#jameson flood

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I. "Do You Trust Me?"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

A slight against one of your dearest friends causes you to act wildly out of character, and Bucky finds himself stepping up to save you as he realizes just what you mean to him after months of seemingly innocuous encounters.

Warnings: Language, Period Typical Sexism, References to Cheating, Reader Knees a Man in the Groin, Perceived Threats of Violence, Plenty of Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - T.

Author’s Note: Well here we are, watching me write for this show before it's fully aired. Blame/credit to @precious-little-scoundrel and her anon for infecting my brain. Reader has an unnamed brother for sake of plot, no descriptions or y/n used. Events of this fic take place a few days before the horrific Regensburg mission. Also I recognize that WACs did not arrive in the ETO until July of 1943, this fact does not seem to have influenced Hanks/Spielberg so I shan't let it influence me either. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4217

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The pub was crowded, as usual, and Bucky leaned back in his chair as Curt regaled their table with another one of his stories from Walla Walla. The press of uniform clad bodies, damp from the summer rain outside, created a humid atmosphere. But as he tipped the last few drops of Scotch whisky from his glass into his mouth, he was certain there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Buck had decided to sit this one out, wanting to catch up on his latest letter to Marge. His mouth ticked up at the corners as he reflected once again on how different he and his friend were from one another. Glancing at the bar while he contemplated fetching the next round, Bucky’s eyes widened as they fell on the last person he would ever expect to see in a pub. It took him a moment to recognize you in such an unusual environment, hair perfectly styled. He noted that you were even wearing makeup as your teeth sank into your brightly painted lower lip, wending your way through the crowd, clearly on a mission.

“Bucky are you even listening?” Curt chided with a sharp jab of his elbow into his upper arm.

“Yeah absolutely,” He nodded firmly, unable to take his eyes off you, “every word.” He tacked on as his gaze followed you across the room on your approach to the notorious flirt from 349th squadron, Arthur “Red” Jameson.

He was vaguely aware of the doubtful scoff his reply had earned as his eyes narrowed. Wasn’t your friend Mary rather serious about Red? Not that Red bothered limiting himself to any one woman, local or American – there were few limits that smug redhead put on his relations with the fairer sex. Perhaps that was why Bucky was feeling particularly annoyed with how close you had come to stand next to him at the bar. With the way you were smiling at him. You hardly ever smiled, had to be one of the most serious, reserved women he had ever encountered here in England or back home.

It was when you ducked your head to peer up at Red through your lashes that the realization hit him – you were fucking flirting with him. His fingers clenched tightly on his empty glass, fingertips blanched white as the strength of his grip drove the blood from the flesh there. A slow, knowing smile unfurled across Red’s face as he leaned in, his hand landing on your shoulder making Bucky’s teeth grind together almost painfully as he was flooded with proprietary rage.

The intensity of it startled him, made him take a sharp breath and relax his grip on the glass. Where in the hell had that come from?! The pair of you had spoken no more than a handful of times, simple interactions in the Operations Room of the Control Tower back when he was Air Exec, around the base, or most recently, that afternoon when you had lent him a copy of one of his favorite books, but it wasn’t like you were close. You were quiet, overshadowed by your boisterous friends Mary, Ruth, and that brunette whose name escaped him just then. They were always outgoing at dances while you did an excellent job of decorating the wall. It certainly was not like you were anything more than colleagues. Objectively that was the truth, however, as Bucky sat there watching you grin at that man…

The final straw came as your lips nearly brushed against Red’s ear, making that bastard’s eyes shoot wide, sending Bucky surging to his feet. He narrowly missed one of the low beams overhead as he glared across the crowded room at the cozy pair you and Red presented at the bar.

“Jesus Christ Bucky, did something jump up and bite your ass?!” Curt barked in surprise, the rest of the table laughing loudly in response.

Bucky barely heard them as his new vantage point allowed him a clear view of your knee colliding painfully with the apex of Red’s thighs, causing him to crumple against the bar as you bolted out the back door. Bucky stared after you, just as bewildered as Red’s friends, before they charged out the door in your wake.

“God dammit.” He muttered under his breath before climbing over his friends to make a dash for the front entrance of the pub, his cap clutched in his hand.

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Your Women’s Auxiliary Army Corp unit had arrived at Thorpe Abbots in late May, part of the first battalion of WAACs sent overseas. Assigned to the Eight Air Force, you had spent roughly a week with your British counterparts of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force observing missions on other bases before it had come time to establish the base for the 100th.

Fast, accurate typing skills and a calm, quiet temperament had seen you promptly assigned as a clerk in the Operations Room, one of the tensest and most chaotic places on the entire base. Upon your arrival at training camp in Fort Des Moines, you had been adopted by a trio of far more outgoing women – Mary from Miami, a sun-kissed blonde who managed to look that way no matter what the weather; Ruth from Pittsburgh, a black-haired beauty who was manufactured from the steel her hometown was known for; and Violet from Savannah, a brunette who elongated every vowel like the southern belle she was.

Why they chose to waste any of their precious time on you was as much as mystery to you in England as it had been in Iowa, and yet any time you tried to convince them you would be perfectly happy sitting out a dance in your barracks with a book instead, they were adamant you attend. Bodily removed you from your cot to join them – not that you were one for dancing, even with the most handsome of airmen. And that title would most certainly have to be bestowed upon Major John Egan. Perhaps a bit of a rogue and more-often-than-not a little too deep into his cups, there was something undeniably charming about him. A magnetism that drew every woman on the base, and from across all of East Anglia, to him. The handsome devil knew it, too. Of course he did, that was, alas, also part of his charm.

Your trio of outgoing friends had gravitated toward him immediately, traded their fair share of coy looks and dances with him while you looked on quietly from the sidelines. He never really seemed to form that deep a connection with any of them, with any woman for that matter, but that did not deter the female population from trying to be the one to catch his eye for a bit of fun. It was during the long hours of the 100th’s first mission, while he was still serving as Air Exec, that you’d had your first occasion to speak to the man directly.

In the middle of one of the tense periods of waiting for news, he had poked his head into the office to see if anything had come across the teletype or wireless and you had looked up, meeting his eye. He was wearing his sheepskin coat, a striking combination of ivory and cognac colored leather that would have honestly looked absurd on anyone else, yet on him just seemed to belong over his dress uniform.

“Can I help you, Major Egan?” You had asked, fingers poised above your typewriter as you paused your progress in typing up a report for Colonel Huglin.

He had looked at you, startled a moment. “I was convinced you might actually be unable to speak. Glad to know I was wrong. It’s Bucky by the way. Just checking if there were any updates?”

“We’ll be sure to get them to you as soon as we have them, sir.” You had replied professionally, trying to ignore the warmth unfurling beneath your breastbone at having his attention directly solely upon you.

“That’s all I can ask then, thank you.” He had winked before slipping out of the room and heading back towards the plotting map.

It had not taken long for a series of updates to arrive, both by radio and over the teletype and being the highest-ranking clerk in the office, third officer, it was your duty to run them out to him. Grabbing both sheets of paper, you had quickly made your way across the room, startled to find him striding towards you, meeting you halfway. “Here you are Major Egan.”

“Touchdown.” He had grinned and taken them over to review with the others as you had hurried back to your office, gnawing on the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

You had been admittedly saddened when he had been demoted to squadron commander of the 418th after Colonel Harding assumed command of 100th. For selfish reasons, certainly – your interactions had become increasingly limited after this point – but also because it meant he was more frequently put into harm’s way. Every time he went up in a fort, you found focusing on the job at hand more and more difficult. Unlike the ground crews or the brass, it was not looked upon kindly for the WACs to go running outside to see which forts had come back. Which airmen were injured. Sometimes it would take hours for you to confirm that he was all right, and only then by way of hearsay.

You had still run into Major Egan from time to time, while walking with your group of friends to the WAC mess for dinner – by mid-July you were now serving in the Women’s Army Corp as a 2nd Lieutenant, or after meetings in the Operations Room when he was not flying missions. But the longest conversation you ever had was during one of your breaks earlier that very afternoon. It was an uncharacteristically sunny day, and with no mission in progress you had decided to take your coffee break outside, behind the control tower, sitting on one of the benches the ground crew had built out of scrap wood.

Before you had enlisted, your brother had bought you a copy of his favorite book, one he had never let you read before because you were ‘just a kid’ but now that you were old enough to sign up for the service yourself, he had decided you could have your own copy. With just two pages left, it seemed the perfect way to break up the morbid tallies you had been typing up in the grim office upstairs, and you had just finished the final sentence when a shadow fell over you.

“Now how did you get a copy of my favorite book?”

You had lifted your eyes quickly, squinting slightly into the bright sun that shone from behind him, to see Major Egan standing there.

“Major Egan. You like Guys and Dolls, sir?” You had asked, startled.

“How many times do I gotta tell you it’s Bucky.” He had stepped out of the sunlight to sit beside you carefully. “I love everything by Damon Runyon. Which story did you like the best?” He had leaned in curiously.

Pursing your lips to think over the collection of stories you had just finished, you smiled briefly as the answer came to you. “’Madame La Gimp.’ Where they pass off the bag lady –”

“As a society matron! Yes!” Major Egan chimed in, laughing as he nodded in agreement.

“What…about yours?” You had swallowed, unable to stop yourself.

“God, I haven’t read this book in forever…” he had reached out for it, and you had set it in his hands easily.

He had sucked his teeth in thought as he turned it over in his broad hands. “It’s gotta be a tie between ‘Blood Pressure’ and ‘Hold ‘Em Yale’…ah but ‘Lemon Drop Kid’ is excellent, too.” As he had spoken, he had begun to gesture with the book to emphasize his words, making you press your lips together fondly.

“You can borrow it if you’d like.” You had blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Give me a definitive answer once you’ve read it again.”

Major Egan had looked to you quickly. “Really? But what if…how will I know to get it back to you?” He had raised an eyebrow.

“My name’s on the front page.” You had nodded reassuringly but swallowed tightly as he opened the cover as if to confirm it for himself.

“‘Hey Sis,’” He had begun to read the inscription he found there, bringing your brother’s words to life, “‘lighten up, would you? You don’t have to be so damned serious all the time. See you on the other side.’” He had paused a moment before his eyes had met yours, caught you watching him, before you quickly looked down at the grass at your feet. “Where is he?” he had asked quietly.

“On a ship in the Pacific, somewhere.” You had replied softly, finding each blade of grass infinitely fascinating.

“Are you sure–” He had begun to ask before the sound of your name being called by your very impatient Captain, a woman even Major Egan knew not to waylay, interrupted the peaceful afternoon.

You had leapt to your feet. “You’ll get it back to me.” You had nodded and rushed back inside, believing every word of it.

You had seriously contemplated sharing your encounter with at least Ruth, the more level-headed of your friends, knowing she was the least likely to conflate the exchange with a marriage proposal. But as you returned to your barracks that night, you frowned deeply to find Mary in tears on her cot. After much soothing and rocking in your arms, she finally managed to open up, sharing what had gotten her so upset.

“It’s Red…I caught him out back necking with one of those doughnut truck girls…” She hiccupped and dabbed at her nose with her hanky.

“Oh Mary, I’m so sorry.” You frowned, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I let that creep talk me into sleeping with him!” She wailed, fresh tears boiling over onto her cheeks as she sagged onto your shoulder, sobbing anew.

Every muscle in your body tensed as her outburst sunk in, the depth of his betrayal fully registering as Vi and Ruth returned from the end of their shifts in the weather office and Mary launched herself into their arms to fill them in as well. The level of pure fury that seized your body was utterly foreign to you and, unlike the descriptions you had encountered in literature to date, felt utterly icy in your veins. As your friends gently coaxed Mary to the latrines to get herself cleaned up, you hung back, a plan formulating quickly in your mind. Your life without these women would have been lonely, all but intolerable, and this transgression against one of them could not go unanswered. You could not look at yourself in the mirror if you did nothing.

Digging quickly through Mary’s belongings, you found her most alluring shade of lipstick, carefully but efficiently applying it to your lips before unpinning and redoing your hair into a more fashionable shape rather than the more utilitarian style you normally wore. Lastly you added a flick of mascara to your eyelashes and rouge to your cheeks. All this was accomplished using the tiny mirror Vi had set up on the shelf beside her bed. Nodding once in satisfaction, for it was truly the best you could do in a solo effort, you darted out the door, lipstick tube in your pocket for reapplications, if necessary. The cad would never see it coming from you, you just needed to figure out a way to get close enough.

Fortunately, the years you had spent on the sidelines watching the three masters of feminine wiles at work had afforded you quite the education. It was only a matter of finding the perpetrator to enact your revenge. You located him in the second pub you visited, taking a slow breath as your eyes sought him out in the crowded, humid space. The rain had thankfully stopped before your foray out into the night, though the streets remained wet, and you had taken the time to refresh your lipstick and tidy your hair before stepping inside. Your heart began to race as your veins flooded with adrenaline.

‘Easy now. Slow and smooth like Mary, give him that flirty smile she’s famous for.’ You thought to yourself.

As his eyes met yours it was all you could do not to wince back in disgust – you were going to need to hide your dislike better.

‘Pretend he’s someone else. Who would you like him to be?’

You gulped shyly, teeth sinking into your lip at the thought of applying these skills to Major Egan, noting that Red seemed immediately more receptive as you slid up beside him where he stood at the bar.

“Evening, Red.” You smiled at him broadly, swallowing nervously as he echoed the expression warmly.

“Well good evening to you too. You escaped the base.” Red teased you.

You faked a giggle and tilted your head down before flicking your eyes to look up at him through your lashes, something Vi had weaponised to great effect on many an occasion. You tried not to shout in triumph as Red’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, leaning in closer.

“Can I buy you a drink, sugar?”

“Actually…” You smiled coyly before leaning in close to his ear, taking a slow breath before dropping all pretense from your tone. “Mess around with one of my friends again and I’ll cut it off.” You snarled into his ear before driving your knee into his groin as sharply as the straight lines of your uniform skirt would allow, slipping out of his grip as he slouched over the bar with a cry of pain.

You longed to bask in his suffering, in your triumph, but you also recognized you had to get out of there before the consequences of your actions found you. Spying a door propped open to a back alley over Red’s crumpled torso, you made a dash through the stunned corner of the pub and out into the night, pausing a moment before turning to the left, hoping it was the correct direction. You certainly wished you knew your way around town a little better.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were worried it might burst through the front of your WAC jacket as you neared the main street but there was an increasing ruckus behind you – surely Red’s friends in hot pursuit. Suddenly Major Egan appeared in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabbed your arm, pulling you around a corner and down a smaller alleyway.

“Do you trust me?” He asked quickly, glancing back towards the approaching sound of voices as he shuffled you backward, closer to the brick wall of the building behind you.

You nodded at him, speechless, breathing heavily from your flight. Your uniform cap felt precarious where it was perched on your rapidly falling hairstyle. Major Egan’s aftershave was flooding your senses due to his sheer proximity.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He whispered as his eyes met yours, his own cap at a dangerous angle atop his dark curls, defying gravity.

He shifted forward to crowd your space, your eyes shooting wide as his forearms lifted to press against the wall on either side of your face, body shielding you from view. He bowed his head to press his lips against yours softly, making your eyelids flutter closed, doing nothing to slow the erratic beating of your heart. He tasted a little bit like whiskey, which had reminded you of gasoline the few times you’d had the misfortune of sipping it, but on his plush lips, it was not so bad.

Your hands balled into fists in the olive drab fabric of your skirt, heat painting its way across your cheeks and down your neck as the coarse hair that decorated his upper lip brushed against your skin. It was all too tempting to lose yourself in the feeling of him surrounding you, protecting you, kissing you. Reality reared its ugly head, making you inhale sharply through your nose as you heard the crowd of men stampede right past you muttering angrily.

“That damn cold fish from operations…”

“Who the fuck does she think she is?!”

“No wonder she ain’t got nobody.”

Pulling back from his lips, you frowned down at your brown uniform shoes, still hidden within the cage of his arms.

“Hey…” He murmured, bowing his head to nudge your nose with his, drawing your gaze back up as you swallowed shyly at the tender gesture. “Don’t listen to ‘em.” He urged you, his blue eyes so very dazzling and disarming at this range, even in the dim light of black-out conditions.

“I…It’s ok,” you breathed as you shook your head. “I know I’ll never be…” you furrowed your brow, not even sure what word you were searching for.

“Anything other than perfect, doll?” His lopsided grin was devastating, made it hard to breathe, though that may have also been his continued proximity. He leaned in for another kiss, but you lifted a shaky hand to press against his shoulder.

“Th…they’re gone you don’t have to pretend…” You murmured sadly, shifting to stand, but he did not move an inch, his breath brushing against your cheeks.

“I’m going to kiss you now because I want to, doll.” He murmured, eyes tracing over your face while giving you a moment to respond.

You were, however, frozen, staring at him again and so he pressed his lips firmly to yours, making your fingers curl slightly around the lapel of his uniform jacket. He hummed softly in response, pressing you back against the wall as he slanted his mouth tighter to yours, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. Shivering at the heat of his palms against your skin, you slowly lifted your other hand from your skirt, stretching it towards him, letting it hover between you tentatively.

He dropped his right hand from your cheek to guide your arm around his waist before sliding his own hand to splay against your lower back, drawing a whimper from your throat as you arched slightly.

He pulled back from your lips, chest heaving. “Christ, doll, you have no idea what you do to me.”

“Bucky?” You whispered, confused by his statement, finding it difficult to think clearly.

Bucky groaned and kissed you fiercely, licking at the seam of your lips, sliding his tongue to yours the instant you parted your lips for him. Toes curling in your shoes, you found yourself mewling into his mouth wantonly until he wrenched back suddenly, hand cupping the back of your head as he hugged you tightly into his chest. The sound of voices eventually registered in your addled brain – Red’s friends returning from their failed attempt to find you.

“If I had known all I had to do was kiss you senseless to get you to use my name…” Bucky teased once the coast was clear, panting into your hair.

You giggled against his throat, your own chest heaving as he loosened his hold on you. Your cap tumbled to the ground, fully dislodged by his attentions.

“It’s a burden I’m willing to bear.” He smirked, pressing his lips to your exposed forehead. “Let’s get you back to your barracks. What are you doing out here all dolled up kneeing idiots like Red in the goods anyway?” He asked as he bent to retrieve your cap, dusting it off and placing it in your outstretched hand before turning to slide his arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the main road.

You huffed with a frown as you walked with him, putting your cover back into place snuggly, crushing your once-stylish hair. “I didn’t appreciate the way he treated Mary.”

Bucky smirked at you “Your brother is right you know, you really do need to lighten up…you can just call him a good-for-nothing and be done with it. No need to write a formal treatise on his behavior.”

His lips stretched into a grin as that pulled another laugh from you. You turned to look at him properly and gasped.

“Bucky you have lipstick all over –”

“Perfect” He nodded proudly, cocky grin on his lips, and made no move to clean up his face, while you quickly wiped at yours, knowing you would have to face your barrack-mates. “Next time you go on an attack mission you let me know, alright, doll? I’ll fly on your wing anytime.” He winked at you, and you bit your lip shyly.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You swallowed and stopped walking, leaning in to press your lips to his cheek softly.

As you pulled back, Bucky flexed the arm he still had slung about your shoulders, hauling you in for another heart-stopping kiss, your hands coming to rest against his chest. You had a feeling that the rather lengthy walk back to base was only going to become exponentially longer and found you really did not mind at all.

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Read Part Two - "Just Had To Trust You."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan fic #john egan imagine #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Lady - 1

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Eddie Horniman x Female Reader

Summary: After fifteen years away, a step-daughter returns for her Duke step-father's funeral, only to inherit a staggering 8 million pound debt and strike a risky deal with a criminal underworld figure.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3 , Chap 4 , Chap 5 , Chap 6 , -

Your ongoing support means the world to me! Reblogs are a fantastic way to help spread the word about my work. I'll do my best to reply to all your comments. Thank you for your continued encouragement!

In the heart of the military training ground, you, a seasoned Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) technician, stand poised amidst a group of nervous soldiers. Among them is Private Jameson, a newcomer with trembling hands and apprehensive eyes. With unwavering composure, you take charge, your voice steady as you address the group.

"Today, we're covering the basics of bomb disposal," you begin, your tone reassuring yet firm. Turning to Private Jameson, you offer a patient smile.

"You, Private. What's your name?" Despite his nervousness, Private Jameson responds, and you guide him with a calming presence, instilling confidence as you impart your expertise.

"Jameson, take a deep breath," you instruct softly but firmly. "Remember, focus is key. You've got this." Private Jameson nods, his eyes locked on your reassuring gaze.

As he examines the device, you watch attentively, offering guidance with each movement. When he finishes, you nod approvingly. "Well done, Private. Now, let's move on."

As Private Jameson continues under your guidance, the other soldiers watch with admiration. They've seen you in action before, witnessed your dedication to the mission and your willingness to put yourself in harm's way for the greater good.

"Ma'am, what if the situation calls for immediate action?" Private Reynolds interjects, reflecting the group's curiosity.

You acknowledge the gravity of the question. "In a real-world scenario, there may not be time for thorough examination," you explain calmly. "Trust your instincts and make split-second decisions."

Private Jameson glances at you, newfound respect shining in his eyes. "But you always seem so calm under pressure, ma'am," he remarks admiringly.

You smile humbly, reflecting on the countless moments of uncertainty you've faced. "It's not about being fearless, Private," you reply earnestly. "It's about pushing through fear for those counting on you."

Your words hang in the air, a silent reminder of the sacrifices made by soldiers like you every day. With renewed determination, Private Jameson nods, his resolve strengthened by your example.

As the door of the training facility echoed with a sharp knock, you exchanged a puzzled glance with your comrades. The abrupt interruption stirred a sense of unease within you, a foreboding whisper of uncertainty.

"A lawyer wants to see you," the soldier at the door announced, his voice tinged with urgency.

You furrowed your brow in confusion. "Me?" you repeated, your mind racing to grasp the sudden turn of events. "Hmm, he sounds British," you mused aloud, your instincts sharpened by years of training.

With measured steps, you followed your comrade through the maze of corridors until you reached the visitor's area. There, standing before you, was a figure from your past, a familiar face veiled in the somber cloak of time.

"Miss," the lawyer greeted you with a solemn nod, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken truths.

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized him, the memories flooding back like an unstoppable tide. It had been fifteen years since you last saw him, a lifetime of distance and estrangement separating you.

"I assumed something bad happened?" you ventured cautiously, your tone laced with concern and apprehension.

The lawyer, Cedric, nodded gravely, his expression betraying the gravity of the news he bore.

You and Cedric found a quiet place to talk. "Something's wrong?" you inquired, noting the somber expression on Cedric's face as he adjusted his glasses.

Cedric remained silent momentarily, his gaze fixed on the ground before meeting your eyes. "Duke Rupert died two days ago," he finally uttered, his voice laden with gravity.

Your heart clenched at the news. Duke Rupert was your stepfather, and the thought of his passing filled you with a mix of sorrow and apprehension.

Cedric continued, his words weighed down by the weight of the news. "On his will, he wrote that he wants all the family to gather. I came here as soon as I could. And you could attend the funeral too. He probably wants it too."

You nodded, absorbing the information with a heavy heart. The sudden loss of Duke Rupert had thrown your world into disarray, and the prospect of gathering with the family only added to the uncertainty swirling within you.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself, determined to face whatever lay ahead with strength

You nodded in response to Cedric's words, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I'll gather my things," you said quietly, steeling yourself for the task ahead.

As you packed your belongings into your bag, Private Jameson approached you, his curiosity evident in his voice. "So, it turns out you're a noble," he remarked, his tone tinged with surprise.

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head in response. "I'm not. It was my step-dad. There's no noble blood in me," you explained, a hint of self-deprecation in your voice.

Jameson furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued. "We've been working together for years, but you never mentioned anything about this," he observed, his tone filled with genuine interest.

You zipped up your bag, pausing momentarily before meeting Jameson's gaze. "It's just family stuff. Nothing interesting," you replied cryptically, a hint of sadness flickering in your eyes before you turned away, ready to face the uncertain future that lay ahead.

After a grueling 12-hour flight, you finally arrived back in the UK. As the car pulled up to Evergreen Abbey, your childhood home, a rush of nostalgia washed over you. The manor stood proudly, its historical façade unchanged by the passing years.

Stepping out of the car, you took a moment to absorb the familiar sight before you. The memories of your upbringing flooded back, filling you with a sense of belonging despite the years of absence.

As you entered the manor, you were greeted by the sight of a middle-aged woman wearing a classic black dress adorned with a string of pearls. Her youthful aura belied the years that had passed since you last saw her. It was your mother, Susan.

"You're back," she exclaimed, opening her arms wide to envelop you in a warm embrace. The familiar scent of her perfume brought tears to your eyes as you returned her hug, feeling a sense of comfort and homecoming wash over you.

You nodded as Susan spoke, absorbing the news of Duke Rupert's accident with a heavy heart. The realization that your stepfather had passed away hit you like a wave, stirring emotions you had long buried.

"I'm so sorry. What happened?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine concern as you reached out to grasp Susan's hand for support.

Susan sighed her expression a mixture of sadness and frustration. "That silly old man's, I told him not to ride a horse, but he insisted and he fell," she explained, her tone tinged with regret. "Rupert always well-prepared, but I don't know why he really insisted on riding a horse that day."

Before you could respond, the sound of another voice broke through the somber atmosphere. "Thank God you're here," the voice exclaimed, drawing your attention. You turned to see your stepbrother, Charles, standing before you.

But your breath caught in your throat when you saw him wearing priestly attire. "Charles?" you uttered in disbelief, your eyes widening in surprise.

Charles opened his arms and enveloped you in a warm hug, his presence comforting despite the unexpected change in his appearance. "I'm glad you're here," he said, his handshake firm and sincere as he greeted you.

You were speechless, your mind struggling to process the transformation before you. There was a warmth in Charles's eyes, a genuine kindness that seemed to radiate from within him. He was different from the last time you saw him, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sight of him in his new role.

"Are you wearing a cassock?" you finally managed to ask, your voice filled with curiosity as you glanced at Charles's attire.

Susan gently pinched your arm, her expression amused yet reproachful. "Silly girl, this is why you should reply to my letters, phone calls, and emails," she chided gently. "Charles has become a priest."

"I know you will find it hard to believe. But I went through a miracle that made me fully believed in God." As Charles spoke of his newfound faith, you struggled to reconcile this revelation with the memory of Charlie, who once hurled harsh words at you.

Then you heard a familiar voice, cutting through the tension like a knife. "You're here."

It was Charlotte, Charles's twin sister. Her gaze bore into you with the same disdain it always had, unchanged after all these years.

Charlotte was never one to hide her feelings about you. From the moment your mother brought you into their lives, she had seen you as nothing more than an unwanted burden.

Your mother's marriage to the Duke had brought you into a world of privilege and resentment. While your stepfather had become a father figure you'd never had, it came at the cost of your relationship with your own mother. Susan was desperate to fit into her new role as Duchess, and you were often left feeling like an outsider in your own home.

The Duke's children, Charles and Charlotte, had quickly formed a bond with your mother, leaving you feeling like an intruder in your own family. They resented you for stealing their father's attention, and the tension between you had only grown over the years.

Living at Evergreen Abbey had always felt like walking on eggshells. That's why, as soon as you came of age, you left for the United States and joined the army, seeking refuge from the suffocating atmosphere of the manor.

Charlotte's cold gaze was a painful reminder of the resentment that had always simmered beneath the surface. "Let's get this over with, please," she said, her words dripping with disdain.

"What does it mean?" you asked, scanning the room for answers but finding only silence and the weight of years of unresolved conflict hanging heavy in the air.

You couldn't believe your eyes as Charles stood before you, now a priest leading your stepfather's funeral. Rupert's passing seemed surreal, and as they closed the casket, you had a chance to see his face one last time.

His face looked different, smiling unnaturally due to the glue used to preserve it. It starkly contrasted the smile you remembered, and you regretted not seeing Rupert one last time before this moment. Placing a red rose near his casket, you whispered, "I'm going to miss you."

During the burial, your gaze wandered, and you noticed a little boy standing near your mother.

But someone standing alone amidst the gathering of family and guests caught your attention. Who is he?

After the burial concluded, the house filled with guests offering condolences. The strange man also disappeared. Susan and Charles gracefully accepted their sympathies, while Charlotte's whereabouts only God knows.

Amidst the crowd, you heard a gentle voice call your name. "Y/N?"

Turning around, you saw Eddie standing there. "Eddie? How are you?" You greeted him with a side hug, grateful for the familiarity in the midst of the somber occasion.

Eddie hugged you back, offering his condolences as you shared a moment of solace amid the chaos of the gathering.

Eddie's inquiry about your military service brought back memories, including a long-kept secret: you used to have a crush on him. It was partly why you joined the army, sharing a dream of serving alongside him. "Yeah," you answered, still groggy from the day's emotions.

"What about you? Did you join the army too?"

Eddie chuckled. "I did, but I left to pursue a business."

You nodded, finding it fitting for him. "You're looking more like a duke these days."

Taking a sip of water, Eddie revealed a surprising truth. "I am. I became a duke after my father passed."

Your shock was evident. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Eddie's chuckle held a hint of understanding. "Yeah, after you left, you sort of cut contacts with everyone."

You hesitated, recalling the mention of a will by Cedric. "What about your family tradition? Isn't your older brother supposed to be the duke?"

Eddie's expression shifted slightly. "It changed after my father's will."

Your unease grew as thoughts of Rupert's will resurfaced. Eddie noticed your worry and reached out, touching your hand. "Hey, if you need me, just call me."

Grateful for his support, you managed a small smile. "Thanks, Eddie."

########

As everyone sat waiting for the lawyer, a new presence entered the room. A little boy, perhaps around 10 years old, joined the gathering, taking a seat beside Charlotte. He stole occasional glances in your direction, his curiosity evident in his wide-eyed gaze.

Unable to contain your surprise, you turned to Charlotte and asked, "You have a child?"

Charlotte rolled her eyes in response, her annoyance palpable, while Charles chuckled softly at the exchange.

Feeling a familiar pinch on your arm, you turned to see Susan giving you a reproachful look. "This is why you should've answered my calls. He's your brother," she scolded gently.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. "Huh?!" you exclaimed, your mind struggling to comprehend the revelation as you glanced back at the little boy sitting beside Charlotte, a newfound sense of connection dawning within you. Now his face and future look similar to yours.

You found yourself at a loss for words, grappling with the sudden revelation of a long-lost sibling. The realization that you had cut off all contact when you joined the army weighed heavily on your conscience, leaving you with a profound sense of regret for the years of missed connections and lost opportunities.

Running a hand through your face, you let out a weary sigh, the weight of the past 15 years bearing down on you like a heavy burden. "Will there be another surprise?" you wondered aloud, the question hanging in the air as you braced yourself for whatever other unexpected twists fate had in store for you.

A few minutes later, Cedric, the lawyer, strode into the room with purpose, placing his briefcase on the table before retrieving the file. With a solemn expression, he began to read aloud the contents of Duke Rupert's will.

"Everyone will get a share of his insurance and investments," Cedric announced, his voice measured and professional. "Except Y/N."

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of resignation at the news, having expected as much given the strained dynamics within the family. Glancing around the room, you noted the acceptance in your mother's and the twins' expressions, as if they had anticipated this outcome.

But then, Cedric's next words shattered the calm facade that had settled over the room. "For the Evergreen Abbey Manor and the title, I hereby give it to Y/N L/N," he continued, his voice resolute.

Your shock was palpable, the expletive escaping your lips before you could stop it.

'HUH?!'

"What the fuck?" you exclaimed, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events as the weight of Duke Rupert's decision settled heavily upon you.

As Charles let out a disbelieving "Hoo," and Charlotte expressed her relief with a curt "Great, not my problem anymore," the tension in the room seemed to escalate.

'Wait. The twins aren't angry?'

Your mother reached out, gently squeezing your hand and offering a reassuring look, her silent support a comforting anchor amidst the chaos unfolding around you.

"Why do I feel like I'm carrying a bomb in my hand?" you muttered, the weight of Duke Rupert's legacy pressing down on you like a heavy burden.

Cedric adjusted his glasses, his expression grave as he spoke. "When you became the Lady of this house... Your grace, pardon me that I have to tell you this," he began carefully. "The former Duke had debts, and he was involved in what we might call 'creative' work."

"You mean drugs, gambling, and the like?" you interjected, your voice laced with disbelief.

Susan shot you a warning glance, her lips forming a silent reprimand. "You shouldn't say that word in front of your brother," she whispered, her tone urgent.

Turning to her younger son, she leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not drugs, but weed," she clarified softly.

"Oh, wow. Now I feel relieved," you replied sarcastically, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you as you struggled to come to terms with the unexpected revelations about Duke Rupert's illicit activities.

You ran a hand through your hair in frustration, the enormity of the situation sinking in. "How much is the debt?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"8 million pounds," Cedricbreplied solemnly, his tone grave.

Charles made the sign of the cross a gesture of disbelief. "Oh Lord," he murmured under his breath.

"And he wants me to repay the debt when I never took a single cent?" you exclaimed, incredulity coloring your words as you struggled to comprehend the injustice of it all.

"Was he high when he wrote the will? Why me?!!"

Sighing heavily, you turned your gaze towards the imposing manor, its grandeur now overshadowed by the weight of Duke Rupert's debts. "Can I just sell this manor?" you wondered aloud, desperation creeping into your voice.

"It will take months or years, Your Grace. And the debt has to be paid by the end of this month," Cedric explained, punctuated by a sense of urgency.

But before you could act on your impulse, Susan's voice cut through the air, her tone laced with urgency and apprehension. "You can't sell the manor," she interjected, her gaze pleading with you to reconsider.

Confusion flickered in your eyes as you turned to face her, a mix of frustration and resignation bubbling up inside you. "Why not?" you demanded, your voice tinged with exasperation.

Susan's response was swift, her words carrying the weight of years of pent-up frustration and resentment. "If you sell the manor, I would lose my title as a duchess," she explained, her voice quavering with emotion.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, stirring up memories of the strained relationship that had defined your interactions with Susan over the years. Her obsession with upholding the image of a perfect duchess had driven a wedge between you, leaving your relationship fraught with tension and resentment.

As you stood there, grappling with the weight of Duke Rupert's debts and the expectations thrust upon you by your title, you couldn't help but feel a sense of bitterness creeping in.

You let out another sigh, resigned to the reality of the situation. "I need a drink," you muttered, the thought of seeking solace in the most potent alcohol near the lake seeming like the only reprieve from the turmoil raging inside you.

As you sat by the lake's tranquil waters, the weight of the situation bearing down on you, regret began to seep into your thoughts like a creeping mist.

Coming back here had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but now, faced with the reality of Duke Rupert's debts and the burden they placed upon you, you couldn't help but wonder if it had been a mistake.

Taking a sip of your whiskey, you allowed the warmth of the liquid to wash over you, momentarily easing the turmoil in your mind. But even the soothing embrace of alcohol couldn't dispel the unease gnawing at your insides.

Lost in your thoughts, you were startled when a small figure approached, breaking the silence that had settled over the lakeside. You glanced up to see your little stepbrother, Hugo, standing before you with a tentative expression on his face.

"Uh, hi. Hello. I'm your older sister," you greeted awkwardly, the words feeling foreign on your tongue.

Hugo returned your greeting with a shy smile. "Hi, step-bro. Hugo. Ten years old," he introduced himself, his voice soft and uncertain.

An awkward silence hung between you, the gap between your worlds feeling vast and insurmountable. Sensing the tension, you made an effort to bridge the divide.

"You want to walk?" you offered, gesturing towards the path that wound its way around the edge of the lake.

Hugo hesitated for a moment before nodding hesitantly. "Hmm...," he murmured, his eyes brightening with a hint of curiosity as he took a tentative step forward, ready to embark on this uncertain journey with you.

As you and Hugo began to playfully throw stones into the lake, the tension between you gradually dissipated, replaced by a sense of camaraderie born from the simple joy of shared activity.

"So, Hugo, do you know what's happening at the household?" you asked, choosing your words carefully. You had learned in the military that children often possessed an innate honesty that could shed light on complex situations.

Hugo paused in his stone-throwing, considering your question for a moment before responding. "Walls have ears, and the workers always gossip," he replied cryptically, his voice tinged with wisdom beyond his years.

Impressed by his insight, you couldn't help but smile. "Wow," you remarked, genuinely impressed by Hugo's observation. "Do you want to share?" you prompted, curious to hear his perspective on the goings-on within the household.

As Hugo shared his insights, you listened intently, surprised by the depth of understanding hidden behind his youthful facade.

"Charlie doesn't want to take the house because of the debt, and he wants to become a pope," Hugo explained matter-of-factly, his words carrying a weight of resignation.

You responded with a puzzled "Huh?"

"And Charlotte doesn't care since she's going to marry a prince. She doesn't want anything related to Dad's 'creative work.' It will ruin her image."

"Her image? She's marrying a prince?" you interjected, your incredulity evident in your tone.

Hugo regarded you with a knowing look. "You're really ignorant, huh?" he remarked bluntly, his words stinging with a hint of playful teasing.

Feeling a pang of embarrassment at being corrected by a child, you cleared your throat awkwardly. "Hey..." you started, but Hugo continued without missing a beat.

"Sis Charlotte has quite millions of followers on social media," he elaborated, his voice tinged with a hint of admiration. "If her name is connected to weed and family debt—"

"It will ruin her image, and she'll have to pay the penalty," you finished, the implications sinking in as you processed Hugo's words. "Wait, how old are you again?" you asked, feeling a mix of surprise and amusement at the maturity of his observations.

Hugo raised both hands, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Ten," he replied, the innocence of his youth juxtaposed against the weight of the knowledge he carried.

You chuckled softly, taking another sip of your whiskey as you observed Hugo with newfound respect. Children were indeed frighteningly perceptive these days, and you made a mental note to tread carefully around him in the future.

You looked at the lake and sighed again. No wonder Charlie felt relieved upon seeing you. He wouldn't have to worry about these things. If his past caught up with him while pursuing his path to becoming a pope, it would ruin everything for him.

As for Charlotte, nothing ever seems to be enough for her. If her future in-laws from the royal family were to find out about this business, they would likely cancel her marriage.

So it's obvious they were relieved when Rupert chose you as the heir.

As both of you made your way back home, your senses went on high alert as you spotted a black Range Rover parked near the entrance. The sight of the familiar car sent a chill down your spine, and you felt a sense of unease settle in the pit of your stomach.

He's the man who watched Rupert's funeral from afar.

"Hugo, go inside," you instructed quietly, your voice tinged with urgency as you gestured for him to retreat to the safety of the house.

The man who emerged from the car was none other than the same individual you had seen at the funeral. James Barnes, or "Bucky" as he preferred to be called, approached you with a confident stride, his demeanor exuding an air of authority.

"Sorry to disturb your afternoon walk," Bucky began, his voice smooth and polite. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm James Barnes, but you could call me Bucky."

You nodded in acknowledgment, your guard instinctively rising as you braced yourself for whatever news he had come to deliver. "How can I help you, Mr. Barnes?" you inquired, your tone guarded yet polite.

"It's difficult for me to say while you're still grieving," Bucky admitted, his expression sympathetic. "But the former duke owed money to us."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "You see, Mr. Barnes, I just got here two days ago after 15 years," you explained wearily, the weight of Duke Rupert's legacy pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at your revelation, his interest piqued. "Yeah, Rupert mentioned it a couple of times," he remarked casually.

"Did he?" you muttered under your breath, feeling a surge of annoyance at Duke Rupert's apparent penchant for gossip.

"Let's continue this at the office," you suggested tersely, eager to put some distance between yourself and the unsettling presence of James Barnes.

As you stepped into Rupert's office for the first time, a wave of nostalgia washed over you, mingling with the lingering scent of his cigar and the familiar musk that seemed to permeate the room. It was a scent you had grown accustomed to over the years, a reminder of the man who had once occupied this space.

Pouring another whiskey for yourself and a glass for Bucky, you couldn't help but feel a pang of melancholy as you reflected on the memories associated with this room. Duke Rupert's presence seemed to linger in every corner, his larger-than-life persona casting a shadow over the space.

Bucky took a moment to savor the whiskey, his expression one of appreciation. "Your step-dad always did have a good collection of alcohol," he remarked, a hint of nostalgia coloring his words as he raised his glass in a silent toast.

You nodded in agreement, acknowledging the truth in his words. Despite the complexities of his character, Duke Rupert had always taken pride in his impressive selection of drinks, a testament to his refined taste and penchant for the finer things in life.

Taking a sip of your drink, you cleared your throat, breaking the heavy silence in the air. "Do you have business with my step-dad?" you asked, your tone cautious as you eyed Bucky across the desk.

Bucky's admission hung heavy in the air as he spoke, his words carrying a weight of responsibility and obligation.

"I lent him my money and I protected him," he explained, his tone tinged with a sense of duty.

"Why? His weed business didn't work out?" you asked, curiosity piqued by the revelation.

Bucky shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "It was successful. But he had a change of heart and wanted out. And his boss didn't like it. That's where I came in," he elaborated, his expression grave.

"Eight million pounds. Is all because of you?" you queried, the enormity of the debt now beginning to make sense.

Bucky tilted his head, his gaze meeting yours with a solemn intensity. "The price of the damage I got for protecting your step-dad. I gained more enemies," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret.

Setting down your whiskey glass, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. Despite the tangled web of intrigue and deceit surrounding Duke Rupert, at least his involvement in the weed business was not the cause of his debts.

You let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Options seemed limited, and each path forward appeared fraught with challenges and uncertainties.

Glancing at the bank statements and stock reports spread out on the desk before you, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Duke Rupert's financial situation was far from ideal, and the prospect of producing eight million pounds seemed increasingly daunting.

Your mother's reluctance to sell the manor only added to the complexity of the situation. Despite the financial burden it represented, the estate held sentimental value for her, serving as a tangible connection to Duke Rupert and the life they had built together.

The twins' indifference to the predicament only further highlighted the sense of isolation you felt in confronting this dilemma alone. But then your thoughts turned to Hugo, the youngest member of the family, and the realization dawned on you that the manor held a special significance for him as well.

Selling off the artwork and alcohol collection was a possibility, but the process would take time, and the prospect of navigating the complexities of the open market and taxation only added to the uncertainty.

With few options left to consider, you knew that your best course of action was to confront the man himself. Despite your reservations, you couldn't ignore the fact that Bucky held the key to unraveling the mystery of Duke Rupert's debts.

As the desire to return to the U.S. gnawed at you, a sense of urgency washed over you, driving you to seek resolution as quickly as possible. But with time ticking away and the weight of responsibility bearing on your shoulders, you knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and sacrifices.

You sighed heavily, the weight of the situation settling upon your shoulders. "What options do I have?

Bucky's smile was almost too slick, his finger pointing at you like a loaded gun. "I really like your attitude, Your Grace. Straight to the point," he remarked, his voice smooth as silk.

As he unbuttoned his suit and slid his hands into his pocket pants, a sense of foreboding settled over you like a dark cloud. "I'm also intrigued by your career as an expert in bombs," he continued, his words sending a chill down your spine.

A knot of unease tightened in your stomach as you braced yourself for what was to come. "Go on," you replied tersely, the tension crackling in the air between you.

With a calculated gesture, Bucky brought his hands together, the glint of gold rings catching the light and adding an air of menace to his demeanor. "I will make the debt of 8 million pounds disappear. If you help me," he declared, his tone dripping with promise.

Your heart skipped a beat at the audacity of his offer, the implications of his words sinking in like a lead weight. "What do you want?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Bucky hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering with uncertainty before he finally spoke. "I've got more competition after I helped Rupert. Thinking about it gives me headaches. That's where you come in," he explained cryptically, his words laden with hidden meaning.

Raising an eyebrow, you regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The silence stretched between you, thick with tension, until Bucky finally broke it with a chilling revelation. "I want you to create an explosion. To get rid of them," he stated bluntly, his eyes boring into yours with unwavering intensity.

"Fuck!"

Cursing under your breath, you cast a wary glance at the painting of Rupert hanging on the wall. His eyes seemed to bore into you, judging your every move. As an army EOD technician, the thought of making a bomb for a criminal to pay off a debt filled you with a sense of dread.

Regret gnawed at you like a festering wound as you grappled with the weight of the decision before you. Coming back home had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but now, faced with the reality of the situation, you couldn't help but wish you had never returned.

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[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

It's over! I can't say thank you enough for joining me and my adventures with Hobie and Mariana. I hope you enjoyed them as much as I did. I really grew attached to MJ and Hobie as their story just blossomed before me. While this is the end of the main story, I'll probably have a couple of one shots here and there for them. I just love them so much. Anyway~ once again thank you so much for reading this silly little fic and if you made it this far, I truly appreciate you for reading :)

please leave a kudo on ao3 or a comment <3

~Several Months Later~

MJ is trying to push her way through a rampaging crowd. She’s fighting against the current, but she could care less. The adrenaline pumping through her as she tries to look above the sea of people.

The screaming in her ears is starting to get irritating though. She elbows past a much larger man and finally gets somewhere off to the side where she can get a good visual.

Through the settling dust she sees Spider-Man knocking around the Vulture in the air. She brings her camera up and tries to take a few quick shots before she starts filming. She was getting tired of trying to frame the best front-page photo’s for Spider-Man slander at the Daily Bugle… but none of her other coworkers were willing to get that close to any of the action. She did get hazard pay from it and she was going to milk the cow dry as long as they were paying her.

They didn’t need to know that she’s got a small advantage since her boyfriends the vigilante… at least she feels somewhat safe getting up close to his fights. Even if the so-called vigilante in question does scold her every single time.

She was starting to kind of like it, it was just proof that he cares, not that she’d ever tell Hobie that.

Once she get’s a good enough photo, well, better than what her other coworkers have made in the past. She brings out her phone to film.

This wasn’t for the Daily Bugle, it was for her own personal blogging website. If she was forced by the corporate overloads to make money by slandering her boyfriends name, she could at least run a little side gig that tells the truth.

If she got more website hits on her blog than then Daily Bugle’s she didn’t brag, but god did it boost her ego. Especially since Mr. Jameson was too dull to figure out she was running the blog on the side anyway.

He wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.

She’s scanning her phone to zoom in on Spider-Man and the cocky bastard has the gal to look over to her and shoot a peace sign at the camera. She rolls her eyes.

“As you can see our vigilante isn’t taking this fight very seriously since he’s flirting with the camera… It’ll make a nice fan cam later though.” She says sarcastically as she follows the fight.

Hobie’s high above, fighting the Vulture in the air. That was the nice thing about the Vulture, nothing was close to her on the ground.

Not like the Lizard a few weeks ago who literally flooded the whole street. Her shoes were permanently damaged. Not to mention her sliding down the road like a poor excuse of a slip and slide. She did get some stellar photos and videos from that. Even if she almost fell down into the sewer.

Hobie had finally conceded to the fact she was going to be near his fights. By her volition or by her new job. He couldn’t escape it. So, he did the next best thing, he started to make her gear that she could at least use to help herself.

The first being a web shooter. It wasn’t set up exactly like his. It was discrete enough to look like a watch. It was mostly to stop her from falling, which is how she saved herself from falling into the sewer.

The month it took for her to figure it out and feel comfortable enough to use it was not fun. Hobie was trying to teach her how to swing her weight, but he was a stick in comparison to her. She’s seen what his webs can do, she knows they can hold her easily. It was trusting herself to not screw up the momentum that was scary. That and the fact she didn’t like swinging to begin with. Even if it was Hobie’s favorite, it certainly wasn’t hers. The actions gave her whiplash and made her nauseous.

She only used the web shooter when she absolutely had to. She was more than happy that today Hobie was flying through the sky. She could safely keep her feet on the ground.

The Vulture shots his metal feathers as an attack toward the swinging vigilante. Hobie swings too close toward her and it has MJ running from the projectiles hitting the ground.

She keeps her camera steady as she readjusts to follow the fight again, “The Vulture should really start learning how to aim if he’s going to resort to his feathers.” She comments as she keeps filming. “I mean, how often have they really hit Spider-Man?”

There’s no one really around her but a few reporters on the sides of the streets. Most of them keeping their distance far away. MJ was the only one willing to get this close to the action. Which is why her online blog was skyrocketing in popularity. She didn’t even think about making one until one day Mr. Jameson pissed her off. He was ranting and raving about how the Daily Bugle was the only news source worth listening too because of how good their images were of Spider-Man.

Or as he said, “That no good Spiderpunk running around and destroying our city!”

If she had to bullshit some article calling Hobie Spiderpunk one more time she was going to vomit in Mr. Jameson’s waste basket. It was such a playground taunt. He couldn’t even be more creative!

It also made her eye twitch that her boss was using her perfectly good photos to slander her boyfriend. Hobie didn’t care. In fact, he never looked at a single news source, the most he did was hijack the police scanners to aid him. Didn’t stop the fire burning under her though. If MJ was anything, she was loyal to a fault. So, what if it meant she got a little petty? It was all in good faith. She made her blog that night, as a counter protest to her boss. She never expected her ramblings and bad videos to explode overnight.

It was an added bonus that her boss had also caught wind of her blog and couldn’t do anything about it. He had demanded MJ pay closer attention when she was out, to try and figure out who ran the blog. The man clearly couldn’t put it together that it was her. Who else would get that close to Spider-Man’s fights? She didn’t even disguise her voice, but she made sure to never show her face.

Hobie just found it amusing if anything else. She had a decent following online and made sure her content was always free. If she was going to report on what was happening she wasn’t going to profit off of it. Unlike the Daily Bugle who hid their slanderous newspaper articles behind a paywall. She loved what she did, uncovering stories and being near the action. It gave her a rush like no other. Even if Hobie would wish she wouldn’t get so close.  

This was one of those moments she wished she wasn’t so close.

“Shit, shit, shit!” She’s running from falling building debris. The vulture had taken a large chunk off the old brick building to her left. She could hear the car alarms going off as the falling pieces were crushing the cars underneath. 

She feels arms wrap around her tightly and she stops struggling almost immediately. Looking up to see Hobie’s mask staring down at her. A heavy sigh leaving his mouth.

“You were doing so good this time. Outta way and everythin’.” He teases half-heartedly.

She rolls her eyes before shrugging, “To be fair, I didn’t expect the bird to throw such a hissy fit he’d take out the corner of the building.” She replies.

Hobie sighs and nods. He sets her down a good distance away. “He’s really bloody upset over somethin’… I couldn’t tell ya for the life of me. I tuned him out ages ago.” He turns to dash off and take care of the giant bird man.

“I’m wastin’ my breath, but don’t follow alright.” He tries to tell her. She just hums in acknowledgement and she rushing off right behind him.

She was almost like a shadow with her new job at the Daily Bugle. Always behind him. It still frightened him. Had the rage simmering underneath his the second she was too close to danger. That dread would probably never fully go away. It was just a matter of trusting each other. He’d come running to her if she needed him, and vice versa. The least her could do was arm her so she could defend herself. Not that she needed too much defending. She did explode the Goblin with their own bombs. He knew the dangers that came with being Spider-Man and she had taken them with so much grace and shouldered them with him. It was more than he could ask of anyone.

Yet there she was, next to him, like she was always meant to be.

She grabs a few more photos and is able to catch the end of the fight. Hobie having the Vulture wrapped up in his webs.

“Once again, our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man can be found protecting us! He’s a little cross with me right now so I won’t bug him. I am expecting some fan cams from this footage so don’t let me down!” She signs off her video and shuffles her belongings into her bag.

Hobie turns to see her and she waves in small acknowledgement before jogging off back to her office. He shakes his head but goes to handle the Vulture, knowing he’ll see her later anyway.

Mariana’s curled up on the couch, nursing a half cold tea, when the door gently opens and she hears him kicking off his combat boots.

“Long day?” she calls out to him sitting up to look over at him.

He gives a dry chuckle before walking over to kiss her forehead. “It was more than just the birdman today,” he sighs.

She frowns looking up at him, “Go take a hot shower, I’ll make you something.” She whispers holding his face.

He nods his head and presses another soft kiss to her cheek before walking to the bathroom.

She shakes her head and gets up with a full body stretch. She goes to grab the leftovers from the dinner she cooked earlier. She goes to warm it back up for him, it wasn’t too cold but definitely not as hot as when she originally cooked earlier. It won’t take very long so she starts on a drink too. She goes over to the kettle and starts making him a cup of tea, while also making herself a second cup. Pouring her lukewarm tea down the sink. She leans against the counter and waits for it to heat up.

She doesn’t hear Hobbie come behind her as he wraps his arms around her waist. Pressing his half naked body against hers. She leans her head back to look up at him.

“Ya know, this would be lovelier if you weren’t still slightly wet.” She teases him.

He groans and shoves his face into the crook of her neck. “Don’t care.” He murmurs placing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

She smiles softly and moves her hand to pat his cheek. She doesn’t stop her task of making them tea but it becomes a slightly more difficult task with one hand.

Hobie slowly starts swaying their bodies to an unheard tune in his head. She easily moves with him as she makes their mugs. The silence isn’t stifling, it’s more relaxing than anything. His weight on her is comforting and he places more soft kisses against her skin, moving from her shoulder up her neck, to her cheek, and finally to the corner of her lips.

She turns her head to follow him, chasing his lips with hers. She hums contently against him.

“I have to pour our tea Hobbie.” She whispers against his lips.

He presses another kiss, this one deeper and longer. “Can wait,” He grips her hips to make her turn fully to him. He presses his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.

Her hands snake up his arms and down his bare chest, touch feather light. He makes a deep groan in his throat. It has her chuckling softly.

One of his hands goes to grab both her hands, capturing them easily. His other hand moves from her waist to grip the counter behind her. His mouth moving down to her ear, “Watch it…” he whispers, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He presses a kiss under her ear.

She starts to squirm a bit, “Oh piss off!” She giggles her face heating up, “I’m not the one who walked in here half naked.”

He leans back and sighs dramatically. “I haven’t done the laundry in a minute luv.”

She rolls her eyes, “What you need is to just move in already.” She tries to say nonchalantly avoiding looking up at him.

He hums in thought, “Is that you officially asking me or joking?” He teases trying to make her look at him.

Her face grows redder, as she tries to wiggle away from him. He other hand releases hers and he blocks her in against the counter.  Leaning dangerously closer to her.

“I… I want you to move in, I mean you come here every night anyway, I just think it would be easier if-” she’s starting to ramble running over her words.

Hobie cuts her off with his mouth, kissing her once more. Pulling back to smile lazily at her furiously blushing face.

“I’m just teasin’. Course I’ll move in.” he tells him softly.

“Okay, perfect, cool…” she says quietly, eyes avoiding his.

“I’m keepin’ the house boat though. Don’t want to leave all my spider stuff here.” He says seriously.

She laughs with her chest, moving to wrap her arms around his neck. “I’m okay with that.”

He moves to grab her thighs, lifting her to wrap her legs around his waist. She makes a small noise before holding onto him tighter.

“Hobie! What about the tea, and your food!” She tries to scold him, but her laughter gives her away.

“It can wait, just want you right now.” He says walking them to her bedroom.

She leans forward, her small laughter being swallowed by his lips. They fall onto her bed together and her hands move to hold his jaw, deepening the kiss.

If someone told Mariana a year ago she’d be in a relationship with her cities vigilante she’d call them crazy. She’d also find it impossible that her path would have crossed with his to begin with.

She wouldn’t believe anything that’s happened to her this past year of knowing Hobie. She’s felt herself change for the better, becoming braver than ever. He’s everything she could ask for. Parts of her have healed in ways she never thought they could. The scares are still there, but they can fade with time. She doesn’t feel like a dog who’s been kicked one too many times anymore. She’s found her home in his heart. She knows he’ll protect it, like she protects his. It’s precious that she’s found this love and all she wants to do is nurture and grow it.

She loves him and she thinks she could forever.

Tag List: @missshelleyduvall

#hobie brown x oc #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #spiderpunk #spider punk #hobie x reader #hobie x oc #my art

[bucknastysbabe]

5 + 1 Times Buck’s GF was the crybaby and the one time she wasn’t

Rating: Regular, smut only in one part

Word Count: 4,037

Tags: FLUFFY FLUFF, smut in one part, pnv!sex, soft tender luvin, Bucky is Vry Vry sweet, but he do be laughing at the reader, reader is oversensitive, and also a journalist for the Bugle aka How?, bucks haters get flamed, crying over spilt milk literally, some angst, TW: ptsd, J.Jonah Jameson is out there somewhere shaking his head at his employee

1. In the arms of the angels- FLY AWAYYYY

Bucky could safely say that his precious, precious girl could be somewhat oversensitive. He liked that about her, having someone around who was extremely caring and kind. The former Winter Soldier would be lying if he claimed that he knew how to handle her spells every time.

Although Bucky gotten better over the time they had been together.

They were cuddled on his new, much bigger couch on a lazy Sunday. His girlfriend wore one of Bucky’s t-shirts, the cloth hanging down to her soft thighs. She was spooned against the brunette, head padded on his flesh bicep. The random movie they had been watching went to a commercial. Bucky’s eyes widened when he realized what exactly kind of commercial it was.

The depressing ass ASPCA advertisement. His girlfriend donated to the local humane society and multiple non-profits but would lose her ever loving shit over the poor pets. Bucky instinctively curled his other arm around her waist when the sad song came on. His girl sniffled, “Oh god, I hate this!”

He murmured, “C’mon just look at your phone baby.”

Her sniffles turned into sobs, bemoaning, “I don’t understand how people could do that to the poor animals! It’s ah-ah-awful!” Bucky frowned, vibranium thumb rubbing circles into her hip. He reassured her, “Sweetheart, we about donate to the entirety of Brooklyn. You’re doing good.”

One of her fists banged on his thigh. She cried, “I need to donate to the entirety of the United States!” Bucky’s lips curled up in slight amusement. As much as he hated to see his best girl cry, it was entertaining to see her fit. He shushed her, “Okay we will, s’not like I’m a broke fugitive anymore.” The girl’s watery eyes flicked up to his smirk.

She poked him at an awkward angle, croaking, “Don’t say that about yourself!”

He tried to keep a calm face but ended up snickering. To which Bucky received another annoyed poke and a scoff. Thankfully the ad was done by the time she turned back to the TV. Bucky kissed her hairline and said, “Okay then, no more waterworks and I won’t trash my name. We’ll go buy another damn pound out later.” She seemed to relax, snuggling tight into Bucky’s larger frame.

2. On the floor

A shriek and a crash echoed from the kitchen. Bucky threw down his tattered book and hopped up. He hoped his girlfriend didn’t injure herself, again. The super soldier slid into the kitchen, blue eyes surveying the scene. He half-shouted, “You okay?“

“NO!,” came the distressed reply.

Bucky’s poor girl was half soaked and milk covered the floor, the gallon leaking onto the tile. His brows raised at the mess, hand rubbing at his neck. She threw her hands up and squalled, but made no move to escape the flood.

“I just wanted to make some cereal and the stupid damn jug slipped from my hands!,” she cried.

Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes. This would be the second time she had cried over spilt milk, literally. He strode across the kitchen and picked the sobbing woman up, her arms wrapping around his neck, assuming koala protocol. Or at least that’s what the loon called it.

The brunette rubbed her heaving back, cooing, “Oh poor baby, s’no big deal. I’ll go get another gallon from down the street, okay?” She looked up at him and began crying harder. The distraught woman whined, “No! I screwed it up being a klutz I’ll go get it!”

Bucky lowered them onto a dining room chair, wiping her tears away. He shook his head, eyeing her adorably blotchy cheeks. She pouted, tears lessening in time. The brunette hummed, “Jus’ let me go get the damn milk. You had an accident, I can’t have my pitiful girl crying over actual spilt milk.”

She laid her head in the crook of Bucky’s shoulder, grumbling, “It’s so damn sticky. This is gonna take forever to clean!” Bucky nuzzled her sweet smelling hair, smiling softly. She was too soft for her own good. But that’s why he was here, of course.

Her achingly wide eyes were back peering at Buck. He raised a thick brow, waiting for a response. Slim hands grabbed his stubbled cheeks, asking in a deadpan, “You don’t think I’m the most worthless girl ever right?” She averted her eyes as she continued, “Idiot who can’t make cereal.”

Bucky leaned into her sullen face to capture trembling lips into a kiss. It was chaste and sweet, Bucky murmuring into her lips, “I don’t care if you grew into a hulk monster and crashed the place. Why don’t we clean up and go grab the milk, make it a date huh?”

The brunette bit back a laugh as she hugged him tighter and sobbed out how much she loved him. Bucky tucked her hair back and grinned down at his pretty, crybaby, best girl.

3. Feline fail

Bucky and his girlfriend were cooking dinner together. They were laughing and sharing sweet pecks, bumping hips and slinging sauce. Bucky had remembered an old lasagna recipe and wanted to try it. She obliged with glee.

She changed the song to one of those strange ‘rap’ songs. Bucky was still getting accustomed to the 80’s power music so this was out of his league. She talked along to the lyrics, using a spoon as her microphone. Bucky leaned against the counter, helplessly grinning, hopelessly in love. She did a twist and some weird footwork.

MREOOOWWWW

“Alpine!,” they simultaneously shouted.

The poor cat had run off heavily limping. Bucky cursed, “Ah, shit.” The woman dropped the spatula and went after the fluffy white cat. She frantically apologized, “Alpine! Alpie! I’m so sorry baby! Oh god I didn’t mean to step on your paw babygirl!” Bucky wanted to point out the feline did not understand but held his tongue.

He followed his girlfriend into a back bedroom, then to the walk-in closet. Poor doll was in hysterics now. She wailed, “I’m the worst! What if I broke her paw? Just kill me n-n-nOWWWW!”

Bucky grabbed the sweet thing and hushed her, “Stop howling, Alpine is probably overwhelmed. Let’s be quiet and calmly approach.”

She nodded with a sniffle, mascara running down reddened cheeks. Bucky flicked the light on and softly called, “Alp, Alpine? Pspspsps c’mere baby.” He waggled his fingers at his shoe stand. Slowly the big blue eyes of Alpine came into view. The cat let out a sad ‘maaaoow’. She sucked in a wet sob behind Bucky, little hands fisted into his shirt.

Bucky crouched further down, keeping his palm extended. He cooed, “Over here psps Alpine.” Alpine unfurled from the shoe stand, limping over to the couple. Tears dripped down the young woman’s face as she let the sweet cat sniff her palm and nuzzle against it. She sniveled, “Ohhh- Alpine, m’so sorry,” Bucky was poked as she continued, “Buck? Can you check the paw out?”

Bucky grunted, “Yep. I’m sure she’ll be fine, just a smush and got startled. Bucky picked the white feline up, huge hands so tender with Alpine’s tiny paw. He gave it a few tentative presses and the cat squirmed in pain, making another sad noise. Bucky turned to look at his girlfriend and said, “Yeah I think she might be injured. We can take her to the vet in the morning. Probably just wants to lay down.”

After putting their pet back into the shoe stand, Bucky had stage three to do; console the distraught angel. She had already retreated to the bedroom, cocooning under her copious amounts of fluffy blankets. Bucky had bought them due to supersoldier heat and the ensuing thermostat on the coldest setting possible.

Bucky crawled onto the end of the bed, calling out, “Are you burrowing away from me?”

“Yes. I am the worst. Throw me into the snow already.”

Bucky crawled closer to the familiar lump and teased, “I don’t think paw stomping is equal to hypothermia.”

“It should be.”

His pink lips split into a grin as Buck yanked her blankets back and hopped on top. She squealed and batted at him, howling, “Not funny you jerk! Poor Alpine is hurt!” Bucky laughed, “Poor Alpine has been in shootouts, she’s a-okay.”

She stared up at his stupidly handsome face and pouted. Bucky’s big hands slid up her waist, commenting, “I’ll give you something to cry about if that’s what’cha want babydoll.” His dick never failed to throb at her cute little hitch in breath, pupils blowing wide.

“W-what about the lasagna?”

Bucky licked a hot stripe up her neck, promising, “Oh, this won’t be long. A little pick-me-up for my babydoll.” Her irritated huff quickly turned into a moan. Bucky grinned. So damn cute.

4. Never alone

Bucky had been having trouble sleeping recently, recurring nightmares plaguing any chance of shut eye. His girlfriend worried over him, offering any sort of help. He shook his head, eyes tired, explaining, “It comes in waves, certain times or seasons activate the trauma.”

“Okay, I just wish you didn’t have to sleep on the floor. But whatever will make you more comfortable.”

She wrung her hands nervously, pretty lips curled into a frown. Bucky sighed, patting his lap. He held her tightly and whispered, “I never wanna hurt you, so just for a little bit it’ll be like this okay? I promise, it hurts me too.” She wiped away runny tears, nodding resolutely. His precious baby warbled, “I’m being selfish, don’t mind me prattling and whining. I want what’s best for you. I love you so much,” she pinched Bucky’s thigh, “Go back to therapy tomorrow or I’ll drag you there.”

“I will,” he pecked her lips, “I will.”

They went to their separate beds, well their bed, and Bucky’s blanket and pillow on the floor. He managed to drift off before spinning cycling never ending loops of the Soldier killing and taking swamped his dreams. The asset shot upright with a painful howl, jerking his head around for the enemy.

He jumped up and grabbed a stashed knife, stalking across the floor. So confused on the lines between reality and fiction. He snarled at the sound of a high voice. It was his girl. Bucky was Bucky. Not the asset, soldier, fist of Hydra. He dropped the knife and apologized, “Oh Christ. Are you okay?” He was scared to come closer upon the fear etched into her looks. Fucking monster.

She ran to him and wrapped warm arms around his sweaty torso, crying softly. Bucky couldn’t find words to express his disgust and sorrow, holding her back tightly. His angel croaked, “I was worried about you! I’m s-sorry you had that awful nightmare. Oh Buck, let me sit with you for the rest of the night.”

Bucky peered down with resigned blue eyes. He was more exhausted now after that mind fuck. The brunette needed to get his poor baby to stop crying then maybe he could sleep. Even the cat nervously peered from behind a chair.

They migrated to the couch, her firm on top of him, gently scratching his scalp. Bucky pled, “Please know I would never hurt you. As soon as I heard your voice I knew where I was again.” She pressed her forehead to his and replied, “Then let’s just try this. You don’t have to go through this alone, ever.” She cried in little aborted huffs, trying to hold it together.

Bucky felt his heart swell at her sweet words. She was right, he didn’t have to be alone again. He had friends and his best girl who loved him, hell even the cat. Bucky squeezed her soft waist and gushed, “I love you, so, so, so much. Sweet girl.” He got a couple more tears but soon she became sleepy and winded down.

He managed to fall back into slumber, no dreams this time. Her scent and puffs of soft breath kept him grounded. Bucky hoped he deserved this, praying to whoever granted him this boon.

5. Honey I’m Home! - Smut

Sam hollered out of his big ass truck, “Get ready for the waterworks lover boy!” Bucky held up his middle finger and unlocked the front door. Sam drove away with that annoying guffaw of his. Bucky dropped his bags at the door, Alpine’s blue eyes peering up. He grinned and picked up the kitty, cooing and petting her white fluff. Bucky asked, “Hey, sweet Alp. Where’s mama hm? I know she’s all excited.”

“BABY!,” came the familiar cry. Bucky had to owe it to his supersoldier serum for managing to gently let down Alpine and pick up his girlfriend within 10 seconds. Bucky laughed and picked the woman up, happily swinging them around with a goofy grin. His heart felt so full. She spoke through hefty sobs, “I- Oh gah-ah-ah some pi-pizz-za!” Bucky chuckled and tapped her on the ass.

“The waterworks already angel? So soon?”

“YOU KNOW I MISS-SS-SED YOU!,” she caterwauled, loading Bucky’s face down with kisses. He used a big hand to stabilize her head, sealing his full lips over her shaky ones. She sighed into the lip lock, rambling about how much she missed Bucky between kisses.

Bucky pulled back and hummed, “I missed your pretty face, even the tears.” She nipped his lower lip at the jab, retorting, “Very fu-funny!”

The former assassin chuckled, “No really, I get to hug you.”

She narrowed her eyes, wiping her wet cheeks, “Uh-huh.”

Bucky lowered his lids and gave his best charming half smirk to her, purring, “Y’know what I really miss?” He groped at the globes of her ass gently, eating up her reaction. She gasped, minutely squirming, lashes fluttering. Bucky leant into her ear, humming, “Hm baby? Not gonna ask me?”

She murmured sulkily, “What is it Buck?”

He drew his words out, fanning hot breath across her ear, “I miss the way you cry and rake my back bloody when I’m between those damn thighs.”

“Mmfuck, oh, yeah?,” she squeaked, face heating up. Bucky nodded, long fingers massaging the giving flesh of her cheeks. He rumbled, “Yep sweet baby, couldn’t help myself. So pretty when you come on me. Pizza can wait, I want my girl.” The woman nodded profusely, babbling, “Pleaseplease yes wan’ it Bucky. Missed you!”

In a frenzy she lapped into his plump mouth, kissing like a madwoman. Bucky’s best kept secret is the needy little slut he only gets to have in bed. He stopped to push her against the wall, nosing around at her tits. Bucky’s Henley she wore had slipped down, displaying the soft skin. He lapped at a swollen bud and suckled on her tit, earning a high whine and fingers in his steadily growing hair.

Bucky rutted against her barely clothed pussy, feeling it already damp. He rumbled, “Must’ve been real needy dolly, so wet for me.” She shoved her breasts into his face, gasping out, “Not the same w’out you- ah!” Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head, her words stoking the fires of that possessive place in his heart.

She pulled at his brown hair, urging Bucky along desperately, hips canting against his need. The super soldier panted, “Yeah, yeah, right m’bad.” He stomped to their bedroom, grinning and kissing her hotly. Bucky laid his girlfriend down and frantically began to untie his boots, throwing them against the wall. His eyes flickered up to her yanking off the shirt.

A punched out groan left his throat when her glistening pussy was revealed to him, panties tossed carelessly to the side. Bucky shucked down his briefs and climbed between her thighs, muttering, “Fuckin’ hell— thought about you every night. Pretty pussy,” he pressed his lips to her thighs, “Legs, all of you. Damn.”

Her wide eyes softened, the girl simpering, “Thought ‘bout you too babe, most handsome guy in the world.” Bucky snorted as he pressed himself flush to her smaller body, “I don’t know about that, I do know that I’m yours though.” She smiled against his cheek, wrapping arms around his wide shoulders. Bucky sighed at the feeling of his baby’s gentle kisses to his scruffy skin.

“You want to wear a condom, me stretch you out?,” Bucky asked, eyes searching her own.

She shook her head and whispered, “Got an IUD, I’ll explain later but we don’t have to wear any condoms,” lips grew wider, “So go on and fuck me Buck.” Bucky groaned in ecstasy, situating himself flush to giving flesh. He pumped his leaking cock a couple of times before rubbing the tip against her slick entrance.

She whined and scrabbled at his back, spreading open wider, pleading, “Yeah, yeah, please Bucky, James, baby.” He replied, strained from how adorable and sexy that was, “I gotcha, hold on, fuck.”

They both cried out softly when Bucky slid in to her warm core, the noise filling the room. The brunette braced a hand beside her head, cursing lowly, “God-fucking-damn you feel so good sweets.” She whined his name, face scrunching up adorably, pussy pulsing around him.

Bucky’s flesh hand curled under the back of one of her knees, pushing the girl wider open with a grunt. He pecked her lips and began to piston into her. His blues fell closed, the rapture of being joined with his love was intense. Even more so when some asshole jacked him with the serum. She cooed softly, “Feels- ah, so good, my sweet Buck.”

He didn’t speed up, as much as the soldier wanted to jackhammer into tomorrow. He would enjoy this reunion, savor every pull of her sweet pussy around his cock. Bucky leaned into her forehead, panting into her mouth, soaking up her cries and whimpers. She gave desperate little kisses, pulling at the hair on Bucky’s nape.

“Ah! Love you!,” she moaned.

Bucky panted back, “Love you, so damn much, fffuck.”

He nuzzled into her neck, listening to himself spread her open with a groan. Selfishly, Bucky sped his hips up some, got his knees under him. That way he could fuck his baby’s g-spot, make her (really) cry. His girlfriend responded quickly, arching her back and jerking back onto Bucky’s cock. A slew up goosebumps lit up her skin, mouth hanging wide open. She scrunched her eyes shut, yelling, “Oh- oh that’s it!”

Bucky crooned, licking up her sweaty throat, “Yeah sweetheart? That’s your spot?” She nodded and babbled hitched ‘yesses’. The girl tightened around him, making the drag impossibly hotter. Bucky whined deep in his chest, strokes stuttering. He brought his vision up to look at his love, whining again at her flushed face and hooded eyes.

She whimpered, “M’so close James, oh god!” Tears pricked pretty eyes, clumping the long lashes. Bucky picked up the pace, relishing in her nails ripping his back to shreds. He would lying if he said the pain didn’t exacerbate the pleasure. The brunette gently nipped at her jaw, begging for his girl to come, hand rubbing at her chest and shoulders tenderly.

Bucky’s eyes about crossed when she tightened and howled around his swollen cock. His hand tore at the mattress while her pussy convulsed around him. She sobbed now, tears leaking down her darkened cheeks, “F-fuck Bucky! S-so good!” Her slick coated him, making the glide ever so messier.

Bucky was close now, listening to her pants and whiny cries of ‘come in me please’ was throttling any sort of longevity. His balls drew painfully close, the vein on the underside of his cock throbbing. He cried her name out, muscles seizing with a twitch, emptying into her tight cunt. Bucky’s fingers seemed to lose their motor function, arm careening with a whine. She heaved, “That’s it! Yes! Yes!”

The soldier sucked in a rough breath, finishing his climax with a soft whimper. Bucky rolled them to the side, softening cock still seating inside her. She pressed kisses to his cheeks and nose, smiling and crying per usual. Bucky wrapped his big arms around her waist and kept her flush to him. He murmured, “Perfect baby, jus’ perfect.” She responded with another stolen kiss.

+1. Public Menace!

They sat together at a restaurant, sipping some drinks. Bucky eyed his beautiful girlfriend, effortlessly styled and flawless. He told her so, earning a bashful smile and roll of the eyes. She countered, “Not as flawless as you, Winter Smolder.” Bucky narrowed his eyes, laughing, “Hey, you wanted me to do that photoshoot!”

The waiter came up with their appetizer. Bucky could tell his girlfriend was not a fan of the other man, lips turned down. She was a good judge of character though. The young man had been staring Bucky down for awhile now, even pointing at him from afar. The brunette furrowed his brows and asked, “Can I help or anything?”

The waiter replied, assuming a defensive stance, “Are you the Winter Soldier?”

Bucky felt his girl’s glare threatening to kill the boy. He offered a sheepish smile and elaborated, “Uh- at one point I was. Not anymore.” The man pressed harder, “Yeah but he’s still in there right?,” they motioned at their skull, “Just a couple of words and you snap right?”

Bucky blanched, but the knife didn’t stop digging in his chest, twisting and hot.

“How were you allowed to be pardoned? I mean The Avengers already are at death’s door, why not let a mass murderer join?,” they hissed. Bucky tried to look around for help, stammering an apology. Panic began to lace at his chest, pulling his throat tight. Their mouth was moving angrily, but all Buck could hear was ringing.

A familiar hand gripped at his, her voice clearing through the attack. His girlfriend calmly replied, “I should report your manager for harassing customers, sir.” She leaned in with a snarl, “What would you do if you were captured by a secret agency embedded within the United States for 75 years huh? Beaten, brainwashed, tortured, and forced to hurt others with no say?”

The waiter attempted to retort but she cut him off with a hand.

“Luckily Bucky here,” she poked the man’s chest, “Has a name! His name has been cleared and has worked very hard on amends. If you got your head out of your ass and looked around maybe you’d see the good work him and Cap have done around the globe!” Bucky’s girlfriend jerked into her purse and threw a bill at the dumbfounded man.

“C’mon sweetheart, we’ll go somewhere else,” she stood up and loudly announced, “I’ll make sure to give my nicest review in the DAILY BUGLE!!!”

The young waiter gasped and stared in a fog.

Bucky shuffled along, still gathering his wits. He’d never seen his girl so pissed. Once outside the restaurant she hugged him tightly, cursing, “Fucking asshole. Sorry I went a little crazy. Jameson would be proud, ha.” Meanwhile the brunette was blinking away tears, grateful for her swift save. He blurted, more of a croak, “Thank you angel.” Suddenly his eyes were blurry with hot tears.

Bucky sobbed in her arms, the panic, shame, and embarrassment from earlier breaking down. The woman soothed him with a shush, rubbing his muscular back. She cooed, “That’s okay, let it out, about time for you to be the crier.” Bucky smiled slightly, eyeing her with red rims. She swiped away his tear, stating, “Don’t ever let an idiot like that make you feel less than, you are good.”

Bucky shook his head, murmuring, “Does everybody still think I’m about to snap?”

She raised a brow, “Buck. The amount of good press you got from the GRC debacle has shown you in a different light,” she laughed, “I can write puff pieces of you napping with the cat if that makes you feel better baby?” He swatted her ass with a roll of teary eyes, thanking his girlfriend again.

Bucky asked, “D’ya just wanna order in instead? I’ll rub your feet.”

“Free of charge, no foot rubs, let’s go home big guy,” she shrugged. Bucky would be a little weepy for the rest of the night, but she made it bearable.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #fluff

[bettyfrommars]

Coming and Going

Billy Hargrove x Fem reader

18+Only//❤️‍🔥Caution: Smut, sweet!Billy, alcohol consumption, creampie, penetrative sex unprotected (condoms always), dirty talk, fingering, f & m orgasm

After some heavy flirting sessions with Billy Hargrove whenever you bumped into him at the laundromat, this time he asks if he can take you out on a date. You’ve heard the rumors; you know he’s a bad boy who doesn’t hesitate to pursue married women. His intensity makes you shy, but you’ve spent many a night alone in your bed with a vibrator, thinking about him. The way he looks at you when he asks you out has your basement flooded in a matter of seconds.

He parks outside of your place and waits for you next to his blue Camaro. He stands straight when he sees you coming, eyes narrowing, a grin kicking up the side of his mouth.

“I can’t believe how good you look,” he says, the tip of his tongue resting between his lips. He opens the passenger side door for you, and then looks appreciatively down your body as he shuts it.

He takes you to a spot down in the woods near the lake and parks next to a picnic table. He leaves the driver’s side door ajar and keeps the radio on. (Urgent by Foreigner) As you take your shoes off to feel the patch of grass and earth between your toes, he takes out a Coleman cooler and sets it on the picnic table.

“This is a beautiful spot,” you tell him, and then you make a little joke asking if he brought you there to murder you.

“And waste such a hot body?” He chuckles, making eye contact with you. “Not a chance.”

You blush at the sexual tension that is building; it’s been a while since you had this level of chemistry with someone.

“This place is a secret,” he continues talking as he spreads a quilted blanket out on the grass. He shows you that there is beer, a bottle of white wine, and whiskey in the portable cooler. You choose and he cracks open the Jameson bottle to pour some into a Styrofoam cup for you.

He lowers himself down next you with his back against the picnic table, holding onto his own Styrofoam cup of booze, and then he clears his throat. “I have to admit, I get a little nervous around you. I’m never quite sure what to say.”

You take a generous swallow, enjoying the burn down your throat. “You seem to do just fine,” you tell him.

Billy averts his eyes, looking into his cup. “Do I make you feel any sort of way?”

You take another sip of your whiskey and a strong “now or never” feeling comes over you. You set your jacket and cup on the bench. There is a voice in your head telling you this is ridiculous, that nothing good could come of getting attached to Billy Hargrove, but the alcohol is doing a good job of drowning out that voice.

You get up on your knees and turn to face Billy. You notice that he’s been watching you, biting his lip in anticipation.

When you lean in and the two of you finally kiss, it isn’t like you’d imagined it—it is sweeter. Billy is much more earnest in private than he acts on the streets. A soft, aching sigh full of need escapes him as he returns your urgency, his tongue sweeping out to part your lips.

You have a denim skirt on, and you start to pull it up, but his hand covers yours to stop you. You sit back and look into his eyes, your hand clutching his face as your thumb slips into his mouth. You slide your thumb out and across his lips, pulling his forehead to yours.

“I need this,” you tell him. “Please.”

You are in his lap, straddling him now, you can feel his cock straining against his jeans.

You pull your top down to your waist, and he eagerly dips his head to lick and suck at one of your nipples. He reaches his hand down to rub his knuckles against your soaking wet underwear, groaning to himself, the outline of his cock growing stiffer in his denim. You undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt so that you can run your hands down his bare chest.

“You don’t have to...we don’t have...to…” Billy lifts his head to meet your mouth, but then you keep grinding against his hand, your moans getting more urgent as the kiss deepens.

With a curse, he picks you up and spins you around; turning you over so that you are on your hands and knees, simultaneously ripping the buttons open on his jeans. He yanks your skirt up around your waist and grabs your hips, pulling you against him so that his rock hard cock can rub on the thin material of your thong.

You buck back and forth against him, about to lose your mind. “Fuck meee,” you beg.

But he is already yanking your thong to the side, wetting the length of his thick cock on your eager juices.

“Like this?” He asks in a demanding hiss. “You want me inside of you?”

You throw your head back, bucking your hips against him even harder---but, this time, he lines his cock up with your wet hole and buries it inside of you. He inches the tip in, and then makes a sawing motion with his hips, until he bottoms out, skin on skin, and then he curses as ripples of pleasure roll over him.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you whimper, looking back at him as he stretches you out. You arch up like an animal in heat, rocking your hips back to match his rhythm, your bodies making a loud smacking sound each time they connect.

Billy reaches down and grabs you by the throat, pulling your torso back to him, careful to keep his cock inside of you. You say his name as he kisses your neck and reaches down to rub your clit. As you turn your head to kiss him from the side, he tightens his hand a bit on your throat, and then says into your ear: “This is how you should be fucked.”

A cry escapes you as you drop back down to all fours. His cock slips out, but when he enters you again, he bottoms out over and over in fast succession. Trembling and breathless, you can barely speak: “I—I’m...you’re going to make me...oh god…”

A blinding orgasm crashes over you so hard that you start to babble, “fuck...Billy...I’m…” And then you see white for a second and almost lose your balance, but Billy holds your hips in place, and continues as your walls flutter around his cock. His speed increases to quick, almost spasmodic bursts, as he edges on the brink of exploding.

“Oh, fuckkk,” Billy hisses--the extra slip of your cum on his cock sending him over the edge.

“Cum inside of me,” you tell him the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet, but it’s almost too late—he starts to come undone, pumping hot jets inside of you, groaning with pleasure as he empties himself into you. His hands grip your ass, his body shaking, quivering with each thrust.

As his cum fills you and starts to drip down your leg, you feel like you could come again---and so you do. On the second orgasm, he rubs your clit and you cum even harder, whimpering his name.

After that, he pulls his jeans up, spreads his legs wide and pulls you back to sit against him, kissing the side of your face as he wraps his arms around you.

“So, that was okay, right?” He whispers in your ear with a laugh.

You adjust your skirt and lean up to kiss the bottom of his chin. “I think we should keep practicing.”

#billy hargove x reader #billy hargove smut #billy hargrove #stranger things #one shot #fem reader

[garbinge]

But Not Today

Chibs Telford x F!Teller!Reader

Summary: Part 2 from Maybe One Day // Chibs comes to visit you on the farm.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Angsty. Mentions of death, murder, emotional distress, emotionally heavy.

SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

A/N: I've been thinking about these two a lot </3 Part 1

Your chest was rising and falling as you caught your breath and stared at the ceiling. It was the moment where all your wits and sanity came back over you and the thoughts of what just happened came flooding in. The smell of his Scottish cologne and cigarettes filled the empty space on the bed next to you, it was still warm to the touch. You heard the water from the faucet turn off and any thought that was sneaking in your brain was now being rushed out as Chibs reappeared in your room. His hands were tangling through his shirt as he put it back on. Your eyes darted from him to his kutte, waiting to see if he was going to put it on. That’s when your heart began to race even more. The thought of him leaving made you uneasy, he had come all the way up here to the farm to see you and explained nothing. It was partially your fault too, you made pleasantries, some quick small talk but before any explanation was given you were kissing him and dragging him into your room. 

“What’s with the face, love?” Chibs spoke as he grabbed his kutte, your heart sinking with it. 

“Leaving already?” Your eyes moved back to his. 

A smile grew on his face as he shrugged the leather over his shoulders. “You promised me uh tour, didn’ya? If I ‘member correctly you said sum ‘bout chickens?” 

The way the relief washed over you made you sad for a minute. You knew this was a feeling you’d feel again, that it’d be heavy when it happened, but you took a deep breath and tried to stay in the moment. 

“Earl, Tootsie, Olive, and Jameson.” You named them off as you stood up and re-dressed. 

Chibs was now grinning as he waited for you to get ready. “Jameson, huh?” He asked pulling out a cigarette to hang in his mouth, eager to get outside and smoke it. 

“Abel and Thomas named them when they were young kids, but I made sure I suggested one.” 

Chibs was holding out your sweatshirt for you. You approached and grabbed it from him but instead of letting go he pulled you closer. “Not tha only thing you have ‘round here as a reminder of me.” His face was dangerously close to yours as he looked down at the sweatshirt. It was the one item of his you could still wear around. There were no SAMCRO tags, just a black zip-up that barely had his scent left on it. 

“I’ve got pictures too.” You said stealing the zip-up back from him and placing a kiss on the left side of his mouth where the cigarette wasn’t dangling from his lips. Moving past him you made your way to the backdoor, the barn dog you got quickly getting up from her bed and moving to the sliding door just waiting to run around to herd the few goats you had. 

“Where’re the boys?” Chibs asked as he walked behind you. 

“Thomas is with Nero. Tuesdays he picks him up from school and takes him to basketball practice.” You spoke as the door slid open and the door ran past your legs. “Abel is 16— I’m lucky if I know what he’s wearing for the day. I thought Gemma was being exaggerated when she’d talk about the “Teller Terrible Teens” but Abel has made her words an understatement.” 

Chibs looked to you with a frown as you stepped onto the back deck and made your way down to the farmland. 

“It’s not horrible. He’s not a dick to me, he helps out when I ask. He just– he questions everything, he’s asking about Jax, he’s getting into trouble at school.” You shook your head thinking about these last few weeks and how Abel had been acting out.

“The worst part is, he reminds me of him so much. The way he looks, the way he talks.” You laughed as you unlatched the barn fence and moved around it to look at Chibs and invite him in with the sway of your arm.  “Yesterday, we were at the grocery store and he looked at the girl bagging our shit and said, “thanks, darlin’” I swore I was looking at Jax, I froze for a minute and just stared at him.” You laughed again. 

Chibs laughed with you knowing it sounded just like the boy’s father. 

“He’s probably out with his friends on his dirt bikes in the back trails.” You spoke as you walked through the goat pasture. “They probably do real stupid shit but I’d rather them do it on the property than at some random’s house or parking lot downtown. I’ve turned them into real country boys.” You turned back to see Chibs admiring everything around him. He was still listening to you but he was taking in the sight around him. 

“This is the goat pasture, Billie girl, our dog, loves herding them, honestly I got ‘em because I don’t have to mow the lawn as much. We’ve got 1 horse, Delilah, real beauty, she’s back in that red barn over there. Then there’s the chickens. We had more but they aged out, now we’re down to the four. Waiting to get 12 more, can’t go to the Farmer’s market with only 2 dozen eggs, you know?” The words were falling out fast as you spoke, nervous habit, but it didn’t stop you from beaming as you showed Chibs around. 

“You seem happy.” Chibs couldn’t help but smile as he took in every word you said. The both of you approached the back deck and plopped down on the rocking chairs Nero insisted you kept back here for company. It was an argument between you two when you first moved onto the farm. You looked at him like he was crazy when he mentioned company. It was hard to believe a normal life with having people over could exist when you were running from what you were running from. 

You looked over at Chibs as he looked right back at you after making his last comment, the smile on your face wasn’t at his words but at the memory of Nero’s. 

“I don’t know about happy.” You began to shake your head. “But, I don’t know I’m content, I’m…” Your mind wandered to find the right word. 

“At peace.” Chibs nodded as he finished your sentence, not even bothering to look at your eyes to see if his words were correct, he knew they were. 

You would have agreed with a nod but Chibs was looking out at the farm, his fave had fallen into an expression that was hard to read. He seemed…bittersweet. Happy but yet sad. 

As he stared out at the barn he nodded his head and said something under his breath. 

“The Universe will never give you peace in something you were never meant to settle in.” 

“What?” You leaned forward, frown filling your face as the familiar sentiment fell from his lips. It was hard to really pinpoint anything since he spoke it at a mumble. 

“I, uh.” Chibs reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small pocket notebook. “found this. In the garage. S’why I came out here, figured you should have it.” He handed over one of Jax’s notebooks. You knew what it was immediately, it matched the style of the other one you had. 

“I read it.” Chibs said those three words with multiple emotions behind it. Regret and apologies, for intruding on whatever privacy there was there, but also firmness and understanding like something in there just made sense. 

“And?” You rested your elbows on your knees. 

“‘nd, it’s’y I came here and didn’t mail it out.” He looked troubled now. “I wanted to make sure you were settled.” 

Now that statement held more weight knowing what he had just mumbled under his breath. 

“I guess I am.” You hated that the words felt like they were breaking his heart. 

“You are, love.” Chibs spoke with certainty. 

You looked out onto the farm, taking in the life you had. It was different than the life you had been born into, forced into. The life that took pretty much everything away from you. 

“It’s impossible to be at peace in that town.” You said the words outloud. It felt relieving to say it. All this time you had never said it outloud, they were just thoughts that danced around you head. 

“Don’t I know it.” Chibs agreed with you. 

That made your head turn to him, a little shocked. All your conversations when you were together, or involved was probably the better word, back in Charming never were really about the big problem. Sure, you two talked about club stuff, the things members told their ol’ ladies, about your brother, about Jimmy O, about a lot, but never the real source. 

“What are you saying?” You questioned him, more bold than you ever would have before. 

“Things are different. Things are messy.” He wanted to share but you could tell he was hesitant, that he was trying to ease back into your dynamic and add another layer to it. But the loyalty to the club ran deep, that was a multi-decade long habit that he was trying to break for the first time. 

“Doesn’t sound different.” That was the new you coming up to speak. The you that lost your brother, your brother’s best friend, your mother, your father to the club. 

Chibs nodded at that. “We’re getting into it with the Mayans. Other charters, they’re falling apart, it’s bleeding into SAMCRO.” 

“Yea, doesn’t sound different at all.” You crossed your arms and fell back into the rocking chair. 

“Your brother–Jax–Jackie boy,” Chibs went through all the names he’d call Jackson Teller, smiling at the last one before letting his lips fall, “this wasn’t what he wanted, he worked hard to leave everything in a good place and it’s like shit unraveled.” 

You could tell he was venting to you, you could tell he hadn’t been able to do this with anyone else in his life, no one from the club, no one in his love life, it could’ve made you feel special, a characteristic Chibs never failed at with you, but this wasn’t so much of a fail but just not something you could ever feel special about again. 

“As someone who's seen it before, from the outside but up close and personal. This doesn’t seem different at all.” 

It was the same statement you kept repeating, but this time, the way you said this, it made him look at you. His eyes were low, tired, and you could see the gloss and redness in them as he held back tears. Two strands of his long salt and pepper hair escaped from his sunglasses and fell in front of his eyes, oily and dirty you could tell he was going through it. 

He didn’t need to say anything, you knew he was looking at you to elaborate. 

It was mean to laugh, but you felt that you had the right to after everything you’ve been through and talking about it now was bringing that bitterness up. 

“You’re so deep in it, you don’t even see what’s plain in front of your eyes.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath letting the irritation leave your tone for the next sentence out of your mouth. “Your next. Everyone who's held that gavel ends up in the same place, making the same mistakes as the one previous, no matter how hard they try not to.” 

Chibs took in what you said. 

“Jax tried so hard to be JT, then tried so hard not to be him. Both of those things dug that grave for him. He loved the club more than anything and the club couldn’t love him back.” You were saying things that you had locked away in your mind for years, things you thought about as you buried your brother, as you packed your life up and left. “The club will never love you back.” You looked at Chibs. “Those guys might love you, but the club never will.” 

“Do you?” 

You weren’t sure if he was trying to change the subject, at first your head snapped to him with a smirk and a snappy remark to shoot back at him but you saw his face that was looking out at the farm. 

“Never stopped.” 

The words made him look at you and you smiled at him. Your head tilted and lowered to meet him at eye level since he was leaning his elbows on his knees. “Best part is, the farm,” you tilted your head a little more before leveling it out, “it loves you back.” You nodded. “Every animal, every acre of land, the boys even when they fucking hate you for embarrasing them in front of a girl,” you laughed at that one and smiled hoping the last one was going to be enough to convince him, “me.” 

The tear dropped at that one. His eyes shut tight as a couple more fell. 

“Move here. You can open up a garage, we have the buildings for it, Nero would even let you put something up closer to the road, you can come with me to the Farmer’s market, you can drive me to the vet at 2 in the morning when I’m worried that Billie got into something or that one of the chicken’s has a fever,” you chuckled, “you can ride dirt bikes with the boys and tell them about Jax, not SAMCRO president, but your best friend, how you fell in love with your best friend’s sister, you can wake up and feel settled, feel at peace.” 

Chibs wanted to say yes. He wanted to build a fire and burn the kutte right here right now, but he knew it wasn’t that easy. In this moment it was but as the thought settled, as the days would pass, he’d think about it, he’d dwell in it, wonder if he made the right decision, miss the kutte, miss the guys. 

“It’s not that easy, love.” Chibs tired to level with you. 

“Doesn’t seem like the life you’re living now is either.” You would beg him, it wasn’t below you to beg. “It’s going to kill you.” You were firm in your words, it wasn’t begging but you thought it might have an impact on him. “The club is going to kill you.” 

“A normal life would too.” He answered too quickly and immediately you knew it was a losing argument. 

The sound of an engine and the gravel dirt being stirred up and you knew it was Thomas and Nero coming back home. Chibs looked over and saw them pulling into the driveway when he stood up.

“Was really good seeing you, love.” He put his hand on your cheek and looked down at you. “Really good.” His thumb caressed your cheek and he smiled. 

You nodded in agreement and thanked him for the journal. His hand was still on your cheek when you shut your eyes tight. “Don’t come back here unless the ink is blacked out and the kutte is off.” 

The words broke you to say, but it was more than just you that you had to look out for. You had two boys to think of and the man who was generous enough to give you half of his acreage to live on. 

“Ay.” He agreed with no disdain in his voice, if anything it was littered with understanding and what you hoped was well, hope. 

Your eyelids remained shut as his hand dropped and he walked off the back porch. You heard the car doors close but no words exchanged. If you weren’t dealing with everything that just happened in your head right now you’d be imagining the way Nero was probably lifting his sunglasses while Chibs was lowering his, the nods both would give to eachother, the curious questioning look on Thomas’ face as he tried to place the visitor. 

“You alright?” Nero’s voice was filling your ears and you wished it offered up the level of comfort it normally did. 

The tears were wiped from your face immediately and you stood and smiled. “Yea, I’m good.” 

Nero knew you weren’t but he also knew you weren’t going to share with Thomas two steps from joining you on the porch. 

“Who was that?” Thomas was asking as he looked down at the snack he was fidgeting with to open. 

Your gaze looked at Nero and said so much while not speaking at all. Before you either had a chance to answer, another voice was coming from the other direction as the back door swung open. “Was that guy on the bike here at the farm?” Abel’s voice was like a knife to your heart. 

“Yea, it was someone looking to sell me something.” You lied straight through your teeth to both boys. 

“Oh.” Thomas said as he passed by both you and Nero without second guessing your statement and walked right past his older brother into the house. 

Abel looked like he might need more convincing but you could tell he decided to drop it. “I’m goin’ out later but I picked up the feed order and left it in the ATV wagon.” 

“12AM curfew.” You pointed at him and he waved you off but you knew he’d be back before 1. 

“What was he sellin’?” Nero asked you, the only one besides you who knew exactly who it was that was here. 

You looked at Nero and shook your head at him.

“A dream.”

#SOA #Sons of Anarchy #Sons #SOA Fanfic #sons of anarchy fanfic #chibs telford #chibs telford fanfiction #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs x reader #chibs telford x reader #teller sister #jax teller sister #jax teller sister reader

[riddles-n-games]

Together is Better

Oren retrieved the key from his toolbox but he didn’t give it to me. He gave it to Zara, then told me to get ready for school.

“Have you lost your mind?” I asked him, my jaw going slack with shock. “I’m not going to school.”

“It’s the safest place for you right now,” Oren said.

“Hardly,” I muttered. 

My bodyguard only gave me a brief pointed look before whipping out the biggest gun in the arsenal, “Alisa will agree with me.”

I couldn’t help the scoff that escaped when I retorted, “Alisa’s doing damage control from the interview. I’m sure the last thing she wants is me out in public. No one would question why I might want to stay home.” Home. Yes, that’s what Hawthorne House has become despite the short time I’ve been here.

“Country Day isn’t public,” Oren told me, and a few seconds later, as if clearly intent on putting me in the wrong, he had Alisa on speakerphone, and she was echoing what he stated earlier: I was to put on my private school uniform, put on my best face, and pretend that nothing had happened. 

If we treated this like a crisis, it would be seen as a crisis. Easy for her to say when she wasn’t the one put on the spot on national television with yet another large mystery about her past unraveling before her very eyes.

Since I’d promised to keep Alisa in the loop, I told her everything, and she still didn’t change her mind. “Act normal,” she told me and I gritted my teeth, growling in frustration once she dropped the call. 

“Well, aren’t you two just full of pleasant surprises and moral support?” I snapped at the phone and glared at Oren before I went to my room. He didn’t follow, for once.

I hadn’t been normal in weeks. But less than an hour later, I was dressed in a pleated skirt, a white dress shirt, and a burgundy blazer, with my hair tousled just so and my makeup minimal. Preppy with an edge, for all the world to see—or at least all the denizens of Heights Country Day School.

I felt like I had on my very first day. No one looked directly at me, but the way they were not-looking at me felt far more conspicuous. Jameson and Xander slipped out of the car after me, and each of them took one of my sides. At least this time, it was me and the Hawthornes against the world. 

My eyes wandered over the front of the main building as I tried ignoring the stupid not-stares. Sure, I could take the typical high school nonsense, even at the rich kid private school level, but today I just didn’t want to. I was tired of feeling like a puppet on strings and yet, I had a feeling that for the time being and some years to come, that would be my role to play. 

I lingered for a minute and let out an irritated sigh, dropping my gaze to the ground. It was going to be a long day, after all, so I could afford a few more seconds to steady myself before the madness. The sunlight hit the cement tiles and to my surprise, I saw three shadows instead of just the one. They’re still here. Gratitude flooded me like a river. If there was one thing I wanted at the moment, it was to not be alone and if I could commend anyone for having my trust outside of Libby and Max, it was the Hawthorne brothers. They proved to be loyal and trustworthy to each other and to me. I knew that now. 

It gave me enough confidence to pull myself together and to continue towards the doors. The brothers clearly weren’t leaving without me; that message was crystal to me and everyone around us. And so, we walked together, our footsteps relatively in sync until the very last moment before we reached the doors, another wave of uncertainty hit. 

For what felt like the hundredth time in the last month, I felt out of control. My body seemed to go on autopilot because I stopped in my tracks and my feet refused to move as if I was terrified to go inside the school. But I knew I wasn’t and it was just the constant nerve wracking revelations and shifting narrative that’s been leaving me so disoriented. It felt jarring; the rise in my hesitation was all it took to leave me faltering physically.

The boys looked back. “Avery, you ok?” Xander asked. I didn’t respond but shook my head. Words seemed to be failing me too. 

“Go on without me,” I managed to croak out a little later. I had no idea what was going on with me. So much for acting as if nothing happened and it’s not like that was the most dire thing that occurred up to this point. The younger Hawthorne nodded at me and opened the door to head in but not without leaving me with a worried lookover.

Jameson, on the other hand, didn’t budge. He came right back down the steps and took one of my hands in his. His skin was reassuringly warm and soothing to the touch. I looked at him, confused. 

“You got this, Heiress,” he murmured, rubbing circles over my thumb. I squeezed his hand tighter and for once, I believed him. 

"Thank you,” I whispered.

Jameson’s concerned look softened and he smiled at me. “You’re welcome.”

Then we headed together inside, Xander waiting on us in the lobby. Only after we got to my first class did I notice that he never let go of my hand. But then, neither did I his and maybe I didn’t want to.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this; it's been a while since I've written fanfic for this fandom and I craved some Averyjameson content so here it is. You can find this fanfic on ao3 as well if you prefer that format instead. Also, if you're interested in more Inheritance Games fanfics, I have mine under the tab Hawthorne Vault. Stay tuned for more.

#avery kylie grambs #avery grambs #jameson winchester hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #xander blackwood hawthorne #xander hawthorne #hawthorne brothers #averyjameson #averyjameson fics #the inheritance games fanfics #tig fanfiction #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #tig #thl

[itsscromp]

reader cracking under the pressure of being a spider-person and getting helped through it by peter snd miles?

Peter Parker and Miles Morales x Reader

Don't you worry y/n, They got you. Always :D Word count:671

Being a Spider-person was easily one of the best decisions of your life, being able to fight crimes with your best friends, Defending New York citizens from the dangers and just doing what's right... But what you didn't come to expect was the outcry of negative opinions about you.

Sure you knew Peter and Miles get hackled by Jameson every chance he got, but never did you think it would happen to you, like one day as you took a quick break from patrolling and browsed social media, You saw his latest post "Spider-Person, hero or menace"

You began to read some of the stuff that was said about you, Jesus Christ, how you cause more damage than the villains themselves, how you take away the police's work. You sighed disappointedly but didn't react much to begin with, this was just one man's opinion against 8 million people in the whole of New York. So for now you finished your break and then began to swing again.

But by the time you got home after a big day, you saw the comments on your official social media page, You saw loads of negative comments about you, all coming from Jameson's page. "Your not a hero, your just a masked vigilante" "Your the real villain here" "How about you start paying for the damages instead of us tax payers !!" You were baffled and horrified by all these comments. You tried to brush them off like you did with the story but your phone kept blowing up with notifications over night.

This leads to you being more uptight with yourself and trying to be your absolute best for the public eye, But when out on missions, Peter and Miles can see the cracks in you. "Is y/n ok Pete ?? They're a little quieter than normal" Miles said to him

"Yeah... Best keep an eye on them for a bit" Peter added.

Over the next few days, You grew increasingly anxious to please the public opinion on you and hopefully change Jameson's opinion too. But this didn't stop the comments flooding in and his rant. One day after saving a young child from being run over by a truck, No one acknowledged you saving the child other than the parents. The comment's flooding your mind. they hated you, they hated you big-time. The cracks now show as you then begin to fall into a panic attack. The mask making you struggle to breathe. Peter quickly scooped you up and brought you back to your apartment.

"Y/n, shh shh It's ok... Deep Breaths" He gently took off your mask, seeing your panicked face.

"They... they... They hate me... Everyone hates me... I can't be a spider-person..." You began to sob.

"It's ok, I got you" He wrapped his arms around you and gently rocked you. "It's ok"

Miles got a text soon after to come over to y/n's apartment as they need they're help, which he happily agreed to. The two helped you come out of your panic attack and stayed with you the whole time, just simply comforting you. "Y/n... Is this about Jameson ??" Miles gently asked once you calmed down, which you then nodded.

"Oh man... Y/n... I know this sucks, believe me I know, When I had my first mission guardian the prison escort, I stuffed it up. Big time. You know Jameson tried to rip me a new one. But I didn't listen to it" He gently took your hand and squeezed it. "And you will get people from time to time, But those people are just trying to rile you up." Peter reassured.

"No... No one hates me ??"

"No of course not, we promise you this, your a hero to them, all of them"

You slowly came out of your panic attack and relaxed in their company, Nothing was going to change, nothing at all. People can scream and shout whatever they want. But at the end of the day... You were Spider-person, That was it.

Taglist: @callofdudes @fun-k-board

#platonic #reader insert #insomniac games #peter parker #peter parker x reader #insomniac peter parker #insomniac miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales #Marvel's Spider-man 2

[desertfangs]

Drifting Across the Moon [AO3]

Armand/Daniel - Mature - 3,817 words

A St. Patrick's Day Story! Daniel returns to Chicago, the last place he was alive as a mortal, trying to figure some things out.

This is probably the epitome of "wrote it for myself but hope others will like it" so I hope you like it! I love exploring the weird time between Daniel's turning and when he and Armand finally split "for good" (or what Armand thinks is for good, anyhow). Plus vampire drunk is a fun thing to play with.

Short Excerpt:

The bar smells of sweat and stale beer. Drinks have been sloshed all over the floor which makes Daniel’s shoes stick to it as he walks. It’s barely after 10 pm, but everyone in Tom O’Doyle’s Irish Pub is wasted. They’ve all been drinking since early afternoon and the detritus of their celebrations litter the bar: discarded green leprechaun hats and green plastic glasses on tables, headbands and pins shaped like shamrocks scattered around, forgotten as their previous wearers down another pitcher of Guiness, another shot of Jameson. 

Daniel wears a green zip-front sweatshirt and jeans and a pair of thickly rimmed glasses he bought recently with a slight yellow tint to their lenses to help hide the preternatural glow of his eyes. He likes wearing glasses again, it feels right somehow. 

In a booth in the back room of the bar, past the shuffleboard tables and dart boards, Daniel finds a guy passed out. He’s wearing a green beaded necklace and a shirt that says “Kiss Me, I’m Irish.”

Don’t mind if I do, Daniel thinks wryly. Daniel slides into the booth next to him and checks his pulse. Alive, just drunk as hell. Well, Daniel has been there plenty of times. 

He searches the room but no one is paying attention to this poor guy. If he came here with friends, they aren’t worried about leaving him to sleep off the whiskey shots. 

Daniel’s fangs pierce the man’s throat and the blood floods into his mouth, rich and metallic, tinged with the acrid taste of alcohol. He drinks deeply as the blood buzzes into his veins and makes his heart hammer in his chest. This is his third drink from a reveler here and when he pulls away, his head swims. The edges of his vision go soft and he leans back against the booth.

Vampire drunk is not like mortal drunk. It doesn’t warm his belly or last nearly as long. But it does give him a pleasant little buzz that dulls the sharper edges of the world. 

Read the Rest on AO3!

#daniel molloy #armand #armand/daniel #armand x daniel #devil's minion #devils minion #the devil's minion #vc fanfic #vc fic #vc #vampire chronicles #tvc #the vampire chronicles #st. patrick's day

[nikethestatue]

The Date

Happy birthday to my sweet bestie @fawnandshadows

I wish you all the very best for your next quarter century. Have a wonderful day and an amazing year ahead.

Preface:

This is a bonus chapter for The Kings' Wife. I've had the idea of a Ruhn and Elain date for a long time, but did not want to include it in the story. It contains some interesting background about Ruhn, but otherwise, it's just indulgent fluff and smut.

Warning: Explicit language and explicit smut (anal sex)

Fenrys Moonbeam was right. 

Was it embarrassing? Perhaps. But Ruhn Danaan King was never one to follow prescribed rules. He was never ‘normal’ and wasn’t one to hit all of life’s milestones when he was supposed to have. 

He started walking at 10 months, talking before he was two, reading when he was barely five. Early. He was early in everything. He didn’t remember when he began drawing, maybe he was still in the womb, when he began seeing images and colours. He skipped grades, because he was too smart, but then he was held back, because of his behavioural issues. 

He kissed a girl when he was six. His girlfriend, Millie Kalinowski. Well, technically, he had two girlfriends when he was six–Millie and Aurora Esposito. An overachiever even then. It was Millie’s birthday: he stole her cupcake, she called him a ‘butthole’ and then he smacked a big juicy one on her cheek. She hit him and ran away, crying. 

That was his first foray into romance.

He didn’t kiss anyone else until he was almost fifteen. 

He remembered the kiss, because that was also the day when he killed someone for the first time. Not a crime of passion, or uncontrolled rage of a teenager. He, and his brother Azriel, found and tracked the people who had kidnapped Azriel years before, beat him, tortured him, and attempted to rape him. Azriel broke his wrist in order to escape, and succeeded, but he never forgot. The two of them spent years trying to locate the men who held Az prisoner in an abandoned farm in upstate New York. It was an intricate and thorough investigation–the first time they worked so closely together on a task that consumed them. Along the way, they built a network of informants, spies, made connections, found hackers among gamers, and guys who were really, really good with money, and breaking into banks and accounts, or discovering hidden assets and identities. It helped that neither he, nor Azriel, looked like they were fourteen. They were big, brawny and muscular, their balls dropping early and testosterone flooding their growing bodies and making them strong, agile and by then, already six feet tall. They had money, they could pay, and when someone talked back, they had other ways of convincing people to do what they needed. 

Ruhn remembered his first kill pretty well–a guy named Bobby, a scrawny, but wiry Irishman, who moved fast, and was an ace with a knife. Ruhn’s first kill wasn’t elegant or cerebral. He beat Bobby to death with a baseball bat. The shower of warm, salty blood is what he remembered the most from that evening. Az slitting another guy’s throat, his grip on the blade so strong, that he almost decapitated him. Together, they killed two more that night–but they were no longer counted as the ‘first kills’. 

The murders gave him a high like he’d never felt before and his skin itched from the adrenalin and the memories. He thought that he wouldn’t mind doing that again. He was so jacked up that he wandered the streets until it was late, unable to settle down, unwilling to go home, replaying the murders in his mind. It was awesome! At last, grateful that he had his fake ID in his pocket, he stopped at some dive bar. He wasn’t much of a drinker, and hardly knew how to order a drink properly, but he recalled his father’s bar and the bottles of Jameson’s whiskey on the glass shelves, and figured that he’d order that. He thought that he did it like a pro, but the bartender gave him an assessing look, which told him that he wasn’t fooling anyone. But Ruhn was big and bad, and already sported a tattoo sleeve, and no one in their right mind would want to mess with him over a shot of whiskey. 

When he went to take a piss, he was accosted by a girl. A working girl? Maybe. He never found out. A little buzzed from the drinks and the kills, he liked the feeling of her hands on his body, when she slipped her fingers under his t-shirt. She was thin and delicate, and reminded him of Audrey Hepburn. She behaved in a very un-Audrey way however, when she tugged him into the bathroom, dropped the latch on the door and then dropped to her knees in front of him. Well, that was fucking unexpected. Having his dick inside the wet warmth of her mouth was incredible, and when she began to suck, it was borderline sublime. He understood the appeal of blowjobs very, very quickly, watching her pink tongue lave over his shaft, her eyes hooded, her hands grasping his thighs, her face looking like she was truly enjoying it. And when he gripped the back of her head, trying not to be forceful, but kind of failing, though she didn’t seem to mind, the sensation was even better. The sense of control, of utter dominance, the pleasure of thrusting into that willing mouth, the feeling of his cockhead bucking into the back of her throat, the pathetic little noises that she was making–it was unforgettable and unbelievable. It was a shame that he didn’t last as long as he would’ve liked to, but he lasted a decent amount of time for a fourteen year old. Like a good two and a half minutes. 

He came in her mouth, but she spit it out discreetly, which he didn’t love so much, but he couldn’t be choosy.

Wiping her lips, she winked at him and then asked a question that murdered his boner completely.

“How old are you, stud?”

God. It was only marginally better than her asking him if it was his first time.

“Old enough,” he grunted in response, and then fished out a hundred dollar bill and slipped it under the strap of her bra. She didn’t argue or anything, but got up and then pecked him on the corner of his mouth, biting on his lip ring and making him hiss. 

And that’s how he got his first real kiss.

But Fen was correct–Ruhn’s never been on a date. Ruhn had less than zero interest in dating anyone, and no one really wanted to date him either. The girls, the brave ones, thought that they did, but then, they quickly changed their minds. He wasn’t romantic. He wasn’t kind. He was barely nice. He fucked hard. Without tenderness or words or emotions. At least he always made sure that they came. However, he rarely, if ever gave head, didn’t cuddle, wasn’t interested in staying over or having them sleep over at his apartment at the hotel, and if he was being honest, he wouldn’t date him either. He was kind of an asshole. 

As usual, his life didn’t follow any normal patterns. He went from a post-kill blowjob, to a little kiss, and then nothing at all. During his formative years, he only had four girls that he fucked, and tried as he might to build a reputation as a manwhore at his boarding school, he couldn’t. He dominated the scene, he was one of the most feared guys in school, respected, obeyed, admired, but a player, he was not. 

His twenties were wild. A whole decade drenched in blood and cum.

Now, he was almost 32 years old. 

And Ruhn Danaan King has never been on a date.

The way he saw it, it wasn’t the end of the world, but it was weird. It definitely wasn’t normal.

Azriel’s been engaged to Morrigan. And then he married Elain. Those were pretty serious plays in the dating department.

Fenrys couldn’t stop dating! He dated everyone. He liked them, cherished them, adored them, used them, left them, and moved on to the next one.

Cassian’s been in a couple of semi-long term relationships, and also dated casually. And now, he was after the eldest Archeron sister, though without much success.

Rowan was once married, and then widowed. He was raising his four year old son by himself, and was now seriously involved with a girl named Aelin, and it definitely seemed like things were getting serious between the two of them.

Rhysand’s been with Feyre for almost 3 years now. Yes, he was a wealthy playboy prior to meeting her, but the pretty Bohemian artist enchanted him instantly and all women ceased existing for him. 

Ruhn…Well, there was that one time when he took his not-exactly-wife, but kind-of-wife Elain Archeron to Subway. He bought her a sandwich and Fanta. He took her to a museum as well, but truthfully, none of it was planned. Initially, he just wanted to tattoo her, and then he ended up fingering her and after that they went out on a whim. Ruhn was mostly curious about Elain’s knowledge and interest in art, which, to his great relief, was present–she wasn’t an expert, but she was well-versed in popular art and had appreciation for it. 

The thing was…well, Ruhn was hopelessly, passionately and irreversibly in love with Elain. He fucking loved his wife. Looking back, he wasn’t even sure when and how it happened. At what point did infatuation and mild obsession turn into love, into adoration, into soul-mating. Or, as Elain said, heart-mating with him. 

He didn’t mind sharing. That was the agreement, and it was the healthiest way for the four of them to live and exist in their relationship. They shared Elain and there was enough love in her for all of them, to satisfy them sexually and emotionally. Ruhn wouldn’t have it any other way. However, it didn’t mean that he didn’t want her for himself at times. Just the two of them, doing things as a couple, having a private relationship that was exclusively theirs. To some extent, it was happening between Elain and the men in her life–each one had a marriage with her, which was both public, but also private. 

Ruhn, however, figured that he wanted to have a proper date with his girl.

Elain was young and a romantic at heart, and obviously she wanted dates and flowers and all that cheesy shit that Ruhn knew nothing about. There was a reason why she screamed at Fenrys to fuck her ‘romantically’. He was the only one who would. From Ruhn, Elain came to expect rough–marks on her hips, imprints of his teeth on her skin, hair pulling, swollen nipples and aching pussy. She liked the pain, but she was under no illusions that Ruhn would be tender or sweet. And Ruhn was determined to prove her wrong. 

He couldn’t ask Fenrys–who would probably know and have a decent recommendation, but would also make it bigger and better for Elain, and would leave Ruhn in the dust. So that was out of the question. Azriel would just steal the idea, hog Elain, and leave Ruhn in the dust. And then, there was Google.

~

Cassian made it to the office early, as usual. He wanted to stop by Nesta’s office and bring her coffee, but then he thought better of it. Not the coffee part, because he would’ve gotten her that gross green water that she called ‘tea’--but because it seemed to him like Nesta truly moved on and was interested in Eris Vanserra. He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to wound his bleeding heart anymore than it’s been sliced open already. Nesta was a bad idea. Always a terrible idea that promised to end badly, and here he was, being smacked in the face by his terrible ideas.

“Oh hey,” Cassian stopped abruptly, seeing his cousin Ruhn sitting in the still-empty room, long legs crossed and propped on the desk. “Why are you here? Is Elain okay?”

Somehow, and he didn’t know how it happened, but Cassian began worrying about Elain. It was like a contagion that was passed down to him and his men from Azriel.

“Yeah, she is good,” Ruhn said lazily, putting his phone away.

“What’s up?” Cassian took a sip of his coffee. 

Ruhn was unpredictable and Cassian never knew what would come out of the man’s mouth. Could be something nice. Could be something utterly horrible.

“Do you have Pinterest?” 

Yep. Weird.

His brow knitted in confusion, and Cassian asked,

“What?”

“Pinterest. Do you have it?”

“No. I am a man,” he reminded Ruhn slowly, enunciating every word.

Ruhn sighed and nodded, shoulders falling.

“Yeah, I get it. I figured I’d ask.”

“And you thought that I’d be the guy to have a Pinterest account?” Cassian raised his brow at him. “I feel like Fen would be more likely,”

“Maybe,” Ruh agreed with another sigh. “But I can’t ask him.”

“What do you need on Pinterest?” Now his interest piqued and Cassian bit into his blueberry muffin, looking at Ruhn expectantly. 

“Ideas…”

“What kind of ideas?”

Ruhn mumbled something unintelligible, but Cassian wasn’t going to give up and pressed him.

“Come on. What?”

“For a date!” Ruhn snapped, his normally dark, placid face suddenly turning kind of red.

“You need ideas for a date?” Cassian was confused. “With whom?”

“Elain!” Ruhn opened his arms, like he was talking to an idiot. “Who else?”

“You are taking Elain on a date? And you need Pinterest?”

“Whatever man, you won’t understand,” Ruhn rose and grunted dejectedly.

“Wait, wait. I am trying to. Let’s think about this.”

Exhaling loudly, Ruhn explained,

“I want to date my wife. Okay? And I want to go on a date with her–but not just a lame dinner or something. I don’t want to sit in some restaurant, but I also don’t want to go to some flower show! I don’t want people around. Just the two of us. Our date.”

“I hear you,”

“So I was thinking, I want to do a picnic,”

“That’s a good idea!” Cassian nodded enthusiastically.

“But I don’t know how to do a picnic!” Ruhn ran his hand through his hair, huffing in frustration. “I googled it, and it’s giving me all this shit that I don’t know how to do!”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, man. Fried chicken and deviled eggs and potato salad,”

Cassian smirked.

“Buy her a bucket of chicken,” he laughed.

“I am serious, Cass,” Ruhn said, sounding nervous and hopeless. “What am I gonna do? I want to do something nice and romantic and I can’t show up with a bucket of KFC chicken and some potato salad. She’d think I am insane.”

Rapping his long fingers on the desk, Cassian thought and muttered,

“Okay, okay. Let’s think about it. I think you googled stuff for 4th of July,”

“I just typed in ‘picnic ideas’,” Ruhn explained defensively.

“What does Elain like? Sweets, right?”

“Have you seen Elain with an eclair?”

“Yeah…She likes sweets and pastries. So buy some champagne, a few pastries…No offence, brother, but Elain seems like a cheap date.”

Ruhn laughed,

“I mean, yeah, she is.”

“Let’s face it, this is a chick who loses her mind over soccer and is ready to throw fists. She likes beer. She eats Fen’s horrid English sandwiches with white bread and fucking potato chips inside…This is not a fancy girl!”

“I know…But I also know that Lorcan made her pasta! And took her to the opera! I can’t beat that,”

“Well, of course you can beat that. But Elain likes beer and tacos. I mean, I don’t think she’d be opposed to you cooking dinner for her, but I also think she’d like you as you are,”

“A talentless hack?”

“Don’t cook her a crap meal, if you don’t know how to cook,” Cassian recommended bluntly. “Do something nice and something she’d enjoy. It would go a long way.”

Ruhn got up and squeezed Cassian’s shoulder.

“Alright, man, thanks!”

Cassian smiled and told him gently,

“I don't think you need to worry. It’s not like you have to close the deal.”

“Yeah,” Ruhn agreed. “But it’s also for me.”

~

Meet me at the King Tower, on the 44th floor at 8 pm

And…send. 

Elain: What’s happening?

She responded almost immediately and Ruhn smiled. 

Ruhn: Are you going to meet me?

Elain: I will. But should I worry?

Ruhn: Don’t need to worry.

Elain: What is this about?

Ruhn: Surprise.

Elain: I hate surprises! Tellllll meeeeeeeee.

He chuckled, imagining her cute little face, and how she was probably bouncing on her heels, like she always did when she wanted something. 

Ruhn: Nope, beautiful. But you can lube up your ass for me, like a good girl.

A lengthy pause.

He frowned wondering if he pushed it too hard.

He wanted to make it a joke, but it was his way of asking for it, and he hoped that she understood.

Elain: What? You wanna do the butt stuff?

Ruhn: When don’t I want to do the butt stuff? Will you surprise me?

Elain: I thought you were the one doing the surprising?

Ruhn: You want me to lube up my ass? As my lady commands. 

The conversation made him smile. Their conversations always devolved into something ridiculous, but that’s what he loved about Elain. He didn't know what to expect, and that was good. 

He wouldn’t have minded some anal. Just the two of them. For the first time, between Ruhn and Elain. 

The first time was special. Absolutely unforgettable. Completely, utterly amazing. Was it the best anal he’s ever had? Yes. Yes. Yes. No contest. But his brothers were there, there was the nervousness and the pressure of the ‘first time’ and now, he yearned to relive it again, but intimately, with just Elain and him.

But first, the date. 

~

Elain had no idea what was going on. Though she tried to figure it out and even texted Ruhn a few times during the day, he didn’t respond or was very vague in his answers. Which annoyed and frustrated Elain to no end, and she couldn’t concentrate at the shop and even messed up a bouquet and had to re-make it. 

Therefore, by the time it was 7:46pm, she was stomping across the lawn, heading from her house to the looming skyscraper that was the King Tower, which housed the King Enterprises, Azriel’s office, their businesses and the security arm of business. She took herself up to the 44th floor, using the secret elevator which only the family utilised. Floors 44-53 were where most of the businesses and offices were located, but it being almost 8 pm, she didn’t expect anyone to still be here. However, once she came out of the elevator and walked down the dimly lit hallway which had an original Rothko hanging on the wall, she was stopped in her tracks, because she saw Ruhn. And some woman. And she was the type of woman that was impossible to miss–statuesque, wearing neck-breaking stilettos, reedy thin, with perfect make up at eight in the evening! She wore an expensive satin blouse with a giant bow on the side and an elegant, tight skirt. Ruhn looked relaxed, propped against the wall, his massive arms folded over his chest. He wore a Guns-n-Roses t-shirt, black jeans and boots. His long hair was braided in a tight, neat braid. The woman said something, her perfectly manicured hand lightly touching his forearm, and he laughed, easily and openly. Then he said something, and she laughed as well, throwing her head back and exposing her throat to him.

They looked like they knew each other, because there was familiarity and an ease in their gestures. 

Elain didn’t think of herself as a jealous person, but she totally was. She didn't like her men talking to strange, attractive women. Especially when she looked the way that she looked right now–wearing Converse, cutoff denim shorts and Ruhn’s hoodie, which she picked up on the way out, because the evening was promising to be chilly. She dabbed some lip gloss on her lips and her wild hair was barely tamed in a messy bun.

Ruhn noticed her at last, his handsome face breaking into a welcoming smile. It was a nice smile. Genuine and happy. Like he was glad to see her, and the glamazon next to him didn’t matter. Ruhn was not an expressive man. Generally speaking, he maintained the same expression around people and whether he was angry, happy, hungry or murderous remained a secret for most. But Elain knew how to read him, just as she knew how to read Azriel. And currently, Ruhn was thrilled. 

“Ellie, you made it!” he gave a brief, disinterested hug to the gorgeous woman, and she winked at him and then smiled at Elain, as she passed them by and headed to the elevator.

“Well, you said 8 o’clock,” Elain crossed her arms and let some of her displeasure bounce off of him. Let him know that she was pissed.

“I did!” he nodded and then wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “And you are here.”

“Who was that?” she demanded rudely and impatiently.

He glanced at the elevator and the shrugged,

“Oh, that’s Em,”

“Who is she?”

He grinned and then growled and butted her face with his, biting softly on the apple of her cheek. She attempted to swat him away, screeching loudly, but he only laughed and licked her face like a dog.

“You are gross!”

“Yeah, grossly in love with you,” he agreed and then stopped and cupped her face in his hands.

She looked up at him, feeling both insecure and elated. 

“I love you too,” she murmured quietly. “That girl is very beautiful,”

“She is,” he nodded. Watching Elain’s scowl, he barked a laugh and then softly, tenderly, kissed her lips. “She is also very, very queer and Cerrdiwen’s girlfriend. So…..”

“Oh.”

Oh.

“I…I, that’s,” she mumbled, while he chuckled, “it’s not how I meant it…I mean…”

He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. 

“Yeah, I know what you meant–jealous little thing you are.”

“I am so not!”

“Oh, you so are.”

“Ohmygod!” 

Elain gasped audibly.

“What is all this?!” 

Ruhn tugged her by the hand and said, “Come on, beautiful.”

“You did this?” she gawked at the romantic setup.

They were on the roof of the building, 55 stories up in the air, the shimmering cityscape of Manhattan all around them. Millions upon millions of lights twinkled and sparkled all around them, and the noise of the city was muffled this high up. 

“I did do this,” he confirmed, looking slightly tense, maybe a bit uncomfortable.

She clutched his hands in hers and looked around, face full of wonder.

“But why?”

“Wanted to go on a date,” he muttered gruffly. 

“I love dates!”

“I hope I did okay,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

He didn’t miss her wearing his hoodie, and how sexy she looked in it. Not really sexy–the thing swallowed her whole–but to him, it was the sexiest damn thing there was. His woman, huddling in his clothes for warmth, getting his smell all over her.

A fluffy comforter pulled out from the closet. Check.

Another blanket, in case Elain got cold. Check.

A chocolate and caramel cupcake. Four bonbons. Two truffles. One glazed doughnut. A small loaf of bread. Check.

A bag of chips and a tub of dip. Check.

A bottle of Fanta. Check.

A chunk of cheddar. The good stuff. English. Check.

A bottle of Prosecco. Check.

Elain considered the odd assortment of foods, while Ruhn glared at her, his gaze hopeful, and seeking approval.

“The bakery didn’t have a lot of stuff left,” he explained quickly, and then added nervously, “and I know you love cheese.”

“I do love cheese,” she confirmed and then breathed, “it’s perfect! It’s a nighttime picnic!”

He smiled broadly,

“Yeah…yeah. Exactly.”

So what if there was expensive cheese, and cheap dip and potato chips, which made no sense? So what if there was Fanta on the menu? It was perfect.

Elain leapt into his arms and gushed,

“It’s perfect! It’s everything I ever wanted.”

“You wanted to go on a picnic?”

“Always! I love this!”

“Okay, well, sit down then,” he offered her, pulling her down on the blanket awkwardly.

He was terrible at this date thing, and Elain’s heart burst into a thousand million sparks of love for him.

He wasn’t confident and sleek like Azriel, or experienced and loose like Fenrys. He wasn’t even like Cassian, with his smirks and his fast mouth. He wasn’t brooding and amorous like Lorcan. 

This was Ruhn. Her Ruhn. A brutal, terrifying gang leader, who strung people from bridges in a cruel and odious display of power and dominance, someone who once shot seven people in a span of 13 seconds, a guy who cut off someone’s balls and then delivered them in a package, complete with a rose, to the man’s wife. Ruhn did a lot of crazy, unhinged, violent things. 

But he didn’t know how to date. And he loved her, his wife. 

He sat cross-legged next to her, and fumbled with his phone.

“I have some music,” he said, uncertainty lacing his voice, “or if you want to watch today’s Manchester City versus Arsenal match–we can do that,”

Elain smiled at him, and then keened towards his large body and pressed her lips to his neck, lacing her fingers with his.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, feeling the pulse of his jugular under her lips.

“I love you too,” he said softly, and then pulled her hair out of the bun and his nose brushed against her cheek. “So much.”

“The music,” she requested. “Let’s do the music tonight.”

Of course he realised too late that he forgot to bring any cutlery, plates or even glasses. 

Fuck his life!

But thankfully, there were napkins in one of the bags, and Elain didn’t even bat an eye. She smoothly arranged the napkins like place settings for them, and Ruhn handed her a knife–not one of his murder knives, thank god–and she sliced the bread and the cheese. He popped the cork on the Prosecco and it was cold enough not to bubble violently over everything. 

“Sorry baby,” he whispered and she laughed, took the bottle, and pulled a healthy swig of the bubbly. Patting her thigh, she had him lay his head on it, and then tore into the chips and dip and fed him a hefty helping of both.

He smiled, looking up at the starless skies above and lightly wrapped his arm around her bare leg, before kissing the inside of her knee. She plopped a piece of cheese in his mouth, and then said,

“I didn’t know you were romantic like that,”

“I really am not,” he protested.

“I don’t know,” she tutted. “Champagne, and pastries and a picnic.”

“Just keep it to yourself, beautiful,” he suggested with a grin.

“Street cred?” she confirmed knowingly.

“You know it.”

The music that they were listening to was mellow and old-fashioned. Elain sang along to some of the songs, because it was all the stuff she grew up on–Sinatra, Dean Martin, old Italian songs.

“How do you have these songs?” she demanded, bobbing along to ‘Pennies in Heaven’.

“Ummm,” he grunted, looking embarrassed. “It’s a Pandora radio station. Italian dinner…”

“You even thought of that?” she stroked his forehead, tucking his silky black hair behind his ear.

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.

“I know you like this music. So I thought it would be a good soundtrack to the date.”

“Strangers in the Night” came on just then and he sang along quietly, 

Strangers in the night

Exchanging glances,

Wondering in the night

What were the chances

We’d be sharing love before the night was through

Elain squeezed his hand and asked shyly,

“Dance with me?”

“Any time, sunshine,” he sat up and then wrapped his arm around her, and landed them both on their feet, as he swept her in a wide, exaggerated circle across the rooftop. It was a nice rooftop, made for parties and dancing and celebrations. Now it was empty, the space entirely theirs, the lights of the city and Frank’s smooth voice as their only companions. 

“You must really love me,” Ruhn mused, watching Elain’s elated face, as he spun her around. His hoodie, which she tied around her waist, flared dramatically, like a ball gown. 

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he lifted her off the ground and waltzed with her, as she dangled next to him, his arm supporting her entire weight.

“I do,” she nodded, giggling, her converse-clad feet floating above his boots, “but what gave it away?”

“I am gonna go with you opting to dance with me, and eat cheese and laugh and listen to music, instead of watching football. And that was one hella big game too!”

“I love you more than football,” she confessed, looking into his brilliant, cold blue eyes. “I want to date you more than I want to watch football.”

He smoothed her hair lovingly with his available hand and whispered,

“I want to date you too. More than anything.”

Suddenly, the sky came alive.

Elain gasped and stared open-mouthed at the Thursday night fireworks.

“Oh my god! I forgot about these!” she cried out, her face happy and brightly illuminated by the explosions of green and purple and pink. He held her to himself, and looked up at the sky as well, where giant flowers blossomed and stars streaked across the darkness and exploded in silvery glitter.

The song switched to ‘My Way’, its bombastic, dramatic vocals and lyrics a perfect foil for the fireworks. Ruhn carried Elain back to the blanket, and then lay down, spread-eagled and threw their heads back, watching the show. 

“Wow,” she marvelled. “This is the best!”

“You like it, beautiful?”

She pointed to the sky and whispered,

“That’s how I feel with you, Ruhn. Like my heart explodes with love when I am around you. I dunno why.”

“I don’t mind,” he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her brow. “I don’t mind at all.”

She flipped onto her belly and pressed her lips to his. 

“Can I ask you something?” she inquired.

“Obviously. Because you will, regardless of what I say,” he smiled at her, his large, warm palm sliding down her back and cupping her ass.

“Okay, okay,” she pouted, but obviously his comment didn’t deter her from asking,

“If you didn’t have to do any of this…Like, if you could do anything, what would you do?”

“You are assuming I don’t like killing,”

“No, I am not. Perhaps you do. Obviously, you don't have any qualms about it. But I don’t know if you woke up one day and decided to become an assassin and an enforcer. So if you didn’t, then what would you do?”

Ruhn scrubbed his hand over his face and then looked at her, before kissing her gently. He was nice tonight. Softer than usual. Elain wondered if it was going to last.

“A house husband,” he announced easily.

“What?”

“That’s what I’d be–a house husband.”

She frowned thinking that he was joking.

The fireworks were still exploding above them and he popped a cigarette between his lips and lit up. 

“Honestly,” he turned on his side and brushed her cheek with his knuckles, “that’s what I want to do. Or rather, I don’t want to do anything. I want to tattoo, paint and sketch, and do fuck all else otherwise. If Az needed me to go and whack someone, I’d do it. But I’d love to be a house husband–keep a tidy, elegant home, do some cooking, some entertaining,”

“Are you for real?”

He shrugged,

“Why not? Everyone assumes that every man is full of wild ambition and needs to do stuff all the time. I don’t need to do anything. 

“My ideal life would be to wake up, fuck you, go get a professional shave at the barber’s, stop for a coffee, read the paper, shoot the shit with Cass, go to my shop, sketch, tattoo, meet you for lunch, fuck you, eat with you, maybe fuck you again a little bit. Go back to the shop, then maybe wander around some galleries, look at art, pick up stuff for dinner, go to the gym, pick you up from work, have a cocktail. On occasion, I’d talk business with Az and Fen. Dinner. Maybe even cook it myself for all of you. Have a couple more cocktails, play in the pool, play cards, fuck you.”

“How many times a day are you planning to fuck me?” she pondered.

“I dunno. Five-ish?”

“You are ambitious.”

“A man can dream,” he concluded, puffing out a cloud of smoke, his expression pensive and thoughtful. Like describing her perfect life made him wish for it to be true.

Elain sat up, and his palm landed on her upper thigh, squeezing lightly, while he made a little disgruntled noise when she separated from him.

“Come back,” he urged her, opening up his arm for her, but she just looked at him, cocking her head. Then she reached into her pocket and took something out, but didn’t show him.

“Do you still want to do it?” she asked at last.

“Do what?”

“You know,” and she tossed whatever she was holding atop of his chest. He craned his neck and picked up a tube, looking at it in confusion.

“Anal,” she pressed. “Do you want it?”

“Huh…Yeah,” he finally managed to say, looking dazed. 

Finally, when he dawned upon him what she was offering, he sat up abruptly and she laughed at his eagerness.

“You serious?” he pressed, twisting the tube of lube in his fingers.

She nodded and whispered, “Yeah. I want to do it again.”

“Did you like it the first time?” he asked.

“It was a lot,” she admitted. “But I loved it…how you did it.”

She blushed, and unbuttoned her shorts. 

Ruhn almost tore the shorts off her slender thighs, rolling them down so quickly, it almost gave her a fabric burn. 

“Take everything off,” he ordered, as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, his icy blue eyes never leaving hers, “leave the keds.”

She was completely naked in front of him in less than a minute, but still wearing her converse, her long hair spilling all over her body. He crawled towards her over the blanket and kissed her knee, parting her legs carefully, eyeing her pink slit. 

“How do you want it?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his rough, large palms smoothing over her inner thighs, parting her legs even further, opening her up bit by bit.

“How you’d normally give it to me,” she requested shyly, stroking his arm. “Rough. Deep. How you always do it.”

He looked at her intently, seeking any hesitation or falseness, but found none.

“I love you, Ruhn,” she reminded him calmly. “Just the way you are. If you are going to ride my ass, I want you to ride it like Ruhn would.”

He smirked and spread her legs widely, as she slid back and propped herself on her elbows, watching him and his ravenous gaze, tracking the movement of his eyes, as they took in her wet, slick pussy, before he pushed her back a bit, so he could see her other hole.

“Did you lube it up for me?” he raised his brow, just as his finger slipped from her opening, dragging some of the moisture down below.

“Nope,” she popped her lips. “My holes are yours, but you do the work.”

He grinned savagely and nodded, muttering, “just like I like it!”

The sight of her so nicely spread for him, so ready and willing made his dick hard as a fucking rock and he knew he’d have to pace himself, because he was in danger of blowing his load before he even got inside that sweet ass.

“Spread it for me a little bit, sweetheart,” he urged her, “show me how much you want it.”

She looked so adorable like this: completely naked, with her large, round breasts and the soft thighs, and the little keds, which skirted the edge of some sort of fetish, but he wasn’t going to think about that now. Not when she reached down, and pulled her cheeks apart for him, opening that cute little hole a bit more. She was looking at him, biting her lower lip, her ass nicely stretched, and he brought the tip of his dick to her lips. She kissed it immediately, and caught a bead of precum with the tip of her tongue, gliding her tongue over the smooth cockhead.

“Put it in, Runnie,” she requested with a pout. “I want it!”

“Do you want me to stretch you a little bit first, beautiful?” he asked, and dipped his cock between her folds, gathering some of the slick with his shaft. She shuddered when he brushed over her clit a few times, her back arching, her hands kneading her pale lovely butt cheeks impatiently.

“No,” she moaned. “I want to feel it…How you fill me up.”

He wasn’t going to argue and squirted a generous amount of lube between her cheeks, before placing her feet on his shoulders and pushing her legs way back, as he leaned into her. 

“Relax, sunshine,” he kissed her lips softly, with a kind, soothing kiss, seeing how she tensed beneath him. “I am going to make it good for you. But your pretty asshole belongs to me, doesn’t it?” he asked, while the tip of his cock circled the tight rim of her anus. “Will you give it to me like my good girl?”

“I am your good girl,” she muttered, as she looked between their bodies, back to biting her lip in anticipation.

“That’s right,” he growled, pressing into her tiny hole, as her breath hitched loudly in her chest, “and good girls get their tushies fucked,” propping himself on one arm above her shoulder, he pushed his cock forward, breaching the ring and eliciting a loud, pained moan from her. 

Fuck it felt good. So good. 

Her head lolled back, as her thighs trembled around his shoulders, as she took inch after inch after inch of his thick shaft inside her narrow, scorching hot rectum.

He knew he’d never get enough of this. The sensation of possession, or her complete submission, her sad, pretty moans, the nervous twitching of her long, tight passage was simply amazing. Was ‘amazing’ the right word? It wasn’t enough. Amazing wasn’t enough. 

“Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” she cried out again and again, while he licked his lips, muttering, ‘just a little more, sweetheart. You are taking it all in, my love,”

“Yes, yes,” she gasped quietly, “ohmygod, it’s so much!”

“You like getting your pretty ass filled,” he insisted, “it needs my dick in there,”

“I am having second thoughts!” she complained and he laughed, kissing the top of her head. 

“No you are not,” he tsked. “Look at you! Your hole is packed with dick, just like it’s supposed to be,” he added proudly, bottoming out. 

She bit his chin, his neck, licking mindlessly on whatever she could reach with her tongue and her lips, moaning loudly and unabashedly. She didn’t give a shit if she was making a ton of noise–she was being fucked in the ass by a nine inch dick, and his balls were currently slapping against her skin. She was panting, sweat trickling down her brow, the bead immediately licked by Ruhn’s eager tongue. 

He kept himself fully sheathed inside of her, but didn’t move, though she noticed the strain of his muscles, the tension of his cobbled abdomen and the bulging of his biceps, as he kept himself back and allowed her to adjust.

Taking deep breaths, she nuzzled into his neck and whispered, “you can move now.”

He exhaled and replied, “give me a sec, beautiful.”

He smiled against his skin, realising that he was straining not only to keep himself in check, but also to keep himself from coming. 

“Do I feel good for you?” she asked, kissing him around the ear. “Is my poor ass nice for your mammoth cock?”

“Better than anything!” he assured her and then pulled back at last, before gliding back inside.

The drag of his dick was mesmerising. The most glorious feeling that Elain could imagine. Sure, she loved orgasms–who didn’t?--but it was this that she cherished. The long pull of the thick length, emptying her almost completely, before filling her back up. God she loved it. It was so painful, the burn acute and deep, as her passage accommodated the unbelievably tight fit of him in her, but it also felt absolutely indescribable. 

“God, you are so big,” she choked out, knowing that she probably shouldn't be stroking Ruhn’s massive ego right now, because his cock’s been praised and admired plenty, but she couldn’t help it. He was huge, and he felt so, so good inside of her.

He fucked her with deep, firm, but languid thrusts, only his hips working atop of her thighs. He readjusted his position, lifting himself off of her, and holding her feet to his shoulders, while he pumped hard into her ass. Her tits bounced and jumped with every powerful push, and he was watching her huff and grunt beneath him, ordering her to ‘keep your cheeks spread, sweetheart. Are you my sweet girl?”

“Yes,” she nodded, knowing that she was weak and needy for him, and would probably do anything to have him continue pounding into her ass. “I love it,” she moaned. “I love it so much…”

He smirked indulgently at her, nodding slowly,

“I know, sweetheart. I know. That little hole was made just for me. You can take more, can’t you?”

She nodded, watching his stunning body flex and work atop of her. All the ink, the sensational musculature, the smooth, dark golden skin painted with intricate designs–a living canvas of chaos. 

“Isn’t it good to be mine?” he asked.

“Always, my house husband,” he smiled widely at him, relishing the glorious burn and build up of pleasure inside of her. 

He barked a laugh, nosing against her nose, whispering, “Not yet. But something to aspire to.”

Elain knew that Ruhn was holding himself back a little with her, and she appreciated it. He was loving her in his usual manner–forceful, open, unrestrained, yet slightly more careful and caring. Her clit demanded attention, and without her even saying anything, he was already on it, his thumb pressing on it firmly and rubbing steadily. 

“Oh it’s good, it’s good,” her eyes closed and she indulged in all the sumptuous, gorgeous, erotic sensations that currently engulfed her body. The even, unfaltering rhythm of his cock in her ass brought her to an orgasm quicker than she anticipated, and she shook and screamed until she was hoarse, not caring about anything, but the beautiful slamming of his cock and the magic of his finger. 

Ruhn wasn’t far behind. His arms clasped her now-pliant, softened body, and he pulled her up into his embrace, holding her like a ragdoll on his lap, as he fucked easily into her, and she kissed him sleepily, draping her arms around his shoulders.

He finished deep inside of her, hot and abundant, and didn’t release her from his hold for a long time, kissing her and stroking her hair.

“Noooo, not yet,” she pleaded, when he made a move to withdraw.

He kissed her again and smiled, laying both of them on their side, his soft cock still nestled inside of her, just like she wanted. 

“Let’s eat more chips and drink Fanta!” she proposed decisively.

Ruhn chuckled, arguing, “this is supposed to be a romantic date. Chocolates and music and wine,”

In turn, she reminded him, “Instead, we got chips and dip and dancing and anal. All of my favourite things!”

He hummed to himself and thought that this was not a bad first date.

Not a bad date at all.

#the kings wife #elain and ruhn #ruhn danaan #elain archeron #reverse harem #dark mafia romance #my writing #The Date #bonus chapter #my fanfiction #elriel fanfiction #Elriel #pro elriel #acotar fanfiction

[berystraw]

Love Leaves Scars: Wounds Re-opened

[L.L.S Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist]

Warning: none

Pairinh: Oc!Reader × Grayson Hawthorne

W.C: 1.7k

Note: IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG! It was exams, and I couldn't find the right time to post😭 BUT HERE IT ISSS!!!

I felt as if all the blood had been completely drained from my body. My chest tightened, and my heart started pounding loudly within my chest. I could hear its thumping in my ears. I felt myself stop breathing, and I knew it wasn't because my head was buried against the couch's mattress.

"Vers, are you alright?" Asnid asked, gently pushing my head up from the couch. Her eyes brimmed with concern and worry. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she chewed on her lips, a habitual gesture when she was anxious. Placing a tender hand on my head, she softly stroked my hair, attempting to soothe my nerves.

I never understood Asnid's ability to calm me down with a simple touch of her fingertips. It was as though she possessed some kind of superpower. Gradually, my breathing began to steady, and a sense of calm washed over me. We sat in silence, and she continued to stroke my head in a soothing manner.

Once I regained my composure, Asnid's question resurfaced in my mind. Tobias Hawthorne. A name I hadn't heard in the past three years. I had stopped following the news, fearing the mention of his name or my family's. It was fortunate that Asnid and I rarely watched the news.

"Are you okay now?" Asnid inquired, her comforting gestures never ceasing. I nodded faintly, and her hand gently rested on mine. "You should read it; it might be important," she suggested, taking my hand and placing the envelope in my palm. Planting a tender kiss on my forehead, she gave me a soft smile and left to change into her room.

As soon as I heard her door close, my gaze fell upon the envelope in my hand. Should I read it? Should I leave it unopened? Why had he suddenly reached out after three years? I sat there in silence, uncertain of my next move. In chess, every move must be calculated strategically. One wrong move could lead to losing the game, losing everything you have.

The only sound that filled the room was the ticking of the clock. I had been staring at the envelope for five minutes now. I felt frozen, unsure of what to do. Memories from my younger years flooded my mind. The days Tobias Hawthorne would open his home to me on Saturdays. We would solve riddles and play games with his grandsons. Some days I would win, and some days I would lose. Every Saturday followed the same routine: playing a game, either winning or losing, and receiving a lesson from Tobias on our mistakes.

I mustered the strength to rise from the couch and succeeded. My feet guided me to the kitchen and the trash bin. I had moved on from everything that happened in the past. I had no need for a reminder of that life, the life that had shattered me in ways I never thought possible.

I tore the envelope into pieces, crumpled them in my hand, and tossed them into the trash bin. I stared at the shredded fragments and felt curiosity bubbling up in my chest. Determined, I closed the bin, turned away, and suppressed any hints of regret or curiosity that threatened to consume me. I tossed my backpack into my room, then collapsed onto my bed, drowning out the nagging questions and thoughts in my head with blaring music through my headphones.

Every Saturday, I received an invitation to Hawthorne House from Tobias Hawthorne himself. Like clockwork, his four grandchildren and I would gather there in the morning to solve the riddles he had prepared for us. Today was no exception. It was a scene of utter chaos.

Nash, Xander, and I watched as Jameson and Grayson tumbled and grappled on the floor. Jameson had suggested a wrestling match, with the key to a locked book we had discovered on the shelf as the prize. "Shouldn't we intervene?" nine-year-old Xander asked. Nash and I shook our heads in response. I uncrossed my arms, removed a hairpin from my hair, and used it to retrieve the book with the help of a stool.

With the hairpin, I skillfully picked the lock, and the book clicked open. Inside, we found nothing but a solitary rook chess piece nestled in a hidden compartment. Grayson and Jameson, having abandoned their feeble wrestling attempt, approached to see the revealed item. "You could have spared us the wrestling match," Grayson remarked, slightly irritated. "I wanted to see a little show," I shrugged, seizing the rook.

"That piece could be from one of the chess sets," Xander observed, examining the chess piece. Before his words had even left his lips, his three older siblings had dashed off. I heard him sigh in annoyance, and his hurried footsteps followed theirs until I could no longer hear it. Clutching the chess piece tightly, I glanced behind me to ensure none of the four Hawthorne children had remained. Then, I darted out the door and made my way to Tobias's study.

Upon entering, I found Tobias seated at his desk, a chessboard spread out before him. "I expected you would be the one to solve it," he said, flashing a faint smile that revealed the wrinkles of age. I took a seat in front of his desk and carefully placed the rook in its designated spot. "White moves first, my dear," he reminded me.

Minutes later, in the midst of our game in Tobias's study, the door burst open, and the four boys stumbled into the room, panting and disheveled. "You're all late. I was beginning to wonder when you would join us," Tobias remarked. "Checkmate," I declared. Tobias glanced down at the chessboard, and once he confirmed my victory, he beamed with pride. "It was a pleasure playing with you, Verity," Tobias said, shaking my hand in congratulations.

I turned to the boys, who still stood there gazing at us. "Well done, kid," Nash congratulated me.

"Verity? Verity!" I was jolted awake from my slumber by Asnid's voice and her rough shake. "You fell asleep and missed dinner," she informed me. I rubbed my eyes and nodded sleepily, propping my head up with my hand. "Are you alright?" she asked, concerned. "Yes, just had a dream," I replied, my voice hoarse. "Well, there's an elderly man in the living room who insists on seeing you," Asnid said, helping me tidy up my disheveled hair.

The drowsiness dissipated from my body the moment those words escaped Asnid's lips. I stared at her, my eyes widening. I felt rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak, stunned by the possibility that it could be him. But it couldn't be, could it? Why would he be here?

"I don't think I'm in the right state to entertain guests right now, Asnid," I told her, feeling the initial shock subside in my body. Countless possible answers to my question raced through my mind. I refused to believe that Tobias Hawthorne would be sitting in the living room of my apartment at this very moment.

"I already told him that, but he's quite stubborn," Asnid replied. That old man is still the same. I sighed and rubbed my temple before giving Asnid a brief nod. "I'll remain here. It seems like you have something important to discuss," she said and sat down on one of the bean chairs in the room. "Don't touch anything while I'm gone," I reminded her before heading towards the living room.

And there he was, resplendent in his presence. I positioned myself a few meters away, deliberately avoiding proximity. I straightened my posture and held my head high, attempting to intimidate him and convey the sense that he was intruding. Yet, I knew Tobias Hawthorne wouldn't be swayed by my actions.

"It's quite impolite to keep your visitors waiting, my dear Verity," his tone remained unchanged from the last time I saw him—still arrogant and self-assured. "You haven't been responding to my letters," he informed me, taking a sip from the drink Asnid had brought him. "I consider them of no importance," I tried to maintain a firm and strong voice. I heard him chuckle, aware of my feeble attempt to appear strong, knowing that he could see through my facade.

"You've grown into a beautiful young woman, my dear. But you've forgotten everything you learned from me," he remarked, placing the cup on the coffee table before him. "Sit," he commanded me. I scoffed at his audacity. How dare he order me around in my own home? "Sit," he repeated, this time with a firm tone, realizing I hadn't complied the first time.

"Why are you here?" I asked him. "I would be delighted to tell you if you choose to sit down instead of standing there like a child on the verge of a tantrum," he responded. Reluctantly, I took a seat in one of the chairs situated at a comfortable distance from him. "Come back home," he said, folding his hands over his knee. I laughed at his feeble attempt to coax me into returning. "Do you think those two simple words would be enough to make me come back home? Am I that easily manipulated in your eyes?" I retorted, feeling offended.

"You are not, but I don't care for begging, Verity. So I am merely asking you to return home," he tried once more. I rolled my eyes and stood up. "Leave," I glared at him with anger in my eyes. "Now," I added, pointing towards the door of my apartment. "You'll change your mind soon enough, my dear," he remarked, and I couldn't help but let out a derisive laugh. "You're not a very skilled seer, Tobias," I told him. "Goodbye, Verity," he bid me. "For now," he added before closing the door behind him. I heard his footsteps recede as he walked away from my apartment, and I felt my knees give way as I collapsed to the floor.

Clutching my chest with both hands, tears streamed down my face. I hadn't realized how much I had wanted to cry until now. I sobbed and gasped for air, my cries echoing through the room. A door creaked open, and Asnid quickly rushed to my side as soon as she spotted me on the carpeted floor. "Take a deep breath, Vers," she enveloped my shaking body in her arms, whispering soothing words in my ear, attempting to calm me. I clung to her clothes, continuing to sob and gasp for air as if it would never be enough to fill my lungs.

What I hadn't noticed at that moment was the envelope lying on the floor in front of the door. T.T.H.

#grayson #grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x fem!reader #Grayson Hawthorne x Reader #grayson hawthorne imagine #grayson x reader #grayson hawthorne fluff #fluff #own character #grayson hawthorne x oc!reader #reader #fanfic #fanfiction #the inheritqnce games #inheritance games x reader #inheritance games #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #libby grambs #avery grambs #jameson hawthorne #tobias hawthorne #grayson hawthorne fic #grayson hawthorne x female reader #fem reader #the final gambit #the brothers hawthorne #the hawthorne legacy

[dailybugle-blr]

Spider-Man's Latest Stunt Leaves New Yorkers in Disarray

by J. Jonah Jameson, editor-in-chief

Photo submitted by Peter Parker

NEW YORK CITY - Another day, another reckless display of masked vigilantism by that wall-crawling menace: Spider-Man. While the citizens of New York were going about their business, Spider-Man decided to make a spectacle of himself yet again, causing chaos and confusion in the heart of the city.

Eyewitness reports flooded in as Spider-Man swung through downtown Manhattan, leaving destruction in his wake. From shattered windows to damaged vehicles, it seems Spider-Man has no regard for public safety or property.

"Spider-Man may think he's some kind of hero, but all he's doing is making matters worse," said Jesse Kenneth, local business owner. "I had to close my shop for repairs after one of his so-called 'rescues' ended up wrecking the storefront."

Despite his claims of fighting crime, Spider-Man operates outside the law, answering to no one but himself. His actions are a slap in the face to the hardworking men and women of the NYPD who risk their lives every day to keep our city safe.

"Spider-Man's reckless behavior puts everyone at risk," said Detective David Cameron. "He may think he's above the law, but he's nothing more than a menace to society."

It's time for the people of New York to wake up and see Spider-Man for what he truly is: a dangerous vigilante with no regard for the rule of law. The Daily Bugle will continue to shine a light on Spider-Man's exploits and hold him accountable for the chaos he leaves in his wake.

#daily bugle #the daily bugle #jj jameson #jjj #j jonah jameson #marvel spiderman #spider man #spiderman #peter parker #marvel #marvel comics #marvel mcu #mcu

[lirusstories]

Tears of Silver - Septic/Egotober Day 19

TW: None I think (Anti does get put to sleep through a spell)

Egotober: Silver

Septictober: Tears

Word count: 633

A/N: SLAMS THIS DOWN 14 MINUTES BEFORE THE 20TH

Anti doesn’t recognize himself anymore, red skin dark hair and his eyes, stars his eyes terrify him, soulless voids of black and silver.

The only reasons why he knows what his eyes look like are from the brief moments of clarity he gets when they turn him on Jameson in his empty eyes.

And now here he is, on the ground, with tears streaming down his cheeks, he doesn’t know how or why, is head hurts and it feels like he’s about to explode and his ears are ringing silently yet so loudly and he can’t move his stupid fucking body until-

“What do we do with him?”

… Marvin?

The tears begin flowing faster as he hears his brothers voice for the first time in who knows how long, he certainly doesn’t.

He knows it’s been a handful of years but how man exactly? 

He can’t move to even look at him, but he hears them cautiously get closer and his panic spikes.

“Could you, I don’t know, put him in like, a force field?” Oh stars Jackie…

“I’d need to be inside moron.” Marvin hisses at Jackie and stars Anti wishes he could laugh, something's never change huh.

.

Jackie puts his hands up in surrender as Marvin turns back to Anti on the ground, immobile. He swallows, a defensive spell wrapping around his fingers in preparation as he slowly makes his way over to Anti, but he pauses, heart-wrenching a bit when he sees what he can only describe as silver tears streaming down his cheeks and pooling on the floor.

Marvin takes a deep breath as he carefully moves closer and probably stupidly calls out, “Anti…?”

He intentionally ignores Jackie’s disbelieving look.

“Can you… hear me?” There's no response for him, not even a twitch, his eyes are wide and unseeing and flooded with silver tears.

Marvin swallows and begins moving closer to Anti and he can see out of the corner of his eyes Jackie getting closer, clearly worried.

Marvin is close enough to wave his hand in front of Anti’s unblinking eyes and for some reason the tears seem to start falling faster before both he and Jackie jump back as Anti’s body glitches harshly.

The brothers look at each other before looking down at their little brothers body.

“Somnum” Marvin mutters to Anti and significantly relaxes when his eyes slide shut and it seems like his entire body goes limp.

“What did you do?” Jackie asks, sounding concerned.

“I put him to sleep.” Marvin tells him as he carefully checks over what he can of Anti.

“Well what do we do now?” Jackie asks, sounding concerned and just, so tired.

Marvin thinks as he looks down at Anti, even asleep Anti cries and Marvin has to tear his eyes away before he joins him.

“Can you carry him?” Marvin asks quietly.

“What?”

“Can you carry him?” He asks a bit louder this time.

“No I heard but I don’t think-” Jackie cuts himself off when he sees the look on Marvin’s face.

“Jackie…”

Jackie sighs before looking down at his little brother before swallowing harshly, “I know, I know… Okay…”

Marvin relaxes a bit and moves aside, letting Jackie pick Anti up and Stars he’s so skinny.

Jackie swallows harshly as he sees the silver tears streaming down Anti’s cheeks even as he picks him up.

“What is-”

“I don’t know.”

“But you will?”

“Yeah.” Marvin opens a portal, he knows it’s super risky but, he just really wants to take him home.

Jackie sighs and cradles Anti close, he’s always been light but never this light before.

With a steadying breath he leads the way through the portal and into the house. Marvin’s already calling Henrik as the portal closes behind the three of them.

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#jacksepticeye #jackieboy man #our stuff #jackieboyman #marvin the magnificent #jse marvin #septictober #egotober2023 #jse egos

[southerndragontamer]

Happy Birthday Anti

There’s few days that will give someone or something power, Halloween or Samhain depending on the circles you know is the most well known for giving power as the veil between the human world and the spiritual plane is at its thinnest. The Equinoxes, Eclipses, Turning of the Year possibly.

But none of these are as powerful as the day of one’s birth.

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you~

Chase felt like he was going to throw up, he was filled with anxiety to the point he’d almost had an asthma attack just getting breakfast from the local diner and he didn’t know why. It kept him pacing around his apartment and a hand on a weapon he hadn’t used in years. It felt like he’d forgotten something extremely important but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was. At least he couldn’t remember until there was a flash of green static across his phone. Until his heart felt like it burst and he scrambled to dial the others. Only for the flood of static through his veins from the contact to turn everything dark as a familiar giggle rang out in his apartment.

Henrik couldn’t stop fidgeting, couldn’t stay still. He paced in his office, down the halls of his clinic, clicked his pen or ran his thumb over his scalpel. His mind whirled as he didn’t remember why he had to obsessively check that Jack was alright, why he felt like he was going to fall into a panic attack if he didn’t move today. Or that’s what he attempted to do, as he tried to make another round his foot caught on what he assumed was the IV line for Jack. He looked down to dismantle it and found strings, there was a skipping from his heart in terrified realization. His attention snapped up as the heart monitor raced. And then went green as he felt familiar pressure coil around his throat and everything started to dim.

Jameson was a mess and he didn’t understand why. He hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d woken up this morning, he’d almost spilled hot water over himself making tea. He had his watch clutched in a death grip, the ticking clock should’ve been reassuring but it felt like each tick was a hammer blow against his sanity. He froze completely as there was the rising static in the air, as he felt the ticking go out of sync, inner workings started to break. There was a flood of utter fear as his aura snapped out and tried to freeze time to protect himself but he still screamed in his mind as control was yanked away from him.

Jackie panted for air as he paused on a rooftop near Henrik’s clinic. He felt like he needed to keep everyone in sight, like he needed to check on the city for something. His lungs burned and power flared in his veins with the pounding heartbeat fueled by adrenaline. The need to protect drove him as he started another circuit close to where the other Egos were. He felt like there was going to be an attack but he couldn’t know where it would come from. There was a flood of fight instinct as a neon sign went green. It suddenly hit him and the fight mixed with the urge to defend as he worried for the others. As he threw a punch, it was caught and his nerves lit up in pain before he had time to scream.

Marvin’s magic couldn’t control itself today, it flared and hummed to be used but for what he didn’t know as he sketched out runes on the ground in the forest. He needed to do something today, anything, or he’d thought he’d lose his mind, so he was going to do what was supposed to be a simple summoning for elemental forces to thank them. It was October after all, Samhain was going to be this month and it would be easier to do this now rather than then when they’d all be more powerful.

The magician’s ears twitched as he thought he heard something on the wind, it sounded almost like voices but he couldn’t make them out yet. He guessed it was spirits, excited for the same reason as he finished the circle and started to chant and push his magic into it.

Only everything went horribly w r o n g.

The circle flooded with bright green, the wind picked up, dry lightning cracked down around him as static hissed in his ears. Instantly Marvin cursed in Gaelic an he tried to stop the ritual, to break the circle by disrupting the runes, there was an explosion of power that threw him back.

Then a clawed hand wrapped around his throat like an iron clamp and lifted him up as glowing green eyes locked onto his. As a familiar twisted grin showed all the glitch’s fangs as it stretched over his face.

Marvin struggled wildly, clawed at the glitch’s arm and tried to kick from where he hung in the air. His eyes wide and panicked, how was he this strong?!? He shouldn’t be this strong it was only the beginning of October they still had time-

He felt an absolutely freezing chill of realization run down his spine as it hit him like a freight train. The beginning of October, the first in other words-

He heard the whispering again, but clearly now. It sounded like millions of voices singing in different tones and ranges.

Happy Birthday, Dear Anti~

Anti purred as he pulled the magician close, as he relished in the utter terror on his expression at how they’d all forgotten. He didn’t know that the glitch had made them forget just so he could see it, and he’d do it again for the next year after he was finished. Oh he was going to have so much f u n today~

“Happy Birt’day ta me~”

#Antisepticeye #Glitch Demon #Chase Brody #Trick Shots #Doctor Henrik #German Surgeon #Jameson Jackson #Gentle Silence #Jackieboy Man #Homemade Hero #Marvin the Magnificent #Feline Mystic #Jacksepticeye Ego #Jacksepticeye Fandom #Fanfic #South Writes #I had this idea *literally* as I got up and had to get it down #So you all get two fics today!

[jasntodds]

Pretense [3]

Pairing: College!Peter Parker x HOH!Reader

Words: 6,138

Warnings: Alcohol use, fluff, smut (18+ minors dni)

Summary: When you, an intern for the Daily Bugle, are set out to find the person behind the mask of New York’s Spider-Man, your life turns upside down with secrets, supervillains, and a boy by the name of Peter Parker.

A/N: I couldn’t decide if I should add smut or not so it sat in my drafts for like a month lmao SORRY Will try to update on Thursdays (or every other Thursday) now

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

MJ and Ned are sitting in Peter’s and Ned’s dorm room waiting for Peter to start talking. After you had left the coffee shop, Peter texted the group chat, asking MJ and Ned to meet up at their dorm room the next day. It was kind of (intentionally) brushed off to seem like a movie night, a normal occurrence between them but when they arrived tonight, Peter said he actually needed to tell them something.

“So, are you gonna tell us?” MJ asks, watching Peter fidget with his fingers.

“Uh, yeah so there’s this girl.” Peter starts, voice consumed of hesitance as he looks up slightly to MJ.

“You need to ask us about girl problems?” MJ raises her brows, her words coming off a little more harsh than intended. Peter’s just never asked for help about a girl before, at least not to her, and he made this seem like it something really important. So, she’s left a little confused.

“No.” Peter shakes his head quickly. “Her name’s Y/n Y/L/N--”

“Like…the one whose brother got hurt last year?” Ned pipes in, making Peter and MJ furrow their brows at him before looking between each other. “Ya know, the guy who was here on like a full ride scholarship, tore his ACL in a soccer game.” Ned has been keeping up with a few of the sports since coming to college, soccer being one he happened to like to watch, along with tennis.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I remember.” Peter nods, remembering that it was pretty big news around campus but he didn’t remember the person’s name. But Ned does and maybe it’s just a coincidence that you and him share a last name. “I’m not sure if that’s her brother.”

“Anyway…” MJ breaks up the conversation and brings Peter back to the topic at hand.

“Right, right, well, she works for the Daily Bugle.” Peter starts to explain, MJ and Ned narrowing their eyes, already not liking where this is going. “J. Jonah Jameson is having her go after Spider-Man to reveal his identity.”

“Oh, well that’s bad.” Ned states sucking in a breath.

“Yeah, you should probably stay away from her.” MJ warns, her words coming out as a scoff.

“About that.” Peter winces, scrunching his nose.

Ned groans while MJ rolls her eyes, both in disappointment. Peter doesn’t learn and at this point, they’re both a little sick of it. When they got their memories of him back, it was as if they were swept under by tsunami. It wasn’t this gradual thing where everything just went back to normal. They were flooded by memories and every single emotion that came with them. 

MJ went through this tidal wave of emotions for this boy she didn’t even know that long. She felt this intense love and passion for him as every memory of him came back to her. He went from a stranger to someone she’d known for years and been in love with. Ned was swept up with the adornment he had, always having looked at Peter as a brother. Peter was more than a best friend, he was his brother and it all came back, the fear and worry for Peter’s life. It was a mess for the both of them.

There was peace in their lives prior to getting their memories back but after….it was a lot. They lived lives they didn’t even remember and it was because of Peter. They both love him and don’t want to lose him, but, they also really do not want to go through that again. Neither of them think they could handle it all again, people knowing he’s Spider-Man or forgetting him again. Peter choosing got not stay away you is only going to put everything in danger again.

“Come on.” Ned groans, tilting his head back.

“I have an idea and I-I think it’ll work!” Peter exclaims while Ned and MJ hold straight faces, MJ looking more annoyed than anything else, not saying a word. “I-I could be friends with her.”

“Bad idea.” MJ states, voice monotone, wanting this conversation to be done and over with.

“Just listen, okay and maybe I can convince her that Spider-Man isn’t that bad and he’s actually really helpful in saving people. Maybe I can change her mind.” Peter tries to defend his decision.

“Why do you think you could do that?” MJ asks.

It’s not that she doesn’t think he couldn’t convince you. She wants to know why he would take that risk at all. Does he want to lose everything again? Lose her and Ned again?

Peter shrugs. “I-I don’t know but I think it’s better than letting this girl run after me and have a chance to unmask me without knowing me. What if she finds out I’m Spider-Man and she doesn’t know me? Maybe if she got to know me and knew that it could ruin my life, maybe she wouldn’t do it. Ya know? Spider-Man is just some guy in a mask to her, to everyone, but if she knew there’s a real person…I-I don’t know maybe it could be different.” Peter looks down, hoping his friends can side with him, put a little trust into him.

“Dude, this is a bad idea.” Ned winces, knowing he’s wasting his breath. “What if she hates you though?” Ned asks, MJ chuckling under her breath at the question while Peter just looks offended. “I’m not saying you’re not likable but what if she hates you? Flash hated you for no reason.”

“At least I tried.” Peter defends.

Ned and MJ both let out a sigh as they look to each other. Despite thinking this will only end in flames, they nod because what if he doesn’t try? You go off, eventually figure it out. MJ did so maybe you can, too, somehow. You find out Peter is Spider-Man and you send it right off to JJ who writes about it and Peter’s life is destroyed all over again. At least this way, Peter can try to convince you that Spider-Man is a good guy with a life outside of being a hero and maybe he can change your mind. Maybe if you figure it out, you won’t destroy his life again.

“Okay but we get to feel her out.” MJ states.

“Why?” Peter asks, brow quirked in suspicion.

“Because what if she’s actually just a bitch? There’s no point in wasting your time if she’s already a shitty person.” MJ’s is nonchalant but assertive. 

Ned chuckles softly. “It’s true.” Ned shrugs, gaining a glare from Peter. “You see the best in everyone.”

“Um, well, there-she did invite me to Harry Osborn’s party.” Peter squints his eyes a little, knowing they’re not too fond of the pretty boy.

“She’s friends with Harry Osborn?” Ned quirks a brow, nose scrunching slightly.

“Y-yeah, I guess.” Peter shrugs, brushing it off.

“And we’re supposed to believe she’s a good person who won’t want to destroy your life?” MJ questions, brows pulled together and lips pursed.

“Maybe he’s not that bad.” Peter shrugs, voice a little higher in pitch this time.

MJ scrunches her nose. “He’s a fuckboy.”

“So?” Peter asks.

“Okay.” MJ rolls her eyes. “When is it?”

“You’re on board quick.” Ned quips earning narrowed eyes from MJ.

“Friday.” Peter answers, ignoring Ned’s comment.

“So, we’re going?” Ned asks, looking to MJ and Peter knowing they don’t do parties often.

“Looks like we have no choice.” MJ lays back with the words that come out in a sigh.

“Maybe it’ll be fun.” Peter groans.

“We’ll see.” MJ mumbles.

The party is roaring by the time the trio arrives. People are scattered throughout the large penthouse apartment, drinks in most people’s hands, and music that seems to be from the newest TikTok trend plays from the speakers. The trio looks around, Peter looking specifically for you while Ned is just looking around a bit surprised. He’s been to one of Harry Osborn’s parties and it was wild, this one seems no different. MJ, on the other hand, is counting the minutes until they get to leave, never having been a fan of parties.

“Peter!” Your voice divides through the music, grabbing Peter’s attention. He spots you through the sea of people and it’s as if the crowd just divides for him to have the perfect site of you.

You walk over to him while Peter gives you a smile. His eyes are wide as he watches you, brows relaxed and there’s something about the way you walk, hips swaying with every step that’s so elegant and captivating. He likes the way your hair looks in the low light of the party and the way the forest green dress compliments your waist. You’re radiant as you approach him and there’s a split second with your soft eyes looking at him that he forgets why he’s here. But it’s just a moment.

“You made it.” You beam, red solo cup in hand while the infamous Harry Osborn walks up from behind you.

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” Peter nods, eyes still wide. “Thanks for inviting me.” Peter offers a soft smile.

“Of course! Oh, uh,” You turn, gesturing to Harry as he moves to the side of you. “This is Harry. Harry this is Peter and…”

“MJ.” MJ speaks up, curling her lips inward.

“Ned.” Ned says, smile wide and toothy.

“They’re my best friends.” Peter answers with a gentle smile.

Friends. So, this is confirmation that Peter and MJ are just friends. There’s a smile that you can’t contain with those words. Peter is just some silly boy you just met but he’s just so darn cute that, at the very least, she wants something to happen. Plus, he’s really smart and funny.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You smile kindly at the two friends.

“So, this is the new boy, huh?” Harry looks between you and Peter, earning a nudge from you. “Heard a bit about you. Just…” Harry puts a hand on your shoulder and you close your eyes knowing he’s going to say something embarrassing. “If you want a room, go for it, I only ask you to clean up.”

“Harry!” Your eyes are wide as Harry laughs, Peter’s cheeks tint while Ned chuckles a little, MJ looks unpleased and unamused. “Okay, first of all, shut up. Second, you always ask me to help clean the next day anyway so I can do what I want.”

Harry’s eyes narrow while the smirk remains on his face. “Just be safe, Y/n.”

“How long have you guys been…” MJ waves a finger between you and Harry, not sure how to finish the sentence. She’s seen Harry and you together around campus. You always seem…close. Harry’s more touchy-feely with you, from what MJ has seen.

“Friends.” You immediately answer, not allowing any space for Harry to speak. “A few years.”

“She was just this shy and self-conscious person so I brought her under my wing.” Harry slings an arm over your shoulders, tilting his head to the right as he looks at MJ.

“That’s not at all what happened, please don’t listen to him.” You shake your head. “I told him he was a jerk.”

“Good times.” Harry laughs. “Well, I’m off. Have fun, plenty of drinks in the kitchen.” Harry nods his head at Peter before heading off into the sea of people.

You take a drink from the cup, trying your best to wash down Harry’s sex remark. It’s not that it bothers you really because he never means any harm but that does not stop the embarrassment, especially since Peter's friends also had to hear it.

“Um…do you want a drink?” You ask Peter, lifting your cup slightly.

Peter looks to Ned and MJ, who both shrug. “Sure.” Peter answers with a slight nod.

“You guys?” You turn your offer to his friends.

“Actually--”

“We’re good.” Ned cuts MJ off, giving a silent glare.

“Okay…” You laugh softly, nodding your head towards the kitchen. “This way. Enjoy the party, guys.” You flash them a kind smile, before leading Peter through the crowd.

It’s interesting to see you in this environment. You and Peter only had a few conversations but you’re fairly soft-spoken and seem more to yourself. It’s interesting for Peter to see you at Harry’s and seem to a better host of a party than he is. It’s not even your party.

“What’d ya want?” You ask, gesturing an open hand to the several bottles of alcohol lining the marble countertop. “There’s also a keg if you wanted beer and a few coolers have some wine coolers.” You explain. “And water, of course.”

“Um…” Peter looks over the options, not really feeling something that hard but not wanting to ask about the wine coolers which he normally prefers. “W-what are you having?”

“Oh,” You look into your cup and back to Peter. “It’s the Freedom Lemonade by Smirnoff. Red, White, and Berry Smirnoff with some lemonade.”

Peter looks at the cup with hesitance. “Is it actually good?”

“Well, if I make it for you, yes. This,” You tilt the cup back and forth slightly, the small bit of liquid sloshing to the sides. “Does not because Harry made it and I don’t like to waste things. So, I can make you one if you want.”

“Y-yeah, thank you, that’d be great.” Peter smiles while you grab the red, white, and blue bottle and jug of lemonade from the fridge.

Peter watches as you pour his drink with double the lemonade to vodka ratio. You aren’t doing anything special but he’s enthralled by your movements. You hold the bottle of vodka with care and ease. Someone bumped into you and Peter heard you apologize to them before they stumbled off. Something about you is interesting.

“Here ya go.” You hand Peter his cup, his fingers brushing over yours as he takes it.

“Thank you.” Peter thanks you as he takes a sip. The drink is tart and he can taste the alcohol but it’s good. The extra lemonade was definitely needed. “It’s good.” Peter smiles sheepishly.

“I’m glad you like it.” You smile at him, watching over the features of his face as he stands beside you, leaning against the counter.

“Y/n? What’re you doing here?” A voice pulls Peter and you away from each other.

“Having fun?” You quip, something that catches Peter off guard. “What’re you doing here? You hate parties and you hate Harry.” Your eyes are narrowed as you turn around to the voice that called you.

“You shouldn’t be at these parties.” The boy with the same colored hair as you grumbles.

“Why not? Harry’s my friend. It is his party?” You shift your weight to your right foot.

“But now you’re my responsibility and I have to stay and walk you home.” The boy rolls his eyes, annoyed at this interaction.

“I always stay here when there’s a party?” You snap, rolling your eyes. “I’m not your stupid responsibility, oh my gosh.”

“Then who’s this? Some random guy who you--”

“This is my friend, Peter.” You’re snarky and Peter can’t help but feel like he’s intruding. “Peter, this is Caspian, my very annoying older brother.”

“Nice to meet you.” Peter says softly, unsure if he should actually say anything at all.

“Right.” Caspian shakes his head.

“Seriously, why are you here?” You cross your arms, careful not to spill your drink. “Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?”

“Having fun.” Caspian mocks. “She’s busy tonight.”

“Right.” You mock right back. “Well, you never saw me and I never saw you then. Bye, Cas.” You roll your eyes, grabbing Peter’s hand and pulling him away.

Peter gives Caspian an apologetic closed smile, trailing right behind you as you lead you both to the living room. You don’t get snarky or mean with anyone. You have some banter with Harry but that’s about it. Unless, it’s one of your brothers. Usually, the oldest aren’t the issue. It’s the ones closer to your age that see you as this fragile and delicate flower that needs to be taken care of all the time and you can’t be bothered with it. Caspian is probably the worst out of them but despite all that, you know it always blows over in a day.

“Sorry about that. Cas has been…weird lately and in my business.” You suck in a breath, feeling the embarrassment creep up your neck.

“Is-is everything okay?” Peter asks.

To Peter, it just seemed like your brother was in a bad mood. Peter might be an only child but he's seen it with other friends, having siblings that can be protective or want to be included or something. It's not a big deal to him but it seems like it's a big deal to you.

“He won’t talk to anyone about why he’s got a stick up his butt but…yeah, I think so. Everyone kind of checks on him and stuff. He’s not like being weird in a scary way or anything. He’s just been kind of distant but also more overprotective a little bit.” You state before quickly rambling. “Not that he’s always like telling me what to do or anything, he doesn’t care, just more like keeping tabs on me, I guess? I don't know.” You furrow your brows before looking to your shoes.

“Do you know why?” It’s not really Peter’s business, but it’s bothering you and he wants you to know you can talk to him.

You pause and of course, you know why. It’s not some sort of coincidence that the day you get hired to unmask Spider-Man, Caspian started acting a bit strange. He was never a Spider-Man fan by any means so you aren’t sure why he cares so much aside from possibly being concerned with your lack of morals of the situation. But, you think there’s more. You have your theories but you keep them to yourself to protect yourself, and others.

You shake your head. “I, uh, I don’t wanna talk about it, if that’s okay.” You chew the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter’s brows cinch together as he nods. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” You look down once more.

One thing Peter has noticed this far into a possible new friendship is that you aren’t really shy. You’re quiet, sure, but you’re not shy. You told Peter about your internship and your brothers. You had no issue in talking to him in the library or inviting him here. You’re not shy but right now, with the run in with Caspian, you are. It’s as if you’re ashamed of it and Peter wants to know why. Siblings fight, he doesn’t have any, but it seemed like a normal interaction from other siblings he’s known.

“It’s okay.” Peter takes a step closer to you.

You look at him and his eyes are safe looking at you. He is kind and soft and gentle. You swear he couldn't hurt a fly with just that look alone.

"Yeah...um," You suck in a breath, taking a drink of your drink. "What've you been up to the last couple of days? Haven't seen you around campus, really."

Peter's eyes widen a little, glad for the change in conversation, quickly thinking of a lie that has nothing to do with Spider-Man antics. "Busy with classes. Ned and I got the Millennium Falcon Lego kit so we were building that." Peter rambles, almost cringing at the last part.

"The Millennium Falcon? Those kits are really expensive." You chuckle softly. "That sounds really cool, always wanted to build one."

Peter lets out a silent sigh of relief with you not thinking it was lame. "Yeah, uh, we saved for it and Ned had saved for the Death Star in high school so we built that together. It's become kind of a thing."

"Really? That's cool. Lego is just a pretty cool company as a whole but the kits always seemed like fun. Are they hard?" You’ve only put together the small kits that are good for any age after three.

Peter shakes his head. "They can be a little frustrating sometimes but not really. It's pretty straightforward, especially when you're working with someone else. You get like booklet with what to do and Lego is easy to follow." Peter chuckles.

You watch as Peter's entire face lights up as he talks. You ask more questions about the other Lego kits they've put together and Peter gets more excited as he rambles. You think it's adorable. The lines in his face ease and then become more prominent when he remembers something he considered a key detail in his story. His brows pull together and then soften when gets more dramatic about something. Peter talks like you’re the only people in the entire house even when you're surrounded by people. He is captivating.

"Y/n! Peter!" Harry calls the two of you from across the room. "Come play!" Harry is stood to one side of a long table, cups set up on either end.

"Do you wanna?" You ask, nodding your head in that direction.

Peter shrugs. "Yeah, okay." Peter smiles at you before you both walk over to your end of the table.

"Aw, not my partner this time?" Harry pouts from the other end.

"Are you saying you can't win without me, Harry?" You put your hand over your heart. "That's so sweet." You joke.

Harry has a crooked grin. "You can't win without me."

"What are the stakes then, Osborn?" You cock your head with a taunt.

Harry's eyes narrow but that grin stays plastered across his lips. Peter gets it. He never really understood why girls were all over Harry. He understood in terms of he's attractive and rich. But, he knew that was not the only thing that made girls melt. But, now he gets it. He's charming. More than just charming. Harry has a way of being radiant without outshining the other people in the room. And that makes Peter understand how you and him are friends. You’re enthralling and quiet while Harry is radiant and loud. You compliment each other and he seems to bring out something different in you. Something Peter is finding himself wishing he could bring out, too.

"You don't have to help me clean if you win." Harry offers with raised brows.

"Oooh." Your brows pull together as you grin back at him. "If I lose?"

"I don't help." Harry laughs.

"Alright, got yourself a bet then." You hold your head up high before looking to Peter. "You don't have to partake in it or anything." You lean closer to him. "If we lose, I will leave before he wakes up." You pull away with a laugh and Peter's cheeks are tinted red.

He laughs though. "You'll leave?"

"Yes." You laugh.

"I'm, uh, I'm pretty good at beer pong so I don't think you have to worry." Peter gives you a cheeky grin, the first one of the night and it makes your heart flutter.

"Uh..." Your smile is still across your face but he's left you a bit speechless, something that doesn't normally happen. "Maybe we'll make a good team then."

"Hello! Y/n!" Harry calls. "Ready?" Harry holds up a ping pong ball before tossing it to you and then another. "You two first."

You hand Peter a ball and you take the shot first, getting it into the cup in the bottom row all the way to the right. Peter's next and his goes into the cup left of the center one.

"And the game begins." Harry bellows, him and his partner moving the two cups off to the side and taking two large drinks of their drinks.

Harry is next and he gets the cup right behind the center cup. His partner gets the one next to his, you and Peter both taking drinks of your Freedom Lemonade before moving the cups. The game continues and Peter catches himself watching you toss the ball.

You toss the ball more with your wrist and it's swift but delicate. You only miss a few times throughout the game, making Peter think you attend all of Harry's parties -- nearly every Friday or Saturday -- and you’ve gotten really good or you’re just like that. By how comfortable you are with the game, and knowing exactly when they should ask to rearrange the cups and how they should be rearranged, Peter's guessing you just play a lot. And he watches your face wrinkle as you stick your tongue out at Harry when you make it into one of the last cups. Your smile is wide until you tilt your head back with booming laughter while Harry flips you off.

You watch Peter, too, though. He's a bit lanky but you can see his bicep bulge under his flannel when he goes to toss the ping pong ball. The veins in his hands have become more prominent throughout the night and his hair is tousled from running his hand through it during the game. His speech is a little slurred now and you think it's cute. He's cute. And when he watches you, your heart beats like a snare drum in your chest. You can feel his stare and you want him to keep watching you. You like how it makes you feel like you’re on fire.

"Rebuttal time. You're a good opponent, Parker!" Harry yells across the table, his speech slurred with every word.

"You put a fight, Osborn." Peter jokes and his body is loose now, not just from the alcohol but from playing with this group of friends. He was stiff, a bit unsure, but now he almost feels like he's been friends with you and Harry for years. Harry was much more welcoming than Peter thought he’d be and you’ve been bumping him and bringing him into your jokes.

"Take your shot, Harry!" You joke, your words not nearly as slurred as Harry's.

"I need to concentrate!" Harry yells back, his eyes close with his brows pinched together.

He opens his eyes, pulling his arms back and aiming for the solo cup right in the middle of you and Peter. The ball leaves Harry's fingers, the four of you watch as the ball goes through the air and then hits the table before entering the cup. Harry puts his head in his hands while you and Peter cheer together. You pull Peter in for a quick kiss before turning to Harry, giving a wide and cocky smile. Peter's cheeks are beet red, his lips on fire for the second they touched yours.

"Looks like you need me, Harry." You pout.

"Rematch!" Harry demands.

"Nope!" You yell. "I'll take my win, thank you." You laugh. "You're really good at that." You turn your attention to Peter.

"So are you." Peter beams at you, licking his bottom lip.

"Uh, do you wanna....go to the balcony for a minute? Take a break?" You ask looking around, Harry already trying to get another pair to play with him.

"Sure, yeah." Peter nods, grabbing his now empty cup, you follow his lead before leading him to the balcony by holding Peter's hands and he can't help but notice how soft your hand is in his.

Peter's hands are always so rough and calloused. It's not something he minds or even really pays much attention to, until right now. Your hand is small and smooth compared to his, almost as if it were delicate in his. It's a stark contrast but it's one Peter finds some type of comfort in.

You plop down on a cushioned outdoor bench on the large balcony that overlooks Manhattan. You remember the first time you came over here and was in awe of the view. Harry gets to see it all the time, he's always grown up with views and luxury so he was so nonchalant basically "here's my balcony time for the next room" while you were just trying to absorb it all. Now, though, you still finds yourself a little captivated by the neon lights of it all but not as much.

Peter sits beside you, so close his thigh is touching yours and he almost moves but he sees a glint of a smile on your lips when he sits down. So, he stays close. He’s more fascinated by the view of you than the city. He sees it all the time from the tops of buildings, he’s always really liked the view from the Empire State Building. But he gets to see that all the time, so he enjoys the way the neon lights reflect off your skin with the warm glow against your hair from the window behind you.

"Thank you for coming." You say softly, your eyes still on the city, ignoring the couple making out on the other side of the balcony.

"Thanks for inviting me." Peter says, voice just as soft as yours.

"I didn't think you'd come, honestly. You didn't seem like you wanted to when I asked you." You chuckle softly.

"Oh, uh, no." Peter lies, he did not want to come but he's not going to tell you that. "I-I was just surprised since we'd just met...and stuff." Peter explains.

"Yeah," You huff. "It was a spur of the moment thing, I suppose." You look over at him and maybe it's the alcohol but you swears you'd never get tired of looking at Peter with neon lights painting pretty colors on Peter's pale skin like a watercolor painting. "You're cute, Peter Parker." You giggle.

Peter's cheeks burn with your words. "Yo-you think?" Peter chuckles a little more than maybe he should have.

"Yeah! You have pretty eyes and messy hair." You aren't drunk, just tipsy and when you get tipsy, you talk.

"You're pretty." Peter compliments back. Peter is tipsy and when Peter is tipsy, he just makes bad decisions.

"You think I'm pretty?" You wiggle your brows.

"Y-yeah! Of course, who wouldn't?" Peter chuckles, you scooting closer to him.

"You're not dating anyone?" You ask, head cocked to the left.

Peter shakes his head, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. "No."

"Good." You giggle as you lean into Peter, cupping his face gently with your hands and bringing his lips to yours.

Peter's eyes widen but only for a second and then he melts into you. His eyes flutter closed while his hands travel to your sides. Your tongue is between his teeth, Peter's mouth is moving hastily with yours as if desperate for this. He didn't realize just how touch-starved he'd been feeling until this moment. You make it all melt away, evaporate like steam from a boiling pot. His blood is hot and he wants you.

Peter tugs your sides, pulling you on top of him and you never miss a beat. Your mouth only disconnects for a second at a time while you straddle him, your hands on his neck. And this is the boy you’ve admired from afar, never knowing how to approach him or what to say if you did. Now, your mouth is in connection with his and it's a bit messy and you're both tipsy. It's not perfect but it feels warmer than you’ve felt in so long and it feels good.

Staggered breaths bounce between you as you become more eager and Peter's grip tightens around your hips, forgetting his strength and being too wrapped in the taste of you. You hum against his mouth as he bites your lip and his bones ache in the best way. Peter makes you feel like your skin is a firework display, booming and thundering with pretty colors. Sparkling and on fire. You never want to feel cold again, not with Peter under you.

In the haze of lust, neither of you are quite sure when you decided to make your way into the house and into a spare bedroom. You barely disconnected on your way through the house, paying no attention to the few eyes that landed on you on the way. Your sole focus is on each other and your desperation between you.

Is this is a bad decision on Peter's end? Probably given the whole unmasking Spider-Man complication. But, who is Peter Parker if not someone who makes bad decisions? And you feel so good with your hands pulling the collar of his flannel back with you onto the bed. It's worth the risk. You’re worth the risk, even in the heat of the lust.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair that holds remanence of cheap pomade. Everything is going so slow and a hundred miles per hour at the same time. It's like Peter's not even moving by his own accord, his body is just doing it as he hovers over you, his hand sliding up your dress and the hem of your matching underwear.

"Y-you sure?" Peter breaks away, his breath is airy and hot on your face.

"Yes." Your eyes are lust blown as you meet his stare for the first time since the session started and that's all the confirmation Peter needed before sliding a finger between your slit, eliciting a moan from you.

Peter's lips attach to your neck with the moan. You squirm in pleasure under his touch, calloused fingers working your core and bud until you feel the bubble building in your stomach, wanting to burst like bubble gum.

"Condom?" You ask in a hasty breath.

Peter pulls away, the disappointment evident on his face when he realizes he doesn't have one. He read once that leaving a condom in his wallet can damage it, so he never carried one unless he knew there was an actual chance. And that was definitely not the intent tonight, so he left the box of condoms untouched before leaving for the night.

"I got one." You laugh softly, scooting further up the bed to reach into the nightstand. "This is my room when I stay here, don't tell Harry. He'll steal them." You joke as you grab the square package, resting it on the top of the nightstand.

You sit up, pulling your dress over your head, leaving you exposed. Peter follows your lead. You try your best to hide your expression and it's not until now that you’re wondering if you’re actually completely drunk and your sense of reality is somehow warped. Peter is lanky and thin, you never thought he'd have abs like he does. It's a pleasant surprise and one you want to see over and over again like your favorite movie.

"W-what?" Peter asks with a nervous chuckle as he moves up the bed.

"Nothing." You shake your head, giving him a corned grim before closing the distance between you and bringing his lips to yours once more.

Peter reaches for the condom and gets it adjusted. His eyes are on yours and you see the eagerness in every pale brown speck that decorates his dark eyes. As Peter's hips press against you and he enters you, he notices just how pretty your eyes are and he wants to dive into them.

"Fuck." Peter's voice is thick like caramel and he dips his head into the crook of your neck.

His thrusts are slow at first, your hands feeling over his back, delicate fingers digging into him with every passing second. Your mouth is slightly open as his thrust speed up, small moans tumble from your lips. Peter takes it as encouragement as his head spins in pleasure. His name falls from your lips as the knot builds in your stomach and Peter swears it's like a symphony playing at the Apollo.

"Peter." You gasp, eyes screwed shut, silently begging for the knot to snap.

Is it the alcohol? Can't be because you’re almost always somewhat intoxicated when you sleep with someone. Is it just because Peter's cute? Can't be that either because you’ve had sex with other people who are cute. Does this feel like the best and most exhilarating sex you’ve ever had because Peter holds you tighter than anyone ever has? Because Peter knows exactly what to do without you ever having to ask him to speed up or go harder? Is it because he feels like he could blow up your life and something about that feels so good? You can't put your finger on it, but there's about the boy with brown eyes and a sleepy smile that makes you feel like he's more than the quiet boy he seems to be.

"Cum for me." His voice is husky in your ear and you can swear it's every reason that races through your head and you never want him to stop.

And like that, the knot snaps.

You call his name like a dirty poem and it pushes Peter right over the edge, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he groans. Peter pauses after you've both finished and there's a smile on your lip, pulling softly and sweetly as if you'd just had a fun conversation. And maybe that's what this was. A conversation of two bodies colliding together like meteors in the galaxies. And he adores the look on your face, kissing your nose.

Peter rolls off of you and as you’re looking at him, you have no idea the secrets his brown eyes hold. Or the secrets that are littered in the fading and healing scars in his bones. But you'd give anything to lay here with him forever and uncover those secrets in the way Paleontologists look for fossils. But sleep calls for the both of you as you scoot closer to him and rest your head on his chest.

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[bookwormscififan]

Touch Starved

A/N: A prompt from @brokentimewatch of "touch starved characters desperately craving hugs". This hit pretty close to home for me, so I may be projecting a bit.

--

Jameson shuddered, arms wrapped around himself as he rocked in the bed. How long had it been since he’d had a hug?

Since Shawn died, his mind whispered, causing a fresh wave of tears to well in his eyes, gaze flicking to the chair by the door where Shawn’s signature flatcap hung. He bit his lip, recalling the night months ago when Shawn breathed his last, arms wrapped around JJ growing loose as his life left him.

“James?” The dapper man looked up, sniffling as Chase stepped inside and sat beside him. “Are you alright?” Jameson shook his head, curling into himself as silent sobs wracked his body.

“Oh, James,” Chase breathed, gently placing a warm hand onto JJ’s shoulder, pulling him closer when the dapper man didn’t resist.

Jameson melted into the embrace, feeling the warmth of Chase’s chest flood his senses as he let out his grief. Slowly, his arms wrapped around Chase, gripping at his shirt as he drew himself into the feeling of being hugged and forgetting his grief for a blissful moment.

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