over and patted the seat next to her, "Better to be miserable in company than alone, right? Do you wanna go first, or shall I?" She said with a tipsy smile and waved the barman over again for another round. She'd gone first, and then he had told his gender-changed version of events, and she just sat there and listened. In hindsight, it was probably not the smartest move, but they spent that night together, intending never to see one another again. Sometime later, Steve found himself at another bar, this time reeling from the engagement party pictures that had just come back from the developers. Eddie looked so happy. His fiancé was supermodel-level beautiful, and everyone said she was so lovely. All Steve wanted to do was go and be jealous somewhere, so he did, a bit further out of town near a motel so he could stumble back later.

Then he saw someone waving, laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair. It was the same woman. This time Steve doesn't wait to be invited to sit next to her. The universe had done that for him. Two broken-hearted lost souls had found one another in the night, not once but twice. Both were happy but hungover in the nearest diner nursing coffees the following day. Finally, Steve bit the bullet and asked, "Look, would you maybe wanna go on an actual date with me sometime? You know, rather than just getting wasted and fooling around?" He wished he'd said it looking into her eyes, but he'd said it into his coffee because he was anticipating the worst.

"I mean, sure, I'd love to. Maybe we could get wasted and fool around every other weekend?" She laughed, and as he looked up, her face was painted with the most radiant smile. From then on, they were barely apart. They initially found their feet and humble beginnings, but things accelerated to warp speed. On a whim, they got randomly married in Vegas, and she, Jenny, found out she was pregnant a few weeks later. Steve promised her a better home and a proper wedding after the baby was born, and when his trust fund finally landed, he could do all of that.

Baby Mackenzie entered Steve's world, and it changed him forever. He had always had these nurturing protective instincts, but not like this. This was their baby, his baby, and he'd do everything he could to ensure she would be safe no matter what happened to him. Enter the financial experts and boy, did they pay off. Steve and Jenny didn't have to work if they didn't want to. They moved to a community Steve was more used to, like where he grew up. He knew how it all worked. The problem was Jenny didn't. She tried her best to fit in, but it wasn't her scene. Steve tried to tell her it didn't matter. They had each other. He would happily go to all the traditional mother's meeting events. He didn't care; he loved it, but Jenny started to feel less than. So she went back to work, which made her happy for a while, but strains started coming back a few years into it. So they tried for another baby, and Corey was born, and again, everything was fine for a while. Mackenzie was in a great school, Steve loved being the stay-at-home parent, and Jenny went back to work. Then It started to crumble again, almost like they were on some weird five-year cycle.

So they sat down one night and talked it over. It wasn't an easy conversation, but it was easy for both of them to want the best for someone who had been their best friend, champion and confidant for the last 11 years. There were no arguments or bad feelings, but there was a loss. A sense of failure, an upheaval for the kids, and a new terrible thing for both of them but Steve especially, having to spend a whole week without his two little nuggets. It was a personal hell of his. When people asked, he pretended he was happy with the break and rest, and sure, who doesn't appreciate a bit more sleep, right? But what do you need all that energy for if you aren't going to do anything with it? So he got a dog, a rescue, a huge dark shaggy furred beast of a mixture of who knows what. Steve was going to give her a more dignified name, but Corey had insisted she be called Beans, so it stuck. Every other week Steve invested his time and patience into training Beans, and soon she was fetching his paper, accompanying him on runs, her recall impeccable, her trick portfolio extensive. Steve wondered if he had a knack for this or if Beans was just a genius dog, but then the neighbours got a dog, and during the day, when they were out at work, Steve would take care of it and train it. Soon word spread, and it became Steve's bi-weekly business venture.

All of that was enough for Steve. He didn't need more. A partner would be lovely, but it wasn't a necessity. Jenny had moved on pretty quickly after their divorce, and to his surprise, more than anyone else's, he wasn't jealous, but he was curious. He never believed Jenny would cheat on him, but the rapid uptake of someone new made Steve think she had been missing something from Steve for all those years. Maybe he'd done something wrong? He'd been on the verge of asking many times, but he didn't want Jenny back, so what was the point in asking? The next person could want very different things.

As they pull up on the driveway, Steve runs through the comforting predictability of arriving home. He knows every beat of it. Beans is already barking, then a patch of silence, her face at the window, almost like she’s double checking, it's him. One big loud bark before she runs to the door to open it and runs outside to them. Steve first, then Mac, then Corey. Then she’ll circle them, herding them inside, and once the door is closed, she sits next to her cupboard and waits for her treat, which Steve provides. Mackenzie heads upstairs, swapping music through her headphones for music out of the speakers. Corey puts away his game and calls Beans over for snuggles in front of the TV. Steve seeks out sustenance for his mini tribe, and then finally, he can sit down with the paper.

It used to bother him that the kids went off and did their own things. In some ways, he felt a little lonely but also guilty. Shouldn't he be doing more? More family activities for them all to do together? But the harder he tried with these things, the more resistance he got because, ultimately, Steve was trying to provide his kids with a family life and home that he never had. Still, he soon realised how outdated that was, and his pursuit of it was causing tension in the house, so much so that Jenny had to call and speak to him one night when the kids were with her. Steve had tried to defend his actions for a minute, almost resenting the kids for being ungrateful.

“You don’t mean that, Steve. Come on, be fair to them. They do them sometimes. They just don't want to do that stuff all the time anymore. They are older now. I know you know all of this. It just sounds like you don't want to accept it.” She had told him kindly and with compassion for all parties involved.

“I just want them to have what I didn't, Jen, that's all. When they’re older, they’ll understand.” He’d fired back a little more sharply than he’d wanted to.

“Steve. You can’t undo your past, and you are already doing the best thing you can so they don't feel that abandonment you did. You are there. Whenever they need you. You’re there. They won’t feel alone or lost without you. They might find their own friend families, but they won't ever need that because they’ve got us. They’ve got you, ok?” Her words just made Steve fall apart, even over the phone. He knew he was trying too hard but couldn't help himself. That is just who he was. But he had gotten better. He had taken on board that even though they were all separate, they were all home. Safe at home, and that slowly, over time, had become enough for Steve. Well, at least on most days. Days when he hadn't spent the entire night before with his nightmares. Those days he might slip into his old habits, but he was trying his best.

#steddie #steddie fan fiction #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie fan fic #steddiefanfiction #steddiefanfic #madaboutmunson #madaboutmunsonagain #eddie munson #steve harrington

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whoiwanttoday · 1 year ago

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So I am generally pretty forward thinking and progressive. You know, I want to save the whales. I'm pro choice, pro environment, but against the bomb. But there are some things I am pretty traditionalist on and a big one is gender roles. When I was just a kid and everybody was in a band and we were all punks and everyone was angelic and sentimental garbanzos were a nickle a handful but the vibes were free there weer some truisms. Drummers can't be trusted and they just wander off sometimes and if their girlfriend breaks up with them they're homeless. A big one though was the bassist was always the most talented musician in the band and he was usually curly haired and had facial hair before that was really cool again and he was the backbone of the band be it good or bad he was the one who could really play and be counted on and he could not get laid to fucking save his life. Everyone else was hooking up but the bassist was striking out like it was his fucking job. It wasn't his job, holding down the rhythm section was but I said these guys were the most talented so they had time to take on extra work and apically fail at ever, ever hooking up. I am sure some bassist is reading this and upset and wants to tell me how he was swimming in so much trim he practically drown. To that I say yeah, big talk, it's the internet. I'm not impressed. While you were getting more tail than anyone else on the planet I was constantly getting laid while slam dunking basketballs and doing kick flips on my skateboard. See? I can lie too. Anyway, this was a truism in the sense that 90% of these bands were male and the bassist almost always was a dude. A nice, talented, unfuckable dude. But when it was a girl? Holy fucking shit was she hot. Just without fail. I know people think gendered stuff like this is bullshit but I am here to tell you that female bassists are always so hot it makes people question their sexuality. I know this because I saw it happen twice twice. One time we saw this shitty band play under the dollar theater in the basement bar of the run down strip mall next to the college and they were awful but then this other band came on and this girl came on with short hair and a lot of eyeliner and she picked up a base and she played about two songs before my gay friends leaned over and he said, "I think I want to fuck the bassist". To which I said, "You know she's a girl, right?" And he said, "Yeah, it's weird but she is sexy". To this day he is still pretty super gay but he doubted it than night. Then one time I saw some band middle for the Hold Steady, female bassist and a different gay friend was like, "That bassist is kind of hot. I don't know why but I can't quit looking at her". I knew why though. She was a female bassist and it's just the law that they are hot. Which brings us to Victoria De Angelis, who is a bassist and thus guys, I am here to tell you she's fucking hot. You might claim she'd still be hot even if she didn't play bass and maybe you're right but I bet if she was Victoria De Angelis the girl who murders children you'd be less into her. Because bassists just add that little something extra. Anyway, she is lots of good things, a bassist, a rockstar, an Italian. The real kind of Italian, not the fake kind like me who is only Italian in the sense that I have a grandparent who was born in Italy, which Europeans love to shit on. They're so fucking protective of being European like it's a kind of regional cheese or something but I won't get into that, I am just clearing up she is hot and from a country some of my relatives were from once upon a time, which you might not know why that makes her hot but look at the pictures. I don't have a story about a gay friend for everything, you have to do some of the work here. Today I want to fuck Victoria De Angelis.

#Victoria de Angelis #brunette #musician #whoiwanttofucktoday

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mist-mistletoe · 2 years ago

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We've always been strong? Like physically, strong even through we barely do any training or exercise. Like we've flipped someone over a wall. And its fucking terrifying. Like you need to almost break my bones before we bruise. We know we can hurt someone just with my hands alone. We know how.

We know we can break bones, (have broken bones when we were cornered and were forced to fight.) And it's fucking scarry. Like we have and will probably hurt those we love because we are just strong. And so, so fucking many people have torn me down and told me to be nice, be kind, just be happy, stop being intimidating, don't fight back. We became a push over. Couldn't look people in the eyes and all it did was make me unbelievably angry. We spoke quietly, we took verbal abuse, we let people belittle us. All because we were taller then most kids, had wider shoulders then most kids and we had a smart mouth. So we kept my mouth shut.

Now we don't. We will snarl and bite and spite and shout. It was a friends mom who was a marshal arts master who constantly told us to look up, stand up, to go fail just to do it again, to speak up, hit harder, stand taller, talk louder, she showed us how to grow a spine. She, a single mother with three kids two full time jobs, she did more for me then any adult ever tried to. We didn't understand it back then, but now we do. If there was anyone we could protect for eternity it would be her.

We've had people try again to push us down but now? Now we can see through the bullshit. We can see over the fake care and pretty words. We know why they do it. Most men do it because we are female, and they think they deserve our obedience all because they can't keep it in their pants. Because that man can't undo what he was raised to believe. Most women do it because of all the fighting they did for power, they don't want to see you as a threat.

Yes we are a fucking threat. Believe that.

Now we speak up.

Now we stand up for myself.

Now we fight with everything we can.

We don't care if we're intimidating.

We dont care if they think female is a dirty word.

We don't care if we are smart. We will use it to get what we want because guess what. It's what we deserve.

We don't care if anyone thinks we're mean or blunt or harsh. Fuck being a soft push over.

Everyone needs a Sheryline in their life. They need that parental figure that tells them about all that generational trauma that everyone is shoving on you? Yeah fuck all of that. You are you, not who they want you to be.

So fuck everyone. We'll bare my teeth just to remind them of all the harm we can cause. What we can and will do when they try to hurt me.

We will drown all you love in your blood just to spite you.

(Why don't people talk about the violence ingrained into an animal's instinct. It doesn't excuse anything but it can explain the urges.)

#otherkin #wolfkin #nonhuman #werewolf #blood #vent #vent post #violence #just random thoughts #rambling thing #Vex talks

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direwolfrules · 2 years ago

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Hey, so, vent time. If you only follow me for Star Wars related nonsense then this is your warning to escape now. If you hate LGBTQIA+ individuals then please just fucking leave. Get out, block me, drown in a river, whatever. Just leave.

My dad’s an old school Bensonhurst type of guy. He drops slurs like the US government drops bombs, liberally and with great intensity. And some of his favorites happen to be the homophobic ones.

Now, I feel that I should mention that I’m only out to my mom. My dad has no idea that his daughter is anything less than 100% heterosexual. Part of that is because of the reasons in this post.

So, my dad loves to throw around a certain word that begins with D. I’m not censoring it because of any bullshit TikTok nonsense btw, but because I physically cannot type it out with wanting to cry.

Dad loves the D word. Him and my uncle, always throwing it around. Any woman who looks slightly butch? “She looks D***y”. Any time my mom mentions her multitude of sapphic coworkers? “Is that the D**e one?”

And in one particularly fun incident, when I was 13 my mom and I got into our eight millionth fight about my wearing a dress to a school function (I wanted to wear my really nice pantsuit and seriously how the fuck did my mom not know until I came out?!) and my dad decided to throw in his two cents. Can you guess what he said? I’ll give you a hint. It rhymes with “You look like a shmike”.

Great thing for little me who was first realizing that straight girls don’t think about kissing other girls to hear. Set me so far back in the closet I didn’t even see the door again till senior year of high school. Can you see why I’m not out to this man yet? Or possibly ever? I can just hide a part of myself away forever, right?

Now, this brings me to what happened not even a full fucking hour ago. Family dinner, everything was nice, until we started talking about how a guy we were once associated with got blacklisted from a local vet because he got into the face of a woman who also does animal rescue. My dad asks “Was it a woman who’d need protection or one of those really d**ey looking ones?”

I tell him not to say that word again, because I have friends in the community and I fucking hate slurs (again, not out and not coming out to him anytime soon). He gets pissy, tries to say it’s just a word, he’s always used it, he doesn’t get what the big deal is, it’s just a descriptor, etc.

My mom plays peacemaker between the two of us, corrects dad on his vocabulary and introduces him to the word butch, and my mom tries to tell me that I have to understand her and dad are from a different generation (you know, that old excuse, as if my great-grandfather who served in WWII didn’t wash out his children and grandchildren’s mouths with soap for saying slurs, because “Hateful language doesn’t need malice behind it to be hateful”).

I admit, I escalated it. I, with tears in my eyes because it fucking sucks hearing slurs that apply to you from the mouth of someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally, brought up the incident from when I was 13. That he knew that word is an insult because he used it as one against me. He knows how to use that word in hate.

It was the first time I’ve brought up that incident since it happened. You see, we don’t talk about stuff in my family, we bottle up all our emotions until they explode in either rage or near suicidal depression. Healthy, I know.

Anyway, dad got pissy, things got tense and silent, until I asked him to pass the bread. He fucking flung the bread knife down on the table in front of me. Which. I’m a 19 year old with out of wack hormones, it’s expected that I be a little bitchy (literally what my doctor said, love her). What’s his excuse?

So like, yeah. Now I’m just doing that fucking shame spiral thing in my room where I hate myself and wishing I didn’t think girls were just like, fucking amazing. I think my life would have been a hell of a lot easier if I was only into guys. At least then I wouldn’t feel like someone took an ice pick to my heart every time my dad and uncle make another fucking gay joke.

My mom tries at least, but she’s got no fucking idea what to say to me. She was raised not to rock the boat. Unfortunately, it’s already been rocked and I’m off the side, drowning under the waves. I’m drowning, and instead of pulling me up my dad’s wacking me over the head with the oar, and he doesn’t even fucking realize it.

#vent post #tw homophobia #tw slurs #tw homophobic slurs #bisexual #wlw vent #homophobia #personal vent #homophobes dni #family issues #long post

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journeyofbell · 3 years ago

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Guys, I'm so tired of feeling sad. This entire month has been nothing but jolly Christmas everywhere, everyone is supposed to have a good time and relax with their family. To enjoy each other's company and not focus on conflict.

I've been awake for the past 3 hours, sobbing quietly and then had a silent panic attack in the bathroom. I hate how dysfunctional my family is, not even Christmas can get them to behave nicely. I was naive enough to believe that I could have an actual peaceful Christmas eve, just for once.

Instead, I've spent the entire day watching my uncle belittle, criticise and ignore his son, my cousin. Meanwhile, he's sweet and polite towards his daughter, the sister. The kid has done nothing wrong, btw. It's terrifying to see how my uncle won't even look at his own son when the latter is talking to him. Instead, my uncle wandered off to look for something stupid, interrupting a story my cousin was telling only to him, and no one said a damn thing. I asked my uncle to come back and listen but no, apparently he does that all the time.

I'm upset because my uncle is angry at my mother for doing the exact same to me. He thinks he's better than her yet every sentence towards my cousin is like listening to my mother speak through him. My cousins are bloody adults now but my uncle insists on talking to his son like he's an idiot. Not to his daughter, only his son.

And I'm not only sad, I'm angry and disappointed. I thought my uncle knew better, working with kids for a living and all. But he still treats his son like a troublemaker who can only do wrong. It hurts so much to see because my cousin has autism, like me. He's known since he was 6 or so. He's such a good kid, he's doing so well but my uncle is still bothering him every second of the day. No matter what he does, it's never good enough for my uncle. This kid just wants his dad's attention and approval for a bloody minute and he'd be better off talking to a fucking wall.

My family has come apart at the seams because my grandmother was like this. Her children (my mother and uncle) cut her off years ago due to her extreme lack of support and no empathy for her own children. Both claim they want to be better than her yet neither have tried to self-reflect and consider, for once in their god damned lives, that we're not here to please them.

My grandfather on that side committed suicide when I was 2 years old due to depression. I'm the only out of his now 5 grandchildren he got to meet in person. How can that loss and sorrow have taught my family absolutely nothing? Why is no one noticing the pattern of misery tainting each generation? Why is it that my cousin and I (and my youngest brother) are working so hard to catch up yet get scolded as the enemies because we're "different"?

I am sick to my stomach right now. I broke and paid dearly for trying to appear neurotypical in a family that despised my differences. Now my cousin, and youngest brother, are going down that same road. I'm not fucking having it, it'll be over my dead body that these two boys have to break in order to get taken seriously. I am not accepting this disgusting behaviour towards us, I'm more than done. We're the ones working so hard to fit in but our parents take the victim role and blame us for being problematic. Just like their mother did with them. How the fuck are they so blind that they can't see that?

I'm done being nice about this, period. I'm not the glue of the family, that didn't work last time and it's still not working now. It's not my job, as a fucking neurodivergent person, to tell a bunch of grown ass people that they have to treat all of their children with respect. We shouldn't have to appear neurotypical to get treated with respect, our siblings never worked for that a day in their life. No matter how accomplished we are, we are pushed aside so that our parents can praise the others for the most mundane shit.

They got lucky and now they're reaping the love and respect our parents failed to give out evenly. It's not their fault but it isn't ours either. I'm done taking the blame for how our family is broken. I can't break something that has been fucked from day one. I'm not bending and breaking myself anymore for their convenience so that their generation can stay in their comfort of never having to change. Neither should my cousin or brother, for that matter.

That generation above us are changing this time because it's their mess to fix, not ours. My mother won't do it so lord help me that I'm cancelling that part of my family if my uncle can't see this himself. I'm fucking tired of excuses with no actions behind them. They need to step up or get fucked.

Make that my New Year's Eve resolution for 2022, if you will.

#I hate everything about my family #honestly #everything nice is drowned in this generational bullshit #I'm not having it #not for my sake but for my brother and cousin #they're not going through this alone like I had to #Bell's log

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cockslutpadalecki · 3 years ago

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You asked for some thots.

How about mean!Steve, slight bullying and dumbification with the quote, "The only sound I want to hear is you choking on my cock."

Stains Like Red Wine

Summary: Even though you’re one of Bucky’s best friends, for some reason Steve has always had it out for you, intent on making your life hell whenever you come back to Brooklyn. And tonight is no different.

Characters: Dark!Mean!Steve x F!Reader.

Words: 2.7K.

Warnings: non-con/dub-con, Steve is a literal asshole but I still wanna suck his c*ck, bullying, misogyny, public humiliation, implications of dacryphilia, slut shaming, explicit sexual content, (slight) dumbification, use of pet name (peach), hate sex, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, female masturbation, finger sucking, gagging on fingers, slight size kink, some degradation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), cream pie, 18+.

A/N: River, my fellow mean!Steve hoe. This story took everything out of me and I’m honestly terrified you’ll hate it, but here it is, aah. This is an AU but I don’t specify professions etc. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. And thank you to my amazing pre-reader and filth enabler @sweeterthanthis for your support as always.

“Not like you to be propping up the bar.”

You almost don’t recognise the voice to the left of you over the music until they move entirely into your line of sight. Cold cerulean stares back at you and your heart drops instantly.

You swallow down what you really want to say, knowing Steve Rogers will do, or say, anything to get a rise out of you.

“You look nice,” he continues, resting an elbow on the bar next to you. Your eyes widen, the compliment taking you by surprise, but when you open your mouth to respond, he cuts you off. “Even if that dress is a little…” he scrunches up his nose like he’s smelt something rotten, “pure for you, don’t you think?”

There it is.

You flash him a curt smile before quickly gulping down the rest of your wine, the rush of alcohol temporarily making you feel better.

You’d been protesting your attendance for weeks leading up to this lavish Christmas event with your best friend Bucky, but he wouldn’t hear it. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to spend the time with him, but because of his friend, Steve, and the fact he would also be here.

For some reason, the man has always had it out for you, intent on making your life hell whenever you come back to Brooklyn. And tonight is clearly no different.

Arriving separately, you had hoped to steer clear of the dirty blonde all night, but it seems he just couldn’t help himself from seeking you out.

Happy Holidays indeed.

“Couldn’t find a date, huh?”

Christ, he just doesn’t know when to shut up.

Plastering on your best fake smile, you turn to him. “Didn’t need to, I’m Bucky’s plus one.”

He nods. “Ah, that’s right, I forgot. Guess he took pity on you after you got dumped by…” he twirls his fingers in front of your face, “what was his name again?”

You swallow Andy’s name down hard, afraid Steve would be able to fish it out of your throat. It has been a couple of months since the breakdown of your relationship, but it still stings nonetheless.

“Alex? Adam?” he looks up at the ceiling like he’s trying to find the answer there, “wait, was it Archie?” he glances back at you, lips curled up in a nasty smirk.

“Andy,” you say tersely under your breath.

“Andy!” Steve slaps his hand against the bar, the noise making you jump a little. “And just before the holidays too, what a shame,” he adds with a disingenuous pout.

God you hate him.

You do everything in your power to drown out the sound of Steve’s voice and when his attention is caught by someone in amongst the crowd behind you, eventually leaving you in peace, you let out a relieved sigh. Your moment of quiet is short lived as you hear Bucky’s loud voice behind you.

“Having fun?”

Spinning a little on your stool, you shift to face him. “Where have you been?”

“Just catching up with an old friend,” he grins wide. You know instantly what he means.

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re insufferable, Bucky Barnes,” you sigh, your small smile dropping once the moment has passed.

He leans over the bar, quickly ordering a whiskey before turning back to face you and notices your sour expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply. Bucky looks at you dubiously, urging you to elaborate. “Steve came over to say hello.”

“How dare he,” he laughs sarcastically. “So what?”

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

You raise an eyebrow at the brunette. “Steve Rogers has had it in for me the moment you introduced us.”

Bucky eyes you, looking almost fed up with the conversation. This isn’t the first time you’ve voiced your concern about Steve, and this isn’t the first time Bucky has shrugged you off.

“Look-” he begins but is cut off before he’s able to complete his sentence.

“Hey bud! Been lookin’ for you everywhere, wanted to introduce you to someone.” Steve claps his hand down onto his best friend’s shoulder, flashing him a wide smile. He turns briefly towards the bar, lifting his hand up to order another round of drinks before his attention returns. You hate the way his eyes drag down your body, but when he notices you watching him, his gaze quickly diverts towards Bucky.

“Oh,” Bucky laughs, “I ran into Jessica outside.” He gives Steve the same mischievous look he gave you, but instead of returning disgust like you had, Steve is proud.

“Ah, Jess,” the dirty blonde replies fondly. “She still swallowin’ dick like it’s 2 for 1 on shots?”

“Pig,” you tut under your breath.

As he collects his drinks, Steve glares at you over Bucky’s shoulder. He turns to step away but somehow manages to lose his footing, and in turn spills the glass of red wine in his grasp down your front. It’s by no means cold, but the sheer shock of it soaking through the fabric of your dress makes you shiver.

“What the fuck Steve!” you screech.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” he says, but the words lack sincerity. He makes no attempt to rush to your aid, he doesn’t even put down the empty glass, its contents now staining the ivory material to the point of ruin.

Hot tears sting as you blink and you can feel your cheeks warming when people turn to stare, their faces unmoving as they take in the scene before them.

You swallow down your ire, teeth grinding behind your lips as Bucky hurriedly grabs a towel from the bartender gawping at the state of you.

“Are you gonna cry?” Steve mouths with fake concern before his lips twist into a cruel sneer. He’s happy with himself. Amused to see you so visibly upset. And if you hadn’t witnessed the way his eyes darken at the sight of your humiliation, you never would’ve believed it.

Bucky bundles you hurriedly into his room as you scream, “I swear, he did this on purpose!”

As soon as he had assessed the true damage Steve had done, combined with the glassy look in your eye, he knew he had to get you out of there. You sobbed the entire ride up in the elevator, only pausing to blow your nose on a napkin Bucky had given you as you left the scene of the crime. The tears subside as you recall the event, your anger bubbling over the more you obsess over it and the nasty smirk plastered across Steve’s face when Bucky pulled you away.

“Don’t be silly, he wouldn’t do that. You’re just being paranoid,” he shrugs, instead of attempting to reassure you.

Bucky disappears into the bathroom as you sit down on the edge of the bed, staring down at the wide crimson stain ruining your favourite dress. “That asshole owes me 300 bucks.”

“Why can’t you two just get along?” he snaps a little too harshly when he returns, throwing the complimentary dressing gown at you.

“Hey, I tried for years to be his friend,” you return tersely, “but he’s nothing but an arrogant bully.” You realise how pathetic you sound, but you no longer care.

He scoffs. “Don’t be like that, Steve’s just Steve, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know, Buck,” you say. “He’s not the good guy you think he is.”

Bucky’s smile drops instantly when he realises you’re being serious. “Listen,” he drops to his knees at your feet, “how about we get you washed up and go to a bar downtown? Get away from all this.” He gestures down at your spoiled dress.

You sniff, unaware that you’re almost crying. “I’d love that, thank you.”

He gives you a beaming smile as he stands up and plants a platonic kiss to your forehead.

“Mind if I take a shower first?” he asks, stripping off his suit jacket. It’s only then that you notice the stray blotches of vermilion staining his crisp white shirt and you feel a pang of guilt for reacting so dramatically.

“Sure.” You wave him off, but he’s already closed the door behind him.

The room is silent before the shower starts up, the loudness of the water running helping to clear your thoughts. With a heavy sigh, you stand up and slowly peel off your ruined dress. You step out of the puddle of alabaster fabric and pull on the gown Bucky gave you, relishing in the warmth and the softness against your skin.

You slip off your heels, and settle back down on the bed, ready to sleep the rest of the night away when a sharp knock at the door interrupts you.

Really hope it’s not Jessica looking for round two.

As you grab the door handle, you close your eyes and let go of a deep breath, willing the person on the other side to disappear by the time you open it.

No such luck. You pull the heavy door towards you and your heart instantly sinks.

Steve.

“What on earth do you want?”

“Came lookin’ for Buck, but seeing as you’re here, I may as well assess the damage,” he smirks with a glance over your shoulder.

The words roll off your tongue before you can stop them. “You’re a cunt, y’know that right?”

Steve tuts, scrunching up his nose. “What’s gotten into you?” he laughs for a beat, “Certainly isn’t Andy.”

“Get out,” you grit. Your hands ball into fists at your sides, and wish with all your might that you actually had the courage to use them.

He doesn’t listen, crossing over the threshold with an overwhelming air of authority. “C’mon peach, don’t be such a sour puss.”

Steve takes another slow step towards you, effectively forcing you back into the room without laying a hand on you. You swallow deeply as his eyes drop to the loose v across your chest. In your haste to dress, you forgot to pull the gown closed properly, leaving the tops of your breasts in full view for him to stare at.

It remains this way— Steve walking unhurriedly as you step backwards to escape him until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“Leave now, Steve, before I scream,” you warn before he’s moving closer, caging you in as he lifts his hands to the ties of your gown.

“Oh peach, the only sound I wanna hear is you choking on my cock.”

He tugs at the material and the gown falls open, fully exposing your half-naked form to him as he lunges forward. You fall onto the bed, scrambling to push him off, but Steve overpowers you far too easily while the notion that you don’t try hard enough to fight him sits at the forefront of your mind like bitter lemon.

How can you possibly want this?

“Buck-” you attempt to call out but Steve clamps his hand over your mouth before your voice has a chance to resonate. He turns his head, the noise of the shower finally registering and smirks back down at you.

“Need to be quiet,” he soothes, patronisingly. His spare hand runs the length of your body, finding its way between the apex of your thighs. You cry out beneath his palm, eyes squeezing shut when his fingers pluck the fabric of your panties to one side. “Especially when I do this.”

Steve plunges two fingers inside you, impossibly deep. Your back arches off the bed, your breasts skimming his chest as he plants heavy, open-mouthed kisses over the swell of them.

You writhe under him, bucking your hips against the butt of his palm as it rubs over your clit each time he drills his fingers back inside you.

You come shamefully fast.

The room spins as ecstasy claims you, and you find it difficult to focus until Steve’s voice floats across your periphery.

“Aw, look at you all strung out,” Steve soothes with heavy condescension. “Not used to coming so hard, are ya peach?”

He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, causing a whine to escape as the warmth dissipates and you’re left bereft. He smiles down at you, amused by your discomfort and lifts the hand pressed over your mouth, quickly shoving his slick-soaked fingers past your parted lips.

“Try calling me a cunt now.” He slides them in a little more and you gag as they skim the back of your throat. Steve laughs deeply at that, pushing them further and holding them still as you cough around the intrusion.

“Go on,” he urges. It’s barely recognisable as you try to form the word around his fingers. Saliva dribbles from the sides of your mouth and over your cheeks, pooling into the hairline at the nape of your neck. He smiles at you, eyes dark. “Taste all that desperation.”

As he orders you to suck down, you purse your lips around his fingers, hating how smug he looks as he runs his tongue along the seam of his own. He’s enjoying every minute of this.

Steve eventually pulls them out, wiping at the corners of your mouth to gather up even more wetness before they’re disappearing south. It’s not until you hear the jangle of metal that you realise what he’s doing.

In haste, you try to shut your legs, however Steve traps a thigh between them preventing them from closing. His hand clamps back over your mouth when you protest, feeling the head of his cock run through the swollen petals of your sex.

Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation, but they quickly snap open when he sinks himself into your warmth, right to the hilt. A squeak leaks out from the edges of his fingertips as you groan into his palm, unable to hold back.

“Aw, is it too much for you?” There’s that patronising tone yet again. “Can feel this little pussy gettin’ all stretched out.”

Tears sting at your eyes at his words, completely humiliated. You hate the way your body reacts when he snaps his hips the first time, feeling every nerve come alive. And when he starts fucking you into the mattress, it becomes harder and harder to ignore until pleasure is all that exists.

“Not so high and mighty once you’ve got a cock inside you, are ya?” he sneers. “Just barely holding it together for me.”

You will with all your might that Bucky ends his shower— to come out and end this— but the wet slops of your cunt quickly eclipse that of the water still running.

Your second orgasm comes from nowhere, slamming into you like a freight train. You swallow down a scream as the breath punches from your lungs and you seize around him, unable to discern bliss from reality. Steve doesn’t let up, fucking into you harder, deeper, until his staccato thrusts begin to slow and he’s coming right after you.

Inside you.

Your stomach rolls with a mixture of warmth and pure disgust when he drops his head, running his lips over your temple. It’s too soft, too affectionate amongst the depravity of the situation, the antithesis not lost on you.

“Y’know, the stain’s gonna come outta that dress eventually, but there’s no amount of scrubbin’ that’ll ever wash me outta you,” Steve mutters gleefully in your ear as he pulls out and you wince, feeling his sticky warmth dribble out of your sore cunt.

He crawls off of you and readjusts himself quickly before giving the inside of your thigh a playful slap. “And here I was thinkin’ you weren’t gonna laid over the holidays.” He doesn’t hold back the laugh at his cruel jibe. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stave off the tears as he leans over and grabs your hand. He pulls you into a sitting position, cupping your jaw between his thumb. “C’mon peach, gimme a smile. After all, I did make ya come… twice.”

Giving him the most unconvincing smile you can physically muster, the muscles in your jaw ache as you do so. His grip loosens and the last remaining shred of fight finally escapes you. You drop to the floor at his feet, unable to hold back your sobs any longer.

You’re only acutely aware of Steve retreating when you hear his voice from across the room, in that same callous tone you’ve grown acclimated to, “Hey, be a doll, won’t ya? Tell Bucky I’m downstairs when he’s done.”

***

Steve: @andreasworlsboring101 @broadwaybabe18 @cake-writes @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @mugi-chwan95 @oneoftheprettynerds @sammykb1994 @smokeandnailz @syrenavenger @syntheticavenger @vicmc624

ALL CE: @chamberofsloths @dreamlessinparis @imanuglywombat @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @la-cey @livstilinski @ladydmalfoy @otomefromtheheart @patzammit @stargazingfangirl18 @starlightcrystalline @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @sunflower-writings @threeminutesoflife @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @xoxonotme

Forever: @amandamdiehl @b3autyfuldisast3r @buttercandy16 @crashdevlin @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @donnaintx @danneelsmain @dandywinchesterbras @deangirl93 @doozywoozy @downanddirtydean @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @hoewkeyesblue @heyyouwiththeassbutt @ilovefanfic86 @jewelswrites-ish @joseyrw @letsby @letsdisneythings @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @novawillowbarnes @obsessivelycapricious @pinkshenanigan @princessmisery666 @rattwritesfics @roxyfan14-blog @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @simpformarvelmenandwoman @stoneyggirl @warriorqueen1991 @wonder-cole @xoxabs88xox @zooaliaa

#steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction

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prettyboykatsuki · 4 years ago

Text

am i warm enough for you?

➳ tags ;; soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst but mostly fluff, some-what canon compliant, bakugo katsuki is bad at feelings, lots of Feelings™, you guys are adults but the end of the fic but the fic is sfw, alcohol, drunk confessions

➳ wc ;; 5.6k..

➳ plot summary ;; you see your soulmate in dreams - sometimes in bits and pieces and other times in full. bakugo is less than inclined to admit he even has a soulmate - and you learn how to cope with it, one day at a time.

bakugo learns that this soulmate shit is no joke. that has to be why he keeps falling for you so helplessly.

➳ a/n ;; i wasn’t even gonna comeback this early but it felt so wrong not to post on my bfs birthday so alas </3 for anyone who cares to know this is @elysianseraph but with my new url. nice to see u all <3

this was originally posted on 4/20 but im reposting cause it didn’t show up in the tags dskjds

It’s hazy.

A cloud of smoke settles over your body, permeating your lung. It smells like sugar, like burning, like smoke and a little like leather. You can feel your toes curl and your hands moving but your body is separate from you in a way you can’t describe. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth that spreads, creeping up from behind your neck till it’s soft and cradling your skull. It’s soft like the touch of a mother, like wool over your ears.

It’s a pleasant feeling, that’s all. Almost cozy but there’s a fading sense of distress that chills in your lungs as you encompass it. Your hands are too small to reach forward, and truthfully the sensation is so powerful that you’re afraid to reach out. You’re 6 years old, so all you know is how it makes you feel. You can’t remember many details, but you feel pleasant. Something about it is soft, but there’s a sharp edge right at the end that has your lungs gasping for air.

It’s a flash of colors. Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red. Orange. Red.

And then it fades into a feeling again. A blurry feeling. You feel conflict, then concern, then inadequacy in heavy waves almost like it’s drowning you. It’s the first time you’ve experienced such a pain, so your wailing and wiping tears away with chubby fingers and saying a name you don’t know and can’t remember.

Ka. You know the sound, Ka. But you don’t know of anything more. It repeats rhythmically in your mind like a knock on the door, rapping with urgency - but it doesn’t do anything to jog your memory. Someone is trying to be let in but you don’t know how to answer them, and you’re still crying. The distress, the inadequacy shakes you and all you feel is frustration in short simple bursts.

Your first encounter with your soulmate is written this way in your memory. A sense of urgency laced with frustration - but they’re not towards you. It’s him, his feelings - you can feel them even deeper then he can. They pierce you in a way that makes it hard to breathe, no matter how you try to escape them it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The only way to escape the feelings of a dream is either to control them, or to face them and swim through the fog.

Soulmates have an urgency to them, in general. His is different, you can tell as much. Your first soulmate dream leaves the heaviest impression and each one thereafter is like pieces of a puzzle.

Sometimes you simply share random dreams, like a split screen in a video game - the two of you witness different parts of the same dreamverse. Other times, and honestly - most times, you’re experiencing their emotions or feelings. You experience their core memories, their life, in flashes and bits and pieces.

It’s not enough to know them or who they are, it’s like know everything about them except the things that matter

Sometimes you meet too. Just barely.

MEETING 1:

The room is white. When you blink, colors flash in order - red, pale yellow, orange, forest green and you know. You blink a few more times, stretching your hands out in front of yourself. Curling your hands into fist then into stretched palms, you lean forward and stretch. You wriggle your toes - notice you're wearing shoes. Clothes from your closet. Strange.

You take a look around the room but there isn't much to see. There’s a wall in front of you with a glass divider and a mirrored empty room. The room across from yours has spiky decor littered against the walls. An orange dresser, plastic grenades and play guns. You know who it is without a second warning - and a foggy part in the back of your head tells you that it’s him, again but with more force. You don’t see anything in your room, but you figure he might. All of it is confusing to you.

Before you can blink, there’s a loud thud coming from the other side of the glass. It’s a silhouette, the outline of a face - but nothing clear. Dream logic dictates you can’t know a face you’ve never seen, yet somehow you know his outline. Spiky, he’s spiky everywhere.

“Hello?,” you call out, overly tentative. The figure pauses, seems to take in whatever they must be seeing. You’re not sure what response you’re expecting, really. There’s no expectations at all.

“...Who the fuck are you?,” says a pitchy, male voice. He sounds like he’s your same age, a highschool boy. His throat is rough, yet not overly deep. It’s almost scratchy.

“Uhm,”

You’re not sure how to reply. You can see him through the glass, but not really. Still, you take note of his shadows like they’re going to tell you anything more. You shove your hands in your pockets, messing around with something inside.

“Uh.. your soulmate, I think,” you reply.

Scratching the back of your neck as an awkward silence settles, you take a few minutes to try and figure what more to say.

“We met when we were kids once too,” you explain awkwardly. He must know, has too - this soulmate thing is a two way thing, but his silence is deafening. You just want to feel this space. Is it always this awkward?

“Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Forest Green,” you repeat, like a mantra. You hear him take in a sharp breath, and freeze. For some reason, you’d like to avoid upsetting him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking to the information too well.

“I don’t have time for this damn bullshit… whatever quirk you’ve got to mimic this - cut it the fuck out,”

Hostile.

You pause, not sure how to feel. Half of you is offended, the other half is confused - had you done something to upset him? You can feel how he feels - but you don’t understand it. You sit with your mouth agape, like a fish out of water. Unsure of how to proceed, you scoff a little.

“Woah.. this isn’t a quirk thing. We’re.. soulmates? That’s already a thing,”

More silence. You’ve.. he doesn’t seem upset, but you can tell he’s not all that keen to the idea. It’s a bare minimum improvement that you find yourself valuing, without your consent. He breathes again, throat even more hoarse than before. His voice is angry but it doesn’t fit his responses, his feelings - so you don’t pay attention to his madness. Something is off.

“... I’m not supposed to have a soulmate. No fucking way I have a soulmate,” he grits. You step back, stumbling. You didn’t have any expectations.. but this wasn’t what you had been expecting at all. You feel uneasy, sick. It must be a shared feeling if the way he leans against a wall counts for anything.

A beat of silence passes before you open your mouth to speak.

“... I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that,” you admit. He scoffs.

“Nothing you damn extra. Leave me the fuck alone,”

You don’t reply, too stunned. This was your soulmate? This.. asshole? Not that you were a peach entirely either, but this was supposedly the person that the universe had decided for you?

You shake your head. Maybe you’re just being rash? He could be a nice guy behind all the chaos. You try your best to hold onto that, that this was literally someone chosen for you before you gave up all hope. You sigh, cracking your neck.

“You can say whatever you want but.. we’re here, you know? It’s more productive to just go with it.. isn’t it?,”

“Go fuck yourself,”

“After meeting you, I’m not exactly over the fucking moon about it either. It is what is,”

“You’re not my fucking.. soulmate or whatever the fuck. Leave me alone,”

Your heart both aches with anger and sadness. You don’t know what to do. What does this shit-head know about you, anyway? You know he’s been through some shit, same as you - what makes him so entitled? You swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts. It pierces. Stupid soulmate bonds.

“Yeah? Alright. Fuck you too,”

You see him pace around for a longer before he disappears in a cloud of smoke. You didn’t even catch his name, and you’re not sure you wanted too. It must be morning, but at least you're away from him. It feels lonely, but it must just be you.

Your eyes flutter open but your heart is heavy with regret. You don’t know who it belongs to, but you’ve got class in an hour and not enough time to think about it. If he doesn’t want to meet you that’s fine.

It’s fine. Not like you wanted to meet your soulmate anyway.

You don’t have another meeting with your soulmate for months. Lately your dreams have little if anything to do with him or where he is, how he’s been. You have some of those split screen ones, where you know he’s there but neither of you acknowledge each other, even in spirit, like how you did before. When you wake up feeling angsty, you don’t know how to distinguish the feeling but you don’t try.

You wonder idly if he can feel your apathy, if he cares enough too. Maybe he also mistakes it for his own? It seems likely.

It’s a weekday where you’re getting ready for remedial classes at your school. First year advanced courses were no joke, and you find yourself regretting your choice to participate in them.

Still you get dressed anyway, put your uniform on and brush your teeth - wash your face with your eyes half open and look presentable. No one's home in the morning, the house is empty of any life but you. Food becomes a last minute priority, so you make an egg sandwich with cheese and eat it on the way to the train station.

You stare down at your feet as you step outside, music drowning out the noise of your surroundings aptly. The walk to the station is long and the ride is longer, but the streets are packed edge to edge. Musutafu is busy this time of year - the U.A. Sports Festival is taking place today and everything seems to reflect that. You barely manage to squeeze past all the strangers on the subway - clearly on their way to see it.

When you get to school, you're greeted by a mostly empty classroom with a teacher. These classes were straightforward as always, do the work you need to correct, have it approved and leave. It repeats until your finished with all the assignments and you get to be done. You give a respectful nod to your teacher before grabbing your work from your bag.

It goes on and on - occasionally, you hear an excited gasp and quiet chatter from classmates. It’s about the festival, the happenings - but you’re too caught up in completing your work that day and trying to get the fuck out of their as soon as possible.

Shit like that didn’t matter to you, anyways. It’s just a festival.

You leave around the same time the festival seems to have ended, the streets flooded with people - you miss the first station and wander towards an electronics store a block away from your highschool.

It’s the winners on TV. A guy with split hair - Shouto Todoroki, Endeavors son. A guy with a bird head, and a blonde with red eyes - muzzled to the pole.

When you see them, your heart stops. You can feel anger, an unfamiliar rage and humiliation building in your chest. It feels the word has stopped as you watch from afar, through screens. Your soulmate seems upset about something, but you wouldn’t know what.

And that blonde on TV, you wonder if you know him from somewhere.

MEETING 2:

Red.Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red.

You feel him before you even know what’s happening - and it catches you completely off-guard. You haven’t had a proper soulmate dream in two years. Smoke clouds your lungs, the taste of sugar burning your tongue as you cough yourself into awareness. This time, you’re not in a room but it’s a campground. In the middle of the space is a bonfire, burning warmly. This one feels more vivid, more real.

But you know it’s not, your body feel unusually light and your hands can’t hold anything for too long. You know it’s a dream, but you sit in the chair anyway. It feels like you're floating. You feel oddly warm. Dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Even though it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to your soulmate - you can’t forget the terrible first encounter. It sticks to the roof of your mouth - a bitter memory that fills you with unexplainable, irrational resentment.

But it’s not like you hadn’t been seeing him, to an extent. You’ve seen all his memories in bits and pieces - all of them tragic and painful. This time, you see people but they come in the form of small scraps. Spiky Red. Electricity. Tape. Pink with Horns. Music. Green. So much green and red - like Christmas, you’ve called it. You’ve seen disappearances, fear, anguish - so much anguish.

In the weeks after All Might’s fall, you were in so much pain - you couldn’t stop crying for days. It’s been enough time to know what feelings were yours and which were his - and these ones felt so much like him. It went on for nearly a year - you’d almost got accustomed to it. If tears showed up to blot the ink of your lecture notes, you didn’t think twice about it. You tried to keep yourself calm, steady - in hopes you could lend your soothing to him. Even if he hated your guts, you could barely believe so much sadness could exist in one person. You didn’t know what happened but whatever it was - it must’ve been terrible. At the very least, you felt sympathy.

Sympathy was enough to get by for a long time. A neutral, level-headed sympathy that helped soothe some of your own hurt.

All that said, you were hardly expecting to see him again - especially not this soon. You don’t remember the last time you thought about him in anything other than passing - actively. It’s one thing to know what's happening - you’ve felt him passively everyday for damn near two years.

But it’s another thing to see him in front of you, force yourself to acknowledge him as your soulmate even if he insists on not doing the same.

You squirm in your chair, noticing that you’re wearing PJ’s instead of clothes. Just a hoodie and sweats, none of which fit you quite right. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fiddling with the stray strand of thread loose.

“What the fuck is this shit?,”

Your stomach drops. Unsure of what to say, you opt to say nothing at all. Just let him be, sit quietly in your dreams and mind your business. Maybe he’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over.

You can’t see him from the corner of your vision but you can hear him shuffle. The way he touches things, noticing how they make noise but don’t feel quite right in his hands. How it feels real but doesn’t, how it is real and isn’t. Surely, he’s noticed you by now. The lingering silence makes you squirm.

“...It’s you,”

You flinch, lifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but it’s different from before. In a fleeting moment, something occurs to you.

You can see him. What he looks like. Blonde with red eyes, and a sharp chin and thin waist. You know it must mean you’ve seen him before - perhaps you’d even seen each other, but for your life you can’t remember where you’ve seen his face. It’s right there, on the edge of your mind, but you’re stumped.

“Hello?,”

“Oh,” your reply comes short, strained. Your eyes flutter as you press your lips into a flat line. “Uh, hi,”

The blonde sits in the chair, slumping down. His eyes go towards the flickering flames without another word and you decide it’s best not to engage. It stays like that for a while, a beat of silence - not awkward but not comfortable, passing by without another thought. It all feels real, present - not like normal dreams. This must be the special kind of soulmate thing you find yourself feeling resentful towards.

His eyes are heavy. Relief is overwhelming him, with an iron grip and he’s worried you can feel it. If you can, you don’t say a word.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admits.

The words sound tender passing through his mouth, unmistakably so - but you don’t get your hopes up. Instead, you give him a placating laugh, leaning forward towards the fire and mirroring him.

“I didn’t think so either,”

When it falls silent, it feels comfortable. It’s not like either of you have anything to say to each other right now, with no manual on how this was supposed to go. If he even wanted to go there.

“I can.. see you,” you start. He squints.

“You couldn’t before?,”

This takes you by surprise. You shake your head.

“No..Could you? See me, I mean?,”

Bakugo feels heat rise to his skin. Oh. Huh.

“Yeah,” he replies, a sharp inhale leaving his lungs “I can see you,”

There’s something tense in the air. It’s a strange sensation - to know the deepest and most intimate parts of someone without even knowing their name proper, or where they went to school, or what they normally eat for breakfast. All that connects you are these mutual feelings, shared grief that holds you two to the title of soulmates. This odd bond.

“..d’ya still think I’m a quirk wielding villain?,” you laugh, or try too - you’re doing your best to cut the tension. He can feel your hurt all the way from your sit, so deep in his gut - it’s been haunting him for years. How many nights of sleep he’s lost knowing there are soft and helpless tears coming from these suppressed feelings. He doesn’t know how to say sorry, so he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s changed a lot in two years - but not enough to be good at this.

“No, I don’t,”

“Oh,”

He smiles, just a little. It’s gentle, casts shadow on his face from the light of the fire. It’s warm, everything feels warm and better and invigorating. When you look at him and his uneasy expression - you know he feels it too.

“By the way, uhm - what’s your name? Ka.. something? Right?,”

His eyes shoot up in surprise. He nods a little.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” he replies, expectantly. You seem surprised that he wants to know yours.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” comes your reply.

“Nice to meet you,” says him, Bakugo - your soulmate.

“Nice to meet you too,”

Getting to know Bakugo is unusually easy. You get the feeling it wouldn’t be, in the case that you were anything but soulmates - but Bakugo has never known being this intimate with someone other than you. Despite himself, how much he hates himself - you never seem too. Even though you feel and see all the ugliest parts of him - have since he was small enough to still be innocent, you always treat him the same.

Your conversations are short, and shallow. Regardless, he’s not used to talking so much about himself. But you’re always curious, so much so Bakugo doesn’t have the heart to see your countless questions go unanswered.

You keep a little notebook of all of your encounters. You remember them by heart but write them down too, just in case you miss something. You ask about his friends - Spiky Red and Soft Green, referring to them that way even after you’ve known their names. You ask about his work - the life of a dangerous hero, and if he ever gets nervous flying through the air.

Admittedly, he’s mean to you. He teases you so frequently, he’s lost count of all the times you’ve huffed and puffed at his sarcastic remarks. Still, you never turn away from him. You stand with your foot down and your arms crossed over your chest - insistent on making him feel flustered too. And it works, somehow - because you know all too much about Bakugou and always gets him right where he’s most conscious about. You don’t have to tease him about his feelings since you know them like the palms of your hand.

But these shallow conversations always mean a little more to him that he knows how to verbalize, and half the time he doesn’t need to do that at all. You’ve learned the masterful of working around him quietly, making all the parts of that feel too big to love - something small and fragile. Somehow, you’ve made being with him, even as friends - feel like less of an impossible feat but a dream.

Katsuki Bakugo has been in love with you since he was 6 years old. There must be some feelings we cannot share with our soulmates, because he has no idea if you feel it or not. He just knows he does, somewhere deep in the cavern of his heart, he loves you.

You never cross the barrier of romance with him, though. A paralyzing fear seems to settle in your bones when you breach too close to love and intimacy - and Bakugo understands those feelings, even if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re there. It’s not something you’ve decided to tell him yet, but he feels it in the same way he feels your loneliness. You may be kind but you’re more guarded than he is, and not fearless but reckless.

But he still finds himself aching to love and be loved by you, no matter how much he hates it. The yearning still manages to swallow him, even late into the night.

MEETING 3:

It’s been a while since your last meeting with Bakugo but not long. You were 21 now, but your dream visits were frequent. When you weren't speaking or seeing him through dreams - you were watching him on TV. You’d been yet to meet with him in real life but to you, that was okay. Seeing him like this had been more than enough.

Today was different. Normally, that bonfire was always a back-drop to these little encounters but it was a field today - a filed with rolling hills and hundreds of flowers and tall grass that made you feel itchy. The sun was permanently stuck right before it set but it was so warm everywhere. When you get there, there’s a blanket on the top of one of the hills. You sit on it cautiously and watch the wind pass. Everything is tinged orange, and red - you know he’s there with you before he appears.

When he does, he seems different. You glance over at him as he stumbles towards you in a stupor, and when he does finally sit - you get a whiff of alcohol coming from his neck and mouth. It’s strong enough to make a little dizzy. Blinking owlishly, he sits crisscross besides you, staring a little at the surroundings.

“..the fuck?,” he slurs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh. He nearly falls over, body swaying so you bring his head down to your shoulder wordlessly, a furious heat running all over your skin. Even though you can’t feel him, the gesture makes you feel something in your belly.

“Why’re you so drunk?,”

“Birthday,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen in surprise. Bakugo is seemingly unfazed, eyes drooping with tiredness. He’s completely inebriated.

You feel yourself grow tender. You’d have to wake up and remember the days date. Despite all the times you’ve met, you had no clue about his birthday or how he celebrated. You feel your heart ache at the idea you’ve spent the latter half of it together, in your own way.

“Happy Birthday, Bakugo.”

“Bakugo this, Bakugo that,” he growls, a little incoherent “We’re supposed to be fucking soulmates and you still call me by that.. damn name.”

He hiccups a little as you sit there stunned. You blink.

“.. You think of us as soulmates?,”

“Are you some kind of moron?,”

You scowl, flicking his forehead with your thumb and forefinger. He makes a noise of indignance.

“Well, how would I know? When we first met, you didn’t seem enthused about it,”

Bakugo sighs tiredly.

“I was 15 and an asshole - clearly I don’t fuckin’ feel that anymore,”

You seem surprised again.

“..You don’t?,”

Instead of swearing at you, he closes his eyes and gets closer to you. The liquor runs through his system like liquid courage and he nods a little.

“Not at all,”

“What do you..”

“What do you think I mean?,” he barks a laugh. You feel your pulse under your skin, drumming against your chest like a hammer. You can’t even breathe.

You’ve had feelings for Bakugo from the second proper meeting you’d had with him. It was clear as a day that he was your soulmate for good reason, that inexplicable draw that kept your heart from ever belonging to anyone else. You tried to - tried to go on dates and see other opportunities through but he was always so one of a kind.

Yet, you’d given up all hope that it would mean anything to harbor these feelings, convinced that Bakugo simply wasn’t interested in you In doing any of this. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t want - so you kept your distance with hope that he’d still be in your life. It was enough, or you’d wanted it to be.

It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t started thinking about it more and more as the days pass. What it would be like to see him, touch him and love him and be with him for real - these passive daydreams gone vivid. If he could see your dreams, he must know about them. But you didn’t know how to approach it - how to approach love at all.

That’s the thing with soulmates. You’re told that you’ll just have the answers, destiny will do the hard work but that’s far from true. Because even now, with Bakugo leaning on your shoulder with this confession lingering in the air - you don’t know what to do.

“Stop being so nervous,” he mumbles. You stumble a little over yourself.

“Sorry,”

He chuckles.

“You really need me to say it, huh?,” he sighs. He picks himself. If he’s drunk and reckless, then fuck it - he’s gonna take it all the way. He drops his head onto your lap with a tired sigh.

“I think you’re my soulmate, you fuckin’ idiot,” he admits.

And it’s hard to say, because feelings don’t come easy for Bakugo Katsuki - but it’s the least he can do. All Bakugo Katsuki has ever known is to be lonely. It’s a loneliness that he’d forced on himself. Bottling up all the anger and sadness and swallowing it. It’s long since sunk it’s claws into him. That overwhelming, all consuming ugly feeling that lingers underneath that superiority complex.

That no one would ever, could ever love the ugliness that lingers in him. That no one who knew him for what he truly is, could care for him. Deku was the first of many disbeliefs and not much had changed.

Except for when it did. Except for when he met you - in a dream, and you were real and beautiful even at 15. That the universe hadn’t been playing some sick joke on him when he kept seeing you in his dreams, so soothing to his teenage loneliness. You were real and that was so fucking scary.

But you loved him anyway. Looked out for him when he was at his lowest - the soothing beat of your heart in the days after All Mights end . When he cried himself into sleep and dreamed of you. God, how he dreamed of you. Not especially romantic dreams, but dreams of how you made breakfast. How you watched cartoons on Sunday and read manga in your classes instead of the assigned work. How you fell asleep on the train station and always ate icecream after big tests. How you were especially mundane and how he got to be apart of that everyday routine.

After all, you see dreams of each other, but Bakugo has no clue what your dreams of him look like. His have always looked like you though.

When he was worthless and empty and unable to give you anything meaningful, to apologize or put his pride away - you had loved him anyway. Felt for him with clumsy hands and held on, not letting go. Even when he was begging for you to leave him alone, in fear of this all being nothing more than a cruel dream - you held on tightly to him. With your silly notebook questions and dumb names.

Bakugo Katsuki has never known what it means to love someone who isn’t you. Even if you found someone else and there was someone better than you for him, he would grit his teeth and bear it. He wonders if he’ll ever believe he deserves you. He wants to believe you’re his soulmate - to believe you wont ever leave. To believe that he did something right enough that the universe could give him someone like you.

And he wishes he could say all this, but he can’t - he just closes his eyes and hopes you can feel it.

“You’re so mean,”

“Isn’t that why you like me?,” he grins.

And you can feel his sincerity. He should feels yours too.

“I love you, actually,”

He gasps, a sharp breath that stabs his lungs. He feels sober from the confession.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks.

“Yeah, shit - me too,”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The address is correct, it has to be with the way this place looks. Only a hero could live here, with the floors that lead up to skies. He lives on 3rd floor, so you swallow your fear. You give yourself a thumbs up in the glass window pane of the building before entering through the doors.

When you get there, a box sits. You press the button next to his place, bouncing on the balls of your feet until you answer.

“Hello?,”

His voice feels different in real life. You cough.

“Uh, hi,” you greet awkwardly “I’m here,”

“Oh,” he says. You hear something buzz and then him again. “Come on up,”

And you do. The elevator ride feels like it stretches mild, classic piano echoing against the empty walls. You feel yourself feel sick but you’re not sure it’s from the movement. All you can do is fidget and wait.

When the doors open, you peak your head out into the hallway. He’s the first one on the left, just as promised. You can see a welcome mat - forest green, and something in you knows that it’s the right one.

You step up and knock, three times precisely. Your heart is all the way in your ears and everything in you is filled with unease and excitement.

When the door swings open, the world stops. You gape like a fish out of water in disbelief. He’s tall and big like he promised he’d be, but you’re unprepared. His chin is scruffy, eyes full of sleep. Strong chest and arms that seem to crowd your vision, you don’t know what do.

His expression is full to the brim with feelings you’ve never seen. He steps aside with his head ducked down.

“Come in,”

“Ah.. right,”

You take your shoes off and place them in the slippers meant for you - they fit you just right, and it can’t be a coincidence. Your heart swells up a little as you take your coat off, hanging it on the rack. You can feel his eyes as they linger on your silhouette.

“So -,”

Before you can get a word out, you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist. His scruff brushes against the skin of your neck as he holds you tightly too him. The warmth of his breath lingers on your neck - and he hiccups, a sob stored in his rib cages let out with a howl. The tears blur your vision too. You can feel his drip onto your shoulder as you snivel into his neck. Your legs feel weak, but he holds you up at the door - the only thing keeping you standing.

You cling around him tightly, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. It’s him, your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugo. He’s real and holding you - and he smells like leather and sugar and a fireplace. He’s warm and strong and overwhelming and your crying into his shoulder with so much feeling you don’t know what to do. You hit him weakly, unsure of what do with yourself and he laughs.

“Damn you, shitty woman - makin’ me fucking cry,” but his voice is strained. It’s like something connected, how you feel each other so intimately in that moment. Not only because you’re soulmates, but because you love each other so deeply. Your heart feels heavy.

When you pull away, you manage to give him a warbly smile.

Your hands cradle his face - so handsome and wonderful. You lean forward, emboldened, and peck him. He melts into your touch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. It makes you grin.

Maybe you don’t realize that he had.

He’d been waiting for you all this time.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bakugou imagine #bakugou imagines #PLEASE SHOW UP IM BEGGING

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 years ago

Text

late night calls

Summary: It all started with a phone call to the DEA office to tell Javier about the surgery of his father. You had insisted to take care of him after Chucho told you about the surgery. That you would fall in love with his son you had never met before? Just as surprising to you as it was to Javier.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Plus size reader

Wordcount: 4.1k+

Warnings: fluff, phone sex, mentions of bomb attacks, sexism, self doubt, yearning?

A/N: I know that probably more time passed between the bombing and Javier being send back to the states but I chose to ignore it. For the plot. Hope you enjoy it :)

Masterlist

*taglist in reblog

You still weren’t used to the heat. Yes, you did move to Texas because you wanted a fresh start. But the fucking heat would take some time to get used to. Nothing was holding you back in Maine. You had spent the last years taking care of your sick mother. She had died just before Christmas and with her all the family you had left.

So coming with the new year you took a leap of faith, packed your things, and moved to a little town close to the Mexican border. You got a job at the local police station as a secretary that made a decent sum of money each month. Life was good. At least you told yourself so.

You had made a couple of friends. Mostly the older generation of the town. You weren’t big on going out, nor had the town a big nightlife in the first place. That’s why you insisted on taking care of Chucho after he told you one day at the diner that he had to get a hip replacement. His wife had died a long time ago and his son wasn’t able to leave work.

“Don’t you have some better stuff to do cariño?” He had asked.

“What better way to start your day than on your Farm, Senior Peña.” You had winked at him.

Chucho might have been a stubborn old man, but once he got out of surgery and was in pain he was thankful that he accepted your help. That was also the first time you heard him talk about his son. Javier.

“Be a dear and call him to tell him I’m okay?” He had mumbled before he dozed off again. You had chuckled, kissed his cheek before you left him for the day to went over to his farm. Once you had taken care of everything for the day you sat down on his kitchen island and grabbed the phone, dialing the first number he had written down.

You had suggested moving into his place in his recovery time. It was a beautiful place. Mexico was just on the other side of the river down the property. But the best part about this place was the air conditioning. Okay… You really loved this place and it definitely was an upgrade to the small apartment you were renting in the city.

Waiting for his son to pick up the phone you wondered what kind of job he would have that he wasn’t able to take care of his father. You didn’t judge him, okay maybe a little, you were more curious. You had seen some pictures of him spread through the house. But you had never asked about him.

“DEA Office, how may I help you?” A woman answered your call.

“Uhm… Is Javier Peña available? It’s about his father,” you tried.

“Oh of course. Agent Peña just got in. Please hold.”

Agent Peña? DEA? You had so many questions but they died on your tongue when the call connected again.

“This is Peña.” A deep voice said. He reminded you of his father.

“Hello Mr. Peña. I’m only calling to let you know that your father’s surgery went fine. He wanted me to forward this to you.”

“Javier, please. Not even my father likes to be called Mr. Peña.”

“Oh I noticed that,” you chuckled.

“He’s fine yeah?” You heard something shuffle on the other end of the line.

“Yeah. Already made some jokes and told me to make sure I feed the horses in the right order.”

“You’re taking care of the horses?”

“Yeah. I’m temporarily moving in to help your father.”

“That’s very nice of you. He never told me about you.”

“There’s not much to tell.” You got up and took out a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m only here for the air conditioning.” You joked. He laughed.

“Fuck I miss air conditioning. Hold on.” You sat down again, hearing only damp voices.

“Fuck. I need to go. Please call me if something comes up. Dad has my home number too, right?” He was speaking quickly and you wondered what was happening.

“Yes, he wrote it down for me. Everything okay?”

“Yeah hopefully. Just some work stuff. Keep in touch, yeah?”

“Will do Javier.”

Chucho got home a week later and he was the worst at listening to doctors’ orders. You still had to go into the station to work, but you spend your whole time worrying about him. It was funny to you how he seemingly had become a father figure to you in less than a couple of weeks.

Of course you found him standing at the kitchen counter when you got to the ranch, the phone tugged between his shoulder and his ear, making himself a sandwich.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” You asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“I was. Then Javi called and I got hungry.”

“Stubborn old man,” you grumbled and he rolled his eyes.

“Come on, I brought dinner.”

“Fine. Here. Javi wants to say Hello,” he handed you the phone before he slowly trotted towards the couch. Shaking your head you put the phone to your ear.

“You are really strict with him,” Javier said.

“Someone has to. Are all you Peña men this stubborn?”

He chuckled. “You have no idea. How is he doing?”

“Overall good. Not complaining as much as in the beginning but then again I am bribing him with my delicious cooking.”

Javier and you had spoken to each other at least two times per week since the first time you called to tell him about his father’s surgery. You learned that he was a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar. You learned that he was feeling guilty about not being there for his father and to take care of the ranch. You learned lots of things about Javier Peña.

“Ah... Delicious cooking. Maybe one day you get to cook for me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You teased, hearing him take a sip of his drink. Whiskey probably.

“Just that my father is praising your cooking so much I wonder if it really is that good.”

“Oh, it is, Peña.” You found yourself smiling. You heard him sigh.

“Everything’s okay over there?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he said too quickly. Definitely a lie. You nodded.

“You wanna stay on the phone while I prepare dinner?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

The better Chucho got, the longer the phone calls between Javier and you seem to get. It was mostly at night after he got home from whatever he had been doing at work that day intending to check in on his father. But after a few sentences, he asked about your day. About how you felt. What your plans for the coming weekend were.

“You sound exhausted Hermosa,” he sighed. It had been a long day at work and all you wanted was to grab a pint of ice cream and drown your sorrows.

“Just the usual sexist bullshit at the PD,” you groaned.

“Want me to kill them?” Javier joked.

“You take care of your nemesis, I take care of mine. But I appreciate the help.” You sat down on your bed, knowing that this was usually the room he occupied when he was here to visit his father.

“Noted. But if it’s any help, I had a shit day too. They seem to get more frequent the longer I stay in this shithole.”

“Maybe you have to focus on the good things of being in this country. There have to be some. The food probably. I always enjoy new food. Maybe go to a museum? I don’t want to intrude but you don’t seem like you do anything besides work and well…”

It was pure accident that you had heard the voice of a woman one night when you had called him for a change. You knew that he looked good, you had seen the pictures, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to you, that he did have a girlfriend. He clarified that he didn’t, that this was just a woman he got intel from. You didn’t ask any more questions, it wasn’t your right. That it hurt to think of him and another woman was something you chose to ignore.

“I never thanked you,” Javier said. You let yourself fall back into bed, staring at the stars outside the window.

“What for?” you asked quietly.

“Thanking care of Dad and the ranch. Listening to my drunken ramblings. You’re a good friend,” he said. You smiled, a warm feeling spreading in your chest.

“You’re a good friend too, Javi.”

Chucho didn’t need anyone to take care of him. Not when he was back to his old health after a couple of months. But he had asked you to move in with him anyway. And you loved to live with the old man. Enjoying not being on your own all the time. And you loved helping him out at the ranch. The PD was still getting on your nerves and you were seriously considering just quitting.

“I hate it. I fucking hate it. I get one dumb line after another, just because I’m a woman. That I helped to get together the evidence to put that fucker away that killed all those women last year is not even of interest. FUCK!” you complained to Chucho. He knew about all of this already. Yet he jumped from his seat when he saw that you did cut yourself while making dinner.

“Careful.” He took your hand in his, leading you over to the sink to look at your wound. It didn’t hurt that much.

“What about if I take care of dinner today, and you go and take a bath? Javier is probably gonna call in a bit…” Chucho winked, putting a bandaid on your finger.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you frowned.

“Just that I see the way you smile every time my son calls.”

“Two whole days off? What are you gonna do with yourself?” You joked. You were laying in the bathtub, the phone in your hand as you talked to Javier.

“Don’t know. I feel like I need a home-cooked meal so I’m gonna nag Connie to cook one.”

You chuckled, crossing your legs.

“Is that water I hear?” he asked and you blushed. Why? You didn’t know. You had undressed numerous times while on the phone with him, but being completely naked and him knowing about it…

“I’m in the bathtub. Chucho’s orders. He’s making dinner before I kill myself doing it.”

You were met with silence.

“You okay, Javi?” You sucked your bottom lip in. “I did only cut my finger,” you joked.

“Just trying to get the picture of you naked in the bathtub out of my head.”

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Doesn’t matter. All I need is to hear your voice and I’m hard…”

“Javi…” you whispered, feeling hot all of the sudden.

“Will you tell me?” he asked.

“Tell you what?”

“If you think about me? Because you are on my mind all the time. I keep picturing how you look. If you have long hair or short hair. What color your eyes have. If your smile is only half as beautiful as your laugh. Fuck… I just wanna see you. I wanna feel you. I wanna taste you Hermosa.”

Unintentionally your unoccupied hand had made its way down your body, your breath coming in short pants.

“Keep talking Javier…” you whispered, your hand slipping in between your legs.

“I want to touch you. Fuck I bet your skin is so soft. I’d worship you. I stay up at night wondering if I could fit your boobs in my hands. What sound you would make when I close my mouth around your nipple…”

“Shit Javi…” You moaned.

“I wonder how you taste. Are you wet for me baby?” he asked and you heard a zipper being undone on his end of the line.

“So wet. You always make me wet. I touch myself when we get off the phone, wondering how it would feel to have you here…” you whimpered.

“I would have fucked you on every flat surface in the house if I was there. The thought of you sleeping in my bed is making me lose my mind.”

You circled your clit with your fingers, a low moan coming from your lips.

“I wonder how you feel wrapped around my cock. I wonder how you sound when I make you cum. I want to hear it so badly…” You were sure he was fucking his hand and you whimpered at the thought.

“I wish it was my hand wrapped around your big cock right now. God, I wish it was your hand between my legs and not mine…” You bit your lips, keeping yourself quiet.

“Put two fingers into that cunt and make yourself cum. I wanna hear you…” he groaned on the phone.

“Fuck Javi…�� you cried quietly, two fingers inside your cunt. “I wish it was your cock and not my fingers.”

“Me too… Me too babe.” he moaned. “Circle that clit for me. Cum for me.”

Circling your clit you almost let the phone fall into the tub when you came with a low moan. You heard him cry out your name on the other end of the line before all that was heard was both of your heavy breathing.

“Javi…?” you asked after a while, still high from one of the best orgasms you ever had. You heard the familiar sound of him lighting a cigarette.

“I meant every single word Hermosa. I want you.” You never thought you would hear these words from him or any man for that matter. You weren’t a typical beauty. You weren’t skinny, you loved food and your curves showed it. On most days you were happy with the way you looked. But you also knew how Javier looked. He was an attractive man and you knew he did indeed have a new woman every other night if he felt like it. He might be interested now, but once he would meet you, there was no way he would make true to all the things he said.

“You’re quiet.” he noticed.

“Yeah. Just coming down from the best orgasm I’ve had in a while,” you joked and he sighed.

“I might not see you, but I know that you’re lying.”

“Okay, it was the best orgasm I ever had.”

“Hermosa…”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Just let me enjoy the illusion of a handsome DEA Agent being interested in little ol’ me.”

“I’ll make sure you believe that it isn’t an illusion until we do see each other.”

Months went by and by now you were pretty sure you were in love with Javier Peña. The phone bill was taking dimensions you were almost guilty about, but Chucho only smiled not taking your money, telling you to make his boy happy. Safe to say he approved.

You had told him about your insecurities and Javier made sure to tell you every time you talked to each other that it didn’t matter how you looked. He told you that you could be green and he’d still go down on you the first time he would meet you.

And you wanted to believe him, you really did. You had told him how you looked after he tried to talk you into sending pictures of yourself “with or without clothes, I don’t care. Though you can guess what I prefer.” he had teased. Javier never made a secret about how much he liked you. Enjoyed talking to you. He told you he had stopped sleeping around for god’s sake.

He was supposed to visit his father in a couple of weeks and the more time passed, the more nervous you became. You didn’t doubt that he meant every single word he said to you. It was years of being on the receiving end of jokes and being the ugly friend that automatically let you feel like you weren’t good enough.

The worst part was that you knew, deep down, that you were beautiful. You loved how you looked. But there still was this voice inside your head, telling you that you would never be good enough for anyone. That there was no way someone would ever fall in love with you.

It was a typical morning at work. You had your coffee and all the files you had to update. Javier had talked to you until you fell asleep, telling you that he felt like he was failing in taking Escobar down. He didn’t tell you much, not wanting you to worry or to risk someone listening, but you could tell that he was exhausted. “I fucked up, Hermosa. I really fucked up and I have no idea how to fix this,” were the words that he had whispered to you in the middle of the night.

You didn’t ask what he meant, just telling him that you’d be there for him, no matter what.

Typing as usual you stopped as the song on the radio was, interrupted by a news report of a bombing in Bogota, Colombia. You knew that there were bombings all the time over there, and Javier always assured you that he was perfectly fine. But with how he was last night, you had a bad feeling.

“Fuck. When are they going to stop that shit over there? If I was there I’d caught Escobar years ago,” one of the officers said. You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply.

“Isn’t Chucho’s son over there pretty face?” The officer stopped in front of your desk and you opened your eyes.

“Yeah he is,” you said.

“Maybe if he would know how to do his job, shit like that wouldn’t go down like that,” he grinned and you wanted to stop, but your hand was faster. Slapping his cheek you got off your seat.

“And maybe if you would know how to use your dick your wife wouldn’t fuck your colleague over there, but you’ll never know, right?” You grinned, picking your purse and walking out.

“I’m taking today off.” You yelled over your shoulder as you walked to your car.

Javier didn’t pick up the phone. Which wasn’t what concerned you on the first day. He would have to deal with the shit that had happened over there. But when three days passed and you could see Chucho getting nervous as well you became restless. The ranch had never been so spotless. The horses had been fed in record time, and you took long rides along the river. If something had happened to him someone would have called, right? You couldn’t even reach his partner Murphy who you had talked to occasionally when Javier wasn’t at his desk.

When a week passed and you hadn’t heard anything you were close to making your way to the airport to just fly down there. What if he died? What if he was gone and you hadn’t told him that you loved him? That you fell in love with a man you had never met before? Getting off the horse you sat down at the tree closest to the river. It was quiet here. This was the outer area of Chucho’s ranch, your favorite spot. You had joked about building a house here once when you were out with the old man and he had agreed that it would be the perfect spot. Sighing you drank from the bottle of water you brought.

Where the fuck are you Javier?

Another week went by without any sign of life from him. You had called the DEA office again but no one seemed to be able to give you an answer. You were growing restless. Working seemed to be the only thing that could get you off the spiraling thoughts of what if? You really had it bad for the man. Shaking your head to yourself you sighed as you parked your car on the usual spot in front of the ranch. Chucho’s truck was gone, he had a doctor's appointment to check on his hip and would meet his lady friend for dinner afterward. You had met her, Estella, once. She was a beautiful woman and Chucho seemed very happy with her. With a sad smile you killed the engine, getting out of the car. On your way to the house you groaned, turning around because you forgot your take out. You weren’t in the mood to cook and the pizza from that place that Javier had told you about was the best you had ever had. While you opened the passenger door of your car you heard the front door of the house open.

Shit. Burglars? You didn’t have anything on you, you could use as a gun. You knew you could probably make it to the horse stable to find something, but not in these fucking heels. Why did you wear these fucking heels? Maybe you could make them choke on the pizza? But then again you were looking forward to eating it.

“Just take what you want, I won’t look.” You called over your shoulder, hoping to just be spared for the day. Closing your eyes you sighed when you were met with no reaction. You heard footsteps on the porch that stopped.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this bullshit today. So either take whatever the fuck you want or kill me….” you turned around and all the words died on your lips.

Standing there, leaning against the porch was no other than Javier fucking Peña. Alive. And looking even better than on the various pictures hanging in the house. He was bare feet, wearing tight jeans and a green shirt that was half undone. Opening your mouth to talk, all that came out was a gasp. He looked at you, his eyes mirroring the million emotions inside of you. Looking down at yourself you felt shy all of the sudden. This isn’t how you imagined meeting him for the first time. You wanted to be pretty. To wear some spanx. To have some make-up on. Closing your eyes you breathed in deep. You were happy to see him, you really were. But the ride of emotions you had gone through in the last couple of days took hold of you. Walking quickly towards him, you pushed against his chest, the air leaving his lungs in a puff.

“You fucking idiot. I thought you died.” You pushed him again.

“Do you have any idea how awful I felt since I heard the news of the bombing? You…” You pushed against his chest again, but this time he was faster, grabbing your wrists as he looked down at you. You felt the tears in your eyes as you finally looked up at him. Almost a year of phone calls and now he was standing here in front of you. Alive and warm. And smelling so fucking good.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding both of your wrists against his chest as he looked at you.

“I should have called but I told you I fucked up. Badly. And I had to fix it and…” he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m here and fuck… you’re even more beautiful than I pictured you,” he smiled a little.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” You huffed, still annoyed.

“No?” he asked teasingly, smirking at you as he leaned down. You shook your head, biting your lip. God, you wanted to kiss him.

“Can I at least try?” he asked, his lips brushing over your temple. You swallowed, shivering when you felt his cheek against yours. Fuck. Why did he smell so good?

“You may try, but I’m really, really mad at you Javier.”

You closed your eyes when he released your wrists and put one of his hands on your back to push you closer against him. He kissed your cheek before he straightened to his full height and looked down at you, his other hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“You’re really sexy when you’re angry,” he teased before he leaned down to kiss you. You melted against him, your hands running up his chest, holding on to the back of his neck as one hand ran through his hair, to pull him down. Kissing him didn’t come close to anything you could have imagined, his tongue parting your lips and you couldn’t help the moan against his lips.

“Still angry?” he whispered out of breath against your lips.

“Slightly less angry,” you whispered back before you found yourself in his arms as he carried you into the house.

#my writing #Javier Peña #Javier Pena x reader #Javier Pena x you #pedro pascal #javier pena x plus size reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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spideyspeaches · 4 years ago

Text

Gorgeous ↬ b.b

A/N: Props to @thefallenbibliophilequote for getting me into bucky XD (fic lowkey based on Taylor Swift’s Gorgeous.)

Warnings: smut :) very smut and nudity.

MINORS DNI

WC: 2.5k+

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Peter Parker & Reader (Platonic)

Masterlist || Taglist

“Do you think he has a girlfriend?” You asked, sipping at the fairly bitter beer in your hand. Looking over your shoulder, you sighed, slumping on the counter of the bar you were in.

You had been dragged along with your neighbour- Peter Parker, also known as the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, to a club right after an Avengers mission. You were no avenger, just a run in the mill overworked and underpaid preschool teacher.

It had become customary for you to tag along with him to bars with the other Avengers, after you had discovered about his spidery abilities. You had always been close to him, he was your brother in everything but blood. You were after all, his bonafide babysitter/best friend.

The others in his team had accepted you with open arms, a weird bond forming between you and them, accepting you as more than "Peter's hot neighbour" and more like a part of their team.

One particular person seemed to have caught your eye.

Cranking your neck to see his slumped figure, you smirked at his back, eyes tracing his broad shoulders and newly buzz cut hair. You hadn’t talked to him much, but from when you had, you found him to be very sweet. He was shy, rarely spoke and always in his own shell, cheeks rosy pink whenever you conversed. So different from what the media portrayed him as that you found it utterly confusing that such a man could be brainwashed and used as a murder machine.

Your heart ached for him, for how misunderstood he was among the antis. You just wanted to hug the man and give him one big forehead smooch. But, oh were you brought back to reality with a hit that you couldn’t really do that without looking creepy.

"Who? Bucky?" Peter smirked, interrupting you from looking at him. Your willed your heart to stop racing and plummeting in your stomach.

“I thought his name was James?” You said, tilting your head in confusion. From what you had read in a source, his name was James Buchanan Barnes-

“Yeah but Steve calls him Bucky, so everyone does too.”

“Oh, Bucky. Has a nice ring to it.” You nodded, ignoring his smug expression, “answer my question though. I’m not gonna hit on him if he already has a girlfriend. Wouldn’t be surprised if he did.” You grumbled the next part, trying to ignore the flare of jealousy you felt in your chest.

Peter had made it very apparent to you that he was fully aware of your humongous crush on the winter soldier. And that little shit never let go of it, even when you weren't anywhere near the vicinity of said winter soldier.

"Why do you think I would know?" He scoffed, going back to sipping his own bottle of beer. Scowling at him, you opened your mouth, inhaling sharply.

"I don't know, cause you practically live there?" You shrugged, trying to feign indifference. You knew he looked right through it, if his shit eating grin and flushed cheeks were anything if not confirmation.

"Bold of you to assume he even talks to me. And anyway, he hates my guts, him and Sam always prank me, it's practically a routine." He said, rolling his eyes, swirling his bottle lazily, "why do you want to know that anyway?"

"You know why." You hissed. Turning around, your breath hitched when you saw him staring at You, wondering if he was just staring at your general direction and if you were going to embarrass yourself by waving at him.

Apparently he was looking at you, because you swore saw a tiny wave coming at your direction, a small smile playing on his face.

“And what if he did?”

“What is it to you, kiddo?”

"You both disgust me. Bucky with his constant questions about you and you with your constant questions about him" Peter muttered sarcastically. Ignoring him, you sighed dreaming, slumping on the barstool, "don't you already have a boyfriend anyway?"

“And what about him?” You grumbled, rolling your eyes at the mention of him. He was hardly a boyfriend, more of a fling, an excuse to stop the pain of being single (you were dramatic, you knew). You were over him, broken up not long ago, but Peter didn’t need to know that. You wouldn’t want Peter siccing himself at your worst enemies.

“What I know is that he’s one son of a bitch who doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near you. Why are you dating him again?” Peter said, snapping you out of your daze.

“Do you kiss your girlfriend’s pussy with that mouth?” You scowled, huffing pettily.

“I’m sorry, who’s girlfriend’s what?” Tony said, appearing out of thin air, his mouth hung as he gaped at you and Peter. You snickered at Peter’s flushed and stuttering form, counting that as one win tonight.

“My girlfriend’s lips. Y/N’s stuttering cause she’s too busy staring at Bucky.” Peter said, fixing you with a look, his head tilted adorably, jaw clenched like the way it did when he was done with your bullshit.

“Hey I’m not staring at him! He’s just so gorgeous- look at him!” You giggled, watching him stumble from his stool, the alcohol in your veins making you braver than before. You had endured more than one round of teasing from the team about your very obvious crush on one Bucky Barnes, yet you went on with your babbling.

“Yeah yeah, you’ve said what what- oh a million times before!” Peter shrieked, hands up in the air, nearly dropping his bottle. Snatching his bottle, you drowned the remaining liquid, dropping it on the counter with a scow, “are you even old enough to drink?”

“Hey! Let me tell you, I’m turning twenty one in a week, or did you forget?” He said, ignoring Tony, who was shaking his head and grumbling something about being too old for this shit.

“Of course I didn’t forget kiddo.” You said, smiling sadly at him, ruffling his messy brown hair. Ever since you met him, you always loved playing with his hair. They were fluffy, just like your cat’s, “Who allowed you to grow up so fast?”

“Y/n/n! I’m only four years younger than you!”

“Ugh don’t remind me.” It still iffed you to no end that the boy who was once nine years younger than you was now 4 years younger, nevermind that he was mature much beyond his age. Mind briefly averted from one Winter Soldier, you didn’t notice him sit down next to you, startled when he called for you. You didn’t even notice Peter giving you a look before Tony dragged him somewhere.

“Hey, you’re Y/n right? Peter’s-” He started, your brain short circuiting when you saw his piercing blue eyes- the most beautiful shade of blue you had ever seen, staring at you, a small smirk playing on his stubbled jaw. You gulped internally, clearing your throat and sitting straight.

“Neighbour? Yes that’s me.” You nodded enthusiastically, smiling as much as you could without cringing at your ecstatic behaviour.

“I know.”

“Cool.”

Shuffling in your seat, you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to speak before both of you were interrupted by your laughter. Getting yourself together, you gestured for him to talk, “go ahead.”

“So, should I buy you a drink?”

“Only if you let me buy you one.”

And that’s how it started. One drink turned to another, and next thing you knew you were kissing him, his hands in your hair, the cold of his metal arm placed firmly on your bare waist as he bunched your t-shirt up in a fist.

For a moment you weren’t aware of your surroundings, the only thing you could feel was his t-shirt fisted in your hands, his freezing palm causing an eruption of goosebumps on your skin as the cold air of the room hit you full force. Panting, you scrambled for the door, holding his hands in the darkened room as you followed him blindly.

Crashing your lips to his once again, you moan under your breath, chest hitching as you scrambled for your shirt and bra, pulling it over your head as you watched him do the same, smirking at the very apparent bulge on his blue jeans.

“Do you have a condom? You panted, tracing his biceps with your nails as you pulled him so that you were chest to chest, your nipples hardening as your bare chests made contact. You could feel your pussy throbbing, groaning at your already growing lady boner, the place between your thighs slick with wetness.

“In my pocket.” He answered, lifting you up as you wrapped your legs around him, throwing you on the bed with questionable stains. You moaned as he dropped his weight on you, his hands burning flames on your skin as he traced patterns on your bare arms, kissing you with a vigor.

Your hands reached for his jeans pocket, fumbling to find the packet of condom while he traced his lips on your neck, nibbling at the curve of your shoulder, making you shudder with excitement.

“Are you sure you-”

“Yes. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Whatever you say doll.”

Your stomach coiled when he called you that, groaning in pleasure as he roughed you up with his hands, his jeans sliding off, leaving his bare thighs barely visible to your eye. His eyes were somehow still illuminated in the dark room, leaving you even more wet than before. You never knew his eyes could turn you on so much that he made you come even before he could slide inside you.

Thrusting your hips, you watched impatiently as he slid the condom on his hardened dick, asking you for permission once more before sliding into you, his hips thumping with yours as he gradually increased his pace, hitting your spot.

“You’re so beautiful, so pretty under me. Perfect little wet pussy you got there doll.” He whispered, closing his eyes as you continued to run your fingers through his hair, holding onto his back with one of your hands, nails digging into his flesh, unable to form any words.

“I’m close.” You moaned, rolling your hips with his as he continued to move, panting, one hand on the headboard and the other on your boobs, keeping you firmly planted on the shitty pub mattress as he kneaded the soft skin, the brush of his fingers on your pebbled nipple your last straw as you finally gave into your climax.

“You good?” He asked, his dick still inside you as you came all over him. Sliding out, you lay on the dirty sheets, your bare body shivering with the excessive hormones that took over you, realising that you had just fucked James Buchanan Barnes.

“Yeah, I’m good, Great. Amazing. Wow I can’t believe this happened.” You said, holding the thin sheet up to your chest as you saw him in the dim lights. His chest was glistening with sweat, his hair stuck to his forehead as you saw him discard the condom in a bin. Biting your lip, you tried not to stare at his bare ass, clenching your thighs.

He gave you a friendly smirk when he caught you, thankful for the dark room, for you couldn’t stand him looking at your burning cheeks.

“You know you can look right?” He smiled, holding your cheek in his cold palm, your own palms sweating as he straddled you, his frame encompassing yours as he towered over you, your thighs already pulsing, begging for a round two as-

“Oh, oh jesus you have nice fingers.” You giggled as he inserted his two fingers in your pulsing core, jerking your hips as he navigated through your slick folds.

“It’s actually Bucky, but Jesus would do too.” He said, silencing you with another kiss. He gave a throaty growl as you kissed him harder, slicking back his hair with one hand, scratching at his scalp with your nails. Smirking under the kiss, you continued to do so until he increased his pace, your throbbing core giving in to the stimuli.

It was somehow easy for you to forget that the man you barely knew had made you come twice in the same night.

“Do you- do you want to go out sometime? Preferably without that Parker kid trailing behind you like a puppy?” Bucky huffed, ceasing his movement to look at you, your mouth open, wiping the smudged lipstick with a finger.

“Aw he has good intentions.” You smiled, licking your lips teasingly as he rolled his eyes, “admit it he’s a good kid.”

“Are you really talking about Parker while I’m fingering you?”

“What? Ew. No, just, he thinks you hate him.” You giggled, shifting on the sheets a little to release your straining pelvis from cramping.

“I don’t hate him, he’s a good kid, but he’s also a little shit at times.” He said, a fond look in his eyes. Your heart clenched at his expression, slowly pulling out of his grasp as you flopped on the bed, turning and looking at him.

“He do be like that sometimes. But to answer your question, yes I would love to go on a date with you.” You smiled, burying your nose in his neck, not even caring that some drunk people might walk in on you two. No one had so far, so you didn’t really care.

To say that you were whipped would be an understatement. You started visiting the compound more often, came to movie nights, spent more time with everyone (especially him).

“No!” You laughed, giggling as he picked you up bridal style, “Bucky! Jeez put me down right this instant or I’ll stick fridge magnets on you!”

You were instantly dropped on your feet, sighing when you felt his arms circle your waist, pulling your back to his chest. The tower was empty, everyone going back to their respective workplaces. It was only the two of you. You could hear him hum under his breath.

“Fridge magnet? Are they those sticky things that stick on fridges?”

“Yes Bucky, that’s exactly what they are. I thought they existed in the 20s?” You scoffed, turning around, falling on his firm chest. Circling your hands around his waist, you pondered at how close you had gotten with him in just a few days. Heck, every time you visited, it felt like you were just growing closer, until you felt your relationship tying in a tight knot. With a snap, you realised that your life might as well be in ruins was he not yours at this moment.

“Only rich people had them.”

Maybe you were going overboard with your feelings, maybe you were rushing things, but you didn’t mind. Getting close to people wasn’t always your strongest suit, but with this man, you didn’t mind having silent conversations. Until you could feel his fingers on every inch of your being.

With your heart thudding in your chest, you realised that you could spend your entire life tightening the knot of your heart with his, listen to him breathe as you laid by his bedside, play silly games with him. You were in love with this man.

“What are you thinking about?” He smiled, still swaying in your embrace.

“Nothing much.”

A/N: the ending is a little questionable but lemme know what you think! Requests are open! :)

#fml it's not showing up in tags T_T #okay here we go last attempt-#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x reader smut #peter parker x reader #platonic reader #spideygirl writes

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givemethatgold · 4 years ago

Text

Fix’er Upper Pt. 6

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Angst, morning wood

Length: 1.5k

Notes: Back at it with their bullshit! Finished this and even though I’m not as ahead as I’d like to be with this fic I have a general idea where it’s going so I’m posting this before I feel like I should? Enjoy! Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛 Header by me 💋

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE

Sleep slowly faded away, like a heavy fog evaporating in the morning sun, and your consciousness was becoming aware of a few things all at once. You were unseasonably warm, you had a raging headache already, and you really needed to pee. The arm slung over your waist was doing nothing to ease the latter issue, but it was also the reason for your warmth.

This was the first morning, since moving into the drafty old farmhouse, that you had woken perfectly cozy and warm. You could say it was due to the fact that you had passed out in your leggings and hoodie but you didn't even want to pretend it wasn't because of the living furnace currently snoring softly into the back of your neck.

Normally, as a morning person, you would jump out of bed and be putzing around the kitchen by now. However, you had no desire to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that waking up cradled in Frankie's arms had created. Morning light was already streaming through the edges of your curtains, casting your room with a warm glow. You watched dust motes dance in the air as you relaxed and matched your breathing with Frankie’s even as his mustache tickled your skin with each of his exhales.

Deciding to give yourself another ten minutes you carefully, as to not wake the grumpy farmer behind you, pulled up the blankets and wormed your body further backward so his curved fully around yours.

Frankie hummed in his sleep as his arm subconsciously tightened around your waist, his large hand spreading out so that his pinky was touching your hip bone and his thumb caressed just under your breast. His mind was still deep in slumber but his body was, er, waking up.

Visions of last night bombarded your mind as you laid there, body frozen and barely breathing to avoid waking Frankie.

Opening up to Frankie, and he to you. Crying, him making you tea, you asking him to stay so you wouldn't be left alone with the ghost of Brad to haunt your dreams... Frankie had surprised you both, if the look on his face was anything to go by, when he had agreed. The initial awkwardness of laying in your bed together, fully dressed. He had eventually started telling you stories of his childhood friends and their adventures and his soft, raspy voice had lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

All of that, however, had been more intimate and exposing than you'd ever been with anyone. Having Frankie wake up, after all of that emotional intensity, to having his boner pressing into your ass? It would be too much, you didn’t want that level of awkwardness detracting from how each of you had let down your walls for each other.

Slowly, very slowly, you rolled to the edge of your bed and slithered to the floor, avoiding the creaky floorboards on your way to the bathroom.

As you stood at the sink, gazing at your reflection, you were pleasantly surprised by your complexion. No bags, no dark circles under your eyes, just a bit of smeared mascara that was quickly wiped away. Last night's slumber had done wonders for your body. Before this morning you hadn't realized how much tension you had been carrying, or how your poor nights had been weighing on your mental state.

One great night's sleep, the best night's sleep you'd had in a long, long time, had completely restored you. Just sharing a bed with another person, nevermind the fact that he was extremely sweet, thoughtful, and hot as hell, had given you the tranquility you were missing. You instantly craved more.

It killed you to acknowledge it but a battered, bruised, yet healing part of yourself cried for independence. Reminding you how little of it you've had. It wanted you to be happiest on your own and not need someone else to feel comfortable and safe.

Hating to agree, you knew that bitch was right. For however nice that sleep had been, and however much you craved it again, you knew that you also needed to find happiness in yourself first. Brad had done so much damage, you needed to heal yourself and find yourself again before adding another person into the mix.

Taking a deep breath and coming to terms with your new resolve, you finished your morning routine before exiting the bathroom. Seeing that Frankie was still snoring away, you decided to run to town for coffee, thinking it would be a nice way to thank him for his kindness and company.

Writing a quick note and leaving it on the table, you stepped outside into the beautiful Autumn morning. Grabbing your bicycle you made the short trek to town, unable to wipe the smile from your face.

Town was busy for such an early house, and you were met with a line of customers in the bakery when you entered. The din of chatting friends nearly drowning out the bell chime above the door. Agnes, the owner ‘for over forty years!’ gave you a wave before giving her attention back to the tourist family at the counter. The smell of cinnamon, coffee, and yeast instantly enveloped you and your stomach growled making you want to order everything they had to offer behind the counter.

Knowing it would take a while before you could place your order, the owners of the place liked to stop and chat with customers, you meandered over to the community notice board that hung on the wall near the little bistro tables that graced the front window.

Amidst the notices for lost dogs, babysitting services, church service meetings, and town hall meetings was a poster for a fundraiser that caught your eye. The local youth group was organizing a county fair to raise money for a skateboard park to be built near the school. Visions of cotton candy, excited girls bursting with glee, and purses bursting with prizes flooded your mind. You had loved visiting the fair when you were younger, and decided that helping out would be a great way of experiencing that excitement again.

Grabbing a phone stub you called and signed up as a volunteer. The lady you spoke to was ecstatic and your offer to help and couldn’t wait to meet you. This was a great opportunity to meet more people in the community as well, you realized. You’d been so busy working at Morales Acres and then on your home, you hadn’t put very much effort into getting to know anyone else.

On the bike ride back home, you felt like you were walking on sunshine. Not only was your bike basket laden down with sweetbreads and a new French coffee press, which Agnes had sworn was foolproof, but you had also convinced Jacquie to volunteer for the fundraiser. It hadn't been hard as her eldest child, Cole, was very keen on becoming the next Tony Hawk.

Your future was looking so bright. There was guaranteed girl-time with your new best friend, meeting new people doing something that sounded super fun, and while you had decided to not dive into anything romantic with Frankie, you were looking forward to spending more time with the grumpy guy hiding a heart of pure gold.

Regardless of the crick in his neck, his belt digging into his hip, and his feet sweating from sleeping with socks on, Frankie woke with a smile. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well. Despite the discomfort, he'd had a dreamless, deep slumber and woke fully rested.

He could try making excuses for it, blame it on the cider, the tiring workday, the spent emotions, but deep down he knew it was due to you. You, who had asked him to stay. You, who had given him so much comfort by just laying next to him. Not only that but he felt like you truly saw him when he spoke. He had opened up more in the last twenty-four hours than he had in the five years since he'd moved here.

He hadn't told you everything yet, the last time he'd done that he had scared away his wife and lost his daughter. He feared that he could lose you too if he told you about Columbia, Tom, the money, and how it had brought out the worst in him.

Frankie had felt safe enough to share his struggles with cocaine, his failed marriage, and losing custody of Annie. You had only shown sadness and concern, there had never been pity or judgment in your gaze.

Coming out of his inner reflection, Frankie soon became aware of just how quiet your house was. He could tell you had left the bed a while ago, as the space you'd occupied had gone cold. There was no usual humming or singing, no footsteps or signs of life. Slightly mystified and erring on the side of caution, Frankie slipped silently out of bed and began sweeping your house room by room.

By the time he made his way into your kitchen, his heartbeat had gone from a panicked staccato to a slow beat heavy with dread. The truth slapping him in the face: you had left. You'd woken before him, slipped away without saying anything, and left your own house in order to avoid him. Frankie couldn't help but wonder if you regretted your plea for him to stay.

Had he taken advantage of your emotional state? Was staying the wrong thing to do? Even though nothing sexual had happened he still felt like he had done something wrong, and felt horrible for it. Had he talked in his sleep, or maybe lashed out from a dream he didn’t remember?

Should he leave and give you the space you seemed to want? Should he stay and apologize? Glancing between the stairs that led to your bedroom and the front door, Frankie hesitated while weighing his options. With a sigh, he shook his head and made up his mind. Grabbing his coat from where it rested on the table, he told himself he was doing the right thing. You’d call when you were ready to see him again.

The lightness in your heart very abruptly turned to confusion when you arrived back home, just shy of an hour after you'd left. Frankie's truck was missing from your driveway.

Walking inside, you placed your breakfast and coffee on the table and had a quick look around for any signs of Frankie. When your search turned up nothing, not even a note back, you slumped down onto a dining room chair with a huff.

Had Frankie just got out of bed, grabbed his coat, and left? You tried to not read too much into it. Maybe he had run home for a shower? Or new clothes?

After finishing off your third cinnamon twist, you pushed the bag away from you in disgust with a little too much gusto and it thumped onto the floor. Heaving a dramatic sigh, you reached down to grab the muffins that had spilled out of the paper bag, and that's when you noticed the note that you had written to Frankie had fallen under the table.

Despite yourself, and what your therapist had cautioned you against, your mind automatically conjured up a scene. Frankie waking, glad that he was alone. Making his way downstairs, reading your peppy little note and throwing it away with a scoff. Leaving in a hurry, glad to be free of you and your issues.

Your heart sank, even while your brain fought against the imaginary scenario. Eventually, just barely, your head won.

When he hadn't shown up after two hours you began to worry. The two extra-large coffees in your system, why let his go to waste? didn't help matters.

By dinner, you were miserably painting the guest bedroom, alone. You told yourself he just needed some space as he had opened up his heart to you in a way he probably hadn’t in a long time. You decided to wait for him to call you once he felt comfortable enough.

Part Seven

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#frankie catfish morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Catfish x reader #catfish x you #Francisco Morales x you #Francisco Morales x reader #Francisco Catfish Morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #Fix'er Upper

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apiratewhopines · 3 years ago

Text

This one is a gift for @teamhook because she is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

Thanks to @jrob64 for giving me advice on artwork and to ultraluckycatnd for reading over this chapter

Midnight

Chapter 1 — The Prince

Summary: In which our heroine meets cute

Chapter 1 of 7 on AO3

“But don’t forget folks,

That’s what you get folks

For makin’ whoopee”

-Makin’ Whoopee, Eddie Cantor

Emma Swan had been in some tight spots, but she’d never been in a run out of gas on a deserted highway with a dying cell phone battery and a stomach as empty as her bank account kind of situation before. In truth, she blamed this unfortunate situation on the same person she blamed all the misfortunes of her adulthood. Neal Cassidy.

There was a time a few short months ago she would have done anything for the man responsible for her current circumstances. Neal had been too good to be true. A real Prince Charming, down to the supposed trust fund and a smile that made her believe in happy endings.

She’d been a sucker. She heard one was born every minute, she just never thought her time would come. After all, one of the few things she learned in the foster system was how to spot bullshit from a mile away. But he looked at her with his soulful eyes and whispered promises in his smoky voice and she fell for it. More than once, actually, and all she had to show for the wasted years was a voicemail box full of collection calls and a wolf at the door.

Because Neal Cassidy didn’t just leave her. He stole her identity, maxed out her credit cards, and took out half a dozen loans in her name. Then he proceeded to use the money to wine and dine a wide assortment of women, the sheer number of which would make Casanova blush. All the while professing his undying love and spending his days eating all her food and watching television from his favorite seat on the couch.

Seriously, you could still see the faint outline of his backside on the cushion.

As countless victims of his schemes started showing up at her door looking for the man who made them feel alive while killing them one dollar at a time, she listened to tears and rants and misery with ill-disguised impatience. How had she become the counselor to the trail of broken girls he left in his wake? When was it going to be her turn to moan and groan and swear she’d never love again?

Well, she did get around to the swearing to never love again part. Some mistakes don’t bear repeating.

The final straw happened two months ago. Neal had disappeared after their final fight. His righteous indignation at being called on his crap and inability to find a plausible excuse for the stack of overdue bills and statements she found stuffed in the back of his gym bag made it difficult to share the same space. She wanted him gone even as her hands itched to touch him one more time.

Unfortunately, leaving her drowning in debt with the knowledge he cheated on her for the majority of their relationship wasn’t enough for him. He decided to do some collateral damage on his way out of town.

He did the unforgivable. He went after Granny.

His target was meant to wound her. While he lied and schemed the entire time they were together, she had been an open book for the first time in her life so he knew Granny was the sole connection she formed as a foster. Her brief stay with the woman before she aged out of the system was a time of peace and healing. Granny was responsible for helping her get on her feet and the two maintained a friendship years later.

Emma received the frantic call from Ruby explaining her grandmother had been tricked into giving Neal a blank check so he could do her grocery run. Hours later, she received a notification from her bank saying her checking account had been wiped out. At that point, the tenuous control Emma had on her emotions disappeared. She sat on the kitchen floor of the apartment she was about to lose, staring at empty walls that still echoed with his laughter in her weaker moments, and she broke into a million pieces.

So it was no wonder she vowed to have her vengeance. To do anything and everything to make him pay. Luckily, since he skipped out on a court date, catching him would also get her paid.

Tracking him had taken more time than she liked to admit. She was good; even penniless and running out of options, she recognized her worth and knew she possessed hard to find skill sets. But she had a sinking sensation that he might be better.

Now she was stranded on the side of the road with nothing except her most uncomfortable shoes to keep her company. But damn did they make her legs look good and with everything else in her life collapsing around her, somehow that seemed important.

Squaring her shoulders, she climbed out of the car and pondered her next course of action. She was unfamiliar with the state road connecting the two small towns on the Maine coast, so she had no idea what the odds were that a good samaritan would happen along. She had just enough juice in her battery and lettuce in her account to call for an Uber to take her to the seedy nightclub where Neal was last seen. Or she could walk the rest of the way in her mile-high heels knowing she never looked better, even though she would probably not be able to move the next day without a significant amount of pain.

What she would do if she found him or where she would stay if she didn’t weren’t questions she was ready to entertain.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and with a huff of frustration opened her app. Pleading with whatever powers that be to let her last long enough to see herself through to the other side of this, she leaned against her beaten down yellow Bug and waited for the black sedan to show.

Of course, her phone died immediately after she booked her ride, finally giving up the ghost even though she didn’t get a chance to see the name or license plate of her hired car. Getting more anxious by the minute, she paced along the shoulder, careful to keep on the pavement since the ground was soft from recent rain. After what seemed like forever, but had probably not been more than half an hour, the headlights of a lone car crested a nearby hill.

“About time,” she muttered. To make sure the driver knew she was not pleased with the delay or the prodding pace he maintained despite the fact the sky seemed ready to open at any moment, she moved out into the middle of the lane and placed her hand on her hips. Pride kept her from squinting even though the bright high beams made her eyes water as the car approached.

Slowing from a crawl to a stop, the driver put the car in park and jumped out. It was dark and the man was dressed all in black, but as he moved around to the front of the car, she got the impression of blue eyes and a stubble-covered jaw that could probably cut glass. Great, just what she needed. A sexy Uber driver.

“Alright there, love?”

With a British accent. He probably smelled like bacon, too.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night.”

Moving closer, he smiled with a hint of confusion. “Had I known you were waiting for me, I would have been along sooner. Tell me, do you always accost strange men in the dead of night on empty roads?”

“Only when I’m paying them to take me where I need to go,” she grumbled, walking toward the back door on the passenger side. She pulled it open as he protested, and glared at him over the top of the car.

“Love, I think there may be a bit of a mix-up—“

“It’s fine. I won’t give you a bad rating for being late as long as you don’t talk to me. I’ve been driving for hours to get here and I need to think.”

She heard him sigh and saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled at her again. “Very well. Would you like me to get your bags?”

“You’d have to go to a pawn shop in Boston to accomplish that,” she joked, dropping into the leather seat and noticing for the first time the expensive luxury of her rented carriage. She supposed if she was going to spend her last dime on a ride, she could have done far worse.

She resisted the urge to use the low ambient lighting of the dashboard to get a better look at her temporary chauffeur. The glimpse she got outside was more than enough to know she needed to keep her distance. It didn’t stop her from feeling the weight of his stare as he peeked over his shoulder while clicking on his seatbelt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw his tongue flicker slowly over his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to the road.

“Nice dress. Where are we heading this fine night, Miss…?”

“You’re really terrible at this. Is it your first time being a driver for hire?”

“What gave it away, love? It’s quite an unexpected development that came about just this evening. But you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

It was everything she could do not to laugh. She had a feeling it would only encourage him and if she was heading into battle, she needed her wits about her. “The Snakehole Lounge.”

“At the risk of sounding cliche, why would a nice girl like you want to go to a place like that?”

“I’m not a nice girl,” Emma informed him without a hint of irony or bravado. “And your rating is going down with each syllable out of your mouth.”

“Tough lass,” he murmured. “But do yourself a favor. Stay away from the Snake Juice.”

Little did he know that even if she wanted to have a drink, and boy did she ever, she used the last of her meager funds to get to this backwater place and she wasn’t sure where her next meal would come from. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. She spent the time looking out the window at the trees flying by and trying to ignore how every time she looked away, her eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, it was probably a good thing they were the only people for miles around or he would have gotten them both killed.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of a shabby nightclub. Even the multitude of neon lights flashing “Girls! Girls! Girls!” and “Half-Price Beer Buckets” did little to enliven the dingy exterior. They didn’t bother with a bouncer, probably because no one actually wanted to get in.

Before she could say anything, her driver was out of the car and rounding his way to her door. She didn’t have a chance to object as he opened it and looked at her with avid curiosity. She had to admit she was impressed he didn’t give into it and ask any questions.

“Since we’re out of the car, am I allowed to speak again?”

Perhaps she had been too hasty in her internal praise. “Thanks for the ride. I hope your next passengers are more chatty since that’s what you’re into...overall, a solid three stars.”

“Three stars? I’d be surprised, but I had a feeling you were warming up to me between the baleful stares and eye-rolling.”

Gifting him with another of the said eye rolls, she adjusted the hem of her skirt to show a little more leg and walked away. She knew if she stayed a second longer she would give in to the almost magnetic pull of him and say something foolish like, ‘What’s your name?’

—

The inside of the establishment was every bit as horrible as the outside. The low lighting obscured the grime and wear that would be glaringly obvious otherwise. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed like the kind of place Neal would gravitate to since he was a dirty little rat.

Music heavy with bass pumped out a rhythm entirely too fast for the energy of the place. The few patrons who persevered this far into the night looked anemic as tired dancers did their best to act like they wanted to be there. Pulling her ID from the scrap of a bra she wore under her dress, she flashed it at the lone employee who manned the entrance and the bar. He gave it a cursory glance and turned back to his phone.

Snapping her fingers under his nose to get his attention, she pulled out a grainy photo of her quarry from the same location and asked, “Have you seen this man recently?”

“I’ve never seen anyone. Ever.” The man grumbled, not interested in the slightest. She wondered if he would stop her if she walked behind the counter and helped herself to a drink. She was leaning toward no and tempted to try.

“Tell you what buddy, take a good look at this picture. Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t seen him and we’ll end the night without any trouble.”

Something in her tone must have penetrated his disillusionment and he gazed at her with more interest than he’d probably shown anything in years. She waited as he glanced at the photo for a few seconds. “No, sorry. If he’s been here, it wasn’t during any of my shifts. Is he your husband or something?”

“He’s something alright,” she muttered. Defeated, she turned around without another word. She used the last of her resources to fund a wild goose chase, but at least it got her into town. Only thing left to do was find a park or quiet bench somewhere safe to sleep for a few hours and then she would tackle whatever came next. It wouldn’t be the first time she roughed it, although she had never attempted it in formal wear before.

Pushing the door open with unnecessary force, she immediately froze. Her three star driver was waiting at the curb as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she hadn’t given him the brush off.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yes, especially since I’m pretty sure our business is done,” she replied, walking past him and wishing the man could be a tiny bit less handsome. Now that the streetlights of the small town were there to illuminate their interactions, she couldn’t deny he was ridiculously attractive and exactly her type, complete with a black leather jacket and messy hair begging to be pulled. And, heaven help her, he was determined to extend their acquaintance apparently.

“It’s just good sense, love. I figured you’d be in need of transportation again, so why waste the gas to leave when I’d have to turn around after you called for your next ride.” He matched his stride to hers as she did her best to increase her pace.

Sighing, she stopped at the corner and looked at him. “Listen, I could tell you my phone is dead and I need to make a few more stops, that I’d pay you when you drop me off at my place at the end of the night, but it would be a lie. I’m chasing down a bounty. I need the money to pay for a ride and I need a ride to make the money. A smart man like you can see the problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned away again but felt him leap into action behind her. He moved to cut off her escape and said, “Double or nothing.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Double or nothing, sweetheart. I take you to wherever you need to go tonight and when you collect your fee, you pay me double whatever the normal fare is for jaunts like these.”

“What if I don’t find him?”

“That’s where the nothing comes in, lass. A smart woman like you can see the benefit of such an arrangement.”

She studied him, hoping to find some ulterior motive in his seemingly selfless offer, but all she saw in his expression was an earnestness bordering on being painful and a thirst for adventure barely contained. Perhaps this was how he got his kicks in an isolated town. He propositioned strangers and gambled on fate. “No strings? No funny business?”

“This whole business is funny, but I’ll behave myself if you will. We’ll have much less satisfaction that way, but I’ll do my best to rally my spirits and overcome my disappointment.”

With a rueful shake of her head, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “I guess we’re doing this. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones, driver extraordinaire and captain of this fine vessel, at your service. Where’s our next stop?”

“I need to go to every seedy bar and filthy dive in the area so you tell me, Captain.”

—

She wasn’t sure what it said about her newfound companion that he was able to rattle off several places in a matter of seconds, but as the night stretched on and the miles racked up, she found she rather liked her tour guide. Which was probably a good thing since at this rate, she would be splitting the bounty fifty-fifty with him. Who knew the twin cities of Storybrooke and Misthaven had so many sleazy places to hang out?

“I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of the line, Swan. Are you sure he’s in the area, because every traveler worth his salt makes a point to stop by Moe’s Tavern while visiting our fair city.”

“I can see why. The thrift-store ambience is delightful and the watered down drinks are to die for,” she murmured as she rested against the side of his car. She was tired and weak from hunger and as much as she wanted to curl up in the back seat and sleep, she was scared she’d get used to the comfort he was offering and do something she might regret later.

She was trying to figure out how to cut and run without seeming ungrateful when her stomach growled loudly.

In a playful tone belaying the concern in his eyes, he asked, “Was that your stomach? Bloody hell, am I in danger? Are you going to try to eat me to satisfy the beast within?”

Feeling a blush color her face, she avoided his gaze as she said, “Sorry, I...um, I skipped dinner.” And breakfast and lunch for that matter.

Taking up a position next to her, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Tell the truth, when was the last time you ate something, lass?”

“Hmm, what day is it again?”

“As I suspected. Come on, I know just the spot.” Pushing off from the car, he gently moved her and opened the door to the backseat.

She wanted to fight, to tell him she could take care of herself. She would have too, if she had any energy at all. Meeting his eyes for the first time, she joked, “You lost a gamble, Captain. That doesn’t mean you have to feed it.”

“I consider it an act of self-preservation. I figured you for a man-eater the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I’m afraid you might prove me right in unexpected ways if we don’t get some food in you soon.”

“As long as eyes are all you plan on laying on me, I accept your gracious offer,” she replied with a narrowed stare. Before Neal, she trusted her instincts. She would have insisted they were infallible, but he had shaken her confidence. She couldn’t risk being wrong about Killian Jones of the electric eyes and perpetual helpfulness.

“No strings. No funny business, Swan. Those are the rules. Get in, your chariot and dinner awaits.”

He stood a few feet from her, urging her into the car and she wasn’t sure what drove her to say it, but before she could change her mind, the words were out. “I’d rather ride in the front this time if that’s okay with you.”

His smile could have melted metal, tempted angels to fall, and inspired devils to repent. It was probably lack of rest and food causing her stomach to do flip flops. Or at least that was what she was going to tell herself.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have…” He closed the back door with a firm finality that echoed through the night and somehow felt momentous in the thick air of summer. When he opened the passenger door, the light seemed warmer and it bathed him in softness and shadows. He waited patiently as if he knew something had shifted between them and he didn’t want any sudden movements to break the odd spell.

Then her stomach growled again, angry at the promise of food being delayed while she gawked at the man who was determined to rescue her in every imaginable way.

“And dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, taking care not to make contact with his body as she slid into the seat. She was glad the door was already closed when she left out a huff of air. Good thing she had sworn off love or she may be in some danger.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

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the-beskar-alchemist · 4 years ago

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I am once again back on my bullshit

- Okay so I really appreciate how realistic they're being with the Razor Crest. Do I enjoy the possibility of the ship being damaged beyond repair and Din possibly losing it for good? Absolutely not. I just think it's refreshing that they're not pulling some Fast and Furious nonsense where the ride keeps getting damaged but seemingly is indestructible. It really brings perspective to Din's overall situation: No matter what, any moment could be the final straw before he loses everything, so he tries to make his time count. If he’s going down, he's going down giving 110%, go big or go home.

- Din pulled a Captain Jack Sparrow, coasting his way to the dock, barely making it in before the ship goes under water, and handing the harbor man some money to take care of it

- Din seemed kind of entranced at the sight of the frog family reuniting??? I wonder if he felt lonely for a minute, missing that feeling of being surrounded by family

- Din referring to the baby as his "friend" is kind of off-putting, but when you think about it he's on the run he can't very well let it be known that he's traveling with someone who could be used as leverage against him because of a familial connection. Sentiment can be deadly if the wrong people know who is important to you. Safety first is Din's motto in this situation.

- POOR BABY AND THE FACEHUGGER

- I knew what that Cthulhu-looking was up to, but I was still surprised......also am I the only one how got Kraken vibes from that mamacore???? Space Davy Jones be like "RELEASE THE KRAKEN!!"

- DIN BABY CAN YOU EVEN SWIM???????

- OMG THE GRATE SCENE, THE DREADED GRATE SCENE. POOR DIN MUST'VE BEEN SO TERRIFIED OF DYING AND NOT BEING ABLE TO SAVE THE BABY

- DIN WAS SO SCARED FOR THE BABY, HE DIDN'T EVEN CARE ABOUT HIMSELF HE JUST WANTED THE BABY TO BE OKAY AND WHEN THEY FISHED HIM OUT???? DIN WAS SO RELIEVED, HOLDING HIM LIKE A NEWBORN (DO NOT THINK ABOUT DIN HOLDING HIS OWN HUMAN BABY DO NOT GO THERE YOU WILL EXPLODE)

- I've always read the "hiss" concept of removing the helmet in fics, but never actually HEARD it in the show (at least not that I remember, and I've watched the 1st season multiple times)....until now, so that tells me that Din's helmet is not designed to withstand underwater trips, hence his panic at possibly drowning

- BABY'S FACE AT THE SIGHT OF HELMETLESS MANDOS LIKE "FATHER???? DOES YOUR FACE COME OFF TOO??? FATHER PLS"

- So it's pretty much established that Din was a child of Deathwatch, but I'm not as immersed in SW 'lore to fully understand a number of things, but I DO know enough to realize the seriousness of this information, and the weight of guilt and potential existential crisis that Din may experience in the future.......it very well may shake his beliefs to the point where he will question the purpose of continuing with the Creed.....possibly even joining a different faction/tribe?

- It's possible that the baby is avoiding using his abilities to deter any unwanted attention. If he keeps using them at every turn, it's going to become even MORE difficult to hide from the Empire

- Din truly believed that retaking Mandalore was a wasted effort, but is this the result of general gossip or the Deathwatch trying to avoid any possible members reuniting with the more pacifistic mandos, thereby decreasing their following? Is this why they were so keen on rescuing Din all those years ago? A pre-emptive strike at gaining enough numbers to challenge the new "way"?

- Din is very adamant about following the Creed in regards to wearing the armor and covering his face, but he's a bit lax on some other aspects of it, for example: He's quick to dismiss Bo-Katan's request to help her team retake Mandalore by seizing the weapons, but then he turns around and uses the Creed to get assistance in helping him find the Jedi

- Empire goons always give me Nazi vibes with their outfits, but then again that's the point isnt it?

- BO-KATAN REALLY OUT HERE WITH HER ASSASSINS CREED HIDDEN BLADE

- Din always seems like such a badass, Leroy Jenkins-ing his way through every fight, but compared to the other mandos he's kinda.....I don't want to say slow, but he's definitely lacking their level of finesse

- I really want to know how Din feels about this new method of "the way", how personalized it can become depending on the mando/tribe in question. Was this the first time he ever disliked hearing the phrase spoken?

- BRUH THAT CAPTAIN REALLY WENT "HAIL HYDRA" AND TRIED TO TAKE THE SHIP DOWN

- So they couldn't be affected by the ship suddenly ascending from the port, but they sure as hell felt it start to DESCEND

- GODAMMIT DIN THAT ARMOR DOESN'T MAKE YOU INDESTRUCTIBLE

- I can't help but notice that despite Din's name having been revealed in the last season, the subtitles still say "Mandalorian", while any other named character (including the other mandos) have their names listed

- Bo-Katan saying "This is the Way" at the ended kinda sounded like an olive branch like "Sorry about the bad first impression, and for taking advantage of our deal, but you're still a swell guy, hopefully we can be allies", and Din's "This is the Way" was like "I've had enough bullshit for today, but I'll play nice for your sake", every time I hear him say the words it sounds like he's just repeating them back, like there's no true emotion behind them

- DIN GIVE YOUR SON A FRIEND/PET TO PLAY WITH I BEG YOU HE NEEDS PLAYTIME AND COMPANIONSHIP

- The Crest is literally being held together by zip ties and ductape at this point

- I love hearing Din curse, he's become so much more vocal this season in regards to how he's feeling in various situations, I love that his emotions are evolving with each new episode

- Din SEEMS nonchalant about having a lead on the jedi, and possibly the baby's home, but I feel like maybe he was trying to distract himself from the fact that he's having an identity crisis.....and that he's getting closer to the day he'll have to give up the child

#din djarin #mando #mandalorian #the mandalorian #the mandalorian series #the mandalorian s2 #the mandalorian season 2 #baby yoda #yodito #bo-katan #bo-katan kryze #chapter 11 #s2e3

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alexthemagicaldevil · 4 years ago

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Of Medea, Jason, and Other Tragedies

Some of you might remember a post I made a little while ago comparing how Quackity and Technoblade fit into the lore of the DSMP. Here are my thoughts via a 3k words of angst:

Read it on AO3

There was nothing left of L’Manburg.

It was something universally understood and known. Something that was never questioned. Something that everyone just accepted so that they could move on and not think about the nation that had too many traitors, too many broken promises, too many memories. It was something that everyone thought they believed so that they wouldn’t go looking for little pieces left behind, pieces that miraculously survived the desimation.

But Quackity knew the truth. Those little pieces could be found without looking too hard, whether it be in the fractured relationships of the SMP or the physical evidence that managed to not become ash at the bottom of a crater. And Quackity, well, he held both of those pieces in the palms of his hands.

In one hand, he held the souls of those fractured by L’Manburg’s memory. Fundy and his desperate need of a stable family, with a past scarred by a father that went mad and nightmares that haunt his waking actions. Sam and his futile attempts at control, gradually being poisoned as he pushes everyone away and tries to single handedly keep the server’s god locked in his own prison. Purpled and his lack of legacy, even in a place he so heavily influenced and his skills so valued yet so dismissed. Foolish and his beautiful builds and broken heart, running away from his destructive past and wanting peace despite the possibility of godhood sitting at his fingertips.

In the other hand, Quackity held a poster, one of the last remaining remnants of the place he had once fiercely declared home. He has no idea how it survived. Most of the physical pieces of L’Manburg that could be found were sections of buildings just far enough away from the explosions, items in random chests, or whatever was on the citizens at the time. Yet somehow, through all the fire and TNT, this poster had survived.

Technoblade. Wanted dead or alive.

Quackity had found it relatively soon after Doomsday, wandering around the crater where L’Manburg once stood. It was slightly singed on the edges and an entire corner was gone, but there it was, lying on the ground innocently, Technoblade’s mocking eyes staring at him with something like satisfaction.

He should have left the thing there. It would have eventually faded away like the rest of L’Manburg with enough time under the elements. Or maybe he should have burned it and forgot it was there in the first place. Whatever he should have done, picking it up, carefully folding it, and stuffing it into his back pocket was definitely not it. But he did. And it stayed with him for a long time.

At first, it was just there, a burning reminder in his back pocket of all he failed to do and what he promised to accomplish. It was there as he built Las Nevadas from the ground up, barely noticeable besides the constant nagging reminder in the back of his thoughts. It was there when he hired Purpled and Technoblade to take care of the Eggpire that had gone on for far too long, growing heavier and heavier each time the Blood God looked at him. It was there when he found out about Kinoko Kingdom for the first time, how the only three people he thought he could trust, the reasons he built Las Nevadas in the first place, left him behind without a second thought.

(The poster didn’t feel heavy then, but it did feel like it was laughing at him. Low and monotone, coming from deep within his memories.

The poster didn’t feel heavy then, but the two rings threaded through a chain around his neck did. They felt like shackles threatening to weigh him down and drown him.

Quackity removed the rings and hid them in a chest after that. Somehow, though, they still felt suffocating).

The poster was there for everything, tucked away in his back pocket, even when he began recruiting members for Las Nevadas. Through Foolish and Fundy, Purpled and Sam, and even through Slime. It knew everything, Quackity would find himself thinking. Of course, there was no way for a poster to know anything, but it didn’t stop the thought.

It wasn’t until after Wilbur visited him with Tommy after his revival (and so many memories of Pogtopia) that he finally took the poster out of his pocket. He was alone at the time (as he always is these days, it feels like, even surrounded by other beings) and in his unfinished casino. Sam had left nearly an hour ago to continue his duties as the Warden at the prison. The echoes of their conversation reverberated through Quackity’s mind.

Technoblade is going to the prison to see Dream tomorrow, he remembers saying. I trust you know what you have to do.

Of course, Sam had replied, the intense green of his eyes sparking in the dim lighting of the casino. You’ve done your part. Now I’ll do mine.

Quackity stared at the glass of whiskey in his hand. It had always Schlatt’s drink of choice, when he was still breathing. The smell reminded Quackity of the long nights he spent as Vice-President to a man barely sober enough to stand, let alone run a country. How many times had he put the smallest amount of poison in Schlatt’s drink, hoping that this time, it would be enough to end him for good? How many days had he spent hiding bruises and putting on fake smiles, wondering if it was all worth it? How many nightmares had he endured, thinking about everything Schlatt did and made him do?

He drank all the whiskey in one go. It burned his throat and pooled like fire in his stomach.

The glass made a satisfying thud on the counter as Quackity set it down. It was then that he finally reached for the poster in his back pocket, holding it almost gently in his scarred hands. He traced the edge of it with his finger, thinking deeply.

Quackity unfolded the poster, one fold at a time. The folds were deep from the sheer amount of time it’s spent in his pocket. It was honestly a miracle that it was still intact, given the state it was in when Quackity found it and the constant strain it’s been under since.

When Quackity finished unfolding the poster, he placed it against the wall and used his empty whiskey glass to hold it up. It looked just like he remembered, even back when the Butcher Army was first created. Sure it was faded and threatened to fold on itself at any moment, but it was still there. The reward, Technoblade’s face, the L’Manburgian flag.

Quackity stared into Technoblade’s red eyes. It was only a drawing, but whoever had done the picture nailed the resemblance to the Blood God. The scar over his eye and lip itched just looking at it.

“You know Technoblade,” Quackity found himself saying. “Before we met, I always had a healthy respect for you. Who didn’t? Everyone was in awe over the Blood God, the most terrifying fighter of our generation, rumored to never be able to die.” He sighed. “Of course, fighting was never my strong suit. You found that out first hand,” he added with some humor, though it felt flat. “Still, a part of me longed to do what you do. Words can only get you so far, get you so much respect.

“They say you should never meet your heroes. Something in that has to be true, because ever since I’ve known you, my life has been nothing but one bitter failure after another.” The poster didn’t reply, and Quackity understood with some absurdity that he was literally talking to a poster as if it were a real being. Still, he continued on.

“Well, maybe that’s giving you too much credit, but it sure feels like that. It’s just,” he trailed off slightly, moving his hands around, trying to figure out some way to articulate his point. Words were supposed to be his weapons, but here, vulnerable and trying to express something that’s been gnawing at him for so long, they scrambled in his throat. “Somehow you come out of every battle, every conflict without a single mark, yet I’m punished for every decision I’ve made since I came to this Primeforsaken SMP.”

And those words, Quackity realized, are when the floodgate inside his chest burst.

“No matter what you do, who you hurt, who you kill, what everyone wants or tries to accomplish, you have never paid for anything you’ve done to the people of this server. I remember when we took down Schlatt with Pogtopia, how you were so insistent that the government had to be taken down, all the while talking about how it was the people’s choice to live how they wanted to live. Well guess what, shithead? The people, L’Manburg, us, we decided that we wanted a government, one that listened to us and one that we could trust. And what did you do once the people made their choice? What did you do after we had called you our friend and said you didn’t have to live by our ways if you didn’t want to? You called us traitors. Said we used you, when all you ever wanted was an excuse to push your own anarchist bullshit down the throat of any server that would give you the time of day. You’re somehow the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met, even in a world where Dream runs around as the Admin.

“But that’s not even the worst of your sins, isn’t it? I’ve watched you blow up countries with no remorse, execute a child on the whim of a dictator, corrupt and hurt every single person I’ve ever cared about, destroy what I put every ounce of my heart and soul into like it was nothing.”

There were tears aching behind his eyes now. Quackity took a shuddering breath, trying to calm his hurting heart. He thought about Schlatt and his time in Pogtopia, thought about Tubbo and Tommy and Niki and every other L’Manburgian face as they realized the nation they loved was gone at Technoblade and Wilbur’s hands. “And what were your consequences for all of this? What karma did the oh so powerful universe decide you deserved?

“Nothing. Not a single, goddamn thing. For all your violence and bloodshed, you get to live in a nice cottage in the Arctic, filled with friends that celebrate your birthday, and not a single regret.”

Quackity smiled blankly at the poster, raising his hands. By now he was full on pacing in front of it, his shoes making soft noises against the tile. All the while, Technoblade’s red eyes watched his every move.

“But what about me? Prime knows I’m the furthest thing from a saint this server has to offer, but at least I had good intentions. I went against Wilbur during the elections not because I wanted power, but because I saw what he was doing and no one else was going to call him out on his bullshit. I mean, come on! Running a single party election in a so-called democratic nation? Now, that doesn’t mean I didn’t do bad things. I should have left Schlatt the moment I realized just how bad he was. I shouldn’t have waited until after he ruined L’Manburg and executed Tubbo to join Pogtopia. It haunts me every waking moment.” Quackity stopped his pacing for a moment, lost in the memories. Tubbo screaming, the flash and bang of a firework. The explosion of color from the second firework immediately after, because the first one hadn’t been enough. The burning in his chest as he was hit with a firework of his own.

“And then, after you and Wilbur decided to blow it all to kingdom come, I did everything I thought was best for L’Manburg. I helped people. I rebuilt everything you destroyed and made it better. I wanted to hunt you down and make you pay for everything you did.” His scar began to itch again. “But I guess we both know how that turned out.

“And what were my consequences for this? For doing my best, realizing my mistakes, trying to fix them, trying to protect those around me? What karma did the oh so powerful universe decide I deserved?

“Everything. I was punished for everything. Every place I called home, every person I called a friend, every time I fell in love, anything I tried to protect, every time I tried to be happy, I was punished for it. Somehow in this fucked up version of the story, I’m the villain that needs to be punished for their actions, while you’re the blameless hero that gets a happily ever after!”

Quackity was near yelling at this point. It felt good to let out all of his emotions after so long, putting everything into the open even if no one else heard him. He forced himself to calm down slightly, running a hand through his hair.

“Have you ever heard the story of Medea and Jason?” he asked abruptly. The air of the casino seemed to shift uncomfortably with his sudden change of tone, lighter and lower than before. “You probably have, with your obsession with Greek Mythology and shit. You know something interesting about Medea, though? Even though she did horrible, and I mean horrible things, she never lost the favor of the gods. She abandoned her country for some random dude she fell in love with, plotted the murders of her brother and father, as well as murdered a princess with a poison so strong that it killed anyone she touched, and even killed her own children. Yet she doesn’t pay for any of it. Through all of the murder and sorcery, the kept her favor with the gods, and was allowed to have a happy ending. Hell!” Quackity let out a barking laugh. “She doesn’t even die as far as anyone knows! Greek mythology is known for its love of horrible and dramatic deaths, yet of all of the myths she shows up in, never once does it mention her eventually dying, even of old age! Sounds like someone else we know, doesn’t it?”

He paused for a moment, as if expecting a reply. Of course, there was none.

“Now Jason, Jason, on the other hand, we see something interesting. You see, he loses his favor with the gods, specifically his patron Hera, because he was trying to marry another woman even though he was already married to Medea and had two children with her. Can you imagine your patron goddess being the lord of marriage and family, and then you trying to marry another woman? The balls on that man, I’m telling you. The point is, none of his heroic deeds mattered in the end. He lost favor with the gods, lost his wife and children, and ended up dying alone, crushed under the weight of the Argo. The only thing left to immortalize his heroism ended up being the cause of his death.”

Quackity suddenly paused. His words echoed in the casino around him. No longer was he pacing. Instead, he stared long into the distance, as if he could see something through the thick walls. The weight around his neck was nearly unbearable. When he spoke again, it was just above a whisper.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is you are an awful lot like Medea. Doing horrible things left and right with the gods still choosing to favor you, still getting a happy ending despite all the pain and grief you’ve caused. But…” he trailed off, looking back at the poster. It may have been his imagination, but Technoblade’s eyes seemed less mocking, somehow.

“I have hope. Maybe you’re not Medea. Maybe, just maybe, you’re Jason. You’ll do something so terrible that you’ll lose your favor with the gods, lose everything that ever mattered, and you’ll be crushed under the weight of what once proved your worth.” Quackity walked forward, reaching out his hand. His fingertips stopped less than an inch from the surface of the poster, just hovering. Waiting. Contemplating.

“But I can’t wait for that to happen. I can’t wait for the universe to finally decide you’ve lost its favor.”

He dropped his hand. “You once said something, Technoblade. You said: treat others as they have treated you. That was your excuse for everything you’ve done. I tried to enact that saying once before, and I lost a life because of it. This time around…”

Quackity finally snatched the poster from the place on the wall, rattling the glass in the process. He refused to acknowledge that there was the finest tremble in his hands, making the poster shake.

“Well, the universe already made me the villain of this story. Might as well act like one.”

Quackity ripped the poster to shreds, piece by piece, one of the last remaining pieces of L’Manburg destroyed at his hands. Soon it was so shredded that it was unrecognizable, a pile of paper falling softly to his feet. When it was gone, it felt like pressure was relieved from Quackity’s shoulders. For the first time in a long while, he smiled genuinely.

He walked out of the casino, leaving the pile there for another day. He was sure Slime would clean it up without much fuss.

And if the weight around his neck grew to be nearly unbearable-- well, that was no one's knowledge but his own.

18 notes · View notes

scripts4dreamers · 5 years ago

Text

Bedside Manner

AN: Lockdown is always hellish but it does leave you a lot of time to think. Characters: Marcus Arguello Pairing(s): Marcus x reader Spoiler(s): None Warning(s): Swearing, unhealthy coping mechanism (Smoking/drinking)

Prompt: this post I saw from @write-it-motherfuckers

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When the monks rushed in and started pulling people out of class, you weren’t sure if you were terrified or relieved. On one hand, you could hear the fight happening in the corridors, the sound of Saya and Maria yelling at one another, kids cheering something on, and you were scared of what they might do to one another if no one intervened. On the other, the school itself getting involved was almost never a good sign and, as a staff slammed into your back, ushering you forward, you couldn’t help the rising tide of panic in your chest. The corridors were packed with students being pushed and shoved towards their rooms and you searched through the chaos, without much hope, for a familiar face.

“Y/N!” You heard someone call, “Y/N!”

“Marcus?” You shouted back, turning in the direction of the voice, “Marcus where are you?”

“I’m here!” He shouted, closer now.

The kids next to you pushed and shuffled forward, blocking your view and, no matter how much you twisted and turned, you couldn’t see past flashes of navy blazers and anonymous patches of skin. It was horribly claustrophobic but, just as the panic started to get too much, you felt a hand wrap around your wrist and caught sight of a familiar mess of brown curls.

“Got you,” Marcus assured, still several people behind you, “shit Y/N/N I thought-shit, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Maria and Saya?” You asked.

Marcus shook his head, “I’ll explain later. What’re the monks doing?”

You opened your mouth to explain but, before you could, Master Lin did it for you.

“Everybody back to your rooms,” Master Lin’s voice boomed, “We’re officially in lockdown.”

Marcus’ eyes widened. The monk at your back shoved you hard, forcing you forward and through the first available door. You stumbled in, tripping over a backpack on the floor, and just managed to catch yourself before you fell. From behind you you could hear Marcus being pushed into the room and, beyond that, just for a second, the sounds of your fellow students yelling and complaining before the door to your room slammed shut and you heard the lock click into place. Your heart sank and you swore under your breath, turning to face Marcus, who was tugging uselessly on the door handle.

“It’ll be locked from the outside,” you told him, “always is during lockdown.”

Marcus Arguello was almost a friend of yours. Almost. You liked him well enough. He was smart and funny and caring, he was friends with all of your friends, he was helpful and interesting, he respected boundaries and he always knew how to get a smile out of you. All in all, he was an incredible person, but that was kind of the problem; you liked him a lot. Too much. Since his first day at King’s, Marcus had done nothing but make you smile and blush and generally make an idiot out of yourself at every available opportunity, which, at this particular high school, wasn’t just embarrassing, it was dangerous. Trouble followed him like a lovesick puppy, putting your life at risk more than once but, no matter how many times you told yourself to just forget him and move on, you couldn’t. You just kept coming back, every time. You wanted to believe that some part of you was distancing itself from Marcus and that that was why you were hesitant to call him a friend but, if you were honest, you just weren’t keen on lying to yourself. You were in too deep, he meant too much to you.

He sighed, “Fuck.”

You hummed in agreement, trying to hide how nervous the idea of being stuck in a room with Marcus made you feel. There wasn’t much else to say about lockdown anyway. They didn’t happen often, but this was by no means your first, and you knew there was no real point in fighting it.

“This is bullshit,” Marchus continued, “they’re not really just gonna keep us locked in here, are they?”

“Yup,” you answered, collapsing onto the bed and picking up a book, “no leaving except two bathroom breaks a day and meal times. You might as well get comfortable.”

“This isn’t even my room,” Marcus complained, “what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“No, it’s my room,” you explained, gesturing to the other twin sized bed, “you could start by sitting down and telling me what the hell is going on.”

Ever since that trip to Vegas, where everything had gone so horribly wrong, things had been different. Marcus had been different. He was more somber, vacillating between being on edge and being extremely happy and relaxed. He was stressed, of course, you all were but there would be moments when you would look up and catch him just watching you and then, when he saw you looking, he would just smile a bit, like he was sad about something. It always made something in your chest pinch. What made the situation worse was that, outside of those moments, he’d been distant with you. More distant than what was usual for Marcus. As far as you could tell, he was avoiding you in class, sitting next to Petra or Lex at lunch and just generally keeping you at arm’s length. You hadn’t had a real conversation in weeks. You wanted to be indifferent to it but, in reality, it had hurt more than you wanted it to and you wanted an explanation.

He wasn’t smiling at you now. If anything, you noted as Marcus folded himself onto the floor with his back against your roommate’s bed and buried his head in his hands, he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in days and it was wearing on him. That thing near your heart pinched again and you cursed your own selfishness. Marcus had obviously been dealing with a lot, more than the rest of you combined probably, and all you could do was think about your bruised ego. Typical. Cautiously you swung yourself upright, sitting cross legged on your mattress to face your friend.

“Marcus, are you okay?”

“Hmm?” he answered, his voice thick with exhaustion, “What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine Y/N/N, don’t worry about it.”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief but didn’t push, knowing he’d open up in his own time.

‘How long do you think we’ll be in here?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Until Lin gets what he wants, I guess.”

“What if-” he paused, “what if he doesn’t though? What happens then?”

You leant forward, “What’s going on, Marcus?” you asked gently, “You can tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Before you’d even finished the question he was shaking his head, “No. No, Y/N/N trust me, you can’t help with this.”

“I can try,” you argued, giving him a small smile, “I’m pretty smart, you know?”

For a second it looked like Marcus wanted to cry. His eyes watered up and you had to fight the instinct to reach down and pull him into a hug.

“Yeah, I know that.” he said softly, sniffing and wiping his eyes to force back the tears, “Okay, Y/N, I’ll tell you.”

Satisfied, you leant back on your bed, waiting expectantly while Marcus collected his thoughts. He sighed again, running his hand through his already messed up hair. His dark eyes darted around your room, taking in every inch of the place like he’d never seen a dorm before. It made you feel strangely unsettled.

“This really your room?” he asked, pulling out a cigarette and sliding it between his lips, “It’s nice.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, it’s my room and you,” you started, leaning forward and pulling the cig out of his mouth, “can’t smoke in here.”

“Wha-really?” Marcus complained, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

His hands were fidgety, which meant he was nervous.

“Yes, really, Now stop deflecting and tell me why I’m stuck in my room with no one but you for company, and why you look like you haven’t slept in a month, will you?”

He met your eye and you felt, more than saw, his resistance crumble.

“Well, I should probably start with how I blew up my old roommate at the boy’s home,” Marcus started, leaning back against the bed, “and why he wants to kill me for it.”

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

When Marcus finally fell silent you were shocked. You felt like a tidal wave of information had just knocked you over and you were just drowning in it all. How had so much been happening without your knowledge? Some things you’d known about, of course, like Maria killing Chico and Billy killing his dad but, all this other stuff? Chester and El Diablo? Maria killing Yukio? Juan going after Saya in the middle of the hallway?

“Jesus Christ,” you said.

Marcus snorted, “You can say that again.”

You reached behind your bed and pulled out a bottle of vodka that was still mostly full, left over from some house party or another that you’d managed to smuggle in. In one fluid motion, before you could think better of it, you twisted the cap off and took a deep swig, sloshing a little bit on your uniform by accident. The alcohol burned like fire on the way down and you grimaced as you passed the bottle to Marcus.

“Thank fuck,” said, accepting the bottle gratefully, “Y/N, you’re an angel, if you ever need anything-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you smiled, “shut up and drink, Arguello.”

“If I must,” he joked with a melodramatic sigh, taking a massive gulp.

As he drank, you watched Marcus as inconspicuously as you could. He seemed lighter now, like the act of opening up to you had taken a huge weight off his shoulders. You still weren’t exactly sure how you felt about it all. Were you confused? Angry? Terrified? Did you wish he’d never said anything? Were you happy he’d trusted you? You didn’t know, probably a little bit of all of it but, despite the craziness and confusion, you were glad you’d been able to help, even if it was just by listening. Talking to Marcus had always been one of your favorite things to do and, sadly this was the most genuine conversation you’d had with one another since Vegas. It was nice, in a weird, messed up sort of way.

“Is this why you’ve been so off with me lately?” you eventually asked, “You were trying to keep this all a secret?”

Marcus grimaced, whether from the alcohol or embarrassment you weren’t sure, and passed the bottle back.

“I’ve always been shit at lying to you and, yeah, I wanted to keep you out of it,” he admitted, “I thought if I just waited long enough everything would just sort of die down.”

“But it hasn’t?”

“But it hasn’t,” he agreed.

“So, we’re all basically fucked.” you said simply.

“Unless I can get to Saya, convince her not to gut Maria and explain what happened before anyone else does, yeah.”

“Well,” you sighed, pushing yourself up onto your feet and sliding your secret stash of contraband from its hiding place in the ceiling, “you know, whatever happens I’ll fight by your side when the time comes,” you said, avoiding his eye, “but for now, since this might be one of our last chances, we might as well enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Marcus looked up at the contraband and smiled, “you’re amazing, you know that?”

Blood rose to your cheeks and you broke his gaze, tossing a bag of cheetos at him, “Shut up.” you said fondly, “And don’t ever keep me in the dark like that again.”

The teasing glint in Marcus’ eyes softened and he reached out to catch your hand, forcing you to look back at him from where he sat on the floor.

“Never.” he promised.

You passed the first few hours of lockdown in a bubble of serenity. While you lay on your bed reading and listening to music, Marcus doodled in his journal all the while maintaining an easy conversation with you. You avoided the hard topics, focussing instead on music and comic books and which teachers you thought would win in a fight as you passed the bottle of vodka back and forth. It felt good, easy even, joking with one another like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. And maybe it hadn’t, you reasoned to yourself, maybe this is how it had always been at King’s; a little bit messy, a little bit terrifying but better than what your life had been before. Maybe this was enough, maybe this was the trade off you made when you agreed to go to a school for assassins and, maybe, you could be okay with that.

At some point Marcus had moved and was now leaning up against your bed instead of your roommates so that you could play with his hair while he drew. It was something you’d discovered that he liked entirely by accident, sitting on the roof together one night when he was still fairly new at King’s. Back then he’d been so touch starved that he’d almost cried the first time he felt your fingers carding through his hair and you’d wondered, not for the first time, what exactly had happened in that boy’s home to make him so afraid. You’d never do it in public of course, people would get the wrong idea and pick on you both if you did but, in private, you’d gotten used to just reaching out and twirling one of his curls around your finger whenever you wanted. As you gently let your fingers scrape against his scalp you could hear Marcus' pencil as it scratched against the paper, and you fought the urge to lean forward and see what he was drawing. Journals were private shit, you reminded yourself, if Marcus wanted to show you what he was doing, he would.

“What’re you reading?” He asked, breaking the comfortable silence you’d fallen into.

“The color purple,” you replied, “my mom sent it to me.”

“I didn’t know you and your mom were close like that,” Marcus said, a note of confusion in his voice, “in fact,” he stopped drawing suddenly and twisted his head to look at you, “I don’t really know anything about your family.”

You shrugged, “There’s not much to know, really. My parents are smugglers and I’m at King’s, end of story.”

“End of story? Just like that?” he retorted, “Come on Y/N/N, you know everything about me and I know almost nothing about you. Tell me something.”

“That’s ‘cause you are a chronic oversharer and a terrible judge of character,” you teased, ruffling his hair and returning to your book. Marcus sighed, all melodrama and betrayal and you could feel his eyes burning a hole through The Color Purple. You swore loudly and sat up, “Fine, whatever, you win,” you conceded, “what do you want to know?”

“Yes!” he sighed, laughing at his own cleverness before continuing, “Okay, do you have any siblings?”

“I had an older sister, she died when I was eight and we’re not going to talk about it,” you answered, “next.”

“Favorite colour?”

“Blue or grey.”

“Where were you born?”

“In a tiny little city you’ve never heard of,” you said.

“Have you ever been arrested?” Marcus pressed on.

“Twice, have you?”

“Never,” he replied.

“Okay square,” you joked, “my turn. What’s your biggest fear?”

“Jesus, alright,” Marcus laughed, reaching for the vodka, “if we’re going there we both need to be like 15% less sober.”

You snatched the bottle back, “How about this, for every question we choose to answer we get to drink. If we pass on a question then the other person gets to ask two more which we then can’t pass on, agreed?”

“A drinking game version of twenty questions? What are we, seven?” Marcus complained, but he shook your hand anyway, “Agreed.”

“Good, so back to my question,” you started, “what, Marcus Lopez Arguello, is your biggest fear?”

Marcus looked at you for a long moment, like he was sizing you up and, instinctively, you fought back the urge to shiver under the weight of his stare. He was, of course, incredibly handsome; the sort of handsome that you couldn’t help but notice, even when you were trying not to, but that wasn’t what made it so difficult to meet his eye. No, what made it difficult was that, despite what he thought, Marcus really knew you. He saw past all the bullshit showboating, all the carefully constructed facades. Every single defense mechanism you had was worthless against him because, at the end of the day, you didn’t really want to keep Marcus out. If anything you wanted him closer and, when he looked at you like that, you felt like he might see right through you, into that secret part of your heart that you kept hidden. So you did what any self respecting coward would do; you looked away. Marcus sighed and reached for the bottle.

“Dying without really having lived,” he admitted, taking a swig from the bottle, “and dying alone I guess. You?”

You wrinkled your nose, “Pass.”

“What?” Marcus laughed incredulously, “You can’t pass! I just bared my soul to you and you’re just gonna opt out? Boooooo! Booooooo Y/N!”

“Fine,” you laughed, “fine I’ll tell you. I uh-I’m afraid that I’ll never find somewhere to belong. Like maybe I’m just always gonna feel like an outsider wherever I am until I die, maybe even after that.”

“You belong with us,” Marcus said, “with me and Billy and Petra and the others.”

You shook your head and drank deep, wincing at the vodka’s burn, “Nah, I don’t. Not really at least, not like you and Billy. I’m sure they all like me just fine but, at the end of the day, I’m nobody’s reason for being there, you know?” Marcus looked thoughtful but, just as he opened his mouth to answer, you cut him off, desperate to avoid hearing whatever kind, pitying lie he’d come up with, “Anyway moving on, it’s your turn Arguello. Hit me with your best question, I’m an open book.”

You traded questions back and forth like that for quite some time, laughing and joking and drinking as you did. Marcus was ruthless in his honesty, laying himself bare in front of you and refusing to pass on even a single question. You passed on many. Not all of them were deep and personal, some were funny or nonsensical, but enough were deep and personal that, by the time the alcohol had started to really kick in, you were feeling a little raw. It was like Marcus was desperate to wrap himself up in his own honesty, clinging to every shred of emotional intimacy he could find like it was a lifeline and flinging himself ever deeper into his own vulnerability. Usually you would have pulled back so fast at the idea of being that open that you’d have given yourself whiplash but now, with the alcohol making you feel warm and light, and Marcus smiling at you like there was nowhere else in the world that he would rather be, you revelled in it. There was a sort of tension building too, not exactly something but almost something….very nearly something, and part of you was just excited to see what it was. Marcus laughed at something you said, you didn’t even remember what, and the sound made you so happy that you actually had to stop and catch your breath. He was still leaning against your bed but now his back was to the cupboard next to your headrest so that he could face you while you talked. Unfortunately this also meant that you could study his face more conveniently, mapping every dip and curve and scar like he might vanish if you looked away. Dangerous territory, a voice in your head whispered, sharp turns up ahead.

“Shhh, stop, it’s my turn,” Marcus asserted, still breathless from laughing, “Okay, no shhh-Y/N-listen, here’s my question; have you ever been in love?”

Dangerous territory! Your brain shouted, Abort, abort, abort, abo-

“Nope,” you answered, which felt like a lie even though it technically wasn’t, “have you?”

“Is that your question?” he asked, which some small part of your brain noted was strange since, up until now, you’d both been answering every question.

“No! Well-yes-but I have a different, better question so just answer this one anyway.” you said, pushing the thought away and looking down at Marcus expectantly.

He held your gaze for a second longer, took a deep, deep drink and nodded before saying, like it physically pained him, “I’m in love now.”

Your heart stuttered and dropped into your stomach like a stone, but you kept your face neutral, “Saya?”

Marcus gave you a wry smile that hinged on sadness, “Is that your question?”

You blushed and shook your head, trying to recapture the fun, carefree energy you’d had just moments before. Somehow, your drunk brain noted, you’d made Marcus sad. Or he had made himself sad. Or the question had made him sad, maybe? It was confusing and thinking about it made your chest feel tight so you just pushed forward.

“No, here’s my question-are you ready? It’s a good one-here it is; what is your most precious recent memory and why?”

Marcus frowned, “Most precious memory? What does that mean? Do you mean my best memory?”

You shook your head, “See, that’s why it’s so good; a precious memory is like a good memory, only more. It’s a memory you play over and over in your head whenever things get tough because something important happened there, something you didn’t realize was happening when you were in it. So you have to keep remembering it, you know?” you explained, “So you can figure out what happened and why it was so important.” you continued, “And I say recent because, well, we’ve talked about our families a lot, and the people we’ve lost, but we’re on our own now, and we’ve gotta start making new precious memories.”

“Oh,” Marcus said softly.

“It’s good right?” you continued, distantly aware that Marcus was looking sad again, “Like mine is that day that I tried to stop Viktor from stealing that girl’s kit kat.”

“You mean when he and his goons beat you to a pulp?” he asked dubiously.

“Almost to a pulp,” you corrected, “but while he was wailing on me, the girl got away. I knew when I went in that Vic would beat the shit out of me, but I did it anyway and it worked. It was the day I realised that the choices I make can have some positive effect on the world, so long as I’m willing to take the consequences of them.” you finished, shifting so that your head was resting on your hand, “So, what’s yours and why?”

Marcus shook his head and took another sip from the vodka bottle, “You’re killing me here, Y/N/N. Pass.”

Your jaw dropped, “What!?! NO! You never pass on questions, that’s like your thing.”

“Yeah well I’m passing on this one so just-” he waved his hand, shooing away your berating, “ask me something else.”

“Fine,” you sighed, mulling over the possibilities in your head for a moment, “okay well, since you apparently are in love and I’ve never been in love, what does it feel like?”

“Hmm?”

You met his eye, “Being in love,” you clarified, “what does it feel like?”

In the dim light of your dorm room it was hard to tell, but you were pretty sure you saw Marcus flush deep red.

“It-uh-” he started, fiddling with his hands, “it’s kind of hard to describe.”

“Try,” you encouraged softly, mesmerized by the shift in his demeanour.

“Well I-” Marcus cleared his throat, “for a long while I wasn’t sure it actually was love. I thought maybe it was just general teen stupidness you know? You want what you can’t have, projecting onto someone you admire, that sort of crap but then one day-after Vegas actually-it just,” he shrugged, “changed.” you listened intently as every word burrowed itself into the small secret part of your heart like a knife, and he continued, “Suddenly everything made sense. It’s like my whole damn life was leading me to that moment, like maybe this was why all the shitty stuff happened, so that I could be here, feeling like this.” he explained simply, keeping his gaze focused on his hands, “And now it’s fucking crazy ‘cause all this shit’s going on and all I can think about is keeping-is not losing this. My heart feels like it’s gonna explode half the time, like it’s too damn big for my body and it hurts but it’s a good hurt, like stretching a stiff muscle. I’m not even really worried for myself anymore, but I’m so fucking scared that something I say or do is gonna come back and mess everything up and-” he shook his head, his voice quivering, “and I’m terrified, but I also don’t ever want this feeling to go away. It’s scary having someone hold your heart like this but, at the same time, I think not feeling like this, now that I know what it’s like, would hurt a million times more.” he finished, tensing his jaw and fidgeting like he was nervous, “Sorry, bit of a rambling answer. I owe you another one, don’t I?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” you answered, snapping yourself back into focus. It felt like the air itself was heavy with tension now, like all the things you wanted to say were swirling around your head, invisible but always present because you knew that feeling. You knew it all too well and for him to feel that way, to talk that passionately about someone else...you just couldn’t take it. “Okay for my second question;” you continued, “tell me your most precious memory and why.”

This time all the blood leached out of Marcus’ face, like he was becoming a ghost right before your eyes. You felt mean, it was a total bastardisation of the rules and you knew it but there was a little voice in the back of your mind telling you that this was the only question you wanted answered, that this was what you needed to know.

“That’s so against the rules.” Marcus tried, lightening the atmosphere considerably.

“No it’s not,” you argued, “it’s a dick move for sure but there was nothing specifically forbidding it in our original agreement.”

“You suuuuuuuck,” Marcus whined, leaning into your arm where it hung off the bed.

Instinctively you threaded your fingers through his hair, playing with the soft curls like you always did. You felt Marcus arch up into your touch, humming with pleasure as you scraped your fingers through the baby hairs on the back of his neck. He shivered, but the tension slipped out of his muscles and he relaxed with a sigh, resigning himself to his fate.

“Do you really want to know?” He asked softly.

“I really do,” you replied.

“Okay then” he breathed, “honestly, it’s that time on the way back from Vegas when everyone else had gone into the gas station for food, and it was just you and me in the backseat of Willie’s car.” he continued, “You had your hair pinned back and I was telling you some story about my childhood while we waited. You had a red sweater on, and bright blue nails. It was dark out, but the lights from the gas station were shining around your head like a halo.”

“I remember,” you told him, your voice hardly louder than a whisper, “but why? Why that memory?”

Marcus looked up, his dark eyes filed to the brim with the kind of vulnerable sincerity that made you feel breathless and afraid. Slowly, as though he were approaching an injured animal, he reached up and pulled your fingers from his hair and held your palm in both of his. You were frozen, like a deer in headlights, but you still felt the shiver as it ran up your spine at his touch.

“It was the first time I saw you smile, for real, since we’d arrived in Vegas,” he explained, studying your hand, “up until then I was pretty sure I was never gonna see it again but,” he shook his head and shrugged, “I made some awful joke about wishing I’d known then what I knew now and...you laughed. You really laughed and you rested your forehead on my shoulder and-boom-just like that...I knew.”

“Knew what?” you asked, half terrified of the answer.

Marcus gave you that smile, that sad little smile he’d been shooting you for weeks, the one that made your heart hurt just to look at and, before he even said anything, you were already shaking your head.

“Don’t make me say it Y/N,” he whispered, “surely by now you know?”

“No.” you said, pulling your hand away and leaning back, “No, you don’t. You can’t, Marcus.”

“Y/N/N-”

“No, you don’t understand,” you insisted, “it’s not possible. You aren’t-you don’t think of me that way. No one does, I’m not like that. I’m not lovable like you are.”

“Like I-?” Marcus started, following you up and sitting gingerly on your bed, “Y/N you’re infinitely lovable.”

“No I’m not!” You asserted, sure that this had to be some sort of trick, some sort of sick joke, “Who could love me? Who could possibly be fucked up and unlucky enough to love me?”

“I could!” Marcus promised, “I do, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Marcus, you’re the only person I’ve ever felt this way about,” you admitted, “please don’t joke.”

His answering smile was gentle and understanding, like he saw the pain you were in, like he understood. You couldn’t hope for this, you had never let yourself believe for even a second that-

“It’s not a joke, Y/N,” he promised, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to meet his gaze, “I’m just-I’m in love with you. You were wrong, you’ve never been an outsider, you’ve always belonged with me.”

You searched his eyes, his dark, beautiful eyes, for some trace of deceit, some hint that this was too good to be true and that he was waiting to take it away from you, but found none. Maybe he was right, a small, hopeful voice in your mind chimed in, maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe just this once, you didn’t need to be afraid, maybe you could let yourself want this, want him.

Because looking back, it made sense, didn’t it? All those things you’d written off; months of secret smiles and gentle touches, of seeking one another out when you didn’t need to, this was what they were leading up to. As you looked, Marcus blushed, his cheeks flushing a pale shade of pink as you both realised, for the first time, how close you were, how open and vulnerable you were to each other in that moment.

“Y/N/N,” he started softly, “Y/N/N I don’t want to be an asshole or anything but-” he let out a breathy laugh, “but I really want to kiss you right now. Would it be alright if-”

You were kissing him before he could even finish his sentence.

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