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darsynia · 1 year

Note

Um if it sounds fun to you could you write a reader (character of your choice but I think Tony works for this, maybe Stephen or Steve) where reader is a professional and has been so focused on work they don’t feel sexy or desirable anymore? New or established I guess but fluffy/cheeky and uplifting. Only if it inspires you, LOVE YOUR WRITING!

-🤓

This was fun as hell, and thank you! I chose Tony Stark/F!Reader.

Summary: Tony wakes you up in the early morning after staying up working on his cars. He knows your job is stressing you out, and if he can't make things better at work, he can at least make you associate certain work things with him…

Warnings: Minors DNI! Oral sex (f receiving) and PiV sex.

Length: 2,288

Tags (if you'd like to be tagged for Tony posts or other characters please let me know!): @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @fyreball66 @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Liquidity (Or, Well Deserved)

You’re dreaming, and it’s a really good one. In the dream, you’re on your stomach draped over a cloud, and a warm, loving hand is stroking your back. The hand slides up into your hair to scrape fingernails along your scalp before moving back along your neck and over your shoulder blades, pushing your wide-necked nightgown out of the way.

The realism of the dream is wonderful. You can even feel the way the front of your nightgown presses against your nipples in tension as the man drags the fabric down and out of the way. He starts dropping kisses along your spine, and you shiver, mmm-ing in your sleep at the tingling way his comfort is turning erotic.

The dream-cloud shakes a little, and you can picture the whole scene. You are sleeping in Tony's bed when he comes up grease-stained and horny after taking advantage of your late hours at work. Once he’s scrubbed his hands, he gives up on the shower, hoping you’ll join him if he can manage to be persuasive enough.

That thought sends half-asleep you into a spiral of dirty thoughts, but you aren’t quite sure if you’re actually dreaming or if the confident, sensual kisses on your back are real. Tony’s usually not quiet-- but he can be, if there’s motivation enough.

The word ‘motivation’ reminds you of everything that’s stressed you out at work lately. It derails the heated scrape of beard hair that trail after each open-mouthed kiss, and, fuck, what time is it? It’s not Friday, is it? It’s Saturday, right? If it’s Friday, you’ll have to rush to--

“You just tensed up,” Tony whispers, and he’s right, you did.

“I’m sorry, I was up in my own head again,” you groan, sliding your knees up underneath you in a vain attempt to hide your disappointment. You’re a compact package of overworked misery. “It’s Saturday, right? My boss would totally invent a time machine just for the glee of demanding an extra workday.”

“If I wasn’t pretty sure you’d roll off the bed in frustration at my inability to shut up about it, I’d order you to quit your job. Again,” Tony says, grabbing a handful of your nightgown and throwing himself onto the mattress beside you.

With him anchoring you, you can’t roll over or move away, and he knows it. Tony moves his head near to where yours is, reaching over with his free hand to move your hair out of the way so he can see your face.

“It would serve you right if I rolled off anyway,” you tease.

“Do it. I’ve always wanted to rip this thing off of you,” he grins.

“Tony!” you groan in frustration, but suddenly he’s pulling you over on top of him. He’s hot as a furnace, clearly hard, and the clock on the nightstand reads 4 AM. “Don’t,” you whisper, suddenly shy. “I didn’t have time to do anything but fall into bed. No shower, no teeth, and the bags under my eyes--”

He stops you with a kiss that’s filthy and enthusiastic, sliding his big hand up to the back of your head to hold you steady as he symbolically chases all of your objections away with swipes of his tongue against yours. “Good,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. “Be dirty with me. I probably got grease swipes on your back, I was too impatient.”

That word sends you into another anxiety spiral, no matter how hard you try to fight against it. Tony’s impatient because it’s been days. The project at work isn’t finished, and you have a feeling you’ll get a call sometime today from your boss promising a bonus that won’t actually materialize if you pop into the office for a few hours.

“There you go again. Hon, if you can fuss about work, I’m clearly not on my A game,” Tony says from beneath you. In a move that takes your breath away and coincidentally presses his barely-clothed cock right where you want it, he expertly reverses your positions. You end up on your back with your nightgown hopelessly twisted up out of the way, and Tony’s sliding down.

You want that, but fuck… Tony Stark may be your boyfriend now, but before that he was known for his women, clean women, women who spent their whole lives hoping that he might look sideways at--

Tony interrupts your spiraling thoughts by yanking you toward the foot of the bed, and you lift your head to see that he’s actually dry humping the mattress as he grins up toward you, barely visible in the dim light of his bedroom. Every line of his body is painted with desire, desire for you, and as soon as he sees that you’re watching, he slides his bent knuckle along your core. Just to ensure you’re well and truly wrecked, he pulls his hand back to lick it.

“You’re going to relax, and if you don’t, I’m going to make you associate work stress with this,” Tony says, hooking your knees in his hands and pulling you down just within reach. He leans his head down to kiss you right above your mound, nuzzling you with his nose as though that soft part of your body makes him wild with desire. Hell, Tony doesn’t seem to enjoy faking things much, so maybe it does.

While you’re reckoning with that, Tony settles in, groaning low and deep as he caresses you on the way to resting his hand on your stomach. There’s something about being known like that; he has to anchor you, you’re always like a wildcat when he tastes you.

Does he know that the warmth and pressure of his possessive hand on you while he takes you apart is half the reason you’re so responsive?

“Fuck,” Tony says. “One sec.” He lifts up and you watch as he tears his sweatpants off, unable to resist pumping himself once as he glares at you as though you’re completely to blame. “Waistband was going to chafe, and I need to be able to focus,” he says.

You laugh and take the opportunity to pull off your nightgown, too. Tony is nothing if not controlled chaos in bed. His hands are usually everywhere; he’s always swearing and praising under his breath, hips always moving, but sure, his waistband will derail him.

“Oh, that’s it,” he says, crawling up to look sternly down at you with one hand on either side of your head. “You’re going to tell me your morning routine while I do this. If you stop talking, I’ll stop.”

“Tony, I do not want to mix--”

His mouth takes yours, one hand cupping your face tenderly even as he nips your bottom lip and soothes it with his tongue. “Neither do I. You started this, I’m going to finish it.”

With that he drags his cock right against you, following that with beard hair on your nipple to make you cry out from the overstimulation and smack him.

“Well?”

“Oh my god, it’s not like you’ll get up and walk away if I don’t--”

Tony interrupts you by reaching down to jack himself, his knuckles brushing against your heated core incidentally, nowhere near enough.

“Goddamnit Tony!”

“That’s my girl,” he purrs. “Go on.” Another hand movement, and you’re desperate.

You grab two handfuls of sheet to anchor yourself and start speaking, using an annoyed, disapproving tone. “I walk in and say hi to whoever is working reception.”

Tony swirls his tongue to soothe your nipple and runs his nose along your stomach on his way back down. There’s no time to be self conscious, because he’ll just make you watch him instead, probably while teasing you with useless, sexy touching.

“I head upstairs, usually on the stairs, because you never know who will be lurking near the elevators,” you continue, maintaining your tone of disinterest right till you reach the word ‘elevators,’ because that’s when Tony spreads you with both thumbs. “Oh my God, if you make me think about this while I have a meeting with my boss, I’ll have to quit my job!” you whine, hating the way he just stops.

“They’d have to hire three people to replace you,” Tony says, his lips brushing the thin skin of your inner thigh. “I’m sure I could come up with something for you to do.”

“Just don’t hire three women to do this,” you mutter under your breath.

Tony says your name, and you bite your lip and look at him. As soon as you do, he slides two fingers inside you, slowly and gently, his gaze intense. It’s an effort to keep yours open, it feels so good. Then, because he’s making a point, he pulls back out and strokes his cock, using your arousal as lubrication.

“Keep going, love.”

The ‘love’ just slays you. The man is inexorable in everything, and the promise of a mind-blowing but agonizing orgasm (not to mention an exciting life together) forces you to capitulate, begrudgingly.

“I sit down at my desk,” you whisper, eyes caught by the way the uneven shadows cast by the dim lamps heighten Tony’s sensuality as he allows himself one last swirl of his fist. “I turn on my-- ahhh, my computer,” you whimper at the first swipe of Tony’s tongue. The next minutes are a fight for coherence as you rock your hips against the steady pressure of his hand holding you still, gasping out mostly nonsense syllables that barely resemble your log-in tasks. Tony clearly relishes what he’s doing, drawing reward words with the tip of his tongue after each completed sentence.

Your orgasm takes both of you by surprise in the most delightful way; one second you’re swearing because Tony’s challenged you to remember all the headings in your most-used Excel spreadsheet, the next second he’s pulling his glorious fingers out of you and lifting his head, tutting at your inability to focus. You’re so frustrated that you put all your strength into bucking your hips up to chase him, and for once, you overcome Tony’s strength. His hand slips on your stomach, sliding up to crash into your breast, and he falls face-forward onto you.

His throaty chuckle and opportunistic nipple tweak send you, and as you shudder and moan, Tony recovers enough to thrust in.

“Oh fuck, that’s--” he gasps, hand desperately grabbing for yours. You wrap your legs around him and pull him down for an open-mouthed, gasping kiss that’s more about sharing breath than anything else. Tony’s hand is bigger than yours, and his finger-threaded grip is just this side of painful, but he’s driving into you like his life depends on it, anchored by the places you’re joined. It’s emotional, sexy, and affirming as hell.

Your orgasm lengthens, spurred into extra ecstasy with Tony’s fervor. Once you’re in that post-bliss intensity, the final column header he’d been demanding comes to you, even as Tony gives up trying to kiss you and just presses his forehead onto the pillow. He’s swearing again, praising the friction, the feel of your smooth legs against his sides, and a number of things you’d blush to even think to yourself in the privacy of your own mind.

“Tony, I remembered the last column,” you whisper against his ear, capturing the lobe in your lips. His hips stutter against you, and you scrape him with your teeth gently before he groans and moves in for a greedy kiss. You lose focus for a few heady seconds, but you can tell Tony’s close, so you pull back. “The column,” you remind him. “Aren’t you going to punish me for stopping?”

Tony lets go of your hand so he can grab your hips, holding on with an iron grip. He’s glaring at you, looking joyful but frustrated.

“I deserve this, don’t I?” he groans, but manages to hold still inside you. “Well?”

You arch your back and run your hands along the corded muscles of his arms, letting out a sigh that you know for a fact drives him crazy. When you lift your head again, he’s trembling against you, so you take pity on him and make direct eye contact. Tightening your inner muscles around his cock, you say a single word on a breathy sigh, sliding your fingers around your nipple just to enhance the effect.

“Liquidity.”

“Oh, I’ll give you liquidity,” he growls at you, grinning.

“Are you saying you’ll show me your assets, Mr. Stark?” you blink up at him innocently, holding completely still but for another pulsing squeeze of your inner walls.

Ever since you started dating, Tony’s joked about Accountant/client roleplay, and even though you knew he wasn’t serious, you’ve always teased that you couldn’t possibly. Now you’ve turned the tables on him, and the litany of swear words Tony lets out in utter amazed, erotic frustration is only balanced by the power of his renewed thrusts. He basically drives your body back up the bed, and it’s so fantastic you feel another peak rising. Tony does too, and he slips a hand between you, capturing your lips and fucking you with cock, fingers, and tongue into a devastating orgasm that leaves you both breathless.

When Tony finally rolls off of you onto the bed, reaching to twine your fingers together in silent satiation, you can’t stop smiling.

“You asshole, you woke me up at four o’clock in the morning after I worked all day and I’m not even mad at you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the one in trouble here,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“Oh?”

“I have an appointment with my financial advisor today.”

Note: I'll be honest, after 20+ years of marriage I often forget about protection, because it's just not part of my life anymore. Definitely protect yourself and protect your partner, but also please forgive me for letting that slip my mind. It's important, but this is also fantasy.

#tony stark smut #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark x f!reader #iron man smut #iron man x reader #mcu fanfiction #iron man fanfiction #iron man x f!reader #iron man imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut

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scoopsgf · 2 years

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I'm sorry for also chiming in on this but while I'm not interested in telling others how they can or can't interpret the bedroom scene (esp in terms of their own personal experiences), the way that person phrased the situation is unintentionally hilarious because "he literally SA her and didn't apologize" like my dude, an apology does not excuse SA in any situation, what are you even saying 😭 if you're going to interpret that scene as SA then you also need to discuss it with the seriousness that is necessary over such a topic because for a show like Gilmore Girls, that scene should've been taken far more seriously if it was written with the intention of being that. If it was written as SA, Jess should've been gone by the end of season 3 and never come back. Rory would have mentioned it recurringly rather than just once to Lorelai, during which she herself doesn't believe that he tried to pressure her for sex. Also, I'm sorry but I really have come to despise the way people just talk about how badly that scene can be interpreted at this point in the fandom because it always gets boiled down to arguments over how Jess is worse than the other two guys. Like next to no one talks about how weird it is that the minute Rory expresses sexual interest in a guy, that scene ends up happening and her relationship with him ends abruptly, or idk, the fact that she apparently had her first time with a married man afterwards instead of being given even just a semi-normal first time. But let's all ignore that in favor of repetitively reminding everyone of that scene and even make gifsets of it or show it in a video while conveniently not tagging it with any warnings despite calling it an assault. None of these people know how to even properly discuss this subject matter despite wanting to use the seriousness of the topic for a dumb ship war...

YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT!!! it has always irked me the way the show approached the subject of sex and it breaks my heart that rory’s first time went down that way (and especially that the show never really allowed her to reflect on how harmful her relationship with dean was—instead by the revival she was telling him that he “taught [her] what safe was” like??? WHERE??? anyway, she deserved better than that, and them using the bedroom scene to derail literati was so cheap. why use their relationship as a weapon against them when you could do literally anything else. and don’t even get me started on lane and how completely tragic the trajectory of her storyline was. like, they gave her a horrible first time and used the story for comedic effect (ugh???) and then had her vow to never have sex again. not only that, but she also got pregnant and saddled with twins at like, what, 19? 20? jesus. anyway yes, how about we stop making these plotlines and scenes about which guy is better and just discuss the repercussions of having things play out that way? i’d much rather talk about how those scenes impacted viewers in terms of like, how the dismissal of dean’s abuse made them feel, or how lane never got to live out her dreams and what the implications of that are if we view it through an anti-feminist lens? or how it perpetuates the suppression of minorities in television? what do young girls think when they watch this show and how does that impact the way they perceive their own relationships? etc etc. so many more interesting topics! why is it always about the men!

#asks #chambersofthesea #gilmore girls

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moth--knight · 10 months

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for the ask games :) — 14, 17, 20 + 💫🎀

AHHHH HI!!! :3 sorry I need to say at the top I fucking love your wild geese fics so bad. working on leaving a comment soon but. oh my god. SO GOOD.

anyway. thank you for this ask!!! putting da answers below the cut because I ramble uhhhh a lot. sorry.

14. Post a line of dialogue from one of your WIPs without context.

"She doesn’t know if she can face the mortification of going back to the optical store for a third time in less than two months."

ahahahaahheheheeheheh

17. Describe a fic that is still in the 'ideas’ stage.

I have. Too many of these. I'll talk about two though!

I am writing a sequel to sunday best thanks to some gentle encouragement (/pos) that involves Melissa and Barbara making out in a confessional and cookies. The pieces are there but I am still slotting them together.

I also REALLY want to write a fucked up BayoJeanne thing where Bayonetta gets a hold of both Eyes of the World, becomes her own god, and traps Jeanne in a time loop of sorts so she never stays dead. Very angsty, psychological horrors elements.....it is coming together in the soup of my brain slowly but surely.

20. Do you have a favorite fanfic or author? If so, tag them/post a link and share the love!

I already shouted you out hehe, you are on my list for fave barlissa authors right now !!!!!!!! everyone go read wild geese !!!!!!!!

god but also mississippiwriterinjackson, whose connected fics five times and passing notes have driven me to insanity. fucking hell. The romance of it all couched in the mundane and domestic. I am biting my hand clawing at the walls etc etc.

I feel like I talk about my favorite Bayonetta authors all the damn time, probably bc I am friends/good oomfs with all of them lmao (hi XilianX hi Wilmaa hi Dikhotomia hi dubhgloinne hi The_Valaxy), but I am going to shout out Spooky oomf and her fic le chat et sa magicienne because months later and I am still thinking about those french women. goddamn.

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

answered this one but I will say it again: specific feedback on someone's favorite lines/parts of a fic!! tell me what made you feel soft or where the knife got twisted. since I write it and sit with it all for a while, I never know what parts are going to get other people. I am desensitized to my own impact. lmao.

🎀give yourself a compliment about your own writing

*strained smile* uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I think I am good at incorporating small character building/world building details in a way that enhances a story without terribly derailing focus. maybe.

AND my work is always gay as fuck which I think is great. lesbian brainrot is alive and well for any and all moth_knight fics. amen.

THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE ASKS!!!! hope they were interesting o7

#asks #ask game #these are so fun thank youuuuu also I promise I will comment on your fics soon my god #turning them over in my brain like those hotdog heaters in gas station convenience stores #moth writes

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shudderue · 2 years

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read the stuff on facelessxchurch about the tracing that anon tried to tag me in. tbh? i'm just kind of done in w internet drama and tracing drama and i think that in this specific scenario, facelessxchurch is much better equipped to deal with it.

not only am i not an artist, but i had her (? not 100% on pronouns sorry) blocked until about five minutes ago and i'm not really interested in dealing with the stuff that led to that in the first place. the post she made about it seems informative and especially the video about the guy landy is working with — however, again, i'm not an artist. my biggest issue with the tracing wasn't so much the shit product but the laziness and lack of effort put in rubbing on me.

i've just kind of realised there's... nothing i can do about it? i guess? like i wasn't holding out much hope that he'd own up and quit it or fire his illustrator or anything, but. landy has made it very clear that he's happy to stop putting effort into things if he can keep writing about his big shouty fight scenes and wildly overpowered characters (and feet? for some reason??), because he can cut corners with timelines, characterisation and just lump phase one characters back in to bribe people back. he still gets his money that way, and i'm not surprised that he's happy to cut corners with cover art as well, as i'd imagine at this stage that percival probably isn't getting paid as much if he's happy to keep him on despite all this shit.

this is really derailing from the tracing issue by the second, but the fact that landy is getting into marvel comics when the marvel movies (not exactly the same, i know, but obviously there's a pretty massive overlap in fanbases) are somewhat known to be full of big fight scenes and little to no characterisation, much like his recent books, kind of irks me. i think there's a distressing amount of similarities in the corners cut in marvel movies and those cut in landy's writing, but it's pretty clear to see that landy prioritises wow factor over quality of work, or at least is struggling to separate them enough to see that one is definitely lacking.

all in all, i'm not invested in the covers any more because a) not an artist & not really equipped to do anything about it, b) i've learned to deal with landy cutting corners for a cash grab in his writing and the covers just seem like another example of that and c) him working with a known tracer seems like he's realised that, much like the marvel movie fanboys, people will buy anyway regardless of little things like tracing or ruining books, and i think his working with marvel has really cemented that for him. if anything, this just furthers the percival traces claim, but nothing is going to come from it.

also, in future, i don't have anons turned on on here. if you're wanting to send an anon to this blog then you can send it to @fallingnebulae and if it's SP related or you say it's for here i'll post it here. pls don't be annoying about this though because i'll just turn them off there too.

#derek landy #skulduggery pleasant #lucy's shit

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janetsnakehole02 · 3 years

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I posted this a while ago but it got derailed by s*lki shippers bc I didn’t tag it correctly so I deleted it but I’m posting it again bc I took a screenshot idk why ANYWAY. Shrunken green text is my additions/extra thoughts that no one asked for lol sorry

After I posted that I realized it also could’ve just been Loki trying to catch his breath after all the running. But there was a lot of heavy breathing and his head was down and he was sort of hunched, and the way I perceived it, because I noticed similarities between him and I, was he having a panic attack. And I was told I shouldn’t impose my experience with panic attacks on Loki and I’m sorry if it came off that way but then I got comments like these from s*lki shippers:

Look, I’m sorry for possibly imposing my personal experience with panic attacks on Loki, but that is not how someone breathes when they’re aroused. Even if you do ship them it does not take a genius to tell that that sort of breathing is only a result of stress, be it internal or external (or maybe both). Loki had no REASON to be aroused, he was quite literally running for his life. And if you’re trying to sexualize this just for your ship to get a win (which is quite similar to the way you sexualized him getting stripped of his own clothing without his consent in the TVA that’s just disgusting) then don’t waste my time by trying to argue with me in my notes god. Anyway I just wanted to post it again because I want to see how many people like myself may have interpreted it as a panic attack.

#tagged it right this time #if you’re a s*lki shipper pls dni i don’t have the patience or energy to argue #loki #loki laufeyson #sylvie laufeydottir #loki series #loki season 1 #loki episode 3 #lamentis #lamentis 1 #antisylki #anti sylki #anti loki x sylvie #anti sylvie x loki

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 3 years

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that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 6

If sharing a glass of wine with Harry the other night didn’t make you wish things could go back to normal--whatever that was--seeing him with CeCe before bed did.

She stomped her feet in the bathroom when you brushed through her hair. “I’m not tired! I want to stay up later with Maeve!”

Maybe that was another parenting fail in the last year--giving Maeve a later bedtime. She had bargained with you long and hard. She wanted more time on her phone but you wouldn’t budge. When you had heard enough of the I’m practically a teenager, mom! you figured there probably wasn’t an easy way to tell her that in two years she’d look back at herself and laugh.

So you caved, which you were doing more of lately but only with the silly stuff: bedtime, playing outside, dessert before dinner on occasion and even a PG-13 movie at a friend’s house when Maeve really got snippy with you.

But your energy was draining. After all the shit you’d put up with, you figured that hearing a few swears or seeing a high school party wouldn’t kill your 11-year-old.

CeCe, on the other hand, might be the death of you.

She was more outspoken than her sister, if that was possible. She had lungs on her that carried her voice through the house, especially when she whined.

“I want to stay up late!”

“You can’t,” you told her firmly. “I’m sorry. You’ll thank me tomorrow when you wake up refreshed.”

She made a face at you in the bathroom mirror, she probably didn’t understand what you meant but you smiled back at her anyway.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

You didn’t reply, instead let out a sigh and ignored the way she pouted until she stomped her feet again. “I want to watch TV!”

She smacked a fist on the counter when you didn’t reply, your eyes went wide with shock. “Cecelia Rose,” you scolded. “You do not yell at mommy like that or bang your fist on the counter.”

Maeve was nowhere to be found, likely scrolling in a group chat with other pre-teens who sent too many emojis. You almost wished she’d pop her head in to intervene--sometimes she was good at talking CeCe off the ledge, even if just to distract her.

The next best thing, though, when Harry knocked on the door and peered through the crack. “Everything alright?”

“Just dandy,” you forced a smile.

“Mommy is making me sleep,” CeCe frowned up at him.

“She is?”

“She is,” she nodded. “And I’m not tired.”

“Well, mommy has good reasoning, you’ll be sleepy tomorrow if you don’t sleep now.”

She didn’t seem to care, she crossed her arms over her chest once you finished the braid at the base of her neck and clapped her on the shoulder. “I won’t be tired.”

“Do you want to read together?”

She looked up at him with narrowed eyes, almost like she was waiting for the catch. When he smiled again, she let out a hefty sigh but headed for the door. “Fine.”

Harry smiled over his shoulder at you and followed behind her, trailing her down the hall until she took the left turn into her bedroom with a butterfly carpet. She walked over the bookshelf, picked out The Big Book of Bedtime Stories, and pulled the sheets back.

You were in the doorway, watching as she fluffed her own pillow and then looked up at Harry. “Are you coming?”

She patted the spot next to her, gesturing for him to get close enough for her to fall asleep on his shoulder. He hesitated, stole a glance in your direction and then did as she said. He adjusted the pillow behind his head and CeCe wriggled beside him until she was comfortable. When she was, she nestled right into him, looked up at you and then said: “are you coming?”

You paused, parted your lips to let her down gently, but then something in you tugged your torso towards his. He was surprised by this, too, shifted in the tiny bed to make room for you to crawl over and squish yourself between CeCe and the wall.

Harry, with a smirk on his lips, looked over at you when he opened the book to CeCe’s favorite story. “Comfortable?”

“Go ahead,” you rolled your eyes, ignoring the silliness of the moment but somehow wishing it was routine.

You put a hand on her pajama pants, petting her mindlessly as you listened to Harry’s voice when he thumbed through the pages. You’d had moments like these with Luke, when Maeve was tiny and CeCe was barely a thought. It’d been a while since you laid in bed with another adult, your child between you as she let out sleepy sighs and fluttered her eyelashes against her cheek.

The lights were dim now, you watched as his fingers pulled each page and tried to forget the way they pulled moans from your mouth.

He stopped halfway through, looked over at you and smirked when her breathing got heavier, but he kept going. He’d learned: if you stop too soon, she’d bolt awake and tell you she’d never fallen asleep to begin with.

He carried on like that for a while, glancing over to see if her eyes were open, sometimes catching your gaze but looking away quickly. Timid, like he was just as unsure as you were.

He finished a story and started a new one, and for a moment you wondered if he kept reading just to not disturb the scene: the two of you with your daughter sandwiched between. If someone looked in on it from the outside, they’d think you were a family.

Eventually he cut himself off mid sentence, derailed the story of the princess and the pea to ask you: “should I keep going?”

“No,” you laughed a little. “She’s out. We’re fine.”

He shut the book and pulled away from her gently. You lifted her head a little and tugged your arm out from the sheets and he placed the book on the desk to the right of her bed. He stuck his hand out to help you climb over her quietly. She stirred, opened her eyes and looked up at the two of you.

“Love you mommy,” she said, you bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Love you too, sweetie.”

“Love you, Harry,” she said through a sigh, eyes already closing when you turned around to leave. His eyes locked on yours, caught off guard and unsure of how to reply, but he looked down at her, lips in a small smile.

“Love you too, CeCe.”

And just like that, your life turned to a personally targeted and especially cruel single-mom hell. It was already there, practically. He played outside with your kids? He drove Maeve to play dates and picked CeCe up from ballet? He cooked dinner and poured you wine and tucked deep inside your memory were images of his head between your legs and his fingers laced with yours.

And now he said he loved one of them? You made a beeline for your bedroom, shut the door and didn’t say goodnight because you knew it would only get worse from here.

You were right. It was torture. Daydream, fairytale level torture when he helped Maeve with her homework the next night and even more painful when CeCe fell asleep with her head in his lap after a movie.

Maybe the worst part, though, was when you sat beside him on the patio a few nights later. The sun had set and you had a glass of crisp rosé in your hand when he turned to you.

“Look what CeCe brought home the other day,” he moved his phone to show you the screen. A drawing of stick figures, red and green and blue under a yellow house. He pinched the screen to zoom in, the actual artwork was nowhere to be found.

“What is it?” You tilted your head to the side and let out a quiet laugh. Her drawing needed work, but the color choices were bright and vibrant, just like her.

“Well, it’s us I think.”

“Us?” You looked up at him for a moment, CeCe hit the tennis ball into the pool and Maeve let out a frustrated groan.

“That’s her, with the tutu obviously. That’s Maeve and you right there--I’m assuming, by the way. This is all interpretation.”

You let out a laugh but watched when he zoomed in on the other stick figure.

“And that’s me, I think,” he tilted his head sideways now, looked at it closer. "With the guitar." You reached out your hand, brought his phone closer when he let you have it.

“When did she give this to you?”

“Monday--no, Tuesday, I think.”

“What did she say?”

He shrugged when you looked up. Maeve had gotten the leaf skimmer and CeCe clapped when the tennis ball was back on dry land.

“She said she drew ‘home.’”

“Home?”

He nodded, looked back over at you with raised eyebrows, a sense of nonchalance when he held his palm out to retrieve his phone. “Cute, right?”

It was cute, obviously. It was sweet and endearing and then you asked: “where’s the actual drawing?”

“On my nightstand.” He watched as CeCe tugged a hoola hoop from a bucket of toys. “Might frame it and show her, she’d be so excited.”

“She would be,” you nodded. “She’d love that.”

He left it alone, showed Maeve how to swing the bat better before you eventually decided it was too dark to sit outside. They sat at the island and ate ice cream, cherries and sprinkles and Harry even doused his in chocolate sauce.

Your heart ached for the family that CeCe drew: one with less complexity and one where age differences didn’t mean a thing. One where there was no such thing as death or divorce. Just four stick figures beneath a triangular roof with grass scribbled around the edges of paper.

You wished, desperately, that the four of you could be the stick figure family with no worries and no problems. You wished time could freeze and Harry’s house wouldn’t be ready in another 10 days. In a way you wished that Luke didn’t exist, you wished that your life was as simple as it looked on 8 x 11 inch paper with scribbled marker.

Zoey stood in your bedroom, lips pushed out in thought when you held up a different necklace. “This one is chunkier which I can’t tell if I like.”

She thought on it for a second, already dressed and ready to go like the timely human she was.

“I like the first one,” she nodded. “It’s more I’m the boss than that one.”

You laughed at her reasoning, held it up to your neck when CeCe burst through the doors with a scowl on her face. “Mommy, Maeve said I’m being stupid and annoying.”

You frowned at her but clasped the necklace around your neck, “that’s not very nice of her. Why’d she say that?”

“Because I was asking her to push me on the swing but she was too busy texting someone.”

You let out a sigh and made a face at Zoey in the mirror. Buying Maeve a cell phone was something you’d thought long and hard about. She begged and begged for one at her birthday, but something felt wrong about handing over a thousand dollar piece of technology to someone who was barely old enough to watch TV unsupervised.

Harry and Luke’s punching incident is what did you in, though. What if Maeve was at a friend’s house and something like that happened? You needed her to be able to contact you in case she felt unsafe or uncomfortable.

You also figured it would be a good way to distract her from what was really going on under your roof: mom fell for the guy who stayed in our guest suite and now it’s a hot mess.

“You’re not stupid or annoying,” Zoey reassured her. “Maeve just thinks she’s too cool for everyone now that she has a phone.”

CeCe let out a dramatic sigh. “You can say that again.”

A knock on the door, she turned around to see Harry. “Maeve said I’m stupid and annoying.”

Harry frowned and knelt in front of her. “That’s not true.”

“Oh I know,” she shrugged. “I just think that’s stupid and annoying of her to say that.”

You bit back a laugh when he looked up at you, shocked by her attitude and her wit before she ran off to her bedroom down the hall.

Harry stood back up and greeted Zoey. “Hi--how’re Shawn and Benny?”

“They’re great, and they’re on their own tonight which I am so grateful for.” She’d been dying for another night out of the house, she talked for weeks about what she wanted to wear and what she was going to drink. “You two should meet, you and Shawn. He’s not a musician by any means but he’s a killer steering wheel drummer when we have the classic rock hits on.”

Harry laughed, looked over to you quickly before nodding in Zoey’s direction. “I’d love that, maybe we could all have dinner.”

You nodded at the suggestion, hooked an earring into place before Harry remembered why he came in.

“Speaking of dinner, I have a meeting with my stylist but I’ll be there tonight, obviously. Probably around 7:15 though, is that alright?”

“Totally fine,” you nodded. He told you a few days earlier that you’d have to drive separately, quelling your anxiety about showing up together and going home together. Your living situation was no one’s business, but having Harry at the launch party to begin with was sure to stir up enough chatter, even if it was mostly from Tristan or Jeff.

You’d been trying to hide your anxiety. This was your biggest launch to date, arguably a step outside your comfort zone and feeling so uncertain about things at home left you feeling more nervous to have your employees and your friends in the same spot. The girls were headed to Shelli’s, a movie night and arts and crafts, she promised.

But it was setting in now, questions and thoughts and worries were bouncing around in your head like a pinball machine.

Would Maeve and CeCe behave for Shelli? Would they get along with each other? Would the launch party go well? Would Tristan bring a date? Would people like the body wash? Would Harry sit next to you at dinner? Would things ever feel normal between the two of you again or would he move out and fade out of your life like he’d never even entered it at all?

Zoey had stepped out into the hallway, phone pressed to her ear as Shawn asked a question about formula.

“You alright?”

Harry was still in the doorway, suit pants on and a white button down as he waited for your answer.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just nervous.”

��Hey,” he took a step towards you. “It’s going to be great. You’re going to be great.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and then withdrew it. “You are great.”

You smiled, appreciative of his kindness but already overthinking the way he pulled his hand away, like your skin was too hot to touch or like your bodies coming into contact was suddenly forbidden.

“I just want the body wash to do well and I want the dinner to go smoothly. Tristan always goes overboard with these events and I just hope that the food is good, I mean, I’ve never eaten here before--”

He laughed, “hey, it’s going to be fine. I might be a bit late but I’ll get there and Jeff and I can do something stupid to make you laugh and forget about the stress of it all. Everyone wins.”

You nodded, reassured by his words but also caught off guard by how easy it was to admit: “I’m really glad you’re coming.”

“Me too,” he nodded. “Kind of feels like we haven’t seen each other much lately.”

You lifted your eyebrows at that, a week since Luke’s surprise visit and a week since Harry had so much as looked your way for more than ten seconds. You hadn’t told him to stop, you never said you didn’t want to keep sleeping with him or anything of the sort, but he took your words on the patio to mean that, apparently.

How were you supposed to backtrack? How were you supposed to have a conversation with him about it when there’d never been one in the first place?

If you hadn’t defined it originally, how were you supposed to quantify the change that had occurred as the bruise on his skin faded to a pale yellow?

“Okay,” Zoey laughed, a shake of her head when she ended the call and came back into the master suite. “How hard is it to find the bottle brush in the drawer where it’s literally been for the entirety of Benny’s short life?” She cut herself off when she looked up from her phone to see how close Harry stood to you.

He backed up. “Good luck, you’re going to kill it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You nodded. “Yes, right. Thanks.”

He turned on his heel and offered a smile to Zoey, whose eyes immediately flew to yours once he was descending the stairs. You briefed her over lunch shortly after Luke had shown up on your doorstep, but Zoey was decidedly team Harry and had a hard time even admitting that he shouldn't have gotten involved.

Her eyes were wide, lips set in a frown as if she’d just witnessed the most adorable thing. “He likes you so much.”

“No, Zoey, stop.”

“I leave the room for one second and you're having a heart to heart?”

“We weren't having a heart to heart,” you rolled your eyes. “He was just offering some encouragement.”

Partially true. His words were encouraging and that seemed to be the point of him coming up here. But you couldn’t admit to Zoey that part of your anxiety about the night was related to him. It felt stupid to admit that pulling back made you miss him, made you feel like something was missing.

Those feelings left your heart and your head a mess, unsure about what you needed and wanted and even more confused about what was right for everyone.

You turned back to the mirror to put your other earring in place. Zoey didn’t say more, she didn’t need to. She smiled at your reflection and you both knew that your words didn’t even begin to capture the complexity of it all. But you had a launch party to get to.

Your champagne flute was filled when you walked in, which was a great step towards quelling the nerves. Tristan was already working the crowd with grace and poise, smile plastered on his face when he bragged about all of the hard work your team had put in on this.

Zoey was excited to pump and dump in the bathroom, your employees were already plucking hors d'oeuvres from silver platters, and you just tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest of wishing your dad was here. He’d be proud, no doubt, he’d be excited for you and he’d be cracking jokes with Irv in the corner as Jeff tried to keep them under control.

The emptiness that he left in your life was something you’d live with forever, you were sure of this until suddenly there was a man in your house with a dimpled smile and patience for your children that you never saw coming.

Another look around the room, balloons in the corner, high heels and lipstick on the women that made your team what it was. A moment of excitement, of celebration, and yet your heartbeat picked up when you realized that you were here, alone.

You plucked your phone out to check the time, 7:24pm. He’d said 7:15--he clasped his hands on your shoulders like he meant it and you wondered where he was. Tristan pulled you over to another friendly face before you could sink too far down that rabbit hole.

Zoey had Shawn, Shelli had Irv, Jeff always had someone. Even Tristan had Tinder dates for the nights that he got lonely. You had the girls, of course, you had a life that you loved and a job you were proud of. But what did that matter if you didn’t have someone to share it with, to whisper to in the mornings when sun streamed through the windows and you were woken up too early by daughters that begged for adventures?

You’d grown used to feeling that way. Your marriage was over long before the papers were signed, but your father’s sudden decline left you reeling and unsure which way was up.

You’d never admit it aloud, but Harry showing up brought you back down to earth and kept you tethered to a life that felt manageable and doable and somehow possible.

Another glance at the time, 7:32pm. Tristan asked when you wanted to make a toast and thank everyone for coming to celebrate, you made an excuse and tried to buy yourself time like his absence was currency.

You wanted him here, you wanted his arm around your shoulders and you wanted to introduce him to your team--take a bite of his dinner and then bring him home like that was where he belonged.

How embarrassing, though, you talked yourself up enough to let him come and introduce him to the rest of the girls at work, only to be stood up or forgotten or altogether abandoned. Your fantasy of being with him felt even more stupid and naive when you realized that it’d probably never be like that.

Your glass was refilled at 7:49pm, Zoey laughed when your head of marketing recounted the embarrassing moment when a picture of Maeve ended up on the company instagram story.

Frustration, anger, maybe both when the clock struck 8pm. Forty-five minutes late without a text message? But those emotions were drowned out by the judgment: why do you care, he’s not your boyfriend, this doesn’t mean anything.

You answered too quickly when he called, phone pressed to your face: where are you?

Pulling up, down the street, I’m so sorry.

You handed your drink to Tristan, pushed out to the parking lot to find him jogging towards the door in the dark sky.

“Hi, hey, why are you out here?” his smile faded when he could see you were upset.

“I had no clue where you were and you didn’t even bother to text me--” you were stopped dead on the sidewalk, the sky was a light purple and he grabbed your hand to tug you back towards the entrance.

“I’m sorry, I know, my meeting went late and the traffic was terrible, I didn’t want to bother you--”

“You said you’d be here at 7:15 and I’ve been in there by myself--”

He didn’t understand, his eyebrows dipped on his forehead in confusion and he pulled at your arm again. “I know, I’m sorry, but let’s get back in there so you can--”

“No, Harry,” you yanked your hand out of his grasp. A deep breath, a twinkling light above the horizon, a plane on final approach to LAX. “Just give me a minute.”

He sighed, looked over his shoulder to the big windows that allowed a peek into the party. He didn’t say anything, waited for you to speak when the light at the intersection across the street turned green.

“I was stupid for thinking this would be a good idea,” you said aloud, arms crossed in the parking lot. “But it’s fine, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s obviously a big deal,” he held a hand out, gesturing to the emotion in your voice. “I fucked up, I get that. I’m sorry--but I tried to call you and tell you I was going to be late, something’s wrong with my phone.”

Happy couples strolled out of the restaurant, arms linked with to-go boxes in hand. The air was still warm, streetlights illuminated the wrinkle in his forehead when he took a step forward. “Is this about more than the party?”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by his ability to read you and sense the real tension beneath the surface. So you lied: “No.”

“Y/N,” he said your name like he knew your words weren’t true. “What’s going on?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should break the silence that you’d both been living in for weeks. Unspoken, so far--the feelings and the sex and the uncertainty of what it meant had been woven into your life and now you were about to tug the thread and see if it unraveled.

“We’ve been kidding ourselves, Harry, don’t you think?” When he tilted his head to the side, you took it as a cue to continue. “We’ve been acting like a couple and you’ve been acting like the father of my children and we can’t do that.”

His lips parted and your heart seemed to stop when he didn’t say anything. He licked his lips, hands in his pockets when he said: “okay.”

“Okay?”

An incredulous tone in your voice put him on the defense.

“What do you want me to say?” His shoulders lifted to his ears, a shake of his head when he dropped your gaze. “Living with you and spending time with the girls has been the greatest thing I’ve had all year, I mean that. But it’s your house, they’re your children. It’s your family.”

He was right, but it didn’t mean the words didn’t sting like salt in a wound when he asked: “Do you want me to move out?”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

He scoffed, upset or bothered or maybe both. “I was never trying to overstep any boundaries.”

“I know you weren’t,” you said quickly. “That’s the problem, all of this happened so naturally and you fit into our lives so well and the girls fell in love with you and I--”

You cut yourself off, clamped your mouth together as if the words would pry their way out.

“You what?”

“I don’t want them to get hurt again.”

He pointed a finger to his chest, anger on his face. “By me? You think I would do something to hurt them?”

“Not intentionally, Harry,” you let your arms flail against your sides. “But that doesn’t mean that you won’t. Their dad left, their grandfather died, and then you moved in and suddenly it’s like you’re the missing piece they never had but that’s not realistic!”

“Why not?!” He was bothered now, more emotion in his eyes when his hands went up to run through his hair.

“Because you’re you. You’re a musician. You’re recording an album and going on tour and you’re not really able to be present. You couldn’t even show up tonight!”

“I’m not Luke,” he shook his head.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why does it bother you that I was late? Why does that matter if I’m here now?”

“Because if you’d do it to me you’d do it to them. We don’t need to be left by another man this year.”

You didn’t mean for the words to come off so biting and harsh. He nodded slowly, chest deflated before he brought his eyes back up to you. “Fine. I can get my stuff and stay at Jeff’s.”

The shift in his demeanor felt heavy, his shoulders angled away and suddenly the magnetic pull between your chests was no longer there, like the thread had been snipped altogether and your words had been the scissors.

“I--I’m not trying to be a dick.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I understand.”

“I just don’t want them to get hurt.”

“Or do you not want to get hurt?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it,” he said, a few steps towards you when his face softened. “Tell everyone I say hi. I’ll go get my things before the girls are home and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He let his arm snake around your waist, a kiss to the side of your head before you could stop him--not that you would have.

He left you there in the parking lot, alone again for the third time this year, walked out on and deserted when your eyes welled with tears. You turned on your heels to head inside, hoping that Tristan had kept things together and hoping that the champagne was still flowing.

Jeff found you first, hand on your elbow when he spotted you in the hallway near the bathroom, mascara on your cheeks when you tried to soak up tears with a folded napkin. “Hey--where have you been?”

“Harry’s moving out,” you said it quickly. “He’s going to--uh--he’ll stay at your place, I think, for now.”

He looked over his shoulder and back at the gathering behind you. “Is he here?”

“I found him in the parking lot--he left, though.”

“What happened?”

Where did you start? When was the line crossed? Was it when he started playing with the girls in the backyard? Was it when he carried CeCe up to her bed after Maeve’s sleepover? Or was it all the way back when he came to your birthday party and kissed you at the top of the stairs in an empty house?

“Nothing, it’s just time for him to move out,” you shook your head, embarrassed by the emotion streaming down your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, shook your head and blotted your face again. Now wasn’t the time for this conversation and it certainly wasn’t the time for the tears.

“Y/N, stop. You’re letting him walk out of your life just like that?”

You looked up at him, thrown off by his question. “You don’t even know what happened. I’m fine, it’s all fine.”

“No--I don’t know, but I also know that I’ve never seen you as happy as you are with him and the girls.”

“He’s twenty-four, Jeff.”

“So what? That’s going to stop you from doing what’s right for you?”

“How is it right for me? He can’t be the type of person that Maeve and CeCe need.”

“Can he actually not be, or is the age thing getting in the way?”

“I can’t talk to you about this right now,” you pulled away from him, bothered by his strong opinions and his know-it-all attitude. Some things never changed.

“Don’t ruin something good just because you don’t know how it will end.”

You gave him the finger as you walked away, forced out a laugh and tried to flip the switch: happy, grateful, excited and ready for another glass of champagne.

He dropped it then, you left him with no choice but to follow you back out to the party. He ate mini cheesecakes before the crowd started to disperse and drove you home, a kiss on the cheek before you climbed out. Call me in the morning, he said. Translation: I hope you change your mind overnight.

Harry’s car was gone, and if you had to guess, the bed upstairs was made and the drawers were empty. His keys weren’t on the hook by the back door and when Shelli dropped off the girls and they raced inside, Maeve’s face fell.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Oh,” you hadn’t thought this far ahead, still numb from the whiplash of emotions. “He’s at Uncle Jeff’s--he’s gonna stay there from now on, I think.”

“Wait, so he moved out?”

“Harry’s gone?” CeCe asked.

“Not forever, no, no--he’s just not going to live here.”

“Why not?”

“He has to work,” you spit out quickly. “He’s busy.” What were you supposed to tell them? Mommy’s an idiot.

“Why does that mean he can’t live here?”

“Because he just can’t,” you said, a sigh when you knew the answer wasn’t good enough for Maeve. She must have sensed the emotion in your voice, though, because she didn’t push it.

“Can you bring your sister upstairs and start getting ready for bed, please?”

Shelli was at the island, quiet and observant when Maeve let out a reluctant sigh but ushered CeCe forward. They climbed in silence, and when the faucet was turned on, all bets were off.

“What on earth happened?”

“He can’t stay here, Shelli. We can’t do whatever it was we were doing.”

“Which was...”

“Pretending that he was their dad or something and me pretending that sleeping with him was normal.”

“And where does being happy factor into this nonsense equation?”

“It doesn’t.” You busied yourself at the sink, grabbed for the sponge and wiped invisible crumbs from the granite to keep your hands busy. “After Luke and my dad, I was just stupid, okay? It was poor judgment.”

She set her purse down on a stool and watched you closely. “Why does your happiness always come last, Y/N?”

“Because! My happiness doesn’t matter if the decision is stupid. Me plus Harry just doesn’t make sense!” You whispered at her, voice wrought with emotion. “He’s so young and busy and he’s in the industry and--”

“Is that what this is about?”

“Which part?”

“The industry, him being a musician.”

You waved her off like she wasn’t sniffing the truth out of you with ease. “It’s just a piece of it.”

“Y/N, just because your parents’ marriage didn’t work doesn’t mean you’re destined for the same future.”

You stopped wiping at that. “Really? Cause I’m thirty-two and already divorced.”

“But that’s because Luke is an asshole,” she reasoned, “not because of you or the girls.”

A sigh from between your lips, fervent wiping again with the tough side of the sponge, you were sure you felt something sticky. “Well, I doubt Harry would ever be the kind to settle down. That’s unrealistic. He’s famous and busy and he probably is sick of being on carpool duty anyway--probably wants to get back to snorting cocaine off of someone’s tits.”

She let out a quick laugh, shook her head. “You are really in love with him, aren’t you?”

“No,” you looked up at her again and then back at the counter. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t think he was ever snorting cocaine off of anyone’s anything. I might not know him as well as Jeffrey does, but, he seems pretty happy here with you three.”

“The girls loved having him here,” you said the thought aloud, it escaped into the air before you could realize Shelli didn’t need anymore ammunition.

“And did you?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” you moved back to the sink, wrung out the sponge and then turned to face her. “It was nice, I guess.”

“Well, then I guess that makes four.”

“Four what?”

“Four people who were all happy with the way things were going. Before you went and turned it upside down out of fear.”

“Okay,” you held up your hands, hoping to end the conversation. It was too late and you were tired--the final glass of champagne had your eyes heavy in the passenger seat of Jeff’s car. “I need to sleep.”

She let out a sigh and picked up her purse, moved around the counter to come and wrap her arms around you. “Don’t let your past ruin your future.”

“Goodnight,” you said sweetly, hoping that your tone would usher her out of the house and into her car, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

She laughed, called over her shoulder when she made her way for the door. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

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holyscreamingintothevoid · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Nostalgebraist-Autoresponder Cinematic Universe

Relationship: Baldwin Davenport/Penis Galette

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Love Confession, Mentions of Religion, tagging Major Character Death for God, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, unbeta’d, written before Penis Huggler was canon don’t @ me

Penis Science

It was a cool autumn day in Penis Valley and the trees lining the trail to Penis Galette’s secluded cabin were bright with reds and yellows. Penis Galette was riding his long and thick penis home after one of his grocery runs to the nearby city.

The extraterrestrial had considered moving into the city permanently, to cut down on the time he had to spend driving each week, but he could not imagine any place more homely than his humble abode deep woods of in the Penis Valley. He felt closer to nature here and that always helped keep the existential dread at bay.

Said dread had set in around the time his grandmother had looked him in the eye and said, “God is dead, Penis.” This had shocked the then devout Catholic alien, turned his world upside down and made his penis feel small. But luck was on his side it seemed, and soon after he’d reluctantly begun to view himself as an agnostic, one Baldwin Davenport had stepped into his life.

Baldwin was an earthling, working as a scientist at one of the many not-so-secret secret underground laboratories located in and around Penis Valley. The man was obsessed with “unlocking humanity's true potential” as he referred to it, and unlike Penis Galette, had taken the statement “God is dead” as a challenge. If God had vacated his position, it would fall to humanity (or potentially Peniskind) to take his place. Baldwin was currently studying what he called Gold-Eyed Saints, or GES, and he would rave about his work to Penis whenever he found his way to his old friend’s cabin for the occasional beer.

Speak of the devil, thought Penis Galette as he turned the corner to his gravel driveway. Baldwin’s sciencemobile was parked in front of his garage, which was not an issue as Penis always rode his own penis everywhere and rarely had to use the emergency penis he kept in there. He could make out his friend’s skinny form on his porch, stooped over in typical Davenport manner. He should really work on his posture or at least do some back exercises. At this rate he’ll end up developing chronic back-pain.

“Penis Galette, how nice of you to finally show up! I’ve only been standing here for an hour…”

Penis rolled his eyes. “Davenport, you know damn well I would’ve come home earlier if you’d told me you were coming to visit. Did you lose your phone again?”

“I’ve never lost a thing in my life. My phone is on vacation anyways.”

“Do I want to know? No, don’t tell me, I’m not in the mood to listen to you anthropomorphize your phone again.”

[The author is bored and wants to get to the good stuff.]

“I love you, Penis Galette”, he spat, “I’ve always loved you and your gods-damned giant penis!”

It took Penis a few seconds to understand what he had just been told but then he was crashing their mouths together so hard their teeth clacked.

“Ah, fuck!” Baldwin pulled back and pressed his hand to his mouth, “I think you chipped my fucking tooth!”

“Oh, sorry. But you’re a scientist, aren’t you? Just grow a new tooth in your eldritch laboratory or whatever!” Penis Galette did not need his attempt at seduction to be derailed by an emergency visit to the dentist.

“Of course I can, idiot! But it hurts like shit…”

“Well then we’ll just have to find something to distract you, won’t we? 😏”

“How the fuck did you just say an emoji out loud, what the hell?”

What followed was very sexy and involved many mentions of Penis Galette’s namesake.

The End

#the saga of penis galette #as you can probably tell i'm not a writer #started writing this before frank canonized penis huggler sorry for not mentioning her

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Derailed (Director’s Cut)

Elle Greenaway x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~1520

Warnings: Discussion of Spencer’s sex life, or lack thereof. Discussion of virginity as a social construct. Some suggestive dialogue, some snarky banter, and some sweetness to wash it down. It’s sexy, but also totally platonic, and it fades to black before anything actually happens.

A/N: You cannot convince me that this isn’t how Spencer lost his v-card.

For the “deleted scene” square on my @cmbingo card, written script-style and all. Picks up right where Derailed left off.

(I almost named this Railed. Then I almost named it Deflowered. So many tempting puns.)

[Around dusk. Hotch is driving an SUV. Morgan is in front, Elle and Spencer in back.]

Hotch: Elle, your interview has been rescheduled for tomorrow… and this time I’m driving you.

Elle: I can live with that.

Hotch: Local PD asked Gideon to consult on a case, and they wanted advice on media strategy, so he took JJ. The rest of us aren’t needed, so I got us checked into a motel.

Morgan: Lemme get this straight. We have an actual night off… and we’re spending it in B.F.E., West Texas?

Elle: They have bars in West Texas, right?

Spencer: We just passed one.

Elle: Then you won’t see me complaining. Drinks? Reid?

Spencer: Are you buying?

Elle: Hell yes I am. C’mon, Morgan, you gonna come celebrate the fact that I didn’t die today?

Morgan: When you put it that way, I don’t have much of a choice, do I? [They pull up in front of the motel and start piling out of the car.] Showers first, though.

Elle: We can head out in like an hour. How about you, boss?

Hotch: While I’m very glad nobody died, I am not passing up the opportunity to sleep for more than four consecutive hours. I don’t care what you do as long as I don’t get a call in the middle of the night.

—

[Inside a bar. Spencer and Elle are sitting at a high top, with a collection of empty glasses in front of them. Both of them are tipsy, not totally drunk but sort of giggly and loose-limbed. Spencer is using a penny to show Elle how he hid the microchip earlier. Nearby, the bartender is handing Morgan three fresh drinks, but he’s distracted, talking to a pretty woman, as he takes them.]

[Morgan brings their drinks over to the table and sets two of them down.]

Morgan: So —

Elle: We lost you, huh? [To Spencer] Told you so.

Morgan: How ‘bout you, pretty boy? She’s got friends.

Elle: Oh, come on, you really gonna make me drink alone?

Spencer: Yeah, no thanks.

Morgan: Suit yourself. Don’t wait up.

[Elle rolls her eyes as he walks away. Then she turns back to Spencer, who’s playing with the penny again.]

Elle: You know I’m joking, right? I’m almost ready to head back to the motel, anyway. You should go have some fun.

Spencer: I’m about ready to call it a night too. And honestly, that doesn’t really seem like fun for me.

[Elle watches him for a second, thinking.]

Elle: The flirting? Or the flirting with girls?

Spencer: Hmm?

Elle: I shouldn’t have assumed, sorry… are you even interested in women?”

Spencer: Theoretically, yes? But more to the point, women are rarely interested in me. I’m not… like that. [He gestures at Morgan, who’s showing his new friend how to hold a pool cue, saying something in her ear as she giggles.]

Elle: It’s about confidence, Doc. Gotta be a little cocky. Not too cocky, but —

Spencer: I don’t know how to be cocky.

Elle: Like hell you don’t. Remember earlier? When I said you probably saved my life, and —

Spencer: — I said I totally saved your life. I remember.

Elle: That. Cocky. It works for you.

Spencer: I did save your life, though. That’s a statement of fact, objectively speaking. Of course I’m confident when it comes to stating a fact.

[Spencer flips the penny between his fingers a few times, then makes it disappear and pulls it out from behind her ear.]

Elle: There’s something to get cocky about. You’re good with your hands, doctor.

[Spencer gets flustered and drops the penny, laughing at himself.]

Spencer: That’s different.

Elle: How so?

Spencer: I’m not going to take a girl home and show her my magic tricks, for starters. [He finishes his drink hurriedly.] Are you ready to go? I’m ready to go.

Elle: You’re not getting out of this that easily.

[They both slide off their stools and pull on jackets. Elle looks around for Morgan, but he’s way too focused on the girl to notice them. Spencer makes a face. They head for the door and start walking down the block.]

Elle: Look, objectively speaking? You’ve got cheekbones that could cut glass and you’re a goddamn genius. You know more than me about… well, almost everything, and as annoying as that can be — [She rolls her eyes and sighs, annoyed by her own sincerity.] — it’s impressive. Not to get all schmoopy about it, but… you’re pretty awesome, Doc.

Spencer: I know I’m awesome. This isn’t about my self-esteem.

Elle: So what’s the problem?

Spencer: A random girl in a bar isn’t interested in my IQ. And anyway, it’s not… I know how to talk to girls. But I’m not about to take one home.

Elle: Why not?

[Spencer sighs heavily, looking exasperated.]

Spencer: You want to know why I’m confident in my ability to make pennies disappear?

Elle: I mean… not really, but I’m guessing you have a point.

Spencer: It’s because I’ve been practicing my whole life. I’ve mastered the skill because I’ve had years to do so.

[Realization slowly dawns on Elle’s face.]

Elle: You’re a virgin, aren’t you?

Spencer: Virginity is a social construct based on inherently patriarchal values of purity and the commodification of the female body. [Elle looks sideways at him, raising an eyebrow.] Yes, I’m a virgin.

Elle: So, is it about romance? You want the first time to be special? [Spencer shrugs.] Hate to break it to you, but most first times are funny at best. The sooner you get it out of the way, the sooner it can be an embarrassing story for Morgan to laugh at.

Spencer: Yeah. Great. That’s exactly what I want.

Elle: No, really, what are you hung up on? [They’ve arrived back at the motel. Elle starts opening her door, but pauses.] You want to come in for a minute? Finish this conversation over another drink?

[Spencer shrugs and follows her inside. She starts pouring drinks from the minibar while he continues.]

Spencer: I guess part of the problem is the… learning curve. If I get to that point with someone I already have feelings for, that’s a lot of pressure, you know? But it would feel disingenuous to just pick up a random girl at a bar.

[Elle hands him a glass and they sit down.]

Elle: Disingenuous?

Spencer: False advertising. [He gives her a self-deprecating frog face.] That doesn’t seem fair to her.

Elle: You’re telling me you don’t want to pick up a girl in a bar because you’re a perfectionist?

Spencer: Well… yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it. I don’t like being bad at things!

[Elle laughs and then stares at her glass for a moment, rolling it between her hands thoughtfully.]

Elle: Which means you need someone who knows what to expect. Someone who’s okay with… the learning curve.

Spencer: I mean, I know the theory, but —

Elle: That’s something you can’t really learn from a book.

Spencer: Unfortunately. I need some practical experience.

Elle: You need someone you trust. [Spencer nods.] Somebody you’re comfortable with, but not so emotionally involved with that you feel like you need to impress them.

Spencer: I guess. Yeah.

[Elle raises her eyebrows and waits for him to get it. It takes a minute. His first instinct is to laugh, then he realizes she’s serious.]

Spencer: Really?

Elle: Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

Spencer: But… why?

Elle: You saved my life. Seems like the least I can do. I owe you one.

Spencer: I didn’t do that because I expected something in return! You’re my teammate, and my friend, and —

Elle: Because you know more than me about almost everything else in the world, and for once I’d like to be the one showing off.

Spencer: That’s not —

Elle: Haven’t you been listening? You’ve got cheekbones that could cut glass, and — objectively speaking — you’re pretty awesome. Besides, you’re my friend, and — [She hesitates, looking down at her glass, and the next part sounds almost painfully honest.] — my first time wasn’t great. It wasn’t with someone I trusted. And I guess if I can make sure it’s not like that for somebody else…

Spencer: Oh. [He smiles slightly, looking touched.] You really mean it?

[Elle rolls her eyes.]

Elle: One night only, no strings attached, and if you ever mention it to anyone on the team I will kill you in your sleep, but yeah. I mean it.

Spencer: Not a word.

[Elle drains her glass and straddles him matter-of-factly. He looks very overwhelmed.]

Spencer: Did you know —

[Elle puts a finger to his lips and shakes her head. He closes his mouth immediately, and she gives him an approving nod, teasing but also genuinely fond.]

Elle: You’re a fast learner, aren’t you? As long as you can follow directions and keep the statistics to yourself, I think we’re going to have some fun tonight. Now, shut up and kiss me.

[Spencer smiles. Cut to black.]

Smutty follow-up is now HERE!

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! Feel free to send me an ask if you want to be tagged in future Criminal Minds fic.

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #elle greenaway #reidaway

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tuesdayintheservantshall · 3 years

Note

Jimmy has no right to *that* hostile (ie downright homophobic). He already almost threw Thomas out onto the street without a reference; if anyone has a right to be scared it’s Thomas; he’s now aware everyone knows he’s gay and he knows at least one or two of those people(one of them being jimmy) would happily throw him under the bus given the chance. He’s literally never been so vulnerable and there’s no need for jimmy to rub it in

Hey Nonny you’re my first official fandom argument! Or you were when I first drafted this over a week ago lol. Since then I've waded into some drama bc I have poor impulse control. Well you're my first argumentative anon still! Do I get a prize, or do you? Have an, um apple of discord: 🍏And I will have one too: 🍏 (Intended tone: genuinely friendly, although if you are not already aware you should know that in fandom spaces messages like these are generally considered hostile acts. Most people don’t want to argue with strangers about why their faves suck, and especially not in response to tags they made about their overwhelmed shippy feelings. (Although I guess if hypothetically you’re the OP of the post I put the tags on and weren’t comfortable with them being on your post that’s admittedly a tough place to be in. Coming to me with your face on and asking me to remove my reblog or the tags because you’re not comfortable with them runs the risk of me being an asshole or taking something in your phrasing badly and starting a big fight. Uh, the chances of that seem rather remote so I’m gonna leave the tags where they are unless OP comes to me and says “I hadn’t wanted to say anything but actually -”.) Anyway I’m not gonna derail this into a long(er than it is) ramble on preferred ways to discuss disagreements in fandom but I might post something like that at a later date.)

God I use way too many parentheses. Apologies to any with a blacklist for Jimmy (do I still have any of those? not sure), obviously I don’t want to put this in the tags. I shall tag this and any further discourse on the subject with “the storyline that shall not be named”. Let’s get (finally) to it!

So, the first thing I wanna say is: yes, Jimmy makes homophobic comments and that’s bad, both because Thomas being gay is not the reason he assaulted Jimmy and because there’s hypothetically a chance someone who doesn’t already know might figure out Thomas’s sexuality based on Jimmy’s comment(s? There's the one before the rope tug and then I could have sworn there was one other one but I'm blanking on what it actually was.)However a) the moment I was commenting on wasn’t one of the homophobic comments and b) I find it important to distinguish between the specific manner of hostility (sometimes homophobic) and the level of hostility (nasty remarks and making a constant point of distancing himself) and the level is in fact 100% warranted. If you think nasty remarks and pointed distancing are more hostile than a person has a right to be towards the guy who sexually assaulted them, then we have a pretty profound disagreement.

As for your other point, regarding fear: Thomas and Jimmy both have very compelling reasons to be afraid of each other but I have to ask exactly what you think Jimmy is “rubbing in?” He initially tried to retaliate excessively against Thomas, backed down from that, and then discovered that instead of facing a reasonable consequence for assaulting him, such as being fired but with a reference that reflected the fact that this was one very bad mistake rather than a pattern*, Thomas was promoted to a position of direct authority over Jimmy. Although Jimmy was bribed into not making a fuss about this rather than, say, threatened, I think he has nonetheless been given a fairly clear message from his employers that they will back the senior coworker who assaulted him against any potential consequence he might try to bring. From Jimmy’s point of view, which is admittedly blinkered by fear and self interest, Thomas is the one in the secure, powerful position and Jimmy is the one extremely vulnerable.

I don't even just mean from his point of view like, ~emotionally. Genuine question: what would happen if Thomas started being overly touchy-feely again, or did worse than that, and Jimmy went to Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes or Lord Grantham to report it? I really don't know, and neither does Jimmy. Personally, I'm guessing that whether they believed him would probably depend significantly on things like Jimmy’s demeanor, and exactly what words he used, and basically whether he came across as a victim or as a brat trying to get someone in trouble. And which of those things a person seems like has no particular correlation to the facts of what they’re reporting - as we can see from what happened the first time! Like, Jimmy came off as spiteful and nasty and instead of being fired Thomas was promoted. That is actually what happened! The fact that Jimmy's motives were mixed doesn't change the fact of what Thomas did: Jimmy, when evaluating his safety, has access to one really strong datapoint and that’s that last time the majority of his superiors came down on Thomas’s side, either from the beginning or by the end.

Now, it’s true that he’s had a year to observe Thomas’s behavior and make an educated guess that Thomas really is sorry and won’t do it again. We can only speculate as to what extent he may have reached that conclusion and why he has or hasn’t. Some possible reasons why he might not have: trauma blinkers, homophobic and sexist beliefs, sufficiently bad at reading people to not know what clues to even look for, too self-centered to bother thinking about it in those terms... we don’t know. And perhaps he does know perfectly well that Thomas won't do anything like that again and any lingering fear is of cooties or of people mistaking him for gay and him being in the line of fire along with Thomas next time! You can read him that way if you want. You can say “wtf I see no fear of any kind”. It’s a flexible canon and none of these interpretations are actually contradicted by the text. Indeed I happily read other interpretations and when I babbled in those tags it was more "this is the interpretation I am thinking about right now" than intended to assert it as my One True Headcanon that I will not deviate from. But Jimmy definitely has reasons to be afraid, and of more than cooties.

Of course Thomas also has logical and emotional reasons to be afraid of what Jimmy might do, I'm certainly not denying that. (In fact, one of the things I find so compelling about these two is that they both have such strong reasons not to trust each other and they both reach out anyway.) It seems that Thomas’s belief in who Jimmy is as a person supersedes those reasons (“He wouldn’t be so unkind. Not on his own.”) but if Jimmy has a similar belief about who Thomas he keeps it hidden at least until the fair.

P.S. please reconsider the phrase “has the right to be scared” in every context but especially when discussing someone’s reaction to a situation that involved them being sexually assaulted. I offer you the alternative “logical reason to be scared” or "compelling reason" as perhaps capturing what I hope you meant. I think that’s a language choice that really does matter a fair bit.

#*the reference thing is tricky to think about because on the one hand I don't think it would be out of line (ethically #it would definitely be out of line from a propriety standpoint)#for Jimmy to want to know that the incident was affecting Thomas's reference in some way #but I also don't actually know enough about service and references to know how much room for middle ground there was #like if the reference says 'efficient worker but has made other staff uncomfortable in the past' or some other euphemism what does that mea #was that the sort of thing reference writers did ever?#but I don't think Jimmy actually cared about this #so I guess it's moot #the storyline that shall not be named

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organabanana · 3 years

Text

leaves of three, let it be [2/3] || harlivy

Chapters: 2/3

Fandom: DCU (Comics)DCUHarley Quinn (Comics)Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle

Additional Tags: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of batman fucking bats, most of this is straight up idiocy tbh, i just finished watching the cartoon so everyone swears like a sailor i’m sorry, rated for (ahem) happenings later on, ivy/harley/catwoman frenemies

Summary

After Harley mistakenly confesses her love and then promptly takes it back, Ivy spends some time sorting through the things she absolutely doesn't feel (and the ones she does). Selina and Harley don't quite help.

Chapter 1: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 2: AO3

If you ever asked Poison Ivy if she’s into meditation, she’d say she isn’t.

Actually, if you ever asked Poison Ivy if she’s into meditation, she’d probably stare you down until you crumbled under the sheer weight of her judgment and apologized for ever talking to her, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, Ivy doesn’t meditate. The concept of meditation, if you ask her, goes in the same patchouli-scented box as moon-charged crystals and essential oils.

No. What Ivy does is… introspection. Yeah. She introspects. She consciously clears her mind of all intrusive thoughts. Which may sound a lot like meditation, maybe? But — she cannot stress this enough — it’s not the same thing.

So there she is. Sitting on her couch. Introspecting. And it may look like she’s staring off into the distance, but she’s actually looking at a nearly invisible, tiny little hint of a green sprout that’s managed to grow in a crack on the windowsill.

There it is. A tiny little fighter. Just like—

Nope.

No way.

We are absolutely not thinking about her. We’re introspecting. So Ivy takes in a deep breath, in through her nose, eyes fluttering closed as she exhales slowly and then opens them and tries again.

As she was saying. A tiny little sprout. She could go over there and touch it and quite literally breathe life into it. She can’t tell what kind of plant it is, but she could make it bloom if it’s a flowering species. What if it’s a tree? She could make it grow so big its roots would tear this whole building apart just like her heart was torn apart last ni—

Motherf—

“Morning, my little dill pickle.”

Selina climbs in through the window, practically gliding into Ivy’s apartment with the kind of grace that would normally make Ivy stop and stare and perhaps have a not-quite-respectful thought or two.

Listen: she has eyes. Don’t read into it.

Anyway. As graceful and ridiculously nimble as Selina is, she’s also way up high in Ivy’s shit list at the moment (second only to you know who), so today is not the day for lighthearted conversation and platonic crushes.

“Fuck you, Selina,” Ivy offers as a greeting, glancing at the plant to make sure it’s still there. And it is, of course. Selina fucking Kyle may be a bitch and a half, but she knows how to move without leaving a trace.

“Now?” Selina cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow at Ivy, the slightest hint of a teasing smirk on her face. “I mean I was gonna offer brunch, but that doesn’t sound like the worst midday plan.”

Ivy simply stares for a moment, as if she’s forgotten if there’s one person in the world that’s absolutely immune to even her most wilting looks, that’s Selina fucking Kyle.

“Oh, come on,” Selina practically groans, “stop it. Brooding is such a teen boy move.”

“I am not brooding.”

“Right.” With one single word, Selina makes it clear that she doesn’t believe Ivy and, most importantly, that she doesn’t care enough to argue. “Anyway. Brunch? My treat.”

Ivy closes her eyes. Not meditating. Just introspecting. Just trying to channel the urge to make a full-grown sequoia grow out of Selina Kyle’s ass into something productive. One deep breath in through her nose and—

“We can have margaritas!” Selina lets out a quiet chuckle as she admires the perfectly matte black polish on her fingernails. “Yikes. Too soon?”

Fuck introspection.

“I. Am going. To fucking murder you.” Ivy stands up with every intention to make good on that promise, and Selina must read it in her eyes because for the first time since Ivy’s known her — for the first time in her life, maybe — Selina looks scared.

Well, maybe not scared.

But she is absolutely concerned.

“Fuck me, Ive, damn,” Selina takes one step back, no longer smirking, “calm down, will you?”

Ivy stops, Selina’s audacity basically jolting her out of her murderous rage. “Calm down, Selina? Fucking seriously? You did what you did and now you come here and tell me to fucking calm down?”

Selina tilts her head just so, like she’s conceding (against her will) that maybe there is a reason for Ivy to be somewhat upset with her.

“Oh, come on,” she sighs, rolling her shoulders like the tension has to leave her body somehow, and it will certainly not be via an apology, “it wasn’t even real poison.”

Ivy’s eyes widen slightly in disbelief. Does Selina think she’s mad because she thinks Harley was in actual danger?

No. No, Selina can’t think that, because Selina may be an asshole, but she’s a very smart asshole. So she must know Ivy’s well aware of Harley’s immunity to toxins. She must know that’s not even remotely the reason Ivy’s spent the last eleven hours and some change introspecting all thoughts of last night out of her mind.

For a split second, Ivy feels something similar to warmth towards Selina as she considers that maybe she’s simply ignoring the embarrassing part of the event to spare Ivy. Maybe she’s pretending this is about Harley’s physical wellbeing and not… well. The other thing.

Sadly, the split second passes.

“If it helps,” Selina says, and even before she finishes the sentence Ivy can already sense it won’t help at all, “it’s totally reciprocated.”

Ivy feels it crawling up her veins, thick like sap. She’s managed to distill plenty of emotions, turned them into tonics and toxins and elixirs and used them for her own benefit and the Green’s. She’s bottled love — well, lust — and hatred and rage. Fear, even. Insanity, ironically enough. But this.

This… this humiliation.

Oh, this is something else.

Ivy closes her eyes. In through her nose, and even the air feels like it has to go through that thick mixture of (public) pain and weakness and acknowledged vulnerability to get to her lungs.

It’s one thing to have Harley see her like this. Like that. Like last night. Defenses down and heart out there in the open like her ribcage’s forgotten its purpose. That’s fine, she figures, because it’s been the norm for years and years and years. It’s nothing new, really, to have Harley see her accidentally stumble over the line into pathetic from time to time. It happens.

But Selina.

Selina fucking Kyle.

Selina saw that and she understood what she was seeing and now she’s acknowledging it, and Ivy isn’t even mad anymore.

I mean, she is. She’s really fucking mad.

She’s just many other things as well as mad, so it’s harder to focus on it.

Out through her mouth. Slowly. And her voice is nice and even when she opens her eyes and looks at Selina once again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ivy lies, walking towards the kitchen like that had been her intention all along, “there is nothing to reciprocate.”

Ivy can feel Selina’s look on the back of her head. She’s not going to give her the satisfaction of turning around, of course. Selina Kyle’s ego is healthy enough as it is. But she can absolutely feel it. A look involving an arched eyebrow and narrowed eyes and possibly a smirk. Maybe the slightest purse of painted lips, if she’s going for judgmental rather than smug.

Selina is multi-faceted in her scorn.

“You have got to be shitting me, Ive,” Selina says, and Ivy still refuses to turn around, focusing instead on staring at the interior of her fridge and ignoring the fact that ninety percent of its contents are there for Harley’s all-day snacking needs.

She ends up grabbing a jug of water not because she’s thirsty, but simply because it’s the only thing in there she knows for a fact is there just for her.

“Seriously?” Selina prods, walking closer and crossing her arms over her chest as she watches Ivy methodically fill a glass of water like it’s a delicate operation that requires her undivided attention. “You’re such a fucking pussy. And I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

Ivy does turn around then, gripping the glass with perhaps a little more force than strictly necessary. In her defense, she’d much rather be gripping Selina’s neck instead.

“Once again, Selina,” she says with a slight shrug, taking a sip of cold water, “no idea what you’re talking about.”

Selina gapes at her. It’s kind of flattering, actually. It’s not every day something leaves Selina Kyle fully unable to speak. Maybe — Ivy thinks to herself, enjoying her water — she’ll never speak again. Maybe she’ll leave Gotham entirely. Wouldn’t that be just—

Ivy’s train of thought is completely derailed by something that is never a good sign: Selina Kyle is laughing.

Not chuckling. Not snickering. Not letting out one of those sarcastic giggles she likes to use to obliterate people’s entire self-esteem.

No. No, this is honest to goodness, full-on belly laughter, and it’s fucking terrifying.

“Wh— what the fuck, Selina?” Ivy asks, trying to sound less scared than she actually is. Selina’s sense of humor is not so much dark as it is downright fucked up, and if she’s finding something in this situation funny, it can only mean someone is about to get crushed, metaphorically or otherwise.

All signs point to Ivy.

“Look at you!” Selina points in the general direction of Ivy, like she’s about to rip her fashion sense to shreds. But this, sadly, has nothing to do with clothes. “Holy shit, you’re in so much deeper than I thought, this is fucking hilarious.”

Ivy takes one step back, until her hip bumps against the counter and she blindly feels around to leave the half-empty glass on it. To her credit, she still manages to try and infuse her voice with something resembling nonchalance one last time.

“You’re not making any sen—“

“Man, you’re in love, in love, huh?”

Ivy’s been shot before. So she feels like she’s not being overly dramatic when she says Selina’s words feel just like that. Like being shot right in the gut. And Ivy tries to be as stoic as she usually is when faced with things like gunshots and blunt force and bat-shaped ninja stars (holy fuck, he’s such a nerd), but she feels a bit like she’s been standing on a castle of cards for the last… however many years it’s been since she met Dr. Quinzel in Arkham, and Selina’s just figured out exactly where to blow to make it all come tumbling down.

“I mean I knew you two were into each other. Obviously,” Selina continues, and Ivy suddenly understands the exact meaning of all those expressions regarding cats and mice, “but I thought it was like… well, you know. Friends in need of a nudge towards the benefits. But this.”

Selina shakes her head, smile as wide as her eyes. She looks both surprised and delighted. Like she’s really just found out there are feelings involved in whatever lust-filled fever dream she’d interpreted as reality before now.

“And you’re the one who’s doing all the yearning. I totally thought she was the useless one. Holy shit.” Selina takes a couple steps in the direction of the window, like using a door like a normal person is simply not an option for her. “How long?”

Ivy opens her mouth, but Selina interrupts her before any sound can come out.

“Don’t answer that. I already know.” Selina waves her hand dismissively. “No wonder you’re fucking terrified. You’d be safer falling in love with an actual hyena.”

“I’m not—“

“Please.” Selina reaches the window and notices that little plant for the first time, giving it a little pat that could almost pass for affectionate if you didn’t know Selina Kyle. “So what’s scarier, Ive?” Selina almost purrs the question. “That she may not love you back, or that she probably does?”

Ivy tells herself she could murder Selina right then and there, with the help from the little plant. Hell, she could probably kill her without help from the plant.

But that wouldn’t really fix anything, right?

“Anyway!” Selina lets out a happy little sigh as she slinks out of the window and onto the fire escape outside. “No brunch, then. I’ll leave you to your brooding.” Her smile turns into a smirk then, eyes narrowed like she’s about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. “And don’t worry, Ive. I can keep a secret.”

Selina winks at her before she disappears.

Ivy refuses, pointedly, to think about her conversation with Selina.

She tries to go back to her introspection, but it turns out there’s no breathing in and out when your chest is full of feelings to the point of actual physical discomfort, so Ivy gives up on that, too.

She could plot. Scheme, if you will. It’s been a while since she’s gone for an actual multi-step plan to rid Gotham — and, later, the world — of parasitic CEOs profiting off nature. A bit of environmentally friendly murder never fails to put her in a good mood.

But it turns out it’s nearly impossible to come up with a solo plan without being constantly aware of the fact that going solo is no longer her default. A plan involving only herself doesn’t feel like just any random plan anymore. Now it feels like a plan without her, and that’s just— that’s just the opposite of what she needs to be thinking about right now.

So.

What’s an eco-terrorist to do when eco-terrorism is not an option?

Eight hours later she’s in her lab, hair haphazardly held in a bun with a pencil as she looks at her latest experiment through her microscope.

The little sprout from her windowsill sits right next to the microscope in a beaker serving as a makeshift flower pot while Ivy works.

“You know, if this works,” Ivy tells the sprout, eyes trained on the cell that should enter active mitosis any second now, “you’re going to be my sidekick when we take down the next big guy.”

If this works, and she can give this tiny plant the powers she hopes to give her, they can take over Gotham and the world as a team. Ivy’s always worked best with plants, anyway. Who needs—

“Red?”

Harley’s voice is uncharacteristically mellow, but it manages to startle Ivy anyway.

“Jesus, Harley,” Ivy doesn’t look away from the microscope, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

She’s not mad. Not at Harley, anyway. None of this is her fault. She’s just—

Listen. Figuring out exactly what to call what she’s feeling would require introspection, and we’re not doing that anymore.

“Oh. I uh—“ There’s something in Harley’s tone that twists uncomfortably in Ivy’s chest. “Wanted to talk?”

Ivy doesn’t want to talk. Talking, as it turns out, may be the very last thing she wants to do. But there’s that something in Harley’s voice. Something that sounds a bit like embarrassment. Like shame, even. Like maybe if Ivy were to listen in on Harley’s inner monologue right now the voice in there would sound suspiciously like him calling her a fuck-up and an idiot and—

“I’m sorry.” Ivy leaves the little plant’s cell to enter mitosis in its own time and turns to fully focus on Harley. “I didn’t mean to snap. You just startled me.”

Harley visibly relaxes. Ivy decides she hates him just that much more than she did ten seconds ago.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya,” Harley leaves her bat propped against the trunk of a giant nightshade and takes a few steps towards Ivy.

Normally, Harley has no concept of personal space. She sits on whatever surface is closest to Ivy, invading her space and making it impossible for her to fully focus on anything that’s not Harley. It should be annoying, but it isn’t, for reasons Ivy is absolutely not going to consider at this time.

This time, however, Harley hovers just a step or two away from Ivy and her microscope and her standing desk.

It feels…

It feels wrong.

“What did you want to talk about?” Ivy taps the desk and tries not to smile when Harley beams as she practically bounces to sit on it. Her legs dangle over the edge, well-worn combat boots lightly bumping against Ivy’s legs with each soft swing of Harley’s feet.

Nothing really feels wrong anymore.

“I’m sorry, Pammy.”

Ivy shakes her head. “It’s fine. You know you’re always welcome here, I just wasn’t expecting—“

“No,” Harley says, and when Ivy looks into her eyes she realizes Harley’s not going to let her pretend she has no idea what this is about, “I mean I’m sorry about the other night.”

Ivy stands up a little straighter. Takes half a step back, like that’s going to help. Crosses her arms over her chest.

“It’s fine.”

Harley tilts her head just so, bright blue eyes narrowing for a second, and Ivy sees a flash of Harleen right there staring back at her. Reading her fucking thoughts, almost. It’s unnerving.

“It’s fine, Harley,” Ivy insists, tone sharper as she takes another step back. She can hear the low rumble of every vine in her lab stirring along with her mood.

There’s a moment there, maybe a few seconds long, where they both simply stare at each other in silence. Like they’re trying to figure each other out in a way that feels completely foreign because she knows Harley, and Harley knows her, and there’s nothing to figure out. Nothing at all.

“You know—“ Harley’s voice sounds a bit brittle, like it may just break if it hits the wrong word, “you know I didn’t mean it, Pammy.”

Ivy nods. Once.

“I know.” She knows now and she knew when she first met Harley and she’s known for the last however many years it’s been. She fucking knows it’s love but it’s not love like that. She knows. “It’s fine.”

“You know Selina just got in my head, right?” Harley keeps talking, and on some level Ivy knows there’s nothing to be angry about because Harley just wants to explain. She just wants to make sure things aren’t weird between them because they’re best friends. But it feels almost cruel anyway. “You know I don’t—“

“I know you don’t love me, Harley, yes, for fuck’s sakes, I’m not an idiot.”

“But I—“

“Don’t.” Ivy holds one finger up. If she has to listen to Harley say she loves her, but just not in that way she may lose her fucking mind. “It’s fine.”

For a few blessed seconds, it feels like maybe Harley will let it go. Like maybe she’ll just drop it and let Ivy get out of this with some semblance of pride.

But that would just be too much to ask, wouldn’t it?

“I do love you, Ive, it’s just—“

“Holy shit, Harley!” Ivy raises her voice and hears the tell-tale creak of vines growing up the wall. “I know! I fucking know, all right? Selina is a dick and you thought margarita mix was a love potion and you’re not fucking in love with me, all right? I know!”

“But—“

“No! No fucking but!” Ivy swears she hears it. The little snap when she loses her last thread of control over what she’s saying and things spill out before she has a chance to filter them. “I don’t love you either, have you even considered that?”

Harley’s eyes widen in the purest expression of surprise Ivy’s ever seen in her life.

“Right!” There’s a part of Ivy that wants to stop. She wants to stop and backtrack and tell Harley she didn’t mean it because she can’t stand the thought of hurting her, and she needs her to know that of course — of course — Ivy loves her. But she just can’t right now. “I’m not secretly in love with you! All right? I’m glad you don’t love me. I’m fucking fine.”

Harley opens her mouth like she’s about to speak, but closes it without making a sound. She doesn’t look hurt, necessarily. She looks… she looks disarmed, almost. Like she doesn’t know how to react.

“I’ll just—“ Harley swallows and jumps off the desk. “We’re fine, so I’ll just leave. Yeah?”

Ivy nods. “Fine.”

“Cool. Yeah.” Harley sort of smiles, but not really. She moves a bit slower than usual as she goes back to her bat and walks towards the door, and there’s a part of Ivy that wants to stop her and fix this somehow — because it’s not fine at all — but self-preservation wins in the end.

“Remember to lock the door on your way out.”

For a second, Harley almost looks like she may say something. And for a second, Ivy almost hopes she will. But Harley just nods and walks out, and when she hears the lock snap into place, Ivy knows she’s all alone with her plants.

Right where she belongs.

#harlivy #harlivy fanfiction #harlivy fanfic #poison ivy #harley quinn #fic

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 4 years

Text

Knot In Love - Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader

A/N: Part Eleven is back. Again, where it’s a daily thing? I am not tagging anyone new. 3pm is the magical time, usually. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy one of my favorites <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Series Warnings: Forced mating. Knotting. Alpha/Omega dynamics. Witchcraft (more based on real craft than Hollywood). Angst. Etc. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: Roughly 4,700

“Hey,” Sam walked up as Dean focused on making his quick lunch. Peanut butter and jelly. With the strawberry jam. How thrilling, he internally sighed, pouring the gooey concoction onto the bread.

“Hey.” He returned listlessly. Not having the energy for pleasantries.

“P.B. and J for breakfast. Strong work.” Sam was trying to be cheerful. So much so that it only made Dean's mood more bleak.

“Yep.”

“Wanna beer with that?” Sam offered in that eager to please kind of voice that made Dean's head rise to attention.

“I'm cool,” His statement ended as more of a question as he turned to look at his brother in confusion.

“Come on. Live a little.” Sam coerced cheerfully, shutting the door. Two of the aforementioned drinks in hand. “Here.”

One plopped on the island in front of Dean, as the older brother went back to the breakfast of champions. “What's goin' on with you?”

“What do you mean?” Sam tried to play innocent. His eyes going just slightly wider as the enormous brain of his went into overdrive. Dean wasn't impressed, and the green gaze reflected it. Lips pulling tight as he turned his eyes back to the sandwich. Not even having the energy to argue. “Anyway, check this out.” Sam rushed into what he'd been buttering his brother up for, “I think I found something.” The tablet was pulled out. An article rested on the screen. Staring the hunter down. “Three days ago, kid named Shawn Raider was found wandering on the side of the road.” Sam stated, selling the hunt better than a used car salesman, “near Grand Junction, Colorado. Bleeding from the head.” Dean still didn't look too keen, so he kept going. “Best friend was missing. And get this,” His long finger waved with his catch phrase, “only word he said?” He waited for a response with his final word, “Monster.”

“Okay,” Dean began, wrapping up his plating. Brows lifting only a hair. “Well, that sounds like something.”

“Yeah,” Sam jumped on it. “So, I thought I'd check it out. You and me.” That really caught his older brother's attention.

“What about Jack?” He'd been better with the kid. Letting him be around. But, that hadn't meant he liked it. He didn't. At all. “And, Y/N?”

“He's uh,” Sam turned towards the door as he began. “He's catching up on all my old fantasy DVD's.” He began listing them off as a way to show how busy the boy would be. “Red Sonia, Beast Master, uh, Beast Master II. You know, the one with the time traveling ferrets.” Dean was looking at Sam as if he'd lost it.

“Yeah,” Finally, the older brother sounded a bit more like himself, “Wow... How you ever got laid, I'll never know.”

A breathy chuckle left Sam at the teasing, “Yeah, tell me about it.” He genuinely wanted Dean to rip into him. Wanted to see the spark of life back in his eyes. “So, I was thinking,” Sam was taking the large leap as he stopped chewing at his lip, “we'd leave Jack behind.” Dean was no longer amused.

He sucked a flake of peanut butter off of his pinky before responding, “Really?”

“Yeah,” His voice cracked, making him sound less confident then he'd been hoping for. “We'll throw up some extra warding. He'll be fine.”

“You never said anything about Y/N.” The attached Alpha spoke up. “Got a plan for that, too?”

“Y/N? She can stay here, too. Or, go visit with Jody. Whatever she wants. She'll be alright.” Sam's hands rested on the cool surface in front of him. “I mean, when's the last time we worked a case? Just you and me?” Sam motioned between their bodies. Hoping like hell it would be enough.

“It's been a while,” Dean acknowledged, his head bobbing with the answer.

“Exactly.” He tried hard to not sound too excited. To not scare Dean away. “So?” The scrunched up nod said plenty.

Maybe it'll be good, Dean thought to himself as the sigh of relief left his brother. He didn't have a clear head in the bunker. He couldn't do what he needed to with you and Jack around every corner. Yeah, he decided, yeah, I'll go.

–

“It's just you and me, Jack.” Your arms crossed as the roar of the Impala faded into the distance. “Want to jump into the ice cream?”

“Can we?” He sounded like a kid at Christmas. Earning a grin on your lips as you motioned back towards the entrance of the bunker. “Hell yes!” You winced a bit at that. Knowing that it came from Dean.

As he ran inside, you sighed. Watching the trail of dust fade away in the distance. Hoping that Sam was right. That all Dean needed to right his head was a hunt, booze, and a strip joint.

Part of you wanted to join them on the road. Not wanting to be so far from your mate. The other part? She was petrified of the thought of another hunt.

Your arms crossed over your body to hold yourself together. The after effects clung to you like a second skin. Late at night, you could see Buddy and Mia playing through your mind on repeat. Could see Dean's terror at the thought of losing his brother echoing in the air. Your own response chilled you. Not that you'd ever been particularly afraid of death. But, you'd never openly welcomed it as you had in that moment.

You turned away from the negative thoughts, leaving them to the breeze. Sending Dean away with the healing energies you'd been able to muster. Hoping to find your own piece of clarity in the process.

–

“So, he didn't say anything?” Sam got out of the passenger seat once they reached the Royal Towers Motel. Far more upbeat than their usual place.

“Not a word,” Baby's door shut behind Dean. “Whatever that kid saw? It messed him up.” Dean checked his watch. He didn't like leaving you alone. Didn't know when it would be a reasonable time to check in. He wanted to make sure Jack hadn't come unhinged- not that he could say that he truly believed it would happen. His anxiety, however, didn't pull any punches.

“Well, I say that we talk to the other friend. Uh, Mike,” The younger brother remembered the name as he rounded the car's hood, “first thing in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” The watch was dropped. As if that would make him forget.

He turned towards the glass doors, fully prepared to settle in for the night. And to get that damned call in before he went crazy. His mark was practically itching at being away from your side. Reminding him of the need to get it abolished. Just as fast as the thought crossed his mind, he grew more bleak.

“So...” Sam's voice pulled him from wallowing in self-pity once again, “strip club?” The forced question set off every warning bell Dean possessed.

“Wait.” The older brother drew himself to a halt. Looking up into the widened, nervously shifting gaze of the taller one. “Sorry...what?”

A small noise made its way from the back of his throat before he could respond,“S-strip...club,” Sam internally cursed himself for the stutter. “There's one just outside of town.” He didn't know what to do with his hands. Waving them a bit before stuffing them in his pockets. Trying to look cool. “The uh...” He took a deep breath. The name was physically painful. “The Clamdiver.”

Dean stared at Sam as if he was a stranger, “You,” a hand pointed at Sam as he emphasized what he'd just heard. “Wanna go to The Clamdiver?”

Sam couldn't look him in the eyes, and instead settled on the tie, “Yeah.” Then his eyes came up. “It...It got great reviews.” As if that made the situation better.

His brother only became more incredulous, “You read reviews...for The Clamdiver?”

“It...” He couldn't help but to stutter at the ridiculous conversation that he'd started. Trying to justify the need to go was only making it worse. But, like a derailed train, he couldn't stop. “It...it got four and a half-”

Dean couldn't take anymore, “Dude, what is going on with you?”

“What are you talking about?” Again, his eyes stuck to the tie. Unable to meet the green gaze.

“All day,” The older brother started calling him out. “You give me a...a beer for breakfast.” That wasn't all though. Oh no. Dean had a list. “You...you gave me Agent Page, which you always like to be.” Sam didn't find that to be a huge red flag, but his brother wasn't done. Not even close. “You...you didn't whine about me blaring my music the whole way here.” He'd expected Sam to try and talk about you or Jack. He hadn't had him in it to hear it, then. So...music. The lack of protest, though, had raised even more suspicion. “And when we stopped for lunch, you ordered me chili fries.” The accusing hand was aimed at him again. As if that final piece had been a sin.

Sam's mouth was slightly ajar as he glanced back up with a minimum shrug, “You love chili fries.”

“Everybody loves chili fries,” For half a second, Sam had hope that Dean had been taken off course. He should have known better. “That's not the point.” His lips pulled back before he went onto the most recent offense, having caught onto the tactic. “Now you wanna go hang out at a strip club?” That damned hand was back in business, “You hate strip clubs.”

“No, I don't.” An indignant scoff left the younger brother before transforming into a broken chuckle. He really did, but Dean...

“Dude,” Dean had no problem jumping onto the lie, claws drawn. “The last lap dance that you had was...was...was,” A moment to think gave Sam hope that he could intervene, “at Christmas.” So much for that thought, came the rueful internal response. “It was a gift paid for by me.” His voice grew deeper as the memory became clearer. Sam hated that particular night. He'd wished Dean had forgotten it. By all means, he should have with all of the tequila he'd ingested. Yet, there he sat; reciting it better than he could a Metallica track. “You spent the entire song trying to convince the girl that she should go to nursing school.” Dean's head bobbed as he tried to meet Sam's wandering eyes all the way up to the point where he turned his head away with a small sigh. He opened his mouth to argue, but simply clamped it shut. Unable to protest. His brother was right. “So...what is it?” The demand followed the evidence flawlessly. Sam was cornered. “Its it my birthday? Did...did I win a bet that I don't know about? What?”

“No,” Sam broke. “No, nothing.” Dean didn't look convinced, so he didn't stop. “Nothing. I...I mean, I'm just trying to be nice.”

“Why?” Ever distrustful Dean came forth. No one was nice to him without a reason.

“Because it....” He sighed deeply. Giving up the entire act. “You know why.” The unimpressed head tilt he received made him want to shake his brother. He knew what was coming as his words sunk in.

“I'm fine.” With that, Dean moved to walk away. Shoulders straight.

“No, you're not, Dean.” Sam didn't hesitate. He knew his brother too well to not know that Dean would want to escape the conversation. His brother's hands came up to try to wave the doors into opening. Nothing. Sam moved forward, refusing to back down. “You said that you don't believe in anything, and...and that's not true.” Dean looked inside the office, trying to push away what was being said. “That's not you.” With a dark scowl, Dean jerked open the door. Annoyed that he'd expected a bit more glam at that place. He could have gotten away faster. “You...You do believe in things.” Sam rushed to follow. “You do believe in people. That's who you are. That's what you do.” The desk forced him to stop. Sam didn't. Dean's eyes shut, asking for the patience he'd never had. “I know you're in a dark place, and I...” His heart was breaking all over again. “I just wanna help.”

“Okay,” It wasn't something he could avoid. So, he turned to his younger brother. “Look,” He hated the hopeful look on Sam's face in that moment. “I...I've been down this road before, and I fought my way back. I will fight my way back again.”

“How?” Came the pointed question. Dean wasn't thrilled with the response and the look on his face reflected that.

“Same way I always do,” Sam's head shook, saying that wasn't enough of an answer. So, Dean did what he did best. Resorted to the three 'B's. “Bullets, bacon, booze.” His fingers ticked each one off with love. With that, he slammed his hand on the bell. No longer having the patience to deal with what he'd been given. If he'd been home, he'd have had the fourth 'B', too. Boobs. “A lotta booze.” A sigh left his lips.

–

“Hey,” Your voice was a little too upbeat for you to be happy with it. Jack simply gave you an unimpressed side eye. Kid was catching on quick. With slightly narrowed eyes, you pushed his face away teasingly. Earning a smile. “What's up, Dean?”

“Sam's driving me nuts,” He muttered, glancing towards the bathroom where his brother was prepping for the night out. “He's tryin' to get me to go to a strip club. Can you believe that?”

“So, why are you talking to me?” You crossed your legs as the half angel boy left the room to refill the ice cream bowls. Giving you a moment of privacy. “Go out, Dean. Let loose.”

“Are...” Dean's voice cracked a bit, before he straightened it back up with a little throat clearing action. “Are you messing with me right now?” He sounded positively mad. It only made you grin. “Cause if you are, I'll have you know that it's not nice to-”

“Dean,” The calmness in your voice made him go silent. “Go out with your brother. Let off some steam. It'll be good for you.”

“What kind of mate are you?” The accusation in his voice made you bite back a full blown laugh. An over dramatic huff followed. “Well?”

“The kind who knows that you've been too wrapped up with life here at the bunker,” The slightly broken note had Dean frowning into his cell phone. Realizing that you were serious. “Just...go. Let loose. I won't hold it against you.” Yet, part of you wished that he wouldn't. The piece of him that resided in your mark. “Go be a normal person for a night, Dean...it's okay.”

“What're you two doing?” Dean changed the conversation, unable to sit on the tension. Hated the brokenness that he'd accidentally drawn forth.

“Eating our weight in ice cream.” You answered honestly. Rubbing over your stomach. Knowing the gut ache that would follow. “Jack wanted to try chick flicks. He's trying to see why you hate them so much.”

“Is he figuring it out?” The wince was audible, turning your mood back upwards.

“Yeah,” The laugh that escaped you bubbled through him. Making him lighter than he'd hoped it could. “He's not a fan of anything Nicholas Sparks. Figured I'd give him the ultimate experience.”

“You're a cruel woman, Y/N.” The older Winchester tsked into his phone. Cruel enough to not give him anything he didn't ask for. “So, it's good, then?”

“What'd you expect, Dean?” The fuzzy, disabling little voice came over the speaker again. “We're good. Jack's impatient for you two to get back. Every five minutes, he has a different question. It's cute.”

“And you?” He wanted to know what you were feeling. Needed to know if it was as one sided as he feared.

“What about me?” It was back. That breathy little note that made his knees weak. His brain pictured the way your lip twitched when you tried to hold back a smile. Wondering if it was doing it, then.

“Do you want us back home?” The gravely question settled into your gut. “Do you miss me, yet?”

“Go have fun, Dean...” Was the only response you could come up with. “I'll see you soon.”

You ended the call before he could respond. Truth was you did miss him. More than you'd expected. It wasn't just the mark. There was something about him, in himself, that was starting to draw you in.

“You're falling in love with him,” Jack stated from the doorway. Making your head jerk up.

“I think you've been watching too much romance, Jack.” Your voice held no steel, though. He wasn't buying it. “How 'bout we switch it up a bit?”

“Like what?” He let you slide. Not wanting to hurt you, on accident.

“Let's try some action.” You turned your mind away from your mate. Too afraid that Jack was right. It would be all too easy for you to give your heart away to the older Winchester.

The next morning, you woke up to video of Dean on your phone. He was out cold; snoring loudly from the booze that was splashed across the tan carpet, no doubt. Still in his wrinkled, well worn FBI suit from the day before. His tie wrapped into a bow around his forehead. Sunglasses just above it. A frilly pink bra around his neck. Using his shoe as a pillow. What appeared to be a rope whip in his hand. You weren't truly sure if you were honest.

Disappointment saturated everything else. On some level, you'd hoped that he would have turned it down. With a sigh that said you should have known better, you tossed your phone. Curling more into your blankets. Your stomach taking the expected hit from the sugar overdose you'd experienced the night before.

You got through the day. You weren't exactly sure how, if you were honest. When you could finally settle in for another late night binge session, you couldn't have been happier. Being left alone with Jack was both rewarding and exhausting all bundled into one. Not in a negative way. Simply made you appreciate full time parents all the more. As the images flaunted across the screen, you couldn't help but to wonder what Sam and Dean were doing.

–

“I think it might be another ghost,” Sam stated as doors slammed. The glass from a photo exploded as it hit the ground.

“I think there's a lot,” Dean returned. The air around them both was freezing. They'd taken down the doctor. Light bulbs shattered as the energies surged forward. Coming towards the men rapidly. “Let's go! Go!”

“We need a doctor,” A woman's voice whispered frantically as they hit the stairs. Joined by a man's. Over and over, the phrase was thrown into the air. “Where is the doctor?”

Dean was breathing hard as they entered the landing that was filled with beds. “They're asking for the doc.” It all came together, then.

“These must be the people he killed,” Sam winced at the realization. One spook was bad enough. An army of them? Hell was easier. Their flashlights moving across the room, checking for any apparitions.

“Well, if they're ghosts, then why can't we see them?” The older brother challenged. Looking for answers to explain what was happening.

“Maybe they're not strong enough to pierce the veil,” The younger shot back. More bulbs exploding as they were discovered. Beds aimed sharply at them by the furious spirits.

“Yeah, but they're strong enough to kill us?” The shouted question was thrown out as they ended up on the move, again.

“Great.” Sam followed Dean down the stairs. Not much more impressed with the turn the night had taken.

“You know what,” His breath was labored but he didn't slow. “Those bodies have gotta be buried in the house somewhere.” The next landing was met. The house larger than it looked from the outside.

“Okay, so we check it top to bottom.” Sam was ever logical, even when there was an unknown amount of spirits calling for their heads. Dean, knew better. Slamming the bag he'd been carrying to the ground, he started looking for the items he'd learned to keep in stock.

“There's no time.” He replied, feeling his fingers brush across the case.

“What are you doing?” Sam's head jerked down to see what his brother was planning. The house vibrating in years of once contained rage.

“I'm gonna find out where these bodies are buried.” That couldn't have been more vague.

“So?”

“So, I'm gonna ask 'em.” Dean moved all the junk out of the way to bring the needed items to the top.

“What? How?” The case was thick, green, rectangular, and old. However, it held what they needed.

“Easy.” The lid snapped open under the light. Two large needles rested inside, filled with white liquid. “One needle stops the heart, and the other one starts it up again.” Dean lifted the one out and then looked up at Sam. Instantly, his brother started protesting. “Look, we can't talk to them on this side of the veil, so I'm gonna go to the other side.” Dean boomed, leaving no room for argument. “I'm gonna work my way through all of these Caspers until we find out where this freak hid the bodies.”

“Dean, you're talking about killing yourself!” Sam shouted back. As if it was the first time his brother had made that move.

The cap was removed with his teeth, “Yeah?” It clattered to the ground. “Well, it worked before.”

“That's an insane risk to take.” His voice cracked as he tried to reason. Tried to make Dean see.

“Listen,” Dean cut him off before he could say more. “I need three minutes, okay?”

“D...Don't even...” The needle was pressed in before he could finish. Plunger slammed. Directly below the cardiac muscle. “Dean!” The older brother groaned. The pain harsher than he'd expected. He should have known better. “Dean!” He couldn't hear Sam anymore. Letting out his own little cry. “Hey!” Down he went, rolling to his side. “Damn it!” He took the two steps and landed beside his brother.

Dean was inconsolable. Gasping for air as his body shook. Fighting against the drug that was killing him without meaning to. Sam tried using his voice to calm the dying. It was useless. Dean didn't hear a thing until he stopped moving. His head bumping across the ground.

Sam rolled him over. Checking his pulse as Dean watched on from the side. Running his hands over his non-physical body. Being a spirit was weird, but it wasn't the first time. He knew just what to do. His eyes landed on the stairs and he was on his way.

“Hey! Ghost dude!” Dean called out, moving after the other entity. Each step jarring out another 'hey'. “Hey, wait up, pal.”

“Hello,” A woman's voice stopped Dean. Reapers. He'd forgotten about them if he was honest with himself. “My name is Jessica and I'm here to lead you to your next life.” The bubbly red head smiled at him. So sure in her quest.

“Yeah,” He didn't have time for the game. “Hi, Dean.” He introduced himself, looking her directly in the eyes. “Little busy right now.” His ghost friend was getting away. “Yo!” He was on the move again.

“Oh god,” She followed him with her gaze. Comprehension was always less than pleasant when a reaper ran into a Winchester.

Meanwhile, Sam checked his watch. Twenty one seconds had gone by. He grabbed the salt, circling it around the body to be safe as the storm outside raged on. Another step that had been forgotten. He was cursing Dean all the while. Then, his phone rang. Jack.

“Hey, Jack. Now really isn't a good time-” He didn't get a chance to say more. The blood curdling scream on the other end cut him off. “Jack? What's goin' on?” The young boy didn't answer. Shouting in panic as he dropped the phone. Begging you in the distance to stop hurting yourself. The specifics getting lost over the agonized cries. “Oh my god.” He breathed out, looking at Dean's corpse. The mark darkening his throat beneath the flashlight's gaze. “What did you do?”

“Hey!” Dean called out. Loudly. Impatiently. “Hey, wait up!” He was getting tired of the chase. He had things to do. Like getting back home to the warm body in his bed. Luckily, he seemed to have cornered the guy. “Hey, do you, uh...” Then, the spirit vanished through the fireplace. “Oh, come on!”

“I know you,” A male voice stated from behind him. Dean turned to see the boy they'd been looking for. “Shawn.”

“You're the FBI man from my house.” Blood coated the shirt. A bandage stuck to his temple. There was no saving the child. Even on his hunt, he was failing. “You're dead, too?”

“I, uh...” What did one say in that situation? Dean didn't really know, so he improvised. “Yeah.” He decided to go with the technical truth. “What happened to you?” He took a few steps towards the boy. Concern dancing on his face.

“The man with the drill. He was in my room.” He stared blankly as he talked. Traumatized even after it was all sone.

“The doc...he possessed you, and he killed you.” Dean finished for him.

“I...I...I couldn't stop it.” Fear was heard then. Remembering how it all ended. “He said I'd feel better, but....I just...” His voice broke, then. “I miss my mom.”

“Shawn,” Dean's throat grew tight. Regret filling him. “I should've...” His words caught inside of him. “I'm so sorry.”

“Evan's here, too.” As if that made it better. “We can't leave. We...Why can't we leave?”

“I know you're scared, okay?” Dean moved forward, slowly. “But, I'm gonna help you. I'm going to help you get out of here.”

“Help me go home?” The weak voice questioned.

“Help you go to a better place.” It was all he could promise. Home no longer existed for him. Something Dean would live with for the remainder of his life. “But, I need you to tell me...The doc, where did he put your body?” As soon as he had the answer, he was bolting up the stairs. Calling for Sam. As if he could actually hear him. “Let's do this.”

His brother was checking his watch, needle in hand. The phone in his ear was blasting with indecipherable sounds. Loud, whatever they were. The beeper went off. Signaling the end of the game.

“All right,” Sam whispered, rubbing at Dean's chest a little before pushing the needle in with a heavy grunt. The plunger shoved it deep into the cold body. He threw the syringe to the ground, leaning over the empty vessel.

“Come on,” Dean was impatiently waiting. Chanting the phrase as he watched for some kind of sign.

“Dean,” Sam was watching his face. Patting his arm. “Dean?” Nothing. A paw landed across his chest. “Hey! Dean!”

“Why is it not working?” Dean asked himself. Watching in disbelief. Sam grew more frantic, then. Patting and shaking the body as if it would all magically solve the problem.

“Hey, Dean.” A female voice sounded. His eyes left the scene in front of him, turning to the top of the stairs. There she stood.

“Billie.” He hadn't been scared before. Simply in disbelief. But seeing her there set it off.

“We need to talk.”

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @surmya1907

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe

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shyvioletcat · 4 years

Note

could we get pt. 3 of zoom interrupted??? i need to know what happened after the second meeting.

I know I already did the part 3. So how’s about a part 4?

Zoom Interrupted Masterlist

~~~~~

Rowan was trying not to zone out for the tenth time in this Zoom meeting. But he was just so tired. He had been taking care of Elsie almost entirely by himself, Aelin was still not feeling her best and she was tired all the time so it was Rowan pulling the hard yards. He didn’t mind, he wasn’t the one creating a human life. But it just meant he had a hard time focusing on work, especially when his daughter was being adorably distracting. She was doing things like lining up small horse toys on his desk, asking him to open snacks or a packet of crayons in her cute little voice.

Aelin wasn’t home, she had gone for a check up and a scan, and because of the current conditions he wasn’t allowed to go with her. Plus there was the fact they had a toddler who no one was really allowed to babysit anyway. So Rowan had stayed home and left the study door open so that Elsie could walk in and out as she pleased and he could keep an ear out for what she was up to. Right now he heard a dragging noise and then she came through the door, her mini backpack dragging behind her. Rowan smiled at her and she gave him a toothy grin in return.

“Whitethorn.”

Rowan nearly jumped at Lorcan’s voice, but managed to keep his cool. “Yes?”

“I’m going to pretend this isn’t the third time I’ve asked you for those numbers,” Lorcan said, but his voice was lacking it’s usual harshness. He was the most understanding of all Rowan’s colleagues, with a hellion like Korbin running their household.

“Yeah, one sec,” Rowan started lifting the toys on his desk to find the paper that he needed. As he did there was a screech and Rowan froze, looking over at his daughter.

She started waving her hands, her brow furrowed in her distress as she said, “No, no, no, no, no.”

She toddled over and Rowan tried to figure out what she was upset about. Then he looked at what he held in his hand. He had moved her horses. Muffled laughter sounded from his screen, they all knew that laughing at Elspeth was a dangerous game if she wasn’t in on the joke.

“Sorry, little love,” Rowan said, putting the horse back where he found it as Elsie glared up at him. “Dada just needed to get his papers.”

“Ta!” Elsie said, raising one hand and doing a grabby action.

Rowan took a guess at what she was asking for and started handing her her horses and she put them in her backpack, one by one. When she was done she left, taking her full backpack with her. That left Rowan to go back to looking for the page he needed. It seemed that Elsie had been in his papers as well and they were all mixed up. His colleagues were chatting amongst themselves while they waited. Rowan knew if it had been any other day they would have been ripping into him, telling him to hurry up, but instead they were being lenient. Finally, Rowan found the page he was looking for, but his face fell when he saw he couldn’t read it because it was covered in thick, black texta lines.

Rowan shook his head, “Hold on, I’ll have to grab it off my laptop again.” Frazzled, he grabbed his laptop from the corner of the desk. When he opened it he saw it was almost out of battery and he didn’t want it cutting out mid sentence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Ducking under the desk Rowan grabbed the charging cord, Elsie calling his name from right next to him made him jump and he smacked his head on the underside of the desk. He bit back his curse, not wanting Elsie to repeat it. When he emerged she was holding out a hat to him, one of Aelin’s. It was a blue felt thing with a pink ribbon around it, with a wide and floppy brim.

“Do I have to?” Rowan asked.

Elsie stepped closer, offering it to him. With a sigh he took it and put it on.

“Looking good, Rowan,” Vaughan teased.

“It really makes your complexion pop,” Connall added.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan said, not even looking at the desktop while he looked at his laptop screen.

Elsie was unpacking her horses again, lining them back up on the desk, Rowan didn’t try to stop her.

“Ok, I’ve got it,” Rowan said and started rattling off his report. The brim of the hat kept falling into his face so he went to take it off. There was another screech and Rowan’s heart just about stopped in his chest. “Gods damn it.”

“Dammit!” Elsie parroted back to him.

“Ah — no,” Rowan stammered, “don’t say that, alright?”

Fenrys just laughed at him and the others joined in. Then Fenrys lent forward, “Elsie, sweetheart, what you got there?”

She could barely see over the top of the desk but she looked up at the screen and held up one of her toy horses to show Fenrys. “Neigh,” she said by way of explanation.

“Oh, a horse,” Fenrys said very seriously. “Do you have anymore?”

Elise started to babble away, showing Fenrys toy after toy as he nodded and gushed over when he showed her, not understanding her in the slightest. Rowan gave his friend a grateful look as the distraction let him remove the hat. Soon Elsie had gone through all the horses and then pointed to Fenrys.

“‘Tay dere,” she told Fenrys and she toddled out of the study.

With the distraction gone Rowan continued to go through his report. Elsie came back in and Rowan assumed she had just brought in another toy to show her audience but then there was a choking noise, and he looked up to see Gavriel choking on his drink. Confused, Rowan looked down to Elsie and he felt his cheeks flush.

“Ahhh ffffuuuu...dgeballs,” Rowan muttered and then could only stare.

Lorcan noticed next and snorted.

Rowan felt as though his face was burning. Elsie had somehow managed to find an empty condom box and was now using it as what looked like to be disproportionate stable for her horses. The box bent out of shape as she tried to cram them in.

“Wait, what?” Fenrys blurted out as he registered what Elsie had. “If you had those… Oh, it’s empty, that explains things.”

“Mute him now!” Gavriel said, his voice strained still recovering from his choking.

There were murmurs of agreement and then Fenrys said, “What, wh —“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Lorcan muted him. He flipped off the rest of his colleagues.

“What is going on?”

Rowan turned to see Aelin standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face as she took in the scene before her.

“Why is Elsie using that box as a house?” Aelin asked, not embarrassed in the slightest. “And why is Fenrys holding up a sign with insults written on it?”

Rowan looked at the screen and Fenrys was indeed holding up a sign featuring some colourful language. Lucky Elsie couldn't read yet.

“Want to see something?” She asked Rowan. He nodded and she pulled out a photo from her pocket. “There is our little baby.”

Rowan looked at the little black and white photo, the writing in the top corner reading 9 week + 2 days. In the middle was a little figure that was just starting to look like a real teeny tiny human, with a head and little limbs. But there it was and Rowan couldn’t help the tears that were stinging at his eyes.

When he was done he handed it back to Aelin and she turned it to show everyone on the screen. They all ooo-ed and ahh-ed, Fenrys held up a sign that said congratulations, Connall said it was already looking like Rowan and Aelin exclaimed, “That’s what I said!” Elsie reached up, doing her grabby hands again and Rowan lifted her into his lap. Aelin passed her the photo as she then rested on Rowan’s knee and talked to her uncle, the meeting very well and truly derailed once again.

“What dis?” Elsie asked, pointing to the photo.

“That’s the baby that’s growing in Mummy’s tummy. That’s your baby brother or sister,” Rowan explained.

“Baby,” Elsie said as she touched the photo. “Essie baby.” Then she hugged the photo to her chest.

Aelin turned precariously so she could watch her daughter, no doubt catching a glimpse of what was happening on the screen. Her eyes were starting to brim with tears and she lent down to kiss Rowan.

“And I think we’re done,” Lorcan said and Rowan’s screen went entirely black as he was disconnected, leaving the family to enjoy this moment on their own.

~~~~~

Tags:

@fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine // @highqueenofelfhame // @3am-reading // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @aelinfire-bringer // @nalgenewhore // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca // @sleep-and-books // @average-girl-at-best // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @sleeping-and-books // @ttakeitbacknoww // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @heroesofterrasen // @highladyofstoriesandmusic // @empire-of-wildfire // @camerooonchiu // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @tswaney17 // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @flowerspringsea // @chaoticskyy // @the-regal-warrior // @fanfictrash3000 // @blueeyes425 // @starseternalnighttriumphant // @bamchickawowow // @thehuntressofmoon // @giorgia-the-trashpanda // @flora-and-fae // @thereaderandfangirl // @illyrian-bookworm // @chemicha // @meltalgel-ig // @gay-book-nerd // @that-odd-puzzle-piece // @i-love-all-books // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @hizqueen4life // @the-third-me // @queen-of-glass // @bestmelle // @cursebreaker29 // @b00kworm // @superspiritfestival // @aesthetics-11 // @maastrash // @mynewdreamwasyou // @the-last-apprentice // @charincharge // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @scarznstars // @aelin-queen-of-terrasen //

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ceealaina · 3 years

Text

Title: Bring the World Back Into Tune Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card: 4008 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Asking For Trouble Ship: Stony, background WarFalcon Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Meet-Cute, Steve Rogers Has No Chill, Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs Summary: Steve's just minding his own business when he spots the most beautiful man he's ever seen. So of course when he gets the chance to meet him, he manages to make a complete fool of himself. (Luckily, Tony kinda likes a guy who accidentally proposes at first sight.) Word Count: 4143

Steve hummed along to the music that was filtering through the apartment, still sipping at his first beer because, contrary to what Bucky liked to claim, he actually did know his limits. Mostly. When it came to drinking, anyway.

As if summoned by Steve’s thoughts, Bucky came up behind him and Steve nearly stumbled at what was apparently supposed to be a friendly shove. “Knock it off, Buck,” he grumbled, shrugging him off without any real heat.

Bucky eyed him skeptically. “You’re in a suspiciously good mood for someone who got beat up earlier today.”

Steve just snorted, rubbing at the nasty bruise that he knew was forming under his t-shirt. “Like that’s anything out of the ordinary.” He gave Bucky a wry grin, getting an eye roll in response. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad. Definitely not the worst I’ve had.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “And they didn’t even damage my beautiful face.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, planting a hand in the aforementioned face and giving Steve a mostly gentle shove. “You’re such a schmuck.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve didn’t stick his tongue out at him, because he was a responsible and mature adult. “Takes one to know one, pal.”

Bucky was saved having to continue their witty repartee when Sam spotted them from across the room, his boyfriend Jim in tow. He hollered out a hello, dragging Jim through the small crowd of people between them, and Steve laughed as he waved back. He’d known Sam for years, ever since he’d rescued Steve from a fight one night and the former field medic had bandaged Steve up to save him an ER bill, and they all slid into conversation as easily as they ever did. Bucky and Sam shifted right into making fun of Steve -- the only thing that Bucky claimed the two of them had in common -- while Steve appealed to Jim to just take Sam away and save him. It was fun and familiar, and all-in-all Steve was having a pretty good night.

And then he saw him.

He’d turned away to grab another drink, and for just a moment it was like the crowd parted and Steve had a perfect view of the most beautiful man in the world. He was just coming into the party, looking around for someone and laughing, his entire face lit up with it. He had dark, fluffy curls, one of which was falling over his forehead, and Steve wanted to brush it back so badly that his fingers actually twitched.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, completely derailing whatever the other three were talking about.

“Stevie?” Bucky asked, sharing a look with Sam, the two of them probably worried he’d developed measles sometime in the last five minutes. “You alright?”

Steve just shook his head. “No,” he told him bluntly. “Who is that?”

“Oh jesus,” Bucky muttered as Sam and Jim both craned their necks to see who he was talking about. “Not again.” Steve punched him.

Sam ignored their exchange entirely. “Who’s who?” he asked instead, trying to follow Steve’s gaze and pick out who he was talking about. Then his jaw dropped, eyes going wide. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Wait. Are you talking about Tony?”

This made Jim jerk and spin around. “Tony Tony?” he asked Sam in response, like that made any sense at all.

“I don’t know,” Steve told them. He pulled his eyes away long enough to give them both a confused look before pointing as discreetly as he could manage across the room. “Him!”

“Oh my god,” Sam breathed, laughing and looking over at Jim. He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face like he was waiting for Jim’s cue. “Babe?”

Jim was laughing too, but eyeing Steve speculatively at the same time. He arched his eyebrows at Sam, the two of them sharing a glance before he looked back over at Steve. “Uhh, well. That would be my best friend. Tony.”

Steve whirled to face him, eyes wide. “You know him?” He sought the man -- Tony -- back out before he could lose track of him among all the other people and nearly sighed at how gorgeous he was. “I think I love him.”

Bucky groaned from somewhere beside Steve, and Jim huffed out a laugh before sharing another look with Sam. “Yeah? Want me to introduce you?”

And before Steve could decide if that was a good idea, or if it was better to just quietly pine for this Tony person until he died of a broken heart, Jim was moving back into the crowd. “Hey! Tones!”

As Steve watched Jim make his way over to his friend, Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face and gave Sam a half-hearted glare. “You forgot to warn Jim about Steve. There’s something wrong with him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“There’s everything wrong with you.”

Sam looked unconcerned, patting Steve on the shoulder. “Don’t stress so much, Barnes. He’ll be fine.”

“Are we talking about the same Steve here?” Bucky asked with an arched brow.

“Fuck you, Bucky,” Steve replied, not talking his eyes off of where Jim had reached Tony, leaned in to say something, and now Tony was looking over in their direction. He stood on tiptoe to try and see through the crowd, and even though he was probably still taller than Steve, Steve felt his heart skip a beat at the adorable little gesture -- though that may have just been his heart murmur.

“Christ,” Bucky breathed. “Okay, listen Stevie, just… Take a breath okay.”

Steve shrugged him off with an eyeroll. “I’m fine, Bucky.”

“I’m just saying, don’t come on too strong. You… Do that sometimes.”

“Jesus Bucky, I’m fine, okay? I’m -- oh shit, he’s coming over.”

Sam snickered as Bucky grumbled something under his breath and Steve ignored them both entirely as Jim and Tony made their way over to them. Tony waved at Sam as they got closer, a sweet little smile on his face that had Steve melting.

“Uh, hey guys,” he offered, turning toward Steve and Bucky. “You’re Sam’s friends, right? Sam talks about you a lot, it’s good to finally meet you.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, just a little awkward, and Steve couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Come home with me,” he blurted out, and felt his heart sink as both Bucky and Sam facepalmed. For all his grandstanding, Bucky may have had a point.

“Um.” Tony turned to him with wide, startled eyes, blinking a couple times, but there was a twitch at the corner of his lips. “Who are you?”

“The man who’s gonna marry you,” Steve replied before he’d even had time to think about it. He felt his eyes go wide. “I mean. Oh my god.”

But Tony was laughing now, eyes sparkling and somehow, miraculously, looking almost endeared by him. He arched his eyebrows at Jim. “Is he always like this?”

“Yes,” Bucky and Steve both groaned in unison, making Sam snort and Tony laugh again. Bucky had buried his head in his hands, and Steve could feel his own face flaming with mortification, but Tony took pity on him and held out his hand for Steve to shake.

“I’m Tony,” he offered, a smile still playing around his lips.

“Tony,” Steve repeated as he took his hand and nearly shivered at the drag of calluses against his skin. Losing himself in the fact that he was touching this beautiful man’s hand, he wasn’t thinking when he spoke next. “Your name is like a melody.”

Tony burst out laughing, loud and bright and happy. “Ohhhh,” he said, voice sweet and teasing. “He’s crazy.”

Steve just closed his eyes, not even noticing that he was still holding Tony’s hand. “Yup,” he agreed, voice dry. “That’s exactly what I am.”

“I thought you were joking,” he heard Jim mutter to Sam, laughing now too. Sam just snickered.

“I hate you all,” Steve informed them, his eyes still closed. He jumped when Bucky poked him in the middle of his back.

“Hey, punk? Let go of the nice man’s hand.”

“Oh god!” Steve’s eyes snapped open and he pulled his hand free with a jerk, practically propelling himself backward in the process. “I’m so sorry. I’m just gonna…” He waved vaguely in the direction of the other side of the room. “Crawl into a hole and never come out.”

“Hey no, wait.” Tony elbowed Jim, who was laughing so hard he had his face buried in Sam’s shoulder. “Shut up, Rhodey.” He turned back to Steve, still smiling. “It’s fine, you’re fine. Don’t go.”

Steve gave him a skeptical look, eyeing their terrible friends who were still laughing at him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” And then, taking Steve completely by surprise, Tony took him by the elbow, flipping off Bucky and Steve and Jim over his shoulder as he steered Steve across the room and out onto the balcony, the noise of the party fading in the cool night air. There was nobody else out there and Tony beamed as he leaned against the railing, looking Steve over. “So tell me, future husband,” and he was teasing, but it felt more like they were sharing a joke than Tony laughing at him. “You gotta name?”

“Oh god.” Steve pressed his face into his hands and then peered at Tony from between his fingers. “I didn’t even tell you my name?”

Tony was looking absolutely delighted. “Nope.”

Steve took a deep breath, lowering his hands and hoping that the words that came out of his mouth were what he actually intended to say. “Hi,” he offered with an awkward wave. “I’m Steve.”

Tony leaned back against the railing, folding his arms across his chest and making a show of looking Steve up and down in a way that made his face heat and his spine tingle. “Hi, Steve,” he drawled. “Nice to meet you.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Steve muttered, but he managed a shy smile of his own. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

That got him a broad grin in return. “So tell me, Steve. Do we have a wedding date set?”

“Oh my god,” Steve groaned. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Probably not,” Tony agreed cheerfully. “So?”

And the weird thing was, as embarrassed as he was by their initial meeting, something about Tony had set him at ease. “Yup,” he agreed, because it wasn’t as though he hadn’t thoroughly humiliated himself already, and at least Tony was playing along. “October 19.”

“Oooh, a fall wedding. Pretty!”

He sounded genuinely pleased and Steve laughed a little, giving a shrug. “Well, winter’s too cold, spring always destroys me with allergies, and summer --”

“Summer’s way too hot and humid,” Tony finished, gesturing at him in agreement.

Steve blinked, slightly taken aback, and then beamed. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.” Tony agreed. And then, smooth as silk, “Well, that gives us about five months to get planning. Maybe we should start with a first date? Wanna get out of here, grab a bite to eat? I know a spot a couple blocks away, they make the best burger you’ve ever had.”

Steve stared at him. “Seriously?”

Tony tilted his head and arched an eyebrow, still grinning. “What, you don’t like burgers? Weird, you seem like a burger guy to me.”

“No, I like burgers,” Steve answered automatically, not that that was the relevant point here. “I just… You want to go out with me?” He gestured emphatically at the party behind them. “Me. After that introduction?”

Tony just laughed. “Yeah, Steve, I want to go out with you. Because of that introduction.”

Steve shook his head, but he knew he was grinning like an idiot. “You’re a lunatic.”

Tony snorted. “Well then, I’d say we’re a pretty even match then, huh?”

“You make a fair point,” Steve admitted, laughing despite himself. Then he shrugged. “Alright then, let’s go.”

“Great!” Tony caught his hand and, before they could go anywhere, leaned in, giving Steve a quick kiss that, for all its brevity, made Steve’s toes curl in his shoes. Then he pulled back and led Steve toward the door. “Come on, Future Husband. This place is gonna blow your socks off.”

***

Five Months Later

Steve grumbled as something ticked at the back of his neck, pulling him out the dream he’d been having. He swatted back, hand not catching anything, and heard a soft huff of laughter from behind him.

“Wake up, Steve,” Tony sing-songed, kissing his shoulder. Steve squinted his eyes open long enough to determine that the daylight filtering through the windows wasn’t nearly bright enough for it to be time to get up and grunted, snuggling deeper into the duvet instead. Tony laughed and kissed him again. “Come on, it’s important.”

Steve sighed, and considered trying to go back to sleep anyway, but as stubborn as he could be, Tony could be even worse, and he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to let whatever this was go. Relenting just a little, he rolled over onto his back, squinting up at Tony with half closed eyes. “What?” he asked. “Did you even sleep?”

Tony waved his hand in a so-so gesture and then lost himself in a soppy smile. “God, you’re gorgeous in the morning,” he told him, which Steve knew for a fact was a bald-faced lie, but it didn’t stop Tony from ducking down to give him a soft, sweet kiss. Steve kissed him back only a little grudgingly.

“Worst boyfriend ever,” he informed him when Tony pulled away. He stretched a little beneath the sheets, sinking into the ultra-soft pillows that Tony had -- thankfully -- insisted on when they’d moved into together a few weeks earlier. “What’s so important?”

Tony fake gasped, fluttering his hand over his chest, but his eyes were sparkling. “Don’t tell me you forgot!” he teased before diving into the blankets beside him and snuggling into Steve’s side, wrapping his arms around him and pressing a sloppy kiss into the side of his neck. “We’re getting married today, handsome.”

“Oh god,” Steve groaned, trying to wriggle away from Tony enough that he could bury his face into the pillows. “I hate you so much.”

“Mmm.” Tony followed him, draping himself over Steve’s back instead and kissing his ear to make him shiver. “No you don’t.”

“I kinda do.” It was kind of hard to breathe between the pillow and Tony on top of him, so Steve elbowed him until he got the message and rolled away, letting Steve come back up for air. He turned to face Tony, squinting at him suspiciously. “Wait, you didn’t plan an actual secret wedding or something, did you?”

Tony laughed, delighted. “I know I’ve been known to do some… Spontaneous things before--,”

“Dumbass, hare-brained schemes, more like.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re spending too much time with Rhodey, and I’m banning you from hanging out with him anymore. The point being that no, I did not plan a surprise wedding five months into our relationship.”

“I mean…” Steve gave him as pointed a look as he could manage when he was still half asleep. Mornings had never been his forte. “I’m just saying, it probably wouldn’t have surprised anyone if you had.”

Tony flopped onto his back as he considered this. “Probably not,” he conceded before making a face. “My mom would kill me though. I’m pretty sure she’s been looking forward to planning my wedding since I was born. But anyway.” He rolled back in toward Steve, unable to lie still. “We only just moved in together. I wanna enjoy living in sin a little longer.”

“God, you’re such a doofus.”

Tony huffed and then kissed him long and slow. “You say that like you don’t love it,” he hummed against his lips.

“Mmm…” Steve let his hands slide down to curl around Tony’s hips. “I just mean, considering our meeting, you’d think I was the lame one, but you’ve been just as bad for like. Every single day that I’ve known you.”

“That’s why we get along so well,” Tony informed him, sliding a hand under the blankets to rub over Steve’s chest. “And don’t worry, baby. You’re still the lame one.”

“Am I though?”

“Your first words to me were a proposal,” Tony pointed out dryly. “That’s pretty lame, Steve.”

“Okay, that was admittedly a pretty big initial lapse of judgement --,”

“Because you were blinded by my beauty?” Tony offered.

“You know it.” Steve squeezed his hands against Tony’s skin. “But still. It was temporary. You’ve been just like… So uncool every single day since then. Totally lame. It’s honestly a little embarrassing.”

Tony started laughing, smothering little giggles -- which kinda proved Steve’s point in the most adorable way possible -- into Steve’s collarbone. “Jesus Christ, Steve. Are you gonna let me give you a pre-wedding blow job or not?”

“Wait.” Steve blinked at the top of Tony’s head. “That’s why you woke me up?”

“Obviously.” Tony lifted his head enough to give him a fond eye roll. “Isn’t that the traditional groom’s gift?”

“Fuck it, it is now.”

Tony beamed at him and then he was shimmying his way under the covers and down the length of Steve’s body, tracing those same rough fingers that had nearly melted Steve’s brain the first time they met over his chest and ribs.

“Oooh,” Tony crowed as he reached Steve’s boxers, the fabric already pulling against his cock (he was totally gone for Tony, had been hard since he’d woken up). “Helllllloooo nurse.”

His words were muffled by the blankets, making his voices sound even more ridiculous, and Steve snorted at the sound. “Tony,” he protested. “Come o-on.” His voice hitched on the last word as Tony dragged his teeth over the sensitive spot on his thigh.

“Jeez,” Tony grumbled, finally moving to pull Steve’s boxers down all over his hips. “For someone who took so long to get with the program, you’re being awfully pushy.” But the next moment he was curling his hand around the base of Steve’s cock, grasping tight and rubbing his thumb over the underside.

Steve groaned loudly, fingers twisting in the sheets as his hips twitched up in Tony’s hold. “Oh god,” he mumbled, already feeling his breath start to go, practically panting in anticipation. “Come on, sweetheart. I just woke up, you know you can skip the foreplay.” He huffed out a laugh, the sound thin and reedy as Tony pressed a teasing kiss to the slit of his cock. “Please don’t tease.”

It was a stupid request, since it was almost guaranteed to make Tony do exactly that, but apparently pre-wedding sex meant showing Steve some mercy because a moment later he was being enveloped in hot, wet suction, a muffled, greedy moan filtering through the blankets. Steve gasped, barely able to keep his hips from bucking up and choking Tony. Tony didn’t waste any time in sucking him down, not stopping as until Steve was bumping up against the back of his throat. He swallowed around him and Steve groaned, loudly, before grabbing the terrible platypus throw pillow that Jim had given them for some reason and biting down on it (there may have been a couple noise complaints from their neighbours). He clutched the pillow tight with one hand, his other worming under the blankets to tangle through Tony’s mess of curls. He tugged a little, unable to help himself, and nearly went cross-eyed when he was rewarded with Tony moaning desperately around him.

“Oh shit, Tony,” he gasped, words muffled by the fabric. “You feel so good.”

Tony hummed again, deliberately this time, and Steve’s hips rocked, back arching when Tony pulled off to breath and flicked his tongue against the slit.

“Ohh, you fu-ucker,” he choked, half laughing through it. He combed his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Tony, please.”

He felt Tony snicker into his skin and then he was swallowing him down again, doing something with his tongue in the process that had Steve suddenly, embarrassingly close to the edge. He rolled his head back against the pillow and panted up at the ceiling, biting down hard on his lower lip as he tried to hold on just a little longer. Apparently Tony was having none of that though, because he slid a hand blindly up Steve’s chest until he could pinch and rub at his nipple, sending sparks shooting up Steve’s spine. He braced his legs, thighs trembling, and Tony’s hand settled on his skin, stroking soothingly.

“Oh fuck, Tony, baby, ‘m gonna come.” He was panting hard now, feeling a little dizzy with the lack of oxygen getting to his brain, and he rolled his head against the cool cotton of the pillow beneath him. He was right on the edge, could practically taste his orgasm. “God, Tony, please,” he wailed, forgetting about the neighbours entirely. An instant later, Tony was sliding a hand down past Steve’s balls, stroking his thumb over his hole until it caught on the rim. Steve was pretty sure he stopped breathing entirely as his body went stiff and then he was spilling down Tony’s throat, waves of pleasure washing over him and body so tense he wasn’t sure he’d be able to move after.

For a minute Steve just lay on his back, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Then there was the rustling of sheets and Tony squirmed his way back into the fresh air, hovering over Steve on his elbows so he didn’t squash him. He was flushed from exertion and the heat of his blankets, a loose curl sticking to his forehead with sweat, and he beamed down at Steve.

“You alright?” he asked, watching Steve’s skinny chest as he sucked in a few more breaths. Steve offered him a thumbs up until he felt his lungs ease a little.

“Fuck, Tony,” he told him, voice coming out in a low rasp.

Tony just shrugged, but he looked pleased. “Well, you know,” he told him, shifting to flop onto his side beside Steve. “That’s what I’m here for.” He pressed in close, planting a kiss on Steve’s cheek, and a punched out, needy gasp slipped past his throat when his cock dragged over Steve’s hip, hard and hot and wet at the tip.

Steve tilted his head to frown at him. “When did you take off your clothes?” he asked, snickering when Tony just gave him a dirty look.

“God,” he grumbled, burying his face against Steve’s neck and licking at the salt on his skin. “You’re such a goddamn tease. Don’t even know what I see in yo-oh!”

He cut himself off with a low moan, eyes falling shut as Steve wrapped a hand around his cock, giving him a slow stroke. Steve could feel his pulse throbbing beneath sensitive skin, and he smirked.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Tony shook his head, keeping his eyes closed and rubbing his forehead against Steve’s neck. “Nothing, I take it all back,” he said, words slurring together and Steve traced the thick vein running the length of him and then rubbed his thumb just under his head. “Oh, fuck Steve,” he said. “It’s not gonna take much.” He didn’t seem to notice his hand moving to Steve’s hip, gripping hard enough that Steve could feel his skin start to bruise. He rewarded Tony with a tight squeeze that had him throbbing in his grip. “Fuck, I’m so close.” He panted into Steve’s neck, rolling his hips against Steve’s side. “Just a little harder, baby please.”

The angle was awkward, and Steve could feel his hand starting to cramp a bit, but he didn’t stop. He shifted his grip instead, dragging his calloused fingertips over the slit of Tony’s cock. Tony gasped wetly into his skin and then he was spilling over Steve’s hand, shuddering against him with a low groan that could almost be classified as a whimper.

He went still after, still clinging to Steve’s hip as he caught his breath. He was a nice, solid weight against his side, a feeling Steve would never stop loving, and he didn’t bother pointing out that Tony would probably be able to catch his breath faster if he stopped breathing into Steve’s shoulder. Instead he just reached for the tissue box on the nightstand, giving them both a half-hearted clean up before snuggling back into the blankets.

“Ah, fuck,” Tony said after a few moments, breaking the comfortable silence. He lifted his head to blink dopily at Steve, grinning like an idiot. “That was awesome.”

Steve knew this smile on his face was just as ridiculous. “Yeah, it was.”

If possible, Tony’s smile grew wider before he arched up to kiss Steve’s cheek. “Happy wedding day, baby.”

@tonystarkbingo

#tonystarkbingomarkiv #tsbmiv #stony #alternate universe - no powers #meet cute #steve rogers #tony stark #james rhodes #bucky barnes #sam wilson #fic #my fic #fluff and smut

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flyinbanachab · 3 years

Text

Comfortember 28: Car Ride

Maria Ross slung her pack into the back of the 4x4 with a smile. She was just tagging along on this expedition--Lieutenant Fuery certainly didn’t need her help with whatever problem he's being called out to fix, but protocol said no one drives into the desert alone. It was almost as good as getting the day off.

Read on AO3 or...

"Ok, who's driving?" She asked, obviously meaning ‘can I drive.’ Cruising around in a 4x4 is a lot of fun--a point on which they unfortunately agreed.

Fuery made a face. "Have a heart Ross, I'm the one actually working today."

"Roshambo for it?" Ross suggested.

"How about I drive there, you drive back?" he countered.

"Ok ok, deal." They clambered in, brushing sand off the seats, and Fuery kicked it into gear.

The pavement ended all too soon, and even the gravel quickly gave way to nothing more than signposts in the sand. Between the unrelenting sun, the gritty wind, and the roar of the engine, it was a strange thing to call "fun"; nevertheless, Ross found herself relaxed and smiling, hand dangling from the rollbar handle, as she watched the dunes roll by.

"So!" She had to shout to be heard. "Rhodes tripped over his feet again, huh?"

She could see Fuery's eyeroll even through his sunglasses. This was hardly the first time he'd been called out to fix this colonel's equipment. "I don't know how he does it! I couldn't break a relay this badly if I tried. You think he's trying to sabotage us?"

Ross laughed. "Imagine, Rhodes a spy! Sneaking around cutting wires in the dark. Nyeh heh heh, that'll foil those horrible Amestrians!" Fuery laughed in turn. She continued, "Maybe he's got a crush on you, and breaks stuff as an excuse to call you out!"

He looked at her over the top of his lenses. "Ugh. Not my type."

"Oh really? What IS your type?"

"Someone who knows the difference between a radio and a radish, for starters!"

Fuery suddenly slowed and jerked the wheel to avoid a pothole, mostly succeeding. Ross grunted at the impact. Someday there would be a highway here.

Once her teeth had reseated themselves, she asked, "So how's Connie?"

His face broke into an enormous grin. "Amazing. Perfect. Eating fewer of my socks every day."

"So training's going well?"

"Not really!" Still wearing that huge smile. "My fault for saying I wanted the smartest of the litter. She's too smart for her own good. Or my own good, anyway. "

At the next marker, Fuery turned and started following a ridgeline. Not too much farther now.

"How's Clyde?" He asked her, and it was her turn to grin. Clyde, her weekend project, was something that had once been a car. She'd never rebuilt an engine before, so it was... quite a learning experience.

"Great question," she laughed. "No, I think we're making real progress now." Fuery’s eyebrows shot up practically into his hat. "WE?”

Whoops.

He looked over at her with a smirk. “Why Captain Ross, who is servicing your engine?"

She slapped his arm. "Gross, knock it off! It's just Breda."

"Reaaaaaaally."

"No! It's not like that!" But they both knew the color in her cheeks wasn't just from the heat. She and Breda had been spending a lot of time together lately, and, sure, she wouldn't mind if it were more. But it's not like they were dating. Not... really...

"Wow, who's gonna break the news to Brosh?"

"Oh my GOD Kain!"

Not that the thought hadn't occurred to her. She and Denny still met for coffee whenever she happened through Central, and he always asked if she was seeing anyone.

Okay, time to derail this train, Fuery was having way too much fun at her expense. "What about you? Seeing anyone these days?"

He paused before responding, "Maybe."

Maria sat up straight at this reaction. Well now! "Maybe? MAYBE? Is it someone I know??"

He shook his head. "What? Sorry, I can't hear you, it's so loud..."

"Kain Fuery, don't you hold out on me! I want a name!"

"Oh hey, look at that, here we are!" Fuery slowed to approach the guard station and Ross scowled.

"Don't think I'm gonna forget about this," she said as the 4x4 rolled to a stop.

"Forget about what? Afternoon, corporal! Lieutenants Fuery and Ross, here to fix the relay."

#comfortember #comfortember 2020 #fma fanfiction #Kain Fuery #Maria Ross #concorde blue #fanfic #my writing #post promised day

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goodproofingwater · 4 years

Text

Chapter 13 | Tinder Tommy

Word Count: 2522

Taglist (if you would like to be added just ask!):

@a-dorky-book-keeper @ishoutmarcoandyoushout @idesiretomhardy @theamuz @blinderscaps @peakywriting @justanothershelby @contemporary-mary @auroravipers @moonyscardigans @peakysxshelby @miss-shelby-barnes @vintage-fantasyyy @ly—canthrope @morgan-1830 @i-love-you-green @l0tsofpennies @exploringmycosmicsoul

Notes:

Thank you all so much again for being so patient! I am going to go back and number all the chapters so they are easier to read through, hence the name on this one being a chapter name and not a wordy name (i am so bad at those!). Anyway, please feel free as always to send me any feedback or questions or comments on Tommy or his girl!

You are left with nothing but filthy texts as Tommy’s workload increases to the point where he barely leaves the office, and you wonder on more than one occasion how he would react if you showed up at his office and offered to help him to relax. But you hold back.

You know that this new relationship, if you could call it that, hangs in a very delicate balance of respect, business and lust, and although the more you learned about him the more you saw yourself feeling more than just the need to get on your knees for him, you don’t want to do anything that could change the way he feels about you. At least not until he is more clear with his own intentions as to where this is going.

And so when Jonathon walks into your office and asks you to make yourself free for a meeting at 2pm the next day, you feel a flush of arousal at the thought of being under Tommy’s keen gaze once more.

It had been weeks since you had seen him, and you dress in a white shirt, black pencil skirt and heels for the meeting, pushing your hair back into a slick ponytail in an effort to look professional in case your expression gives away just how interested you are in the man you failed to mention you were sleeping with.

Heels click along marble floors as you walk into what feels like an entirely different world. Shelby Company Limited’s headquarters were not at all what you had been expecting as you got to know a man who was so fond of whiskey and cigarettes. It’s front facing wall was made up entirely of glass, the white floors matched the white marble reception desk which you approached with caution, allowing Jonathan to take the lead as you did your best to hold your jaw tight as you looked around.

Everything that wasn’t white was silver, steel or black save for a huge painting of library shelves which had been composed in such a way that it looked 3D. As you moved towards it clipping the small visitors tag to the black suit jacket you had chosen to wear, it looked as though you were walking through the stacks. It was only when you were standing next to it that you saw the blocks protruding from the canvas, and you had been so transfixed you hadn’t heard him approach.

“Interesting isn’t it?” His voice is like silk against your ears, delicious and enticing even when he has his professional face on. “I bought it at an art fair when we moved into this office specifically to entrance those waiting for a meeting. I find it has a way of affecting someone’s mindset.”

“Affecting someone’s mindset how?” You answer without thinking, Jonathan’s eyes darting to you as it seems you disrespect one of the most powerful men in London by talking without a proper introduction. Tommy’s eyes bore into yours, his tongue running along the back of his teeth as his lips remain slightly parted, forcing you to remember how he looks at you as you take him deep in your throat.

“Usually in my favour” is his response, and the eye contact lingers for only a moment before it’s broken by Jonathan holding his hand out.

“Good to see you again Mr Shelby.” He offers both of you a strong handshake as you introduce yourself, a small smirk washing over his lips as his thumb grazes the back of your hand in a way that lets you know he’s enjoying playing this game. That he understands from the short conversations he’s had with your boss that you have not told him the full extent of your ties to Shelby Company Limited.

“Likewise, but I will say Jonathan that you’d be seeing me a right side more if you had accepted my offer.

Jonathan’s smile falters, transforming into something you had never seen before, something fake and on the verge of a grimace as if he had been expecting the jibe, but not so soon or in front of company.

“Well while I’m always willing to help Mr Shelby my answer remains the same. I have loyalties to my film and I won’t be leaving any time soon.”

“Shame” he speaks, but he looks bored, as if this was a well rehearsed dance that he was eager to get out of. And maybe it was. Perhaps this very conversation happened much more regularly than you knew.

Just when you were about to step forward to prompt the men into moving, Tommy’s gaze turned to meet another man you had not heard approach regardless of the echo of the hall.

He was inches taller and years younger than the man you had been used to dealing with, a familiarity dancing on the features of the two men made you wonder if this was the younger brother he spoke of when you first met. His shoulders were broad and strong, his back straight and the air of superiority that radiated off of him was infinitely more frustrating than that of his older counterpart.

The younger man wasted no time in running his eyes up and down your body, his gaze hungry and although you could almost feel the smirk willing to form he kept up appearances.

“What time do you call this, Michael?” Tommy shook his arm to force his sleeve down as he made a show of looking at his Rolex, one which you shouldn’t know that he slept in, one which had left marks on your stomach where he had held you flush against his body.

“Sorry Tom had some acquisition orders to sign off and thought it best to get them rolling before this meeting. Michael Gray. Chief Accountant.”

He holds your hand a beat too long and Tommy notices, guiding the three of you into a lift which looks like something from a science fiction film. The floor is a giant light box, mirrors making up two walls and doors on the other two, and Tommy taps a small fob to an almost invisible black circle to force the box to move.

As Jonathan deals with the pleasantries you wonder how much Tommy has told his Chief Accountant. Does the man who is making no attempt to hide his lust know that his boss had you on your knees less than a month ago? He doesn’t show signs of recognition, only a lack of respect in the form of his eyes taking in every inch of your body that he can.

You get to the floor in under a minute, your stomach curiously okay for such a short flight up 26 floors and you are about to comment when the doors open into something the polar opposite of the reception.

Mahogany radiated from every inch of the room, the desks on the main floor large and important, each of them with an old fashioned green lamp and a chair to match. It felt like hundreds of staff as you walked past rows of desks, each member working on laptops and screens which vastly contrasted the desk beneath them.

The mixture of antique and modern was something that shouldn’t have worked but it did, and you were slightly dazed by obviously amounts of money which had been pumped into things which could easily have been bought for cheaper.

The wall of windows remains, and Tommy leads you toward it before turning left through a set of mahogany doors marked “Managers Suite”.

A large break out desk, also mahogany, sits in the middle of what could only be described as a small hall and two regal looking doors lined each wall, with one double set matching those that you had just come through sitting at the far end of the hall, elevated by a few steps.

There were less people here, but you could see the resemblance between some of them immediately, eyes which matches Tommy’s gazing up at you from a younger version of him, being attractive clearly running through genes.

Tommy led you through the double doors which sat upon the raised platform and into an office filled with more mahogany and polished brass, the wall of windows extending across the back wall of his office with blinds had drawn to fight the glare which must easily catch the screen on the laptop which sat on the huge mahogany desk.

But he did not lead you to the chairs which sat opposite, rather to the small square table which held steaming cups of coffee, a white sugar bowl piled high with brown sugar and a small milk jug to match. Each of the cups were decorated ornately, and were sitting on matching saucers.

You sat on the chair opposite Tommy, with Michael on your left and Jonathan on the right, and you listened as your boss and Tommy discussed formalities.

You could feel Michael’s eyes on you as you did your best to pay attention, and you glanced over at him only once his name was mentioned.

The small smile which washed over his features at your eye contact made your pulse race, his tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip making you swallow thicker than you would have expected especially with Tommy sitting so close, and it’s the older man clearing your throat which diverts your attention from the younger.

“Why don’t you derail the case for us, Mr Gray” Jonathan speaks, and Michael tears his eyes from you to speak to the lawyer, unveiling a tale of a woman who is spreading a rumour that he sexually assaulted her while they both drank at a bar. The story went on that Michael was with several others, including a man of great influence; Jeremiah Jesus, who saw the woman happily partake in the flirting and touching, and a woman, Polly Gray (who turned out to be Michael’s mother) who overheard the woman scheming to “take Michael for millions” by pretending otherwise.

It wasn’t long before Tommy began to bring you solidly into the fold, asking for your opinion on matters that otherwise would have been left to Jonathan, knowing that the lawyer would not be able to refuse his whims considering the cost of the service. And the best part was that instead of being incensed that he was losing control, Jonathan seemed incredibly impressed by how you were dealing with it.

“Well the thing about defamation claims Michael is that you have to prove that they’re not true.” You hope the implication in your words isn’t too much, but the silence which stretches as they wait for you to continue speaks volumes.

“I’m asking you if you did it” His leans back, confidence injected into his every move

“Do you really think I would do something like that?” You’re glad for the smirk on his features only for the satisfaction which comes from wiping it away.

“Yes. So did you?” Your fire takes him aback more than anything else, and his eyes dart between your questioning gaze and tommy who pretends to stroke his face in an attempt to hide his smirk.

“Like I said” Michael continues, clearing his throat and leaning forward to take his coffee cup and sip, “there’s proof I did nothing of the sort. And I would never treat a woman like that” The second sentence seems to come as an afterthought, his eyes meeting yours as he says it, and you bite your lip as you move your gaze to Tommy who has gone from smiling to serious in the space of a moment. His eyes met yours as his thumb dragged along his bottom lip, and Jonathan spoke to Michael as you practically felt Tommy undress you with his eyes, dominance filtering through his body language as you failed to hide your attraction to his cousin.

The tension was broken as Tommy fixed his attention to the task at hand, and as the meeting came to a close you began to realise the full weight of what you had done by introducing Jonathan to the idea of helping Shelby Company limited. But It wasn’t until after you had exchanged business cards and loaded goodbyes and you were walking across the courtyard having left the building that you realised its effect on your career.

“You were excellent in there,” Johnathan smiled, “I get the feeling that this is the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership”

And although he was offering you drinks and lunches to say thank you for such an affluent deal, all you could think about was when you would see Tommy again is a less professional capacity. And, if you were being totally honest with yourself, what it would feel like to be bent over that huge mahogany desk.

Tommy couldn’t help but watch as the gorgeous figure hugging skirt you chose clung to every inch of you, slowly testing his patience, slowly driving him crazy with the thoughts he had to bat off in an attempt to stay professional. Your hips moved as if in time to music toward the lift, and you shook hands with him and Michael, the smell of your perfume intoxicating him more than it had done when he had woken up next to you.

Something about being in this professional setting, or something about the hint of jealousy he felt as you eyed his cousin, had him keen to book in another date, another tryst, another excuse to touch and lick and kiss you.

When he had finally returned to the managers suite, he grabbed Michael’s arm before he had the chance to disappear into his office. It was not lost on him that Michael had been looking at you the way he had, and although he was a man who was not the exclusive kind, he was also not okay with sharing.

“Don’t even think about trying to fuck our lawyers strategist” he takes he professional angle, but the smirk which spreads across Michael’s face tells the older man that he doesn’t care for professionalism in this instance.

“But she’s—“ a moment of realisation washes over the blonde, and his smirk turns into a grin before he speaks louder than Tommy would have liked, “that was the girl from your phone wasn’t it? The one who’s been sending you nudes?”

Tommy swallows, lips parted ever so slightly as he lets the silence talk for him, and Michael let’s out a short laugh before he shakes his head.

“Well damn, a body like that and brains too.. I would be an idiot not to try something..”

The grip on Michael’s arm tightens, and John notices, freeing himself discreetly from the conversation he was having with his executive assistant incase things took a turn for the worst.

“I’m telling you Michael. She’s off limits. Both because of the defamation case, and for your own sake.”

But lines being drawn had never done anything but enthuse Michael to break them, and the shit-eating grin remained on his lips as he sneered, “we’ll see”

#tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #lauren writes #tinder tommy

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