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carolmunson · 2 years

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smoke signals (steddie x reader)

prompt was along the lines of ‘reader wants to go out with the girls, but the boys say no so she can get her sleep schedule back on track and she sneaks out anyway. definitely gets caught. everything is bad.’

This is a Mean!Eddie focus fic. Part of me isn’t sure how I feel about this one shot, but I think it’s because I’ve been reading and re-reading it for the past month. Steve does his best to hold back as this takes place AFTER Good Cop x Bad Cop. warnings as follows: minors dni 18+, d/s lifestyle dynamics, use of sir in a sexual way, use of daddy in a sexual way, fingering (female receiving), oral (female and male receiving), spanking, branding/burning, back handing, slapping, hair pulling, degradation, humiliation, name calling

“You said yes, yesterday!”

“I know I did, but look, you’re practically falling asleep watching TV!”

You and Eddie had been arguing for ten minutes. You told Nancy and Robin you’d go out with them tonight, it’d been some time since all the girls had a night to themselves. While you didn’t necessarily have to, you asked the boys if it was okay just in case they had any plans. Maybe it was because Robin couldn’t stop talking about how excited she was for it at work, but Steve was quick to say yes. Eddie, on the other hand, stiffened when you asked. Normally he’s always saying yes to a good party and inviting himself, you were surprised at his resistance. He had blamed his lack of enthusiasm on how late you’d been staying up and how early you’d been going into work. Ever since the promotion, you barely took time for yourself. You’d stroll in at eight at night after getting to the office at six in the morning for board meeting preps and taking down minutes, filling out payroll paperwork. The job was endless. Now that things were calming down a little, Eddie thought it would be better if you spent the weekend getting back on a regular sleep schedule. You’d probably be a little nicer after developing ‘the world’s worst fuckin’ attitude’, according to him.

“Going out and having a good time is a part of resting, Ed! I’m not gonna be up late doing work, I’m going out late to have fun,” you explained from your cozied up spot on the couch, “It’s different.”

“I don’t know, honey, maybe he’s right. You might just need a night in, you can go out tomorrow,” Steve said from his arm chair with a beer in hand, looking at the TV.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me! You said I deserved to enjoy myself after this week! Plus, Robin closes tomorrow,” you shrilled, now fully sitting up. Your fuse was getting shorter by the minute – now you were genuinely annoyed.

“See, look at all this attitude, sweet thing,” Eddie cooed, “You should just stay in and get some sleep.” That fucking voice. His little lilt where he made you feel small and stupid, it drove you crazy (in the bad way).

“You just want me to stay in so you can have sex tonight,” you accused under your breath, laying back down and turning on your side towards the TV.

Eddie shrugged, “So? Sue me. Scoot over.” He tapped your calf, waiting for you to pull your knees to your chest so he could sit down. You glared up at him with a bratty pout, your hands covered in a blanket under your chin. “There’s another chair you can sit in on the other side of the room,” you huffed, casting your eyes over the the empty recliner in the corner. “Hey,” Steve’s voice was stern as turned his head to look at you, “Is that how you act when you don’t get what you want?” You rolled your eyes, moving your legs up just enough that Eddie could sit on the edge of the couch up against the arm. He tutted and crossed his arms, tossing a look over to Steve. “You wanna be over my knee, instead?” he warned, starting to get up from the chair. “No, no,” you squeaked out, pulling your legs all the way up to your chest while Eddie plopped down. Steve sat back in the recliner, bringing his eyes back to the TV. “You’re not going out tonight,” he said, “Not with that attitude.” “You don’t really get to say what I’m allowed and not allowed to do, Steve,” you said, sitting up and criss-crossing your legs under your blanket. Steve exhaled and shook his head, Eddie turned his head to you with knitted brows. “That’s enough. C’mere,” Eddie growled, pulling you by the arm over his lap. He tossed the blanket covering you to the floor, tugging your sweatpants down to your thighs. Revving up his hand to come down hard on your ass. “No, wait!” you whined, kicking your legs, squirming in his grasp, “No, please, I’ll stop. I won’t go, I’m sorry.” His hand skitters over your skin, giving one cheek a firm grab before pulling your pants back up, “Go give Nancy and Robin a call and let them know you’re not coming, okay?” You nodded, albeit a little glumly, and went upstairs to use the phone in the boys room. “This is ‘cause you’re not spanking her enough anymore,” you heard Eddie say to Steve, “She’s all out of line now. You should’ve dealt with your shit before you went and ruined it for all of us.” “Shut up, Munson,” Steve said, “Before I put you in line.” “I wish you’d put me in line, Stevie,” Ed flirted back. You rolled your eyes at their banter, getting to the top of the stairs and turning the corner into their room. You shut the door behind you and sat at the desk, picking up the phone – except you didn’t dial Nancy or Robin. You had no intentions of calling at all. You were going out tonight – fuck whatever they had to say. — You asked Nancy to drop you a few houses down so that the boys wouldn’t hear the car door shut, hiding under the guise of ‘They’re probably sleeping, I don’t wanna wake them up.’ Your heart raced while you approached the house, but at least all the lights were off. That had to mean your high school trick of hiding pillows under a blanket was enough to convince them that you’d fallen asleep on the couch in the second bedroom where the boys hung out. Right? Right? You were a little wobbly on your feet from dancing and kareoke, but the two drinks you had wore off a while ago. You reeked of bar air and cigarettes, but a shower could fix that and since you do the laundry anyway the boys would be none the wiser. You slowly unlocked the door, the click of the lock sounding much louder than you anticipated. You winced, tip-toeing into the dark hall way and shutting the door behind you. Sleepiness coated your body once you made it inside, sliding your shoes off next to Steve’s Nikes. Good, good, it was just take a shower, replace the pillows on the couch with yourself, go to bed. Done. You hung your jacket on the coat rack and got up the first couple of steps upstairs, and then you heard it – “You don’t wanna join us in the living room?” Eddie’s voice was dark and stern, coming from across the hall way. You could see him and Steve’s sillouhettes on the couch in the dark. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you thought – but you hadn’t thought it, you said it outloud. Even worse, you whined it. Your blood ran cold. You heard Eddie get up, his steps slow and deliberate. You could have just run up the stairs and locked yourself in the bathroom but you couldn’t will yourself to move. Eddie was behind you, his hand around your elbow. His voice was low and gravelly in your ear, “Such a dirty fucking mouth.” “I’m sorry, sir,” your voice was breathless, you were already sweating, “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.” “Shouldn’t think it either,” he said, “But it looks like thinking’s been a little hard for you these days. Sneaking out of the fuckin’ house? Are you stupid?” “No, no, I just wanted to have fun,” you whined. He pulled on your arm to get you down the stairs, stopping to fish through your coat pocket on the way. He found what he was looking for quickly, nodding to himself. “Of course,” he said, a pack of his Camels appearing out of your coat, “So fucking predictable.” “I’m sorry,” your voice was just a choked rasp. You were desperate not to cry. You didn’t dare look at Steve who had turned the side table lamps on in the living room. Now sitting, man spread, on the right side of the couch, head perched on his finger tips on the arm of it. Eddie pulled you in, stopping at the entry way by the credenza, working quickly on your jeans. “Hanging out at The Hideout tonight?” he asked, as he kept undressing you, “Think I wouldn’t find out?” You shook your head no, whimpering. He pulled his cuffs out of his back pocket and you huffed at the sight of them. “I don’t–” the look he gave you shut you up before you even bothered protesting futher. You heard them click into place with your writsts behind you. “You got a lot of nerve, kid,” he muttered, “You smell like a fucking bar floor. C’mon.”

He tossed the box of Camels on the side table, taking a seat on the couch in the center cushion. His legs spread wide. He supported your balance while you kneeled between his knees on the carpet. You hung your head, this was beyond your regular trouble. You swore, you snuck out, and even worse, you lied. Eddie hates a liar. “I’m so disappointed in you, princess,” Steve’s voice was like honey, but the sentiment burned. Tears welled up in your eyes, “Smoking Ed’s cigarettes, too? You know that’s not good for you, baby.” “M’sorry, Stevie, I’m sor–ow!” you yelped as Eddie’s hand gripped roughly at your chin. He rarely handled you like this, you could feel his anger buzzing off of him – he was wild. You looked up at him, hoping that if you rounded your eyes just enough he’d let you off a little easier.

“I’m tired, Eddie, please,” you whimpered, “Can we do this tomorrow? I wanna go to bed.”

“Oh, you’re tired now? Do you think you’d still be tired if you stayed home tonight?” he asked, his grip tightening on your cheeks, getting nose to nose with you.

“I was right, wasn’t I, baby? You needed a night in,” he asked, his voice falling into that mocking baby voice he loved to use to upset you. There was nothing more frustrating than being a grown woman, with a better job than both of them, being talked down to like that.

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding as quickly as you could with his hand on your face.

“Need me to wake you up a little?” he asked, a darkness shining in his brown eyes. You braced yourself when the hand on your face dropped to your neck, his ringed hand winding up to deliver a sharp and biting back hand to your cheek. You yelped at the impact, but your back arched slightly, a little mewl leaving your lips.

Steve gave a stern look at Eddie, “Watch yourself, Munson.”

“She’s fine,” he said, letting his hand caress your face while you purred into it, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Right? Knew you’d like that, filthy girl,” he smirked, the bright pink of your cheek rousing something in his chest, “You love getting hit, don’t you?”

You nodded, containing yourself with short, shallow breaths. Mean as he was like this, he hated seeing you too stressed out.

“Deep breaths, pretty girl,” he said against your temple, “Take a deep breath, you’re doing so good.”

“Can we take the cuffs off? They hurt,” you whined into his cheek.

“I know they hurt, princess. I’ve been meaning to get you some new ones,” he said, he couldn’t resist you when your voice got soft and small like that. He fished for the key in his back pocket, his tongue jutting out while he felt for it. Eddie leaned over you, your head resting on the cushion between his thighs, closing your eyes while his hands snaked over your forearms to unlock the cuffs.

You heard the faint click and immediate relief as he gingerly slipped them off you, rubbing his thumb gently over the reddened skin, “Sorry baby, we’ll get some leather cuffs soon.”

He loved soothing you in little ways between changes in punishment, soft little check ins without words. Leaving little kisses on your shoulder, brushing your hair out of your face, a wink or an eyebrow raise to check how you’re doing, a squeeze here and there to let you know that he’s still there with you – just playing with you. He always triple scanned your body language when he thought he might get particularly rough, he could spot your tells from a mile away. One off kilter whine in your breath and he’d know you had to take a break or stop altogether.

Steve didn’t miss a beat, getting up and sliding his belt off, getting on his knees behind you. His hands were gentle on your wrists, opting to wrap his belt around your forearms instead. It kept your arms farther back, but also wouldn’t aid in anymore irritation. You whined while he did it, thinking you were being given at least a tiny break from being restrained. When he was done he gathered your hair so it laid down your back neatly, out of your face and chest, his warm hands resting on your shoulders behind you, “That’s better, isn’t it, baby?"

“Yes, daddy,” you answered softly.

“What else do you say?” Eddie asked, tapping your reddening cheek.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimpered at the contact on your face.

“You need another one?” he asked, “Think it’ll help you remember your manners?”

“One was enough, Ed,” Steve’s voice vibrated against your spine.

“Let her decide. Do you need another one, sweetheart?” Eddie cooed, not losing eye contact with you.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, knowing it would be painful but ultimately worth it. There was something so indulgent about Eddie taking control like this, hurting you just enough to bring you under. He hummed with a smile, pulling you in for a hungry kiss, pulling your lower lip between his teeth and letting it go. He brought the back of his ringed hand across your face again, the metal making harsh contact with your jaw. You couldn’t help but start crying at the sting, but you were throbbing between your knees. “Ed,” Steve warned again, smoothing his hand over your cheek protectively, “She can’t handle that.” “You sure?” he asked, reaching down between your legs, letting his fingers slide delicately into your slickness and coming back out to meet his lips. “Looks like she’s handling it just fine. Aren’t you, tiger?” he said with a wink, tasting your wetness on his fingers. “Yes sir, I can handle it,” you said, your voice small, craggled, and sleepy. You leaned into Steve’s hand, looking back at him, “I can handle it, daddy.” You hear Steve let out a sharp exhale through his nose, letting his hands fall back on your shoulders. He squeezed them gently, leaving a kiss on the skin by his thumb. Eddie reached over to the side table where his Camel’s were, fishing one out and putting it between his lips to light it. He took a long drag, looking down the slope of his nose at you.

“Open, princess,” he said, letting the smoke blow out into your face with his words, “Tongue all the way out — that’s it, that’s my good girl.”

“Tilt her head back Stevie,” his dark eyes meeting Steve’s amber ones. You felt Steve’s hand reach to the nape of your neck, ensnaring into your hair and pulling you back a little. His other hand cupped just under your chin. You could feel his bicep against your chest, his chest against your back — you wanted to settle back into him, let him lull you to sleep.

“You wanna have a filthy mouth, huh?” Eddie asked, cigarette dangling between the corner of his lips. He put it between his fingers, leaning his elbows on his knees so his hands hung over your face.

“Let’s see how filthy we can get it,” he said, his voice low and gravely, “That sound good, baby?”

You nodded, keeping your mouth open, waiting for him to reach for his jeans. But he didn’t. Instead, he held the cigarette over your tongue and flicked the end, the ash falling delicately on your taste buds. The acrid taste melted into your mouth, filling your nostrils, and making your eyes water. You instinctively swallowed the spit that collected in your mouth to wash away the ash. Eddie looked down at you like you were a science project, testing his limits. He waited for your tongue to come back out of your mouth to speak again. “Did you think I was gonna let that mouth touch my dick, tonight?” he asked, a dark laugh falling with his words, “Is that what you thought I meant?” “Yes master,” you said, Steve’s hands readjusting around you. “You’re not gonna get that dirty mouth anywhere near this cock, do you understand?” he glowered, his nose almost touching yours. He watched your eyes pool with tears, and he was satisfied with that response. “I understand, sir,” you cried. “Get that tongue back out,” he said, back to his original posture. You obeyed immediately, watching him take another drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke in your face, ashing in your mouth again. He did his best to avoid getting smoke in Steve’s eyes, running his hand through his hair in apology each time. “It doesn’t taste good, huh?” he mocked while you sputtered, more spit that tasted like charcoal and burnt tobacco slid down your throat. Your esophagus burned. “No, sir,” you responded, trying to find a way to charm him out of this. “But I deserve every punishment my master gives me,” you said breathily, a little gulp following suit. You looked up at him innocently through your lashes, leaning forward into Steve’s hold to get closer to Eddie’s knee. “Don’t,” Steve said, pulling you back towards his chest and putting you back in position. You whined in his grasp, struggling against him. “Aw, were you gonna try and seduce me out of this?” Eddie asked, his hand caressing your cheek, “That’s cute. Are you all done being my little ash tray?” You nodded at him, his thumb sliding over your cheek bone, “No problem, baby. I should cut back anyway.” He kept his eyes locked on yours while the cigarette in his fingers escaped your line of vision – but it wasn’t long before you knew where it was. The pain was a searing cold/hot, you could feel his fingertips against your skin while he pushed the embers into your thigh – branding you. The room was so quiet you could hear the sizzle of your skin where the cigarette met you. You gasped, a pained whine pouring out of your chest while the cool heat turned to a stinging burn before fading out. “Ooh, that hurt, didn’t it?” he said, his voice still mocking and cold. He tossed the cigarette butt into the actual ash tray on the coffee table behind Steve. You nodded, blubbering in Steve’s arms, looking down at the pink circular shining burn on your thigh. “Yes, sir, that hurt really bad,” you whispered, choking on the pain. Eddie tilted your head up gently to look at him, his demeanor a little softer but still dominant. He looked at you, your wet eyes, your pouty lips, the way your breath caught in your throat when he made eye contact with you. He couldn’t help but smile, his weak little woman, desperate to please him after such a big offense. He left a gentle kiss on your cheek, “I’m sorry, princess. Why don’t I give you a little break? Daddy can help clean you up while I get things ready upstairs.” “So we can go to bed?” your voice was so precious, he almost wanted to say yes. “Oh, no, baby. You’re not done being punished,” he said it like it was obvious. You pouted while Steve stood you up and took off your restraints, pulling you into him while he brought you into the half bath attached to the living room. Steve’s hands were soft and gentle while he sat you down on the the toilet seat, going into the medicine cabinet and taking out the Neosporin to treat your burn. He wet a wash cloth with cool water, crouching down next to you to hold it on your thigh. “You okay, princess? We can stop,” he said when you winced at the cloth on your skin. He pulled it away, putting a small dab of the treatment down and putting a band aid over the little burn. His hand smoothed over the mass of your thigh. “I’m okay,” you assured, “I can take it.” “That burn looked like it really hurt,” he said, kneeling between your knees, “Want me to kiss it better?” “Please, daddy,” you said, your fingers snaking into his hair. He gave you a wink, spreading your legs apart, hooking your legs over his shoulders. His nose bumped your puffed lips before his tongue could slip between them, making you shiver. Your breath ragged by the time his tongue made its first stripe along your dripping slit, capturing your clit in its wake. Your back arched into his mouth instantly, the slickness of his tongue inside you was already getting you close to the edge. “So close, already?” he asked, letting his fingers trail up and down between your folds, “You like how Ed’s been putting you in your place?” “Yes, daddy,” you panted, squirming underneath his touch, “I don’t think you’re s’posed to be making me feel good.” “Daddy can do what he wants,” he said, his eyes meeting yours while his middle finger started sliding into you slowly. Your mouth gaped open at the feeling, “Tell me how much you like that.” “I like that so much,” you whispered breathily, your head falling back to the wall. “You know what I meant, princess. Say it,” he said, sitting back on his heels while his ring finger met with his middle, his thumb searching for your clit. You blushed. Steve knew how embarrassed it made you to be asked to say what you liked out loud. He loved seeing you cover your face and mumble it out, only to ask you to say it louder. He was ‘just trying to get you to be more confident’ — you should always know to ask for exactly what you want. “I like when you…unh, I like — mm! oh! — God,” you choked out while he curved his fingers up inside of you, his thumb slid quickly back and forth over your hood, massaging your clit without making it too sensitive. “Say it, baby. Say it for daddy,” he said, getting breathless himself. His cock painfully hard in his boxer briefs, aching to be let out of his jeans. “Oh, are we making her tell us what she likes?” Eddie said, appearing at the door frame. He looked at you with hungry eyes and a dimpled smirk, shirt discarded — now just in boxers hung low at his waist. You drooled instantly at the sight of him leaning on his arm against the frame, the flex of his bicep, the soft definition in his chest. “Come on, sweet thing — you had such a dirty mouth earlier,” he said, slinking closer to you, his hand gently holding your throat, “Tell daddy how much you like his fingers inside you. You wouldn’t wanna hurt his feelings, would you?” Your face burned with embarrassment but you didn’t want Steve to slow down anytime soon. If you could at least cum once before your next punishment upstairs, it might all be worth it. “I love when Daddy has his fingers inside me,” you blurted out, your thighs clamping down on Steve’s wrist. “Fingers inside where, baby?” Eddie coaxed, raising his brows slightly. “I love when — ah! — when Daddy has his - has, shit!, has his fingers in my – mm – in my pussy,” you mewled, your hand reaching down to hold Steve’s wrist while his other hand wrenched your knees apart. “Good girl,” Steve praised, feeling your walls pulse around his fingers, “Ooh yeah, fuck — fucking cum for me princess. Such a good girl.” “‘I’m such a good girl,” you parroted back. The sentence sounded stupid falling out of your mouth, Eddie tutted at your fucked out voice. “For who, baby?” Steve asked, standing up. “’M such a good girl for- for daddy,” you sighed, planting your feet back on the floor gingerly. Eddie let go of your throat and both boys admired you for a moment — your naked frame with a film of sweat, sitting on the toilet seat cover. Steve smoothed your hair out of your face, pushing the tendrils sticking to your cheeks behind your ears. You got up slowly, both of them walking you to the stairs, Steve letting you follow after Eddie and him following close behind.

You got into the bedroom, still shaky from your orgasm, to see the bed made. On it, the roughest rope Eddie owned, the new leather strap the boys bought recently, and a handful of change. “Come here, pretty girl,” Eddie whispered. He could see you fading, either from being tired or from finishing, or because your mind had gone somewhere else, somewhere he loved taking you. He pulled you close to him, his hands sliding from the top of your back to your waist, down to your ass. He gave your cheeks a soft squeeze and pressed a gentle kiss between your eyebrows, “Gonna tie you up, okay?” “Yes, sir,” you said, looking up at him through heavy lids.

“You with me?” he asked. “Yeah, Ed, I’m with you,” you mumbled. He turned you around, Steve holding your forearms together behind your back while Eddie wrapped the uncomfortable rope around you. “What do you say when you’re all done?” Steve asked. “Sabbath,” you said. You felt the pull of Eddie tightening the rope. “What do you say when you’re all done?” Eddie repeated. “Sabbath,” you said again. “That’s my girl,” Steve said, giving you a little tap on the ass. Eddie guided you close to the wall, so just the tips of your toes were touching it, your nose almost brushing the wall paper. He held a quarter in front of your face, the ridge touching your nose, “Let’s play a game, huh? Think you can hold this to the wall for five minutes?” You huffed, “Probably not.” His lips brushed your ear, his low gravely voice sliding from your eardrum to your chest, “Such a defeatist, princess. If you can, I’ll let you use that mouth on me.” “What if I can’t?” your voice was sharp. Desperate to have them untie you and put you to bed. You were getting irritated, sleep was pulling at your eyelashes, begging you to shut your eyes. “It’ll hurt,” he said, his little grin still glinting in the low light. He pressed his lips on your neck, just below your ear. Just how you like it. “You should get that strap ready for her, Stevie – I don’t think she’s gonna make the cut.” “I don’t wanna play your stupid game, Ed,” you said, you could see Steve’s hands turn to fists at your tone. “So you forfeit?” Eddie asked, a michevious look dacing over his features, “Don’t wanna try for the big prize?” “Pfft. You call sucking your dick a prize?” you brat out, you just wanted to go to bed. Your normally aching desire to please them no longer over riding how tired you were. A tired that was tumbling quickly into deeply annoyed.

“‘S’cuse me?” Steve’s voice was gruff while he grabbed your face to look at him, “Why don’t you watch that mouth, hm?”

“No, no, Stevie,” Eddie said calmly, his voice lilted again, “That’s exactly the response she wants. Sometimes it’s better to just ignore her little attitude. She wouldn’t act out like this if she didn’t want attention. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Steve let go of your face and shoved it roughly back towards the wall, a glimmer of his old self coming through. In any other case, that kind of handling would’ve sent you straight back to obedience. However, Eddie’s soft mocking coo was making you see red. You hated this voice.

“You just want a spanking, don’t you?” he mocked, “Yeah? Need to be punished?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you hissed. “I know, baby, I know,” Ed cooed, tucking your hair behind your ear. He knew his tamber was getting under your skin, “You should’ve thought about that before you snuck out.” “You know something? Watching you get all fussy is really doing it for me,” he said, pulling at the rope on your forearms. He walked you backward toward the end of the bed and helped you kneel down. You sat back on your heels and you saw Steve bite back the need to tell you to ‘get your ass up’ or ‘kneel at attention’. Eddie sat at the edge of the bed, your head just an inch from his knee. He turned to you and put a hand to your cheek, “All this attitude you’re slinging is makin’ me need my dick sucked somethin’ awful, but since your mouth is still a fucking ashtray – I’m gonna have to use an outside source,” he explained. The warmth of his hand made your eyelids close, a soft hum leaving your lips as his let his thumb slide over your cheek. The gentleness ended with a loud clap to the side of your face, “Wake the fuck up and watch.” You winced at Eddie’s words, they somehow hurt worse than the slap. “Hey Stevie,” Ed’s voice was gentle now, “C’mere handsome.” Steve didn’t have to think twice, he stood between Ed’s open legs, crouching down to pull him into a kiss. You immediately whined watching the way Steve kissed Eddie, hungry but delicate. Like he didn’t want to hurt him, like he was trying to impress him – and he was. It was unspoken how much power Eddie had over Steve when they were together, something you never aknowledged for your own sake. Eddie gasped when Steve got to his neck who was leaving love bites and bruises where his record store customers wouldn’t see them. (Not that Eddie ever really cared.) Steve’s hand was expertly palming him over his boxers, Eddie’s hand over his, grinding in rhythm with the feeling. Eddie tossed a look over to you and tutted at how pathetic and needy you got so quickly, it was so hard for you not to be the center of their attention. Eddie pulled his cock out of his boxers while Steve kept his lips focused on the tattoo on his chest. But at the sight of his dick in his hands, Steve moved quickly – getting down on his knees. He batted Ed’s hand away to replace it with his own, stroking him diligently while looking up at Eddie. Steve’s glassy amber eyes begging for his approval. “Look at you, pretty boy, waiting for me to say it’s okay,” Eddie mused, running a hand through Steve’s hair, “Go ahead.” Steve looked like a puppy who was just given a treat, immediately dipping his head down over Ed’s cock. His strong jaw flexing with every dip down his shaft. Unlike you, Steve could take Ed down to the hilt, gripping Ed’s hairy thighs with his strong hands – grunting while he did it. “You could really learn a thing or two from him, sweetheart,” Eddie winked over at you. You pouted, wondering if every ‘You’re so pretty when you gag on my cock,’ was an offhand plea to learn how to take all of him without protest. Steve smiled while he came back up, wiping his mouth with one hand, the other working Eddie’s shaft closer to the base. He let his tongue slide over the tip, gathering precum and swallowing, keeping eye contact with Eddie the whole time. It was clear that eye contact was something Ed had trained him to do, you wondered how Ed punished him when Steve didn’t do what he was told. “You feeling left out, princess?” Eddie asked, his hips bucking while Steve continued to go to work on him. You nodded, resting your chin on his knee. “Can I have a turn?” you asked gently, your mouth pooling with drool as you watched Steve’s lips leave Eddie’s cock. Strings of saliva connecting the two. “No baby, you forfeited, remember?” Eddie said, patting your head. His other hand gripping Steve’s hair, guiding him back to his cock. His voice back to mocking you, babying you, punishing you. “But since you’ve been a good girl sitting there, I’ll let you suck on my fingers,” He slid his hand from the top of your head to resting the pads of his fingers over your lips. You whined behind a closed mouth, but Eddie didn’t care about your protests. He shoved his ringed fingers past your lips and teeth anyway, his middle finger reaching the back of your throat so that your mouth filled with spit. “Oh fuck, Stevie, that’s it,” Eddie gasped out again, “Just like that, such a good boy for me.” He was fucking Steve’s mouth at this point, not that Steve noticed, he looked completely blissed out. His eyes fluttered closed, his cheeks flushed, sweat building in his gorgeous hairline. You did your best to match Steve’s pace on Eddie’s fingers, but with the rings in the way you were coming up short. Spit slid out of the corners of your mouth, he was unrelenting with his movements on purpose. “Steve – oh fuck Stevie, baby, I’m gonna – M’so close,” Eddie hissed, “God, fuck oh god – Jesus, Steve.” Ed came hard and nearly choked you with the spasms his hand had in your mouth. You watched Steve swallow neatly. Everything about Steve was so proper all the time, he was never sloppy – he wasn’t like you. Your heart ached thinking that maybe Eddie liked that better. They came down, Eddie’s fingers still in your mouth. The way they looked at eachother, they might as well have forgotten you were there. You watched them give each other a few final kisses while their breath slowed. “I’ll take good care of you later, okay sweet boy?” Eddie muttered, their lips still touching, “Make you fucking scream.” Steve smiled, eyes still closed. “Not too loud though,” Steve mumbled with a little snicker. “Oh you’re right,” Ed’s voice reanimated and he leaned back looking at you, “Wouldn’t wanna wake the baby.” Eddie took his fingers out of your mouth, drenched in your spit, and rubbed it all over your face. You could smell the ash on your breath still. “Messy girl,” Eddie said, seeing tears start to pool in your eyes. He tucked himself back into his boxers and stood up with Steve, their attention back on you. For a moment, you wished it wasn’t. Steve hoisted you by the hair to your feet, quick to re-establish dominance after such a show. His hands were rough with you while he put you on the bed, face down in your pillows, back perfectly arched with your ass in the air. Your arms ached from being tied up, but you knew they’d be numb soon - no use in complaining about it. You heard Eddie pick up the leather strap from under you. You turned your face to the side do you could breathe. “Didn’t think we’d forget, did you?” Eddie asked. “No, sir,” you croaked out. “Can’t deny Daddy his chance to shine,” Eddie laughed to himself. You heard a shuffle of hands – fuck – he was gonna let Steve do it. “But I didn’t say he cou–” you started. “Shh, shh, shh,” Steve hushed you, you felt his hand on your back, his face appearing soon after. “Do you want Eddie to do it, or do you want me to do it?” he asked. You saw the strap in his hands, his forearms strong and unforgiving, his watch on his wrist that in some way oozed more authority. You could tell he wanted to, he’d been holding back all night, all week, ever since that night in November. You took a deep breath and looked up at him with glassy eyes, “You can do it, Daddy.” “That’s a good girl,” he said, clapping his hand down on your ass before he walked around the mattress. He didn’t warn you before he started, another notch in his tally – something he was supposed to do now. The first spank made you cry out instantly, the strap left a stinging pain. Different from being belted, more weighted, more intention. Your chest was already heaving at the second one – your arms were numb, you were so so tired. “Learning your lesson, baby?” Steve asked, the strap coming down hard again over your thighs. “Yes daddy,” you cried, “I’m learning my lesson.” “Not gonna sneak out anymore, huh?” Eddie asked. “No sir – AH–Ow, ouch! – I won’t sneak out eh-ever ag-again,” your voice was back to whiny and pathetic. Just how Ed liked it. Steve was back to business as usual, no waiting in between, just relentless smack after smack. He was taking his frustration out on you, his embarrassment of being watched while he serviced Ed, he needed you to know he was still in charge. “Let up a little, Stevie, it’s too much,” you heard Ed say, but your mind was starting to slip. Just the jostle in your body while the strap came down on you, Steve’s ragged grunts while he did it, the way Eddie spoke to you. So so tired. Crying wasn’t just coming from the beating now, you wanted them to leave you alone. “Too much? You fuckin’ branded her,” Steve argued back. The frustration he felt being called out again made every slap harder than the next. You were shaking in pain. “Sabbath,” you choked out, “Sabbath, sabbath, sabbath.” You heard the strap drop the the ground and Eddie picking up his switch blade off one of the dressers. Their hands immediately making contact with you. You could feel Eddie cutting through the rope to get you free quicker, your arms falling limply to your side. “Baby, I’m so sorry – that was too much,” Eddie whispered, crawling on to the mattress and pulling you into his arms. He pressed your head into the crook of his neck, “We were playing for too long, huh?” You nodded, half crying, half falling asleep in this position. “I told you that was too much, Steve,” Eddie said, his voice vibrating and low against your own chest. “I’m sorry,” Steve said, crawling up the other side of you, “Got too ahead of myself, angel.” You felt the cool aloe gel on the backs of your thighs and your behind, Steve’s strong hands gently massaging it into your skin, “I’m sorry, princess.” “It’s okay,” you mumbled into Eddie’s neck, “You’re trying your best.” “I’ll deal with him later,” you heard Eddie say in your ear, the smile prominent in his tone, “You wanna go to bed, huh?” You simply nodded. “Lets clean you up a little first, and then I’ll put you to bed, okay?” Eddie asked. Eddie helped you out of bed, your body heavy and weighted with sleep. Steve got up to follow you, but Eddie motioned him to the second bedroom. “Said I’d deal with you later,” Eddie mumbled to him. Steve frowned and went into the other room, disappointed with himself for going overboard again. You could hear his little tantrum when he shut the door behind him. “Okay, sweet thing,” Eddie breathed out while getting you in the bathroom. He took your face wash out from the shower and rinsed a face cloth he grabbed from under the sink. “I won’t do that again, I can tell you didn’t like it,” Eddie said, gently wiping your face off. “No, no it’s okay,” you said, “Just not after you put cigarettes in my mouth. Don’t do it after that, please.” “Okay, I won’t,” he agreed with a soft smile, “Rinse, baby.” You leaned over the sink gathering water in your hands, splashing it against your face. It felt good on your cheeks, still smarting from Eddie’s two back hands and slap from earlier. He passed you a hand towel to pat your face dry and when you looked up your tooth brush was already in his hands, prepped for use. He examined you while you brushed your teeth, sucking his teeth at the dark red marks on your face. “I’ll take my rings off next time,” he noted to himself. “You don’t have to,” you said, spitting and then reaching for the Listerine in the medicine cabinet. He took it from your hands to open it for you, pouring it out into the cup. He watch you swish, holding your hair back while you spit again into the sink. “Why do you do that?” he asked, putting your face in his hands, “Why do you say ‘It’s okay’ and ‘You don’t have to’ when I can tell it’s too much and you’re only tolerating it? Why’d you let Steve use the strap when you knew you wanted me to do it?” “I wanna be good,” you said, your eyes wide and glassy, “I don’t want you to be upset with me if it’s something you like.” “It doesn’t matter if it’s something I like, or Steve likes,” he said, his eyes full of loving concern, “It matters that you like it. That you feel safe. We talked about this.” “I don’t wanna disappoint you,” you whispered. “Hey,” he said, kissing you soft and gentle, “You could never disappoint me.” “What about Steve?” you asked, you could have sworn you saw his face fall for a second. He let a breath out of his nose. “I’ll take care of Steve,” he said, “I’ll take care of everything.” “That’s not your job,” you said. He held you close to his chest, his lips capturing yours again, tongue brushing your lips. You let him take the lead, as always, his tongue dancing with yours. One hand fell to the middle of your back, he wanted to push you inside of him. He was desperate to make you feel his love through his kiss. “I’m making it my job, fuck the record store,” he mumbled against your mouth, “Capiche?” You giggled into another kiss, “Capiche.” “Let’s get you to bed,” he said, “Sleepy girl.” He hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his torso while he walked you half way down the hallway into the bedroom. Eddie sat you on the bed, pulled out one of his t-shirts and a pair of your underwear from the dresser and slowly got to work getting you dressed. “Arms up,” he said, gathering the fabric in his hands. You lazily put your hands up, muscles still aching from being tied behind your back. The cool softness of his shirt slipped cozily over you, reminding you of Eddie’s own softness. The love he offers always feeling like the cool side of the pillow. You slide your underwear on while he turns down the bed and crawl over under the covers. “Hope you rest, cause I’m taking you to breakfast tomorrow,” Eddie said, tucking the covers up to your chin. “Just us?” you asked, your voice is tired but excited. You see his cheeks flush red at the sound. “Just us,” he said, leaving a kiss on your temple. He got up, you watched him through heavy lids walk to the door, looking back at you from the door frame. “Probably gonna fuck you raw in the van, too,” he added before flicking the light off, “Night, sweet thing.” You laughed through your nose, exhaustion taking over. You could hear the boys in the next room talking, something along the lines of ‘Get back on those knees, handsome.’ You settled onto your side, your muscles fully relaxing, sleep came easy — like Steve when he was really pent up. You thought for a moment, just a breif moment, about how you’ll go about it differently when you sneak out again next time.

#steddie x you smut #steddie x reader #steddie x you #eddie munson fan fiction #THE STEDDIEVERSE #steddie fan fiction #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 7 months

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Numéro 23, Part 2

Part 1

Well, based on this, here's a (I'm so damn sorry you have every right to sue me) a very late part 2 to this snippet.

TW: Mentioned bone fracture, mentioned murder, restraints, alcohol drinking

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," a smooth voice called out from the corridor, the sound of footsteps gradually becoming louder as the villain walked into the room.

Their eyes darted over to Hero, their gaze almost patronisingly disapproving as Hero struggled to break out of their handcuffs, with their fractured leg allowing for very limited movement.

The hero resisted the urge to roll their eyes and stopped what they were doing, trying to sit up, glaring at the villain as though they could incinerate them with simply their eyes.

The criminal simply ignored any attempts at threatening displays from their nemesis, settling down on an armchair in front of their bed. They were dressed in a dark teal sweater and a pair of loose-fitting jeans, an outfit that the hero had seen them wear countless times before in college, but this time its casualness was so awfully jarring, simply because it was just so damn difficult to imagine that they were the murderous assassin they were hunting down.

It didn't matter. Didn't matter how much the crime-fighter despised it, the kill count was there on that file they'd seen yesterday. The three oppressive digits staring at them with as much certainty as the deaths their vis-a-vis had caused.

"How are you feeling right now?" the villain asked in the same velvety tone, snapping them out of their reverie.

"What do you want?" the hero huffed out, raising a skeptical eyebrow and clenching their jaw.

"You didn't answer my question." It was a warning, not a statement, and the hero noticed the way the villain's shoulders tensed subtly, except they payed it no heed.

"Let me rephrase that. Why didn't you kill me?" The hero made absolutely no effort to sugarcoat the venom in their tone. If they didn't kill them when they should have, then they wouldn't just throw that away now.

A ghost of a smile graced the villain's lips, fading away just as quickly as it came to be. They let out a sigh of defeat, turning the full weight of their steely gaze on the hero. "Because you don't deserve to die," they answered simply, the edge of finality to their tone highlighted by them clasping their hands together.

The hero let out a disbelieving snort. "Oh, so your three-digit kill count is a testament to how you should be made the absolute authority on who gets to live and who doesn't."

"Not exactly, Hero. But have you bothered to look at my targets before throwing those accusations my way?" they challenged, raising an eyebrow, "or do you just follow the agency like a blind-folded bull through everything?"

"I know the agency's full of crap. I wasn't born yesterday. Still, I have a hard time believing you killed those people simply out of the goodness of your own heart."

The way the crime-fighter took in the room in which they were placed wasn't lost on the villain; they knew the hero could tell they were somewhat well-off. "So my job pays well. Is it a sin to reap what I sow?" The villain was growing visibly impatient, their jaw clenched, their lips pressed together in a thin, hard line.

"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" the hero bit out tersely, flashing the villain a fake grin.

"I'd like nothing more," they answered back, their voice just like steel, silk-smooth and yet terribly cold. And yet they had the audacity to have a genuinely hurt look in their eyes, as if the hero was the one to betray them.

"You didn't kill me."

"I saved your life," they corrected, getting up to go into the kitchen and coming back with what was probably a ridiculously expensive bottle of alcohol and pouring themselves some in a glass as they sat down again.

"Which means I owe you for this. But it doesn't mean I suddenly believe you're a saint."

The villain didn't say anything, simply responding by pouring themselves more wine and giving the hero a pointed look. It didn't take that long though for their gaze to soften as they set their now empty glass down on a small table and walked over to stand at the foot of the hero's bed. They frowned at their enemy's wary gaze, at the visible tension in their shoulders, at every sign of mistrust the hero's body failed to hide.

"I'm not the kind of person you think I am," they attested their voice barely above a whisper as they crossed the distance between them, pressing down onto the mattress with both of their hands and looking straight into the hero's eyes.

"Who I thought you were. You've made that perfectly clear," Hero replied, their harsh words rendered almost ineffective due to their shaky voice.

"Our time in college together, these moments, they weren't fake. We don't have to give them up," they attested gently, their hands mere inches from the hero's own, slender fingers skirting over the handcuffs. "I saved you because I care about you."

They half-expected a snide remark, but the hero let out a measured breath and something in their gaze changed, almost imperceptible, but the villain noticed everything. "Whatever was between us. . .was that friendship-"

"Or love? I know there was friendship, I know there could be love, but this is a two-way street. I won't force your hand. Not on this," they stage-whispered, close enough till they were practically breathing each other's air.

"I know. Those three digits on that file make it almost unthinkable to trust me. But that's all you know. All you've been told. Aren't you the one who said to me that you'd never build an idea on someone based on a single fact? That you need the full picture?" they urged, their eyes widening not looking at anywhere besides straight into the hero's chestnut brown gaze.

Straight into the line of fire.

Hero wished, more than anything, with the same desperation as a sinner's prayer for atonement, that the villain couldn't take note of their chest rising and falling rapidly with their erratic breaths, of how their blood roared in their ears, of how badly they wished to tear their gaze away from their enemy's face.

"Let's look at the situation at hand here," the hero replied, and they caught the villain's soft, quiet laugh at the statement; at the familiarity established by the number of times the hero had used it. They still didn't comment. "I'm injured and at your mercy, so there's not much of a choice here."

At that, the villain let out an inelegant snort. It wasn't the first time they'd heard it, but it wasn't the first time it had seemed disconcerting to them, never matched the villain or their graceful nature. "Don't downplay your abilities, darling. You'll figure something out if you need to."

An involuntary shiver snaked down the crime-fighter's spine, leaving a strange tingling in their nerves that almost seemed to find its way through the muscles of their shoulders and most of their back at how perfect the pet name sounded in the criminal's voice, even if there was a chance it was sardonic. "With a broken leg?"

"A small obstacle." The villain's smile was subtle, but it could've blinded the hero, dagger-sharp and yet strangely gentle at the edges, their eyes crinkling at the corners.

It wasn't the first time they'd seen the villain genuinely smile, but this kind of smile, almost feline in nature, was a new experience. But again, it wasn't like ruminating on their enemy's various and ever-changing facial expressions was a new interest of theirs.

"But I actually want to earn your trust," they countered, something in their demeanour sobering up as the playful, razor-edged glint in their eyes softened into something warmer. They unlocked the handcuffs with a key in their pocket, inching closer again to them to place a gentle kiss that seemed to last longer than it really did to their forehead, alcohol and honey mixing together with the fresh scent of the villain's conditioner and wafting into the hero's nose without the courtesy of a warning. They spent a good few moments rubbing some feeling into the hero's wrists with their fingers, the warmth and the gentle touch melting the discomfort away quicker than they'd thought. It felt as though they were apologising for causing the pain in the first place.

"I'll make us breakfast," they said, pulling away from the hero and smiling, a much more tender expression than the Cheshire cat grin they were previously wearing.

The hero simply nodded their agreement, hoping their face hadn't betrayed the sudden disappointment that ran through them like poison at the cold left behind on their skin, on their forehead and their wrists, at how the villain's scent still lingered in the air around them even as they walked out.

They hated how they even managed to feel any kind of dismay, how for a moment, they'd let themselves get lost in the soothing touch and all its comfort, as though villain's kill count and the ruthlessness with which they fought had sobered them up forcefully, like a heavy vase had shattered abruptly, destroying a pin-drop silence. But right now, they just had to follow through with this and keep a clear head so that their conflicting emotions didn't destroy everything for them.

Life is a game of both chance and skill, all of the factors affecting its course on a dice of infinite sides. The mind wishes to believe it can override the heart and never fail, but moving mountains is easier when the heart remains living, breathing flesh and not stone-hard and burnt blackened. We are not as powerless as we like to believe; a lie despair of our own fashioning tries to sell us. Because wisdom was never having all the answers, but having the courage to find them.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi@those-damn-snippets @whatiswhumpblog

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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neonponders · 9 months

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Part 40 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🧜🏻‍♂️ ~ marine biologist!Steve x shark!Billy with his pilot fish guppies 🍣

Part 37 & 38 & 39 (merman!Billy x marine biologist!Steve)

Part 36 (main plot)

Part 31 & 32 (werewolf!Billy chapters haha)

( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 ) ( pt. 19′s art 🦇 ) ( pt. 20′s art 🍳) ( pt. 27’s art 🦦 )

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

Steve had a plan. It wasn't the brightest plan, but he tested it in his apartment, and it worked.

Knowing where Billy lived allowed Steve to go there as soon as low tide opened the entrance in the cliffs. It wasn't elegant, towing an extra kayak behind him, but he would be able to set up a sturdy tent across two kayaks on Billy's beach. Just in case the tide made it to the grass, the kayaks would float, and Steve would be safe in an anchored house boat, of sorts.

He had two days off in a row. Sue him for being a nerd for his job. Even though he had stopped being any sort of scientist to Billy and his pilots a long time ago.

Threading the needle of the cave entrance involved just as much kayak wrangling as he expected, but the smooth waters of the tunnels made the cruise easy. He'd forgotten how deep inside the cliffs Billy's home went, but the path was straightforward. Once on the beach, he hauled the other kayak onto the bushy grass, and turned on a little water-resistant radio. Just something to help him feel connected to civilization. And because Billy might be away somewhere. Steve needed something to preoccupy his thoughts.

It had occurred to Steve to microchip him, but he had no idea how to approach that conversation. It might be a severe breech of merman etiquette, for all he knew. Sharks generally didn't exactly volunteer to being caught and retrofitted with gadgets.

Bowie's "Let's Dance" started on the station. Steve's arching fringe bobbed over his face as he unpacked and mumbled along. "Put on your red shoes and dance the blues..."

Rope. Lots of rope. And the cooler. Not to mention a small first aid kit. Steve might have spent a small fortune on a tree house-sorta tent for its sturdy floor but it will be nice to not have to leave as soon as his skin started to fry.

"While the color lights up your face, let's sway..."

Steve couldn't say how he knew. Maybe the water just moved differently with a disturbance in the surface, causing the noise to change. Maybe the shark had simply been in his head for so long, the stream of consciousness worked both ways. Either way, he turned around and found Billy watching him.

"Hey! I don't have to be anywhere today or tomorrow. I thought I'd stick around for a change. Is that okay?"

Billy didn't answer. His attention sank to the radio, and he climbed on his belly over the beach for a closer look. Steve's stomach began to sink until he heard the small but strong voice of his little in the water. "Werwe you singing, Stevie?"

"Uh, yeah. I like this song - it won't work as well underwater," he rushed as Billy handled the radio.

"Is it twue?" small Billy asked.

Steve knelt on the beach to be more in line of hearing him. "Is what true?"

"You'rwe staying?"

What felt like a brilliant way to spend his days off had since wilted into uncertainty. He nodded. "Today and tomorrow...if that's okay? I can go if you want me to."

Small Billy pointed. Steve wasn't sure at what until he said, "Then fix him!"

He stared point blank at Billy ruining the song by pressing buttons and toggling the FM knob. "In general?"

Then small Steve exclaimed, "He's weaking! Wred!"

Red...leaking... Steve watched Billy look back at his fish with an accusatory glare, but the curve of his body left a red smear on the stone beach. Steve jumped right over him to see his other side, where the injury had been hidden from him until now. Steve's mind oscillated between Billy and the littles, physically jerking his head back and forth until he froze and rearranged his priorities. Even if they were in Billy's home, anything could swim right in.

"Wait, wait, scoot back. Stay close to them. Keep this side up."

The littles rode a tiny wave to land on Billy's palms, for the most part beached there until water lapped over them. With the the small guys safe, Steve focused on the wound between Billy's ribs. All the while, his brain echoed, I'm not a vet. I'm not a vet. But he knew what a fresh injury looked like, unless Billy was having trouble clotting in the water.

"Uh...was this recent?"

"When it was dawrk," small Billy answered.

"When Biwwy came back with food," little Steve seconded.

The bigger Steve exhaled deeply. It wasn't long ago that the sky was still dark, and a lot of fish would have been active. "I guess the food fought back this time."

Billy's eyes rolled, until Steve cupped seawater and splashed his ribs to try and see the injury better. "How big of a breath can you take?"

Billy's eyes closed solemnly, implying pain, but his ribs and gills expanded as much as they usually do. Steve heaved with relief. "Your gills look okay. On the inside, at least. I can clean this but I need you to dry off a little."

Steve blinked, eyes blowing wide when Billy spoke, low and gravely. "What do you mean, clean? "

"Did something bite you? Scratch you? Did rocks or a reef do this? Wounds can get infected. You're not leaking too fast, so I just need to clean you and maybe my antiseptic gel will cover things well enough until you have scabs."

"I...I don't understand," Billy tried.

Steve realized the only thing keeping him from panicking was hundreds of hours of biology lab where he'd been forced to figure out meditative breathing for steady hands on a scalpel. Until he had something to do with his hands, though, the panic crept closer like surf over sand.

Steve reached for Billy's face. After Billy's turquoise blues burned his retinas enough to linger even in the darkness, he closed his eyes as he kissed Billy's mouth. Then he said meanly, "I'm trying to keep you alive, you stupid fish."

"Say that again," he growled.

"No, you stay still."

He had seen Billy dry before - sunbathing - but Steve used cotton pads to dry just directly over the injuries. Billy looked like something sharp had dragged over his ribs, a couple of the cuts having caught a little inside the curved, bouncy bones.

He glanced at the littles. "I need you to let go of them."

"What?" little Steve squawked. "Why?"

"Because this next part is going to hurt and I don't want him to squeeze you."

Small Billy huffed, "On'y one in danger is you, Stevie."

He glanced at Billy's notorious tail. "You're right," he sighed, and turned a bottle of hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton pad. For small injuries, the stuff wasn't so bad. For big ones? It prickled something awful, and Steve knew the exact instant that Billy grimaced, because he felt like a fist had taken a firm grip on his brain. The last thing Steve coherently thought was, Ow, as his head hit the stone beach.

He woke to tiny, warm hands pulling on his ear.

"Stevie? Wake up."

"Too cwose to water, Stevie. Come on."

Water crawled under his head, moving his hair around before dragging it back down the beach. The littles huddled next to his cheek, patting his skin until the water pulled them down and they held onto the curve of his ear.

He blinked, waiting for the green and gold sinkhole above him to get clearer and clearer. When it seemed good enough, he mentally scanned his body. No alarm bells shrieked. Rolling onto his side, he curved an arm around his head so the littles could have a wading pool when they let go of him. With the blood shifting to one side of his brain, that's as far as he got.

"Ugh," he breathed, pillowing his cheek on his bicep. The water swayed up to his lips, but he still had time before he needed to move.

There had been various points in his life when he wondered how he might die. Bored in a small town made a drunk car accident likely, until he did the impossible and managed to transfer from community college into a university. Then his life seemed on a safe track, apart from the general dangers of boating on the ocean. Now Steve knew with annoying certainty: I'm going to have a brain hemorrhage from this fish.

A slightly vocal hiss made his eyes find the fish in question. But what he saw made his head lift a little. Billy patted the soaked cotton over himself. Steve couldn't have been unconscious for long, then...

"They just need to bubble a couple times," he said carefully, still not sure of his own condition. "Then use the stuff in the tube to seal the broken skin."

Small Billy asked, "Why's it bubb'w like a fizzy dwink?"

"It's killing the germs. Really, it reacts to anything, but the germs are definitely gone."

"Do fizzy dwinks kill bad stuff?"

Steve laughed a little. " 'Fraid not. We'd be immortal if they did."

He could hear the plastic cap leaving the tube. He started to say, "Just smear it on," but Billy eased beside him. His long body made an even better pool for the littles to swim to him, as well as blocking Steve from the rising tide in the cave. The littles' tiny hands touched him as if they needed the contact as much as their shark.

Billy had squeezed quite a curl of the cloudy, stiff gel out of the tube. Steve caught it and rubbed it over his fingertips. One by one, he sealed his stubborn merman's injuries, taking special care of going inside the curves of his ribs. When they shuddered, Billy almost whispered, "Tickles."

"Stop squeezing the tube," Steve said, but then Billy's claws raked through his hair. Between the pull on his hair and the push of Billy's elbow against his chest, Steve rolled onto his back. Billy's thumb spread gel over his forehead, the ridge of his eye socket, and cheekbone. "I guess I landed and slid."

Billy hummed a confirming sound. Eventually, Steve realized he'd stopped applying medicine and was just...petting him. The scratch of his nails on Steve's scalp felt good. Tingly. He wondered if Billy could feel it in his own brain.

"Build your castle."

Steve blinked out of his doze. "It's a tent."

"Whatever."

Steve blew air out of his lips so they vibrated, which the littles immediately copied. He smiled and carefully made his way to the cooler first. Food seemed a good idea, especially when it didn't fight back.

Little Steve discovered he loved pickles. The Billys, not so much. They liked the fillings of Steve's sandwich, but not the bread.

Steve got the radio working again and erected his tent over the kayaks. His usual dumbbell anchor would hang in between the kayaks if high tide got this far. It wasn't much, but he'd had to lug it all over here, after all. It should be enough for the tame current in here.

Billy promptly drew Steve into the water, but held Steve's back against his chest as he swam them in lazy circles. "Sing again."

Steve didn't know the song on the radio now, but he could pick up the patterns of the instruments. He scatted along to the various melodies, enjoying the littles sometimes drumming along on his skin.

"What do you cawll this?" small Billy asked.

"Groovy," Steve answered, pressing his fingertips into the water like a keyboard.

"Gwoovy!" small Steve sang.

#harringrove #pocket!au #pocketverse #wrecked-fuse #neonponders #like magnets

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dominque-writes · 6 months

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prompt: unconditional love

"I'm worried about you."

“It is none of your business.”

Malachi crosses his arms, shoving down the fear and rage that'd been festering in his gut since Roy disappeared. "I haven't seen you in weeks. You could've been dead in a ditch."

"Are you nagging me right now? What are you, my wife, Mal?" Roy snaps, cold and stern.

"Right. Because God forbid, Roy, somebody gives a damn if your ass is breathing. Something happened, and you vanished off the face of the Earth. I got scared, so sue me. Then next thing I know, you're back out of the blue with some metal mask on your face, lookin' like scifi Phantom of the Opera-"

"Shut your damn mouth."

Roy's tone is ice and venom, and Malachi really should do as he says and back down.

But Malachi doesn't. "No! I searched everywhere for you! Couldn't find you nowhere, and you pop back up like nothing happened! That mask is creepy as shit, and it's not helping with your ass being all shadowy about it-"

"You want to see? Really? Fine. Fine!" Roy’s hand comes up, the tips of his fingers hooking into the perimeter of the metal plate stretched across the right side of his face, and tears it off in one go. Roy fixes him with an expectant, pointed look. "Happy?"

Malachi is stalled for a moment to take it in, gaze sliding from Roy's alluring, angry eyes to the now-exposed cheek. Rough scar lines are etched into his skin, crudely stitched together into jagged cords of raised flesh.

Somebody - his fucking boss, likely - had carved Roy's face up. And obviously had the wounds stitched up in a manner that properly maintained the damage, intended to ensure he has been permanently maimed. A message. A warning. He had been mutilated to prove that even top soldiers like Roy Finnegan aren't protected if they cross the Boss.

For the first moment, Roy looked volatile. Angry. Almost violent, daring him to recoil in disgust. Expecting him to recoil in disgust, prepared to guard against seemingly inevitable rejection like water off a duck's back. But as Malachi looked on without any of that to be seen, the hard guise on Roy’s face subtly softened into something else entirely.

Devastation and vulnerability rolled into one, shallowly masked under the poor imitation of his usual stony expression. It was as if he could barely stand to uphold eye contact. Anticipation. Insecurity. Malachi recognised what this was. That what he chose to say next mattered.

"It just…" Malachi starts, slowly, "confirms what I've feared for a while now."

"And what, exactly, would that be?" His tone is almost accusing, borderline aggressive. Ready to punish him for something he hadn't done. Again, just expecting him to do it.

"That you'll always be beautiful to me."

Malachi wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say, or if it was what Roy wanted to hear. Roy was a creature of habit, precision, and pride. His beauty and physical perfection was his prized weapon. It was a significant part of what made him such an efficient killer, but Malachi knew him well enough to understand it also sourced a bulk of his self-worth. It was how they met, how they fought and kissed and clashed, and how they got up to this point at all. But here, now, it was how he sincerely felt.

Something in Roy’s demeanour, his hardened expression, cracks. Crumbles. Melts. He sets his jaw, some muscle twitching on the intact side of his face, breaks their eye contact when he turns his head.

Hesitantly, as to not startle him, Malachi moves in close and reaches to ghost his hand over the crude lines carved into Roy’s cheek. Cups his face in his palm, gentle like to keep the gesture from hurting. Turns his head to have Roy look him in the eye, swipes the pad of his thumb under his watering eye.

"I mean it. I would give anything to have you believe me."

"I don't- I don't like having my face touched." Roy's bottom lip quivers briefly, before he presses his lips into a tight line. He doesn’t resist when Malachi reins him in.

"You're still beautiful." Their noses bump together, Roy's forehead pressed to his own. And Roy leans into his touch like he was starved of it, like he can't get enough. Malachi's free hand slides up the back of his neck into the short hairs at the base of his skull, holding him close. "You're so beautiful."

“You’re just saying-” Roy’s voice cracks, eyes stubbornly squeezed shut. “You’re just saying that so I don’t kill you.”

He's saying it because it's true. Malachi hasn't been so honest in his life.

“A man can have two motives,” says Malachi lightly, trying at humour to ease the thick tension between them.

It startles a huff of a laugh out of Roy. “You’re an idiot.”

#writerblr #writing #writing inspiration #hero x villain #short story #writing prompt #insecurity #enemies to lovers

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thevindicativevordan · 10 months

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Comics this week ?

rezonan asked: What did you think about Ultimate Invasion #1? I thought it was pretty good and just barely justified the 9 dollars. 6160 man so excited

A great week all around for comic books! How nice to read good stories featuring both of my two favorite guys, Superman and Hulk.

Superman #5 - Another great issue, particularly for Jimmy who came off cool and competent, loved the shot of him donning his own jet pack and flying off with Superman to save the day, that's my pal! Williamson managed to win me over on a Silver Banshee who isn't a villain (for now). I've been leery about "redeeming" villains lately. Don't really see the point since all it does is further cut down on Superman's Rogues Gallery when he desperately needs for them to get used more not less. Banshee and Jimmy are cute enough together, and Marilyn Moonlight seems cool enough to stick around and take Banshee's place, that I've decided to get on board. Really it was seeing Banshee wear a bow tie on a date night with Jimmy that did it, who can resist the bow ties?

World's Finest #16 - Enjoyed this issue more than the rest of the arc, the Green Arrow/Batman banter was funny.

Nightwing #105 - A fantastic art showcase for Redondo. Oh hey and Heartless does actually show up again finally, so credit to Taylor for showing he isn't just sitting around doing nothing.

Wonder Woman #800 - Picked this up just for King's story and I'm on board for his WW run. First WW issue I've read in ages that left me eager to get my hands on the next issue. Nice feeling to have with regards to WW, haven't felt that way since Rucka.

Superboy #3 - Interesting twist to have the Cosmoteers potentially be new villains for Conner rather than friends. Forcing Conner to fight an evil/amoral version of the archetypes he was teammates with on YJ is a cool creative decision.

Vigil #2 - Another great issue even if it leaves me with more questions than answers. Love getting details on Indian conspiracy theories, that's an aspect of other cultures that you don't get in Western textbooks.

Cyborg #2 - Dropped. Take a look at the list, at this point I need a book to either be great or have a personal investment in the character to justify the cost, and Cyborg doesn't check either box.

Black Adam #12 - What an odd, odd book this ended up being. A story all about how there is no redemption for Black Adam, greenlit for synergy with The Rock's movie which starred an Adam who could barely be called a "villain", now ends long after the Adam movie flopped and killed the DCEU. The Adam parts I liked a lot, the Malik parts I didn't enjoy anywhere near as much. Much like the movie, I don't see this book leaving much of a legacy, but Priest did at least write a believable way for Adam to transition out of his anti-hero era and back to being a villain. Will the next writers to tackle Adam acknowledge what Priest did? Maybe Waid will.

Ultimate Invasion #1 -

This was the good shit my fellow Hickmaniacs. Not HoX/PoX tier but absolutely reminding me of Hickman's Avengers and Ultimates. Of course I grinned at seeing "Earth 6160", perfect number designation, if that's the Earth which will be the one Hickman is using for the relaunch then this is indeed a proper reboot for the Ultimate line. Theory time: Maker chose this Earth because this is a world that doesn't have a Reed Richards. Hickman might even make it the Earth that Doom got his Sue from in Secret Wars, their origin had Dr. Franklin Storm in Reed's place, and I could see Maker wanting this Earth partly to spite 616 Reed for crying over that Sue on Battleworld. Maker's already prevented 6160 from having a Spider-Man, and it looks like he's going to prevent the other heroes from forming too. I'm dying to know what he's going to do to the Sue, Johnny, and Ben of this world if my theory is correct.

I predict that the ending of Ultimate Invasion will be 6160 getting rebooted to undo Maker's changes, and 616 Reed is going to fold Maker into this Earth's history somehow, rebooting him back to being Mr. Fantastic. The problem the Illuminati have with Maker is that they can't kill him and they can't keep him locked up, meaning they have to find another way to deal with him. Given this was kicked off in part by 616 Reed admitting he would like to erase Maker, I think the ending will be 616 Reed realizing that's the wrong approach and instead opts to try and redeem Maker. That would also explain rumors that there's going to be a lot more interaction between 616 and 6160 than there was with 1610. 6160 becomes Maker's prison, and the 616 Illuminati keep watch to ensure he doesn't fall back into being a villain again.

Incredible Hulk #1 - Shocker I know but I liked this. Great Southern Gothic atmosphere thanks to Klein's art, and PKJ is directly following up on Ewing while also taking advantage of the Banner/Hulk reset that Cates did. Seeing Betty under Eldest's control was surprising, I did not expect her to be in the first issue but I'm happy she's back. Eager to dive into this monster mythos surrounding the Mother of Horrors that PKJ is creating, Hulk vs. Man-Thing is a fantastic matchup that I don't think has ever been done before.

Scarlet Witch Annual - Orlando handled the MCU synergy very well. Agatha is straight up MCU-ified now, no real way to avoid that after the popularity of Wandavision, but he did a good job acknowledging Agatha's previous history with Wanda and at least tried to reconcile the differences between the two takes.

Avengers #2 - Plotwise this remains great, characterwise it's clear McKay is still finding his footing in terms of juggling the cast. Writes a great Black Panther though, so at least T'Challa is finally getting treated with respect. Too bad that only happens outside his solo.

#weekly reviews #ultimate invasion

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kimarisgundam · 1 year

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I don't know if I should be annoyed at my friend, or at her dumbass Rockerboy character???

My friend who plays the Exec responded to my IG Story demanding I let her Exec meet my character's bro. I'm like "No. Sue me"

Exec was literally trying to threaten me by saying he found out who my sponsor is

And he'll rat me out to the party

But I Uno reversed him cos like...

Ok, so you found out Tanaka-san is my unofficial adoptive father

Tanaka-san, the high ranking executive who's one of the heads of Arasaka's R&D department

Tanaka-san, the guy who ordered my bro to tie our Rockerboy to a chair in front of a mirror and make him watch as his limbs are pulled off

You know that's my backer and you try to threaten me? You should know that you're lower on Arasaka's food chain than me

Like how dare you even speak to me

I had the upper hand until he brought up our Rockerboy's streetdrug use ಠ_ಠ

And I'm so frigging pissed cos the "tail between your legs" line got thrown back at me ಠ_ಠ

I'm so annoyed at my friend cos the reason why her Rockerboy is addicted to synthcoke again is because

she didn't read the rule book ಠ_ಠ

For context, our DM feels that streetdrug use is very common in Night City. So she made a homebrew "drugs menu" to rebalance the effects of drugs to give us more of an incentive to use

Eg. Cigarettes give you a +1 Cool stat when using them. So if you are trying to seduce someone, it gives you an advantage

But after using, if you fail the DV check you will become addicted and have to regularly smoke or you'll get a -1 Ref cos you can't focus without smoking

She adjusted therapy to have a DV check based on how addictive the drug is... but the original Player Rulebook rule that if you do the same drug again within 1 year of getting clean, you will AUTOMATICALLY fail the DV check

My friend's Rockerboy has the highest Will stat and a Resist Torture/Drug skill, so she's the most reckless with streetdrug use during combat/RP cos she thinks her Rockerboy will always pass the DV check

But she uses drugs so often to boost his stats that he eventually becomes addicted to something cos of a bad roll ಠ_ಠ

The worst part is, she prefers the drugs with high stat boosts, but those are also the drugs with the worst side effects ಠ_ಠ

Eg. -2 Reflex and -1 Empathy for synthcoke. And the drug doesn't even last 24 hours, so now he's constantly using to prevent the draw backs ಠ_ಠ

And for every 4 hours he goes without satisfying his cravings, he will be penalised with stackable additional point loss ಠ_ಠ

A few sessions ago we were paid eddies and "high quality" streetdrugs for a job. Our Rockerboy promised my character he won't do synthcoke again, so he's going to sell it

Yeah ಠ_ಠ. One session later my friend was like "I puff a drug, give me the stat boost" during a fight ಠ_ಠ

I immediately gave her the stink eye. She didn't say which drug she used, but I was 90% sure it was the synthcoke

I think our DM texted her that her Rockerboy was automatically going to lose the DV check, cos she had a "Oh crap, I messed up" face after checking her phone ಠ_ಠ

I'm so flipping mad at my friend and her gonk of a Rockerboy ಠ_ಠ

I'm getting pressured by our Exec now cos my Netrunner has been helping the Rockerboy hide his synthcoke use

Her Rockerboy can't even get "clean" now cos she keeps failing the therapy DV check cos of bad luck. And it's not like we always have time to go for therapy???

You need a full free week to go. A week that could be used doing other things. Our DM said she'll give our Rockerboy a +2 bonus if my Netrunner is with him for emotional support...

But everytime I accompany him, it eats my entire week too T_T

It's his second time getting addicted to synthcoke, so he needs 2 therapy sessions and we just can't pass the second one

Therapy is so expensive. He can't afford to keep going, so he ends up just spending the eddies on cigarettes and synthcoke to satisfy his cravings and I'm losing my crap cos everyone is starting to realise something is wrong with him again

When is something ever not wrong with him ಠ_ಠ

The Exec is right. I suspect he was so reckless when encountering my bro cos he was having a psychosis episode due to Empathy loss ಠ_ಠ

For every stack you get, you must do 1 extra puff/shot of the drug to remove the stack. I swear, he's lying to me. He has more than 1 stack and he doesn't have enough drugs to remove them ಠ_ಠ

I'm so mad! Like irl and in game! He's so irresponsible! But I can't leave him cos I don't want him to hurt himself again. He's my best choom, I should be there for him

#I am going to kill her Rockerboy ಠ_ಠ #why can't he be more like Johnny Sliverhand ಠ_ಠ #cyberpunk is making me lose my crap #personal #long post

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shorts84 · 3 years

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What did you want for Hallowe’en, children? Was it a new, bonus chapter of modern teacher au soap opera Portrait fanfic that nobody asked for ‘Far from the Tree’? Well, too bad, because that’s what I got you. Boo, etc.

#Portrait de la jeune fille en feu #portrait of a lady on fire #fanfic #AO3 fanfic #just two teachers sorting out their shit #the most english thing #far from the tree #boo etc #I could not resist because it lined up so sue me

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emisue-khaleesi · 2 years

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SUE -FOREVERMORE! 😍💘🦋✨

"I only love you...I will always love you." "I'm honestly as happy as I've ever been. Why can't a baby have two mothers?" "I would like to live in a little house. Just us. Raise this baby together." "I will always have time for your poems. I promise." 💘 "They have no idea how special you are! I love you so much, Emily. If it were up to me, we wil run away from your family. Raise this baby together. Whoever it turns out to be, I love it, unconditionally. Same way I love you." 💘 "I don't need Austin. I need you." 💘 "Say something to him. I want him to learn your voice." "Imagine a child we could raise together. He'd be a genius. A prodigy!" "I would choose you over anyone, anytime, anyplace." "What if I need more than your poems? What if, right now, I need all of you?" 💘

Bonus gifs:

How Sue constantly tells Emily how much she loves her is being something so special! Her words! Just everything about Sue...please I'm still sobbing! Sue truly loves Emily and wants to run away with her and have a family together! And it's ready to risk it all only for her! She is being so pure and true!💘✨

Sue is absolutely flourish! And she is being unapologetically in love with Emily and not repressed anymore after all the pain she went through! Sue is finally healed, in peace, happy and all grown as a woman, as a brave strong woman who is ready for risk it all for what she wants and believes and it's not afraid to express it! Finally what she deserves: She is finally embracing herself, being confident, happy and content with who she is and with who she wants! Fighting for that!..And she just want to run away with Emily, the love of her life, and raise a family with her! Omg please! Seeing her like this is what she deserves! Sue's supremacy YAS! And this is actually giving me a sense of peace seeing her happy ahh so satisfying I'll say it officially she's my fav character! It's just making me the happiest one and make me feel butterflies in all of my body and soul! Sue is getting what she deserves & she deserves the whole world!💘✨

And once again, Sue Gilbert would be proud of Miss Ella Hunt because she literally gave her name. In every second of screen, in every line, in every moment. And we all are! Thanks Ella you are the best and Sue is a gift! Such an inspiration like you! My mind is exploding in the best way possible this season!😍

FACT: Sue’s the unsung hero of Dickinson’s final season, the real hero! unapologetically embracing her sexuality, aiding Emily in embracing hers, and questioning + resisting heteronormativity!💥🌈 Thanks Sue & Ella for the positive, empowering rep of queer womxn!💘

She even gets more beautiful and hot in each season! Just look at her! HOT SUE MILF ERA IS HERE!💘

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outrunningthedark · 3 years

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When the cast knows that the characters aren’t just friends but the writers still won’t do anything about it so they decide to make some interesting acting choices on purpose because they are trying to give us what they can

I understand your frustration, nonnie, but let's not blame ALL the writers when the only one publicly resisting canon!Buddie (because it's way more fun than saying, 'Buddie will definitely happen. Wait for it.') is Tim. Some highlights various writers have given us: 2x01 Under Pressure (written by: Tim Minear! 😦 & Brad Falchuk) ⭐ "We might end up real close." (Nice foreshadowing, Tim!) 2x04 Stuck (written by: John J. Gray) ⭐ "And, uh, who is this?" ... "I thought you just dressed alike." ⭐ "Buck gave me a heads up." ⭐"So, does this boy crush on Eddie mean that you're, uh, finally ready to move on from Abby?" 2x06 Dosed (written by: Juan Carlos Coto) ⭐"Wait, Chimney has a kid?" "No, I-I thought you meant..." 2x10 Merry Ex-Mas (written by: Christopher Monfette) ⭐ "You two have an adorable son." 2x18 This Life We Choose (written by: TIMOTHY MINEAR!!!) ⭐"Well, [Eddie's ceremony] is more important. If I break anything else, they can just fix that, too, with the other stuff." 3x01 Kids Today (written by: Kristen Reidel) ⭐Eddie using a key to get into Buck's apartment ⭐"He's hanging out with his Buck today!" 3x03 The Searchers (written by: David Fury) ⭐ "He was looking for Buck." ⭐ "I love him enough to never stop trying. And I know you do, too." ⭐ "Buck, there's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you." ⭐ A few choices words can sometimes be the life raft that gets you home. To be seen. To be found. Isn't that what we're all searching for? 3x05 Rage (written by: Lyndsey Beaulieu) ⭐"You know how much Christopher misses you? How could you? You're not around." 3x06 Monsters (written by: Christopher Monfette) ⭐"I just want you to talk to me. Even if it's just to say that you're still mad." ⭐ "When you decided to sue the department, to make Cap the bad guy, did you ever stop for a minute to think what that could do to us?" 3x09 Fallout (written by: Juan Carlos Coto) ⭐ "I'm sorry I wasn't there, Eddie. You and Chris needed me, and I had my head so far up my own behind with that stupid lawsuit..." ⭐ "I'd still take you." // "You think so?" // "I know. *pause* You wanna go for the title?" 3x11 Seize the Day (written by: Lyndsey Beaulieu) ⭐ "Uh, this is Eddie's house. I'm not really a guest." 3x12 Fools (written by: Andrew Meyers) ⭐ Ana's ableism versus Buck helping Eddie build an accessible skateboard 3x15 Eddie Begins (written by: Christopher Monfette) ⭐ Buck clawing at the dirt and mud when he thinks Eddie is gone ⭐ "So we can end up with two cut lines?" 3x18 What's Next? (written by: Juan Carlos Coto & Kristen Reidel) ⭐ "Buck, stop! Alright. I know you made a promise." ⭐"To Abby. His fiancée's Abby." 4x03 Future Tense (written by: Andrew Meyers) ⭐ Buckley-Diaz family time ⭐ "I can know weird stuff, too." ⭐ Christopher and Buck conspiring to freak Eddie out 4x04 9-1-1, What's Your Grievance? (written by: Nadia Abass-Madden) ⭐ "What do you have to apologize for? Did you say anything that wasn't true? ... Well, look. Maybe you could have come at it a little differently, but if that's how you feel, how they made you feel? You have every right to say so." 4x05 Buck Begins (written by: Juan Carlos Coto) ⭐ "I had to do it." // "I know you did." 4x06 Jinx (written by: Taylor Wong) ⭐ "Yup." // "I'm sorry, what was that?" // "Check." ⭐ "Still not sure what inspired the software update." 4x08 Breaking Point (written by: Bob Goodman) ⭐Eddie coming home after his date and calling Buck "a miracle worker" ⭐ Christopher taking an Uber to Buck's apartment ⭐ "You still got me. 'Cause I'm not going anywhere." 4x10 Parenthood (written by: Lyndsey Beaulieu) ⭐ ["Can't you both be good cops?"] (Simultaneously) "No!" ⭐ "I'm curious to know what your definition of 'too much discipline' is." 4x12 Treasure Hunt (written by: Bob Goodman) ⭐ Eddie asking Buck if he wants to find the treasure together, Buck initially says he already made a deal with Taylor, then caves after one look from Eddie 4x13 Suspicion (written by: Lyndsey Beaulieu & Andrew Meyers) ⭐"But just be sure that you're following your heart, not Christopher's, okay?"

⭐ Buck is the one who accompanies Eddie to Charlie's apartment, not Chimney (who was also aware what was going on!), and watches Eddie get shot in broad daylight

4x14 Survivors (written by: Kristen Reidel) ⭐ "Hey...Are you hurt?" ⭐ "We're so close. I just...I need you to hang...I need you to hang on." ⭐ Buck crying in Christopher's bedroom after getting the news that Eddie made it out of surgery ⭐ Buck taking his parental responsibilities very seriously without ever getting permission from Eddie, Abuela, or Pepa ⭐ "You were there for him when I couldn't be. That's what matters." ⭐ "It's in my will, if I die, you become Christopher's legal guardian." ⭐ "No one will fight for my son as hard as you. That is what I want for him." ⭐ "Because, Evan. You came in here the other day and you said you thought it would have been better if it had been you who was shot. You act like you're expendable. But you're wrong." The writers have BEEN setting the stage for a romance from early on (the parallels between Buck and Shannon? Hello?), but it's up to Tim to decide when to pull the trigger.

#anonymous #tv: 911 #tv: 9-1-1 #buddie #long post

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ghostdrew22 · 3 years

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Déjà vu? || Draco Malfoy

Requested: No Pairing: Draco Malfoy x ex!fem!reader Warnings: Idk if this is angsty or not because I initially thought it was but it feels a bit like soft sadness to me? Summary: Y/N getting deja vu as you watch Draco with his new girlfriend (H/N - her name)

WORDS : 1950

Lyrics from “Deja Vu” by Olivia Rodrigo (but I got lazy and only used certain parts)

~~~

Car rides to Malibu Strawberry ice cream, one spoon for two And tradin' jackets Laughin’ 'bout how small it looks on you (Ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha)

“Draco stop!” A voice exclaims before being followed by laughter. You know that you shouldn’t turn around, that it’ll hurt too much, but it’s been said many times that curiosity killed the cat.

He’s holding the very same ice cream order, strawberry and pistachio, and sporting that familiar warm smile that used to comfort you when you got a brain freeze from the ice cream. It had been your idea, ice cream in November, and he’d hated it at first but grew to love it just because it made you happy. That very same order that you’d made him try, strawberry and pistachio, but not for the two of you this time.

It’s difficult to know what you were expecting, something new? Different? A part of you had always known, even while you were the one in H/N’s position, that your moments with Draco would soon be documented and used for a modern remake. If your relationship had been a book, theirs is the movie adaption. If your relationship had been a song, theirs is a cover band’s rendition. Maybe, deep down, you were expecting just this- to see him treating her the same way that he’d treated you.

Those pale hands, that used to fit so comfortably in the expanse of your own, are now tucked safely in-between hers. Oceans of blue that used to run over your shivering figure every November when you made this exact Hogsmeade trip, are now tracing the lines of her face and committing them to memory. Lips, cold and slightly chapped, that were once coaxing laughter from your lungs with horrible puns and crude observations, are now completely and utterly consumed with the sole objective of entertaining her the very same way that they entertained you.

It’s a bitter sight, one would think, but you can’t bring yourself to be jealous. It’s an odd sort of feeling, deja vu, to know that once this moment belonged to you, and now you have to watch it play out in front of you. You know what’s going to happen, down to the footprints that’ll stain the path back to Hogwarts, but this time it’s not you. This time, even though you know what’s going to happen next, it’s not your laughter that’ll be filling the silence as he walks back to school.

Watching reruns of Glee Bein’ annoying, singin’ in harmony I bet she’s bragging to all her friends, saying you’re so unique, hmm

“Draco’s obsessed with this muggle show called Glee. He makes me sing along with him every time we watch it.” She says with a small laugh and a shy smile.

Why, in God’s name, did you decide to study in the library today? Sitting on the other side of the bookshelf behind you, with Millicent Bulstrode, is H/N.

“That’s horrendous.” Millicent replies with a laugh. Maybe if you’d tried harder to be friends with her then she would’ve told H/N that Draco used to do that with you too, that you’re the one who introduced him to muggle tv shows in the first place.

“It’s cute, he’s so… different.”

You swallow hard and try to pour your focus back into your books. That tone, sweet and infatuated, was the tone you used only months before when you spoke about him too. Once again you’re on the other side of the looking glass, staring back at a distorted reflection of yourself. It had been you bragging, drowning quite innocently in your adoration for him and feeling the need to sing your praises out to the world.

Way back when, you were the one forcing him to learn the lyrics to all of your favourite songs. The two of you would lose track of time singing along with the actors and complaining about the unnecessary drama, it was this little world that the two of you created. But now that world, that you built on love and trust, can no longer afford to accommodate you both. Now it’s his world with her.

Without even realising it you start to wonder how it must be when he’s with her. Does she sing off-key too? Does he pepper her with kisses after and make fun of her singing? Do they binge watch episodes or only do one at a time? Does his laugh still drown out the talking whenever something ridiculous happens? Is his favourite character still Sue?

How many pieces of your time together did he take from the puzzle, to form a new one with her?

So when you gonna tell her that we did that, too? She thinks it's special, but it's all reused That was our place, I found it first I made the jokes you tell to her when she's with you

“This alcove is where I come when I want to be alone, no one really comes here.”

No one but me, you think to yourself as you stop in the hallway and overhear Draco whispering to her. Of course he took her to your alcove, why wouldn’t he?

A part of you wishes that he’d tell her that it was you who found this spot, that it was you who’d trudged along the castle one night in a desperate search for some peace and quiet. You want her to know that this was your safe space, that you were the one who invited him there and allowed him to relish in the safety that it provided. It was you who laced your fingers together with his own and dragged him behind you until you’d landed in the spot, you who had to listen to his complaints about how small and cramped it was until he finally got comfortable and fell in love with it. You were the one he used to wrap his arms around and make promises to in the silence of the night, when nothing beside the two of you existed in that alcove.

It’s all blurring together, then and now are nothing but two sides of the same rusted coin. How can you possibly distinguish between your memories and reality when the boundaries keep crossing?

You almost want to laugh at how identical your relationship was to the one they have now. Jokes that you came up with in the sludge of sleepiness, when the two of you used to hide out here on nights when you both felt sad, are now being repeated into the very same air that you breathed only months ago. Promises that you’d both agreed to back then, are being remade in the safety of the night that now belongs to them.

“I love you.”

And

“Forever.”

Are being whispered between the two of them, assurances and pacts to be together till the end of time.

But now you wonder, how long is forever?

Do you get déjà vu when she’s with you? Do you get déjà vu? (Ah), hmm Do you get déjà vu, huh?

The smell of toast and freshly scrambled eggs wafts through the Great Hall and you struggle to resist the urge to moan out in excitement. Breakfast is your favourite meal and, really, the only meal that’s worth anything. As you plop down in your seat and start to pack your plate in your food you fail to notice, in your sheer joy, that Draco’s sitting across from you with H/N by his side.

It’s not until you’re done piling up your favourites, like an Olympic gold medalist in training, that you notice the couple sat across from you. You observe discreetly as Draco outstretches his hand all over the table to get whatever she wants to eat, and you have to struggle to focus as a wave of déjà vu washes over you.

When had you stopped being the one he arranged plates for? When had he started saving a spot beside him for her, and not you? Literally you know that the answer is roughly around 3 or 4 months ago when the two of you had broken up, but he’d stopped being yours a long time before then and you’d both known it. Little moments of love, that had been the basis of your relationship, had fizzled out into distant memories way before you’d both decided to call it quits.

“Butter or jam, Y/N?”

You’re about to answer, on instinct really, when you realise that he’s not even speaking to you.

But he said your name. Didn’t he?

Do you call her, almost say my name? ‘Cause let’s be honest, we kinda do sound the same Another actress I hate to think that I was just your type

“It was mortifying!” You exclaim as you recount the events of earlier to your best friend.

“How bad could it have possibly been?” She asks with a laugh as she settles into your bed comfortably.

“He looked her dead in the eyes, and called her ‘Y/N’, and to make it one hundred times worse, I was sitting across from them when he did it so they both immediately turned to look at me!” You cry out in embarrassment as you drop your face in a pillow. “I’ve never prayed so hard for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.” You mumble against the fabric and you hear her laugh again.

“Why are you so embarrassed? It wasn’t your mistake.”

“It’s not about that, it’s about how easy it would’ve been for us to return to our roles as boyfriend and girlfriend. I almost answered him!” You sigh. “It’s been what? 3? 4 months? And my mouth still acts on muscle memory. We’re so familiar to each other that we still act on instinct.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because your names sound so similar?” She raises her eyebrows at you and you scoff. “Really? Y/N and H/N sound nothing alike?”

“Nope, not at all.”

“Okay, if you say so.” She shrugs, “But deep down I think all three of you know that there’s more similarities present than you’d like to account for.”

You huff in response and cross your arms. Is she right? Does Draco have a type?

Even worse, are you just Draco’s type? Nothing more and nothing less than just another girl who ticks all of his favourite boxes?

I know you get déjà vu I know you get déjà vu I know you get déjà vu

It’s on one morning, on one of your good mornings, that it happens.

Months of watching the two of them recreate the love that you’d had with him, suffering in silence and scolding yourself for thinking such awful things about them, finally come to a halt when you receive the acknowledgment that you’ve been so desperately craving.

She walks onto platform 9 and 3/4 in a dress, a purple dress that looks eerily similar to the one you’d worn two years before on this exact platform. She’s smiling brightly, excited for the new school year, and Draco’s waiting for her by the door with a smile that’s just as bright. When his eyes catch her own and she slips her hand into his, he stumbles backward in shock slightly. He immediately looks away from her and searches the crowd, scanning over people climbing into the train and saying goodbye to their families, in a desperate attempt to find you.

It’s too much for him, to see her standing before him and looking like a replica of you, and he needs some sort confirmation to know that he’s not imagining this similarity. The dress wraps around her waist the same way that yours had wrapped around your own waist, and it compliments her skin in a way that’s hauntingly memorable. He knows that he’s seen all of this before, and he knows that it wasn’t with her.

You’re standing a few paces away from the door, watching the scene unfold, and when his ocean blues finally meet yours, you know.

He smiles at you, the first time he’s done so since you broke up, and mouthes exactly what the two of you need to hear.

“Déjà vu.”

And then it’s over- the moment, the agony, the months of confusion- it’s all packed up into a neat box and stored away. He turns with her and they walk into the train together, happily.

You remember this, being the one in her position and walking by his side. You remember the feeling of utter joy that had consumed you, it’s all the same really.

But maybe this time when he promises forever, he’ll mean it.

~~~

This was meant to be way angstier but I got lazy and ended up just wanting to write it out before I ran out of love for the idea.

Anyway, I kind of like it...

love you all,

jean <3

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco imagine #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x oc #draco x reader #draco angst #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fluff #draco fluff

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sly-merlin · 3 years

Text

KILLING ME - 13 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre : angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au.

warnings of this chapter : mentions of brutality described in previous chapter, mentions of strained breathing, curse words. For future chapters, major character death(s).

words : 4.5k

summary :

“life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

“ curiousity got the cat hitched”

K.M masterlist

K.M 12

taglist : @kpop-choco @moon-yuta @kawaiiayasan @btm-taeyong @exfolitae @lanadreamie @cheersskznct @hyuckiesgf @theworld-accordingtocasey @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @minejungwoo @leesalts @mal-nakamoto23 @ro2424 @itlittlefangirl @nctzens-world @bl--ankhaeji @simplybree @ncttboo @jeaneteflo @nuoyii @bralessmermaid @minhoseyeliner

In the silent room, the sound of taeil's shoes reverberated as he paced back and forth. Of the seventeen men standing in the living room, most had their heads hung low while some paid side glances to Jaehyun and ten as they fell prey to Taeil's anger.

"Last time!" Fingers pointed in the air, taeil asked in a dangerously calm voice, "don't make me repeat myself. Who left the door open?"

Messing his hair, jaehyun began,

"We didn’t know she was still there in the basement. Usually she’s out by-

“just answer me already.” Taeil shouted in exasperation.

“we don’t clearly remember. Me and ten were busy interrogating him.'' Jaehyun's voice was barely above a mumble but it still managed to reach everyone in the parameter.

Taeil turned to ten, furiously rubbing his forehead, impliedly asking for a reply but he merely shrugged in shame.

“Since when you have been butchering people with doors ajar for everyone to see?” the volume of his voice sent shivers to each and every presence in the room. Taeil never lost his calm, this was, after all, his metier. But he knew when to let go of his usual demeanor and nobody plucked up the courage to question him either.

“we didn’t do it deliberately. It was a mistake. An accident. Why are you drawing this so much.” jaehyun daren’t raise his voice above a whisper but his words were alarming enough

“You all need to recall the rules we stand by. What if jisung had gone down? Would you throw the same lame excuses even then? Won’t you be sorry if he or chenle or sungchan had seen a human being cut open like that? you and ten are both equ-

“we are ready to apologise to her okay. I’m not running from responsibility here. Nobody i-”

“Accepting a mistake is not even the bare minimum. We don't need your hollow apology if you don’t mean it. just because she’s understanding doesn’t mean the blood would leave her head. There’s a reason those rooms are forbidden for some of us here.”

Jaehyun’s unexpected raspy chuckle earned multiple gasps from the room. Taeyong was about to reach him but taeil stopped him by a show of his palm.

Jaehyun pinched his nose before barking,

“when jisung and chenle are told not to enter forbidden areas, they actually do listen but your pretty sweet y/n never does that. she’s just reaping the fruit of her own reckless behaviour again. it’s not my mistake that she’s so damn nosy all the –

“WHAT IF IT WAS NARA AND NOT Y/N JUNG JAEHYUN? WOULD YOU HAVE SPILLED SAME BULLSHIT IF IT WAS HER?

Taeil knew he shouldn’t have said that. Jaehyun’s darkened eyes calmed Taeil instantly as he realised he too had crossed a line.

as he angrily took a step forward towards taeil, jaehyun was abruptly halted by johnny and taeyong as they kept the two men apart. The reason for the argument left Jaehyun's mind, the mere mention of nara was enough to blow his fuse. He was furious yet he didn’t resist the boys and let his sharp breathing convey his message to taeil.

“Stop it you both. Go back to your rooms everyone.” Johnny announced, hands still holding Jaehyun's arm and torso, almost hugging and shielding him from taeil. “let it go jae. Just calm down. Please.”

Everyone remained glued to their feet, too afraid to make any noise. Huffing loudly, Jaehyun pushed Johnny away. Jaw clenched, chest heaving in rage, he furthered himself and instead of going for taeil’s neck as everyone has thought, his hand reached for the vase and the very next moment, the beautiful curved glass met the ground, shattering into innumerable pieces, right where taeil stood.

“JAEHYUN”

Taeyong roared watching younger and the older staring each other down.

“never compare nara to her.never!” With a perilously low voice, jaehyun glowered at taeil. “measure them up on the same scale again and you won’t be alive to regret again!”

Jaehyun stormed out upstairs. Soon after, without saying or expressing anything, taeil left too, masking his emotions just like usual times.

“when are they going to talk this out. It’s been three years already.” Johnny mumbled more to himself but everyone heard him and each and every presence in the room understood him.

Sleep despised you. Even sleeping pills had turned their back on you. Sprawled on the bed, you prayed to some magical being to descend and help you but no matter how humbly you pleaded, there was no end to your misery.

"He was a drug supplier, one of the accomplice of importing life threatening drugs in korea. He had it coming when he refused to tell us about other handlers. What you need to know is we have done a favour by taking his life."

Taeyong's words were seeded into your head. Your fear was fine, he had told you. He also said you’d forget about it in no time but he couldn’t mark when the “no time” would end. The vision of what you witnessed was quite blurry by now but the awful feeling in the pit of your stomach chose not to leave you yet. From what taeyong explained, that man was a mere pawn. A hidden syndicate was exporting deleterious drugs and they were just trying to find out the people behind it.

The only thing you had gathered was that just like every normal entity, criminals like neos weren’t fond of any sort of competition. With a pack of sleeping pills given by xiaojun, meant to help you sleep through the night, you were dropped at your house by dear Mark who kept stuttering explanations while driving. They have never killed anyone innocent, Mark said and kept it repeating in different possible ways a sentence could be transformed into.

You weren’t sure if you believed him yet. But even the mere thought of getting used to the brutality was horrendous than what you had seen once.

Two days later, at black neos. 9: 50

“when do you want us to sue them y/n?” mr. jung questioned, rotating his walking stick by the wooden head.

Sitting on the sofa, just beside him, you wondered why you were always so conscious of all the eyes directed at you. or maybe you were distracting yourself from answering the man. Among all the things, his way of showing his care was not settling in.

one amusing revelation was that Jaehyun's father, mr. jung or senior jung, as hyuck called them, was the only person with the capacity of putting a noose around all the valiant necks that were ever present in the house. The wrinkles of old age held enough authority to shut each and every young mouth, including yours even though you kept your quiet.

And he adored everyone, johnny, yuta and haechan among his favourites of course. He was also persistent and you were struggling with coming up with an answer because of this very trait. He kept asking you and your eyes remained transfixed on the papers bunched up in your hands, that were shoved into your hands upon your arrival. They opened the chapters you always had doubt about but no corroboration.

You had no home, the reason you were sent into that orphanage in the first place. The little kid that witnessed her parent’s death in front of her eyes didn’t understand why her parents took so long to wake up or why they never did when she waited for so long hiding among strangers or despite having a home, why she was sent to a place where she knew no one. There was no answer to why you never saw your uncle and aunt again and why they never came to take you back. As you grew up, you gave up on them. the car crash had crushed every relation you had with the home you once dearly loved and now you were conflicted with the new information that was thrown your way. your uncle and aunt were under illegal possession of the house that allegedly belonged to your father and after his demise, to you. but what would you gain by going back? Bricks and cement could never compensate or alleviate the pain that you had learned to live with. Even with law on your side, tormenting them would be of no benefit to you. So you said what you had decided years ago.

“I-I don’t want to sue them.” you replied meekly, eyes still fixated on the thread holding the legal papers together.

A sound of disapproval caught your ears as mr. jung spoke against your decision,

“no y/n. Those leeches abandoned you to rot in an orphanage and are living comfortably with insurances and the house that belongs to you. all that money could have been used for your future. You don’t need to be afraid of them. kun would provide you the finest lawyers and within two hearings, they would be in jail for committing fraud and trespass. And as a lawyer yourself, you should know better than to let them go off like this.”

Everybody heard but no one spoke.

“no.” you raised your head to face him and swallowed hard before continuing, “I do not want to meet them”

“don’t you want to go back there? that’s your home.” Somewhere from your left, Johnny spoke.

“never.” You refused immediately. “the people who live there were never my family. They never wanted me a part of their family. I’m clearly not their blood. The people who adopted me are not alive anymore. Those who loved me left me years ago. For a ridiculous sum of money, they didn’t even say their goodbyes to me. I was left there thinking that maybe one day someone would come. But money wins over love. It always does. And i don’t give a shit about them. I have learned to live on my own. I never needed their love. And I certainly don’t want more of their hatred.”

Inhaling sharply, you spat your speech in a single breath. Your words weren’t emotionless still you didn’t feel them like others did.

“I think we should bury this matter.” this time your voice was polite.

They nodded.

Mr. jung, however, wasn’t done.

“Okay so no one would mention this but keep these papers with you. you never know when this might come handy. After all, you are the sole owner of those properties your father left. Now you see, we grease the palms of officers so we can escape the shit we create for ourselves but people like your family are worse than the devil hi-

Multiple coughs halted his train of words. His breather was immediately fished out of his pocket and handed over to him. once he regained his senses, he begin again,

“never mind. Family must be protected y/n and those who fail to do so slaps the most precious value away from them. it’s not necessary that you should cherish something when it’s really out of your reach. at least i can die peacefully knowing that you all would settle down finally. If yuta can leave his chaser personality to find love, there’s hope for everyone here and speaking of yuta, when he’s arriving?”

“in two hours”

Your eyes widened and a hiccup escaped your throat. You voiced out a hum of surprise, gathering everyone’s attention.

“You weren’t told?”

You football sized eyeballs told mr. jung that you certainly weren’t aware.

“I guess I just spoiled a surprise then. Forgive me, I'm old and I am also hungry. Show some courtesy to your guests and feed me and y/n.”

Hyuck jabbed at him before they all got up to run for their seats in the dining room. “You are old. Why do you even need to eat anymore. Go to himalayas, eat snow and acquire some peace. That’s what old people should do!”

Everyone seemed too occupied with their bickering to pay you any mind so you dragged a reluctant taeil to his room, demanding answers for the latest drama they had launched in your name.

"I'm so sorry about that. The day after reception at the office, uncle suddenly asked about your family and that got me curious too so I ended up searching in deep and that led me to this whole discovery. I swear i never meant to breach your privacy y/n." Taeil pleaded in a low whisper as he locked the knob.

"Why would he do that though?"

"He's just too sensitive when it comes to families. He even told me to find your real parents but I got no luck there because you were adopted from an open adoption center from a different country. I found no information on them but I'm sorry about that." His ramble was again reduced to a murmur..

Playing with your fingers, you signed heavily before replying,

"Thank you for your effort but you should have asked me first.”

"Did you perhaps know anything about their schemes?"

"Right since I learnt about the adoption laws. I couldn't have been adopted without a security registered under my name. Maybe that property was the house where they are living right now"

"I'm sor-

"When were you going to tell me about that little whiny bitch? He's coming back in a few hours? I have to live with him again? " Scrunching up your nose in disgust, you bellowed.

"Yeah. He and taeyong had a long love chat yesterday. He was indeed being dramatic so i wonder what happened between them that he agreed. But he's coming back yeah. It was inevitable anyway. I don't know how you want to approach this but I'd say don't choose conflict. Eventually you have to live together so why try to break each other's necks. I've said this before and I'd say it again he-

"He's not that bad? I don't understand how easily you forget that I'm in this predicament because of that man. How can you expect me to make peace with that fucking piece of shit who had his gun pointed to my head since very first day?"

"Are we that insufferable?"

"Don't change the topic"

"I'm not changing it.You said predicament. We are also part of it right. Do you really hate us that much?"

Your eyes softened, reflecting his tone. No, they were just mildly bearable. And no, there wasn't any need to admit it either.

"Taeil, you sound like the voice of reason here. Taeyong seems fishy too but he's too unpredictable. He's like a chameleon. Others don't seem to have any power in your stupid hierarchy I've come to notice so it's you right? You are the one who told taeyong to marry me to that poopface and spare my life. It is definitely you.” staring him right in the eye, you pointed your forefinger at him.

"Please do me a favour and don’t use your brain too much y/n. I already have too much on my plate. I don’t need another one. If you don’t want our uncle to die due to a heart attack caused by your and yuta’s actions, stay shut. Now let’s eat before they gobble down everything.”

Our uncle! Yeah sure, you thought.

14:00

Standing alone in the kitchen, fidgeting with your hands, you tried your best to eavesdrop but nothing coherent met your ears. You indeed expected the army of men to have a party when their estranged soldier would arrive but the welcome outside sounded more like a hue and cry. The screaming indicated anything but happiness.

Your dilemma ended when you heard your name being called, the voice belonging to senior jung. You couldn't understand why he loved shouting when clearly his lungs couldn't take anything in higher volume.

Walking into the living room, you saw everyone seated in a very civilian manner but their conversation was difficult to hear amidst the babble.

“Come sit” Mark, who had gone to fetch yuta from the airport, spoke.

As you took the seat next to taeil, your eyes fell on the raven haired man and met his own. If his blonde hair shrieked peril, the black softened all the darkness his previous hair projected. Mayhaps, it was the black rimmed glasses he wore. You didn’t even know he had eyesight issues. He looked different.

He might have looked non-barbaric for a few seconds but his intense eye roll with the twitched lips upon meeting your eyes caused you to scowl. That’s when you noticed the elbow crutch on his left arm leaning against his outstretched leg. Nothing seemed wrong. You sized up his both legs with a crease of confusion forming on your forehead. You might have been looking too hard for your unasked doubt was answered by none other than yuta himself.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

You scrunch your nose at the politeness that dripped from his lips, the honeyed words clearly in contrast from the uneasiness he felt while uttering them. Though the words were directed at you, he never regarded you directly and you weren’t sure how one was supposed to act in such a pretentious setting.

“No, definitely not a scratch.” Mr. Jung interrupted your internal unrest, interpreting your silence to be worry for the boy. “His left thigh is bandaged so it needs a lot of care. You might need to take some days off given how much movement hurt him. and you! I know you don’t want to worry her but lying around won’t work. she can’t tend to you unless she knows where you need care.”

He mildly instructed him as you found yourself staring at yuta’s brown cargo pants which hid whatever injury was being mentioned. The said words were dodged by your ears even before they’d have entered. The problem laid with the response that was expected of you. you couldn’t have possibly replied to him your true intentions that included ducking every wifey duties you were supposed to fulfil but like everyone else and as taeil had explained, you didn’t want the blood of an old man on your hands so you just played along.

“yes.”

That was enough for playing, you decided. Your quietness, for the first time won't be subjected to judgement as the dejection was expected.

“I think you both should go home now. I have some business to sort out here.” he got up and walked past you, not before petting your hair lovingly. He also smacked yuta on his head and mumbled something on the lines of how he should have enjoyed his last overseas trip and whatnot.

Once he, taeil and taeyong were out of sight, chatter started again. hovering over yuta, they dropped questions like he was in some interview and you remained seated, waiting for their next request they were possibly going to annoy you with.

“did you like france?”

“what the fuck! you didn’t tell me about the hair colour. Now I want to change mine too!” that was ten.

“why are you wearing pants if your thighs hurt?”

“I’m sorry for laughing at you earlier.”

Right when you thought you were specialising in drowning the sounds, Johnny's voice caused you to jerk your head towards them. Not the voice, maybe the question he asked!

“dude! Where did you exactly fall from? The room is on the ground floor and your work didn’t even require you to switch places. How can you break your leg while monitoring the local cells?”

Only two sentences were needed for the laughter to escape the confines of your stomach and the realisation that you actually thought about a bullet or a knife being the reason of the harm only elevated the amusement you felt. understandably, you became the center of their attention.

“who the fuck are you laughing at?” yuta sneered.

“you.”

The twisted bitter smirk on yuta's face told you that he still needed some good time getting used to your unfiltered tendencies but by the suppressed snickers that chenle and hyuck let out, their voices recognisable to you by now, you were sure at least a few of them were enjoying your jabs as much as you did.

"Fuck off." He finally barked, breaking the harsh eye contact.

"Happily!" You remarked, raising yourself from the cushioned seat.

"Where are you going y/n?" Intersected jungwoo.

"Home. Tell mr.jung that college called. It's Saturday so I've to visit the library anyway."

"Wait I'll drop you both."

Glaring at Johnny, you wordlessly challenged him to repeat what he said.

"Yes. You and him are not leaving alone. Uncle is still here. God forbid if he decides to stay the night, we won't have answers for him." He rather whispered to you.

"That sounds like a problem for you. My pact was over as soon as I saw that face. And I can guarantee you the feelings are more than mutual from that side too." Rolling your eyes towards yuta, you said.

"No no no! You can't do that yet!" Johnny came closer and continued his whispering, "please y/n. I promise he'd behave. Uncle did so much for you, can you help us this one last time? And yuta was returning anyway. If not today, then four days later. Please? You'd do that for me right?"

Sometime while talking, his fingers had found your hand and you weren't sure if he was aware of it or not.

But you were. And that had caused a little temperature problem in your whole body as you felt warmness enveloping your whole being.

And it seemed like your ears had stopped working too.

"Y/n! Are you hearing me?"

"Are you fine?"

His hand on your cheek broke your trance and your eyes darted away to look at his eyes, finding the same worry in them. Why was he so genuine, you thought.

"Are you sick?"

He questioned again, to which you only stuttered.

"No. I'm fine john. What were you saying though?"

"I said yuta needs to go back home. Please. He can't stay here even if we don't want him to be alone."

Somehow, you found yourself mindlessly nodding at his words. A cheeky contagious smile appeared on Johnny's lips, your own slightly curving on both sides. He backed away after caressing your face, the action more noticeable to others than he probably had intended.

"Let's get you home baby boy." Johnny snickered at yuta earning a slap from him.

"Fuck off bitch. At least feed me something before I leave. I'm hungry!" He screeched, hitting Johnny's leg with the end of his stick.

"What about the jjajangmyun you had in the car? How can you still be hungry?” Mark chirped up innocently.

"Oh come on. Don't make excuses.I'll bring some food in the evening." Johnny offered when yuta was busy giving a stink eye to mark.

"I too need some compensatory food john.”

“What the fuck do you mean compensatory? You live in that house because of me! Don’t imply yourself as the owner of that place!” you rolled your eyes for the nth time at yuta’s words, dismissing his words with the action.

“Why dont you donate your eyeballs to someone like me who can actually make better use of them. Instead of rolling them to the back all the time, I shall happily play tennis with them.”

“If my habits annoy you that much then why are you going back to breathe the same air as me. I’d be more than happy if i don't have to see your cursed face daily!”

“Stop you both.” Johnny's back shielded your view as he spoke. “He’s still here! Renjun, go and run a checkup for him and tell me how bad his leg is in actuality or is he just crying like a baby.”

In defeat, you sat down again. Fifteen minutes passed and despite being sleepy, you tried your best to listen to donghyuck’s ramble of something that jeno did the other day. All you heard was how jungwoo and jeno had a fight over piggyback rides and after that every word was transformed into a chant of word sleep as it hit your ears. Though it was early afternoon, the whole week had been nothing but tiring.

Once again your relaxation time was robbed off by none other than yuta. Maybe this was the end of your peaceful days.

Hopping off, you hurriedly whisked away before Johnny and Jungwoo could say anything to you. Two men were enough for towing the baggage.

As you stripped yourself off your jeans, an exhausted cackle left your lips when Johnny's words echoed in your head. During the car journey, he gave you some instructions in case of some emergency. That emergency being yuta! Not that you were going to put up with any of yuta’s demands, you listened to them anyway. Amusingly, yuta wasn't injured due to falling from stairs. He was getting drunk on the roof of a random building when he had launched himself into a sharp edge of a railing that gave him stitches all over his left thigh. Now he was as good as an exhausted car freshener.

As they settled him down, you didn’t bother going out even for a second. Choosing sleep over your much needed trip to the library, you tucked yourself into white sheets as the light breaths from air con lulled you to sleep.

17:00

Sitting in the library, your fountain pen ran along the plain pages like you were writing a well known story and not your thesis. The words were flowing like water and you felt no difficulty as you finished pages with the speed of light. Everything was going smoothly. You felt happy. And suddenly your hand stopped moving. It was glued to a single point, the nib leaking out on that spot. Next moment, your thoughts were muddled and a distant shuffling distracted you. The more you tried to move your wrist, the more forceful the noise became. Your breathing got heavier and your body jammed, the whole weight punching onto the weak muscles of the hand.

Your attempts never stopped but the noise did and it transformed into loud thumping coming right from your heart.

You tried to inhale but something stopped you.

Then you heard the calls of your name.

Rapid and loud.

Your body jerked forward and your breath finally returned as your eyes opened.

You had woken up from a dream. You were still in your room and the loud thumping was the loud banging on your door.

“y/n! Are you sleeping?”

Registering his words, you replied in a groggy voice.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Your phone. I left mine in the medical room. I need to call Mark right now.”

Whining loudly, you fell back on the bed. It was only due but flailing your arms and legs like a kid in a toy store, you let out a screech full of annoyance, cursing on your fate.

Were you really going to babysit him now?

****

Stay safe everyone. 2021 is just 2020 with a change of pajamas😑wear your mask and force others too🌝

168 notes · View notes

taechaos · 3 years

Note

I was thinking how would a day in the Family of the Jeons looking like? Could you make a drabble of it? Of course only if you want to :)

OOOOO OK OK OK I LOVE THAT

Jungkook hasn't cracked a single smile throughout the whole day. You tried comforting him before his ride back home for the majority of the spring break, but nothing can save his depression from being around his mother. There isn't one good memory that involves her presence in his life.

He was willing to stay in his dorm throughout the whole three weeks of vacation, but tough luck, there was a cockroach infestation a day prior to his holiday. Only his dorm. Fate has different plans for him, and he's not religious or anything, but Satan might just be lurking around him.

Your house isn't available because of your strict mother, his friends are leaving town and staying with Taehyung is arguably worse than temporarily living with his mother. At least he doesn't have to share a room with her.

The scowl on his face only deepens when he comes face to face with his first home. It's like ripping off a bandaid when he opens the door, unlocked as usual, before entering.

The living room greets him with crickets. Utter silence and empty with no one around. The walls are chipped, the couch is washed out and the hardwood flooring has scratches on them. He enters and makes the effort to not make a sound as to not summon his mother, but like clockwork, the moment he steps foot inside, she appears from the kitchen.

"Jungkook!" she gushes and tackles him into a bone crushing hug. Her eye makeup is smudged and her outfit is merely a black nightgown.

He knows her excitement will wear off soon enough; they're bound to argue in a matter of minutes about his "disrespectful behavior." She's unpredictable in that regard, but it's clear that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

He groans and yanks her arms away. His greeting is merely a question, "Is anyone else here?" He knows his mother like the back of his hand: incapable of being alone and constantly searching for her next soulmate. The only serious relationship he's had was with his father, who is basically missing.

"Only my boyfriend and his daughter." She leaves room for him to take off his shoes and throw his bag full of necessities on the floor. "She's really pretty by the way," she whispers.

"Not interested."

"Oh come on, you haven't even met her–"

"Babe?" A stranger with a gruff voice steps out of the master bedroom while fixing his bed hair. It's 2 PM and he looks like he just woke up.

"Good morning sweetie," his mother brightly grins at the man before introducing her son. "This is Jungkook, my boy I was telling you about. Kook, this is Jinyoung." She leans into him threateningly, "Be nice."

"How fucking old is he?" he whispers back, perplexed.

"Thirty-seven."

"Are you serious?" he groans and stands straight before picking up his bag. "Good luck," he plainly greets the man before walking off to his bedroom.

Upon opening the door, a young girl sitting on his bed with music blasting from her earphones enters his sight. She squeals when she looks up to see the intruder and yanks the buds out in panic.

"What the fuck? Mom!" he whirls around to find her in the kitchen again. "Why is there someone in my room?"

She doesn't look up from the stove where she's practically burning scrambled eggs and her calm tone contrasts his angry one. "That's Yeri, the girl I was telling you ab–"

"I don't give a fuck, why is she in my room?!" The chaos is already making his head hurt.

"She's been staying there for a while now."

Jungkook slaps a hand on his forehead and inhales until his lungs hurt. He stomps back to his room with a death glare. The girl hasn't moved an inch out of surprise and the music continues to come out of the earphones. "Get out. You're taking the couch."

"A-Are you Jungk–"

"Out."

She shoots out of the bed and scurries to the living room with a fearful expression. He sighs and kicks a stray bra lying on the floor out of his way before dropping his bag with a thud.

This sucks. He considers running off to Taehyung in a moment of desperation, but he hasn't reached the level to go through with it yet.

He starts unpacking and ignores his mother's announcement of breakfast. He collapses on his bed with a grunt and massages his temples, but even one second of peace is not an option in this household when his mother barges in to repeat her announcement.

"I'm not hungry," he spits.

"At least sit with me. I've missed you so much–"

"I'm tired."

"Stop being a brat and come."

She leaves no room for argument when she slams the door shut. "You're so annoying!" he shouts past the thin walls before smacking his head at how childish he sounds. Is this Hell?

He shoots you a quick message before trudging to the dining room.

♡ the love of my life ♡: kill me

He slumps down on the only idle chair next to Yeri and leans back without even glancing at the dish. He lost his appetite the second he came here.

No one's touched their food yet, presumably from waiting on Jungkook, and just as Jinyoung picks up the utensils, his daughter nervously chimes in, "Let's say grace!"

The couple is surprised by her words. "You're the one who always whines about it," her father states quizzically.

His mother scoffs playfully. "She wants to hold Jungkook's hand, sweetie," she nudges her boyfriend with her elbow.

Yeri blushes and looks down at her lap as Jungkook mutters exasperatedly, "Jesus fucking Christ..."

He crosses his arms when she meekly holds out a hand to him and her father, and his mother frowns upon the action.

"Jungkook," she drawls.

"I'm not fucking Christian!"

"Just hold her hand!"

"I don't want to!"

"When a girl is interested in you, you're expected to respond accordingly."

The other family in the table stare at them in bewilderment, thrown off by their bickering.

"Yeah, I'm responding with rejection."

"Get over this I-hate-girls phase already, you're twenty years old!"

"I have a girlfriend!"

"Oh please," she dismisses him with a flick of her wrist, "I'd love to meet her in your dreams."

"She's real," he growls with a snarl, "and she's certainly not a kid." He gives Yeri a pointed look.

"I'm seventeen!" Her father clears his throat uncomfortably.

A notification from his phone disrupts the conversation, and he checks it to escape this mentally draining interaction.

You: oh baby what's wrong:((

♡ the love of my life ♡: mom is breathing

"Who is it?"

He scoffs at his mother without looking up from the screen, "My girlfriend."

Yeri whines with a pout as his mother jumps from her seat to take a peek.

"What the hell are–"

She smacks the back of his head after reading his last text in a millisecond. "Mom is breathing? You brat! Who is this girl? Show me a picture," she gushes excitedly, completely forgetting her earlier attempt at matchmaking.

"None of your damn business," he hisses before he gets another notification. Him and his mother immediately look down at his phone.

You: i'm trying to make the best of staying with my mom >_< you should try as well!

♡ the love of my life ♡: with this woman?|

She coos as she snatches the phone out of his hand. "Hey!"

"She sounds so nice! Take her advice, you imbecile–"

"I'd rather die," he deadpans as he tries not to hurt her while reaching for his phone.

"Listen to me," she uses her authorative tone that has Jungkook pulling back with a frown. Old habits die hard, such as rebelling against his mother before she becomes genuinely intimidating. "You're stuck with me for a month. Don't make me turn this house into a living hell."

He resists the urge to say it already is.

————

Smoke swirls in the open air from the lit joint that hangs off Jungkook's lips. Finally, some peace and quiet in the balcony. He came prepared with a stash of cannabis for when things get too overwhelming in the house, and it's only the first day.

The sky is bland with no stars or clouds, a boring view of midnight black from the balcony where he leans against the railing. He enjoys watching the busy street instead, and he feels less shitty about his current living situation.

And yet his newfound happy daze fades too soon when the joint is snatched from his fingers. "Give it ba-" he pauses when he sees his mother taking a puff from his stick. He looks away lazily.

"Don't worry," she blows out the smoke, "I'm not here to scold you for smoking weed."

"I don't care."

"You're old enough anyway." She follows his line of sight and takes another drag. It's quiet for a minute until she asks, "You met her in college?"

"Yep."

"Truth be told, I can't imagine you asking out a girl when you're so spiteful. How did it happen?"

He can't believe he's having this conversation, or why he's responding without being so snarky. He chuckles instead. "I didn't really ask her out. She made a deal with me where she does my homework and I pretend to like her back or whatever."

She laughs quietly. "You used her feelings for you to your advantage? You take after your mother," she jokes.

"She offered," he shrugs with a smile, " and I was struggling with my courses. I chose law as my major when I was mad at you so I could sue you or something, but it's so fucking boring."

"Oh, how much you love your mother," she huffs with a giggle. "I deserved that. Being a single mother didn't exactly work out for me."

"You were no mother," he scoffs, "all you did was ignore me or insult me when you weren't introducing me to my next step-dad. Did you know that this is my first relationship?" he glances at her with a bitter lopsided grin. She turns to look back at him and passes the joint. He inhales the filter before continuing with a mouthful of smoke, "I didn't want to date anyone because I didn't want to turn out like you. I didn't want to have relationships that only last a week before moving onto another one. I can be alone."

"Let me guess, you didn't believe in love either," she mocks in a silly deep voice.

"Fuck off."

She sighs as a peaceful silence settles over them aside from the running engines. The truth hurt.

"Tell you what, son. You turned out a lot better than I did. My parents didn't exactly raise me either, only left me with more issues than I can bear." Jungkook listens intently without reacting. This is the only normal conversation he's ever had with his mother. "I have practically no redeeming qualities, and having sex is the only way I can pass the time."

He groans. "I did not have to know that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want me to tell you about the birds and the bees first?"

"I get it, you're a prostitute with no salary."

She whacks his head before bursting out in laughter. He suppresses his own laugh and merely chuckles through his nose.

"You would've been a better mother if you were high all the time."

"Nah," she shakes her head, "I just needed to be more present throughout your childhood. It's too late for me now." She shrugs as her lips fall into a hard line. Jungkook's smile falters and he doesn't say anything.

When she feels tears welling up in her eyes, she blinks repeatedly and lets go off the railing. "Good night, Kook. I'll see you in the morning."

He nods at her and watches her leave. Beats staying with Taehyung.

"Night," he murmurs to himself before putting out his joint and entering the living room. All the lights are out, but he's still familiar with the layout of the place.

When he passes the couch, he flinches at the sound of Yeri's voice. "G-Good night–"

"Shut up."

Before jumping on his bed, he checks his phone to see if you've sent any texts.

You: good night and sleep well baby!! i love you sm <33

♡ the love of my life ♡: gn and ilym

♡ the love of my life ♡: lets meet up tmr

#textbook love #wow this is fucking long #hope this gave some clarity on jk's upbringing 😫#not pRooFreAd :')#ps i loved this request #jungkook fic

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it. Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.”

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men.

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace.

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself.

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better.

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet.

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see.

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him.

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone.

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual.

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.”

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.”

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again.

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips.

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy.

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily.

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you.

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you.

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

#peter parker #peter parker au #mob!peter parker #mob!peter #peter parker x black!reader #black!reader #tom holland #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #the fall and rise of deus #the rise of deus #peter parker x black reader #peter parker x reader #black reader

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derangedhyena-zoids · 2 years

Note

Here I come with MORE QUESTIONS. :D

Are all organoids in your world raptorial (see: anime) or are some other types (like Pulse from the Legacy game) around? Are there other small zoids (like in the manga) in your world?

I ask all that because I gotsa organoid-like character that is only two feet long and is more like a poison/parasite when it fuses to zoids. (Basically Wahid was made as an antithesis to some Mary Sue zoid mods going around.)

(I need to read the story don’t I? But sometimes stories don’t encompass all the world building details, and I _love_ hearing that shit.)

Permission to nag later if other questions come to mind? Because I love hearing your head canon.

c_c! There's different types, but raptorial are the most common/were ultimately the most successful. (I even have a larger-than-average-noid, smaller-than-Zoid "brute" type that entirely resisted domestication and were one of few remaining wild "problems" for Zoidians. Like most non-domesticated 'noids though, they were ultimately killed off.) The idea is that the general Organoid setup evolved independently several times with slight functional variations, descended from various common predatory Zoid body-types. (you know how we got multiple versions of "canine thing" from various predatory mammal lines? that.) (I make no attempt to validate what the GBA/DS games bring to canon because it's difficult enough to make things coherent as it is plus bringing time travel into things - especially as a central point - ranks high on my Big Nopes(tm) in storytelling, so... but Pulse could totally exist and not be out of place here) the manga gives me psychic damage so I ignore it, but in my hc Zi's populated by quite a few (very) small Zoids that fill all kinds of biological niches. They're not true Organoids though, but some of the larger ones have similarities. idk if you read any of the comics yet or not, but the "squirrel" and "fox" in Sour Grapes are those sorts of things:

They're actually still around in modern (NC0) times in the deep wilderness. They're almost universally considered vermin and shot at - they've learned to avoid people and are rarely seen. your curious little dude sounds like he could easily be considered one of these critters, tbh >.> and oh god the mary sue mods/zoids/noids... (I'm gonna do a whole thing with a whole bunch of the above critters, fwiw. set up/presented like it was written by Layon. I have it outlined and such so far. ANGRY MAN SKETCHY BIOLOGY TEXT GO)

+you don't really need to read the fics if you don't want to. they're more The Serious Misadventures of Select Dumbasses as they struggle through this whole mess. you're correct in that the story doesn't encompass a lot of this (mainly because nobody knows) - "this" is all in play, though.

folks are always welcome to ask questions on any of my blogs! but especially the story ones about story bullshit lol :'D

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tearsofgrace · 4 years

Text

I Love Led Zeppelin

written for suptober 2020 day 11: rock and roll

word count: 3.1k tags: so much zeppelin, HAPPY ENDING, that’s right i wrote happy shit, angst, fluff, love confessions

also on archive!

“I want to know why you chose them,” Cas said petulantly.

Dean turned onto the highway and glanced at Cas. “I told you. They’re just the best Zepp songs.”

Cas just stared at him. And Dean stared right back. The angel wasn’t winning this one. Because if he started talking, it would all become too obvious.

As if giving him a damn mixtape wasn’t already obvious, he thought. He looked away. Not because he was letting Cas win, but because he hadn’t looked at the road in a while and getting in a car crash wasn’t in the cards for today.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, man.”

“What about this one?” Cas asked, and Dean stopped listening to the music. It had been Cas’ idea to listen to the mixtape, and after getting over his shock that Cas still had it, he agreed. He loved Zeppelin, what could go wrong?

“Ten Years Gone” was playing, and he pushed back a smile. He remembered choosing this one, listening to the lyrics, knowing how perfectly it fit. Robert Plant had written it for an old girlfriend who’d made him choose between music and her. And ten years later, he looked back on where he was.

It was stupid. God, he knew it was stupid. But he’d chosen it because Cas hadn’t chosen his music: Heaven. Cas had chosen them, and here they were, ten years later.

“I chose it because I like the chords,” he finally answered as the song came to an end.

“Oh,” Cas said.

The opening lines of “Ramble On” came on and Dean smiled. God, he loved Zeppelin. He and Sam didn’t listen to music enough in the car anymore. It brought back memories. The good memories from his childhood.

“Why did you add this one?” Cas sounded so serious, so sincere. And this one, this one Dean could answer. It wasn’t like some of the other songs on the tape.

“Kinda loved the Lord of the Rings imagery, but if you tell Sam you’re dead.” Cas laughed softly and Dean joined him. “And,” he took a breath, “I don’t know, it’s kinda like us, right? Like we have to keep going, no matter what evils we’re facing.”

“I like it,” Cas said quietly.

Dean reached over and turned it up, singing along dramatically because he knew Cas would get a kick out of it. Sam would have called him annoying, but not Cas. His friendship (friendship? That what you want Dean?) was so different with Cas.

When the song ended, and “Whole Lotta Love” came on, he almost reached over to shut it off. A blush rose in his cheeks as he remembered picking this one, confident Cas wouldn’t know what it was talking about, confident he’d never have to confront Cas about it. He remembered recording it, his mind drifting to Cas even as he tried to stop it.

He was lifting his hand to the skip button when Cas covered his hand and pushed it back to the seat. Dean hated how much he wished Cas’ hand would just stay there. But it didn’t. It never did.

“I wondered about this one,” Cas said thoughtfully. Dean gulped, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. “It’s very,” Cas paused, and he could feel his eyes boring into the side of his head. He was sure his cheeks were flaming. “Very aggressive,” he finally finished.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” He let his eyes flick quickly to Cas and immediately regretted it. He looked so innocent, so clueless, but Dean could see the slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “C’mon, man it’s a great song,” he said, gluing his eyes back to the road.

“I thoroughly enjoy it.”

Dean gulped again, pictured Cas listening to it, hearing the lyrics. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and kept his lips firmly closed until the next song started.

The opening guitar line of “Stairway to Heaven” played and he immediately relaxed.

“Sam said you shouldn’t have picked this one. He said it was too overplayed,” Cas said before they were even thirty seconds into the song. And Dean almost ran them off the road right then.

“Sam knows about-” he cut himself off. No, that was too obvious. “Uh, why’d Sam say that?”

“I was listening to the song. And I told him you gave me a mixtape with your favorite Led Zeppelin songs and told him which song I was listening to. He said it isn’t even their best song.”

Shit. There wasn’t a chance in hell Sam didn’t know what giving someone a damn mixtape meant. At least Cas had been listening to “Stairway” but still. Dammit.

“He’s right,” he said, trying to control his voice. “It’s not their very best, but c’mon it’s a classic. I couldn’t just not add it. You have to admit, it’s a good song.”

“It’s my favorite on the tape,” Cas said.

Dean snorted. Of course it was. He wasn’t going to fault Cas for it, though. It was an amazing song. They let the song play out in silence, and Dean let himself let go. Just let it roll over him, let Cas’ presence steady him.

Next came “Kashmir,” which was another easy answer. It was a classic. But Dean always saw it as more than that. It was about the journey, not the destination, reaching for some distant horizon. That’s how he thought of his time with Cas. He got to enjoy the journey, even if they would never really reach the end, not the end he wanted anyway. It was gonna end bloody. One or both of them dead.

When “Going to California” started Dean smiled and went soft. John used to play this one after a really long hunt, and Dean hadn’t even learned the lyrics for years. He just loved the way it felt, the way everything weaved together and created a very specific feeling in him every time.

“I love this one,” Cas said quietly, as if to preserve the moment. “I like to think we can all get a fresh start.”

“Me too,” Dean answered. A fresh start. They’d had so many… way more than their fair share. But they still got more, still gave each other more, over and over. He didn’t know why Cas was even still with them, why he hadn’t turned tail and run ages ago. But he was glad for it.

“Black Dog” and “Travelling Riverside Blues” were next. He told Cas they were classics. Didn’t tell him that both of them were his mom’s favorites. Both of them were part of the reason she fell in love with John. Both of them made him think that maybe he could have something like that, even when he knew it wasn’t possible.

There were only a few songs left. And if Cas hadn’t figured it out already, these would make it painfully obvious that he chose these songs very specifically. That he chose them for Cas.

“Tangerine” started and he smiled. He loved how slow this one started, how sweet it was. He would never admit it out loud, but it was right up there with “Ramble On” and “Travelling Riverside Blues” for his favorite song.

He almost didn’t add it. Because it was so obvious. But also because it just wasn’t him and Cas. They would never have that sweet, innocent new love. There was so much baggage between them, so much to wade through before even finding a hint of love. But Dean knew it was there. If only brotherly on Cas’ side, it was there. And this song, this reminiscing on a sweet, beautiful relationship, it’s what he wanted with Cas. So sue him if he added it to the list.

“There’s a lot of love songs on this mixtape,” Cas noted. Dean glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge what he really meant. But with Cas, he always just said what he meant. There was very rarely a double meaning, a hint at something that wasn’t there.

“Yeah, there is,” he agreed, his breathing shallow. “Zeppelin has a lot of ‘em.” It wasn’t a lie… but Zepp also had plenty of non-love songs.

He almost sighed audibly when “Good Times Bad Times” came on next.

Cas didn’t have to ask at this point. He just stared at Dean until he answered the unspoken question.

“Chose this one cuz it’s our lives, ya know?” Dean ran his hands over the leather and glanced at the mile marker; they were just a few miles away from the town. Maybe they wouldn’t even make it to the end of the tape. “I mean, it’s mostly shit. But we have good times too.”

“We do,” Cas agreed seriously. And Dean allowed himself a small smile. He hated himself for loving that Cas had already listened to this start to finish multiple times, had kept it through multiple apocalypses, actually cared that Dean had taken the time to put it together. Because it didn’t mean the same thing to Cas. He wanted it to. But it didn’t.

There were only three songs left. They were as blindingly transparent as he could possibly be. And the fact they were on a homemade mixtape only added to it. But Cas… Cas wouldn’t understand.

“Fool in the Rain” was the beginning of the end. It wasn’t like it was one of Zepp’s most famous songs, but Dean had always loved it. It sounded almost idiotic on the surface, a lover waiting on the wrong block in the rain. But Dean had always seen it as more than that. Maybe he was being too deep… but, for one, there wasn’t anything in the song that suggested it was a man and a woman. And as a kid, he’d liked that. He liked to let it be whoever he wanted, let it represent whatever he needed. He wouldn’t get caught dead telling anyone else he’d even noticed that, but he’d always love the song because of that.

As he’d gotten older, he grew to love it even more. To him, it sounded like one sided love. Like someone who was waiting desperately for a sign that they would ever be loved back. But they were looking in the wrong place and they wouldn’t ever find it. As Robert Plant sang “My heart it sinks to the ground/And the storm that I thought would blow over/Clouds the light of the love that I found,” Dean resisted the urge to say something, to tell Cas, This is me. This is me because I’ll never have you.

“Why this one?” Cas prompted.

Dean cleared his throat. “Listen to his voice, dude. It’s amazing.”

He risked another glance at Cas, saw his eyes narrow and his head tilt, and knew he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. But it wasn’t like he could tell him the truth.

There were only two songs left. Two Dean had wanted to put on so badly that he couldn’t resist, no matter how obvious they were. He kept telling himself Cas wouldn’t even care enough to listen, much less to listen closely. Obviously that hadn’t worked.

Before he could turn off the music, claiming they were only five minutes out anyway, the soft vocal intro of “What Is and What Should Never Be” started.

Real smooth, Winchester, he thought. Putting a song about forbidden romance on a mixtape for your best friend.

“I understand this one,” Cas said.

Dean blinked and focused on the road, searching for the sign that would take them to the motel.

“You what?”

“I understand it. I don’t understand why you included it, but I understand it. Sometimes love just isn’t meant to be. Sometimes it isn’t possible, no matter how beautiful, how perfect it is.”

Dean nodded slowly. Was there someone in Cas’ past life he didn’t know about? Or even worse, someone he knew right now?

He didn’t respond to Cas. He didn’t know what to say.

They pulled into the motel as the final note played and Dean turned off the car, shutting off the music with it.

“What about the last song?” Cas asked.

Dean’s heart rate picked up and he felt his ears burning hot. He’d put it last. Maybe in hope that Cas wouldn’t get to it, or maybe because it perfectly closed what he was trying to say. What he felt.

“We, um,” he took a deep breath and let it out. “We have to check in, buddy, it’s late.”

“I want to listen to it, Dean,” Cas said, fixing him with those intense blue eyes. And really, no one could say no to that.

Dean restarted the car, trying to let the pleasant hum of Baby’s motor calm him down.

If the sun refused to shine I would still be loving you

The opening lines played through the speakers and Dean stopped himself from cursing loudly. He was fucked. He couldn’t sit in this car, with Cas, and pretend like this meant nothing. Like this was just another song that he really liked.

When mountains crumble to the sea There will still be you and me

He tried not to let his mind drift. Tried to ignore how silent Cas had gone. Tried not to think of those words the angel had spoken in the bunker so long ago. “Everyone you know, everyone you love... they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world. So if there's even a small chance that we can save you, I won't let you walk out of this room.” Cas would have stayed with him, even while he burned the world to the ground under the influence of the mark.

Dean took a deep breath and anxiously ran a hand through his hair.

Kind woman, I give you my all Kind woman, nothing more.

Cas shifted slightly next to him, but he didn’t dare look up.

Little drops of rain whisper of the pain Tears of loves lost in the days gone by My love is strong, with you there is no wrong Together we shall go until we die My, my, my inspiration is what you are to me Inspiration look, see

So much pain. There was so much pain between them. It swirled and came to life whenever they spoke. But it didn’t matter, because Dean was never leaving Cas. He knew that now. He couldn’t do it without him.

As the guitar interlude played, he tried to calm down. To fight the panic climbing in his throat. This whole thing had been a bad idea. He should have never made the damn tape in the first place. His breathing slowed a little when the vocals came back. He could do this.

And so today, my world it smiles Your hand in mine, we walk the miles Thanks to you it will be done For you to me are the only one Happiness, no more be sad Happiness, I'm glad

The image was so clear in his mind. Him and Cas walked down an asphalt road, hand in hand, the sun in front of them and their troubles behind them. He would never have it, but it didn’t matter. He still owed Cas all his happiness, owed him his life, owed him everything. And he still never said thank you.

If the sun refused to shine I would still be loving you Mountains crumble to the sea There will still be you and me

Dean took a deep breath and looked at Cas. There was still almost a minute of instrumental in the song. It would be so easy, just to say that he liked the song. Or that it reminded him of someone. Or that he thought Cas would enjoy the sound of it.

Then Cas spoke, and he realized the angel’s eyes were wide and his lips were turned up in a smile. “Dean, please don’t lie to me. Why this one?”

He didn’t answer at first. He knew Cas would wait, and he did. They listened to the end of the song, and then the car went quiet. Dean turned the engine off and fiddled with the keys in his lap before looking back into Cas’ eyes.

“I guess,” he breathed in. He could do this. Why not? He couldn’t fuck things up with Cas more than he already had. He’d beaten him, nearly killed him, left him when he was vulnerable, yelled at him, taken him for granted. And yet, here he was. Right by Dean’s side, fighting to save the world again. “I guess I’m trying to say thank you, Cas. For sticking with us.”

Cas’ smile grew just a little, almost showing his teeth, and he held Dean’s eyes, as if waiting for him to go on. And Dean was going to leave it there, he really was. But for some reason, maybe the safety of Baby, maybe the soft way Cas was watching him, maybe the quiet begging to be filled, he went on. “I don’t want you to leave again. I don’t want to leave you. If we- If we beat God, then I still want you to stay. We take you for granted- I take you for granted. I know that. But I just- I want you here. I need you here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he said quietly, reaching for the door handle.

“Dean,” Cas said firmly. Dean paused and looked up, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. “I love you.”

His eyes widened and his thoughts swirled. He was dreaming, he had to be dreaming. Or this was a trick, someone was possessing Cas, someone was hurting him, someone was-

“It’s me, Dean.” And everything else melted away. It was Cas sitting next to him. Cas who had just spent an hour listening to Led Zeppelin with him. Cas who wasn’t leaving. Cas who had told him he loved him.

“I love you too,” he said. And it didn’t matter that Cas had just told him he loved him. Didn’t matter that Cas made him feel so safe. Didn’t matter that in spite of everything--all his doubts, all his fuckups, all his anger--he actually believed Cas wasn’t lying. He was still terrified.

Then Cas leaned across the seat and pressed their lips together, and he stopped thinking. He kissed him back gently, reveling in the taste, the softness, the electricity.

When they pulled away, he laughed softly and grinned sheepishly at the angel. Then he ejected the tape from the car and handed it to him before pressing another kiss against his lips. There were a million things he wanted to say, to explain, but there was only really one that fit.

“Thank you.”

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#suptober20 #these are the songs on the mixtape don't fight me #long post #destiel fluff #happy ending #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn fan fiction #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #my writing

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