#maybe he’ll meet a couple of detectives that can help him figure it out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

charliehoennam · 1 year ago

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SFW Alphabet - Detective David Loki

This is kinda long, but i love him your honor s/o for the list template

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

- It would take a lot to get to that point since he’s mostly been a loner/outcast;

- There’s definitely a facet of him that craves affection since he’s been shown it so little growing up. He didn’t have much of it, so it’s rare and usually psychologically related to basic human needs like

- Making the most minimal noise when he has to get up earlier than you and you’re still asleep. Having been deprived of it in his tough childhood, he knows how sweet sleep can be and wants you to relish in it even though he can’t;

- Giving food is his love language

- He’ll surprise you by bringing home your favorite sweet from your favorite bakery if he knows you had a bad day

- He’ll be nonchalant about it too (even though you know for a fact he went out of his way to get it because it’s on the other side of town)

- “I was picking up some lab results and figured I’d stop by. It was on the way back”

- No, it was not, but that’s ok because you know he’s as lowkey like his name

- He’s not big on PDA, he’s just not wired that way

- Not because he hates it, more like because he’s insecure of it

- He didn’t have great examples of it growing up. His dad was abusive in the few years he lived with his family before he was sent to Huntington’s Boys Home after his teacher called CPS when he showed up at school with cigarette burns

- He’s naturally alert because of his job. It’s a sixth sense he’s developed overtime, so he’ll hold your hand when you’re crossing the street and brings you to the side where cars aren’t approaching from in case of accidents, keep you on the inside part of the sidewalk further from the road, maybe a hand around your waist or on the small of your back or on your thigh in the car

- it’s minimal but present in public (unless he’s jealous of someone)

- He’s very affectionate with you though in private

- He likes the closeness, even if it’s just sitting on the couch, going through his files or paperwork while you do your nails or something

B = Best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

- He’s not the most sociable person, so I wouldn’t expect him to show up to every party or get-together

- He meets up for a beer/coffee to keep in touch from time to time

- He’s a good friend, great to talk to and very understanding although his tick will sorta give him away when you’re oversharing

- He won’t admit it, he’ll let you go on because he knows you need it and he’s okay with that because you’re not just anyone

- He doesn’t have many friends after all

- He’s just not the best at giving advices so he feels uncomfortable knowing that he’s not much help

- You probably go way back because making new friends gets harder as you get older and he’s not very social

- You met at a pizza place where you worked at together back in high school

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle)

- He fucking loves them

- Will not admit it because he’s lived without them for a long time, but that’s also why he fucking loves them

- He hates how vulnerable they make him feel but enjoys that he can finally feel that

- He never had many chances to let himself be vulnerable

- He’s the protector and not usually the protected so it feels nice to let his guard down but it does scare him a bit

- Being the big spoon indulges his natural masculine instinct, but if you hold him (either being the big spoon for him or letting him rest his head on your chest with your arms around you) he will cry inside

- That will most likely happen when he’s had long days working on troubling cases

- They take a mental toll on him, especially child-related cases

- Also, I personally believe he’s got a couple mommy issues

- She left his dad when he was young

- As an adult, he can understand why she left but there’s definitely a longing for warmth (emotionally) that he forced himself to bury deep down

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Cleanliness

- His cleaning is on point

- He doesn’t have OCD, but he’s a bit of a neat freak

- He’s not anal about where the toothpaste is left, just as long as its’ cap is on if that makes sense?

- He doesn’t like leaving things to do later unless he absolute has to (thank you, traumatic childhood)

- He likes to do the dishes right after dinner

- His job doesn’t allow him a lot of time to clean his home, so he hires someone to clean like once every two weeks

- It’s a lot easier but he maintains the cleanliness quite well

- He’s really good at ironing in emergencies too

- He irons his uniforms for work but he hates it (and he hates wearing them so he’ll only wear them if he really has to)

- He barely has time and mental sanity to sleep, let alone iron clothes

- If he has to wear them for work, it’s hello dry-cleaning

- The neat freakiness doubles at work

- He does not like others rearranging his stuff, using his mug

- “Hey, man. Sorry to sound like a dick, but that’s my mug. Y/N got me that ‘detective of the year’ mug for my birthday and it’s kinda special”

-He won’t be explosive if someone borrows a pen without asking, but don’t touch the man’s files. this is critical. He just likes to know where his shit is

- his time in the boy's home definitely disciplined him to always have his bed made, keep his things neat and minimal

- he probably has like one nice cologne, one deodorant and his usual hair gel on the sink of his bathroom

- he doesn’t have much and he’s okay with that

- having too many options seemed a little extra to him, but as you gift him with bath sets and shaving kits, he starts to warm up to the “ treat yo self” idea a lil bit (he’s learning and it’s a process. he’s getting there ok)

Cooking

- He’s not the best at cooking

-He barely had food in his fridge when you’d met and he lived on take out

- He didn’t really care much about taste or nutrition, only that it made his stomach stop growling and eliminated the headache creeping in because that was the only time he actually remembered to eat

- Has the weirdest combinations of sandwiches like mayo with peanut butter and cheddar

- After he met you, he genuinely started giving it more effort

- Don’t expect anything fancy

- His dishes are comfort and casual, but overall tasty

- Pasta dishes are his best because they’re quick and easy to make

- He secretly wants to learn how to make homemade pasta but he gets overwhelmed just reading the recipes and happily settles for storebought

- He did try once to impress you on valentine’s day

-It was very romantic, you had wine and cooked together but the pasta was terrible so you happily resorted to pizza.

Does he want to settle down?

- uhm the idea scared him to death

- It reminds him of his own upbringing and he despised his dad

- He doesn’t want to become him but he also wants a chance to have a real family

- It’s an internal conflict

- If he does have a child, it’s certainly not planned

- He’s always envied other kids who had that traditional white Christmas and thanksgiving family dinners, so he does get excited about getting to have that

- He’s been so used to being on his own, it’s been his comfort zone and he didn’t mind it until the baby surprised everyone

- Scared shitless and contemplates disappearing, but he doesn’t wanna be a deadbeat like his dad

- Warms up to the idea that he has the opportunity to be different and everything his dad wasn’t

- Gets secretly excited about creating traditions

- He doesn’t hate the holidays as much as before and gets into the spirit a little

- Buys a garland for his door near Christmas, a couple fake pumpkins on Halloween for the porch

- The mini Christmas tree you put up and decorated together on your first Christmas together is a huge step up already

- After meeting you, he’s slowly warming up to the idea of settling down because he finally feels safe

- proud pushover dad

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

- His job means everything to him

- Being able to protect means being able to provide what he didn’t have as a child, so it’s very personal

- He hasn’t had many serious relationships; most were just flings with no strings attached to make things easy

- The first time you broke up was after a fight on his absence and priorities

- He can be very impatient when frustrated

- He brought it up first and very heatedly suggested to just end things to make easier on both of you

- But he felt your absence more than he expected to and regretted his words every time he’d come home and not find you there

- It made him realize that he was in deep shit and loved you more than he thought, so he came running back to you with flowers and the shyest but the sincerest apology

- “I know I fucked up. What I said was stupid. I was stupid. It was in the heat of the moment and I’m sorry. It’s no excuse, but I need you to know that for the longest time, it’s been just me and that was what I knew. But I need you. I need you back. And it’s fine if you don’t want to, I can accept that. I just need you to know that I’m willing to change. I just need you to understand that this is new to me, having someone... I am trying. It might not happen overnight, but I-I’ll get there”

- His eyes were blinking hard the whole time and he couldn’t barely look at you due to the guilt

- Homeboy was hurting but he’s a rock, or at least he feels he needs to pretend to be

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

- He has spent years running from it

- Flings were much easier because no attachment = no hurt

- You started off a fling, it was super casual just meeting for beers or coffee and always ending in sex

- There was a pull that kept leading him to your place after his shifts and it just kept going

- Being with you soon became the easiest and nicest part of his day

- It scared him so he distanced himself a bit

- It confused the fuck outta you so you confronted him about it since you’d felt like you’d done something wrong

- “You’re everything that’s right and I don’t know what to do. I never had someone so good and I’m scared you’ll realize you deserve better”

- It hurt to know that he didn’t think he was good enough for you, but you respected his timing and kept things casual until he was ready to take it to the next level and he couldn’t be more grateful to have some as patient and comprehensive as you

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

- I wouldn’t say he’s gentle, but he’s definitely a little soft-spoken and more attentive around you

- He does not want to disrespect you in the slightest

- He loved his mom more than anything

- He saw her suffer in his father’s hands and he never wants to make his partner fear him

- The first time you kissed, he asked for your permission. The first time he took your top off, he asked for permission.

- After you became more familiar, he didn’t ask for it verbally

- It would be in the form of him gently tugging on your top or pants or staring at your lips

- He definitely has game and was a huge flirt tho

- In arguments or stressful situations, he can be hot-headed due to his temper

- He’s not violent and you’ve never felt unsafe around him

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

- Physical affection is not his main love language

- The first would be quality time, the second is acts of service. Physical affection would probably be third

- He doesn’t hate hugs, he just doesn’t allow himself to be constantly emotionally vulnerable and won’t accept them from just anyone (only you)

- But when he’s had a long day or is working a disturbing case, he will seek you out and hug you in silence for a long moment

- He loves it when you notice he’s not ok and wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest or your stomach

- A couple of very painful cases that he will carry with him for the rest of his life have broken him down to the point where just your warm hug made him cry

- It was silent for the rest of the night but you did not leave him

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

- Ohhhhhh you thought he’d never say it

- You’d said it before well into your relationship and said it was okay if he didn’t say it back

- You just wanted him to know that he was loved

- It took him forever to build the courage because he was so afraid getting comfortable and then not having you around anymore after that, so in his head, your absence wouldn’t hurt as much if he hadn’t said it

- His emotional guard was sky-high up

- He’d overheard you unintentionally on the phone talking to a close friend about it and how scared you were for maybe jumping the gun or scaring him off

- He hated that it made you self-conscious because he did love you

- Weeks after hearing your conversation, he crawled into bed after a long day unsure if you were asleep and he just whispered it, followed with a peck on the back of your head

- You wanted to squeal with happiness, but he was so subtle about it and you didn’t want to overwhelm him

- You smiled softly as you turned your head to look back at him and kissed him tenderly before snuggling up to rest

- Mad sex ensued the following morning

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

- It’s funny because he’s mature enough to understand that you are attractive and that means people will obviously look, but he will not, for the love of all that is sacred, admit that he’s jealous

- Expect snarky remarks

- “Maybe you should ask your new pal at work, I’m sure he’d know”

- If this person is nearby like the time the cashier at the local grocery store kept checking you out, he will scare stare them down – tick blinking in effect – and get instinctively defensive

- “Are you alright? Do you have a problem?”

- If it’s a co-worker, he will make the effort of picking you up some days of the weeks to make his presence known, even if he has to drop you off at home and go back to the station

- He will have his badge and gun exposed on his hip as he purposely waits for you outside the car

- It’s purely strategically to intimidate

- But if someone disrespects you, he will get physical (police brutality warning)

- Might arrest them for harassment

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) (WARNING: gets a lil hot here)

- Really depends on the moment

- If you’re going at it, he will kiss you hungrily and it’s why he loves missionary

- They’re not sloppy kisses, he’s really good at it and enjoys the feeling of his lips molding against yours

- If he’s working his pace up, they will be on your neck or shoulder

- Aside from that, they’re usually just small pecks

-Always before he leaves

- If you’re asleep in bed, it’s on your head

- Getting dressed for work? Making breakfast? Walking to your car? There’s always a goodbye peck

- He will not leave without it and he will assume you’re mad at him about something if you leave him hanging

- He looooooves to be kissed on the forehead

- He's almost never been kissed there but they make him feel so safe, loved and appreciated and he tears up a little bit

- Rubs his eyes to hide it

- Chest kisses and back kisses are very appreciated too, especially if you’re cuddling

- He will melt like cotton candy in water

L = Little ones (How are they around children?

- He is adequately awkward around them lmao

- It’s not that he doesn’t like kids, he has not been around them enough to know how to act

- He gets self-conscious

- Treats them like they’re mini-adults when his co-workers bring their kids to work

- “Tough day, huh, kid? How about another round of Nesquik?”

- Teaches them how to identify a real or fake badge for future safety purposes

- Babies are his nightmare, but he learns how to deal with them quick when you teach him and that little human has him wrapped around their tiny fingers upon first sight

- Will absolutely teach his children how to use and shoot a gun

- He’ll be damned if his kids aren’t taught how to defend themselves

- “Ballet? No, let’s get her into Judo or Muay Thai”

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

- They are rare unfortunately

- Sometimes, he’s coming home in the morning when you’re getting ready for work

- It’s kinda good because you can at least have breakfast together before you leave and he crashes for sleep

- If his phone rings before he’s up, you already know he’s gotta go so you’ll get up to put on some coffee for him as he gets ready

- You wish he could have more opportunities to sleep in

- You appreciate every second of the morning when you do get to be together

- He’ll make jokes as he shaves and you brush your teeth

- His bathroom is not big enough for two people at the same time, but you both kinda like the lack of space

- He is not shy

- Will absolutely use the toilet even if you’re in the shower and does not mind if you do the same, although he will tease you for it

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

- They’re not much different from the mornings

- Sometimes, he’s leaving for work as you’re coming home

- But more often than not, he’s home at night and sometimes he’s late

- His favorite days are when he comes home early, in time for dinner or in time to actually help make dinner

- He kinda likes cooking now but doesn’t get too adventurous to avoid wasting food

- If you’re home together, it’s a pretty cozy night

- Watch some TV together, cuddle on the couch and talk about your days

- it's the simple small things that mean the most

Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

- This man makes peeling onions with a spoon look easy

- Layers upon layers upon layers

- He’s not used to opening up about anything

- He started slowly when he first realized how important you were to him

- Didn’t talk about his family until during your wedding planning inn the engagement phase and it still caused a fight

- You pressed him to do so and he got angry because he doesn’t like talking about his asshole of a father or his mom walking out

- It’s too emotional and he didn’t really work that shit out in him yet, just kinda put it in a locked box on a shelf and left it in the back of his mind

- It’s a lot to unpack and he hadn’t spoken about it in decades

- He didn't just cry that night, he sobbed

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

- Are you serious? The man has resting bitch face syndrome

- His frown is his standard

- He kinda reminded you of the old man from Up

- He has patience, but nothing lasts forever and he’s only a man

- Before he met you, he didn’t have much of it

- After he met you, he’s learned to have a little more

- Just the fact that he acknowledges that he had so little of it is already a major step up

- He tries, ok?

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

- EVERY. SINGLE. DETAIL

- His memory is the fucking best

- Dates, habits, preferences

- It kinda gets on your nerves sometimes because he’ll also remember that you ate the last piece of his favorite cheesecake and tried to hide it

- Or that you already watched the new episode of the series you’re watching together on Netflix

- He’s not a child about it, but he likes to wait and see how long it’d take you to confess it just for fun, dropping hints here and there

- But you always get flowers sent to you on your birthday and on special holidays and everyone at work envies you for it

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

- Oh he has quite a few

- But it’s probably the first getaway trip you had

- He’d finished the paperwork and bureaucratic process of court dates the Dover-Birch case and you suggested taking a weekend off to spend at a lakeside inn in the country

- The drive there was his favorite moment as you sang along to your favorite songs

- Despite mocking you for knowing all the words to “I Want It That Way” by Backstreet Boys, he joined in and surprised you by knowing all the words too

- You were so excited about it and the whole experience made his heart melt

- It was a really nice bonding moment that he’d never really had

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

- He knows you can take care of yourself, so he’s not obsessive about it. He’s just seen a lot of shit from his cases, so he does worry

- Asks you to call him when you get home just to make sure you’re safe and worries when you don’t

- He knows you well so he can easily pick up on when you’re uncomfortable

- Won’t make a huge scene, but he will remove you from the situation if you can’t like if you’re at a dinner party and someone’s annoying you but you don't wanna be impolite (yes, he keeps his eyes on you just to make sure you're safe)

- If it’s a physical situation, like you’re at a gas station and someone angrily or drunkenly starts squaring up at you, he stays calm but immediately goes into cop mode to handle the situation and puts himself in the middle to shield you

- “Call the station and ask for a patrol car. Stay in the car with the keys no matter what. Do not get out, and drive away if you have to.”

- His instinct is to be a first responder, so he’ll handle it accordingly with procedure

- Since he’s usually doing the protecting, there aren’t many opportunities for him to be protected

- What he does admire though is how you protectively reach out over him if you’re driving and have to slam on the brakes unexpectedly to hold him back

- Or when you speak up for him like that one time his dish came with a hair in it at a restaurant

- He’d eaten worse as a kid, so he would’ve just taken it out and eaten the food

- But you didn’t let him and said it was unacceptable and politely asked the waiter for another

- He loves that you don’t let people take advantage of him

- He also loves it when girls notice his badge and flirt with him

- Like him, you know that he’s attractive and you trust him

- He doesn’t let it go on and makes it obvious that he’s not interested, but he likes knowing that you want him for yourself

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

- Previous to your relationship, he didn’t try at all

- But now, he feels guilty that he can’t be home all the time and can’t make it to special events

- So he does his best to make for it

- If he couldn’t celebrate Valentine’s day with you, he’ll take you out to a nice place when he’s free

- He never forgets your anniversaries, but his job is demanding and you gotta understand that to be with him

- He’ll get you gifts and have flowers sent to make you know that he didn’t forget

- As soon as he gets the chance to be with you, he’ll make it up

- As for everyday tasks, he tries his best

- If you drink coffee, he’ll leave the pot on to keep it warm for you

- He’ll make dinner beforehand if he has night shifts and leave you a plate wrapped in cellophane to keep it fresh for you to heat up when you get home

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

- Everyone’s got theirs and David is no different

- His number one bad habit undereating or just not taking care of himself when stressed. That involves not getting enough food and rest

- It just makes him even more stressed and naturally more prone to anger, which means his patience wears thin and it sometimes leads to arguments

- He brings his work home and will get very upset if you touch or go through his files because he doesn’t want you to see the shit he has to see

- Procrastination because it usually will be left up to you to see to whether it’s mundane house chores or errands (he tries so hard to hold up his end though)

- Listening to respond because his mind is on his case and sometimes, he doesn’t realize it. It’s automatic and can be frustrating when you realize he’s not listening, but he does his best to control it and immediately snap out of it.

- Doesn’t happen too often, just when he’s got a lot on his mind

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

- He thought he was kinda vain with his tattoos and hair style

- Everyone at the station calls him Pretty boy and he is lowkey proud of it

- Keeps his hair trimmed and goes to the barber at least three times a month

- He knows he’s a hairy fellow and likes to look well-kept although he kinda wants to grow out his beard

- is worried the captain will tell him to shave it

- As for clothes, he’s pretty average and likes to lounge in his white tanks and sweatpants

- He’s not gonna wear a suit unless he absolutely has to (he draws the line at the tie)

- But he doesn’t walk around like a mess either

- He’s happy if he doesn’t look homeless lol

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

- he fucking loves sweets, they’re his kryptonite

- he almost never had sweets or desserts growing up, so if you bake this man a cake for his birthday, he will cry in the shower

- he’s not a fitness freak, but he goes work out a lil bit like 3 times a week just to stay sane and in shape

- eats the leftovers of your dish if you can't finish it (it's either because he doesn't like wasting food or because his eating habits are wack)

- he's a stubborn little shit sometimes

- loves conspiracy theories

- strongly believes that Princess Diana's death was no accident and adores her

- believes in aliens and don't even get him started on the chemtrails theory

- history channel and animal planet are his favorite channels

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

- I don’t think incomplete is the correct word to put it, but your absence would definitely hurt him

- He’d try his best to avoid thinking about it

- Would probably sleep at the station to avoid going home to an empty house

- He would bury himself in work, no doubt about that

- Swears off relationships for the next 10 years

- It would take a lot to fill your shoes so he’d rather just not try

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

- He would not like high-maintenance or snobby people

- He grew up running around barefoot, so he’s happy to have shoes that fit. Being with someone who can’t wear shoes that are slightly dirty is just not possible to him

- Racist people are not welcomed at all. PERIOD. He wishes he could lock them up solely for that

- Disrespectful people who are rude to service people. HUGE turn-off for him

- Not understanding or accepting his job and the disadvantages that come along with it

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

- Sleep? What is sleep? lol

- If he’s sleeping alone, he hugs his pillow

- If it’s with you, he hugs you

- He’s a light sleeper but he falls asleep so fucking fast like in record time

- He’d got very cold feet and he’s self-conscious about them because he’s been teased about them before by an ex, so he’ll sleep with socks on in the winter

- He snores

- Not enough to shake the house, but he does snore a bit and will deny it until he dies even if you record him

- “Nah, that’s not- that’s edited! You edited it in and I don’t snore. Period. Case closed.”

#detective david loki #david loki alphabet #david loki #david loki x reader #david loki x you #david loki x y/n #david loki prisoners #jake gyllenhaal #prisoners 2013

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years ago

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But professor... - c.1

Summary: Penny Townsend is going to attend her first criminology class. What she didn’t expect was professor Walter Marshall.

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood

A/N: I hope you enjoy this Professor!AU -- can you imagine? Walter Marshall as a professor? 🤤

Masterlist // But professor... masterlist // Next chapter

✎ ✎ ✎

My parents hoped that I would become a doctor. I get it—being friends with a lot of successful parents with equally successful children, must’ve raised their standard for me. They however must’ve known that medicine wasn’t it for me and going to law school isn’t my forte either. It must’ve been hard on them, knowing I wasn’t that intellectually gifted, though they tried their best for me to be.

They did a lot for me. At the ripe age of two to five hours, I was placed at the entrance of a church in Maryland. The pastor and his wife discovered me and brought me to the hospital, only to found out I wasn’t just a couple weeks premature, but also had a lot of heroin in my system.

My birth parents barely gave me a chance the second I was born (probably when I was conceived, but okay) and that is why I am so grateful that my adoptive parents care so much about me.

And that’s why I want to make them proud and studying psychology is my best chance at being the successful daughter they deserve, but man does it feel wrong to be here. I know there is another student out there who deserves to be here, who actually wants to do this, yet here I am taking their place.

Psychology wasn’t the greatest choice already, but having to take criminology was an even bigger mistake. I walk into the lecture hall for the first criminology class. My hands shake because of the nerves, they’re even clammy. I’m not good at making friends, so seeing those cliques that has formed after only two weeks of university, makes me slightly jealous and really alone.

I never really fitted in. My teachers would describe me as a sweet young girl, who is painfully shy.

That, of course, is if they even noticed me at all.

It can be hard to fit in, especially when you feel out of place the second you enter a room, like I have felt since I can remember.

‘Take a seat,’ I hear a deep voice say and I look up, to meet the eyes of the professor. He is unlike all of my other professors. He isn’t in a suit or at least some decent slacks. His denim jeans hugs his thick thighs, as he wears a sweater on top. His curls are disheveled and slightly frizzy and his beard is asymmetrical. A deep frown in between his brows.

‘Me?’ I ask in a soft tone.

He nods. ‘You,’ he confirms.

I walk passed him to choose a seat in the back. I take place and look around me, only to meet the eyes of the professor again. While I wonder what made him choose teaching, since he doesn’t look like someone who was born to teach, I also ponder about the fact he is looking at me again.

Why would he do that?

I grab my laptop and open it, opening a new document. I’ve been going to NYU for two weeks now, yet this is my first criminology class. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing up the glasses on my nose bridge.

‘Okay everyone,’ I hear the professor say, when it’s time for the class to start. ‘There is a sheet going around. Find the spot you’re sitting now and write down your name. If I find out you are messing with me, you have failed your class immediately.’

He is not beating around the bush.

‘I’m detective Walter Marshall. I have worked for the MPD, the Minneapolis Police Department. For this semester there are three subjects we’ll cover. Victimology, crime analysis and the psychology of criminal behavior.’

This is not at all what I want to learn. This is too gore for me. I should’ve stood up to my parents and go to cosmetology school like I originally wanted. It’s better for me anyways.

I’m so stupid.

The paper ends up on my table and I try to find my place on it. I write down ‘Penelope Townsend’ and slide it to the person two tables over. Professor Marshall explains how we have a weekly lecture of two hours and how he is available for questions every Friday, since he’ll be in his office.

‘Does anyone have any questions?’

A guy raises his hand. ‘Why aren’t you working for the MPD anymore, sir?’

Professor Marshall sits on the edge of his desk, crossing his muscular arms in front of his chest. ‘I was put on leave.’

‘Why?’

‘There were some issues,’ he says. ‘Between me and suspects.’

I have no idea what he is implying, but the silence in the classroom is so thick, that I have a clue what types of issues came with said suspects.

‘Really?’ the guy asks.

The professor only raises his eyebrows, which obviously means he isn’t joking. You don’t need to have studied Psychology to figure that out. ‘Any more questions?

‘Do we work in pairs for the assignment?’ a girl asks.

He shakes his head. ‘No, individual works only.’

I let out a sigh of relief. Thank the stars, I don’t want to work with others. Really, I don’t.

‘Okay, if that’s all, let me start right away. What do these women have in common?’ He presses a button on his presenter and the screen behind him changes. Three pictures of women appear on the screen. It’s their driver’s license photo.

‘They’re women,’ a guy says, causing a few to laugh.

Professor Marshall grabs the paper with names and says: ‘Does anyone have something less obvious to comment than mister Fitzgerald?’ He seems not amused at all by the words of Fitzgerald.

‘Brown hair, blue eyes,’ a girl says.

He nods. ‘And?’

‘They’re pretty,’ another girl says.

‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ he notes. His eyes scan the paper and he looks up. ‘Miss Townsend, do you have something to add?’

Our eyes meet again and I realize that I’m the only miss Townsend in the class. I clear my throat and look at the pictures. Say something smart, Penny. Say something intelligent. Really intelligent.

The obvious things have already been said, so I should stay away from those things.

I swallow hard, press my glasses better on my nose and say: ‘Their left eyelid is slightly droopy.’

I hear some people chuckle a bit, making me feel everything but intelligent.

‘Quiet,’ professor Marshall says and the chuckles die down instantly. ‘Their droopy left eyelid is what made them appealing to the killer.’ He looks up from the other side of class, right at me. His slightly annoyed gaze dissolves for a few moments into a soft one. ‘Miss Townsend made an excellent point here. It took an entire police department to come to that conclusion over the course of two months.’

Oh my goodness, I made an excellent point.

The slides change and I see another picture. This time it’s of a man. It’s a mugshot. I bet he is the killer.

‘Miss Townsend, since you are on a roll,’ the professor continues and I nearly groan. Really? He wants me to answer another questions? ‘What’s do you notice about this man?’

I scan his entire face. He has a crooked nose, blemishes on his forehead and thin lips. He looks like a killer. This would be the type of man I would avoid if I came across him.

‘His left eyelid is also droopy,’ I say.

Is that a tiny smirk on his lips? ‘Correct.’ While professor Marshall continues to explain about how his own appearance is unknowingly influencing his choice of victims, I can’t help but beam a little with pride. ‘Because,’ he continues, ‘if you understand your victims, you can understand your killer.’ The slideshow changes to one word. ‘Welcome to victimology.’

✎ ✎ ✎

Time spend in a lecture hall while professor Marshall teaches flies by. Though he is a bit grumpy and not very welcoming, he is interesting and smart. Much better than my other teachers. I put everything in my backpack, before I get up from my seat. I’m one of the last students to leave the place, mostly because I don’t want to be swarmed by the cliques.

‘Miss Townsend,’ professor Marshall says, causing me to stop misstep as I already passed him.

I turn around. ‘Yes?’ I ask.

He doesn’t look up from his notes. ‘You did well in class today.’

Is this man giving me a compliment? He might be the first one in a teacher like position to ever notice me, let alone give me a compliment. ‘I did?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, now looking up from his notes. ‘Don’t hesitate to say something in class next time. You have great insight.’

‘Or just luck,’ I say.

Professor Marshall shakes his head. ‘No, this isn’t about luck, this is good insight. So, can you promise me to raise your hand next class?’

I bite my lip, before shaking my head. ‘No, I can’t.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘What I said: this was luck and it probably won’t happen again. I have to go. I reserved a spot at the library. If that is all, sir?’

He doesn’t say anything, simply looks at me. It takes a second, maybe two before he nods. ‘If you have questions,’ he says, ‘you know how to contact me.’

I nod, before I walk out of the hall. I see students gathering in front of the door and I quickly slip through them and make my way to the library. I’ve been going to classes for around two weeks now and I’m still up to date as we speak. I decide to at least make a beginning with the assignments of my criminology class, because the sooner I start, the less work and stress I’ll experience later on, because I most definitely will stress about it.

It’s been quite awhile since I opened a book for school for assignments or preparing for exams. After high school, I decided to take a gap year, which ended in two. I’ve traveled with all sorts of groups to different countries, worked at an international cafe in Japan for awhile. It did help me with my social skills. I was happy, social and totally in my element. Those wonderful skills were all forgotten the second I stepped foot back in the USA again.

It was my parents that pushed for going back to college and once they figured out that medicine or law wasn’t up my alley, they agreed psychology, though it wasn’t my thing either.

It’s okay, sure, but… Gosh, I miss the freedom I had during the gap years. I’m not stupid, but is the academical life for me? I have looked at cosmetology school and boy do I wish I was there at the moment.

And not here.

✎ ✎ ✎

I don’t know how long I have been at the library, but my eyes are tired by the time I close my laptop. Besides working on my assignment, I also texted my parents to tell them everything is going fine and checked out multiple cosmetology schools here in the area.

Originally I’m from Maryland, meaning it’s only a three hour drive to see my parents and for them to check in on me. I considered lying about my major, about attending NYU and just go to cosmetology school, but mom and dad are paying my tuition, which is another loophole in my plan.

I put the laptop in my backpack and walk out of the library. Every second my mind wasn’t occupied with university related things, it went straight back to my first criminology class, more specifically my professor. His words. It’s one thing he said those things to me, but another that he looked so handsome while saying it.

‘There she is,’ I hear from behind me as I walk through the hallways to the exit. I turn around to discover it’s Fitzgerald. I forgot his first name, which is weird since we share a lot of the same classes together. He isn’t easy to miss. Pleasant on the eyes, that’s for sure, but he is loud, thinks he is hilarious and that makes him kinda annoying. ‘Miss Townsend,’ he says in a mocking tone.

Okay, change kinda annoying to absolutely insufferable.

‘Hm?’

Fitzgerald walks next to me and he comes a lot closer than I prefer. ‘You’re already the teacher’s pet,’ he continues. ‘Bet the man has a thing for Asian chicks.’

I have no idea how to respond to that implication. My instinct says to get out of here, but the exit is right ahead of me and from the looks of it, Fitzgerald is going there as well. So there is no escape.

‘But let’s say it’s beginners luck,’ he says, ‘because it was actually the first time I heard you speak.’

‘You mind leaving me alone?’ I ask.

‘Why is that, sugar boo?’

Okay, now I’m gonna vomit. Goosebumps run over my spine and the hairs in my neck are standing straight up. I bet this guy’s dad is rich, therefore the only reason he is here. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘You don’t want me here?’ He starts to chuckle. ‘Sweetheart, everyone wants me here.’

Not me.

‘Fitzgerald, are you deaf?’

It’s professor Marshall.

His eyes enlarge when he realizes that too. ‘No, sir,’ he quickly says.

‘She said she doesn’t want you here.’ He stands in front of the two of us, looking everything but amused. ‘You know, back when I was working, I encountered a lot of guys like you. Did you know they usually peak in high school, do okay in college, but the second they end up locked up in jail—and I promise you, they most often will—they aren’t so tough anymore. They usually end up as someone’s bitch.’

To hear this entire monologue and the word bitch from a professor, was not at all what I was expecting. Fitzgerald’s face is drained from all its color. While Fitzgerald looks like he shat himself, I am utterly amazed. I wish I was this intimidating, I think to myself.

Fitzgerald clears his throat, eyes darting around the hallway, almost as if he is trying to find the closest exit. He shoots out of this place very quickly, meaning I’m left with only our professor.

‘Thank you, sir,’ I say.

Professor Marshall simply nods. ‘You know, if you lowered your shoulders, you’d appear more confident.’

Why do I feel so offended? ‘Oh…’

‘It’s advice, miss Townsend, not criticism.’

‘Oh,’ I say again, this time in a whisper like tone. He could’ve brought it up a bit nicer though. No need to hurt my feelings like that.

Professor Marshall and I both walk towards the exit and I notice it’s raining. Great, guess who didn’t bring her umbrella and also isn’t wearing a jacket with a hood?

Absolutely fantastic.

‘Here,’ the professor says, holding out his umbrella for me.

Is this truly happening? ‘Oh, sir, that’s not necessary.’

‘I insist.’

With some hesitation I grab the umbrella from him and smile. ‘Thank you, professor.’

He politely nods and walks off, leaving me with the umbrella and a little bit confused. Though he looks so handsome and slightly intimidating, he still is nice to me. The only teacher ever. Maybe Fitzgerald is right and—

No, no, no, don’t think like that. It’s not that every man who is nice to me all of the sudden has this fetish. That can’t be it, right?

Maybe, despite my aversion, I am actually good at the whole criminology thing and isn’t it a one time thing. Luck. Maybe I do have something I am good at.

✎ ✎ ✎

That Friday I am still on campus after I spend my entire afternoon in the library. Since I have a question about the criminology assignment, I decide walk to the office of professor Marshall. To kill two birds with one stone, I brought his umbrella with me so I can give it back. I knock on the door and hear a low: ‘Come in.’

I open the door and am met with the professor, who is sitting behind is desk. ‘Sir, I have a question about the assignment.’

He leans back in his chair and gestures me to come in. I close the door behind me and expect to sit, until I notice there isn’t a chair anywhere for me to sit on. How unwelcome of him, I think to myself. Does that mean I have to remain standing?

‘What’s your question, miss Townsend?’

‘I didn’t know which format I had to use for the entire assignment. It’s not really that big of a deal, but I was here in the building and I thought that I could…’ Nice way of getting off track, Penny. As they said in high school musical: ‘Get’cha your head in the game’ and this is not the game. ‘Never mind. Which format should I use?’

‘That’s up to you,’ he says.

That’s it? That’s the answer he is gonna give me?

‘Right,’ I mumble.

‘Other questions, miss Townsend?’

Yes. I let out a deep sigh. ‘The assignment is just harder than I thought,’ I admit. ‘I don’t really understand it.’

Professor Marshall stands up and holds out his hand. ‘Sit, I’ll try to explain it.’

‘In your chair?’

He simply nods and I walk around the desk, to take a seat, while he leans against the windowsill. Oh, the leather is warm… What a body heat does this man produce. ‘Okay, the point of the assignment is to use some of the example files of—staged—murders. Based on the file you choose, you choose a format. You write out the victimology, try to narrate who the killer is, writing down all your findings and there are things I’m gonna talk about in next classes.’

I nod. ‘That makes it easier, thank you, sir.’

‘You’re already working on the assignment?’ he asks. Why does he sound genuinely surprised?

I nod again. ‘I am. I find it easier to work a bit every day, than to cram it all in one day.’ I realize how that sounds. ‘That sounds dorky.’

‘It doesn’t really. It’s a whole lot better than what I did back in the days,’ he says. ‘What did you think of the class?’

Is he asking for my opinion? ‘Your class was very interesting. Slightly morbid though, but fascinating.’

‘Morbid?’ the professor asks. ‘There was nothing morbid about my class.’

I scrunch up my nose. ‘It was kinda scary. With the blood patterns and all. The peek into the murderer’s mind?’ I shiver. ‘Don’t know, felt too personal and too much into the killer’s brain.’

‘The class you’re taking is criminology,’ he says, ‘you should’ve known.’

I shrug, not knowing what to say to him. He is right…

‘Miss Townsend—’

‘Penny,’ I say. ‘It’s Penny. Penelope officially, but people barely call me that.’ People barely call out for me ever, but that’s a different topic. Total different topic.

‘Penny,’ he says, ‘could’ve known.’

I don’t know what he is implying, but I realize I am totally overstaying. ‘I’m sorry, I should go. Thanks for helping me out. Oh, I brought you back your umbrella. I don’t need it anyways.’

Professor Marshall nods. ‘Okay.’

‘I should go. It’s getting kinda dark already.’

‘Let me guess, you don’t do well in the dark.’

I smile almost out of guilt. ‘That obvious?’

For a brief moment I spot a smirk on his face. ‘I’m a detective, I spot these things.’

Okay, not gonna lie, but that’s pretty funny. ‘See you next class, professor,’ I say, standing up from his chair and I walk towards the door.

‘See you next class, Penny.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x penny townsend #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #walter marshall #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall x oc #walter marshall x asian ofc #walter marshall x penny townsend #professor!walter marshall #but professor

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piecksz · 4 years ago

Text

forget me too. | (m)

pairing: modern punk!bakugo x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, angst, cheating, oral sex, penetrative sex, angry sex, choking, fingering, exes with benefits, mentions of breeding, hair pulling, explicit language, toxic relationship, manipulation, reader just being a lovesick puppy but wouldn’t we all be if it came to bakugo

summary: it’s been a year since you broke up with bakugo after you found him cheating on you, and you swore you’d moved on from him, but when you run into him again at a record shop, you fall back into a dangerous cycle of love and hate

words: 9,800+

a/n: so i gave in and watched downfalls high, and i’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t the best piece of media i’ve ever consumed, but mgk’s feature track with halsey kind of ate (AND IT LITERALLY INSPIRED SO MANY ANGSTY IDEAS I WAS ITCHINGGG). therefore, this is said angsty idea. you can listen to the song forget me too by machine gun kelly (feat. halsey) while reading, that’s if you’re really daring. good luck lol

If there was one thing in the world you couldn’t fully understand, it was the type of girls who hated their ex-boyfriends, twirling their hair flirtatiously and giggling at all their pitiful punchlines one week, and the next, hatching bogus rumors to discourage other girls from seeking them out romantically, letting them know that their charm came at a price.

Until it was Bakugo.

You genuinely didn’t see it coming. You weren’t even able to recognize the severity of the situation until you were convulsing with the gravity of your sobs, shrieking at him in front of his apartment. Bakugo had called you earlier that evening to reschedule your previously-arranged dinner date since his friend Kirishima was in town, and he wanted to dedicate the rest of the night to catching up with his old schoolmate. You happily forfeited your own plans and instead opted to rendezvous with your boyfriend and his familiar later in the week, but as the night hauled on your favorite TV show no longer satiated your boredom.

Shuffling into the kitchen and scouring your cabinet for ingredients, you drew up the idea to bake some sweets for Bakugo and Kirishima because you figured it would be a nice surprise, however once you arrived at Bakugo’s place you deduced quickly that his friend wasn’t over. It should have been notably clear that something was unusual by the way he was hesitant to let you in.

He poked his head out from behind the privacy of his front door, definitely surprised to see you, but not in the way you had hoped.

“Y/N,” he greeted you with a tight-lipped expression, eyes dropping to the tub of sugar cookies in your hands. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me to let me know you were coming over?”

You hummed after detecting a subtle edge in his voice. “I wanted to surprise you.” You rose to your toes to look past his head. “I thought you said your friend was coming over.”

Bakugo nodded, and once he extended his hand to accept your treats you could see that his torso was bare. “Idiot had to cancel at the last minute. School shit. He said he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Your grip tightened on the container.

If his friend couldn’t make it then why didn’t he let you know? The two of you still could have made it to your dinner reservations.

And in that moment, you swore your internal monologue was loud enough to hear, because you immediately received your answer when you heard a soft, feminine voice come from inside his apartment.

“Who the fuck is that?” you barked, trying to outbalance Bakugo’s weight on the door. “Bakugo you little fucking shit--let me in.” It was a moment-long game between the two of you until Bakugo gave in, accepting the reality that he’d already been caught. You stumbled into the door as it swung open, revealing his company.

She was petite with short blonde hair, wearing a panicked expression that matched Bakugo’s oversized flannel on her naked body almost impeccably. You stared at each other until you broke the tense silence with a quiet holy shit.

“Holy shit,” you repeated louder, blinking as fast as you could to hold back the salty tears that were beginning to cloud your vision. “You fucking dick!” You didn’t notice how forceful your voice had gotten until you were shouting at him, the immense pressure building in your chest making your voice crack. You hurled every vulgar name in the book at Bakugo who couldn’t even look you in the eye while you cried in front of him.

This couldn’t have been the same man you once saw your future playing out with. The hell unfolding in front of you was exactly what your friends, Momo and Ochako, had predicted once you disclosed your interest in Bakugo. They warned you that he had a record on campus, with multiple girls, and yet somehow when he wooed you with sweet words and thoughtful gifts, just like they said he would, you still thought you were different. The worst part of it all was that he wasn’t a terrible guy by any means. He was a little rough around the edges with a temper, but he was hilarious and passionate, all while being profound and smart.

In your fantasies the two of you were married, and then came babies with tufts of your tresses and the mischief of his ruby eyes. He would have been a winner, if he wasn’t so emotionally incompetent. Perhaps you were naive to assume what you and Bakugo had was love just because he said so.

Your quivering fingers worked unsteadily against the lid of the tupperware. You tossed it aside before dumping the container’s contents on the floor of his apartment and hurled the empty food saver at him.

“Come fucking on Y/N,” he said wearily. The fucking nerve he had to act tired.

“Enjoy your cookies,” you responded venomously, leaving quickly before another set of tears came surging.

The next several months were excruciating, and the pain you experienced was nothing compared to its onset. If you weren’t spending days cocooned in bed to sleep off the fatigue of your endless crying, then you were on your couch, staring unamused while Blair Waldorf waltzed across your TV screen.

At least she got her happy fucking ending. Good for her.

You couldn’t even find the energy to eat, and ice cream was not the cure-all for heartbreaks like everyone lied and said it was.

Every so often Momo and Ochako would pay you a visit. For the first few weeks they let you mourn, consoling you and cleaning up the litter of crumpled tissues around your apartment. After the first month, they suggested that maybe meeting someone new would be the best way to help you forget about your break up, but you didn’t want to meet someone new. You just wanted to know if Bakugo missed you too.

Once your grades started slipping, you used that as an excuse to turn to isolation and lose yourself in your schoolwork. The distraction left you with no leisure time to scroll through old photos of you and Bakugo in your phone, and within a couple months, you swore that you’d finally moved on from him.

But it seemed all of that was forgotten the moment you recognized his head of spiky blonde hair from the next aisle over in the record shop, and you silently cursed the universe’s cruel way of working, that all-knowing bitch.

You kept your head down, pretending to be overtly interested in the Kendrick Lamar vinyl you held in your hands, but you couldn’t stop peeking over the shelf to see if Bakugo had moved from his spot.

You could hear him shuffling, and every time you looked up, he was a step closer to the end of the aisle, meaning that your game plan was to move in the opposite direction, so you could slip past him without being detected.

You continued to move one step to the left every time Bakugo moved another step to the right, surely securing your elusive escape, but when you glanced up again, he had disappeared from your line of surveillance. Shit.

“Y/N?”

Shit!

Slowly, you pivoted in the direction of your name only to gawk, horrified, as your ex-boyfriend strolled up to you casually, like he had never ripped your heart out and trampled all over it.

Once he got closer, you realized how generous the year between your break up and now had been to him. His yellow flannel was useless tied around his waist when it should have been on his shoulders instead, covering the way his black Led Zeppelin shirt clung to the impressive build of his upper body.

“Holy fuck, it is you,” Bakugo said, incredulously. You swore he had grown taller now that he was standing in front of you because you couldn’t remember if he had always towered over you.

“Small world,” you said, distastefully.

“Not really,” Bakugo shrugged. “This is just where I come to slave away for minimum wage.”

You simply blinked at him with a placid expression, unable to decide which of your emotions was best considering the circumstances.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he chuckled. “Did you cut your hair?”

You raised an eyebrow plainly. “No.” If anything your hair had grown a few inches longer.

“Highlights?”

“No.”

“Shit seriously?” Bakugo cast his eyes downwards and then back up, sizing up your figure. “Well you look good.”

You could only offer up a dry laugh in response while shaking your head at the peculiarity of the situation.

“What is wrong with you?” you jeered.

You couldn’t believe the ease with which he approached you after not seeing you for twelve whole months, especially when six and a half of those months were spent bawling your eyes out over him and trying to repair the heart he broke carelessly.

Bakugo’s blithe expression withered. The look left behind was one of bashful remorse, as if he was embarrassed by the person he was a year ago.

You weren’t even sure if he had really changed since you’d gone out of your way to avoid hearing or seeing anything about him after you claimed to have gotten over him. The real reason was that you felt you couldn’t trust yourself. You feared that if you came across anything having to do with him, you’d descend into another self-destructive, heartache-driven spiral.

“I tried calling to apologize, but you blocked my number. And then blocked me on everything else,” Bakugo explained.

You shifted uncomfortably.

“I never saw you around campus, and when I showed up to your apartment you weren’t home. I felt like horse shit, seriously, but after a while I just gave up, I guess.”

You pursed your lips together at the mention of his attempts to remedy your breakup, specifically because this whole time you could have sworn he didn’t care to fix things with you.

Bakugo leaned in, and you surprised yourself by making no effort to create more distance between the both of you.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said softly, for once without the gruffness of his usual tone.

If he made the effort to apologize even after a year, that must have meant that he still had some feelings left over for you, right? Did that mean he still loved you? The suspicion made your heart squeeze with expectation.

“Are you sorry that you hurt me, or are you sorry that you got caught?” You questioned.

“Both,” Bakugo snickered tactlessly.

You swore you could have punched his lights out then and there, but he must have noticed the way you tensed up because he looped his arm around you, pulling you in until you nestled into his larger frame.

“I fucking missed you, dumbass.”

Your stomach dropped at the very mention of the words you were longing to hear after your split, and you knew that you weren’t over him. Not even close. Even when you had caught another girl with her hands on him.

Your first mistake was unblocking Bakugo’s number that night, and your second was sending him a text. You stood in the bathroom, dumbfounded by your own actions while you clutched your phone nervously. Thank god he didn’t have his read receipts on. The last thing you needed to know was if he decided to leave you on read after you had just stroked his monumental ego.

You sat your phone aside and proceeded brushing your teeth until you were interrupted by a shrill ding from beside you. You grabbed your phone much too quickly and slid the screen up to be met with a reply from Bakugo.

9:32 PM

bakugo: so i’m still in your phone huh?

9:32 PM:

bakugo: lmao

9:33 PM:

bakugo: thinking about me even after bitching about how much you hate me?

9:34 PM:

bakugo: especially at night that’s hot

You scowled at the messages before putting your phone back down. Using the time it took you to finish brushing your teeth and washing your face, you recited your responses over and over again because as much as you wanted to, you knew it wouldn’t be smart to jump back into your relationship that fast. You still held negative sentiments about what he had done to you, but the pleasure of having him back was slowly beginning to outweigh your earlier feelings.

While shuffling into your bedroom, you kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, typing, deleting, and retyping messages, worried that they would sound too needy.

9:50 PM:

you: so i see you still have a head so big that it could block out the sun

9:53 PM:

bakugo: fuck off you little shit

9:53 PM:

bakugo: no classes tmrw and i’m off work at 12

9:54 PM:

you: ok? do i look like your fucking secretary?

10:00 PM:

bakugo: no im just letting you know in case you’re planning on stalking me again :^(

10:01 PM

bakugo: obviously i wanna see you tomorrow dipshit

Warmth spread across your cheeks until it deepened into a dangerous heat, and the happy memories of you and Bakugo a year ago resurfaced as deja vu. Everything was scarily reminiscent of the way he asked you out the first time, back when your opinions about him were much more straightforward.

You rolled over to the other side of your bed and squealed, flustered by how to-the-point he was about his desire to reconcile things with you.

“Get it together, honestly,” you reprimanded yourself, jabbing a finger against your temple in an effort to drill the mantra into your head.

You responded back to accept Bakugo’s invitation, being mindful not to sound too excited, but you couldn’t deny that you slept better than usual that night.

The next day when you met up with Bakugo after his shift at the record shop ended, the two of you settled on getting coffee from one of the restaurants on campus. Well, you got a coffee, but Bakugo went for an iced tea instead because he insisted that coffee tasted like “dog shit”.

Regardless of your staggering difference of opinion in beverages, you guys hit it off again, laughing and joking around like there had never been a rift between you two in the first place. You were taken aback by how comfortable you still felt around him and how much he still seemed to adore you.

Two weeks after your reunion, you and Bakugo were already falling back into the routine of going on dates like you’d done before, snickering in the back of crowded movie theaters and demolishing each other in multiple rounds of mini golf. You even kept the photo booth picture that was printed for you at the aquarium in your wallet, just so you could peek at it every now and then.

Three weeks after your reunion, you concluded that you were pretty much together. Bakugo had never made it official, and neither had you, but you trusted the way you felt, and it seemed clear that he felt the same way.

Your friends however, weren’t as happy to hear the news of you and Bakugo seeing each other again.

Momo’s eyes widened as she leaned over the table and thrusted her mechanical pencil in your direction.

“Y/N, please tell me you’re joking.” She turned to Ochako who looked at you with a troubled expression. “Uraraka, please tell me she’s joking.”

Ochako pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head in utter disbelief. She said nothing. Rather she looked to you for an answer, wanting you to explain the situation before she scolded you for being so forgiving toward someone who didn’t deserve it.

“He apologized okay? And it really seemed like he meant it, I’m not just saying that. You guys know I can’t hold grudges. I’m soft.”

Momo huffed.

“We started talking, and he told me that he tried to apologize but he never got the chance.”

Your friends were still quiet, waiting for the punchline, but once they realized that there was no hidden gag to the story, they leaned back in exhaustion, disappointed that you’d gotten yourself into another wearisome situation because of your thoughtlessness.

“And he said he missed me. After an entire year, he still misses me.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if we had found you someone else, you know. Someone nice. Better than Bakugo, so you don’t feel like you have to settle,” Momo countered.

“I didn’t need to date someone else,” you chided her. “I’m not one of those people that need to be in a relationship to feel fulfilled, plus I’ve been swamped with assignments.” You knew you were just trying to save face. You knew the real reason why you turned down all your prospective blind dates, and your friends knew it too. You couldn’t see yourself with anyone other than Bakugo, and you meant it when you said you didn’t need love to feel like you had purpose, but when it came to the blonde, it appeared that none of those principles applied.

“You’re lying,” Ochako sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear before clicking her pen and returning to her research paper.

“I’m not settling!” you declared, earning a few scattered glances from the other students in the library. You smiled at them ruefully, mouthing an apology, and ducked your head back into your college textbook.

You decided to drop the conversation, concluding that your friends just wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know your relationship with Bakugo like you did so how could they have understood?

Later that night however, you couldn’t help but chew over your friends’ reactions. There was clearly a reason why they felt the way they did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to see their concern. You didn’t need to be chastised every time you did something they didn’t agree with, because you reminded yourself you were a grown ass woman. You treasured Momo and Ochako, but you were absolutely capable of looking out of yourself.

“Why do girls watch this shit?” Bakugo muttered from beside you, uninterested in the movie playing on the Macbook propped up in your lap. “It’s just dresses and sideburns, where the fuck are the fist fights?”

“It’s Pride and Prejudice, stupid. Not Deadpool,” you retorted, giggling slightly once Bakugo decided the skin of your neck was more interesting than Kiera Knightley. He released a throaty chuckle while attaching his lips to the base of your jaw and continued kissing until he stopped where your neck met your shoulders.

“Stop, I’m trying to watch the movie,” you complained tenderly with absolutely no intent to make Bakugo stop.

Bakugo sat up, grabbing your laptop off the sheets and closing it briskly. “Fuck the movie, I have a better idea,” he suggested. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching as he tossed the device onto the chair beside your closet.

“Hey, what are you doing, you dick?” you protested.

Within seconds Bakugo was on top of you with arms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in beneath him.

“Yeah?” he whispered provocatively, like he was making sure he had your permission first. He spoke under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You didn’t know what sensation you registered first: the warmth now spreading quickly across your cheeks, down to your chest, or the pronounced throbbing between your thighs.

You nodded, softly responding with a “yeah” in return, and Bakugo didn’t waste a second before pressing his mouth to yours enthusiastically. You were surprised how quickly you re-familiarized yourself with the curve of his lips and the way they moved steadily against yours. Acting with fervor, he used his hand to grip your chin, forcing your mouth to open wider so he could slip his tongue past your teeth.

Bakugo used his free hand to grab your breast under your sweatshirt, and you relished in the feeling of his warm palm against your skin while he ran his fingertips against the silky fabric of your lace bra.

“Lace? You dirty bitch,” he teased, breaking contact. “There’s no way you could have known we were gonna fuck.”

You laughed, appreciating how seductive Bakugo looked. His sandy hair was tousled from your impatient hands in his locks, skin feverishly tinged with a dusty pink hue, and lips swollen from the force of his kiss.

“I didn’t know, but I was hoping we would,” you answered honestly. “I guess I got lucky.”

Bakugo snickered, clearly pleased with the response he received. His scarlet eyes flickered lustfully, and he hastily returned to working on your body. He pulled your sweatshirt up and off, tossing it over his shoulder before working swiftly against the clasp of your bra, which he skillfully managed to break with just one hand.

Must have had a lot of practice with that.

But your cynical thoughts were soon forgotten the moment Bakugo’s tongue curled around your nipple, enjoying the way his saliva made your skin glisten under the dim lamp light. He hummed loudly every time you jolted and whimpered, your back arching in tandem. He closed his lips around the delicate nub, sucking harshly while making no attempts to hide his sly smile. He was enjoying himself far too much.

He made sure he put his other hand to work, rolling your other nipple between his fingers, pinching roughly while tugging on it absentmindedly. Once he grew bored of your innocent mewls, he thirsted for something filthier.

Bakugo tantalizingly slid his hand down your stomach until his fingers curled around the waistband of your volleyball shorts. He stretched the Spandex material until when he released it, it snapped painfully against your skin, his cock throbbing at the exposure of your earthy groan.

He slipped off your shorts, and the sight before him was enough to elicit a long, drawn-out “Jesus fucking Christ”.

You didn’t realize you were so aroused that your underwear was soaking wet, your pussy now visible through the thin sheer fabric. Bakugo swallowed hard, palming himself to relieve some of the unbearable pressure he was feeling. He could feel his cock straining against his underwear, and he wanted to stick his dick inside you and fuck you until your eyes rolled back into your head, but the only thing he wanted more than that was to taste you.

“These are mine,” Bakugo insisted. He pulled your panties off, chuckling dryly at the wet stain on the fabric before tucking them into his pocket.

You tilted your head at him.

“What? I’m keeping them as a souvenir,” he replied.

But that’s not what you were concerned with. You were more humiliated than anything that this was your first time having sex with him in a year, and you’d been horny for him since you opened the door. You might as well have just written Bakugo’s Whore on your head in thick permanent marker, but you kept your suggestion to yourself knowing that Bakugo would have liked the idea way too much.

Bakugo reached down to pull his shirt over his head and threw it aside, unveiling his impressive physique. After you guys had broken up, he began finding himself in the gym more frequently, placating his regret and anger through physical exertion, and although he used weightlifting to cope, it left him with an incredible build.

Sweet lord, you thought, please fucking break me.

Bakugo wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you forcibly toward him. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a good look as his face disappeared between your legs. You couldn’t see much past his hair, but you felt a long wet lick up your folds, and your arms immediately gave out, causing you to fall back onto the bed while your hips bucked upward.

You let out an obscene cry, but that only encouraged Bakugo more. He parted your lips with his tongue, licking another stripe up to your clit before sucking it into his mouth, all while peering up at you to see the way you writhed under his touch. You gripped the sheets, and your breathing grew increasingly labored as Bakugo swirled the tip of his tongue against the tender bud, slowly in one direction, and then the opposite. You continued to grind yourself against his mouth while your desire became insatiable. You felt like your hunger was completely justified, because you hadn’t been spoiled in a long fucking time.

You completely unraveled once you glanced down just in time to see Bakugo spit on your parted folds before using his fingers to coat your pussy in his saliva. His slick fingers rubbed your clit, taunting you for just a while longer, and then he dipped his fingers inside of you. He started with two fingers, slipping them in and out with ease until his spit mixed with your arousal created a vile lubricant.

With the way Bakugo’s lips were slightly parted and his eyebrows were knitted in the center, you could tell he was concentrating dangerously, observing how desperately you swallowed his fingers every time he pushed them in.

Your vision erupted into white heat when he bent down to take your clit back into his mouth while pumping in and out of you with an added finger. The symphony that filled the space of your room was absolutely foul. Your intense cries bounced off the walls, while Bakugo panted heavily at the messy sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of you. And neither of you cared if your neighbors could hear.

“Bakugo--,” you started, but your broken plea wasn’t nearly enough to get his attention.

“Bakugo,” you cried louder, your body beginning to shake with the onset of your orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asked, his voice slightly higher than you were used to, almost like he was whining.

You could only give a weak nod in response.

“Be a good little bitch and cum for me,” Bakugo coaxed, as you yielded to the intensity of your orgasm. He quickened his pace just to see you convulse as you reached your high, but then slowed down until he was ready to pull his fingers out of you.

The sight was enough to make Bakugo cum untouched. You were finger-fucked out, eyes shut as your chest heaved up and down while you tried to catch your breath. Your arousal was smeared on the inside of your thighs and your bedsheet was damp where you released.

Bakugo wanted to ask you if you were alright, but the aching pain in his pants took priority. He reached into his underwear, freeing his swollen cock from the confines of his boxers. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood as he pumped himself gingerly, hissing at the feeling. His tip was raw and flushed, leaking precum in shameless amounts.

He hoisted your legs on either shoulder and positioned himself at your entrance, looking at you for confirmation, and you nodded feebly. He sunk his entire length into you, and you covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a shrill scream. Your walls were already sore, and the sting of Bakugo’s large cock inside of you was a painful bliss. Tears came quickly, and they rolled down your cheeks while Bakugo rocked his hips into you slowly. He was waiting for his aching to subside before speeding up his rhythm, and once it did he was taken over by an unappeasable greed.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, thrusting himself in and out of you. “If you keep squeezing me like that I’m gonna cum inside you and get you fucking pregnant.” Bakugo had one hand on your headboard, his grip so firm that his knuckles had turned white.

You sobbed underneath him, withstanding your own pain until it subdued into pleasure. You shifted your legs until they wrapped around Bakugo’s strong torso, unable to get enough of him.

Bakugo rammed into you, and your headboard hitting your wall furiously set the tempo until he fell into a staggered cadence.

“I’m gonna cum,” he choked out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--.” Your name was the last thing Bakugo could get out before he broke free of your hold, pulling himself out of you so he could release. He cummed on your stomach, generously shooting out hot spurts of white until he was soft and you were covered in his seed.

Bakugo leaned over and collapsed beside you, short of breath. He was drenched in sweat and his blonde hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. He chuckled after a few silent minutes.

“What the fuck was that? Were you trying to get me to nut in you?” Bakugo asked, turning to face you.

You didn’t know what he was talking about until you remembered the way you wrapped him up in your legs while he was inside you.

You snorted, erupting into a fit of sheepish laughter. “Yeah.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, bewildered. “Crazy bitch.”

He pulled his sweatpants up and rolled out of your bed. “I’m not ready to be a dad yet,” he voiced, before shuffling lazily out of the room to find something he could clean you up with and smoke a cigarette on the fire escape.

The next morning you found yourself alone, Bakugo nowhere to be found despite you falling asleep with his arms around your waist. You raised a sleepy eyebrow at the empty space next to you that was still sunken from his weight. Okay good, so you didn’t hallucinate last night. You figured Bakugo had early duties to attend to, so you simply grumbled before turning over to get more sleep.

Following that day, every time Bakugo came over to your place, or you found yourself at his, the routine was simple: have breathtaking sex and then pass out.

You grew used to expecting it from him whenever the two of you spent any time alone, and the night before always consumed your thoughts the morning after. You’d squeeze your thighs together during your lecture hall while your professor yammered on about early psychology. The memory of Bakugo’s hand around your throat as he fucked you from behind prompted a surge of heat to your core.

Even when the two of you couldn’t see each other because neither of your schedules coincided, you found a way to make things work, whether it was over the phone, through text, or over Facetime.

Occasionally, you’d ring up Bakugo while he was closing up the shop to taunt him, touching yourself on the other line while he’d grow painfully hard and couldn’t relieve himself until he got home.

“You little fucking shit.” You loved the way his low growls sounded over the phone. “Let’s see how bold you are when I come over and turn your thighs into earmuffs.”

And occasionally, he’d send you videos of himself in bed while you were at the library late cramming for your exams the next morning, touching his cock with haste before cumming on his hands as he groaned your name loudly.

Not an ounce of passion was lost between you two, and if anything you’d only grown closer together from the time spent apart. You had your love back, and everything in your life was ideal.

Of course, that was all before the party.

The party at Sero’s house that you’d caught wind of once you joined Momo, Ochako, and your other friend Mina for lunch.

“You know I don’t like going to parties thrown by frats,” Ochako muttered, ripping off small bites of her chicken wrap.

“Why not? There’ll be plenty of guys there for you to talk to, your phone has been a little dry lately,” Mina responded, laughing silently.

Ochako squinted at her jest before playfully rolling her eyes herself. “That’s exactly why. You know what happened last time I went to a frat party. The hangover isn’t worth it.”

Mina exhaled heavily and turned to you with a hopeful look.

“Y/N, you’ll go with us right? Me and Momo?”

You squeezed your water bottle wearily. “I don’t know. I’m not a fan of frat parties either.” You didn’t know what answer to give her, she looked extremely optimistic, and you hated to rain on Mina’s Friday night plans, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening crammed in a frat house with a crowd of strangers.

Mina stuck out her bottom lip and reached to grab your hand from across the table. “Please? Please? There’s no guarantee Momo won’t ditch me at the party for Todoroki.”

Momo murmured inaudibly beside her.

You sighed, however you relented, giving into the arrangements Mina had made for you, but you regretted your decision far too late.

You showed up to the gathering with Mina and Momo dressed modestly. Unlike your friends and many of the other girls there, you already had someone that you were seeing, and you wanted to look as reserved as you could so there was no confusion around whether or not you were off the market.

Bakugo was possessive, and he preferred to keep his possessions close. There was no telling what he would do or how he’d react if he learned of another man trying to make a move on you.

You took small sips out of your cup while you followed quietly behind Momo and Mina as they moved from person to person, greeting friends you were unfamiliar with. You feigned a cheery smile when you were introduced to them, but overall you were bored with the party scene. You weren’t really a frat party girl.

You yelled over to Momo that you needed another drink and shook your head when she asked you if you needed her to come with you. She looked far too engrossed in her conversation with Todoroki, and you didn’t want to just whisk her away while they were talking. In fact, you were the chairman of the Anti-Cockblock Committee.

You sauntered into the kitchen, sliding in next to the counter once the guests who were there first left. You started grabbing bottles to inspect the labels because to be honest, you weren’t sure what half of these brands were. As a broke college student, you bought your own drinks, which were mainly $20 cases of hard lemonade and cheap raspberry Smirnoff vodka from the liquor store. Clearly Sero had selective taste in high quality shit.

You poured yourself a small sip of Patron, tasting the clear liquid, and tried not to gag at the oaky taste as it burned your throat going down.

You felt someone ease in beside you. “Hey, bartender.”

You glanced at the guest next to you, their familiar visage coming into view. You recognized his distinctive green head of hair and innocent freckles peppered across his cheeks, it was the same face you saw every day in your sociology class.

What was his name? Ku--something. Zu…?

You remembered your professor referred to him by his nickname, Deku, and once you said his name as convincingly as you could, you gathered by his boyish grin that you were right.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” he laughed, and adjusted his circle-rimmed glasses while his emerald eyes swelled into crescents.

“I didn’t really take you for a partier,” you observed. Deku was incredibly smart from what you’d seen in class. He knew the answers before your professor could even finish their questions, and when you’d ask him if he could repeat what the teacher said for your notes, he explained the material even better than the person who was an expert in the subject for a living.

“I’m not,” he replied. “But you know, the college experience and all that.”

You scoffed and nodded, knowingly. “Melt your brain studying for 25 hours a day, 8 days a week, and then get shitfaced whenever you can. Yeah, that’s definitely the college experience,” you joked, pouring yourself a couple shots of vodka and mixed it with orange soda.

“I was meaning to ask you,” Deku started. “I mean--Yeah--I was meaning to ask you for your number in class earlier this week.”

You stirred your drink with a finger before stealing a taste. “Of course,” you agreed happily.

Deku’s face deepened into a rosy bloom once he took out his phone, typing in your contact while you recited the numbers.

“I’m not asking for a weird reason or anything like that. Just so we can help each other out with homework and stuff.”

You nodded, already acknowledging that Deku was a sweet kid, at least as far as you knew. You didn’t expect him to have any promiscuous intentions.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be as much help to you as you’ll be to me,” you teased, and Deku chuckled nervously still trying to shake the blush off his cheeks. “I’m free on Monday, I can meet up with you after class if you want.”

Deku buried his face into his cup, his shallow breathing causing his glasses to fog up. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he mumbled bashfully.

“Text me the deets,” you grinned, before wandering off back to your friends.

On the way back to the stairwell where Momo and Mina were still standing, your attention was drawn by a large crowd around the living room that erupted into jovial squeals and cheers every few seconds. You gravitated toward the mass of guests, standing on your toes to get a better look, but when that didn’t work you gently made your way through the throng of people, issuing soft “sorry, excuse me’s” and “thank you’s” to the people that didn’t mind letting you slip past them.

You had no knowledge that he was going to be here. He never told you what his plans for the night were, but this was the last place you were expecting Bakugo to be.

Here.

Playing a game of “Kiss and Blow” on a crowded couch with someone who wasn’t you. When it reached his turn, you could see his shallow inhale and how he put in no effort to keep the card against his mouth. It fell between the cushions, and the crowd erupted into another rally.

Bakugo grinned artfully and hooked his arm around the eager brunette before smothering her giggles with a deep tongue-filled kiss.

At first, the cogs in your brain couldn’t turn fast enough to register what was happening, and your thought process stuttered for a moment while your eyes took in more than you expected. Your body remained immobile, giving your thoughts a few seconds to catch up. Maybe for those few seconds, your anguish was suspended, and your shock was simply a cushion until you fell apart.

You couldn’t make your way out of the party fast enough, and you didn’t even think to let Momo and Mina know that you were leaving. Everything around you sounded warbled, like you were underwater, as your leaden legs carried you out, past the front lawn, and across the street until you were far away that you could no longer hear the music of the party. It was then that you pulled out your phone to text Mina claiming that you didn’t feel well and called an Uber to take you home.

The following morning you ignored all of Bakugo’s texts. He sent one at 10 AM, asking you if you were down to get breakfast, and then another at noon suggesting lunch since you didn’t respond to his text about breakfast. He texted you again, and again, and again, and you continued to disregard him.

You didn’t cry this time around. No. You were filled with a foreign anger. It was strange and new, and it burned nothing like the rage you’d felt in all your years of living. You didn’t know whether you were angry at him for putting you through this again or if you were angry at yourself for really believing that he’d changed. You really wanted to confront Bakugo in person, but you were afraid of your unpredictability. You didn’t know what you would do if you saw him--roundhouse kick him in the throat most likely.

Bakugo’s relentless attempts to get in contact with you didn’t let up, even late into the night. He sent another text threatening to show up at your apartment if you didn’t answer him, and then he called yet again.

Angrily, you reached out to answer your phone, but once you held it to your ear all the fury you’d been bearing throughout the day emerged.

“Can you fuck off?” You hissed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bakugo responded, taken off guard by your greeting. “What the fuck?”

“If you were so hellbent on seeing me today, you should have thought about that before you decided to be a hypocritical little bastard! Again!” You shook with anger, unable to effectively piece together all the profane names you wanted to call him.

Bakugo was still while you put him on blast.

“Do you not have anything to say to me, you fuckwit?”

“No, because I don’t even know why you’re going full bitch right now!” Bakugo defended himself. You sat back at his reply, confused at why he was guarded. You knew that when Bakugo was aware he was in the wrong he always remained quiet and pensive.

“Last night?” you clarified. “Does last night not ring a bell to you?”

He let out a small grunt of recollection. “I was at a party last night, what are you talking about?”

“No shit, Bakugo! I saw you swallowing another girl whole!”

The other line erupted into laughter, and a large knot settled in your throat.

“Am I not allowed to kiss other girls now?” he asked.

Had he been hit by a semi-truck? Did he need a swift lobotomy?

“Why would you kiss another girl if you have a girlfriend?”

Bakugo muttered a quiet “what”, and then the lightbulb clicked.

“Holy shit, Y/N, did you think we were back together?”

Huh?

“When did we ever say that we were together?” he questioned lightly, finding your misunderstanding comical.

But--

“I thought we were just fucking around, you know? I never mentioned getting back together, and you didn’t either, so I just assumed we were just fucking.”

You didn’t say a word. As angry as you wanted to be and as angry as you already were, he was right. You had only assumed that you two were back together, but neither of you agreed on it explicitly.

“Our dates...” you countered listlessly.

“Two people hanging out together isn’t always a date.” Bakugo shifted on the other end and then grunted again to occupy the tense silence. “Shitting me, I didn’t know that’s what you were thinking.”

Realization of how foolish you made yourself look set in, and you hoped the awkwardness that hung in the air was fleeting. You swallow heavily, unable to digest defeat.

“Okay,” you murmured, before hanging up and flinging your phone aside.

You and Bakugo didn’t speak for the rest of the night into next morning, and by midday Monday when your study session with Deku rolled around, you were more than reluctant to go. You knew the frustration of someone cancelling last minute, but you were unsure whether you could bring a positive spirit to your meetup, and the last thing you wanted to do was put kind-hearted Deku through your bad mood.

As the time drew closer, you were considering texting him to rain check, letting him know you were feeling under the weather, when he sent you a picture at the coffee shop. Deku had ordered you lunch, mentioning that you must’ve been hungry after classes all day. He explained that he didn’t know what you liked so he just bought for you what he usually got for himself.

After that, you couldn’t have possibly turned him down, so you showed up anyway. Before you knew it, the clock already approached 9 PM, and the coffee shop was about to close for the night. Time had flown by while you were getting lost in upbeat conversation with Deku, and the two of you laughed and joked around more than you’d done your assignment, but you didn’t mind since it gave you another excuse to meet up with him. You didn’t expect him to be as naturally humorous as he was, nor did you guess you’d have as much in common with him as you did, but you’d forgotten about your own heartache during the time you spent in his company. Not to mention, he was very easy on the eyes, but that was just an additional plus.

However, when you finally returned home to your empty apartment that night, all your feelings came flooding back.

“Right,” you muttered to yourself, setting your backpack down by the door, and throwing your keys onto the kitchen counter. “Back to square one.”

Normally, you’d invite Bakugo over, but you had no desire to be anywhere within a three mile radius of him at the moment, so you quickly got ready for bed, figuring that the more time you spent asleep meant less time that you’d have to dwell over the all-too-familiar pain in your chest.

You continued to spend more and more time with Deku even though most of your plans were organized around schoolwork, even if it was studying for a test or just practicing terminology flashcards. Eventually, you’d gotten close enough that you didn’t mind inviting him over since your apartment was much quieter than the dorm he shared with his roommate, Kaminari.

You were both sat on your couch, and you took turns quizzing each other on general knowledge sociology questions. You flipped through the flashcards, Deku answering every question with impressive ease, until you had grown tired.

“Deku, this isn’t fun. You know every term,” you sighed, shuffling through the stack.

“Studying isn’t supposed to be fun, that’s why it’s called studying and not having fun,” he joked lamely, extending his hands to take his flashcards back.

You giggled silently at his flat humor and leaned back against the armrest to put your knees up. “Okay, well what do you like to do when you’re not studying?”

Deku slipped his flashcards into the pocket of his backpack. “Between classes, studying, and wrestling, I don’t really have much time for anything else.”

You gaped. “You wrestle? No fucking way.”

Deku raised an eyebrow at you, amused and unsure of the reason for your stupefaction. “Why do you think I’m a loser or something?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you explained. “I just wouldn’t have guessed.” You took note of his lean stature. He did look like he worked out, but you never considered his pastime was something as brutish as wrestling. You figured his interests would explain the scars that decorated both of his hands.

“Okay then,” you began, hopping up and throwing the blanket you were wrapped in on the couch. “Teach me something.”

Deku stared at you, uncertain whether you were serious. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, timidly.

“Oh man up, you baby,” you joked while wrapping your hands around his wrists, urging him to stand up. “Who’s to say I won’t hurt you?”

Deku chuckled nervously before following you over to the open space between your living room and kitchen. He stood for a second, thinking of the easiest moves to show you, and then he nodded, like he had fully decided.

“Okay, come here.”

You did as you were told, letting Deku guide you into the correct position. You cleared your throat, unnerved by the way his chest pressed up against your back, and his strong hands looped around your arms to lock them behind your head.

“This is a full nelson,” he instructed. “It’s a submission hold. It’s not allowed in our matches, but feel free to use it if you ever find some creep following you home.” You could feel his chest rumble with laughter between your shoulder blades.

You nodded, feeling flustered. “Mhm.”

The next demonstration had the two of you on the floor with your arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle while Deku’s arm was situated over your rib cage. You could feel his staggered breathing across the shell of your ear, and you looked over your shoulder expectantly, waiting for him to explain the move.

Deku must have realized how close your faces were to each other because he absolutely lost his cool. He began stammering, unable to get his words out. “And this one is called the--um...sorry it’s called the--,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m--I just wanna kiss you so bad right now.” His body tensed with his confession, but you were the one who made the first move.

Once Deku’s hold loosened, you leaned into him, allowing your lips to collide with his. Your mouths moved against each other fervently, and the two of you rolled over until you were on top of him with your legs on either side of his waist. Ever since a few nights before you’d blown up on Bakugo, you hadn’t been touched. Not even by yourself. You tried, but your fingers came nothing close to competing with his. You were so incredibly needy that you had to forcefully stop yourself from gyrating your hips on Deku’s crotch. He was already red in the face, and you were afraid he might collapse if you worked your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans.

You broke your kiss to take Deku’s hands, and you rested them on your chest. With Bakugo, he would have immediately taken control, driving you into ecstasy, but with Deku it was different. It was as if he had never touched a pair of breasts before. His breathing grew even more shallow as his body became rigid.

You tilted your head, slightly irritated from the lack of action, but you were more concerned about Deku’s wellbeing.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tongue in cheek.

Deku nodded anxiously. “Yup, yup, yup, I’m great. I’m good.”

But something was off, and you knew you weren’t enjoying yourself like you typically would even with days of pent up libido. You closed your eyes tiredly and released an exasperated sigh, slowly pulling yourself off of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now--we shouldn’t--.”

Deku opened his mouth to contest, but you cut him off.

“It’s getting late, you should go. I’ll see you around.” You buried your face in your hands, embarrassed at your desperation. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized again.

Deku adjusted his glasses and murmured a small “It’s fine, Y/N.” He helped you up after he pulled himself off of the floor and gathered his belongings before heading out quickly, eager to flee the tension.

Fuck, you thought. How did things get so complicated? Deku was a sweet kid, genuinely pure at heart, and you knew he wanted you from the way his emerald eyes were glued to your frame, even while you were fully-clothed. Yet he wasn’t Bakugo. He didn’t know how to work you like Bakugo did, and you felt shamefaced for thinking about your ex-boyfriend again. You mulled it over and began to question why you were stopping yourself from having your cake and eating it too.

Bakugo didn’t intend on getting back together with you, but he enjoyed the phenomenal sex, and so did you. You held so much contempt for him now, but there was no reason why you couldn’t just agree to the terms of his compact.

Exes with benefits, only now with a few additions of your own.

No dates, no flirty chatter outside of your arrangements, nothing that could potentially steer you the wrong way towards forgiving him yet again, because like you told your friends: you were a pushover, and Bakugo was a sweet talker. That was a combination destined for hell.

Your revelation was exactly how you ended up sleeping with Bakugo again. Your sex life was practically a Dr. Seuss book. The two of you would have sex in his car, in the bathroom at a bar, and you’d have sex here, there, and pretty much anywhere.

When you first called him up, he answered almost immediately, somewhat excited to see your contact after going without speaking to each other for nearly a week. After you acceded, he snorted, wondering if you were conspiring.

“Are you fucking scheming something? Cooking up some devious shit to get me alone so you can kill me? Suffocate me while I’m sleeping? You’re goddamn insane.”

You rolled your eyes aggravated. “No. Are you down, or do you wanna pussy out now?”

Bakugo agreed, and both of you managed to keep things fairly cordial. Well, as cordial as they could possibly be, given your shared history. You couldn’t care less about the differences and arguments you had when you guys were in bed. If anything, you preferred it when Bakugo was angry at you, pissed at something you had said or just releasing pent up stress that built up over the week. That only made the sex filthier.

Although Bakugo wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some affection for you, and perhaps still even vice versa. He was possessive over you regardless, even if it meant coming dangerously close to breaching the contract. Especially when he caught you one night with Deku at an on-campus movie screening in the park.

After the fiasco at your apartment with you and Deku, you apologized sincerely to him a couple of days later in class. Deku took no hard feelings to your blunder, and he nodded at the mild rejection when you clarified that things would be best if the two of you stayed friends. He reassured you that he was fine, and he was far too occupied for a relationship of any sort anyway.

But Bakugo wasn’t aware that you two had already tested the waters and decided it was sink rather than swim.

When he spotted you alone sitting on a blanket, he strolled over, wearing a sardonic grin. He struck up a superficial conversation that quickly dissipated once Deku returned with the snacks you two planned on sharing.

Your grin when Deku arrived didn’t compare to the indifferent smile you gave Bakugo when he approached you, and he noticed. His eyes narrowed at your green-haired friend as burning rage coursed through his veins.

“Deku, this is Bakugo,” you said, uninterested in Bakugo’s presence while you took the bag of sour candy Deku offered to you.

Deku smiled at Bakugo, extending his hand to exchange a handshake, but Bakugo simply slapped his hand away dismissively.

“Whatever,” Bakugo jeered, his jaw rooted, before he diverted his attention back to you. “See you later, dumbass.”

He left without a fight, but you knew he wouldn’t put the memory past him, and the following night, all of Bakugo’s anger came bubbling out. The way his brain operated was fascinating, especially since he knew that you two had no romantic commitments to each other, that’s what you agreed on, but finally seeing you over him with someone who he assumed was your new interest turned him crazed.

Bakugo held a painful fistful of your hair, pushing your face into the mattress while he wrecked you. He forced himself into you from behind, muffling your screams with the pillow while he rammed into you relentlessly. Every thrust was vicious, exhibiting the full height of his temper.

“You’re mine, do you understand that? You’re mine to touch, mine to ruin. If anyone else puts their hands on you, I swear I’ll beat them within an inch of their life.”

Bakugo hated to admit it, especially since he knew admitting it turned him into the hypocritical dick of the year, but he enjoyed having you chase after him like a lovelorn puppy. You clung to his side, and you were there at his beck and call. He’d always hated being emotionally tied down, hence his apprehension toward serious relationships, but the way you took advantage of the freedom to see other men made him livid.

“Maybe if I really did put a baby in you other people wouldn’t be such a fucking pain. What do you think?”

Bakugo’s pace didn’t let up as his grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you upright until your head rested back on his shoulder.

“Answer me,” he demanded, dangerously.

All you could muster were broken sobs. You had never seen Bakugo like this, and you were willing to avow that after discounting your fear and pain, it was hot, and you were slightly intrigued.

Bakugo secured his hand around your neck, allowing his fingers to dig into the side of your throat, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you which let you know he was close, but he wasn’t making any efforts to slow down any time soon.

“The thought of you with him makes me want to fucking vomit. You know he’ll never be able to make you feel like I do,” he snarled against your ear. “No one will.”

You choked out a meager “I know” while your vision grew blurrier from the lack of oxygen to your head.

You came first and then Bakugo came shortly after, claiming you by pumping you full with his hot seed until you collapsed on the bed from overexhaustion.

You realized then, through the cloudiness of your thoughts came a single conviction: that your relationship with Bakugo was an endless cycle. You’d taken every romantic risk for Bakugo while he risked nothing. That’s how you remained foolish for so long, so naive. You refused to learn over and over again, and you sacrificed yourself in the process.

Once Bakugo threw you modest praise and disappeared into the bathroom, you gave way to the enormity of your despair. Your tears were silent and persistent until your breathing turned ragged while humiliation and resentment burned just beneath your skin.

You were smitten with someone who was bad at romance. Your love was a fairytale, but not everyone believed in fairytales, meaning that was both the birth and death of your chronicle. Fairytales were only real if you believed they were.

Bakugo continued to give you reasons to leave and seek out the love you deserved, but you took momentary bliss as your excuse for staying, like a lovesick fool or like an addict dying from overdose. You wish he would at least give you something to hold onto, like false hope or a pretty lie, but you knew that’s all you’d ever be able to do: wish that things were different so you two could have grown into something beautiful.

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consumeconstantly · 4 years ago

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Innocence, avoidance

Summary: Jason Todd cracks crass jokes and dirty comments like they’re his lifeblood. It turns out, he’s just getting it out of his system before he sees his little sister again. (Or: Marinette gloms onto Red Hood after her parent’s death, and there’s no way anyone can stop her from being with her older brother.)

___________________________________________________

Jason Todd, AKA Red Hood, is not the kind of man people go to when they want to complain about their life problems. They go to him when they want a quick, oftentimes violent solution; Red Hood isn’t exactly a renowned empath. In comparison to his other Bat Family counterparts, he is at least 10 times more crass and almost 15 times more violent.

It is accepted that although Red Hood makes situations turn out for the better, he is no shining paragon of human virtue and kindness. People trust him to watch their backs and not to fuck them over so long as they’re working within his very clearly defined set of values, but he’s just not the kind per person that anyone would entrust their kid to during their Friday date night.

Until somebody does.

The door to the warehouse is already open, and he has a gun in his hand, ready to threaten the little crowd he’s gathered today when a woman hops out of her car and shoves a pig-tailed girl with wide blue eyes and an almost blindingly neon pink outfit towards him.

“There you are, you weren’t at the drop site!” says the woman, who instantly begins to back away from the two of them once the little girl picks herself up off the ground that she landed on. Red Hood notes the license of the getaway car, making a mental reminder to deal with them later, but the car makes tracks. The little girl frowns at the disappearing car, eyes the gun in his hand, then decides that she’s going to stay put.

Red Hood looks at the rabble that has convened in the warehouse, down at the little girl, then back again. There are at least five people in the room that are eyeing the little girl greedily, and he’s sure that if he just lets her go, she’ll be captured by one of them faster than he can bat an eye. He doesn’t exactly have time to put the girl in a safe place, not when it’s taken him months and a good number of heads in order to draw these people here.

She looks wary of the gun and of him, but not scared. Everyone else? Half of them look like they’re about to burst out laughing, and the other half have looks that he’s eager to wipe off their faces.

“Aww, look at that! Hood has finally found his way into the dark side of the business. What’s next, prostitution?”

Without hesitation, he shoots with deadly accuracy at the man’s hand. The man keels, bending over and clenching his bloodied appendage. Other than the man’s screams, the room goes completely silent.

Red Hood casts another glance at the little girl, who has, slowly but surely managed to inch away from him and into a safer position. She’s holding onto her sparkly purple plastic backpack like it’s the only thing that’s keeping her alive. Smart kid, not to run. Or was it dumb? He wouldn’t shoot her, and he’d take out anyone else who tried to, but the girl didn’t know that. She probably just assumed that she was going to his next target.

“All of you shut up while I deal with this.” He inhales deeply and kneels down to get on eye level with the girl. Not that she can see much of his eyes, given his helmet, but still.

He has half a mind to go after the woman, but he’s not about to leave the little girl amongst the group of criminals that are gathered in the warehouse with him. Briefly, he wonders how the hell that couple even knew that he was going to be here tonight. He also wonders what he’s going to do with the kid. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

She looks up at him, hands clenched around a plastic pink backpack with some kid’s cartoon on the back, then looks out at the people that have gathered. There’s a moment of silence, and Red Hood is sure that she’s weighing her current options. Smart kid. Eventually, she shifts her body weight closer to him, apparently drawing the conclusion that he is the safer option than the other people who are here tonight. Smart kid.

“It’s Marinette, sir.”

No last name. Not sure if that’s a pointed decision to keep her identity at least partially concealed, or just because she doesn’t have one.

“And those weren’t your parents?” It stands to reason that the people in that care aren’t her parents, but he needs to make sure.

Marinette clenches her backpack tighter. “No, sir.”

“Where are they?” He has a sinking suspicion if those weren’t her parents, and she’s not up in tears, asking for a phone to call them, that--

“They’re dead, sir.”

Sometimes, Jason wishes he could be wrong on things like this.

“Then who were they? And don’t call me sir. Too formal.”

“My mom’s... second cousin, I think? I never met her before, but I got sent here anyway.”

One of the men shifts. He’s one of the men who Red Hood pegged as a possible child trafficker. Underneath his helmet, Jason’s eyes narrow. He now has a fairly good idea of how the couple figured out that he was going to be here tonight.

“Do you know how to get back home?”

At that, Marinette's mouth almost twitches up into a smile. “No sir. I don’t think there’s a home to go back to, anymore.”

Red Hood sighs. Putting the information presented to him together, he quickly comes to the conclusion that Marinette’s parents have died recently and that nobody in her immediate family has found out about their passing, or they don’t want her. Somehow, the couple picked her up-- possibly when she was going to a friend’s house, judging by the whole school girl look she has going on-- and thought she would fulfill the trafficking requirements laid out to them.

That means that there aren’t a lot of options available to her. He can redirect her to the foster care system, but everybody knows foster care messes up kids permanently. Even though she looks to be pretty street smart, he couldn’t just let her live out on the streets in good conscience. Her outfit looks too clean for her to ever have lived in poverty, and she definitely checks the box for a lot of the trafficking rings that have been popping up recently. Mixed descent, the possibility to be pretty when older, and very, very pure. She’d get picked up off the streets within hours if she just let her be.

He decided that he’s let her have the final say. “What do you think I should do in this situation?”

She shuffled her pink ballet clad shoes, eyes darting to the sides. He had to give the girl this much at least; even though she had the whole innocent look going for her, she was very aware of her surroundings. Her body language implied that she didn’t believe him to be that much of a threat— and in any other case, he’d fault her for that, but given that let their surroundings were a drug den he’d let it go— and tilted herself so she could have as many people in her sights as possible. “Sir, I think as long as you could get me out of here safely, I’ll figure out how to take care of myself.”

The man Jason was watching, the possible trafficker, tensed. Yeah, Jason is definitely going to have to take care of him later. This kind of a reaction as good as cements the suspicions he’s had.

“Tell you what, princess. Do you mind waiting outside for me? I’ll help you out once I’m done here.”

Marinette eyed the rest of the room. “How long will you take?”

She’s asking all the right questions. Maybe it will be easy for her to fit into the slums of Gotham.

“Not long,” Red Hood promised. “Ten minutes at most.”

The collection of people who have gathered in the warehouse all swallowed uncomfortably. Everybody knew that when Red Hood dealt with things quickly, it typically ended in copious amounts of bloodshed and shock.

“Okay,” Marinette paused, grip loosening on her backpack. “Ten minutes.

Red Hood doesn’t particularly want to have Marinette around for the violence that’s about to occur, but she’s already seen him shoot one person, so it’s too late to shield her innocence. And violence? It’s a slippery slope.

He makes quick work of the room; half of the people he brought out here, he kills off directly. The other half are made to watch as the people they’ve associated with for years die in front of their eyes. This is a power play. A way to… persuade them to reform. Because the people he’s left alive? Red Hood has left them alive for two reasons. One. They’re not nearly as bad as most of the higher ups in Gotham. Two. If he kills all of the people who have dabbled in anything bad, the chain will be completely messed up, and there will be too much room for unknown variables to make their way up the ranks. He wants people he can control. And the people he’s left alive? He can keep all of them in line.

Marinette is not waiting outside for him. They’re right next to Crime Alley. This is not going to end well.

He’ll give the little girl props for somehow managing to avoid his detection.

To be more precise, he’s hoping that she’s simply avoiding his detection, and hasn’t gotten swept up in something bad.

It takes Jason three hours-- three hours-- to find the girl who can’t be much older than ten. Probably not even ten, judging by her size.

“You’re lucky it’s me finding you, and not someone else, Pixie.” He finally catches a glance of her glaringly sparkly backpack, complete with fairies and unicorns covered in some sort of holographic overlay.

Marinette immediately backs up, looking definitively worse for the wear. She’s gained rips in her clothes and a nasty looking scraped knee. Her face loses all color when she sees him. “S- sorry, sir. I swear I wasn’t running away, it’s just that there was someone outside who tried to grab me, and--”

If Jason didn’t know better, he’d believe the girl.

However, he does have a decent number of connections, and those connections ensured that nobody was going to be able to come near the warehouse once his ‘meeting’ started. Though, he’ll have to have a talk with them, given that someone tried to pass the goods right before it started. Jason is fairly sure that the couple has been apprehended by now, but checking later tonight won’t hurt.

Which means Marinette made the decision to run.

Again, that would have been a very, very smart decision had she not found herself in Crime Alley of all places. It looks like she’s learned a little bit about why she should stay away from places like this.

“It’s fine, Pixie. Like I said earlier, just call me Red Hood, or Hood. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Marinette balks.

Jason sighs. “Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but you can trust me. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. All I want is to see you safe.”

“But,” Marinette bites her lip. Her eyes drop to the guns at his side. That’s… that’s a good reason not to trust him, to be honest. If he were in her position, he’d already be running.

“Do you have anyone you can contact? Anyone you trust? I can take you to them.”

She’s starting to tear up, and god, Jason cannot deal with crying children. Marinette’s big, blue eyes and pigtails and her general smallness. He just can’t. “Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. What, do you-- do you want a cookie or something? I can bring you to a bakery before we talk? Sweets are supposed to cheer kids up, right?”

Marinette lets out a watery laugh.

“I like macaroons,” she offers.

“So, how old are you?”

In the warmth of the bakery, Marinette looks markedly more relaxed. She went to the bathroom to clean her face and cut off, and now she looks like the poster child of one of those band aid ads. Lively, a little mischievous, and, you know, a child.

She takes a delicate bite of the shortbread cookie-- not a macaroon, there aren’t many reputable bakeries in Gotham that are close and have French pastries. “Nine and a half.”

Oh man, she’s younger than Replacement.

“You’ve really got no family here? None at all? No friends you can call?”

“No, I’m from France.”

Well, that certainly answers a lot of questions. But brings up additional ones. “You speak English very well.”

“Maman and Papa ran a very popular bakery. We got a lot of foreigners. Before we moved to Paris, we lived in New York.” She takes a sip of her drink, whipped cream stuck on her nose. “And I don’t remember anyone from New York. We moved to Paris when I was three.”

Jason sighs. “What do you want to do?”

“Maman said that if I were ever left on my own, my only job was to survive by any means.”

“That’s…” He tries to find the right words. “Interesting advice.”

In what parallel universe do parents of a bakery in Paris-- one of the major cities in the world with the lowest crime rates--tell their children to survive by any means?

“Did she tell you how?”

Marinette tilts her head, pigtails bouncing. “She told me to trust my instincts and never to trust the police.”

Great. That explains why she didn’t ask for someone’s phone to call the police. Not that the police in Gotham are the best people to go to for a case like Marinette’s, but then again, there’s not really anybody good to go to for a case like hers.

Vague advice is the best way to get a kid killed. But since Marinette isn’t already dead, it stands to reason that her instincts haven’t failed her yet, and he really does have no clue what to do with her.

He briefly contemplates taking her to Bruce, but strikes the idea down almost instantly. Marinette fits all of the requirements to become a Robin. Tragic backstory, black hair, blue eyes. He’s not going to put another child into Bruce’s hands just so he can ruin their life by not doing his job. Besides, Bruce doesn’t know he’s alive yet, and he wants to keep it that way for now.

“Then what do your instincts tell you to do?”

Does he feel like an idiot for asking a nine year old that? Yes, but what else is he supposed to do? Taking care of kids was never part of the job description when he signed up to be Red Hood. (Then again, it wasn’t like there was a job description to begin with.)

Marinette takes another bite of one of the cookies on her plate. “They tell me to stick close to you.”

Even better. She’s imprinted on him.

@jasonette-july-2k20

#you bet your ass marinette grows up to kick ass and take names #does the summary fit the fic? not really but none of my summaries do #jasonette july #jasonette #how do you tag platonic ships #platonic!jasonette #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #miraculous ladybug #dcu #innocence #child!marinette

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shtern-and-art · 3 years ago

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In The Dark – a cryptid AU about Bad and Skeppy – part 1.

All text is captioned under the cut!

BACKGROUND

Story is set somewhere in the 90s – neon colors and the brink of major improvements in lgbtq+ status at least in US.

The place we’re in is a small nameless town near the forest, and let’s say it’s the US, but in my mind it has an old European country feel to it too. At least in the small old towns like this. With old buildings, and paved roads, and steep roofs, and everything.

The forest is very dense and not much light gets in the deeper parts of it, so it’s called The Dark Forest which may sound quite unoriginal. But no one really calls it that. With how many weird things happen in that forest, among the locals, it is mostly referred to as “bad forest”. To the point that it’s basically the common name for it now.

SKEPPY

Skeppy is a Thing. A supernatural thing. The sort of thing that, unlike most spn things, hangs out around humans a lot. Socialized thing. Because, due to his spn nature, he has a compulsion/tendency (and desire) to create small mayhem and chaos around himself, disrupt communities. And also because he’s a changeling and initially was brought up by people.

But the way he is, he can’t stay living in one place/town for too long, always having to bounce before people clock him, or stuff gets too intense.

He’s name is still Zak, it’s the one his human parents gave him. However, he officially changed it to something different in all records after leaving home at 18, cuz names are important for creatures, and having his real one out there might be dangerous.

Generally, he still goes by Skeppy.

Skeppy can consciously do minor mimicry and illusions (by light bending)/cause light dissociation/confusion in people and creatures around him/do other minor mind tricking fae stuff.

He is drawn to nature and shiny things, although nature can be just a potted plant, and a shiny thing – anything from a gemstone to pieces of broken glass. Skeppy doesn’t know this yet, but I’m pretty sure he can find more valuable gems and metals by pure instinct. But he never explored it properly, and he just thinks that he likes collecting pretty rocks. Skeppy has at least 3 of them on himself at any time.

Evidently, he is not fully aware of everything about himself, and he didn’t have much contact with other creatures like him.

He is just. Living his life. Going from city to city, trying to have a good time.

THE STORY

Skeppy comes to a new little town near the forest. Forests are good for him, even if he still prefers to be around people.

And he’s just chilling, trying to settle in and shake things up a bit, roaming the woods to kick up old local rumors about a werewolf.

Speaking of, the town has a LOT of old rumors with the fleur of a little-town-near-the-woods creepiness to them. Like a werewolf, yeah, and crazy cults, and people making sacrifices in the woods, all that jazz.

But it’s all alright, all quiet now. All those things are always told by an uncle of a cousin of a grandpa’s friend, and, you know. Older people. Not a lot of townsfolk believe in these stories nowadays.

So Skeppy freely roams for a while: both the town, and the woods.

BACKGROUND

Local tree logging business is starting up again – twice removed cousin of the old owners brother’s son inherited the company. He’s fresh out of college, and came to bring Industry and Movement back to the little town he visited couple summers as a kid.

Some decades ago the wood export was what kept the town moving and bustling. It chipped away at the forest for many decades, bringing jobs and new people and everything.

But something happened back then, some shady business: perhaps money laundering gone wrong, or some out-of-town mafia dealings that came with the trades. That’s what the papers said at least. For a while, there were complaints of not safe work environment, and lawsuits flying, and rabid animal attacks happening on the outskirts of town (that’s where the werewolf rumors started).

But it’s been quite some time since then. It’s all settled now, old news, and the new generation doesn’t care much, and the twice removed cousin of the old owners brother’s son can start everything anew.

There’s hope and change in the air and the factories are getting upgraded.

THE STORY

So yeah, Skeppy roams the woods, and townspeople nowadays are starting to roam deeper in the woods too! Both because the woods came closer to the town again, and because people tend to… forget. Some young people, at least, who have nothing to remember or fear in the first place. Having all their hormones to fly, and baseball bats to swing, and beer cans to shoot.

The deeper woods are dark, there are a lot of good old trees in their prime time for logging, that make a lot of dark shadows to lurk in. And those are very nice for Skeppy, who can easily fuck with packs of teenagers and with elderly berry pickers. He can make them see things, and believe things, and prop up some fake cultist memorabilia on clearings and wolf fur in the bushes near the pass. And then he’d chat up the middle-aged workers at evenings, and watch it all unfold slowly, rumors spreading across town, giving Skeppy that little, small glow of joy, which that freaky, but harmless trickery always brings him.

It’s all going well and good, even better than expected! Even with that weird forest spirit Skeppy always felt lurking deeper in the woods. That thing was alright. Just there, watching. And Skeppy didn’t do anything too bad or disrespectful, he was pretty sure.

So, when the watching becomes following, and following becomes stalking and threatening, it… doesn’t feel right. Deep in the woods, deers and rabbits keep watching Skeppy’s back, and the trees are so tall it feels like the forest floor is the bottom of the ocean.

When stags stroll through the dark to you, carrying dead animals’ bodies on their antlers, that’s a pretty bad sign, right? Almost as bad as when the shadowy figure, that kept clop-clopping around you for the last couple of weeks, starts chasing you through the trees. And Skeppy just started setting up another “pagan ritual” site near the old berry picking trail!

Turns out, the forest spirit is a dang forest demon or something! And is also an asshole, who doesn’t want Skeppy (with his little True Detective stick figures and mayhem) on his territory.

(This is pretty much where the comic happens! And, yes, Skeppy also being a creature doesn’t mean much. Because Skeppy is too annoying, and too human-like to take seriously.)

So yeah, the Asshole In The Woods chases Skeppy out of them, but Skeppy doesn’t skip towns after that, oh no. He is a stubborn bitch, and he’s already settled, and he even found a small job… and unsettling and leaving is incredibly easy, yeah, but he DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. The Asshole In The Woods will see, he’ll understand. Skeppy is good at trick- well, talking himself out of trouble. Almost as good as he is at getting in it.

So, obviously, Skeppy keeps coming back to the woods whenever he can. And if the shadow demon asshole doesn’t come out to run him off immediately, he busts out his fake werewolf furs, props occult stick figures around, puts up tents like people were camping nearby, insults the trees, and duct tapes leaflets from local businesses on the them… Because irritating other creatures is just as fun as fucking shit up for people.

And this little turf-war settling is the most fun Skeppy had in a long, long while (possible death aside).

They meet up pretty regularly, getting various irritation and scare levels from each other. And the asshole shadow forest demon is creepy and all, but despite the big bad wolf attitude he never actually tries to kill or maim Skeppy. Or so it seems. So, it’s all going well. Yeah. Just better to lay off all the occult trolling, since it seems to make the forest asshole guy especially mad and uncomfortable.

(Basically this is the early trolling period, with Skeppy being annoying and pushing the boundaries, very close to how their videos of the time went).

And, again, Skeppy didn’t meet a lot of other cryptids, and the ones he found didn’t stick around for long. Because Skeppy is too much of a little shit, and “a low-tier human bootlicker”, anyway. So yeah, maybe Skeppy IS a little bit lonely. Been lonely for a while, now, hitchhiking around the country, never staying anywhere long enough to let people get that something is wrong in the air around him, or form any kind of lasting relationship. So what.

At least this asshole will not rat him out to anyone, or run away into the night with all Skeppy’s money. Probably.

So what’s the harm if sometimes they just argue instead of trying to one-up each other in magic trickery?.. Nothing bad will happen if, from time to time, they’ll just talk instead of shouting about who’s right and who should leave. It’s alright. It doesn’t even matter. No one in the town or spn world knows or cares about any of that. About both of them.

So they hang out more often. And if each time the forest asshole looks a little less scary, and more often takes his human-like shape, well. Maybe it’s just for convenience? Anyway, it’s easier to roll your eyes and turn your back on a fuming person, than a pissed off all-encompassing shadow, so Skeppy isn’t complaining. Especially if the person-shape is so nice to look at, too.

And Skeppy doesn’t know who exactly the forest asshole is, but in the town it’s always “bad forest this” and “bad forest that”. So, in Skeppy’s head, it becomes “Bad’s forest” – because he’s “the Bad in the Forest, heheh, get it, get it?”

Bad does get it. He isn’t as impressed as he should be by Skeppy’s genius puns and naming abilities though.

Speaking of Bad. He seems to be not really aware of what’s been going on in the town for the last couple decades. He tends to mostly hang out in the minds of forest animals, help them out a bit. Or nap. Nap a lot – days, weeks, years at a time, dissolved in the shadows. Unless someone (like can shooting teenagers, tree logging companies, or Skeppy) come around to bother his peaceful, dissociated, and at times even thoughtless existence.

Bad doesn’t mind though. Or so he says. The sleeping, that is. The people, them he really minds, people from the town especially. He really wants to be left alone by them. Discovering that Skeppy wasn’t from these parts of the country was one of the reasons Bad started to warm up to him.

The other major warm up was the first time Skeppy helped Bad scare off the messy annoying kids that were littering in the woods. But he convinced Bad to do it in a long winded, silly and fun (for them, not the kids :D) way. And after a while, teamed up like this, spooking and chasing people off, stopped being an irritating chore, and instead became something Bad looked forward to. Maybe even, put off his shadowy slumber for.

It’s been a long, long time since Bad actually wanted to stay awake like that. Wanted to do something, consciously, to talk to someone. That’s why he’s a “little rusty with all this communication thing”, he admits to Skeppy.

Bad never tells him how horribly bitter, and sad, and alone he was for years and years, huddled in the shadows. How he hid from that sadness, and from the people and their voices, and from the sound of their footsteps on the leaves. He ran away from them – in the soft, inhuman minds of the animals, and restless dreams, where his mind and sense of self stretched, and scattered across the forest, forgetting itself, and just living with all the living things. Of course, Bad doesn’t tell Skeppy about that. He always had his animals, and the secret springs, and little kids tying wishing charms on the branches of the old trees… Bad is fine. He just wants to be left alone.

Or at least wanted to. Because now, after staying awake for so long, it seems that he wants other things too. To troll snotty stuck up teens and kids. To learn more about new technology. To play with the shadows on the edges of clearings, and listen to the music player left behind by one of the kids he and Skeppy chased off.

And one day. One day sunbeams are dancing around the edge of the clearing deep in the woods, and Skeppy is lounging lazily in the grass, playing with his pretty glass shards, making light refract and reform through them, sending dozens of sun bunnies crawls and jump between the peaceful trees. That day Bad feels like his skin is warm, not cooled down by the shadows. And with that warmth – on his face, and in his chest – Bad finds that he can talk about it. That he can say it.

Bad tells Skeppy that back in the day, some decades ago (time is difficult for him to take note of)… that back then. He was a human. But he isn’t now, not anymore. Now he is part of the Forest. Kind of.

Because, see, something bad, really bad happened back then, and Bad got possessed by the, well. The spirit of the forest.

And he was living like this ever since.

Masterpost / first meeting /part 1 / part 2 / part 3

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

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quédate un segundo más (1/8)

@911lonestarangstweek day 8 - t is for...tumour, terminal, treatment

title from voy a quedarme by blas cantó, translates roughly to 'stay a second more'

thanks to @halsteadmarchs and @tarlos-spain for the beta!

as shown above, this will be eight chapters if all goes to plan, and i hope to finish it before season 3 begins. much of what is written both in this chapter and in future ones is ripped directly from life and i am only writing from my own perspective and experiences of losing a loved one to cancer.

ao3 | 1.6k | angst, hurt tk, cancer, terminal illness, more warnings to come in future chapters

A rare genetic mutation.

That’s what the doctors tell him when the results come back.

A rare genetic mutation that has rendered his cancer practically undetectable until its latest stages, until all that’s left to do is wait to die.

TK’s hands shake as various leaflets on Managing Your Diagnosis and What To Expect and Looking After Someone With Cancer are placed in them. He feels two steps to the side of himself, his entire world halting in its tracks the moment those words had left the doctor’s lips.

“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he’d said, eyes wide and empathetic. “Your scans and blood results have come back showing evidence of a tumour on your pancreas. There are treatment options which we can and will—with your consent—pursue, however I have to inform you that your cancer is entering stage IV. It has begun to spread to your bladder and liver. I’m sorry to say that, at this point, treatment is more focused on managing your pain and making you as comfortable as possible; we do not anticipate recovery.”

It’s just… TK’s fine. He feels fine. Like, sure, he’s been a little more tired recently and he’s been getting these weird pains, but they always fade after a while, and he’s fine.

But he couldn’t deny the blood spotting his pee, the last straw which had finally sent him to the doctor’s office.

Too late, apparently.

A touch on his knee brings him back to reality with a start. TK looks up to meet the doctor’s kind gaze, and he wants to cry.

“I understand this is a lot to take in,” he’s saying. “If you have any questions, please ask.”

“I…” TK shakes his head, swallowing a couple of times before dropping his eyes to his knees, the words on the pamphlets blurred through his tears. “How long?”

The doctor hesitates a moment, then sighs regretfully. “I can’t say for certain. People frequently outlive their projected timeframes; equally, it could be less. However, given the way your tumour looks and the rate it appears to be spreading at, I would estimate around six months.”

Six months.

Six—six months.

“Oh,” TK says, and it feels wildly insufficient but it’s all he has. What even is there to say? He’s dying, and that’s...that’s that.

“Do you have a support system in place?” the doctor asks. “This is going to be a difficult process, and you are going to need other people to help you through it.”

TK nods slowly, not looking up. “M-My husband. Carlos. He was supposed to come with me today but he was called into work last minute. He’s a detective, so he couldn’t exactly refuse—not that that stopped him from trying.” He laughs wetly, remembering how he’d insisted that everything would be fine when Carlos had stalled leaving this morning. “And there’s my dad, and my team—my family. I’m a paramedic and I work in a fire station, so we’re all pretty close. I… Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t need to know all this.”

“It’s okay.” The doctor is still smiling, still so understanding, and TK wonders—just how many times has he had to do this? “I’m glad to hear you have solid support behind you; that’s going to be incredibly important for the coming months. I’ve also given you a few leaflets about support groups you can access, that your family can access, and, of course, your treatment team will be there every step of the way.

“Now,” he continues, returning to a semi-professional aspect, “I want to see you later this week to iron out how we’re going to proceed. For now, why don’t you go home and rest, allow yourself to process this? Does Friday at 10.30 work for your next appointment?”

TK nods absently, clutching the pamphlets tight enough to crease them. “That’s fine,” he whispers.

“Okay,” the doctor says, just as quiet. “Are you going to be okay to get home?”

“Yeah.”

But he doesn’t move. He can’t. In this room, he’s separated from the rest of the world—TK doesn’t want to go back into it, where he’ll have to tell everyone he loves that he’s… That he…

“TK.”

TK’s head snaps up at the doctor’s voice and he flushes a little at seeing his pointed look. “Sorry,” he mutters, scrambling to stand up.

The doctor stands too, much more gracefully than TK, and gets the door for him. “It’s okay. I’ll see you on Friday, TK, alright?”

He mumbles an affirmative then steps out of the office, taken aback for a moment by the bustle and noise in the corridor. It’s strange to witness it now, to see all these people who don’t know him from Adam going about their lives, while his has, in the span of thirty minutes, completely crumbled.

TK takes a deep breath (and how many of those does he have left?) and joins the flow.

He’s home.

That’s… He doesn’t remember it. He must have unlocked the front door because the keys are in his hand and he’s standing in the entryway, but TK has no idea how he managed to get from the doctor’s office to here.

He made good time though, judging by the clock on the wall.

Small victories.

With heavy steps, TK walks to the sofa, easing himself down and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. It still doesn’t feel real that there's this—this thing inside him, growing and mutating and killing him. He’s not sure when it finally will.

Maybe in a few months, when his skin is sagging off his bones and his hair is gone and even the very act of breathing is a challenge.

Or maybe in a few hours, when Carlos comes home and TK has to break the news. TK can picture his face now, the way his ever-present smile will crack and break, the shock and hurt and grief that will take its place.

He thinks he understands his dad now.

TK closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, just for a moment, of everything that’s happened today.

Which, as it turns out, is a mistake, because that’s when he remembers the letter that came for them yesterday and the phone call they’re going to make after dinner.

The phone call they were going to make after dinner.

TK wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. They’ve been waiting for that moment for so long, the moment in which they found out they were finally cleared to adopt a kid. And now…

Gone.

Carlos is going to be crushed.

As if the universe is reacting to that last thought, the door suddenly swings open, marking Carlos’s return from his impromptu shift. For a moment, TK panics. He’s not ready, dammit, he needs more time to plan and to figure it all out, how he feels and what he’s going to say, but—

But, in the end, it doesn’t matter. He could have had the most detailed and well-thought out plan in the world and it wouldn’t have mattered.

Because all it takes is one look at Carlos’s smile for TK to fall apart.

Carlos is by his side in an instant, gathering him in his arms and sliding to the floor with him when TK can no longer support himself on the couch. TK fists his hands in his husband’s shirt and cries into his neck, all the emotion that’s been slowly building all day exploding from him all at once.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carlos shushes, which only makes TK cry harder, because how is he supposed to tell him that it’s not?

He shakes his head and clings onto him tighter, feeling Carlos do the same to him in return. TK’s always felt safe in his arms and it’s no different now; he thinks that, if he can just stay here forever, maybe things will turn out okay after all.

But the moment ends, as they tend to do. When TK’s sobs have run dry, Carlos carefully pulls back from him, his hands rising to cup his face and wipe the tears from his cheeks.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, so much worry in those damn eyes that it hurts. “Is it… Did the doctor say something? Are you okay?”

TK opens his mouth, but the words refuse to come out. All he manages is a wordless shake of the head, and even that turns Carlos’s expression into the picture of devastation. He can’t bear to look at it, so he wraps his arms around Carlos’s waist and leans into him again, resting his head on his chest.

Carlos holds him and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ll get through it,” he promises. “Whatever it takes.”

And it turns out that he does have a few more tears left in him; TK squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out shakily as a couple of lone drops fall down his cheeks. “We can’t,” he whispers hoarsely. Carlos stiffens and shifts as if to look TK in the eyes, but TK doesn’t let him. If he has to look at Carlos, he doesn’t think he’ll have the courage to say it. He hesitates a moment longer, a huge lump forming in his throat, but eventually he manages it.

“It’s cancer,” he chokes out. “Stage IV. Incurable. They think… I’ve got six months.”

It’s like time stops.

They’re both motionless on the floor of their front room, neither saying anything, barely breathing as the weight of it settles between them.

TK doesn’t know how long it lasts for, but suddenly Carlos sobs and grips onto him with a bruising strength. Carlos’s body heaves and shakes with the force of his cries, and it’s TK’s turn to hold him as tears drip down Carlos’s cheeks into his hair.

And, in that moment, it becomes real.

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redhoodieone · 4 years ago

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Welcome Home

A/N: Hi everyone! This is an old fic that I’m re-posting for those who want to read it. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: Language and Smut.

I knew my family was different the moment I found out my adoptive father was Batman. I was just a ten-year-old girl when I snuck down the stairs at midnight for a drink of water and spotted Batman leaving a trail of blood from his study and calling out for Alfred for help. The moment our eyes locked, Bruce instantly knew that I was clearly aware of his secret. He had also confessed it was him who saved me from a shootout that my parents were involved in and that it was him, as Batman. I felt I owed Bruce my own life for saving me, and I vowed to keep my father’s secret and pray that he would return home safely every night back to me.

It didn’t help that I soon discovered my adoptive older brother Dick Grayson was Robin. Not only did I have to keep his secret as well, but it made it more impossible to not have a crush on him. I mean, Dick has such a charming personality, beautiful baby blue eyes, and a devilish smile that can make any girl crawl on her hands and knees. And that ass…

I later found myself becoming the second Robin once Dick left to assume his own identity, Nightwing. Bruce trusted me, and he saw potential in me the second I told him I couldn’t see myself being a hero forever. Perhaps he never really wanted me to be his sidekick and figured if I got it out of my system that I could resume my life as a sixteen-year-old and do normal teenager activities. As if my life was normal anyways.

But things changed as soon as I was finally embracing myself as a hero. Bruce had taken in a new kid, Jason Todd. He was a troublemaker, a rebel, and a mysterious kid, who had never even spoken to me unless he had to. I don’t think my age helped the situation either; I was a couple of years older than him and he may not have seen me as an equal. But of course, the dark haired, icy blue eyed, bad attitude boy was given the Robin title, and I was removed because of a patrol-gone-wrong situation.

Stupid Harley Quinn and her baseball bat. Who knew one hit to my knee could bench me for two months (Alfred added an additional five months of rest).

Then the unthinkable happened. The second Robin was killed by the Joker. Jason Todd’s death put Bruce into a depression, and he swore he would never put another kid’s life in danger. Our father and daughter relationship broke apart before my very eyes. I spent my remaining teenage years in the mansion isolated, except for Alfred’s loving company.

I had graduated high school on time and I quickly decided to go to Gotham University to escape the Bat family. Before I moved out, I discovered Bruce had taken in another kid, Tim Drake, who was currently the new Robin. Was I hurt? Of course, I felt I was somehow replaced. Would I miss the Bat family? Maybe. Maybe not.

I did in fact wish the new younger Robin good luck. When Tim looked up at me, his light blue eyes were so innocent and frightened about me leaving him behind. I didn’t know why he would be so upset about me leaving; wouldn’t he want all of Bruce’s attention without me hanging around the mansion?

Now I’m twenty-one-years-old, and I’m still a student at Gotham University. Alfred had just called and informed me Bruce wants me back home.

As I sit in a taxi while anxiously waiting to pull up to Wayne Manor, I honestly don’t know why Bruce wants me back at home. Alfred has kept me up to date about the Bat family incidents and activities I have missed out those few years such as:

Dick Grayson becoming a womanizer (I saw it coming) and how he’s juggling working as a police officer and Nightwing. He’s still the favorite and golden child in Bruce’s eyes.

Jason Todd is back from the dead, and he’s currently operating his own team: Red Hood and the Outlaws (who knew he was leadership material underneath that thick skull of his?).

Tim Drake is Red Robin (does the fast food chain restaurant know about his superhero name?), and he’s currently assisting the Teen Titans when necessary while simultaneously aiding Bruce with detective work.

Damian Wayne is Bruce Wayne’s unknown biological child. I think he’s about fifteen-years-old now; from what I remember the last time I spoke to Alfred. I met Damian once, when Bruce asked me to meet him once Talia al Ghul practically dropped him off at Bruce’s doorstep. The boy was a little shit: bratty, stuck up, and insensitive. Even though he is the spitting image of Bruce, minus the different colored eyes (Bruce has blue and Damian’s are green), Damian claims he is set to take over the cowl when Bruce is either dead or done. God help us all…

But I still can’t figure out why I am needed back home. Is Alfred sick? Is Bruce dying after fighting all these years? Is it one of my brothers?

I jump in surprise once the taxi comes to a hard stop. After paying the man, I grab my duffel bag and I climb the front steps that I suddenly remember jumping off them as a kid. Alfred scolded me many times, and I still did it because being bad was fun.

I scoff loudly, and I jump down the five steps that would have given Alfred a heart attack. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

I find the wooden front door unlocked, which is odd considering Alfred always makes sure to lock it. As a matter of fact, Alfred hasn’t greeted me like he always does when I come home. Where is Alfred?

After I unwrap my scarf, I pull my hoodie over my head to be more comfortable in the warm house. Sadly, I forgot to do laundry yesterday, so I came home in just my black yoga pants and red tank top. What would Alfred say?

I kick off my shoes and walk to the kitchen barefoot. Pulling my long hair into a ponytail, I notice a note on the counter that’s written for me. I unfold the note and stare at the nicest, well done cursive handwriting only one man can do here.

Dear Lady Y/N,

I sincerely apologize for not being there to greet you properly. Master Bruce had wanted me to take my holiday to London early, and Lord knows I can use a week to myself after stitching up countless wounds, tidying up bedrooms and Bat caves, and playing messenger between you and your father. I have a cooked roast with garlic mash potatoes in the refrigerator if you are hungry. Do heat it up and perhaps show your father and brothers how to use the microwave.

I dearly love you and the boys,

Love Alfred Pennyworth

P.S.

Look into the highest cabinet above the refrigerator, and you will discover a jar of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies just for you.

I grin widely, and before I can turn around and find the cookies, I’m stuck between the counter and a tall, hard body behind me. I freeze.

“Welcome home, Y/N. I missed you so much,” Bruce whispers in my ear. I can feel his hot breath above my shoulder and neck. The familiar smell of his expensive cologne fills my nostrils. His large hands rub my legs and grip onto my hips very hard. “Did you miss me?”

“H-hi dad. W-what are you doing?” I ask softly, but I know it came out like a whisper. One of his hands is holding my waist, while the other caresses my abdomen. It feels strange considering Bruce is supposed to be my father, and we shouldn’t be this close or even touching each other. But a part of me wants to keep feeling his hands on me and see what he does next.

“Holding you. Smelling you. Touching you,” he answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He breathes harder when I press my backside against his front by accident. “It appears you want this too. Am I correct, Y/N?”

His hand pulls down my yoga pants enough, so he can reach into my underwear. Bruce continues to breathe hard from his nose when his fingers find my core. His thumb rubs fast circles on my clit, while he pushes two fingers inside me. I bite my bottom lip to stop a loud moan from coming out of me, but he appears he’ll have none of that. He stops fingering me.

“You better be loud, or I won’t let you cum, Y/N.”

Before I can beg him to keep going, he turns my face, so I can look him in those cold, pale blue eyes. “Please tell me you’re…not a virgin.” Bruce’s face is twisted in pleasure from just fingering me, but I can tell his lips are trembling and there’s a soft but pleading look in his eyes. This must hurt him as much as it’s hurting me.

“I-I’m not,” I confess, and wonder if he would change his mind if I said I was.

“Who was it with?” Bruce demands. He kisses along my shoulder to my neck before he bites on my soft spot. I hiss in pain and I grind into him again.

“Josh Mitchell. I was sixteen,” I answer harshly.

“Was he any good?”

Before I can answer, Bruce shoves the front of my body onto the counter, while he pulls down my yoga pants. My adrenaline is rushing, and I can feel myself wetting the counter from just his roughness. I can feel him unzip his pants and I can already imagine this thick, hard cock fucking me into oblivion.

“No, no he wasn’t good at all!” I cry out.

“Good, I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Bruce says, as he starts to stroke himself. “Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I want to turn around and watch him jack off. Hearing him pleasure himself isn’t enough. Bruce then jams two fingers back into my pussy and I whimper loudly. It has been too long since I’ve been intimate with a man. I need his cock now!

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Do I need to remind you who you are supposed to answer to?” he says seriously before adding a third finger inside me. I grip the counter and I breathe harder. I find myself rubbing my pussy on the edge of the smooth countertop for more friction, but he grabs my hips and stops me. “Now, do you want me to fuck you, Y/N, or should I leave you here, so you can dry hump the countertop alone?”

I growl louder, while my nails scratch the counter top. “YES! Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dad!”

As soon as those words left my mouth, I immediately wonder if I killed the mood. Why would I call him ‘dad’ when we’re about to have hot, rough sex in the kitchen? I need to apologize. I push myself up on my elbows and I shift my head to the side to apologize. I open my mouth to speak but stop when Bruce’s eyes darkened, and he growls as he slams his thick cock inside me.

I moan louder than I have in my entire life. His cock fills me up so much that I fear I won’t be able to walk straight for the next week or two. Bruce lifts my legs up and continues to shove me against the counter with every hard thrust. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to fuck me. The man is practically drilling into me with no kindness at all.

“Oh fuck! You’re so fucking tight. So wet and so hot,” Bruce groans out. With each thrust, I can feel he wants to let go and fuck me like he owns me.

“Go ahead, Dad. Fuck me. Fuck me like I’m yours and only yours,” I tempt him playfully.

Bruce growls and rams his cock faster into me. He keeps knocking the air out from my lungs, and I can feel my body pulsating against his. I grip the countertop harder each time, and I know my knuckles are turning white and becoming numb every second. With one hand on my hips, Bruce moves his other hand up my tank top to hold my tits.

“No bra? You’re a bad girl,” Bruce says in between panting.

“I forgot to do laundry,” I choke out.

“Excuses,” he manages to say, as he holds me up more, so he can penetrate me deeper. His cock is hitting a deeper spot in me. It must be my g-spot, because I have read about it but never actually felt it to know. I can feel myself clenching his dick tightly, and I know I’m getting closer to release. “You wanted me and your brothers to see your tits, huh?”

“Maybe,” I cry out louder than what I intended to. Fuck, what if one of my brothers hears me? They’ll really think I’m insane for fucking our father and for loving it every second. Bruce readjusts our position once more, so he can hit that spot continuously. “I-I think I’m going to cum!”

“Not yet, you better not!” Bruce growls, and drills into me harder and faster. With his powerful thrusts and the constant friction from the countertop on my clit, I know for a fact that I can’t last longer. His hands hold onto my hips while he fucks me harder than before.

I become a moaning mess. I can feel my mouth drop open because I feel liquid coming out from my core. Did I just squirt? What the hell is happening to me?

The sounds of skin on skin is louder because of my mess. I drop my head onto the counter while Bruce continues to fuck me. Before I can catch my breath, Bruce chuckles and lifts me up. “I just made you squirt. That has never happened before, has it?”

“No, that was my first time,” I answer breathlessly. He kisses my neck.

“You’re so wet,” Bruce grunts into my ear. Breathing heavily, he lifts my hips again, so he can rub my clit with his fingers. “You’re making a mess all over my cock. You’re such a bad girl.”

“I’m your bad girl,” I moan out, as I can feel another orgasm threatening to take over my body.

“Fuck yes, you are!” Bruce groans, and continues to shove his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

With every rough thrust, I know Bruce won’t last. I whimper once more when my pussy clenches his dick as he fucks me through my orgasm. A few more hard thrusts, Bruce pulls out and turns me over onto my back. He jacks himself off as I watch his cum spurt out all over my stomach.

Just seeing his hard, veiny thick cock before me turns me on once more. I lick my lips at how the tip of his dick glistens with his cum.

Bruce sighs heavily, and just when I think I should try to get up and clean myself, he pulls me up and kisses me. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, and we explore each other’s mouths as if this was our last chance to. He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You belong to me, and the Batfamily. I don’t care who wants you, because you will never give them what you have given me. Do you understand?” Bruce asks, before giving me his famous bat glare.

“I understand, and I promise,” I swear before he kisses me once more.

“Good, now go wash up,” Bruce instructs before he helps me off the counter.

I grab a paper towel and wipe Bruce’s cum off my stomach before I pull up my yoga pants. As soon as I toss the damped paper towel into the trash, I immediately notice Dick Grayson is standing there at the entrance of the kitchen staring at me with fire in his eyes.

#dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x reader smut #bruce wayne x y/n smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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xiyao-feels · 4 years ago

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Hi! May I ask a The Untamed question: Why does Meng Yao return the jade pass? What is it and why is it important? Lan Xichen seemed a bit upset, surprised but also resigned to it simultaneously.

Hi! So—/why/ Jin Guangyao returns the jade pass is an interesting question, and there are various different opinions on the matter. I think it's best if I start with the second part of your question: what is it and why is it important?

The Lan use the jade passes as a security measure; you need one to get in and out of CR. JGY has a pass which previously allowed him access to CR, but LXC changed it; this time, when he came, it didn't allow him in.

I think it's worth taking a fuller look at the jade passes, which in this case means looking at MDZS.

We first see them, I believe, in chapter 11. In MDZS, WWX a) believes LWJ hates him and b) doesn't realize LWJ has recognized him. He pitches a fit outside the gates of CR because he doesn't want to go inside, because without a jade token that allows you in and out, he won't be able to leave:

If he was dragged inside, it would be extremely difficult for him to come outside again. Back then, when he came to study, all of the disciples were given a jade token for passage. Only with the token, would a person be able to enter and leave freely, or else they couldn’t pass through the protective barrier of the Cloud Recesses. After ten years had passed, the security could only have gotten stricter, instead of looser.

After he's inside, he tries to see if he could escape without the token, but no dice:

Lan WangJi went to see his uncle to discuss serious matters, while Wei WuXian was pushed into the room. Right after Lan WangJi left, Wei WuXian also went outside. He strolled around the Cloud Recesses, and found that, as he had expected, without the jade token for passage, even if he climbed up the white walls of a few zhangs’ height, he would be immediately flung off by the barrier, attracting the attentions of the nearby patrolmen at once.

In chapter 65, we see that LWJ is able to detect when someone tried to come through the wards without one:

Wei WuXian slept sometime later. He was asleep until early morning when he suddenly woke up. With a shiver, he crawled forward and looked up. Lan WangJi’s was still dressed, sword was on his back. As he took back the hand that he had put on Wei WuXian’s shoulder, he stared at a white object within his palm, “We have an uninvited guest.”

Wei WuXian squinted to see. The object was the GusuLan Sect’s jade token of passage. He could recall that Lan WangJi’s token was a very high level, able to alert him if others intruded over the barrier of the GusuLan Sect.

This was JGY coming, the very same trip he returns the jade token, because now it's no longer working. WWX concludes that LWJ modified its access at some point in the last couple of days:

Wei WuXian understood now. Since ZeWu-Jun and LianFang-Zun had quite a good relationship, Lan XiChen had given Jin GuangYao a token of passage as well so that he could visit freely. However, it was likely that within the past few days he had either edited the prohibitions of the Cloud Recesses’ barrier or retracted the permission of Jin GuangYao’s token of passage. When Jin GuangYao came to visit, he was refused permission to enter, and thus he voluntarily returned the token.

In chapter 119, LWJ tells WWX that the jade token he gave him can also be used to withdraw money when he needs it:

Wei WuXian, “[…] Oh, right. HanGuang-Jun, I’m out of money. Give me a bit more, won’t you?”

Lan WangJi, “Simply take the jade token to withdraw the money.”

Wei WuXian let out a muffled laugh, “Apart from letting me in and out of the barrier, that jade token you gave me… can also let me draw money?”

“Yes.”

Though I very much doubt that Jin Guangyao ever used it for that.

I can't find reference to anyone other than JGY and WWX being given tokens permanently (like, aside from the visiting disciples), so only Jin Guangyao who didn't live among the Lan. (Although since the damn tokens aren't referred to by a single consistent name, I could be missing something.)

See also this bit in ch 80, from the second siege:

Wei WuXian laughed, “Who said that you have to go inside the Room of Forbidden Books? Wouldn’t it be fine as long as your master can go in at will? The methods of tampering with the sheet music—he was probably also the one who taught you that, right?”

A person of power free to travel in and out of the Cloud Recesses at will. There was no need to say out loud whom Su She’s master was. Everyone knew—it could only be LianFang-Zun!

It's not actually totally clear to me how much of this carries into CQL canon. For example, we don't have the WWX trying to escape from CR plotline in CQL, so from what I remember I don't think we see him testing the wards and being flung off the walls. And more than that: in CQL we don't get the scene where LWJ detects JGY's visit through his own token, meaning Wangxian's presence during the meeting comes across more as something LXC deliberately set up. I think you could read it in if you really wanted, but it's definitely reading against the text.

(Incidentally, to me in CQL LXC doesn't seem surprised when JGY puts the pass on the table, but I think he very much is surprised when JGY says I'm returning it to you; that's not the direction he was expecting this to go. Episode 43, 31:17-31:37, if you want to check yourself.)

Okay, so, now we have all the context. Why does Jin Guangyao return the jade pass? He says that it's because it stopped working, sure, fine—but why did it not working mean he returned it?

To the best of my knowledge—though as ever I could be wrong—we don't get any more information than that in the text, which means it's a matter for meta and speculation. This is where I'd usually tell you what I think and why, except... honestly, I'm not sure. I haven't yet settled on something that feels right to me.

I've seen the ideas that he was distancing himself, or that he was reacting as though it was a complete rejection—it's certainly true that being completely rejected is his usual experience, see NMJ and QS. I can follow the logic, but it doesn't quite work for me? First because it's followed by his reassuring LXC on the subject of LWJ's reputation and the possibility of CR being searched, and then inviting LXC to Carp Tower for a conference about the Burial Mounds, but also...hmmm. Retreating like that is—not really how he usually operates? You see it with NMJ, you see it with QS—he keeps reaching out, he keeps trying to explain himself. In MDZS he stops after the stairs, but at that point he's very thoroughly done with NMJ and I think we can agree he's not there with LXC; in CQL he keeps trying even after he's decided NMJ has to go. Now it's true QS literally just killed herself! so he might not be reacting as usual and all. But...mmm, I don't know. He says it himself (ch 106): “I can’t help it. To seek pity even after doing all the bad things—that’s the kind of person I am.”

Okay, so why the heck /does/ he do it? Welllll...it could be practical considerations—maybe it would be a risk for the Lan if the token got into the hands of an enemy, say, and he's not sure he'll be able to protect it. But honestly that's not very satisfying, and there doesn't seem to be any evidence in the text that I can remember? So I think it makes sense to look elsewhere.

Maybe he actually is trying to respect LXC's boundaries, especially since they don't have time to hash this out. Maybe he figures that—well, we don't know exactly how the second siege would have played out without Wangxian's intervention, but it seems pretty likely that it would have involved damaging the Lan, which is LXC's care and to whom until now JGY has been the staunchest of allies; a way of acknowledging the damage he's doing, even if it won't be understood until later. Maybe he's trying to send a message to LXC: shit is going down, are you in or out? Maybe he's trying to knock LXC off balance; LXC certainly seems off balance for the conversation, reacting rather than acting. Maybe it's to distance LXC from him in like, the potential eyes of the crowd; they've been close and public allies for so long, and now he's trying to help make sure LXC doesn't he pulled down with him if he goes down. Maybe it's a farewell gesture—not so much to LXC, but to the life he's been living, to the precise shape of relationship they had. Maybe it's giving LXC something safe to remember him by—a token, but not something it will look weird if LXC keeps, because he still hopes that LXC will want to remember him. Maybe it's meant as a reminder of the help he has given the Lan. I don't know! I don't know. I do at some point want to sit with the text and seriously work this out, but I also want to get this out for you, anon, so you actually have the information you asked for XP

I think right now I'm leaning towards—some combination of farewell to this part of the life he's been living and the shape of his relationship with LXC (but not saying farewell to /any/ relationship with LXC), and—giving LXC a token of that time. But right now I'm just not sure.

(MDZS quotes all taken from the ER translation)

#a gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs #more than one tag could contain #the best of men #long meta

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awhitehead17 · 3 years ago

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100 ways to say I love you - TimKon edition:

Number 36: “We’ll figure it out.”

Enjoy! :D

Something’s been bothering Kon all day and Tim has no idea what it could be. From a short distance he could see how Kon drifts aimlessly between different rooms in the Tower, the way he can’t seem to focus on any task that he tries to do, the way he doesn’t engage in any conversation going on between the team and the way he doesn’t even seem to be eating.

This behaviour of his has been going on for several days and of course Tim’s taken note of it. When he first picked up on it he approached Kon, questioning gently if everything was alright but his boyfriend had only shaken him off with a tight smile and a small nod. Understanding that he didn’t want to talk then Tim left him alone, knowing that Kon will come to him when he’s ready (or at least Tim would like to hope he will).

When the behaviour continues for several more days Tim’s concern only grows, however he still doesn’t approach him. Tim desperately wants to, he wants to make sure Kon is okay but he doesn’t want to push him when he’s clearly not ready to talk about whatever it is.

Just because Kon won’t talk to him about what’s clearly bothering him, Tim uses an alternative method to work out what’s going on. If he has some idea to what’s going on through Kon’s mind then he would be able to come up with a way to gently confront his boyfriend and then they could work together to come up with a solution to Kon’s problem.

Tim does some digging. He recalls the last week or two before Kon’s off-behaviour started, noting down any events that may play on Kon’s mind, any conversations he may have had or any missions that may have gone sideways. Unfortunately that side of things all result with nothing. Tim couldn’t find a reason behind Kon’s mood change.

He moves away from events and looks into Kon’s personal life more. Their relationship is fine, it’s going well (at least as far as Tim’s aware). Kon’s isn’t speaking to Clark but that’s nothing unusual, Ma and Pa are angels as always, his and Kara’s relationship seems to be alright. The Titan’s are all okay, no one has fallen out and no one has died recently (thank god for that). So what could it be?

Tim sighs and leans back in his desk chair. He glares at his notes and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. What could be making Kon miserable? He doesn’t think it’s him, at least he hopes not. Maybe he’s done something that’s upset Kon without knowing. Then again Kon would have brought it up by now, together they’re pretty good with communicating with one another. It’s taken some time but they got there in the end.

Taking a breather Tim picks up his phone and mindlessly browses through various of apps with notifications showing. Believe it or not, it’s Instagram that highlights the potential answer Tim had been looking for.

Scrolling through his feed Tim comes across a photo Dick had posted a few hours earlier. It’s a selfie taken in the media room of the Manor, it had a cheesy caption but that’s not what clued Tim in, it’s who’s in the picture that does. Dick’s smiling face takes up most of the image but behind him, squished together on the couch is Damian, who is scowling, and Jon, who is beaming holding a tub of ice cream.

Jon.

Kon’s mood change has to be something to do with Jon right? That’s the only major new factor in Kon’s life recently. Tim doesn’t want to jump the gun but his gut feeling is saying that’s it.

Jon appeared in their lives little over three months ago, of course they had all heard about Clark having a biological child but no one had met him until then. It’s a complicated situation but Tim knows when he first came about it really rocked Kon, but his boyfriend had shrugged it off at the time claiming he’s fine.

It was only a couple weeks ago that Jon (and the press) started calling himself Superboy. The kid had started going on missions with different heroes, simple ones without much danger to begin getting him involved with what they do. Superboy is Kon’s persona, but now Jon is Superboy too.

If anyone could understand how shitty of a situation that can be, it’s Tim. He had to share the title Robin with Damian for a little while before moving on.

So could Kon’s problem be with Jon, or is it more to do with the idea of sharing a persona with the kid?

Now he’s got the question in mind, Tim is pretty sure this is what’s bothering Kon. If he’s wrong then that’s that, he’ll try and work out something else, but until then he has to go and speak to his boyfriend.

Tim finds Kon in his room. The Kryptonian is slumped over his desk, sat in the chair and is fiddling with an elastic band ball. Tim’s heart throbs at seeing his boyfriend so down, he really hopes he’s right about this then they can work it out together and then Tim will be able to support him.

Tim enters the room, shutting the door behind him and walks over to Kon. Kon doesn’t pay him any attention and it’s a clear sign that he still doesn’t want to talk but this time Tim isn’t going to be pushed away. Sighing Tim moves, he wordlessly pushes Kon up from the desk and back into his chair, he pulls the chair away from the desk before situating himself in Kon’s lap facing him. It’s the only way Tim knows that Kon will look and pay attention to him while they have this conversation.

To begin with Kon refuses to look at him, he’s got his head tilted to the side to avoid eye-contact and his arms are slouched over the arm rests not holding onto anything. Tim leans forward, gently cupping Kon’s face with his palms to turn his head back so they were looking at one another, once their gazes meet he reaches back with one hand to play with the hair on Kon’s nape, running his fingers through it in comforting motions.

“I think I know what’s got you in a funk.” Tim states softly. There’s no point beating around the bush.

Kon frowns at him but he doesn’t say anything.

“It took a little while to work out but I believe this moping mood of yours has something to do with a little, black haired, blue eyed boy right?” Tim smiles lightly, trying to soften the situation. “More specifically, I think it has something to do with a name, the fact that you’re now sharing the same persona. Is it fair to assume I’m right?”

He finally gets a reaction out of Kon. His boyfriend huffs in amusement and rolls his eyes, a moment later he looks fondly at Tim. “I really can’t keep anything hidden from you can I?”

“No. Remember, world’s greatest detective here, there is a reason why I got that title after all.” He jokes before sobering up. “That, plus the fact I know you. I knew something was bothering you and I hoped you would come talk to me about it but you didn’t so I did some digging.”

Kon groans and bends forward, he leans his head against Tim's shoulder. Tim wraps his arms around Kon in a secure hug. “Sorry. I didn’t want to bother you with this, it’s stupid and petty. It’s been on my mind for weeks and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“You can always come to me Kon, you know that.” Tim says firmly. “I’m here for you no matter what. Big or small. Also especially something like this, I know what you’re feeling, I’ve been though it myself. I want to be here for you no matter what.”

Kon’s arms finally come up and wrap around Tim’s waist, returning his hug. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Tim presses a kiss to Kon’s temple. “It’s okay, now I know I can support you. We’ll figure it out. We can spend some time working out a solution to this, perhaps it’s time to come up with a new persona of your own. Let’s be honest you’re no longer a boy anyway! We’ll take our time with it and get it right.”

Kon nods against his shoulder before pulling away to look up at him. He gives Tim a fake pout. “You just want me to get rid of the shirt and jeans.”

Tim smiles teasingly. “Well I certainly wouldn’t oppose to it…”

Kon hmpf’s in response and goes back to resting against Tim. “I guess we can work out something. I know I’ve been needing to do something about my identity for a while and Jon’s just come in like a wrecking ball and has shaken it all up. It’s thrown me off.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Tim reassures him, giving him a squeeze, “It’s going to be different, it may not feel right and probably will feel wrong but you’ll adjust and then it’ll be amazing.”

Kon looks up at him again and Tim could see how full of hope Kon’s blue eyes were. Instead of saying anything however Kon reaches up and tugs Tim’s head down, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Tim gets it though, how grateful Kon is of the words and his support.

When Tim had to change identities he had been on his own, if he can help Kon through his own transition and make sure he has full support then Tim will be there every step of the way no matter what.

#Tim Drake #Kon-El #100 ways to say i love you #timkon #emotional hurt and comfort #identity crisis #fluff #Hugs #Tim being a good boyfriend #fanfiction

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captainrexforever · 4 years ago

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Trials and Tribulations 1/2

Rating: T

Word Count: ~4k

Summary: The reader discovers that she has formed a force bond with her Mandalorian companion. This has some unforeseen complications during the events at the Imperial refinery on Morak.

Warnings: cannon typical violence, reader is seriously injured, mentions of blood, Dad! Fett, fluff, angst

Notes: I was planning for this to be wayyy more angsty, but I just couldn’t bear to put poor Din through any more hurt. I hope you enjoy! Don’t forget to comment if you have a suggestion or an idea.

Pt. 2

It seems like only a moment ago Din disappeared down the mountain to assist Fennec. You grab a hold of the child, thanking the stars that he has finally emerged from his trance-like state, and cradle him gently as you check over his vitals to ensure he is not injured.

Once the sound of blaster fire begins to fade, you prepare to make the trek down the mountainside as well. It looks as if the remaining stormtroopers are in full retreat, their transports blasting off from the surface in a hurry. A final explosion-wait, was that a rocket? did Din have a rocket launcher and not tell you?-wipes the ships out of the sky, and you let out a sigh of relief. Although it would be best to leave the planet as quickly as possible, you can’t resist enjoying the view for a moment. It’s been a long time since you or Mando have been able to take a break. There is always a new danger, a new threat, that compromises the safety of your small group.

A red laser bolt screams past your ear, slicing through your peripheral vision like an omen of death. You can only stand there, helpless, as you witness the bolt strike the motionless Razor Crest. The ship that has served as your home for months is suddenly reduced to a smoking crater of ash. There is a good chance that you’re in shock, and by the time you notice the dark troopers descending on your position it’s too late. Before you can draw your blaster, a droid sweeps your feet out from beneath you and you fall to the unforgiving ground, cursing as stones pierce into the skin of your back.

Mando is still running up the mountain side when he notices your body crumple to the ground, and he’s overtaken by blind rage, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he wills himself to move faster. Blaster shots ring out in the silence and his whole body seizes up in pain when he hears your screams.

You grit your teeth as you fight the pain flooding your body. There’s already blood flowing from the blaster shot in your chest and the one in your left leg, but you refuse to give in to the pain. Your fingers close around the child’s robe, struggling to secure their hold as a droid tears him from your arms. Biting back another cry of pain, you will yourself to stand, only to come face to face with the barrel of a wrist-mounted blaster.

It would have been your last breath if Mando hadn’t arrived at that exact moment. The droid standing over you wirrs in distress as a searing laser bolt catches it in the throat. With every last ounce of strength you crane your neck towards the direction of the blast, vision swimming as you register the presence of a familiar beskar-clad figure.

Din curses his poor timing as he rushes towards your prone figure. One finger is already bare, falling to your neck to check for a pulse even as the digits of his other hand connect with his helmet to activate long-range vision. The child is too far gone, he’ll never be able to reach him even if he retrieves his jetpack. His ship is nothing but a pile of ashes, the medical equipment necessary to assist with your condition lost along with the Crest. For just a second Din allows himself to feel despair, loss, anger...love. A tear rolls down his cheek, concealed beneath the beskar that shields the world from his emotions.

What is a man with nothing left to fight for?

In the next second he is back to his impassive, stoic self. He needs a plan. Fennec, where’s Fennec…

“They’ve got the baby, don’t let them get away.” She’s speaking into her comm.

“Affirmative, I have a lock.” Fett answers.

Din can feel his heart seize, threatening to break through its emotional barriers again. He can’t suffer another loss. “Stop him, I don’t want the child hurt.”

She gives him a terse nod. “Abort pursuit, disengage, do not harm the child.”

“Copy, I’ll do a loose follow, see where they’re headed.” A pause. “They’re back.” Fett’s tone is clouded in disbelief.

“Who?” Fennec questions, but Din already knows the answer.

“The Empire, they’re back.”

“That can’t be, the outer rim is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic.”

“This isn’t a spice dream. I can see the imperial cruiser with my own eyes. Heading down.”

A ship, Fett has a ship. “Tell him to hurry, my companion might not make it without immediate medical attention.” Din demands, realizing he’s taking liberties, but it’s your life on the line damnit.

“The girl’s been injured, she needs medical attention.” Fennec relays.

“Copy that. I’ll prepare the med bay.”

Din breathes a sigh of relief, perhaps this man really is a true Mandalorian. He brushes several stray hairs out of your face, grounding himself for a moment before he checks how bad your wounds are. He chokes on a breath when he lifts your duraweave tunic up slightly. There is a fist sized hole in your abdomen, and although he’s treated wounds far worse during his career as a bounty hunter, the sight of the wound of your body has him feeling light headed and nauseous. He’s spitting curses under his breath as he moves to check the wound on your thigh. It’s not much better off.

Shit.

Fett better have some damn good medical supplies on his ship, because there is no way Din is going to allow you to be patched together with machinery like the ex-mercenary currently standing to his left.

As gently as he can manage, he slides an arm underneath your torso, desperately trying to ignore the way your blood coats his vambrace and the duraweave cloth beneath it. His other arm slides underneath your legs, settling into the bend between your thigh and calf. As gently as Din can manage, he lifts you from the ground, panicking when your head lolls backwards at an awkward angle. He feels awkward, out of place, and completely unequipped to be handling a situation like this. Fennec must decide to have pity on his poor soul because she steps over to him with a knowing glance.

“I know you’re a damn good fighter, but I can’t help but notice that you’re not accustomed to holding a woman in your arms.”

It’s true, and he shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but it still makes him flush red underneath the helmet.

“May I?” She gestures towards your still form.

A possessive growl rises in his throat at the thought of Fennec carrying you instead of him.

“Relax Mando, I’m just going to adjust her positioning.”

She’s muttering under her breath, low enough that not even the microphones within his helmet can detect the syllables, but he does catch her mumble ‘what a couple of lovesick fools’. The words have his face erupting into flames once again.

Din stills pins her with a glare as she reaches for your head, tilting it up so that you can rest your cheek against his arm, right below his left pauldron. Then she takes a hold of your left arm, which currently hovers in the air, and sets it on your abdomen.

“There, I’m sure she is much more comfortable now.” Fennec finishes.

Din just nods, still half-heartedly glaring at her from beneath the helmet.

“Let’s go, I’m sure Fett has landed already.”

He nods again, gesturing for her to lead the way. His gaze falls to you and he can’t help but notice that your face is twisted in discomfort. That’s the last thing he wants right now.

“Are you certain she is comfortable?”

“Mando, stop fussing, women love to be held. It’s probably your stiff posture that’s making her uncomfortable.”

He feels like growling at her retreating figure, but resists the temptation. Instead, he drops his visor back towards your face, scrabbling for something-anything-that will help you feel more comfortable.

“It’s alright, I’m here ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) You can rest, I’ve got you. Don’t worry about the kid, we’ll get him back, I promise.”

Maybe it’s coincidence, but the moment he finishes speaking you let out a breathy sigh, the frown on your face relaxing into a neutral expression as you nuzzle further into his shoulder.

You wake up later in an unfamiliar location, startling yourself into full consciousness as you try to take in the surroundings. Tears sting at your eyes and you bite back a sob. The Crest, your home, it’s gone.

“I heard you had a rough day.”

Your gaze snaps forward towards the doorway, and you feel like crying all over again. Cara, your lifelong friend, is propped up against the doorframe. You’re not usually one for sentiment, but you open your arms as wide as you can manage, meeting her eyes as you plead for a hug. She rushes towards you, wrapping you up in an embrace so tight that you think she might crack a rib.

“You had us worried for a while. It’s been a few days.”

A few...A few days. A choked out ‘huh?’ is the only response you can manage with her arms crushing your frame.

“Sorry.” She pulls back, releasing you from her grasp. What the kriff, is she wiping a tear from her eye? “You had us worried. Your condition was so poor that you needed a blood transfusion.”

“What? That’s impossible. The chances of finding someone with my blood type within 100 parsecs are slim to none.”

“Well…”

Why is she hesitating?

“Turns out you and I have the same blood type.”

Kriffing hell! Your heart jumps into your throat. There have only been a handful of times where Din has made a dramatic entrance without practically frightening you into cardiac arrest. This is not one of them. A quick glance around the remainder of the room reveals the Mandalorian seated in a booth in the far corner.

“You frightened me half to death Mando!” There’s a spike of surprise-not your own-that tickles at the back of your brain, and the feeling leaves you a little tense.

“Well that’s not a very nice way to greet your saviour.”

“What?” You inquire.

Mando grunts at you, impassive as always. The visor of his helmet betrays none of his feelings. “I said, you and I have the same blood type.”

Beneath the helmet he’s a little worried, you’ve never asked him to repeat himself. Don’t panic, he instructs himself. It’s probably just because you’re still a little out of it after the anti-pain stim you received. That’s all. He decides to jump straight into business before his worries get too far out of hand.

“We’re going after the kid.”

You nod in response, you figured as much. A fuzzy memory plays out in the back of your mind like a worn out holotape, ‘don’t worry...we’ll get him back...promise.’

“What’s the plan?” You ask, looking to Cara.

“The kid is on Moff Gideon’s cruiser. We need to acquire the coordinates for his position.”

“Ok, whatever you need, I can do it.”

“I know,” she shoots you a grateful glance, “but we are going to need imperial help, ex-imperial help, to be specific. We’re on our way to pick up a New Republic prisoner who is serving a sentence in the Karthon Chop Fields. You might remember him, Migs Mayfeld.”

“Oh, I remember him.” Specifically, you remember wanting to dropkick him into the nearest star system for being such an arrogant bastard. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you get your ass out of bed and get dressed.”

You sputter indignantly, hurtling the nearest object in sight-which happens to be a roll of bandages-at her head. She just laughs at you as she sidesteps the projectile and darts out of the room.

Huh, there’s that tickle in the back of your brain again. Annoyed, you scratch at your head for a second, puzzled when the sensation doesn’t go away. You decide to opt for a different tactic, concentrating on the feeling until it becomes a little clearer. It’s a sound you realize, the sound of...laughter?

Wait just a minute. Why that no good, beskar wearing nerf herder! You swing your head around, so quickly that you can hear the bones of your spine crackle in protest, and pin him with a deadly glare. Only to realize he’s not even looking at you. In fact, he’s in the process of polishing his blaster.

You shake your head, baffled. You must be imagining things. A moment later Mando re-assembles his blaster with a practiced ease, twirls it lightly in his hand, and then holsters it as he stands.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Then he too is stepping out the door with a swish of his cape.

“Oh, and I think you’re gonna like Fett’s ship.”

By the time you open your mouth to respond he’s already gone.

“So what’s your story? How’d you and the big guy meet?”

You glance up, hoping to catch Cara’s gaze, an unspoken question radiating across your face. She nods her head subtly in silent confirmation.

“Cara and I were both New Republic shocktroopers. We grew up together, enlisted together, fought together, eventually went into early retirement together. (The last part was only mostly true, but Fennec didn’t need to know that). That’s how we ended up on Sorgan, where we met the Mandalorian. He enlisted our help in mopping up a group of raiders for a job he’d taken on. After our payment we were planning to go our separate ways, but the kid formed quite an attachment to me, so I decided to tag along with him and Mando for a bit. At the time, neither of us understood why the kid was so attached. I’m not very good with children anyways.”

Fennec nods her head as you continue.

“Well apparently, according to this Jedi that we came across a couple weeks ago, I have a connection to some magical force, similar to the child. That’s what drew him to me."

“Huh, interesting.”

“I know, right.”

Here’s the thing though. What you hesitate to tell Fennec is that Ahsoka also informed you that you possessed a special gift as a result of your connection to the Force. Although your gift had not yet presented itself, she was certain that it would become apparent in your near future.

Sure enough, after the struggle on Tython and the resulting blood transfusion, you have started to hear voices in your head. You are sure that they are thoughts, since they are often disjointed and oddly phrased. And, maybe you’re crazy, but the voices sound oddly similar to the modulated voice of your beskar-clad companion.

For example, if you concentrate really hard right now you can hear noise, not like that of an engine (because you’re on a ship), but that of a conversation. Right now the voices are chattering about...ammunition charges? You snort in amusement. That sounds like something Din would be thinking about. Fennec gives you a funny look, but you just play it off, saying that the filtered air in the ship was irritating your airway.

It makes you curious though, is it possible that he may be able to sense your thoughts as well? If you concentrate really hard on one single idea, will he notice? It’s definitely worth a try, and you’re really bored right now. Hmmm, what about a...jetpack. Ok, no response from Din. What about...beskar. Oh, that’s a good idea! After five whole minutes of thinking solely about the metal there is still no response from Din. Ugh, fine. Your obviously imagining things. Typical.

“What are you doing?” A voice echoes.

You let out a squeak, quickly cover it up as a cough, and then glare at the Mandalorian seated across from you. This time he’s looking right at you.

Fine, two can play at this game. You keep a straight face and then will your voice to travel across the space between you and into his mind. “What are you doing?”

He just stares at you and you think maybe you are still imagining things.

“Sigh.”

Oh no he did not. He did not just...just sigh at you through his mind! Why that little…

“Relax, you’re jumpy. And bored.”

If looks could kill, he would be a pile of sizzling beskar right now. “It’s not my fault you’re boring.” You huff back. And without warning he’s laughing at you through the bond. Full-hearted, chest-rattling laughter, but without the ‘chest rattling’ you note dryly, as you glare even harder.

“So that was you laughing at me earlier today! You are in so much trouble Din. Just wait until we land, we’re gonna fight this out like warriors and I’m gonna kick your ass.” That shuts him up and you are feeling quite smug about your comeback, basking in your victory for the space of a few seconds until something else starts tickling at your brain.

It’s another voice, one that is slowly growing louder, but it seems...guarded. You nudge harder, eager to solve the mystery, and the answer becomes a little clearer. It’s a feeling, you realize, a powerful feeling. As you weave closer and closer, Din’s other thoughts attempt to sidetrack you, to distract you from your self-proclaimed mission. Just a little closer...

You don’t even notice that Din’s physical body has tensed up, his hands balling into fists, telltale signs of his nerves. More thoughts whiz by you, trying to knock you off your narrow path, but you’re persistent as you trudge forward. The feeling abruptly smacks into you like the rays of a thousand suns, blinding you, and you’re gasping, suddenly ashamed of your curiosity.

“We’re here.” Fett’s voice rings through the hull, breaking your concentration for only a second, and you feel Din forcefully throw you out of his mind. He’s out of his seat in a second, making a beeline for the cockpit without throwing so much as a glance your way. You’re left to wallow in your seat as Cara and Fennec shoot you questioning glances, but you just shrug.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” You offer, choosing not to elaborate on what just took place. But your blood boils. You know exactly what happened. You just ripped away the most important barrier Mando possessed. The one that guarded his heart.

The feeling you laid bare?

Affection.

You don’t even leave your seat as the others step outside to recruit Mayfeld. “Just wait until we land, we’re gonna fight this out like warriors and I’m gonna kick your ass.” You spoke those words to Din only moments ago. Now, after what you’ve done, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to look him in the face again, much less challenge him to a sparring match.

It’s not until everyone but Din and Mayfeld re-enter the hull that you realize there are only four seats in the hold. You curse your bad luck, there’s no way you are gonna share a seat with any one of these clowns. Oh sweet springs of Tabet, if you remember correctly there’s an extra seat in the cockpit. Before anyone can question your behavior, you’re rushing towards the ladder that Fett is still scaling. With a little luck, he won’t question your presence, and you might even be able to learn a few maneuvers.

Din sucks in a breath as he enters the hold once again, just in time to catch a glimpse of your back as you disappear into the cockpit along with Fett. He scowls, if Fett wasn’t such a good man, Din would probably be jealous. He takes his seat once again, except this time instead of looking up and being rewarded with your face, he’s greeted with Mayfeld’s ugly mug. There’s no way this day could get any worse.

It is only after everyone takes a seat that he remembers there are only four chairs in the hold. He curses himself over and over. He had already factored that into his original plan. The original idea was to invite you to share his seat with him after Mayfeld joined the crew. Then he would be able to bask in your closeness, your liveliness, for just a short time before his mind began to dissect the details of the mission.

He knows he hurt you earlier, unintentional as it may have been. He hadn’t meant to throw you out of his thoughts so quickly, but you scared him. If you had been allowed to peer into his emotions for just one more millisecond you might have seen his most closely guarded thoughts, the ones that keep him lying awake at night.

Within the confines of his mind he often pictures you and him, the kid, and sometimes children of your own. In those fantasies he doesn’t hunt anymore, learns instead how to be a father and a husband, a family man. The intensity of his feelings frustrate him, and rightfully so. As a hunter and a Mandalorian, any emotion he feels can easily be turned into a deadly weapon. This situation involving the kid is a perfect example of how quickly his affection can twist into desperation.

“I’ll go.”

Those two words are all it takes for you to know that Din is absolutely desperate. Mayfeld blathers on, ridiculing Mando again, so you just shut his voice out.

“Mando, I can go.” You speak up, fuming a little at the thought that he hasn’t yet offered you the mission.

“No, it’s too dangerous for you.” He doesn’t even look at you properly, gazing instead towards the juggernaut that passes.

You pin the side of his helmet with a glare. Not wanting to start a scene in front of the others, you dare to brush delicately against his thoughts, and you want to cry in relief when he immediately let’s you in.

“Din, I can go. Let me have this mission.”

“No, you barely made it out alive last time. Besides, the New Republic will recognize you.”

“I don’t care about the New Republic, it’s not like I currently hold a position of importance like Cara. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’re not going. You haven’t even fully recovered, and there is no way you’re going if you’re not 100% combat ready.”

“You of all people should know better than to tell me what I can and cannot do. I will not, I repeat, I will not let you go in there and risk your Creed when I am perfectly capable of taking this mission!”

“My decision is final.”

Then for the second time that day, he shuts you out.

“You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you, but I won’t be showing my face.” Din announces aloud to the rest of your crewmates.

You growl under your breath, furious with his decision. You want to scream at him, ask him what exactly he is thinking, but you know you can’t. You have never been able to change his mind. Instead, you resign yourself to your allotted role, begging the stars that nothing goes wrong even though you know that is a fool's hope.

Once Mayfeld and Din are seated within the juggernaut, you and Boba prepare to split off from Fennec and Cara.

“We’ll head back to the ship while you two make your way to the ridge.” Boba Fett speaks up as he shoulders the canvas bag holding Din’s armor.

“Alright. I’ll inform you on when to begin your run.” Fennec responds.

You exchange a glance with Cara, then move to follow Fett through the forest. As you trudge back to the ship alongside Boba, numerous questions spring to mind.

“Fett, you are a Mandalorian right?”

“You could say that.”

“Why is it that you can remove your helmet and go by your real name, but Mando can’t?”

“How do you know that Boba Fett is my real name?” He questions.

Well that shuts you up.

He continues on as if expecting that response. “Mandalore has a complicated history. Often the very people who call themselves Mandalorian are not even born on the planet itself. My ancestors believed that any man, woman, boy, or girl could imbue the spirit of a Mandalorian warrior, it didn’t matter who they were or where they were born. From what I can gather, your friend was not born on Mandalore either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really call him a friend, but yes that’s true, he mentioned it once. That still doesn’t explain the helmet thing though.” You gesture to your face as you finish your sentence.

He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he’s dealing with an overly inquisitive toddler. “The helmet thing is harder to explain.” A beat of silence passes. “Mandalorians live in clans, as groups of warriors that are bound together by a common name and a central ruler. The clans all support different beliefs, or Creeds, as they call them. The beliefs of one clan may be wildly different from that of another clan.”

That makes sense. There is a long tick of silence, and you’re certain he is finished so you ask the one remaining question that sits at the tip of your tongue.

“What clan do you belong to?”

He obviously doesn’t expect that question. Surprise envelops his features, then it morphs into fondness. “I belong to Clan Fett.” Another pause. “Why, would you like to join?” It’s accompanied with a head tilt and a humorous tone.

You just laugh. “I don’t know if I will qualify.” It’s freeing to let some humour slip into your tone after your recent argument with Din.

“Well, it seems like you already forgot the history lesson.” He chastises you, but he’s still smiling. “Now, let’s prepare to pick up these friends of yours.” He adds, as the ship becomes visible in the distance.

Ending Notes: Originally this part was going to be much longer, but I made some changes to my original plot. I had also planned to end it on a more angsty note, but let’s be real, we want to avoid angst as much as possible. Part 2 is already written and will be coming soon, give me a follow if you don’t want to miss it!

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #mando x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fluff #mando reader fluff

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dramaqueeenamby · 4 years ago

Text

𝐑𝐄𝐃 ⧼𝑏. 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠⧽

A/N: It’s almost a new year! Figured I’d finish this one off with a bang. Literally. Okay, I’ll shut up. Also, I’ve never written Bucky before, so I apologize in advance for the massacre and disrespect of his characterization.

Summary: ❝You still remember the first time he walked in, the baseball cap and glasses told a story you knew all too well.❞

Warnings: Smut with a bit of plot. Sorta. Mostly, just smut. Vaginal penetration. Oral (female receiving). Light Dom themes (specifically, choking). Blink and you miss it cockwarming.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3K

RED

You don’t even know his name.

Don’t know where he’s from, who his people are, where he lays his head at night. None of it. Actually, the last one is a lie. You know it’s not here, in this town of less than 1,000 where the only people of color, including yourself, can be counted on one hand.

It’s not ideal, but when wanting to become consumed by a blanket of invisibility and needing to erase your existence from the greater world, you do what you have to do.

You still remember the first time he walked in, the baseball cap and glasses told a story you knew all too well.

Privacy. It was all he wanted, and you’d give him that, along with any alcoholic beverage he wanted. And, he wanted a lot.

You’d once commented that his liver had to be nonexistent and asked just how long he’d been drinking, because no matter how much he consumed, he remained coherent enough to leave a kind tip and close his tab. He said nothing.

He was a man of few words, when in public, at least.

You liked that as well. Maybe it was because he recognized that you had a job to do, or perhaps he detected that look in your eyes. It was that same look that he had, that plea for solitude.

You had a feeling that you weren’t the only one who could be in a room full of people and still feel all alone. You lived by that. So did he.

Interactions and meetings outside of the shabby bar commenced through the most generic of circumstance. It was a copy and paste situation. A rowdy, drunk customer became too intoxicated to remain inside the establishment. You calmly asked him to leave, security was preoccupied with another violent drunk, and next thing you knew, he’d grabbed you by your forearm. His grip was relentless but so was your dedication to break free. Unfortunately, mental fortitude didn’t outweigh physical capability.

He’d shoved you into the a nearby table, sending you onto the floor, your head and side loud with its throbbing. Your eyes shut as the pain coursed. However, seconds later, your attacker was outside, flat on his ass, unconscious.

That was the first time he saved you, and it was all it took for you two to progress into something more. You couldn’t say intimacy. For you, intimacy meant feelings, and feelings were nonexistent here.

This was an arrangement, a source of release.

It was mutually beneficial.

You both received something from the other, an ironic arrangement considering you had a feeling he, like you, had little else to give.

The first time occurred in your car, in the back seat. He was big—in more ways than one—so it wasn’t ideal, but he’d stated that he received a ride, so he had nowhere to offer. You certainly weren’t bringing him back to your apartment. Stranger danger and the fact that it was rundown.

So, that left your vehicle, which again, wasn’t the best place, but it wasn’t the worst. And at least you got to be on top, one of your favorite positions

The time after that, despite your initial protest, happened in the storage closet in the back of the bar. He’d shifted an old keg to block the door before he promptly placed you up and ate you out.

You’d received head before, but this was something different. You’d never had a man leave you as delirious and feeble with just his mouth alone. Hell, most of the time, you had to instruct more than a professor.

The more you thought about it, the more you regretted not charging tuition.

Especially considering most failed every time.

Not him. No, it was as though he knew exactly what you wanted, and he gave off the impression that he wanted it too.

You’d allowed him to lower you to the ground, hands on your hips as he kept you upright and stabilized. For good reason, your legs were bowling balls, and you needed time to find your equilibrium.

However, when you finally came to and attempted to fall to your knees, he stopped you.

You looked up, not saying a word, your furrowed eyes conveying confusion. What man refused head?

You waited for an explanation. He offered none, bringing you back to your feet as he moved the keg and left you alone, confused and still very much on a high from your orgasm.

And sure, at first, you berated yourself for letting a stranger go down on you. You didn’t know his sexual history, but to be fair, he didn’t know yours either. You were both reckless, but with the mind-blowing pleasure he caused you, you weren’t exactly stressing over longterm implications.

You didn’t see him for a few weeks after that, and as much as you hated to admit that you missed him, you did. Mostly because the sex was addictive, but also because every time he came around, you could just see that something was off.

Something ate at him, but whatever it was, you’d never know. And it was better that way. Converging demons never ended well for anyone. Two fucked up people doing more than just fucking and leaving would benefit no one and harm everything.

That sexual tryst also occurred in your vehicle, but the two of you were more creative that time around. You played around with different positions, testing your both your flexibility and comfortability.

You finally told him your name.

He was mid-stroke when you blurted it out, his pace slowing as his eyes met yours. You swallowed and repeated it, louder. On the second round, he used it, quietly mumbling it into the sheen of sweat on your neck, but you heard it, and he knew it. That was all that mattered.

He didn’t tell you his.

That was a few weeks ago, and no matter how busy you get, your head still turns every time the welcome bell chimes. You know better than to eagerly await for a stranger who you’ve fucked on several occasions and know nothing else about. It’s stupid, but in the litany of stupid decisions you’ve made over the years, this ranks pretty low.

And that’s saying something.

Exactly one month since your last sexual tryst, as you dig in your purse for your keys while walking to your car, you look up, key between your index and middle finger when you jump upon hearing your name.

Spinning around with the key lifted high, ready to be used in a defensive manner, your heart rate settles when you see it’s him. He’s leaning back against the brick, arms tucked in his pocket.

Closing your eyes, you place your hand over your chest and scold him. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me—“

“Your place.”

A couple of things cross your mind in that moment, the main one being that this bastard is insane. You don’t know shit about him, except for the fact that his stroke game is impeccable and his tongue is the 8th world wonder. Other than that, he is a complete stranger.

Him knowing where you work is one thing, him knowing and visiting where you lay your head at night is another.

There are some lines that you just cannot cross, and this one is bolded, italicized, underlined, and in red.

You can’t.

—

The door shuts, forcing the cheap wall key holder that you’d picked up from the local goodwill to shudder against the peeling wallpaper. In the distance, you can hear something else fall, no doubt breaking, but none of that pulls you off of him.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes you against the wall, his tongue dancing with yours. His hands move to your ass, tugging you into his crotch. You moan again, eyes fluttering sporadically.

How the hell you went from telling him to fuck off to having him minutes away from fucking you is beyond you. It’s also above you now.

Just how he’ll be in five minutes.

“Bedroom,” you murmur against his lip, waiting for him to loosen his grip. His shirt is scrunched in your hand as you lead him to your bedroom. It doesn’t take long, your one bedroom, one bathroom apartment can be explored in its entirety in less than five minutes.

You’re thankful that evening approaches and the light dims by the minute. Just as shining a light into your life would ward off any buyers, so would the light into your apartment.

He tosses you on the bed, and in seconds, you’re on your knees, helping him to pull his shirt off. Naturally, your hands roam his chest. As lighting has technically never been in abundance during the sex, you’re only able to feel areas of his skin that are raised. Scars. They tell a story. His story.

One you’ll never be told.

His hands are against your shoulders before you’re flat on your bed. He pulls your legs from underneath you and spreads them. Your fingers grasp at the button of your jeans as you unbutton them. Lifting your hips, you move quickly to slide them off, but he’s already ahead of you. They’re already tossed to the floor.

You sit up and remove your shirt when he once again shoves you back.

Looking down your body, you realize he’s already nude, dick rigid and leaking precum. Stomach coiling with anticipation, you lick your lips and close your eyes when he grabs you by your hips and tugs you down the bed.

“Fuck.” Your back once again arched off the full sized mattress as he grabbed your thighs, holding you against his mouth. Your hands grasped at the wall behind you, nails scraping as his tongue danced against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Once thing you’d learned was that he was a man of limited patience, when he wanted something, he wanted it now. Immediate gratification was his dominant preference, and you had zero complaints, because right about now, you wanted the same thing.

Your body wormed as a natural reaction towards his tongue exploring every bit of your pussy. Your clit attracted him the most, but he was generous in the regards that nothing was left untouched. He sucked with skill and hunger and something else you couldn’t pinpoint.

Eyes rolling in the back of your head, however, there wasn’t much you could focus on expect for the man between your legs, even if you tried.

At times, you became too frisky for him, and he’d move one hand to your core, holding you steady. His strength was inhuman. You hated when he did that, though, because your stomach would cave as your insides twisted. It was impossible not to shift away from him, especially when he expertly circled his tongue around your nub.

You could have sworn you felt him spelling something, perhaps your name, maybe even his.

Again, questions you’d never receive answers to.

You weren’t certain, but you got the feeling that he was motivated to continue to push you based on how your body responded to him. And every tryst had shown that you responded almost perfectly to the slightest of his touches. Everything he did wound you up, he got off to that. Maybe that’s why he never wanted you to reciprocate what you did for him, no matter how badly you wanted to.

He preferred to please, not be pleased.

Stars filtered the vision of your ceiling, and even those became blurred and grainy as that familiar feeling bubbled from the deepest part of you and exploded in a majestic display of pants, moans, and breathy profanities.

You were barely coherent as he trailed sticky kisses up your body, past your pupa, over your tummy, both breast, and finally, your mouth. Tasting yourself and him, you brought your hands to his cheeks holding him. You wanted to savor every second of this. He returned your passion, never breaking the kiss as he lined himself at your slick entrance.

You knew the question of readiness was nearing, and quite frankly, you weren’t for it. You wanted him, and you wanted him now.

Lifting your hips to speed up his entry, you nearly screamed when he slammed into you. You weren’t expecting it, but holy fuck, you loved it. You weren’t prepared for the rapid and consistent snapping of his hips into yours or the way his hands pinned yours down above your head, but you cherished it.

You felt every inch of him, every ridge of his dick, his balls slapping against the bottom of your ass. All of it. And you loved every second of this. You missed this. You missed him.

The latter realization took you for surprise as your eyes opened, where you were again surprised to find that he was looking directly at you. He was studying you, searching your face for any sign of pain, discomfort, or even dissatisfaction. He would find none.

He never would.

Your thighs tightened around him, and you saw him grit his teeth, his eyes momentarily shutting as he lowered over you. You tugged against his hold on your wrists, thankful when he released you. Your hands immediately went to his back, pulling him against you, your breast against his broad and muscular chest. Every inch of him was chiseled and defined, and you always felt the strength he possessed barely reaching its peak when you two fucked.

This time was no different.

You waited for the moment where his thrusts slowed just enough for you to switch positions, and when it arose, you wasted no time. He was suddenly under you, with you on top of him. Your hands planted on his chest as you rode him. Unlike his rapid pace, you settled for a slow and meticulous pace, gradually working your way up.

You were confident there was no way that you could match his speed, but that didn’t deter you from trying.

Selfishly, you didn’t bother to search his face for any sign of pleasure, too consumed in your own fantasy. Your hands moved from his chest to the wall as you moved to your toes to access a better angle, one that emitted a prolonged mixture of a moan and a groan.

While he was vocal only in the form of occasional profanities and infrequent breathing patterns, you were determined to let the whole building know that you were getting fucked, and you were getting fucked thoroughly.

A letter from your landlord would surely be awaiting for you in the next couple days.

None of that mattered, though.

You’re not sure how long you go at it, but you recognize what’s coming. And so does he. You’re briefly caught off guard when he sits up and holds you against his chest. Both of your mouth are parted, and he never tears his eyes away from you, even as bliss overcompensates will, and your eyes shut. Your teeth bite into your bottom lip, and you close your mouth to quiet your scream when you reach your climax, as you both reach your release.

As his warm seed spreads insides you and yours coats his bottom half, along with your bedding, your heavy breathing and sluggish body alerts you to just how fast and how hard you two were at it. Completely spent and unwilling to move, you fall on top of him, uncaring of the mess that coats you.

Besides, you expect him to carefully peel you off of him. Instead, you receive the opposite, he brings him arms around you, holding you against him.

Your eyes shut. A few minutes of silence fill the void until he fills it with a proclamation.

“I’m not what you need.”

For some reason, his statement causes you to smile. This is the most verbal he’s ever been with you, and you recognize that. You appreciate it.

You appreciate his honesty.

“And I’m not what you need,” you speak into his slick chest while he rubs circles on the small of your back. “But this is what we need.”

He says nothing.

A few minutes go by when you finally gather the courage to ask what you wanted to ask from the minute you saw him standing outside the bar. “You staying the night?”

He takes a few moments to answer, but it’s long enough for you to regret even asking. And then, he speaks.

“I can.”

His answer takes you by surprise. It’s not a no, and it’s technically not a yes, either. However, you recognize the optional aspect in his voice.

You don’t provide a verbal answer. You simply cradle your face into his neck, sighing at the calming feeling of him still being inside you.

You know he won’t be there when you open your eyes, and that’s okay. He’s here now, and while you don’t know for certain, but you’re confident that he’ll be back.

And that is what allows you to peacefully close your eyes and succumb to slumber.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #winter soldier #marvel fanfiction #fic: red

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years ago

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whumptober day 10: crying

slightly more straightforward h/c this time!

summary: set after the ric grayson/joker war arc in nightwing.

dick’s been missing for two months. jason finds him first, but it’s just the first step in finding how very, very lost dick really is.

warnings: SPOILERS for the aforementioned nightwing arcs. plentiful cursing. moderately graphic descriptions of injuries.

crying

The last time Jason received a family-wide SOS to help them rescue Dick, the guy was a twice-brainwashed mess whose brain was being pulled in opposite directions by the Court of Owls and the fucking Joker, and that was after said brain had been shattered by a fucking sniper’s bullet. (And a period of being left to fend for himself with a broken brain in between, but Jason doesn’t really like to think about that.) This time, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. He can’t imagine things have gotten even worse than the last go-around, but then again, Jason knows from personal experience that there’s no end to the list of ‘things that are worse than dying’.

Besides, the alert came from Babs. And, in quick succession, Tim, Bruce, Duke, and Cass. If nothing else, Jason is curious.

Dick disappeared from Bludhaven about two months ago. The reason the oh-so-precise Bats have the word ‘about’ in that statement is because nobody can really pinpoint the exact date it happened. Donna can recall dropping by his place ten weeks ago. Tim maybe exchanged a few emails or text messages a few weeks ago but didn’t really get alarmed about Dick not responding to his messages until the radio silence stretched for over a month. Bruce had his trackers on (that bastard) but Dick hates them and is known to destroy the ones he finds. And they can’t even really depend on reports of Nightwing sightings in the city because having his brain knocked around and pulled apart like taffy means Dick takes regular holidays from patrols if he’s not feeling particularly steady that day. (Look what being sensible and having a smidgeon of a sense of self-preservation got him.) And the CCTV in his apartment complex was shit, so.

It’s almost like it was a planned thing, like he was kidnapped, but honestly it’s how things go and how they’ve gone for a very long time: they drift in their own worlds for long periods until an event brings them together, and then it’s back to being scattered across the country again (or sometimes the world, or sometimes the galaxy). Dick is more prone to this than most; he’s probably gone undercover more than any of them, and he’s lived the longest on his own as well.

Even after the clusterfuck that was the last year and change, it’s nothing new. And if that isn’t the most fucking depressing thing that Jason’s had to think about today, it turns out that not only have the Family figured out where Dick is, but that Jason is the one that’s closest to his location.

So here he is, shivering, on a particularly icy night on the Gotham docks, scoping out the warehouse where Dick’s supposed to be. It’s not very well-guarded, which either means there’s nothing in there and this is a massive waste of his time, or that it’s a trap and what’s waiting on the other side is a fucking bomb or something even worse. It’s not a great situation to be in either way, and Jason’s got half a mind to have Tim or even Bruce take over--but it’d take too long for them to get there and Jason’s never been fond of the idea of handing over to someone else anything that he could potentially do by himself.

Besides, like he said, he’s curious.

He crouches down at his vantage point overlooking the warehouse and presses the communicator in his ear. “Two guards in front but nothing else; the place is practically abandoned. Infrared picking up three people inside.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, bracing, ready to spring. “I’m about to go in.”

Tim grunts. “I’ll be there in fifteen, give or take a couple.”

“Twenty,” Bruce says. Then: “Hood, you--” An uncharacteristic pause, and Jason can feel the sudden, uneasy chill across the entire comm channel. Bruce clears his throat. “Be careful. Assess the situation first. Don’t engage alone unless it’s an emergency.”

There’s a thanks for stating the obvious on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but something about the gravity of the situation, the mildest quaver in Bruce’s voice (he’s been missing for two months, god, two months) has him say, instead: “Roger that.”

Jason makes quick work of the guards in the front, leaving them in unconscious heaps on the ground before he creeps in. They’d hardly put up a fight, which just makes Jason’s stomach twist in anxious knots. The anxiety is made worse by the complete lack of resistance when he’s actually inside: there are only two huge, cavernous rooms, and one of them has two of the three people that he’d detected. They scatter as soon as they see him and Jason considers chasing, but now his nerves are stretched so taut that he thinks he’s going to vomit if he doesn’t see Dick now--

The night-vision on Jason’s helmet catches a figure sitting, slumped, in the corner of the room. A chain connects a manacle around its ankle to the wall, and another between the same wall and… a collar around its neck. Jason’s blood is already boiling before he steps closer and recognises the figure as Dick. His hair is long and shabby, having grown past his chin, curtaining his face. He’s shirtless but wearing ripped, stained jeans. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the thin metal biting into his wrists enough to leave his hands puffy and slightly purple from the lack of effective circulation. He looks considerably thinner--Jason can just about count the ribs under his skin--and every visible part of his torso is painted in bruises in various stages of healing. And--

--and he’s breathing.

Well, thank fuck. That’s a start.

Jason crouches in front of Dick and presses his comm again. “Found N. Little worse for wear, but alive and safe.”

He ignores the immediate clamour of questions from the others to focus on trying to get Dick awake. He brushes Dick’s hair aside and gently lifts his chin to have a look at his eyes.

Dick smiles at him. “Hey.”

Jason is beset by an onslaught of emotion that’s part relief, part incredulity and part anger, so much so that he thinks he’s going to fucking burst with the pressure of it. Of course that would be the first thing out of Dick’s mouth--hey--like he’s meeting Jason for cocktails after work instead of being rescued after two months of captivity and torture! Well he can take that hey and shove it right up his fucking--

“Is there anything else here we need to worry about,” Jason says, busying himself with picking the locks on Dick’s manacles so that he doesn’t snap and say something he’ll regret.

Dick shakes his head. He’s got a shaggy beard going and he stinks of sweat and urine and filth, but there’s a sense of… togetherness to him, like he’d always known that Jason was going to show up at this exact minute and that had always been part of his plan. “They scattered as soon as they got word that you guys were coming,” he says, voice thin and raspy. “I guess not enough of them were curious to stick around to find out why so many capes would be coming for me.”

Jason pops the manacles and collar loose and goes to work on the cuffs. “So you weren’t taken as Nightwing.”

Dick sighs, then winces as the motion pulls on the gigantic bruise around his neck. “I wasn’t taken as Dick Grayson, either.”

The cuffs come off with a click. Jason stares at him. “So… what, you were just some poor mug they picked up off the streets to… torture for shits and giggles?”

Dick is silent for a moment. His eyes flick to a point behind Jason and back again. “They knew me as Ric.”

It takes a moment for the name to click in Jason’s brain, but he finally remembers that it was what Dick called himself during his brain-injured year in Bludhaven. “Why would Ric have enemies?” he says, without thinking.

There’s that smile on Dick’s face again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ric did have a life, Jason. And friends. And… enemies.” He begins to move, bare feet shifting against the floor and shifting his weight onto his hands as if he’s trying to figure out a way to stand up, but barely manages an inch of elevation before he runs out of energy, breathing heavily. “Ric--I used to fight. Street fights. Involved a lot more money and people than I remembered, and… apparently a lot of people felt betrayed when I just up and left the city one day. I’ve been fighting matches here almost every day.” A sudden, sharp grin. “I haven’t lost yet.”

Jason--stops. Utterly freezes, hands midway to helping Dick sit upright, because there’s something terribly, terribly wrong here. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape? And how--I mean, in the first place--”

How did you even get caught?

To Jason’s horror, tears start rolling down Dick’s face. His expression doesn’t really change, so Jason’s not sure that Dick’s even aware that he’s crying, but right now Jason is already halfway to being mortified. “I was on my way back from the gym,” Dick says finally, “and I think I--I blacked out. It happens sometimes.” Dick gives a wet laugh. “Talk about bad timing.”

“And--and what, you blacked out for two months?”

At this Dick’s face crumples, and suddenly Jason gets it: this is a man pushed and pushed to the end of his rope and beyond, utterly exhausted, past the point of caring who knows about it or why. “I guess…” Dick swallows. “I didn’t really see the difference. Between--between here and out there.”

Jason wants to scream, shake his shoulders--a shameful part of him even wants to hit Dick--and tell him that of course it was different outside of this stupid, dank warehouse: he has friends and family and a lifetime of experience to support him while he flies free. It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, and Jason is ready to put these words down to the effects of too much pain and too little food.

Except--

(plucked you right out of one life and stuffed you into another, didn’t they? treated you like a puppet without a past and a future, didn’t they? didn’t let you entertain the idea of a different life even for a minute, did they? punished you for straying, reminded you there was just too much at stake, and that those stakes were always, always bigger than you or your health or your happiness or your future--)

“Dick, I--” Jason really doesn’t know what to say. Tim says, “ETA five” in his ear while Bruce says, “Right behind you, Robin” and Jason knows, just knows, that this isn’t how they would want to see Dick, and more importantly, this isn’t how Dick would want them to see him.

He gathers Dick in his arms and presses him to his chest. Dick freezes for a second, surprised, then melts into his embrace. His shoulders shake, hands coming up to weakly grasp at Jason’s jacket. The sobs reach a crescendo quickly, a pathetic keening muffled into Jason’s chest, before tapering away and Dick is still, just… breathing.

Jason breathes with him.

That’s how Tim and Bruce find them a couple of minutes later. Dick peels away and somehow musters the energy to reassure them. Bruce helps him up and carries him to the car while Jason follows; just as Dick’s lowered into the backseat his hand shoots out, grasping Jason’s arm in a silent plea.

Jason gets in with him. Neither he nor Bruce say anything through the whole drive at the tears that continue to pour down Dick’s face, but Jason doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride.

#nightwing #my fic #dick grayson #jason todd #red hood

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rizlowwritessortof · 3 years ago

Text

Meant To Be - Chapter 8

Dean and Jordan are each trying to escape their painful pasts. Their chance meeting and a dangerous encounter begins a relationship that may give them both a new start.

Pairing: Police Detective Dean Winchester/Jordan Taylor

Word Count: 3085

Warnings: None

Aesthetic by @editsbymichele on Instagram; Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Jordan regained consciousness with a groan at the throbbing pain in her head. She tried to move, to hold her head in her hands, but they were securely bound behind her back – duct tape, it felt like, and she opened her eyes slowly, remembering what had happened and wondering where she was.

The masked man in front of her shoved at the shoulder of the larger man beside him. “Hey – bitch is awake.”

She squinted up at the man who had spoken, defiance in her eyes. “Fuck you.”

He took a step towards her, but his apparent boss grabbed his arm. “Knock it the fuck off. Take a walk.”

Douche-bag flunky stalked away in a huff, and the man in charge hunkered down in front of her. “Sorry things have to be like this, but it’ll be over soon. Just keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine.”

Jordan just glared back at him, then turned her head, letting her eyes scan the room. She was in some sort of garage, or storage building, she wasn’t sure. The windows were painted over, so no view to the outside. She winced as she moved, her jaw aching and her head pounding with every beat of her heart. Oh, God… Sam…

“What about the guy you beat half to death. Will he be fine?”

Her captor tilted his head. “They hauled him off to the hospital. I’m sure he’ll live.”

She stared back at him, venom in her gaze. “He’d better.”

He chuckled quietly. “Listen, all you need to worry about is that your boyfriend does what he’s told. Then everybody can go home, nobody else needs to get hurt.”

“Right. Except him.”

He shook his head. “As long as he does his job, he’s good.”

“I thought this was all about revenge for the shooting.”

“I want one thing, and one thing only, and a cop is the only one who can get it for me. Speaking of… it’s about time to make a call. Since you’re awake and so chatty. Because I’m sure he’s gonna want to talk to you.” He stood back up, pulling a phone from his pocket – it was hers. He placed the call and put it on speaker, waiting silently for an answer.

“Jordan?”

“Wrong. I am Jordan-adjacent, though.”

“She’d better be in perfect health, you dick, or...”

“She’s fine. Just shut up and listen. Remember a couple of months ago, the big drug bust, made all the papers?”

Dean was silent for a moment, and Jordan pictured him closing his eyes, dreading what was coming next. “Yeah.”

“Well, Detective – all that cocaine? That was mine. You’re gonna go to the evidence lock-up, take it all out, and bring it to me. Three duffle bags, no tricks.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Crazy or not, it’s mine – and I want it back. I don’t care how you do it – not my problem. You get me that coke, and your little spitfire here gets to live.”

“I’m not doing shit until I talk to Jordan. I need to know she’s okay.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” The masked man knelt down in front of her and held the phone closer to her. “Go ahead, talk.”

“Dean?” Her voice quavered as she fought tears for the first time since her ordeal had begun.

“Jordan, are you hurt?”

“I’m okay. Dean, is Sam...”

“Sam’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.”

Her captor rose to his feet again. “Okay, that’s enough for now. I’ll call you in one hour with instructions.”

Jordan swallowed a sob, tears slowly trailing down her cheeks as he ended the call. “You’re insane. How is he supposed to steal drugs from the police lockup?”

“He’ll figure it out. He’d better.” He turned and reached to grab her by the arm, pulling her to her feet. “And now, since our little phone call is done – you can go into the storage closet so we can take off these fucking masks. Hope you appreciate how careful I’ve been to make sure you can survive this little transaction.”

She shot him a glance full of spite. “I’ll send you a fruit basket.”

He laughed. “You know, different circumstances, I think I could really like you.” He unlocked and opened the door to a large walk-in closet, windowless and dark except for vents high up near the ceiling that let scant light in from the room outside. He moved farther into the room, lowering her down next to the wall. A blonde sat across from her, arms held close against her body. “Brought you a roommate. Play nice.” He turned and left the room, locking the door with a loud click and walking away.

The girl looked up at Jordan, her expression stoic. “So you’re the one.”

“The one what?”

“The one I was supposed to grab the first time.”

Jordan leaned her head back against the wall. “You’re Megan? What are you doing in here? I thought you were working with these assholes.”

Megan looked away. “I was supposed to do their dirty work for them. Didn’t work out so well.”

“Sucks when you piss off the boss,” Jordan muttered resentfully, and the blonde’s head raised back up, her blue eyes angry.

“Look, I didn’t… I mean, I knew what I was doing, but I just – I wanted justice for my brother. They lied to me. I found out, after… I tracked down a couple of people that were there that night, people that are still hiding because they’re afraid of these fuckers. They told me what happened. That your cop boyfriend didn’t have any choice. And I was pissed, I called these asshats and told them I wanted to meet.”

“I take it they didn’t like what you had to say.”

“I told them I didn’t like being lied to and used, and that I was done. And they told me that was too bad, because they couldn’t let me go since I knew too much. And I tried to get away, but they broke my fucking arm and knocked me out, locked me up in here.”

Jordan was silent for a moment, the only sound the other girl’s agitated breathing as she fought to control herself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I assumed… Do you know who they are?”

Megan shook her head. “No. They wore masks when I met them, before that it was just phone contact.”

After a few seconds of silence, Jordan spoke softly. “They want Dean to steal cocaine from the evidence lockup and bring it to them. Supposedly, if they get what they want, they’ll let us go.”

Megan let out a derisive snort. “I’ll believe that when it happens. They’re already on the hook for murder, I doubt if they give a shit about a couple more.”

Resting her aching head against the wall, Jordan let out a sigh. “I know.”

Dean gripped his phone so hard that his hand shook, and Donna put a firm hand on his forearm. “Calm down. Losing it right now isn’t going to help anybody, Dean.”

He looked at the technician sitting behind the monitor, and she shook her head before dropping her eyes. “No trace. Damn it, Donna, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Cap’s office, now - brainstorm. We’ll figure it out.”

After a quick knock, the partners were invited to enter, and they both plopped down into the chairs in front of the Captain’s desk. “So what are we dealing with?”

Dean filled him in on the ransom call, and the Captain leaned back in his chair, looking Dean in the eye. “You know we can’t just give them the coke, Detective.”

“There’s got to be something we can do. He’s calling in one hour to give us the drop instructions,” Donna said, forcing herself to remain calm. “Can we put dye packs...”

“They said no tricks. They’ll check for that. We can’t risk it.” Dean bit back, and she took a breath before trying again.

“Okay, they demanded we bring the drugs in three duffle bags. We put a tracker in them.”

The Captain spoke up. “In all probability, they’ll expect that and switch to their own bags when we make the drop.”

Dean moved forward, his forearms braced on his knees. “Okay, so we put a tracker in the coke. Let forensics open one up, put it in the middle so it can’t be seen, and seal it back up exactly like it was before. Then we can track it to their destination.” The Captain narrowed his eyes, considering, and Dean continued. “Sir, I swear on my life I won’t let them get away with those drugs. But you have to let us do this.”

The Captain thought for a few moments before sitting upright and blowing out a loud breath. He nodded, then said reluctantly, “Okay, I’ll sign the order. I’m holding you to your word.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief. “We won’t let you down, Cap.”

The older man’s words followed them out the door. “You damn well better not.”

Jordan looked up as the door rattled, then swung inward. Her captor knelt down in front of her, setting a bottle of water nearby. “Lean up, I’ll cut your hands loose. Can’t do anything in here, anyway.”

She did as she was told, relieved to be able to move her arms, and gratefully accepted the water. “Thanks,” she muttered grudgingly, and he moved over to set water down near her fellow prisoner. “She needs a doctor, you know.”

He rose to his feet and turned, moving back towards the door. “After I have my property, she can see all the doctors she wants.”

Megan looked down at the bottle, shaking her head as the door closed and locked again. “And how the hell does he think I’m gonna open this?”

Jordan stood up, stretching her aching shoulders, and walked over, kneeling down to open the bottle. Megan’s face looked flushed, her eyes glazed over a little, and Jordan laid a hand on her forehead. “You’re feverish. Maybe they’ll at least give us some aspirin.”

Megan huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t count on it.”

Jordan went to the door and pounded, shouting. “Hey! Anybody out there? Can we get some aspirin?”

A loud bang on the other side of the door startled her back a step. “Shut the fuck up in there! Be glad you got water.”

Megan gave her a half-smile. “Told you. But thanks for trying.”

“Assholes,” Jordan said under her breath, stripping off the button-down she was wearing over her tank top and kneeling back down in front of Megan.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, watching Jordan fold and re-fold the shirt until she was satisfied with the results.

“You have to be exhausted trying to hold your arm like that. I thought maybe a sling would help.” She carefully slipped the makeshift sling under Megan’s injured forearm, taking the sleeves behind her neck and tying them into a knot. The girl sighed with relief as she relaxed her shoulder, letting the shirt cradle her arm.

“Thank you.” Jordan smiled at her and headed back to her spot against the wall.

“You’re welcome.”

Dean ended his call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket, turning to Donna. “Sam’s out of surgery, everything’s good.”

His partner sighed with relief and smiled. “Thank God. One of the guys from forensics just finished up with the tracker. Everything’s ready to go.”

As if on cue, Dean’s phone rang, and he grabbed it from his pocket, nodding towards the tech who would be trying to trace the call. When the officer signaled, Dean answered. “Yeah.”

“I assume that you’ve got my coke ready to deliver?”

“Yeah. Just tell me where and when so we can get this over with.” The man rattled off an address, and Dean repeated it. “I want to talk to Jordan. Make sure she’s still okay.”

“No more time for socializing right now. She’s fine. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Like hell I will.”

“You don’t have a choice. Meet me at that address in 45 minutes, come alone, and I’ll give you her location so you can have a nice, long chat with your girl.” The call ended abruptly, and Dean swore, his teeth clenched together in frustrated anger.

Donna put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. We’re gonna nail these bastards.”

He took a breath, his expression taut and determined. “Fuckin’ right. And she’d better be okay, or I swear to God...”

“She’ll be okay. She’s smart, and she’s tough, and you’re gonna get her back.”

Dean pulled into the parking lot, eyes scanning the area. “You can still hear me?” he asked, and a tinny affirmative reply came through his earpiece. Donna and two other squad cars were parked a couple of blocks away, and the SWAT van was another block over and north, their tracking equipment set up to follow the cocaine after the drop.

A dark, nondescript SUV pulled into the lot and parked a couple of car lengths away. Dean exited the car, tugging his vest down and taking a couple of steps to the front of the car. His contact climbed out of his vehicle, mask in place, moving forward a few steps and then taking a wide-legged stance, his arms folded over his chest. “Okay, let’s get this party started.” Dean nodded, opening the trunk and grabbing the bags, walking forward until the man shouted for him to stop. “Drop the bags right there.”

“Where is she?” Dean responded, still holding them, challenge in his eyes.

“When we conclude our business, I’ll tell you. Now drop the bags.”

He did as he was told, muttering under his breath, “I’m gonna kill this fucker.”

Donna’s voice came back, “No, you’re not. Just take a breath, partner.”

At a motion from the man in charge, a couple of masked men exited the vehicle, empty duffle bags in hand. They knelt on the ground and began to transfer the cocaine to their own bags, and Dean walked back to close the trunk on his cruiser. “What’s the matter, don’t trust me?”

“Oh, come on, Detective. Like I don’t know they’d put some kind of tracker in those bags. I don’t blame you, don’t worry. I’m sure your commanding officer insisted.” His men finished loading the coke and retreated back to the SUV, tossing their prize into the back before getting back inside. The driver pulled a phone from his pocket, dialing and speaking a few quiet words before looking towards Dean and speaking.

“All right. Well done, Detective. You’ll find your little spitfire in a storage building two blocks north of here.” Dean moved quickly towards his door, but the man called out again. “Also, you have a choice – you can have your backup try to follow us – or you can get to that storage building and save those girls. Seems a fire got started in there somehow. Your choice. Better hurry, though.”

Dean was in his car, engine roaring to life, as he spoke to Donna. “Did you hear that? Meet me there, let SWAT track the coke!”

“You got it!” the answer came back, and Dean squealed the tires, heading north. His foot to the floor, his eyes scanned frantically for smoke as he approached the two-block area, and he screeched to a halt in front of the building, smoke already pouring from a broken window on the side. His backup pulled in a few seconds later as he reached the door, placing a palm against it to test for heat.

“Bring the battering ram!” He shouted, knowing it was futile to try to kick in the steel-reinforced door, and two officers came at a run with the tool in hand. “Call fire!” he shouted over his shoulder as the third slam into the door sent it flying inward, the frame splintering. Donna and two other officers entered right behind him, skirting the fire and searching the building.

Dean headed straight for the closet, hearing Jordan pounding on the door and calling out. “Help! We’re in here!”

“Stand back from the door!” he shouted, waited a few seconds, and let the battering ram do its work. “Jordan!” He rushed into the room, letting his relief wash over him for a split second before taking her arm and shoving her towards an officer. “Get her out of here!”

“Dean! Megan needs help, she’s sick, and her arm is broken,” Jordan called out to him, then let the officer lead her out.

He nodded, heading Megan’s direction. “Okay, Megan, I’m just going to pick you up and carry you out. Can you get your good arm around my neck?” The girl nodded, and Dean bent to pick her up, as careful as he could be not to jostle her arm.

Fire and Rescue were just pulling in, and Dean carried Megan directly to the ambulance, waiting for the EMTs to ready the gurney before laying her down. “You okay?” he asked, and she nodded, and he stepped back to allow the paramedics to do their job. He turned, eyes searching until he spotted Jordan being hugged by Donna, and in a few long strides, he was there, pulling her into his arms.

He held her tight, letting her sob softly into his chest until she quieted down. “Thank you,” she whispered as he pulled back, looking down into her eyes. He touched her face, barely brushing over her bruised jaw and gently touching the cut over her eyebrow, beautifully framing her black eye.

“Got quite a shiner, there,” he said, and she nodded, wincing.

“Yeah, they, uh – they slammed my head into the steering wheel.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. Sam...”

“Sam’s okay. He’s out of surgery, he’ll be fine, hospital called me.” Another ambulance pulled in, and he brushed his knuckles over her uninjured cheek. “I’m sorry, Jordan, but you need to go in and get checked out.” She looked into his eyes, watching the guilty struggle there, and put her hand over his.

“Dean – go. Catch those assholes. They’ll take care of me.”

After a moment’s pause, he finally nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you in the ambulance, then Donna and I will go help SWAT take out the trash.”

Chapter 9

#meant to be #chapter 8 #dean fic #dean x oc #dean x jordan

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electrictoes · 3 years ago

Text

All We Are

For @dailysvu’s Sonny Carisi Week

Day 4: “What is this between us? Relationship: Amanda Rollins / Sonny Carisi

Read on AO3

They don’t define this thing between them - it just is.

After a week, Sonny thinks maybe they should - but he’s so happy, and he doesn’t want to break this calm comfort they’ve found in each other by putting labels on things that have never needed to be labelled before.

Everyone around them is so curious though; other people want it defined. And it shouldn’t matter - shouldn’t be anyone’s business but their own. But it isn’t that simple. Their friends and family make no secret of the fact that they've been waiting for this almost as long as he has.

He skipped out on most of Memorial Day weekend with his family for the first time in his life - only putting in an appearance in his parents’ backyard late on Monday afternoon, a white lie on his lips; that he’s been stuck at work - a lie his mother sees through in an instant.

He can’t stop checking his phone; types and deletes a message to Amanda - an I miss you that he can’t bring himself to send, because it’s so ridiculous. He sends her a photo of the backyard filled with family instead, and smiles down at his phone when she sends him a photo back - the girls at the park, ice cream cones in their hands, sprinkles and chocolate sauce already trailing down Billie’s arm.

He tries to duck out of sight to call her a little later, but his mother catches him as he creeps up the stairs to his childhood bedroom; she stands at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips, a scolding frown on her face - he hears the Dominick before she says it, and slinks back down to the hallway without a word, thinking about how he’s a prosecutor and he faces tougher opponents than his mother on a daily basis, but no one can reduce him to his thirteen year old self like she can.

His mom doesn’t let him slip back out to the party, her grip on his arm is firm as she tugs him into the kitchen, “Alright, out with it,” she says and he feigns confusion.

“I don’t-”

“It’s either a girl, or it’s something bad,” she says, arms crossed over her chest, a shadow of worry on her face. “And your sister told me you broke up with-”

Sonny sighs, resisting the urge to fold his own arms. He hadn’t actually told Bella that at all, just relayed one of the many arguments he and Nicole had had before they’d called it quits, but he wasn’t surprised that she’d drawn her own conclusions. “Bella needs to stop gossipin’ about me.”

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothin’ to-” His mother fixes him with a look that would have had him running to his bedroom as a kid; he resists the urge to bolt now. “It’s new,” he says, and because his mom doesn’t so much as blink, he adds. “Rollins.”

There’s a part of him that’s almost giddy at the way she reacts - the way her posture softens and she smiles up at him. He enjoys it for half a second before the questions start coming in thick and fast - he deflects, but she ploughs on.

“So the two of you are-”

“Figuring that out,” he says. He listens to her as she talks about not wasting time, tells him he’s not getting any younger, reminds him his grandmother’s engagement ring is still sitting in her jewellery box upstairs just waiting for him to need it.

“Way too far ahead of yourself, Ma,” he says - too far ahead but still visible there on the horizon.

The closest they come to having the what is this? conversation in those early days is the is this a secret? conversation.

“I don’t want it to be,” Sonny admits, “But if you wanna wait until-”

“Until what?” Amanda asks him, “I’m sure,” she says. “If you are.”

They’re on the couch, the girls fast asleep down the hall and her feet resting in his lap; it’s casual and domestic and not really all that different from the way things have always been, but he lets himself take it in, appreciate the way his world is changing. He rests his hands on her shins as he smiles over at her, “I’m sure,” he says. And that’s it.

Everything left unsaid passes between them in looks, kisses, and touches. They don’t need more.

They don’t advertise it; there’s a time when they’ll have to - disclosure paperwork and conversations about professionalism and objectivity as though they haven’t been managing just fine up until now. But Sonny’s diligent - he’s checked the paperwork - he might have checked the paperwork over a year ago, when she’d left him at his desk with a sad smile and he’d spent the next forty-eight hours kicking himself, only for a global pandemic to stop him calling in that rain check - and he knows they have time.

They do arrive at the precinct together one Tuesday morning a couple of weeks in; he has a meeting scheduled with Liv first thing and he hasn’t been back to his own apartment in three days. They’re not so blatant as to hold hands, but they do work with some of the best detectives in the city, so it isn’t a surprise that they’re caught out within minutes.

Fin gives them look, but he doesn’t say anything. Sonny’s sure he’ll get a comment in at some point, but while everyone knows Fin enjoys a gossip way more than he lets on, he’s good at keeping his questions to himself until the moment that best suits him.

Kat doesn’t follow suit. She’s nothing but questions and Sonny tries to escape under the guise of waiting for the captain in her office, but Amanda grips his jacket sleeve, silently telling him not leave her.

“How long?” Kat asks, “And what exactly-”

“Our business,” Amanda says; she’s smiling at Kat, no malice in her tone, but no room for argument either.

Jesse get a pass. Because she’s Jesse. And because this affects her just as much as it does Sonny and Amanda. For the first two weeks of waking up to Uncle Sonny sleeping in Mommy’s bed she doesn’t ask any questions - it surprises him, because that first morning waking up beside Amanda his second thought had been that they would have to figure out how to explain his presence there to Jesse and Billie. When Jesse had raced into Amanda's bedroom, though, she had just greeted him like she was used to him being there, and he’d wondered if they’d ever actually need to sit them down and explain.

Eventually she does ask, one night after he’s tucked Billie into bed with a kiss so it’s just the three of them awake. He leans in the bathroom doorway while Amanda gives Jesse her bath. She’s been unusually quiet, and there’s a thoughtful look on her face, “Mommy,” she says after a while, blinking water out of her eyes as Amanda washes her hair, “Is Uncle Sonny your husband now?”

Amanda coughs as though she’s the one with a face full of water, turning to look at Sonny with a startled expression. He gives her a soft smile, but he doesn’t have the answers either.

“Not yet, baby,” she says, and Sonny can’t help the grin that comes over his face, however wide Amanda’s eyes go at her own words.

“You’ve gotta have a weddin’ first,” Sonny adds, and Jesse beams over at him; he sees a dozen questions forming, but Amanda pours more water over her head, rinsing out the shampoo and buying them more time in the same moment.

Once she’s out of the bath, dressed in her pyjamas and ready for bed, Jesse throws her arms around his legs, hugging him tightly, “I’m glad you’re gonna have a wedding with Mommy,” she says, and tips her head back for a goodnight kiss before skipping to her bedroom as though she hadn’t essentially just told him to get on with proposing to her mother.

Amanda’s mother shows up unannounced at her apartment one Sunday morning, and it’s Sonny who answers the door - not expecting Beth Anne Rollins to be standing in the hallway, an impatient look on her face. “Oh,” is all she says when she clocks sight of him, her gaze travelling down the worn t-shirt and pyjama pants he’s wearing, his bare feet on the wooden floor. She pushes past him into the apartment, not greeting him or stopping for breath, “What are you doing here? Amanda finally admit she’s got a thing for you?”

He closes the door behind her and follows, not answering her questions. Billie scrambles down from the dining table to run and hug her grandmother, abandoning the cereal he’s spent the last ten minutes trying to coax her into eating, while she’d stubbornly refused and told him she wanted garlic bread for breakfast.

“Where is Amanda anyway?” Beth Anne asks, turning to look at him again. He feels self-conscious with her gaze on him, the soft clothes, untamed hair, shoeless Sonny Carisi was reserved for Amanda - and by extension the girls - certainly not for his possible future mother-in-law.

“Takin’ Frannie for a walk,” he says, “Jesse’s gone too,” he adds unnecessarily.

Beth Anne nods, still eyeing him with suspicion as she reaches into her handbag and pulls out a lollipop for Billie, who grabs at it gleefully.

“No-” he starts, but Beth Anne is already unwrapping the treat, and he sighs as Billie puts it in her mouth. “She hasn’t finished her breakfast,” he sighs.

“And who says you get to tell me what my granddaughter can eat?” Beth Anne says, smiling indulgently at Billie.

Sonny shakes his head, “I’m gonna… if you’re here I’m gonna get dressed,” he slips away to the bedroom, taking jeans and a shirt from the drawer he now has in Amanda’s dresser. While he changes he hears the sounds of Amanda’s return - Frannie barking, Jesse yelling a greeting to her grandmother. He hears murmuring as Amanda questions Beth Anne’s impromptu visit, and when he returns Amanda and her mother are at opposite ends of the kitchen, Amanda leaning back against the counter with an unimpressed look on her face.

“And then he tries to tell me not to give Billie candy-”

Amanda shakes her head, “He's right. It’s barely 9am, Momma.”

“Well, is he your boyfriend now or not?”

“Momma,” Amanda starts, but cuts herself off when she spots him hovering just beyond the kitchen, she gives him a warm smile, “We’re together, that’s all that matters,” she says, meeting his eye - all she feels and all that goes unsaid held in her gaze for him to see.

They fill in the disclosure paperwork that evening; they don’t have to just yet; they’ve still got time, Sonny’s been keeping the deadline in his head, but Amanda leaves him on the couch and goes out into the entryway where her work bag is; she returns a moment later, a manila folder in her hands that she passes over to him as she sits down. The form inside is mostly filled out - all their basic information already there in Amanda’s handwriting, the only empty boxes are Date of Disclosure, and Nature of Relationship.

“Time to make it official?” he asks, and she pokes his arm gently.

“It’s already official, Carisi,” she says, “Unless you’re thinking otherwise.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head at her, “You got a pen?”

“We’ve got to decide what to write in that box,” she tells him tapping the Nature of Relationship box with the pen she’s just grabbed. “Whatever we’re calling this,” she gestures between the two of them.

“According to Jesse, I’m your future husband,” he says, only half-joking.

Amanda just laughs at him, “I think you’d need to write fiancé,” she says, “But you’re not getting off that lightly - you need to propose to me yourself,” she tells him; she glances away as she adds, “Not yet, though.”

Someday, he thinks, leaning over, a hand reaching for her face, turning her back towards him so that he can kiss her; she lets him, kissing him right back for a minute or so before she puts one palm to his chest, pushing him back from her, “Carisi, let’s finish this first.”

He sighs as he pulls away, but it’s worth it not to have missed the impatient smirk on her face.

“I got it,” he tells her, resting the sheet of paper on his knee as he adds one word to the empty box. Partners.

#carisi week #sonny carisi #rollisi #rollisi fic #svu #svu fic #my fic #amanda rollins

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marvelousstevetony · 4 years ago

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Can you make this with sick Steve “Can you pronounce anything correctly right now?” “Ndo. *sniff* See???”

Eeep, so sweet! Pls imagine this in a non-powered au with professor!Steve and Tony who has his Stark Industries work thingie💖

Between meetings that have run too long and several overdue deadlines that he finally caught up with, Tony is more than ready to declare it the end of his work week even though it’s only Thursday. Pepper had shot him one glance and nearly winced at how exhausted he had looked after that last meeting and then decided to let him off until Monday.

And for that, Tony is truly grateful, because it means that he can have a lie in the next morning. It subsequently means that he will be fully energized for date night with Steve tomorrow evening and not have a million things hanging over his head, distracting him from spending time with his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever.

While Tony has been caught up in business with Stark Industries, Steve has spent the majority of every day, and probably most nights, too, grading his students’ assignments or preparing for his lectures, and from what Tony has been able to detect through Steve’s texts, he’s just about as ready for the weekend as Tony is.

***

The next morning, Tony wakes up late, as expected. What is the point of having a day off if you can’t sleep until noon anyways?

He checks his phone first thing and is excited to see a text from Steve. His excitement plummets when he reads it, though.

Hey, Tony. I think I’m gonna need a rain check for tonight. I’ve come down with something and I don’t want you catching this. I was really looking forward to seeing you, though… miss you.

Tony’s heart sinks a little in sympathy, but also because he really misses Steve. They haven’t seen each other all week. Tony can’t even remember the last time they spent more than three days apart, but they’ve both been so busy with work that they didn’t have the time. Hence they had planned date night once both of them were off work.

Aww, I’m sorry you’re feeling bad, baby. I miss you too. So much. We don’t have to go out, though, we can just stay at yours and eat take out and watch movies. I won’t even tease you when you inevitably fall asleep on me half way through.

Tony sends the message and gets a reply less than two minutes after.

First of all, I don’t fall asleep on you. Secondly, you really don’t have to come. Not that I don’t want you here, I do, but I’m pretty gross and 100% contagious. Trust me, you don’t want this.

Tony can’t help but smile to himself as he imagines Steve curled up on his couch, wrapped in a million blankets, blonde hair all messy and disheveled and his nose and cheeks flushed pink. How could Steve think he would ever want not to be with him when he’s like that?

I don’t mind, Steve. I miss you and I want you to feel better. I’m coming over, okay?

You do fall asleep on me, by the way, but I’ll pretend you don’t since you’re sick.

Placing his phone on the beside table, Tony gets up and immediately starts pulling his clothes on. He’ll need to go the store to grab a few things before heading to Steve’s place, like the super soft tissues Steve never buys for himself, and probably some more tea as well.

Tony is just about to leave his apartment when Steve responds after a couple minutes of silence.

Okay. Thank you, Tony. I love you.

Warmth flooding in his chest, Tony types out a quick reply before turning the door knob and going out the door.

I love you. Leaving now, see you in a bit.

***

Tony doesn’t even bother knocking as he lets himself into Steve’s apartment. It’s basically his apartment as much as it’s Steve’s, really, if you look at how much time he spends there in comparison to his penthouse.

It’s not that he doesn’t like his own place, because he does. It’s luxurious, it gets cleaned twice a week, and it’s large enough to fit all of Tony’s crap, which is objectively a lot.

Steve’s apartment is different. It’s smaller, and older, and could definitely use an overhaul in a few places, but it exudes warmth and comfort and feels homey in a way Tony’s place at the tower never could, which is probably why they spend most of their time at Steve’s.

Sometimes Tony wonders why they haven’t moved in together after being together for nearly three years, but maybe they’re just not there yet. And it’s not like it would change a whole lot, honestly. The only time they spent apart is on weeks like this one where both of them are too busy and caught up in their own things that neither of them have the time to make the short trip from Manhattan to Brooklyn.

Tony knows that he wants to, though. He wants to move in with Steve. Or have Steve move in with him. But that’s a minor detail and doesn’t really matter to Tony. What does matter, though, is that Tony won’t ever have to say goodbye to Steve when he goes back to the tower, and that he gets to slip into bed next to Steve every night regardless of their schedules.

And if they lived together, Tony wouldn’t have to rush from his place to Steve’s to take care of him when he’s sick either, because he’d already be there. Anyway, that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, Tony has other things he needs to take care of. Steve, for one.

Tony toes off his shoes and pads into the kitchen, setting the shopping bags on the counter. He might’ve gone a bit overboard and bought an excessive amount of sick-person-things, but Tony has never claimed not to be over the top, especially when it comes to Steve.

From the kitchen, he can hear the tv playing in the living room room, along with a series of incessant sniffles, and Tony figures Steve has already reached the end of his tissue supply. He grabs a box of Kleenex and heads towards the living room where he finds his boyfriend huddled up on the couch.

An empty mug and countless crumpled tissues litter the coffee table, some are on the floor, too, and Tony instantly thinks it looks like every episode of every bad sit-com he’s ever seen where one of the characters is sick. In the center of it all is Steve, who now has his face buried in the crook of his elbow, eyes narrowed into slits, his expression twisted into an anticipatory frown as his breath wavers. After a few seconds, his eyes close fully and he gives into the rush over sneezes.

“ehhCHshoo! H’uhh—uh! chuh’SHhoo! ehh… EISHhh’oo!”

The last sneeze of the triple is strong enough that Steve’s body snaps slightly forward with it, shoulders visibly tensing.

“Looks like you could use these,” Tony announces his presence, waving the Kleenex in the air, and goes to sit next to Steve on the couch, then drops the fresh box of tissues into Steve’s lap. “Bless you, sweetheart.”

Steve still looks a little taken aback by the sneezes and blinks at Tony a few times to clear away the woozy feeling. When he still hasn’t moved after a few seconds, Tony reaches to pull out a few tissues and hands them to Steve.

“Oh, umb… snff! Hey, Tody… snffSNF! Thangks,” Steve says thickly as he accepts the handful of tissues. “I didn’ evend hear you ged id.”

Tony flashes him a soft smile as he brushes a few strands of blonde hair away from Steve’s forehead. “Yeah, you’re probably all bunged up, hm?”

And he really is. His voice has gone all low and he sounds like he’s breathing through concrete. His nose almost looks swollen, too, what with all the congestion that seems to have settled in his head.

Steve sighs stuffily and nods a little. “Yeah, I’mb, uh… snf! snf! oh, ‘scuse m-mbe— huhh-CHshoo! eiiSHH’uhh!”

Sniffling does nothing to stop the tickle from building, in fact, it just coaxes it out. Steve catches the sneezes in the tissues, both hands steepled over his nose and mouth. He gives an experimental blow afterwards, but that just makes him cough, and he gives a few congested snuffles, then coughs some more.

“S-sorry,” he sighs when Tony blesses him and gives him a concerned look. “I’ve beed sndeezing— SNF! all day, ad I’mb… snf! ugh… I’mb jusd so gross.” Steve looks close to a pout, but he can’t keep his mouth closed for more than a few seconds since his nasal airways are completely blocked and impenetrable.

Tony’s worried frown just deepens. “You sound so sick, honey,” he mumbles, brushing a finger across Steve’s nose, putting a light pressure on the maxillary sinus, then strokes it with his thumb. “Can you pronounce anything correctly tight now?” he asks, only half joking.

It makes Steve chuckle, though, a husky, low sound, but it makes his eyes go soft, and Tony feels himself melt a little.

“Ndo,” Steve replies, proving his point and sniffles again. “See? SNFF!”

Tony can only smile at the self-deprecating tone to Steve’s voice and the bashful expression that crosses his face. His already pink cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, and the smile he gives Tony is bordering on shy. Blue eyes are fully fixed on brown, and despite the glazed look to them, there’s still that distinct sparkle that always appears when he looks at Tony.

After a few seconds of intensely gazing into each other’s eyes, Steve ducks his head and looks away. “Stop,” he laughs when he looks back up to find Tony still staring at him.

“Stop what?”

“I doad snfSNF! kndow… You’re mbaking mbe nervous,” Steve says, rubbing his neck and smiling sweetly. Then, suddenly, Steve wrinkles his nose, his entire face scrunching up in irritation. He scrubs his nose against the back of his wrist before quickly bringing the rest of his arm closer to his face. “h’h’uhh! huhESCHhiiew! snffSnff!”

“God bless you, Steve…” Inching closer, Tony drops a kiss to Steve’s cheek. It’s a little warm, but nothing too bad, at least not yet. This close, he can see how the hairs on Steve’s neck raise as he places another peck on his jaw.

“Just relax, okay?” Tony whispers, and Steve hums contently in reply. “I missed you,” he adds, just because he hasn’t told him in person yet. Somehow, it feels like a confession.

“I missed you, too.” Steve grabs Tony’s hand, linking their fingers together and giving it a tight squeeze.

“I know it’s barely been a week, but I really hate not seeing you every day.”

“I kndow… mbe too,” Steve admits and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. He almost looks uncertain for a second, but then he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “What if you just… stayed? Here. With me.”

Steve looks a little nervous again, watching Tony’s reaction closely.

And, to be honest, Tony’s nervous, too, all of a sudden. “You mean…?” Tony starts, dumbfounded and eyes wide. Steve’s nodding. Tony swallows around the lump in his throat. “Are you— are you sure?”

“I mbean, you basically live here already. And… sniff! It would be nice. Not having to miss you.”

“Steve…” Tony breathes.

“We don’t have to stay here either… we could… snf! We could stay at the tower, or find somewhere else. Not that— I mbean, if you snf! don’t want to, that’s… that’s fine t—“

“Steve,” Tony repeats, this time more confident. “Yes. Yes, I want to stay here. With you.” Tony’s tone is level as he answers. He doesn’t recall ever being so sure of anything, apart from the fact that he loves Steve above everything else.

“Oh,” Steve says and lets out a relieved chuckle. “Thad’s… great. Amazing, even. I-I’mb…”

“Yeah, me too,” Tony says and leans in to brush his lips over Steve’s. “But let’s celebrate later, okay? Right now, you’re having tea and medicine, and then we’ll put on a movie so you can fall asleep on me.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “I don’t fall asleep on you.”

“Oh, yes you do.”

#my fic #stevetony #another fic that was written while I was half asleep #oh well #hopefully this is somewhat enjoyable lol #ask box #anon #sorry for any typos etc #I’ll fix them later

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