#eh live and learn *cocks gun* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angryschnauzer · 3 years

Text

Full Mast

Summary: Your idyllic life as a trophy wife of a rich lord is suddenly disturbed with the arrival of a pirate ship and a mutiny... what will your husband do to save you from the pirates grasp?

Fandoms: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle - Movie, Mission Impossible: Fallout, Night Hunter, Hellraiser Hellworld

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader.

A/N: This is a CRACK FIC. After a brief discussion with @nuggsmum about the cheap romance novels that you could find in the 80′s and 90′s, i called upon the awful storylines, plot holes, and general cheesyness of those books that walked so fanfiction could run. Read the warnings please.

Storyboard note: The only artwork i could find that was suitable to show a Henry-like character included the woman seen above. I tried to crop as much of her out as possible, the story itself does not describe the female reader at all.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Very Dubious Consent, Dub-con, public fingering, public sex, shackles, imprisonment, very corny word choices that echo back to the romance novels.

Full Mast

You resisted the strong arms that pulled you along, the rough blindfold shielding you from your destination, and yet you could hear the call of the gulls so you knew you were near to the shoreline. The cloth tied tightly around your mouth to gag you overwhelmed your senses, the rich musk of male sweat reminding you in no uncertain terms that these were far from civilised men that had snatched you away from your husbands rose garden as you’d been quietly cutting blooms in the dewy morning light.

The ground beneath your feet changed from loose earth to cobblestones, and you could smell the stench of the docks; of the gutted fish and the slop buckets, of the morning after the night before sailors' tavern. You had never been inside but had heard tales of the men that frequented it; dark and dangerous, men that circled the globe as well as the law. Your husband had regaled you with stories of such men, no doubt to frighten you from wandering off, but the man your father had arranged for you to be married to was but two generations your senior, old enough to be your grandfather, and rarely finished a story without veering off to start another. You’d had no say in the matter, the Lord had paid your father a princely sum for your hand in marriage, ignoring your pleas and protests. It had been three months since your father had hopped upon a spice ship returning to Europe with his gold, forgetting about his only daughter.

“Almost there” a gruff voice uttered, and you were suddenly hoisted over a wide shoulder

“Mmmmfff!” you exclaimed around the gag, but your protests were not heard as the men climbed the gangplank and aboard a vessel. Soon you were tied and thrown into a small room, left alone in the darkness as you heard the ship being prepared for sail.

The ship was on the open water when you were pulled out into the bright daylight, having managed to work the blindfold lose you were now wishing it was still in place, the bright carribean morning sunshine now blinding you as it glinted on the crystal blue waters. Big men stared hungrily at you as you were dragged across the deck to a small staircase that led up to the ships wheel and that’s when you saw him;

“Captain! Here she is!”

The big man at the wheel grinned, his bushy beard and cropped hair doing little to distract you from his piercing blue eyes that shone with a marked interest. Nodding to a young dark haired man he handed the control of the wheel over before quickly descending the stairs and landing steadily on his booted feet just inches from where you stood. With a toothy grin he looked down at you, his gaze falling to your heaving bosom where the stays of your corset had become loose in the struggle, licking his lips before he addressed one of the men gripping your arms;

“Well ain’t she a peach… caught a good one here Constable”

Your attention snapped to the man at your side and you suddenly realised who he was; Walter Marshall; the town constable. His wild and unruly hair and stone cold stare had kept order in town for as long as you’d lived on the island, but you recalled the last town meeting that had been held at your husband’s mansion had been far from smooth, with a number of towns people getting into a heated argument with the lords and gentry, Constable Marshall being one of them.

“You can still smell the roses on her Sy” the man on your other side commented.

The Captains beard tickled your cheek as he leaned forwards and inhaled, his nose brushing against your bare neck and sending a shiver down your spine, the whimper that escaped your throat barely audible and yet he pulled back, a faint look of surprise on his face that was quickly replaced with a smirk;

“She might be smellin’ of sumthin’ else once we’re done with her” he paused and nodded to the man on your other side; “Walker, shackle her to the rigging chest, we’ll be in the shadows of horseshoe cove shortly until it's time to do the sail past… her husband will realise paying the towns folk their dues is the only way to ensure he can live his idyllic life”

An hour of being chained to the enormous storage chest had given you time to watch the goings on of the ship, the way the men worked together, and you’d learned a thing or two about what had seemed to be your boring and idyllic island life had in fact been a town of corruption and mutiny. Captain Syverson had been a Navy Captain, retired once injured but seemingly now fully healed. Walker had been Infantry with the Fusiliers and was a crack shot with both a pistol and a rifle. Of course you already knew of Constable Marshall, and from eavesdropping the conversations you’d learned that they had scuttled the entire islands ships; anything the gentry owned was out of service and unable to sail. With the fishing fleet having left for open waters at dawn there wasn’t a single seaworthy vessel left on the island. Covert operations had meant the fuses for the island’s canons had all been removed in the dead of night, meaning a quick attack would be out of the question. Captain Syverson planned to sail just out of shot reach of your husbands mansion, the ransom note having already been delivered that morning an hour after your disappearance, and only the sign of a yellow flag being waved would ensure your safe return.

When the dark haired deck hand suddenly came to sit next to you, you were surprised as he started to remove the scarf that still acted as a gag;

“Don’t scream, ok? Capt’n has told me to make sure you drink, he doesn’t want you passing out from thirst”

You nodded and the younger man carefully untied the scarf, before taking the earthenware flagon and lifted it to your lips, the cool ale it held soothing your parched throat. Tipping it a little too much it spilled from your mouth and onto your chest, his eyes going wide in fear;

“I… I can’t touch you… Captain’s orders”

“It’ll dry, its hot out today”

“You’re surprisingly unafraid”

“Should i be afraid?”

He shrugged;

“Dunno. I’m Mikey by the way”

“Aren’t you a little young to be a Pirate?”

Mikey shrugged;

“I guess it was just the inevitable”

Through the conversation that followed you found yourself telling him all about yourself; how your father had basically sold your hand, how your husband was literally only on paper, having far more predilection for the handsome young footman than for you. Mid sentence the Captain’s voice boomed across the deck;

“Mikey! Back to work!”

“Yes Capt’n”

When you heard the bells chime of the church on the hill to say it was noon you were moved, the ship sailing around the side of the island and into position 100ft from the shoreline of your husband’s property. With your arms pulled above your head, you were tied to the base of the mast, the big captain coming to stand at your side, his eyes glancing at your breasts as they threatened to spill from your corset that had become loose and had slid down your ribcage.

“What do you see Walker?”

Peering through the spyglass the moustached man paused before he spoke;

“No yellow flag Captain… wait a moment... they’re using semaphores” He was referring to the message flags that the Navy used to send messages from passing ship to passing ship, each small triangular flag each meaning a different seafaring reference; “Hang on… ‘No duties owed’”

The Captain roared and grabbed the spyglass, peering through before grunting and handing it back;

“Lets see if we can change his mind, eh?”

Pulling his knife from his thigh holster he hooked the blade beneath the stays of your corset, tearing the garment in two and watching as it fell to the deck at your feet, your breasts now on full show and greeted with a wild cheer from the crew. Syverson turned to Walker;

“How about now?”

He peered through the spyglass before letting out a defeated sigh;

“Same again… no duties owed”

“So, he’s sticking to his guns… let’s kick this up a level”

Turning back to you he smirked;

“This ain't personal sweetheart…”

To your surprise the big man started to gather your skirts, your eyes wide as he pulled up your petticoats and his large hand slid between your silky thighs, finding you without your undergarments and he cocked an eyebrow;

“Your men found me before I had dressed fully for the day”

“I ain’t complainin’ sweetheart, makes it easier to find…”

His hand found your petals and you groaned quietly as he discovered you slick and ready, his calloused fingers seeking out your clit before he slid two into your velvet channel, filling you more than your own fingers ever had;

“Tight little thing, aren’t ya? Your husband got a small dick?”

You turned your head to face him, emboldened by the wanton display;

“I wouldn’t know, i’ve never seen it”

The Captain froze;

“Fuck”

His hand stopped, still inside you and you could feel your walls trembling with excitement around his digits as his men approached, Walker and Marshall both having heard your admission;

“Sy… we gotta continue, we’re owed for three months pay from the Lord…”

He nodded to the mansion;

“What’s the message?”

Checking again, Walker sighed;

“Return Cargo. No duties owed”

The Captain roared with anger;

“The fucking bastard! Every single man on this ship is owed half a years wages, and for what? Keeping his idyllic island life”

The look on his face had changed, and you finally saw the Pirate in him as he approached you, wrapping a big hand around the back of your neck and kissing you roughly. When you willingly opened your mouth and your tongue pushed against his it gave him the green light to go ahead, his body pressing you to the mast and you could feel his hardness pressing against the thin layers of your petticoats. With a flurry of hands he pulled your skirts up and unbuttoned his breaches, revealing his fat length, almost as thick as your wrist and patterned with veins.

You may never have lain in the marital bed or known the intimate touch of a man, but you had sought your own pleasure with your fingers and even the occasional candle from your husbands drawing room. But you’d never had anything as large as the Captains throbbing length inside you. You hooked your leg over his hip, pulling him close even though your hands were still tied, and let out a cry of pleasure as his hot flesh speared your soaked cavern.

Syverson ravaged you against the mast, fucking you with such a fury that you could feel your body start to tighten around him, and with a cry you came, pressing your head back against the hard wood, a blissful smile across your face as you had your first ever orgasm that you hadn’t given yourself. You were vaguely aware of him pulling out, fisting his shaft and spilling his seed over your bare thighs, before your skirts were dropped and he was fastening himself back into his breeches;

“Well?” the Captain demanded of his men.

Constable Marshall cleared his throat;

“There’s a new semaphore… Cargo Abandoned”

“HE WHAT?” you spat out, filled with anger that your husband would just leave you to the Pirates.

“Very well” Syverson nodded; “Hoist the mainsail, we sail for Kingstown”

He turned to you whilst addressing his men;

“Get her down and have her taken to my cabin” he turned to you; “You ever sailed before?”

“Spent a decade on spice ships Captain” to which he nodded.

“At least you have your sea legs then”

Mikey had unshackled you and was stripping himself of his vest, helping you to slip it onto your arms so you could cover your naked chest.

“Michael?” the captain boomed; “... find her some of the chests of finery we took from that French vessel a couple of months ago”

“Yes Father”

“He’s your father!?”

Mikey nodded;

“Welcome aboard The Cavillry. We’re like one big family here”

Just then the bow hit a wave as it reached the deeper waters, spray splashing up and soaking you, much to Mikey’s amusement;

“You’ll get used to being wet here”

Part 2 Link HERE

I do not run a tag list, but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll get an alert every time i post something new.

Masterlist can be found on AO3, link HERE

#henry cavill #captain syverson #captain sy x reader #captain syverson smut #crack fic

410 notes · View notes

twokinkybeans · 3 years

Text

MAKE IT LAST - STARKER MOB BOSS/COFFEE SHOP AU

HERE IT FINALLY IS! So, a few months back we did a prompt line fic thing. This means this one shot is wayyyy late, but it also got wayyyyyyyyyyyy out of hand and is now nearly 11k words long omg.

The prompt line @jeranasblog gave me was: "He had spilled his coffee on the suit of the most dangerous man in New York City." I hope you enjoy! <3 -Lien

Warnings: Adult!Peter Parker, Mob boss!Tony, Barista!Peter, No powers!AU, Peter is a little dense but we still love him, angst, fluff and smut, near the end there are some gruesome threats, abduction, guns, May is mentioned, Obadiah Stane is the bad guy, Bucky and Steve are there, Coffee Shop boss is an OC and has a gambling addiction. Smut tags: NFF, teasing, sexting, masturbation, orgasm delay/denial, hand job with much lube lol, hand & finger kink, praise kink, daddy kink, possessive kink, dry humping, finger sucking, anal fingering

Read “Make It Last” on AO3! Taglist: @the-secret-avenger @ironspiidey

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

“Two minutes, Peter- hurry up!” Mister McDougall’s high pitched command reverbs through the coffee shop. In two minutes, it’ll be two PM on the Tuesday afternoon. Peter’s been working here for three years now. Just yet, he tried to quit, but that wasn’t taken kindly. He can still feel the eerie presence of the tip of a knife on his cheekbone. How Peter got himself stuck in this job is a long story. A very long one. You see, the owner of the coffee shop, Mister McDougall, made a deal with New York’s biggest mafia boss to be able to keep the shop and… He wasn’t able to pay back on time. Lucky for Mister McDougall, Peter was working when the Big Boss came to collect. At two PM. On a Tuesday afternoon. A few months ago...

The bell of the front door rang and Peter walked in from the back, smiling kindly. He greeted the rich looking man. “Good afternoon, Sir,” he said in his regular chipper voice. The man cocked an eyebrow over his sunglasses and pursed his lips. His neatly trimmed beard moved along with his expression and he sniffed once. “One black coffee to go,” the man demanded. Peter’s mood didn’t falter. He was used to stern customers, New York generally wasn’t a kind city. Peter smiled and nodded, immediately getting to work. It wasn’t a difficult one to make, after all. He’d ring this guy up in less than a minute. “You know what,” the man suddenly said. “Make that a caramel Frappuccino. Extra whipped cream. Drink here. Make it last.” Make it last? Peter wondered what the man meant with that. It was only then that Peter realized that the man was studying his every movement a little more closely than a regular customer would. It didn’t necessarily make Peter uncomfortable, though. The man was at least twice his age, but it was undeniable that he was the hottest man Peter had ever laid eyes on. Even though his eyes were covered by an expensive pair of sunglasses. Peter quickly moved to pour the milk, but the man’s deep voice filled the empty space again. “Make. It. Last.” Peter blinks, dumbfounded. “You… You want me to work slower?” The man then raised his hand to pull down his glasses slightly, so he could look Peter in the eye properly. Infinite whisky browns stared straight into Peter’s soul. “Yes.” “A-alright,” Peter stuttered and went back to work, tearing his gaze away from the man. If Mister McDougall were here, he’d kill him for working at this pace. But ah well, the customer is always right. The customer is king. And the man he was making the coffee for sure looked like he was in charge. Maybe he would leave a nice tip. “Where’s your boss?” There was a hint of annoyance hidden in the man’s voice. “Mister McDougall?” Peter replied as he turned to grab the caramel. “He’s at a convention on the other side of the country. Was pretty vague about it, to be honest. Something to do with beans.” “Beans,” the man scoffed. “Sure.” He rolled his shoulders and walked to the other side of the counter where Peter would ring him up. His eyes never left the young man. “And he left you in charge of the store on the day he knew I’d show up?” Peter glanced up from his work questioningly, but then shrugged. “Apparently.” “Do you know about our deal?” “Oh!” Peter exclaimed softly as he placed the large cup on the counter. “He mentioned he was working on a business proposal with someone, but I didn’t pry, cause this isn’t my store. I’m sorry, Sir, did he have an appointment with you?” The man gritted his teeth and pushed out his reply. “Yes.” “I could call him now? If you want?” A slight smirk crept up on the man’s face. “Please do.” Peter didn’t hesitate to grab his phone from his back pocket. There usually weren’t any other customers at this hour of the day anyways. He looked up the number of his boss and hit call. “Hey Pete-“ “Hi, Mister McDougall, there’s someone here to see you, but you must’ve forgotten your appointment.” The other end of the line stayed quiet and Peter pulled a face at the customer. “Sir?” More silence. “Do you want me to reschedule it for you?” “Peter,” the customer interrupted them. It didn’t matter how long Peter wore that name tag, he never got used to strangers saying it out of the blue. “Hand me the phone and go to the back. Mister McDougall and I can discuss our arrangement here and now, but I do require some privacy.” Peter blinked once. Twice. And then he slowly moved to give his phone to the man in the suit. “Don’t let your coffee go cold,” Peter said with a curt nod before rushing off to the back. He shuffled to the dishwasher and turned it on to give them some more privacy, the loud rumble of the water inside the machine drowning out any other sound in the back. Not even five minutes later, the man walked into the back with Peter’s phone in hand, a dark smirk plastered on his face. “Your phone,” he said politely, placing the piece of technology in Peter’s palm. Peter smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sir.” He walked passed the man back to the front. The man followed. “No, Peter, thank you,” he chuckled. He grabbed his coffee from the counter and sat down at one of the tables. “Did the arrangement work out okay?” Peter asked innocently. If this man was working together with his boss, it was probably smart to stay kind. Though, that wasn’t all that hard, somehow. There was something about him that lured Peter in- made him feel warm and at home. The man grinned even wider while placing his sunglasses on the table. “Perfect.” His smile turned sour after he took a large sip from his coffee. “Is- is something wrong?” “Eh, no. I’m not one for overly sweet coffees.” Peter swallowed a sassy reply. If he didn’t like Frappuccinos, why would he order one? “Would you like me to make you another one?” “Still got that black coffee there?” “Yes, Sir.” “Very good.” The man left, just as hoped, a big tip and walked out the door with a promise. “See you next week.” Somehow, that made Peter’s stomach tingle. He did want to see the man again. There was something mysterious about him. Alluring. Their conversations were interesting and surprisingly eloquent. The man was very smart and Peter found himself loosening up more as the chat went on. The man let him. It was nice. That night, when Peter wanted to message a friend, he wondered when he added “TS” in his contact list. He didn’t recognize the number, but he couldn’t be bothered to look it up either. From then on, every Tuesday at two PM on the dot, the man walked in. Mister McDougall was always nervous about his arrival and usually fled to the back, leaving Peter to take care of the customer. But more often than not, he’d leave Peter in charge of the store entirely, leaving for appointments or errands whenever the man was bound to come in. Peter learned the man’s name is Tony and their conversations were always pleasant. Interesting. They talked about Peter’s life, mostly. Tony always managed to make everything about the college student, earning his cash as a barista. Peter didn’t mind, but he couldn’t help that he was curious. Tony offhandedly said he worked in real estate, when Peter asked. That and ‘some other things.’ He learned Tony was a tinkerer and a scientist in his free time. That he enjoys fixing up old cars, modern art and what he called ‘a good fuck.’ The comment had Peter blush a bright red. A blush Tony would always compliment whenever it crept up to his ears. Something about Tony drew Peter in. Maybe it was their casual conversation. Maybe it was his compliments. Maybe even his smile? Though, Peter’s smile always faltered as soon as other customers came in, since Tony would usually leave the store when they did. One day, the customers appeared to be his employees. And they all stayed. Two men, both tall and wide. One was blond, clean shaven and the other had slightly longer brown hair and a trimmed beard. “So, this is your Tuesday retreat, boss?” the blond quipped before ordering an americano. “Shouldn’t you be working?” Tony sassily replied, leaning back in his chair. “Coffee break,” the brown haired man said simply. Tony scoffed and waved it off. The three men were awfully picky about what they said and how they said it, Peter could tell, but that might just be private business stuff, so he didn’t pry. After they finished their drinks and walked out the door, Peter blushed again when the brown-haired man spoke. “That sure was a good coffee. I’d come here every Tuesday too, if I knew I’d be served by such a good lookin’ young man.” The compliment was paired with a wink. The door closed and Peter laughed softly to himself when Tony gave the brown-haired man a gentle slap at the back of his head to scold him. … One Tuesday, Peter called in sick. He lived to regret that. Mister McDougall was furious, but Peter couldn’t help that he was down with the flu and he didn’t want to make other customers sick. Especially not the man he’d grown to like so much. He got a text, later. TS: Are you okay? Peter: Who is this? TS: Tony. TS: Black coffee Tony. Peter: Oh! Peter: Sorry, I wasn’t at the shop today. Caught the flu, I think. Hope not worse. Glued to bed rn. TS: Got it bad? Peter: Can barely stand, tbh. Coughing a lot and it sounds weird. Don’t wanna make anyone sick. TS: That’s sweet. Peter: Just lookin out for the little guy. TS: I’m not little. Peter: Didn’t meant it like that, omgg, im sorry! TS: I’m messing with you. Peter: Ohh 🙈 It was quiet for a little bit, and Peter nearly fell asleep again if it weren’t for his screen lighting up. TS: Can I get you anything? Peter: I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll be fine. I mean it. TS: Peter. Tony wasn’t even in the same room as Peter, yet he knew exactly how Tony would’ve said his name if he were. Peter: I’m a college student. Meds are out of the picture. Don’t have much cash. TS: I do. And after not even half an hour, there was a doctor on Peter’s doorstep to check on him. Pneumonia in its early stages. A few days of antibiotics and he should be good as new. He wasn’t sure how Tony knew his address, but figured he got it from Mister McDougall. True to the doctor’s words, Peter was up and running again in a few days and on Tuesday, two PM on the dot, Tony walked into the shop with a wide grin and spread arms. “Good afternoon to my favorite barista,” he quipped. Peter grinned and cocked his head. “Good afternoon to my favorite customer.” “Oh,” Tony gasped, placing his palm on his chest. “You flatter me.” “Do I? With the tips you leave, everyone must like to see you.” “Most rather see me go, trust me.” Tony loudly cleared his throat and evaded Peter’s gaze to collect himself, before he casually leaned over the counter. “Black.” His coffee order is followed by his usual command. “Make it last.” “All I do is press a button, Sir, it’s pretty hard to make a black coffee last.” Peter laughed quietly as he started rubbing a cloth over the counter to clean it while the coffee set. “Then make yourself what you like.” Peter stared at Tony for a second before turning to grab another, taller cup. “Would you laugh if I said it’s a caramel Frappuccino.” He licked his lips. “With extra whipped cream?” “No,” Tony replied immediately. His voice was lower. Darker. Hotter. “It fits you.” “Does it?” Peter chuckled as he handed Tony the black coffee. “Overly sweet,” Tony said with a nod, toasting and raising the cup to his lips. He glanced at Peter and then repeated himself. “It fits you.” Peter slowly moved around the bar, preparing his own Frappuccino. “Thought you didn’t like caramel Frappuccinos?” “I like you.” Peter didn’t halt his movements as he worked himself around the coffee machines, though, his body went at a whole different speed than his brain. Did Tony actually just say that? “I think I like you too.” The reply had left Peter’s lips before he could even process the thought. “You think?” This time, Peter stopped. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” It was barely a whisper. His hand was stuck on the lever and he bit his lip. “Wha- dating?” Peter opted to ignore the implication of what Tony just said and instead, replied honestly. “Flirting.” “Oh, pretty boy, you’ve got a lot to learn. And experience.” Goosebumps spread over Peter’s body at Tony’s words and he closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was because he felt embarrassed or… Something else. This was the first time Tony called him anything like this and it felt like they both stepped over some sort of threshold they had both been ghosting by for a while now. Tony brought him back to the present with his trademarked sniff. “I have no need to rush things. If you’re interested, we’ll take it slow.” Peter finally turned his head to look at Tony with big eyes. Tony just smirked and quipped with a wink. “We’ll make it last.” … Peter: You up? It was two AM. Two Tuesdays later. Tony had become a lot more flirty and a lot more forthcoming with his sweet words and suggestive praise after they addressed their interest in each other. Most of it was via text, but whenever he was at the store, Peter could see Tony’s dilated pupils, could feel the man’s hot breath as Peter explained how one of the machines worked with Tony right behind him. He admired Tony for holding back too. He knew Peter wanted to take things slow, heck, he even suggested it. And he never snapped. Never broke. Never did anything out of line. Sure, his words were suggestive, but he never acted upon any primal needs. He was a gentleman. And it made Peter respect him even more. It also made him want Tony even more. Peter bathed himself in the compliments Tony peppered him with and Peter realized the man knew everything he said and did made Peter… Needy. Peter was fairly sure Tony was already asleep, but after all the sweet and… slightly filthy things the man had been saying to him that day, he couldn’t help himself, he had to jerk off. And he needed Tony to help him with that. TS: Been working. You’re up late. Don’t you have uni tomorrow? Peter sighed gratefully as he typed one handed, the other already creeping down to cup his half-hard shaft through his sweatpants. Peter: I do. TS: Hm. TS: Then why would you message me so late, huh? Peter wanted to scoff. Of course, Tony knew. The man just wanted Peter to say it. And… Peter kind of liked it. No matter how embarrassing. He typed and erased. And typed and erased. Typed and erased. He really wanted to send Tony what he wanted, but he felt like too much of a chicken to actually say it. He needed Tony’s sweet words. His… His filth. Peter: I’m,, eh… TS: Hm? Peter: Talk to me like you do in the shop? Please? TS: How I talk to you in the shop is a lot tamer than what I think you need right now. Peter hid his face in his pillow for a second, before taking a deep breath and finding the courage to reply. Peter: What do I need then? TS: You need me. Without a filter. But before I tell you anything… Where are you right now? What are you wearing? Talk to me, first. Peter: Alone. Bedroom. Bed. Sweat pants. T-shirt. TS: Turn off autocorrect, baby, how am I supposed to know you’re losing yourself if I see full words? Peter: happyy now? TS: Yes. One-handed, huh? Already touching yourself? Peter: mhm, thruogh fabric. TS: Alright, first things first, pretty thing, take off all your clothes. TS: Make it last. Peter complied immediately and he both loved and hated the slow movements he used to slide off his shirt. When his sweatpants were down on his knees, his screen lit up. TS: Are you making it last? Peter: yes TS: Good boy. Peter didn’t expect to moan so loud, but he did. The praise blasted through him and went straight to the cock that now rested against his abdomen. Stiff. Twitching. Leaking. Peter: say thatagain TS: Earn it. Peter: how TS: By being good for me, my sweet. Are you naked? Peter: almost TS: Let me know when you’re done. Peter was almost afraid that when he finally finished undressing after another minute, it was still too fast for Tony. He decided to make the jump, though. Peter: done TS: Lovely. Hard, baby boy? Peter let out a soft growl and was already struggling to type. Peter: ys, for you TS: Touch yourself for me. Go on, hump the hand you make my coffee with, Peter. It felt perfect – absolutely perfect – to wrap his fingers around his cock, now that he was doing it on demand. He couldn’t even hold back if he tried. His thrusts were relentless, straight away. Peter: Yyes yes TS: Oh, I wish I could see how pretty you look right now. How you roll your hips and fuck your fist. TS: Want to see the sweat drip from your temples, want to hear your soft gasps and moans. TS: Want to hear my name fall from your lips. Say my name, Peter. Say it. “Tony- O-oh-“ Peter gasped and he barely managed to keep his eyes open to watch the next few messages come in. TS: Don’t come. Not yet. TS: Slow down. Peter: nn tony please TS: Make. TS: It. TS: Last. Peter felt the tears stream down his cheeks. He felt so good. But he couldn’t come. Not with Tony right here with him telling him not to. Peter: yes sir TS: Good boy. Peter: feelsso good when u callme that TS: Mm. It does, doesn’t it? You know what makes me feel good? Peter: ?/ TS: When you call me Sir. A dreamy smile spread across Peter’s face as he lazily stroked his cock. His hips kept rolling, arching his back and lifting off the mattress with each thrust. His intellect had melted away. All he wanted was to feel good for Tony. TS: You know what else would make me feel really good? Peter: nno? Sir TS: If my good boy called me Daddy. Peter had to stop his hand or he would’ve cum right then and there. And he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He simply had to make it last. Instead, he moaned obscenely. Peter: ggod, nearlu came TS: Did you now? Peter: yes daddy Peter: held back TS: Oh, you’re so sweet for me. Wish I could taste that awful Frappuccino on your lips. Suckle on your tongue as I squeeze your cock, run my thumb over the head. TS: You have no idea how much I want to make you come for me. Peter: wanna cum for u Peter: faster?????????????/ TS: Speed up, baby. Show Daddy how desperate you are for him. Such a good boy for asking permission. The fact that Tony’s messages were still put together as opposed to Peter’s near button-mashes had another rush of arousal flow through Peter. Everything about what was happening was so hot. He’d never done anything like this before. He never even had sex in his life. And now the hottest man in New York was sexting him. God, he wished he could see Tony right now. Was he naked too? Was he stroking himself? Maybe he was fingering himself. Or fucking himself on a dildo so he still had two hands to type his coherent sentences with. Shit, that’d be so hot. Though, the image of Tony at his desk, working while casually messaging Peter all these things as if it’s just a regular chat about their day was even hotter. Tony, in his tailored suit, barely bothered by Peter’s desperation. Fuck. Peter: Yes yys ddaddy thanku TS: Mhm. It didn’t take long for Peter to get near the edge again. He was barely able to contain himself, phone shaking in his hand with every jerk of his other fist. Peter: close TS: Are you now? Peter: ya TS: Do you want to come? Peter: eys yes so badsoo bad TS: What do good boys say when they want to come? Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gasping and writhing on his sheets. His toes curled as he whined and begged while typing. “P-please-“ he muttered. “Please, please, please-“ Peter: pleease TS: Please, what? That’s it, Peter couldn’t type anymore. Didn’t want to type anymore. Instead, he hit the voice record button. “D-daddy, wanna cum, I wanna cum so bad, please, may I?” His lines were paired with moans and sobs. Desperation dripped from every word. Every thrust of his hips, every squeeze of his fingers, had him see stars. He had to come, he simply had to. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Lucky for Peter, it didn’t take long for Tony to reply with a voice message of his own. His deep, dark voice, coated with lust, like fresh honey, echoed through Peter’s simple bedroom. “Come, Peter. Come for Daddy.” … As time went on, Peter realized that Mister McDougall didn’t like to have Peter around anymore. Every chore he had to do, every command he had to follow, everything McDougall asked of him; he was never good enough. Peter felt like a nuisance. And he wanted out. He felt a weight fall off his shoulders when an on campus lab learned of Peter’s skills and offered him a job. So now, a few weeks after Peter and Tony started sexting, Peter told Mister McDougall he wanted to quit. “You can’t,” was the short reply. It had Peter nearly explode with frustration. “I can, though? I got a job offer in one of the labs on campus, I’m not letting this fly by!” Mister McDougall grabbed Peter’s shoulders and dragged him to the back by his shirt. He nearly flung the young man against the large dishwasher. “You’ll ruin me! You’ll get me killed!” “Don’t be so dramatic!” Peter yelled back. He was done working for Mister McDougall. So done. Peter swallowed his next words when a knife was suddenly pointed at his nose. He stared at it wide-eyed as he got ushered into a corner. “Tony owns this building, Peter, and the only reason I’m allowed to stay here is because you work here.” “Wha-“ “SHUT UP! You shut your mouth! I’d have fired you ages ago if it weren’t for him!” Tears pricked in the corners of Peter’s eyes. “If you leave, I’m going to pay your aunt a visit. And none of us will like what I’ll do to her.” What was happening? What was going on? Why did his boss threaten him like this? “S-sir?” “You’re not quitting, you hear me? You’re gonna get your ass back on the floor and you’re gonna do your job. As long as Tony doesn’t hate you, I can keep this business. You don’t want me to lose this business do you?” He waved the knife, pushing it towards Peter’s left eye and resting the tip right below it. The young man leaned back as far as the wall allowed him to. “Do you?!” Peter didn’t even dare to blink. “No, sir,” he lied. “Why are you so scared of him?” Mister McDougall laughed maniacally. “Why aren’t you?!” He yelled. “That’s Tony Stark! He owns sixty percent of New York!” The world stopped spinning. Tony - Peter’s Tony - is Tony Stark. The biggest, baddest Mafia Boss of New York. Known to be vile, relentless and cruel to anyone who dares to cross his path. And Peter… Peter had fallen in love with him. No. No, he didn’t. He fell in love with Tony. Not with Stark. But if they were one and the same, maybe the stories were wrong? Maybe- “You didn’t know?” Mister McDougall stepped back and let his arm down. Peter finally allowed himself to breathe, even if it was the worst intake of air he’d ever done. He held back his tears with everything he had. “No.” “Jesus Christ.” Mister McDougall threw his hands up, flailing the knife around. “You’re an idiot!” “But-“ A quiet beep came from McDougall’s wrist. He looked at his watch and turned. “Two minutes, Peter- hurry up!” Mister McDougall’s high pitched command reverbs through the coffee shop. In two minutes, it’ll be two PM on the Tuesday afternoon. Peter’s been working here for three years now. Just yet, he tried to quit, but that wasn’t taken kindly. He can still feel the eerie presence of the tip of a knife on his cheekbone. How Peter got himself stuck in this job is a long story. A very long one. “Get to work.” Peter swallowed and blinked away his tears as he walked into the front of the store. He took a deep breath and fumbled with some of the cups on the counter. Mister McDougall stayed in the back, as usual. Peter looked up, startled, when the bell rang. Tony walked in, blissfully unaware and leaned on the counter like he always did. Peter was bad at hiding his fear, he knew that, and it didn’t even take a second before Tony caught on. “Did you cry?” His question was blunt. Straight to the point. “I’m alright, I hit my head.” Peter had to pause to clear his throat in the middle of his sentence. His words were small. Unsure. Tony didn’t buy it. “Who hurt you?” A shiver ran up Peter’s spine. He couldn’t tell Tony about what Mister McDougall did to him. As much as he disliked the man, he didn’t want the deadliest man in the area to… To hurt him. Peter didn’t dare think of the k word. But more importantly, he didn’t want anything to happen to May. “Me,” Peter tried to sound cheerful, but his voice shook. “I hit my head. I hurt me.” Peter finished up the black coffee and turned to give it to Tony, so he could start making his own Frappuccino. Tony wanted to take his hand, but Peter swiftly turned around. He played the machine to make his own drink, but he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t make it last. He had to get it done. As fast as possible. He had to get this over with. Tony spoke, but Peter didn’t hear it. He could already feel the tears threatening to glide down his cheeks. He couldn’t pretend. He couldn’t- Tony grabbed Peter’s wrist from over the counter and the Frappuccino cup slipped from the barista’s fingers. Peter stared wide-eyed at how the scorching hot liquid gushed onto Tony’s suit. The stain was evident, but Tony seemed unfazed by the heat. Peter’s lip trembled and he was certain there was no oxygen left in the store. He had spilled his coffee on the suit of the most dangerous man in New York City. Peter barely dared to look up, but when he saw Tony’s expression, his shoulders fell. The way the man looked at him was… Vulnerable. “You’re afraid.” Tony’s voice was fragile. “Of me?” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears flow freely now. He screwed up. He screwed everything up. “I don’t know,” Peter replied honestly, through quiet sobs. Tony swiftly jumped over the counter so he could embrace Peter. “Talk to me, Bambino.” “I- I didn’t know-“ “Didn’t know what?” “S-Stark-“ “Yes, Frappuccino, that’s me.” “Did you just call me-“ “Yes, did it make you feel better?” Peter scoffed, but managed to smile. “A little.” Tony then pushed Peter away from him to force the young man to look him in the eye by holding Peter’s chin between his thumb and index finger. “Did you really not know?” Now Peter feels stupid. He should’ve caught on, obviously. Everybody knew Tony Stark. Peter pushed his lips together and gently shook his head. “Oh, bother,” Tony mumbled as he pulled Peter against his chest to hug him tightly. Peter’s insides were in a struggle. Every part of his rational brain told him to get out of there. To push Tony away. The man was bad news. He reeked of danger, yet… He smelled so wonderful. His cologne invaded Peter’s nostrils and there was no way the young man could let go of him. The way his arms were wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, the way he held him, kept him warm and safe... No matter how frightening Tony might be, Peter felt protected. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. Peter’s face was pressed against Tony’s shirt and he could feel the wet coffee stain from Tony’s suit seep onto his own pants. A hand found its way into Peter’s hair and gently started massaging his scalp. The soft lips Peter had only imagined up until now, pressed themselves onto his curls and stayed there, leaving long, slow pecks. Sometimes, Tony hummed. With every passing second, Peter’s muscles relaxed more and more until his body practically went limp against Tony’s. “Now…” The man finally spoke. He gently pushed Peter away from him until he could look Peter in the eyes, hands cupping his face. His thumb gently stroked away the drying tears and he smiled kindly. “Who hurt you?” Peter’s pouting lips were pressed together. He tried to hide the truth, but one quick glance towards the back and Tony knew enough. “Please, don’t kill him,” Peter whispered. Tony scoffed softly. “Is that why you’re suddenly afraid of me?” Tony pushed forward slightly, until something long and hard pressed against Peter’s thigh. And it wasn’t Tony’s cock. “Cause I’m not just happy to see you?” Peter whimpered and closed his eyes, still not wanting to leave Tony’s embrace, even though he was afraid of what might happen next. “Do you know why I own 64.7 percent of New York?” Peter shook his head lightly, focusing his attention on Tony’s warm hands still keeping his face up by his cheeks. “Because I don’t just shoot whoever gets in my way. I give people a chance,” Tony said matter of factly. “Take your boss, for example. This building? It’s mine.” The way Tony enunciated the word, not just verbally but also with a soft squeeze of his hands, had a shiver run down Peter’s spine. “Ex-gambling addict who wanted to get back on track. Promising fellow. Clean for years. He loaned a chunk of my money to start his business. All was good. A thriving coffee store can make quite a bit of money in this area in New York. During my first visit I learned that not everything I offered him went into this shop. Told him I wanted the money back that he didn’t spend on the store. He also couldn’t pay rent. Somehow.” Peter breathlessly listened to everything that came out of Tony’s mouth. “I gave him another shot. Told him to have my money ready in a month. That’s a fair time to make what he owed me. And when I came into the store to collect… I found you. And your boss? Well, he wasn’t exactly at a convention. He was at the other side of the country, though. In Vegas.” Tony sighed and broke eye contact for a few seconds. “This is where it gets embarrassing…” He mumbled. “Embarrassing?” “I was completely enamored by you, Peter.” Tony’s eyes reconnect with Peter’s and they lock gazes. “And I decided that, when you called McDougall, I’d change the deal. He’d get a delay on his debt as long as you would be there to serve me coffee. On Tuesdays. At two PM. Figured you’d stick around for a while, give McDougall enough time to cover his ass.” “So,” Tony cocked his head. “After half a year, he still doesn’t have my money. And I’m guessing you want to quit the job?” Peter nodded, face contorting. “He had a knife and-“ “A knife?” The energy in the room changed abruptly. From loving and caring to dark and aggressive. Peter immediately pulled back, but Tony’s grip on him tightened. “He threatened you?” He seethed. “No- Tony, please,” Peter begged, but he didn’t fight. “Is he in the back?” Tony stared Peter down with an intense gaze. The young barista froze. “Peter.” “Yes.” Peter felt small, yet his body betrayed him when his cock stirred at Tony’s authoritative voice. Tony guided Peter to one of the chairs and gently sat him down. His hands caressed Peter’s curls before he pressed another kiss on top of them. He bent down until he squatted in front of Peter and looked up reassuringly. “I will not physically harm him, I promise. I just want to have a word with him, okay?” “Okay…” Tony smiled and nodded before standing up and making his way towards the back. Before he disappeared, Tony looked behind him one more time and winked at Peter. Probably to relieve the tension. Not long after Tony went to the back, Peter was startled by the doorbell. He looked up and quickly collected himself before greeting the customer, wiping the remainder of his dried tears away. “Good afternoon, Sir, how can I help you?” Peter barely managed to put up his customer smile. The man was a bit scruffy looking, dark haired and he had a slight beard. There was a strange look in his eye. Peter wanted to walk around the counter to his usual spot to take the order, but the man stopped him. “Hold it there.” Peter paused his trek and turned back to the man with a questioning look. The man suddenly bolted for him, but Peter realized too late he was holding something in his hand. Peter tried to yell but before any sound could leave his mouth, it was covered by a damp cloth. His eyes went wide as he stared straight into the other man’s. He had no choice but to inhale the strange and intense, sweet scent of whatever was in that piece of fabric. The man didn’t smile, nor did he look angry. He seemed rather indifferent. The man’s other arm wrapped around Peter’s body, right before he lost the strength in his muscles and dropped against the man’s chest. Peter’s mind suddenly felt over-stuffed with fuzz and it was only a few seconds before his muffled scream died out and his eyes rolled back. Right when Peter lost himself, the man spoke softly, with a mocking tone, before carrying him out of the coffee shop. “Night night.” … Peter’s head felt like it was going to burst. He could barely open his eyes, but the hand that pulled him back at his hair in the uncomfortable chair forced him to wake up. He gasped for air, squinting his eyes into slits in the bright light. “Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice echoed through the room, ringing Peter’s ears. He finally managed to open his eyes when the light was blocked by a shape. A person. “Eh…” A soft whine escaped Peter’s lips, but the sound wasn’t taken kindly. The person- man- yanked at his hair, causing Peter to wince in pain. The man was bald, but had a thick beard. A scowl pulled the strangers bushy eyebrows together and Peter’s entire body tensed when he spotted the gun in the man’s other hand. “So…” The man leaned in and cocked his head. “All this trouble for a twink.” Peter tightened his jaw even further and kept his lips glued together. The man quite forcefully let go of Peter’s hair, allowing Peter to take in his surroundings. They were in a plain room, nothing too interesting. Peter could hear seagulls outside. They were probably close to water? The door was guarded by two imposing looking men, one of them Peter recognized as the guy who took him out. In the darkness of the room, a camera seemed to be recording them, judging by the red light flickering in the corner. “Barista,” Peter mumbled, staring at the gun in the guards’ hands.. “Excuse me?” The man pushed into Peter’s space again, seemingly offended. Peter held his breath, but replied anyways, eyes locking with the bald man’s. “I’m just a barista.” “Just a-“ the man interrupted himself, put his hands on his hips and leaned back, letting out an over the top laugh. When he finally calmed himself again, he bolted forward, pressing the gun against Peter’s neck. The young man instinctively tilted his head up, eyes wide at the unexpected aggression. “You,” the man spit out accusingly. “Tony seems to think more of you.” “He doesn’t,” Peter bluffed, silently swearing at himself for his reckless bravery. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose. “I just make his coffee. Black. Every Tuesday.” “Right,” the man scoffed and revealed Peter’s unlocked phone from his inner pocket. “And does just making his coffee include a happy ending?” “N-no-, it’s-“ “Nighttime sexting? Then?” The man sauntered around Peter, casually scrolling through Tony’s and Peter’s chat. “Was hoping to find some intel, but all I got was your disgusting conversations.” Peter swallowed hard. He angled his head to look down so that he wouldn’t have to meet the man’s judging eyes. “I’m not gonna lie,” the man sighed. “Those voice messages? Your moans? They’d rile up anyone.” Peter gently tugged at his restraints, pressing his eyes shut. To say he was afraid of what the man could and might do to him was an understatement. The thought alone paralyzed him. There was a pressing ache in his chest and a growing need to get out of there. If only he could move. “What do you want from me,” Peter managed to push out. The man chuckled darkly. “I want at least 75% of what Stark has.” The man stopped circling Peter to gently push the tip of his gun through the young man’s hair- toying with it. “And you’re going to make sure he gives it to me.” “As if,” Peter replied simply, immediately swallowing his confidence. It now weighs heavy in his stomach. One short glance at the guards made them leave the room. They shut the door behind them and Peter couldn’t help but hold his breath. “Tell the camera-“ The man gestured at the red flashing dot. “-Tell Tony- what to do. If he doesn’t give me what I want, I will take what he wants most.” Peter looked up at the man confused, but the man’s smirk made the student’s legs burst with adrenaline. He wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. He’s bound. The man’s eyes sparkled and turned to slits. The wide toothy grin plastered on his face had Peter’s heart drop. “You.” “Oh, don’t worry about that ol’ camera.” A familiar voice said from the door opening. Peter and the man turned their heads towards it surprised. There, Tony lazily stood against the door post, the two men that Peter had met one Tuesday accompanying him. The guards that were there before were now laying on the floor. Peter quietly hoped they were nothing more than unconscious. “You can ask me, right here, right now, Stane.” Tony absentmindedly studied the pistol in his hand, turning and twisting it. Loading it. “Tsk. Answer’s gonna be no, though.” He moved to stand up straight, confidence oozing off every inch of him. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.” A shiver ran down Peter’s spine and he gulped when the gun that was still aimed at him pushed under his jaw. He dropped his head backwards in an attempt to get away from it and whined quietly. Peter’s breath quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut again. “If you want your boy to live, you’re gonna do exactly what I want.” “Hmm.” Tony grinned. “If you put a bullet in his head, I’m not even gonna use my gun.” He squared up, tightening every muscle in his body. The look in his eye was dark and resolute. “Will let you pick how you go, though. Could snap your neck- stick a knife through your brain. Wiggle it around a little to make your corpse spasm. Heck, I’ll rearrange your guts first if you want me to. Bet that’ll feel real nice.” Peter could barely believe the words falling from the man’s lips were Tony’s. Apparently, neither could the guy Tony called Stane. “You’re all talk, Stark. Never seen you hurt a damn fly, that’s what you got your goons for,” Stane sneered accusingly. “First time for everything,” Tony replied collected. Stane then pulled loose the ropes around Peter’s body and pulled him up, forcing him to stand with his back flush against the man’s chest. Stane wouldn’t allow him to stand comfortably, keeping him up on his toes as the nuzzle of the gun pressed up under his chin. As free as the lack of ropes made Peter feel, the presence of the gun annihilated any feeling of liberty. “Obadiah, I swear to mother Maria, if you so much as leave a scratch on Peter, you will regret it.” Stane didn’t seem fazed by Tony’s threats. He had the upper hand after all. He had Peter. “We’re leaving now. Don’t think I won’t shoot. I will.” Peter complied the nudge in his back, taking small steps in the direction of the door. Obadiah moved the gun until it rested against Peter’s temple. “Step into the room.” Tony’s jaw tightened, but after a few seconds he cast his eyes downward, entering the space. His bluffing hadn’t worked and the soft shaking of his clenched fist betrayed his frustration. He genuinely seemed afraid to lose Peter. In return, Peter was afraid to lose him. The two men Tony had brought with him, joined him silently. When they were all far away enough from the door, Obadiah shuffled Peter to the opening. They reached the hallway and Stane forced Peter to step over the – hopefully – unconscious guards. All Peter could think was ‘No-no-no-no-‘ at the mere idea of being taken to another location. One Tony might not be able to find him at. One he might actually die at. Peter took a deep breath and decided to do something reckless. He could only die once anyways. The second Obadiah pulled the gun back a little to give Peter more walking space, the barista ducked away from the gun, pivoted on his feet and pushed Stane back into the wall with all the force he had. There was a gunshot. One that had Peter’s eyes go wide. With the lack of pain or blood, Peter realized Stane had missed. Adrenaline pumped through his body at an incredibly rapid pace. Peter fell backwards on his ass and saw Obadiah’s gun that had been dropped in the process. The student scrambled to grab it in a reflex. He pushed himself back against the wall, knees up, eyes unblinking and wide, as he aimed the gun two-handedly at Stane who laid there with his hands up. The feral look in Peter’s eye told the small gang leader enough. No matter how scared, this kid would shoot if he had to. Peter couldn’t blink. He just couldn’t. He barely heard the footsteps next to him. Barely felt a hand rest on his shoulder, as another lifted to be placed on Peter’s shaking hands, holding the gun. All Peter could do was stare at Obadiah, stinging tears nearly obstructing his view. His breathing was quick and erratic and he didn’t realize how much he was vibrating until Tony’s voice pushed through the veil, clouding his mind. “I need you to let go of the gun for me.” Peter only clutched the weapon tighter, his finger twitched on the trigger. His breathing was loud and fast, making his entire body buzz with tension. “Boss, he’s in shock, he won’t-“ “Peter,” Tony said a little softer. “I’m right here, Frappuccino, look at me.” The hand that was on his shoulder before, now cupped Peter’s chin, gently forcing him to turn his head. Peter’s eyes didn’t leave Obadiah, though. He held his breath, hearing his heartbeat thump in his brain. “Peter…” For the first time in what felt like forever, Peter blinked, which caused the tears that had been threatening to spill up until now to glide down his cheeks. He found himself staring at Tony’s face as his body slowly lost tension. The man’s brows were furrowed, but his expression was soft. He carefully took the gun out of Peter’s hands and pulled him in for an embrace. Peter hid his face against the man’s chest and couldn’t help but sob into it, adding another stain to Tony’s expensive suit. “Oh, Peter.” Tony’s voice was muffled against Peter’s hair. “You’re okay, we’re okay.” Just like he did earlier that day in the coffee shop, his fingers tangled in Peter’s hair and started massaging his scalp. “You’re with me now, ‘s all good.” Another time, Peter would’ve been embarrassed for being pulled into Tony’s lap in front of all these strangers, but right now he couldn’t care less. His arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s torso as the man left his dragged out, flat kisses on Peter’s head. “M-sorry,” Peter mumbled between sobs, curling up into Tony’s embrace and tugging in his legs. “Sorry-“ “Ssh, ssh- you have nothing to be sorry for, my sweet.” They stayed like that for a short while, Tony rocking Peter back and forth until his heartbeat settled and his muscles relaxed. Eventually, Tony stood up, carrying Peter bridal style. “Let me take you home.” … Peter woke up among the softest of silk sheets, surrounded by an abundance of throw pillows, wearing nothing but his underwear and an oversized white T-shirt with a V-neck. Everything smelled like Tony. Peter groaned at the stiffness of his muscles and turned around, half surprised by Tony sitting on an armchair next to the large canopy bed. “Morning, sunshine,” he said with a smile. Tony was wearing sweats and a similar T-shirt. The corners of Peter’s mouth curled up too and he instinctively folded into himself, pulling the sheets up to his chin. “Morning.” “How are you feeling?” Tony leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Little stiff,” Peter answered honestly. As if on cue, his stomach growled. “And hungry.” “My cook’s making us breakfast as we speak. Should be here soon.” “I knew you were rich, but a personal chef?” Peter chuckled. “Isn’t that a bit overkill?” “Look, kid,” Tony laughed, sitting up straight again. “I don’t have time to make my own meals. I’m a busy man.” “Busy enough to visit me every Tuesday at two,” Peter teased, the sparkle in his eyes evident. Tony seemed relieved Peter was acting like his usual self. “Hey, hey,” he said, shaking his head. “I scheduled in that time. I always wanted you to have my undivided attention. That was my me-time.” Peter’s smile faltered. “Was,” he parroted quietly. There was no way he could go back to his barista job. To mister McDougall. Not that he particularly wanted to work for that man anymore, but it felt like this pleasant chapter of this life ended with a terrible cliffhanger. Now, Peter was at the start of the next chapter, going through the repercussions of what happened before. “Pete, I-“ “Where are we?” Tony seemed taken aback by the interruption, but collected himself swiftly. “Home,” Tony replied matter of fact. “My home, to be precise.” He cleared his throat and looked away uncharacteristically shyly. “Could be yours too if you want.” Peter didn’t reply straight away, which caused Tony to stand up and raise his hands in a defensive manner. “But we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.” There was a knock on the door and Tony cocked an eyebrow at it. “Breakfast,” a muffled voice spoke. “Come in.” A man with a giant tray opened the door. He walked in quickly and placed it on the table next to Tony. “Take the rest of the day off. Paid leave. Tell the others the same, save for the guards outside. I want this house empty within an hour.” The cook nodded and thanked Tony for his generosity. Not long after, Peter and Tony were alone again. Peter stared at the over-filled tray and licked his lips. “Anything that tickles your fancy?” Tony’s words are accompanied with a smirk. “A coffee sounds good right about now.” Tony immediately perked up and turned to grab the carefully made Frappuccino, but before he could curl his fingers around the cup, Peter continued: “Actually-“ Tony looks at Peter surprised. Peter grins and nods at the other cup on the tray. “After everything that happened, I could go for something stronger.” “Peter Parker, are you taking my black coffee from me?” Tony chuckled. Peter pulled himself up so he sat up straight among the throw pillows. He then reached forward with both arms, making grabby hands at Tony. “Mayyybe,” he teased. Tony laughed as he complied, handing Peter the black coffee. Peter gratefully took a sip and pulled a face at the bitterness burning his throat. “Sure you don’t want the sugar, sugar?” Peter snorted and nearly spilled the coffee on the bed. He looked into the deep black of the cup in his hands and then up at Tony. “Fine,” Peter said with a grin, offering Tony the black coffee. Peter waited for the older man to give him the Frappuccino, but instead, Tony stood up. “Here,” he said, lifting the tray and placing it on the bedside table. “Mind if I join you?” Peter didn’t answer, he just lifted the sheets. Gratefully, Tony slid in, placing himself flush against Peter and handing him the Frappuccino. For a short while, they just sipped their coffees, not exchanging any words. Peter occasionally glanced at the food on the bedside table, unable to choose where he’d even start. He let go of his thoughts for a little bit, letting his mind wander to yesterday. To Obadiah Stane, to the rope burn on his wrists, the feel of the gun against his head, in his hand, the trigger under his finger. Tony. Tony was there to save him. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.” Peter was his. And while his rational brain was scared of this mob boss side of Tony that he only just learned about, there was something exhilarating about it too. Tony was still Tony- still the same man Peter made all these black coffees for, the man he had late night conversations with via text. Peter thought back to before he lost himself to sleep, how he was being cradled by Tony, sitting in his lap. The memory made him feel warm, somehow. Peter swallowed and took a breath. “I felt safe,” Peter whispered. “Hm?” Tony turned his head slightly and put down his now empty cup on the nightstand. “Yesterday.” Peter’s brows furrowed as he kept staring ahead. “In your lap.” He paused, trying to put his thoughts in a row and say something a bit more sophisticated. However, he couldn’t think of the right words, so he just repeated himself. “I felt safe.” It was quiet for a second. “Do…” Tony sniffed once and tugged at the tray on Peter’s side of the bed. “Do you want to sit on my lap now?” Peter’s mouth went dry, even though he just finished his coffee. The tension between them hung thick in the air. He looked at Tony wide-eyed, but quickly averted his gaze again. “Yes,” he mumbled, nothing more than a whisper. “What was that?” “Yes… Please?” “Good boy.” Peter shivered and closed his eyes, but only until he felt Tony gently pulling at his arm. He didn’t struggle as Tony guided him to sit on his thighs, back pressed against the older man’s chest. “Oh, Bambino,” Tony cooed as Peter’s ass pressed against Tony’s already hardening shaft. “Been through so much. Let me help you.” Peter wanted to ask what Tony meant, but the man had already taken the mug from Peter’s hands, placed it on the bedside table and grabbed a blueberry muffin from the breakfast tray. “Hold this,” he ordered, giving the muffin to Peter. Their hands grazed past each other, eliciting a small gasp from the younger man. Tony immediately moved to rip a small piece off of it and brought it up to Peter’s lips. Peter stared entranced at Tony’s rough hand. “Go on, my sweet,” Tony whispered into Peter’s hair. “Eat up.” Peter leaned in and opened his mouth. He carefully maneuvered himself in an attempt not to touch Tony’s fingers, not wanting to be weird or gross, but Tony had other plans. He pushed in his fingers to help the piece into Peter’s mouth and then brushed his fingers over Peter’s lips. Peter didn’t realize his eyes were closed, but there wasn’t much to see anyways- save for the lusciously decorated room. Peter was more occupied with feeling right now. And boy, did Tony’s lips on his neck feel absolutely perfect. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. Tony’s free arm was possessively curled around Peter to caress his neck from the front, grazing past his Adam’s apple and gently squeezing right under his jaw until he swallowed. Tony presented Peter with another bite, but this time he really pushed his fingers in. Peter wrapped his lips around the digits and sucked, moaning softly. “That’s it…” Peter absentmindedly spread his legs on Tony’s lap, arching his back to grind into Tony’s groin. Tony’s other hand found its way down Peter’s body until it cupped Peter’s balls through his underwear. Peter immediately pushed into it and gasped at the gentle rubbing of Tony’s thumb. “Thaaat’s it…” Tony took his fingers out of Peter’s mouth, a small string of saliva dripping down, to take the muffin out of Peter’s hands, put it on the tray and then stick his fingers into the small bowl of jam. His other hand fondles Peter at a steady rhythm and Peter rolls his hips along with it. “Feeling good for Daddy, Peter?” The young man smiles lazily and nods, letting his head fall back against Tony’s shoulder. “Y-yes,” Peter whimpered. “Feels so good.” An overly sweet scent filled Peter’s nostrils. He opened his eyes to see Tony’s jam covered fingers. He stared at them transfixed, mouth already opening, tongue hanging out, ready to take it all. “Atta boy,” Tony whispered, suckling on Peter’s skin. “Don’t hold back. It’s all yours…” Peter didn’t hesitate and grabbed Tony’s hand with both of his own, pulling it toward him to lick the sweet strawberry jam off of Tony’s fingers. The fingers of one hand were curled around just the thumb, while the other gripped onto the man’s palm. “Don’t hold back,” Tony repeated with a squeeze of his hand around Peter’s clothed cock. The young man immediately moaned louder, pressing himself against Tony harder and licking the man’s fingers clean in a near-obscene manner. “Aren’t you a good boy?” Tony growled as he slowly started to push up against Peter’s ass. Peter groaned and clenched around nothing, working his way down Tony’s hand and suckling at the golden ring on his index finger. “Yours,” Peter gasped between licks. “Your good boy-“ Apparently those were the right words, because Tony let out a guttural moan and within seconds, they were flipped over with Peter lying on his back on the bed and Tony possessively hovering over him, caging Peter with his arms. Peter was met with Tony’s dark pools and twitching nose. There was something animalistic about the otherwise so collected man Peter had served coffee to. It had Peter’s cock throb with anticipation. Tony’s wet fingers pushed under Peter’s shirt to tweak and tug at one of his nipples. “Mine,” Tony pushed out, immediately moving in to ravage Peter’s lips himself, tasting the flavors Peter had only just taken in. Peter, in turn, could taste the bitter coffee. “My sweet.” Peter pulled at Tony’s shirt, quietly telling Tony he wanted them to get naked. The man seemed to understand and within a minute all clothes were discarded. Tony’s cock stood tall and proud and had a girth that had Peter drooling. He wanted it in his mouth. ASAP. “Eager, eager,” Tony chuckled darkly as he saw Peter’s eyes locked on the swaying dick in front of him. Peter’s gaze broke free and he gave Tony a pleading look. “Next time, my sweet.” Tony leaned in to give Peter a short, passionate kiss while his hands squeezed nearly half a lube bottle all over Peter’s groin, slicking him up as Tony massaged every inch of skin. Peter immediately granted Tony access into his mouth and Tony eagerly licked the insides. He pulled back again and grinned. “You first.” Tony’s free hand grabbed hold of Peter’s cock, squeezing it until Peter saw stars. His hips bucked up into Tony’s touch while his hands grabbed at the sheets in an attempt to ground himself as Tony’s hands pleasured him. He moaned with every loudly-squishing jerk of Tony’s hand, but it wasn’t going fast enough. “More-more-more, please, Daddy-“ Tony seemed pleased with the begging, because the hand at Peter’s nipple slowly travelled down his toned body, grabbing and coating itself with the excess lube. “Sure you want more?” Tony had a wicked grin on his face. “Cause I can give you everything.” He curled his tongue up to lick his own teeth. “If you think you can handle it.” “Yes,” Peter gasped, arching his back more, pressing his head into the throw pillows. “Please, please, want everything, want it all, want you-“ “Good answer.” Tony’s praise goes paired with him mercilessly pushing his index finger into Peter’s tight hole. The young man gasped at the sudden sting, but his expression turned to absolute bliss in an instant. He clenched and unclenched around Tony’s digit and soon enough, Tony started pulling out and pushing back in, curling his finger in the process, in search of Peter’s… Sweet spot. “God, yes, T-Tony, Daddy-“ Peter moaned as his body rocked under Tony’s attention. “Mr. Stark-!” Tony’s eyes went wide, revealing a previously unseen aggression behind them. His movements became more forceful and he lowered his face until it was right in front of Peter’s. “Yes, boy, call me that again. Do it.” “M-Mi-“ Peter squeezed his eyes shut, completely overwhelmed by all the sensations and the tightening knot in his abdomen. His balls were tight and his heartbeat throbbed everywhere. “Whose cock is this, Peter, tell me who it belongs to-“ Tony let his thumb glide over the tip of Peter’s cock as he quickened his pace and the intensity of his jerks. “Yours- Mr. Stark, it’s y-yours!” Peter’s reply was rewarded with Tony’s mouth sucking marks on Peter’s neck. “And this hole? Huh? Who does this belong to?” Right when Tony uttered the words, he found what he’d been looking for. Peter opened his mouth wide in a silent scream as his body convulsed. “Yes, yes, yours, yours-“ Tony attacked Peter’s prostate without remorse, not halting any movement. He was good at this and he owned it. He owned Peter. “And your mouth? Your chest and your arms and your legs and your neck-“ Tony cut his own rambles short by biting into the skin right below Peter’s jaw, eliciting another loud moan from him. “Mr. Stark’s, his- his, yours!” “That’s it, good boy, it’s all mine. You’re all mine!” “F-fuck, I’m gonna come, Mr. Stark- Please, please-“ Peter’s gasps were erratic. The complete polar opposite of Tony’s near robotic movements. Along the way, he had added two more fingers into Peter’s sopping hole and he kept pumping mercilessly, curling his fingers at just the right moment. The young man was practically folded in two on the bed, taking everything Tony was giving him. He’d never felt this good in his entire life and he basked in the hot sheen covering his body. All his fantasies, all their sexts, were now reality. Tony stayed true to his word. Everything he had promised Peter, he was now giving- almost forcing- upon the young man and he loved it. They both did. “So close, my sweet, stay on that edge for me, don’t tip over just yet-“ Tony growled. “Make...” The young man found himself humping into Tony’s fist, moaning at the trademarked line that had started falling from the mob boss’s lips. “It…“ Peter whined as his body shook, trying to hold onto the last bit of sanity that he had left before he would lose it all and spill. “Last…“ Every part of Peter’s being writhed and convulsed at the scorching pleasure pumping through him. He had to make it last. He had to wait. Had to drag it out. Felt so good. Too good. Yes, yes- yes! “That’s it… Just a little longer,” Tony encouraged. Peter’s eyes rolled back and to his dismay, Tony sped up even more. “Haaa-,” Every muscle in Peter’s body shook with tension, ready for that blissful release. “Yeees, good boy, such a good boy, hold on…” Tony’s breath was hot on Peter’s lips. His deep voice vibrated through Peter’s body, sending even more surges of arousal through him. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” Peter’s jaw was locked as his eyes fluttered open. He stared straight into Tony’s and the sight had his toes curl. “Come.” Peter’s vision went white at the intense eruption bursting from him. If he screamed, he didn’t hear himself. All he could do was experience it. White streaks covered his abdomen and Tony’s hand and the overstimulating sensation of his orgasm seemed to last forever. After who-knows-how-long, Peter came down from his high, panting and twitching on the mattress, body completely limp. Tony was lying next to him, whispering sweet praise into his ear and slowly bringing Peter back to reality with his calming voice and caressing hands. Peter blinked a few times, his vision sharpening again until Tony was completely in focus. The man smiled. “Good morning, sunshine,” he repeated himself. Peter chuckled and cuddled up against Tony’s chest. Tony immediately embraced him, tangling their legs together. “Morning,” Peter laughed softly. It was quiet for a minute while Peter cleared his mind, basking in the afterglow of what was the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced. “Thank you,” he whispered against Tony’s body. The man kissed the top of Peter’s head, humming softly. “No, my sweet, thank you.” After another hour of cuddling together Peter shuffled back so he could look Tony in the eye. “We should probably get out, don’t we?” Tony smiled kindly, pressing his fingers through Peter’s curls. “Work can wait.” “I wasn’t talking about work…” There was a playful sparkle in Peter’s eyes. “I want to explore this place.” “Can’t we cuddle a little longer?” “I’ll stay naked,” Peter teased. “We’re alone anyways… And I’ll make you coffee?” “Are you trying to bribe me with coffee that requires pressing one button?” Tony teased right back. Peter moved to sit up straight and tossed the sheets on top of Tony. He jumped out of bed, his cock already hardening again and bouncing with every movement. Tony grinned and seemed to be enjoying this newfound confidence Peter had. “I don’t know, Mr. Stark, am I?” Peter sauntered towards the door and opened it swiftly, arching his back and showing off his toned body as he walked through. Tony’s cock, that had started softening up after not getting any attention last round, sprung back to life at the sight. “Could make the coffee last, but… I’m sure there are other rooms in this place where I could make it last?” Tony laughed positively wicked and crawled over the bed towards Peter. The young man squealed delighted and ran out into the hallway. Tony stepped out of the bed and started chasing his good boy through the mansion.

261 notes · View notes

darkdevasofdestruction · 3 years

Text

Don’t Let Go ~ Alfie Solomons

I’m in love with one man and one man alone. Mum and dad love Alfie too, but they still can’t take him away from me ;;;

How did she end up like this, she wondered? They were family...Even though her last name was not legally “Shelby”, she was still a part of the family since she was born. The parents were best friends, and when her parents died, Polly took her in. And then, they grew up together - Same home, same beds, same food, same clothes...Same everything.

And then, war came, and while true, she was younger than even John - Not by much, only about 3 years - But that didn’t seem to bother either of the Shelby siblings, and she was especially close with Arthur and Ada, mostly because they were the ones with the warmest hearts, and could understand her gentle one as well..

However, Tommy was the smartest of the family, and Polly taught her enough about Gypsy street-smarts, so the three of them together somehow became the true heads of the family, the true backbone that kept everyone straight and together.

When war came, she was barely 16, and yet, she joined them, dressing as a man and pretending to be a volunteer physician, healing and running around the battlefield, only to end up helping them dig up tunnels and plant explosions...

And taking a bullet for Tommy.

And nearly dying.

But at least, by the time they returned home, 4 years later, she was called an honorary Shelby and Polly officially adopted her.

She wasn’t Y/N L/N anymore, she was Y/N Shelby, and she was damn proud of that.

She helped with fixing races, rode around with her gorgeous black mare, going to the Garrison with her brothers to make sure they don’t end up drunk, in a ditch, she helped the strategy against the Lee family, got beaten up by Sabini, beat him up right back, got in that whorehouse of a Russian noble family, let the Duchess touch her while in her underwear, got beaten up by the priest, had to blow up a train with good people and many more...

But nothing was bringing her down, because she was a Shelby, and she was strong - Mentally, Physically, Emotionally - And she wanted to make sure the family was together, or at least trying to hang on, somehow.

She was the perfect woman - Never drank, never smoked, never cursed, never did drugs, never did drugs, never dated anyone...

But when one day, Thomas took her on a meeting at Alfie’s place... Boy of boy, was that entertaining.

She always appreciated Thomas’s ambition, cunning and intelligence...But Alfie? Alfie was something else. Something much above him, no much smarter, so much better at scheming...And at everything, really. And she was attracted by him like moths to the light.

Back and forth talks, interesting insights on life, learning words in foreign languages that she didn’t know, but he did, and likewise, teaching her foreign stuff, talking to him about books and many other things...

And it was weird, but it almost seemed like she didn’t want to leave that place any time soon, but Thomas needed her for business, so what could she do, really?

And she agreed...And agreed...And agreed...

Until one day, when all things went completely upside down and...Sure, she did her job, and she was supposed to return to Alfie’s to have a chat with him and Tommy... And she did...

As soon as she stepped inside the “Bakery”, she saw Ollie, whose eyes widened in shock seeing her in that state.

“Miss Shelby, what happened?! Let me call the physician-...I’ll go inform Alfie-...” Ollie stumbled over his words, only to have her grab his sleeve and pull him back. “Don’t tell them I’m here. With the way I look, better make it a surprise. Tommy’s here, right?” she asked, slamming the doors open, walking inside, the clicks of her small heeled boots resounding all over the place. “B-But Miss Shelby, we have to treat you - “ Y/N simply shot him a glare, before continuing in a straight line. “Ain’t a Shelby anymore.” she muttered, and soon, she reached the middle of the wide business room, as Alfie was sitting at his desk and Tommy was pacing. “Y/N...Finally, you’ve arrived. What happened to you?!” Thomas asked, rushing to her side, only for her to push him away. “You lied to me, Thomas. You lied to me. You promised I wouldn’t get hurt. That you were gonna make sure they wouldn’t touch me. That I was gonna come back perfectly unharmed, not even a strand of hair touched. Only business talks. How do you think that went?” the girl looked down, her hands deep in her bloodied, yet incredibly fancy and silhouette-fitting high-waisted pants. “What exactly happened with the Sabini meeting, Y/N? And why are you covered in blood?!” he asked, frowning. “It’s fine, not ALL of it is MY blood, thanks for worrying, THOMAS!” but as she rasped out his name, she started coughing up some blood, and as her side started burning in pain, she lifted her already disheveled shirt, applying pressure with her hand where she got shot to keep herself from bleeding out. “Well...This one is.” she used her sleeve to wipe her face, completely non-chalant. “Y/N...Tell me what happened...Please...” Thomas’s voice went lower, almost as a soothing whisper, but it was quickly obliterated by Y/N’s exaggerated, yet pained laugh. “I got beaten up, raped and shot by Sabini and his men. That’s what happened, Thomas. No business talk, just abuse. You promised nothing will happen to me...But, oh, damn, remember that you told Lizzie the same too, and she, that fucker raped her at the Derby too, when you were too busy fucking around with two other women? Oh, wait...Is it because I’m a woman? Because, the way I see it, all women that you have in your life get abused somehow...By you. Grace died because of you. Ada left the city because of you. May got hurt because of you. Esme hates you...There’s also the Duchess, but she very much outsmarted you, so she’s safe and...Still a noble woman. And don’t even get me started on Polly...Poor woman...Having to endure living in the same world as you. For the amount of time you spend fucking women, one would think you’d be more considerate of them.” her beautiful eyes were sharp and hateful, throwing daggers at the man in front of her as she continued to pace around, her tongue speaking the poison that very much tainted her heart over the past many years of her life. “...Y/N. I know you’re in pain, and that I’ve hurt you. I know. You are right, I agree. I’m aware. But it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have known, and-” as he continued, the girl calmly approached him, and as soon as she was right in front of him, she back-slapped him, thanking her classy mind for wearing lots of rings that day. As she laughed at the way the wounds showed up on one side of his face, she followed by slapping him on the other side, much harder than before. “Shut the fuck up, Thomas Shelby. Don’t speak to me. Don’t get close to me. I am not a Shelby anymore, so you can fuck off...Do you see who you’re doing business with, Alfie? A guy who can’t even protect his family! He got all of us arrested and almost hanged, made Ada go away, made Polly go insane, had Arthur beaten up, me as well, and guess what, Michael got shot and JOHN GOT KILLED! BECAUSE OF YOU, THOMAS! Grace died because of YOU! And your child got kidnapped and almost died BECAUSE! OF! YOU!” with each sentence, she punched him, hit him, kicked him, smashed him head with her knee, then on the wall, then ended by stomping her boot on his stomach...And walked away, as calmly as if never happened. “And...This is not my blood.” “Well, lass, gotta say, yeah, you ain’t as much of an angel as I thought, eh. Or, maybe now more than ever, you’re the angel I thought you were.” Alfie watched from behind the desk, completely relaxed, analysing the show in front of him, and yet, his brain was running a thousand miles per second, thinking of millions of things. “D’you have a free spot here, Alfie? No guns and death and all that. Maybe...Someone to patch up your boys. I don’t know. Hell, I’ll even accept being your secretary or...Flower girl. Cook. Tea girl. I can walk Cyril...I don’t know, anything you want, just get me the hell out of this Shelby hell.” she turned around to look at him, using her other sleeve to clean her face, using the water from her tears. “Heard that, Thomas Shelby? Your sister’s deserted you, and for a good reason, eh. You can leave now, there’s other times to do business, right.” Alfie spoke, getting up and stepping towards her. “This isn’t over, Y/N. We’ll talk again. You’re a valuable part of the family, and you’re coming back, sooner than later.” Thomas went get get out of the building, only for the girl to quickly take out the gun from her jacket and cock it, pointing it at the man. “Fuck off and go to hell, Thomas.” she pulled the trigger... “Stop it, lass, don’t do it! You’re gonna regret it!” Alfie sprung out, holding one of his arms around her body, while his other hand went to her gun, making her shoot a wall instead of a living being, letting the man get out of there, still alive, somehow. “Damn it, Alfie! Why’d you do that! It’s 2 for 0, damn it! I’m fed up with taking bullets to save that guy, while all he does is sit comfortably behind his desk, damn it! I’m not a fucking rag doll that can be tossed in the trash!” she cried, trying to struggle out of his grasp, but the wounds were hurting her too much, so her strength gave out faster and she stood limp in his arms, trembling softly. “S’okay now, lass, yeah. I’ll bring ya to Cyril and we can...Uh...Drink that tea you like, right. Forget that guy, let’s get ya treated, right. Get that bullet out of ya. And sure, y’can be my physician, I know you were a great one in war, yeah.” the Jew gently took out the gun from her hand, throwing it to the ground for Ollie to take later, an he picked her up with much, bringing her to the medic’s room. “I need vodka, cigarettes, and if I’m brave enough some Tokyo...Snow...Whatever you call it.” she groaned as soon as she was place on the bed, as the gangster frowned in confusion at her. “I thought you didn’t do vices.” he sat on the opposite bed, watching her intently. “Woaw, I lied to you and everyone else in the world. I do drink and I do smoke and I did date before...Just...Not when people were seeing me. People think you’re an angel, they will hopefully leave you the hell alone. Difficult being a woman these days, as you can see. Everybody’s treating you like a piece of garbage. And bring me that vodka, I need to have the room spinning before I take out the bullet...And vodka’s the best disinfectant. The hospital stuff is washed up and diluted a lot of times.” she gave him a sarcastic half-smile, taking the cigarette he just lit up and puffed on it. “Only whiskey and rum, if you want, yeah. You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not around here, lass. Just do what you want, nobody’s gonna say a thing, right, and if they do, you know how to use a gun, so shoot their brains, eh, show them all who’s in charge.” he got up, bringing her what she requested, watching attentively as she let her head back, poofing smoke into the air. “Thanks, Alfie. Come back in an hour. I don’t need witnesses of my misery. You know better than everyone, Captain Solomons, that taking out a bullet gets messy.” she pointed the cigarette at him, smirking miserably at him, knowing very well that she wasn’t mentally ready for the procedure. “Well, lass, if you’re very sure, you don’t need help, right, then I’ll be waiting outside.” the Jew patted her head, leaving the room, letting behind only a graveyard silence, that for some reason, creeped the girl out big time. “...Let’s fuck shit up, then...” she muttered to herself, letting the ashes of the cigarette fall pitifully on the bed, as she took a deep breath and violently slammed her hand over the medical tools.

She’s always been a very careful and precise person, and whenever she did this on someone else, she would have people keep the victim down, so she could rummage through their bodies with relative ease, especially after they got shit faced drunk...And maybe with some anaesthesis... But this is the worst. Just like back then, during the war...

Letting a few tears of anticipation fall down her face, she cut a bit deeper into her body, to allow her fingers, previously washed with alcohol, she whimpered and squealed as she searched around for the bullet - It was no easy feat for, but it had to be done, no matter the searing pain -.

It felt like time stopped completely before the extraction of the stupid lead thing, she held it in her hand, watching its taunting gleam glaring back into her eyes, then watched with horror that stupid bottle of whiskey, and with her last strength, she snatched it and putting her pillow over her face to keep the shrieking from leaving the room, and gritting her teeth, she let the alcohol pour out from the bottle, wailing loudly, and yet, hoping nobody would hear her.

She was still sobbing in the pillow, the fire-like pain, electrifying the surging, diffuse pain throughout her whole torso, and she laid there, throwing away that pillow as soon as the door was opened again, and adjusting her head, she noticed Solomons walking in the room, a basket dangling from his arms.

“What’cha got there?” she asked in a weak, whisper-like voice, still trying to recover. “Goodies. Freshly baked cookies. At least something that smells nice in this pigstry, eh.” Alfie’s joking way of speaking seemed to take away her mind, but she smiled apologetically, lifting her hands briefly. “Sorry, too much blood on my hands. Literally and metaphorically speaking.” she explained, only to have Alfie take out one of the cookies and feeding her. “...This...Is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life. Did you make them? Because if you did, you’re like...A Cookie God. Have more?” she asked, managing, with a lot of difficulty, pain and his help, to get in a sitting position. “Well, I’ve never been called a God, right, but it ain’t that bad, yeah. Here you go, one more. I’ll ask a maid to draw a bath for you, yeah, I doubt you wanna stay all bloody the whole day, eh.” he helped her eat another cookie, and weirdly enough, despite all the blood on her face, her small smile was oddly charming. “...Y’know...If you ever want to retire from this gangster bullshit...You could settle down and...Just bake for a living...No, rather, a hobby. I’m sure you have enough money for a life time, so might as well just rest and take it easy. Move away from here...Maybe another country...Or another city, at least...And just...Y’know...Be happy. You could do that...And be rid of stupid Italians and Americans and all these jerks.” Y/N spoke, more or less not directly to him, but in a way, she was projecting her own hopes and dreams. “Margate.” Alfie muttered, sitting down in front of her. “Margate?” she furrowed her brows in confusion, leaning forward a bit. “Aye. By the seaside. The sand is really soft, they say, and the waves are nice, yeah. Very calm town.” he continued, which made her gasp softly in realisation. “You...You DID think about retirement! It means you’re really kinda fed up with this...This mess. I like where this is going.” she smiled softly at him, nodding in agreement. “I think you’re making the right choice, if it makes for anything.” “Y’know, lass, you’re not wrong. We do need a vacation, yeah, and a very long one at that, right. Now, how ‘bout we talk about what you need, right, for this medical thing. You’re a sensible woman, yeah, so, I trust you more with the details and organising.” he pointed, and thus, they started chatting idly about the medical issues, and even more, about life in general - Books, the pictures, concerts, travelling and things...Leisure things, just simple things that she never had the privilege to talk about, and she had no idea she wanted, nor needed.

Many weeks passed and things were unusually calm for her, and for the first time in her life, she felt...Happy. She enjoyed being around Alfie, working with him without being involved in all the killing, and she absolutely loved baking things together, and he was so charismatic and charming, always giving witty remarks that amused her and made her laugh...

It was the perfect life she always dreamt of having, and he even asked if she wanted to go to a jazz pub with him, and...She got to dress up, and do her make up and do her hair, wear pretty, expensive jewellery, and a damn fine dress to show off her gorgeous silhouette, and high heels to match...And she walked next to him, her arm hooked to his, as they enjoyed the beautiful jazz music and each other’s presence.

It was a blissful dream, and she swore that if anyone dared wake her up, she was gonna kill them, and it won’t be quick, nor painless.

“Y’know, Alfie...You’re the best man I’ve ever met in my life. And that says a lot, considering how many men I had the misfortune of meeting...Including my family.” she raised her champagne glass slightly to clink with his. “Maybe you haven’t met the right men, dear, yeah, y’know, and men in Birmingham are fucking shit anyway. Camden’s better, yeah.” the man chuckled mirthfully, leaning back on his chair. “You...Mentioned Margate once. How are things going on with that?” Y/N asked, smiling at him softly. “Well, lass, y’know, yeah, things are...Things are fine. But, uh...You see...The doctor said I’m sick. They aren’t really sure yet what’s wrong with me, alright, but they said the results should be given pretty soon, yeah.” he admitted after a few seconds of consideration, which made the girl gasp in shock, moving her chair to look at him better taking his hands in hers and leaning forward. “What did they say about it? Did they take blood sampled? Wanna do blood work? Or...Biochemistry tests? Or something more complex?” Y/N bit her lip, looking concerned like never before. “Don’t worry, lass, even if I die, yeah, I’ll still make sure you get paid for your hard work, alright?” the man tried to brush it off, but the indignant look on her face made him chuckle. “I’m gonna kill you if you imply something like that again. I don’t need your money, I just want you to be healthy and alright, got it? Now come on, tell me, what do they suspect. Also, where is your doctor’s clinic, and when will your results arrive.” she pressed on, waiting for an answer. “Come on, don’t be so serious, yeah, enjoy the show, it’s not every night we get to have fun, right?” Alfie, again, tried to play it off as nothing important, but the look on her face made him sigh and nod, giving in. “They think’s cancer, right. I got a tumour, they’re checking if it’s...Uh...Cancer or not. right. Doctor’s around here in Camden, results come out sometime in a week or two, that enough?” he rolled his eyes, and yet, he was grateful for her worrying. “...I guess. If I knew, I would have done the lab work myself, but, you know...If anything, I can do the procedure myself... Or maybe I should hold your hand and make sure you’re not scared. They have to do general anaesthesia, cut you open and all that...It won’t be fun.” she looked down a bit, before smiling encouragingly at him. “Y/N. I’m a big boy now, right, I’ll be fine, no need to worry about me, yeah, you just...You be okay, and relax, and-...And before long, we’ll go to Margate together.” he continued, trying to calm her down, without realising at first of the commitment, until he noticed the excited gleam in her eyes. “Alfie...? Are you...Are you sure...? Margate is the place you want to go to...Why would you...Me...?” she muttered, almost unsure of how to react. “Let’s go home, eh. I want to make you some nice tea, yeah, and some cookies. I have to tell ya something, and I’d rather it not be out.”

Alfie squeezed her hands, helping her get up, and the walk home was filled with anticipation and a comfortable silence that wanted to rip out the answers out of his throat.

He let her dress in more comfortable clothes, and so he did, then went down to prepare some nice and warm tea, with the biscuits he baked that day, and went to her room.

“Do you like me, Alfie?” she asked in a shushed voice, not daring to raise her head to look at him. “What’s not to like, lass? You’re smart and witty, and for some reason, you find me funny, and look at ya, you’re gorgeous, right. So if I say, yeah, I want you to come to Margate with me, I mean it. You just have to agree, aye. Get away from this and rest. God knows we need this.” he had a sweet smile on his face - A smile that quickly faltered when he saw stray tears falling down her face, and he started worrying. “Why...In the world...Would someone as amazing as you...Like me? Alfie, you’re...You’re amazing, and me, I’m...I’m the worst. I can’t let go of the past, and I’ve got like...This...This devil inside me...This Shelby devil that keeps whispering in my ear, saying that I’ll never be happy, and that I’ll...I’ll kill again, and I’ll be dragged back to that slum and...And all that happiness will just shatter and...And I don’t deserve you.” she looked down, hoping her long her would hide her face, but next thing she knows, she got brought into a tight embrace, and he stroked her hair, his chin on top of her head, waiting for her to calm down, and yet, he could feel her trembling softly. “Don’t say things like that, yeah, that’s not true. You’re with me, not with them anymore, right, so, then, you’re going back. I won’t let them take you back, if you don’t want to, aye. No need to cry, right, I’ll protect you from anyone who dares try to take you away, eh, even if it’s Tommy Shelby himself, so no need to cry, yeah, Y/N?” he spoke, only to feel her cling even tighter to the back of his shirt. “I...I’ve...I’ve never felt like this before, Alfie. You make me feel so warm...And safe...And happy...I’ve been hold before, but all I felt was repulsion and fright...I was panicked and I wanted to run away...But this...This never happened. And I think I love you, Alfie. Don’t let go of me, please.” her voice was barely audible, but Alfie could feel the raw emotions, so he laid down with her on the bed, holding her dearly. “It will be fine, Y/N, okay. None of these worries will come to you again when in Margate. You and I will be happy, away from here, yeah, so, know that I love you, and let’s wait just a bit more, so we can get rid of this Changretta mess, and we’re leaving, eh.”

And it was true - From that night on, they slept in the same room, holding each other dearly, reassured that the next day, things will still be as good as the previous night. One morning, however, Alfie woke up without her in his arms, and he panicked, thinking the worst - Poor Ollie thought he was going to get killed - But it was all fine, as she returned with the biggest grin on her face, jumping in Alfie’s arms, not allowing him the chance to say a word, only shocking him. And she held his hands and dragged him to his room, getting him to sit on the bed, and at first, she wanted to make tea, but then she shook her head and brought a bottle of the best whiskey, poured it in the glasses and had him drink.

“Damn it, lassie, don’t fucking scare me like that, yeah, like, at least tell me in advance if you’re gonna leave, okay, I thought those fuckers got ya for good. What the hell was the urgency?” he asked, drinking the glass in one go before looking at her. “I...Well...Haha, sorry ‘bout that, I’m just...I’m sure super happy. So, as you know, today the doctors had to mail you the test results, so, you know, I seem to have been a bit too eager to find out, so I since there were no trains, I walked all the way to your doctor, told him this and that, then got the first train back, and here I am. Oh, and, obviously, I’m super happy ‘cause like, I couldn’t keep myself - Sorry ‘bout that, by the way - So I ripped the envelope and looked at the results. And, uh, yeah, so, I’m happy ‘cause - Look ! - No cancer! You’re completely, 100% cancer free! And, like, the tumor completely benign, no invasiveness, no metastasis, so this is completely curable by surgical removal, and it won’t affect your life span, nor will it, in any way, alter your health. Et, voila, here we are! Go on, drink, cheer, be happy, I know I am!” she laughed gleefully, watching the shocked spark in Alfie’s eyes as he took out his glasses to read over the annoyingly complicated medical stuff, but he was a smart guy, and he understood everything there is to it. “You’re the best, shiksa. You say things are gonna turn out bad, but here, look, they aren’t, and hey won’t right, ‘cause clearly, there’s something up there, alright, that’s looking out for us, and it ain’t only me making sure you’re fine. I’m happy, Y/N, and in less than a month, aye, we’re fucking away from here. Just the two of us...And Ollie as a butler, if ya want. And we can get as many dogs as you want. We can do whatever we want, really.” he hugged her tightly, cupping her face and kissing her tenderly.

It all went sweet and soft at first, and it got hotter and hotter, with much more passion than before, and one thing led to another, and their first night of overflowing love gave hope for a better future, one that will ensure their happiness and that won’t involve them in this stupid gangster war anymore.

Just him, her and Cyril, maybe Ollie too, at the side...What better life to have than this?

But just one week before they had to leave, as they were still preparing for their grand exit, Y/N was walking towards the clinic room to check on the few patients she had left, only to notice the glint of guns, and she did a turn around, looking for Alfie, and yet, Ollie stopped her in her tracks as soon as she saw her, rushing to hide her from the people who were, apparently, having a meeting with Alfie.

“Ollie, it’s an emergency. Life or death, I promise. I NEED to speak to him. Who is he having a meeting with?” she asked, holding her clipboard close to her chest, looking left and right carefully. “With the Sabinis. Now, come on, Y/N, whatever it is, can wait. I’m sure you can wait a bit with Cyril. Please.” Ollie pleaded with her, but she only started writing rapidly on her clipboard, letting the first two pages filled with obvious, typewriter-written pages about standard medical procedures. “I’m sorry, Ollie, but this is bigger than even Sabini. Come with me and NEVER leave Alfie alone with those sharks, got it?” she gave him a sharp look before rushing to the usual place Alfie had business meetings, and as she completely ignored the villains, she slammed the clipboard on his desk, giving him a look. “Very important medical business thing, I need your signature after you read through these.” as he was so much taller than her, she only needed to bend a bit to talk into his ear, carefully flipping the first two pages, only to reveal big, messy writing.

ENEMIES WITH GUNS IN THE MEDICAL WARD POINTED TO THE BOYS DON’T TRUST THEM

Alfie gave her a look, knowing shit went bad, he nodded slightly, getting a pen and, as his signature, he wrote “TELL OLLIE”, and ushered her to leave. And so she did, and Ollie went to alert the other guys so they could ambush the enemies in the medical ward, all while cursing herself and preparing guns, hidden in her long trench coat, then returned to stay by Alfie’s side, her hands placed on his shoulders reassuringly.

“Mr. Solomons, I see the little song bird likes flying around to every powerful gangster family. Wonder if she’ll go to the Changrettas when she’s done with you.” the Sabini leader smirked at her, and Alfie could feel her nails digging into his flesh, and not even the good way this time. “Listen, listen, Mr. Sabini,eh. You come here, begging me for fucking favours, right, and then, you dare fucking speak ill of my partner, yeah? So, where is the fucking time where you, like, do something to make me want to do that fucking favour of yours, if the only fucking thing you make me want to do is to fucking grant you the favour of putting you out of this miserable fucking life, right?” there was no clearer indicator that Alfie was angry than when he cursed like his beard was on fire, and true, YN found it very weird, considering how sweet and gentle he’s always been with her, but she could feel the protective aura he gave off, and she never felt safer than now. “Aye, aye, Alfie, don’t overreact, please, it was just a merely innocent joke! Lighten up, let’s discuss business. We teamed up with Luca Changretta, we can give you money and exposure. We can sell your rum and weapons all over Europe, especially France and Italy, and that means, in the long run, a ton of money. I’m sure you’ll agree with me, won’t you?” Sabini spoke, and from the corner of her eye, she could see one of the men taking out a gun from the back of his pants. “Mr. Sabini, I will have to ask you, as Mr. Solomons’s secretary, not to take out any weapons, otherwise our men will shoot all of you, with no discrimination.” Y/N threatened in a low voice, taking her hands from Alfie’s shoulders, and crossed her arms to her chest, ready to draw her weapons at any second. “It’s alright, Y/N, right, I don’t think Mr. Sabini is fucking stupid enough to dare a shoot out in my own fucking warehouse, eh.” Alfie warned the Italian gangster, snapping his fingers for Ollie to come by. “Vaffanculo...Che stronza! No, fine, fine, we’re all calm, all good, right? We can have a business deal and leave this place happy, both parts, right?” Sabini spoke, using his hands to gesture everyone to calm down. “Stick that deal up your ass.” Alfie cursed Sabini in perfect Italian, making Sabini straighten up, almost as if he got sobered by a hammer to his head, and without a second to wait, some of the lackeys drew their guns.

But they were too late, for Y/N already had both guns out and killed most of them, starting with Sabini himself, and Ollie’s boys helped up just enough to have the Red Sea at their feet.

Once all the enemies were laying dead on the cold, wet ground, Y/N sighed, throwing the guns to the ground, sighing and staring at the carnage with the eyes of a dead fish.

Alfie nodded to himself, pissed off at the mess that just had to happen, a week before they were going to sail to a better place, without either of them having to bloody their hands anymore, just like now.

“Well, Ollie’s got them all, so we’re good now. The sooner we finish the preparations, the better. Let’s hope Changretta the Bitch gets blown up...I should go check on Cyril, I’m sure he got scared by the gunshots.” Y/N sighed, patting him on the shoulder before turning on her heels to leave, and yet, Alfie motioned to Ollie to clear the mess, and then followed her back to their room, watching her cuddle with the beautiful dog. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Alfie asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching to stroke her hair, only for Cyril to reach to get his head pet instead. “Aw, Cyril...You’re the cutest baby ever. And...I will be, Alfie. I will be. Soon...Once we leave, I will be. Until then, I’m happy spending my time with you and Cyril. It relaxes me...And it makes me happy. WE are happy.” she reached out her hand, holding his, intertwining their fingers together and leading him to lay on his side, with the dog between them, like they were a family. “Well, darling, it’s just a few days longer, and we’re out of here, right. And we’ll be a family, like you want, and by the shore, there’re no more gunshots, right, so, we can learn how to swim, and we can mess with this slobbery bastard, and I can teach you how to bake other things. I heard the waves and the salty air help you sleep better. Ain’t that just fucking perfect, eh?” Alfie gave her a sweet smile, and laid there, with her, relaxing. “Sounds amazing, Alfie. I can’t wait for Margate, then. Just you, and me, and Cyril...And maybe Ollie too, y’know, that guy makes the best tea, ain’t gonna lie.” she giggled, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Aye, it’s gonna be great. And, we can travel wherever you want, whenever you want. Any country, any city, any date. You pick, we go. Sounds good?” Alfie asked, smiling tenderly at her excitement, happy that she wasn’t stuck on the previous blood bath. “Yeah, it sounds perfect. As long as we’re together, everything is better.”

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #ada shelby #polly shelby #elizabeth gray #michael gray #finn shelby

155 notes · View notes

snickiebear · 3 years

Text

for @nosebleedclub's 30 minute writing session. a special thank you to @smidgen-of-hotboy for allowing me to briefly borrow her character (Haneul) for more gay shenanigans

death stares me in the face, and oh is he handsome

Elijah finds the violin on the bed, their bed.

It is made, the bed, carefully and meticulously because after five years of war, Eli has learned to treasure the small things. After five years of war and sleeping on dirt and not getting sleep at all, a bed is both a comfort and a curse.

But the violin, Haneul’s violin, lays on Eli’s side of the bed. A note is stuck between the strings and it simply sits there.

The violin is on the bed and it reminds Elijah of a sacrifice.

Slowly, he moves to pick up the note, holding it with steady hands. Haneul’s curving and scratchy handwriting greets him, the words like a blow. Sorry for all the trouble. I'm sure Ruth will make good money to pay you back if you find the right trader.

When he left this morning to attend to business as usual, Ha had kissed him, as he always does. But Eli should have know, should have looked closer at the look in Haneul’s face. He didn’t and now he is left with a violin and a note.

(Something deep, something dark within him opens its eye. The creature is scaled, sharp, wicked, and mean. It thirsts for blood, that creature, longs for it.)

The door slams open as Sarah and Joey jump, both smoking near the fireplace. “I want everyone looking for Haneul.” It is an order from a commanding officer to his soldiers.

Joey straightens immediately, eyes widening. “What happened?”

“Why should we?” Sarah challenges, teeth flashing with menace. “He is nothing but a traitor, Elijah. Do you not remember? Your heart has been shattered by that rat of a bastard before, eh?”

Elijah draws his gun and levels it at his sister’s head, her knife flashes in the fire light. She is fast enough to dodge a bullet, he is strong enough to endure a knife.

“You will look for Haneul because that is what I fucking told you to do.” Elijah says lowly, cocking the gun as he takes a step forward.

Joey watches, brows furrowed and fists clenching. “Rah,” He murmurs, “Rah, let it go.”

“When he stabs you in the back again,” Sarah flips the knife in her hand, tucking it back between her breasts. “I hope it hits your spine.”

Eli uncocks his gun, shoving it back into his chest holster, scowling. “Do as you’re told, Sarah.”

Joey tugs Sarah out of the house, muttering under his breath while Sarah hisses something back. “Sarah, if you kill him, I will starve you for everyone to see.” He calls over his shoulder, glare piercing and cold.

His sister stares him down until Joey yanks her out of sight, leaving Elijah to run his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands. Haneul went to kill Sang, that had been his goal when he came back, begging on his doorstep.

Eli lights a cigarette and takes a long, long drag, letting the smoke to settle in his lungs as his eyes fall shut. Time passes, seconds, minutes, hours; Elijah does not know. But, his eyes snap back open and he half runs half strides out of his living room.

Haneul went to kill Sang and left Ruth. Haneul does not expect to be back.

“Charlie,” He yells, swinging into the gmableing den, his secretary and former whore jumping from her seat. “Charlie, what was the address, the one from yesterday?”

She rattles off the street name and number, blinking widely. “Everything okay Eli?”

“No,” He says, grabbing another gun. “Nothing is ever okay, Charlie.”

A five minute drink of weaving in and out of traffic, avoiding pedreations and children, Elijah parks the automobile in the street when he smells the blood.

In the slums, it is a common smell, blood and piss and decay. But this is fresh blood, meaning someone is dead.

Elijah has seen men die in countless ways, he has seen things that no one could ever imagine. The horrors of humanity. War kills the innocent and innocence. Elijah is not the exception.

He tries the doorknob, finding it locked but he is Elijah fucking Lee, so he shoots the doorknob and kicks in the door with a grunt, heart racing.

There is so much blood, too much blood. He walks slowly, breathing in the smell until he finds her. Sang, in all her horrible glory, lays on the ground in a pool of her own blood. Dead.

Elijah’s heart, the broken thing, swoops with such relief that for a moment he forgets that Haneul is still not accounted for.

The phone shrills loudly in the living room and Elijah runs to get it, “Yes?”

“Eli.” Sarah snaps. “We have him, he’s in fucked up shape right now. Is the bitch dead?”

His grip on the phone turns white knuckled, “Shot in the head.”

A rough laugh, “At least your traitor is good for something. You better hurry, the doc’s are giving him fifty fifty.”

She hangs up the phone and Elijah is left with silence and a dead body. This is not the first time, this will not be the last.

He doesn’t bother closing the door on his way out, General Sang’s body is not the only one that will be found tonight, she is among the many countless dead that the slums produce.

The hospital smells as it always has; of death and sickly medicine. Back in the war, soldiers would rather shoot themselves than be sent to the nurse and doctor’s hands.

“Tainted,” said a man with had spent half a day holding his guts in. “I don’t want their bloodied hands near me.”

Elijah had taken that to heart. But for Haneul, for Haneul he would endure. As he always has.

Sarah sits at Ha’s bedside, gun in hand and newspaper in the other. “He shot her in the head, huh?”

“Just as he said he would.”

“He carved the name Lee into his chest, Elijah.” Sarah sets the newspaper down.

Eli shrugs off his coat, then his jacket, going to sit on Ha’s bed, taking his hand into his own. Pale, too pale, and cold, too cold. He kisses Haneul’s knuckles one by one. “To prove his loyalty.”

#smudged ink/chicken scratch #not edited nor read over #:)#and not finished

19 notes · View notes

simonsrosebud · 3 years

Note

Dalton + the foxes spring break trip

this was one of the first prompts sent for kalton and i’m SO SORRY that it took me this long, anon!! almost a month, now!! okay that’s not really that long but still, i kept saying i’d have it and NOW I FINALLY DO!!! (and she long too)

dalton’s sitting in the lounge while kevin gets his spring physical when allison comes through the room. she backtracks when she sees him, and sits on the arm of his chair.

“getting excited for spring break?” she shrugs her one shoulder at him.

dalton shrugs. it might be nice seeing the girls. “sure, might go home for the week.”

allison frowns. she leans away from him and grabs his shoulder. “you’re not coming to florida with us?” and looks the other way when kevin comes out of abby’s room. “did you not invite dalton to florida?”

kevin stops. fuck. “i was going to.”

dalton starts to smile. “he definitely wasn’t.”

allison looks between the two of them and stands. “okay, well, if this causes drama please call me over? i’d hate to miss it.” she sends a wink dalton’s way and heads into abby’s room for her spring physical.

dalton stands and grabs kevin’s hand to lead him back out to the car. “i don’t care that if you don’t invite me, kev. me hanging with your friends makes you nervous, but keep in mind that andrew approves of me? remember the date to the zoo? i know he’s who you’re actually worried about.”

kevin knows this. god, he knows. he remembers their double date to the zoo with andrew and neil- as awful as it was because animals make him nervous. but it was obvious that andrew approved after he talked to dalton after the winter banquet, and neither were harmed or fazed.

kevin’s still trying to get the scoop on that.

but he still can’t promise the foxes will behave, and a week with them without a way to get out? scary. it’s not like they’d be able to just go to dalton’s.

plus, the night they got him wasted and spilled some of kevin’s secrets still haunts him.

“i’ll think about it.”

two days later, kevin stops by dalton’s classroom before they start. “you can come, but i’m not letting you do shit just to please my friends. they’re assholes and we both know it.” that’s fair. kevin lowers his voice. ”if they cross a line and you don’t call them out on it then they’ll keep going, and you won’t be having sex for the rest of the month, and i find you won’t like it. got it?”

dalton’s smiling. kevin’s 100% serious, and dalton knows he won’t hesitate to hold up his bargain, but he doesn’t care. it’s wickedly entertaining regardless. “yes sir.”

kevin nods, and goes to leave. halfway out of the room he turns. dalton’s students always watch him like hawks, but he’s used to it by now. “i’m serious, miller.”

the house is bigger than their first spring break house. it’s beach front, and if they have neighbors within a mile then kevin surely can’t see them.

he and dalton get one of the two bedrooms on the top floor. it’s them, and allison in the room beside them.

the first day they’re there, after everyone’s settled, the drinks immediately start flowing. dalton starts to get more clingy, and at one point they disappear for two hours.

when they come back, changed and showered, dalton sits on the sofa tucked into kevin’s side. allison points a drunken finger at dalton. “i’d ask you why you left, but i could practically hear you guys fucking just going up the stairs!” she sticks a finger to her mouth to fake gag.

kevin’s not one to talk about his sex life with this crew. and dalton knows this, but kevin can see a snarky remark brewing in his head anyway, so kevin decides he can indulge his boyfriend this once. “just because you’re not getting dick doesn’t mean i can’t.”

nicky chokes on his drink. “no way is kevin a bottom!”

a few wads of cash silently get handed to neil while the group reacts to his comment.

matt turns to look at them. “eh, i guess i can see it.”

“me too,” dalton says.

aaron gags. “i’d rather die than continue this conversation.”

the next day is going well until lunchtime when kevin, nicky, andrew, aaron, and himself are in the kitchen. dalton has offered to make the sandwiches for the beach so long as in exchange for not having to drag one of the coolers down onto the sand.

“okay but for real, how do you put up with kevin? we lived with him, but i can’t imagine dating him.”

“the same way i couldn’t imagine dating you, but erik can.”

aaron steals a piece of cheese from the pack. “i’d pay someone to kill me.”

“you guys realize he’s sitting right here?” dalton glances to kevin sitting at a stool to the island. he looks unbothered.

nicky shrugs. “yeah, but he’s used to us teasing him.”

“cause he knows he’s an asshole.”

“does he get pissy when you try to talk about anything other than exy?”

“he was an uptight dick when he first stopped drinking. how does it feel to date an alcoholic? kevin, how does a vodka sound?” andrew raises a brow. dalton notices kevin stiffen just a bit. that one stung a little.

dalton clenches his hand on the knife and stops what he’s doing to look at andrew. “you remember our talk, andrew.” andrew stops. “don’t talk to him or me like that ever again. i don’t cross your lines, don’t cross mine,” he says. “yes or no?”

andrew is still for a solid minute. dalton knows he respects him just enough to stop when he says no. dalton has proved himself, and andrew knows he isn’t intimidated by him. kevin doesn’t even have that from andrew yet.

plus, dalton learned pretty quick how to speak his language.

which is why dalton waits for the nod he knows will come. “i’ll indulge.” and leaves the kitchen.

when he does he looks to the other two. “tease me all you want, i’ve got tough skin, but insult my boyfriend or my relationship to my face again and we’re going to have real problems.” he continues making the last sandwich of the bunch, his own. “after all, aaron, i’m sure you don’t like it when the foxes all question why on earth katelyn would a simple minded seemingly homophobic dick when there are plenty guys on the football team that would kill for a chance with a cheerleader.” he shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich.

nicky looked guilty before, but after that he tries holding in a shit eating grin as aaron storms away. when neil comes in a moment later confused, he asks, “why’s he pissed?”

“dalton came at his neck.”

neil, a little alarmed, takes a step away from dalton.

“that means he called him the fuck out on his bs, neil.”

oh.

“for what?”

dalton doesn’t care to stay for the rest of it. he’s finished making sandwiches, and kevin looks smug where he’s sat.

“do good enough to keep sex for the month?” dalton whispers and kevin tries not to laugh. instead he takes dalton’s hand and leads him to their bedroom.

the next incident comes from the water balloons that dalton had brought. no one notices they’ve disappeared until andrew comes through the house with a straight face and a bucket full of them.

he stands on the balcony that afternoon, pelting whoever went out on the deck with balloons. and when dalton comes out with a few of his own he throws them right back.

but then neil comes out with more of his own, and matt joins neil’s side with a water gun.

dalton’s face falls. “oh- oh this was not supposed to happen.”

as the attack starts, he tries to get back inside, but kevin is standing on the other side of the sliding door with a cocky grin, waving at him.

and the door’s locked.

“kevin!”

kevin cocks his head. “i can’t hear you, d!”

dalton gawks, but then gasps when a bucket of ice water is dropped over him. he looks up at neil leaning over the deck railing and laughing his ass off. it’s a good thing he considers neil a friend.

kevin opens the door. “sorry, i think the door must have been locked.”

dalton glares, and chases kevin soaking wet through the house. when he grabs him by the thighs he lifts and throws him over his shoulder.

“put me down or i- dalton don’t you dare throw me in the pool!” he shouts when dalton runs out the door again. and kevin shouts and grips onto dalton’s shirt as he jumps into the pool with kevin over his shoulder.

when they come back up kevin gasps and latches onto dalton.

“kev, i can’t carry us both!” dalton jokes, kicking his legs to stay afloat.

kevin tries not to show his panic for a second. he can’t touch the bottom. “oh my god.” his arms tighten around dalton’s neck, “i never learned how to swim,” he whispers.

dalton swims to where kevin can hold on to the ledge. they’re both in their clothes, kevin even has socks on.

“you can’t swim?”

kevin shrugs and pulls himself out to sit on the concrete. he peels his socks off, then his shirt. dalton takes his shirt off, but he’s wearing swim trunks so he stays in.

“we never had the luxury of going to a pool or beach, i’ve only been to the beach a few times since i’ve come to south carolina. i never go deep enough that i can’t touch.”

dalton holds a hand over his forehead to block the sun from his view. kevin kind of looks like a god, backlit like this.

or an angel.

anyway…

“do you want me to teach you?”

kevin scowls a little bit, more to himself. “don’t need to give them another reason to come at me.”

dalton nods. he gets it, the foxes are a tough crew and kevin doesn’t always tell them when they’ve hit a nerve. he just gives a “fuck you” and insults them back instead of telling them that he doesn’t like when they do ______.

to each their own.

but that night, dalton tells kevin to put his swim trunks on and meet him outside. he’s in the pool when kevin opens the door. “you know it’s like three in the morning, right?”

“you were up anyway.”

“sure, but not to go swimming.” kevin sits on the edge of the pool.

dalton swims to him. “what will it take for you to let me teach you to swim?”

kevin rolls his eyes. he’s not doing this right now. “d, i don’t go swimming. there’s no point, really.”

“what if you’re on a boat and it sinks?”

“life jacket.”

“and if there’s not enough? remember what happened in titanic?”

kevin glares. they sit in silence for a minute, and eventually kevin looks his way again. “what do you want me to do?” he mumbles.

dalton pushes away from the wall. “just swim to me.”

kevin stands. “that’s not really teaching- oh!” andrew rams into kevin to shove him into the pool, and dalton can’t really say he expected that, but it doesn’t surprise him once he registers it. he knew andrew was awake when he passed him earlier.

andrew walked into the living room with a book in his hands, and stopped when he’d seen dalton. “go to bed.”

“i’m waiting for kevin.”

“no fucking on the sofa, i’m not leaving.” he said, and plopped down on the loveseat.

dalton kind of stammered for a second, and stood when kevin texted him back omw.

“i’m, no, we’re just going in the pool.”

andrew already had his book propped open. “he can’t swim.”

“i’m gonna try to teach him.” he’d said, and that was the end of it.

kevin gasps when he comes up from underwater, and on instinct swims to the edge of the pool and pulls himself out. he goes to yell at andrew, but he beats him to it. standing there, dry, andrew wipes a single splash droplet from his bicep. “you can swim.” and leaves.

dalton is grinning when kevin turns back around.

“i-i didn’t, i was already at the edge.”

“you swam like five feet, kev. i think you’re capable of swimming, you’re just scared.”

he is not scared. of water, for christ sake.

when dalton convinces him to get in the pool again, it’s just shallow enough that kevin can stand on his tip toes if he needs. dalton is waiting on the other end. kevin feels like a child. “this is stupid.”

“just do it, and we can go have sex.” and kevin isn’t even in the mood, because he’s still annoyed at andrew, but he’s not a coward anymore, so he ducks underwater and swims to his boyfriend. when he gets close enough, dalton grabs his hands and pulls him the rest of the way.

kevin is smiling, a little.

he feels accomplished. dalton isn’t stupid.

“okay, i didn’t include andrew in that, i promise, but at least we know you do know how to swim.”

and kevin literally has his lips on dalton’s. he doesn’t want to think about andrew. “shut up, please.” and kisses him.

the only people who really get more color from the beach kevin, nicky, dalton, matt, dan, and allison.

neil’s is a special case, because while he gets tan, it’s only his legs, face, and arms to which he gains a wicked farmers tan that everyone teases him about. he doesn’t really care. you can only tell if he lifts his short sleeves, and since he never goes shirtless or wears tank tops, he can hide it.

aaron gets sunburnt, but that doesn’t count.

nicky claims that aaron always gets burnt, and that he’s never seen so much as a single patch of red skin on andrew. only that he gets a little tan, sometimes, in the summer.

andrew decides not to let him be proven right (even though he is) and conceals himself under an umbrella, so no one knows for sure. his armbands stay on, of course, and no one else is allowed to use his shade but neil and renee.

dalton plays football on the beach with matt and goes boogie boarding with neil and dan at one point. and one day he surprises the group by saying that they should go surfing.

“you know how to surf?” kevin flips his sunglasses up to look at his boyfriend clearly. “since when?”

“we used to go on vacation to florida a lot, my grandparents used to have a condo.”

“and you surfed?”

“i mean, i’m no expert.”

kevin doesn’t care. he’s seen surfers in motion. it’s hot. he wants to see dalton out there straddling a surf board.

but no one else knows how to surf, and they don’t feel like learning. “we could go horseback riding like last year?” dan offers.

dalton notices neil grimace. kevin groans into his arm. “what?” he mumbles.

“i don’t trust large animals.” he lifts his head up and points a finger at him. “don’t make a comment. that’s a perfectly valid argument. they’re not to be trusted. imagine if that thing kicked you in the face with a metal hoof?”

“aw, alright, it’s okay baby kevin,” he pets kevin’s head, and jumps up and squeals when kevin lunges. he tries to run, but falls behind tripping in the sand. kevin grabs him from behind and jumps onto his back.

dan turns to the group really quick. “we all like dalton, yes or no, show of hands?” everyone but aaron and andrew raise their hands.

neil looks back at him. “andrew likes him.”

“aaron’s just still pissy that dalton told him to knock off the bs a few days ago. he’s a yes.”

dan nods. matt wraps an arm around her shoulders. “man, i know kevin’s a pain in the ass, but it’s always just been his paranoia and anxiety. the dude’s a little more fucked up than some of us.”

“that’s not necessarily relevant,” aaron says.

“no, i mean.” matt shrugs. “dalton’s good for him. i think he’s helped a lot with that stuff. he’s a good support system for kevin. and a happy kevin is like the happy wife happy life thing, no?”

“you got that right. plus, dalton’s not bad to look at.” aaron kicks nicky’s foot. “i’m allowed to acknowledge when someone’s attractive. don’t tell me you don’t look at megan fox and go hm, she’s not bad to look at.” aaron rolls his eyes.

allison looks out to kevin and dalton in the ocean. they’re standing at almost chest deep, and dalton has one arm draped over kevin’s shoulder, keeping him steady, and the other pushing kevin’s hair from his forehead.

“this week was really fun.”

“i probably would’ve been annoyed at them all week without you here.” dalton raises his eyebrows. “you ground me.”

that makes him smile. “i’m glad.”

kevin kisses him, and he means for it to just be chaste, but he goes in again because he can’t help himself. and because he can.

dalton starts to smile against his lips, and slides a hand to the back of his head, through his wet hair. “love you.”

kevin hums. “i love you,” he mumbles, and when he pulls away he wraps himself around dalton in the water and drops his head on his shoulder. thank god he invited him.

113 notes · View notes

yelenasdog · 4 years

Text

romance and espionage (eggsy unwin x fem reader)

genre: fluff w/ whole lotta angst

summary: who knew names could be such a touchy subject?

words: 2.4k

warnings: literally saying fuck everyother sentence, kissing, golden circle spoilers (is that a thing? idk), mentions of harry’s supposed death, mentions of roxy’s death, guns, and i think thats it.

ok, all my cm moots don’t judge me.

a/n: ight so uhh as i’m posting this i’m finding out taron is an incel so that’s kinda oW but uhh i haven’t seen the secret service, i just rewatched the golden circle the other night and hyperfixated on taron so... uh here’s this LMAO. also! this takes place after the golden circle, and reader took roxy’s spot as lancelot. ok enjoy!!

♔♂♔

“God, Eggsy, would you quiet down?!”

He snarled meanly in a way that could make Bennie and Jet’s metallic forms cower in fear, his thin lips turning into a grimace.

“Don't call me that here. It’s Galahad, and Galahad only.”

The other agent only scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Lancelot’s surroundings were dark, although quite stunning nonetheless. It was clear and starry night sky, perfect for romance, the worst for espionage. The air felt so refreshing on her skin, allowing her to feel free in some way, even just for a moment, which she savoured, as a feeling such as that was rare in her line of work.

Now, if the girl had been with someone other than the annoying, prickish, and (even though it pained her to the highest degree to say it) handsome fellow, she maybe would have tried to have a little fun to pass the time. Maybe fool around a bit, fraternize with a coworker, eh?

But alas, ever the one with amazing luck, she was stuck with him.

Which meant rather than perhaps getting crescent shaped markings on her hips from a quick rondevu under the indigo sky and sparkling stars, so roughly placed to match the moon that hung in it, she was crouching uncomfortably, only wishing that the former scenario was taking place.

Not that she meant with fucking Eggsy, of course.

Well ok, maybe, just a tad.

“Fine, have it your way, Galahad.” She flailed her arms about in a jazz hand motion, making the blondy roll his twinkly eyes in a boyish manner. She fought the urge to grin widely, a warm feeling blooming in her chest, even at his obvious arrogance and upset towards her.

She wanted to blame his feelings towards her on her being a freshmen agent, recruited right after the convergence of Kingsman and Statesman in an effort to rebuild the organization. She had been childhood friends with Roxy, who had long ago tried to get Y/n to join the agency. When faced with her friend’s death, she wanted to honor her wishes, even if this wish was a little, well, extreme.

He only sighed in response to Y/n, tapping the side of his thick rimmed glasses twice.

Y/n’s eyes followed his hands as he did so, enjoying what she was seeing a great amount. She bit her bottom lip subconsciously, losing all focus that was there to begin with.

“Lancelot? Lancelot? For fucks sake, Y/n!”

She snapped her head up, her eyes becoming magnified even further through the faux tortoise shell glasses that Unwin would never admit framed her face wonderfully.

No, not a chance.

He wouldn’t dare even let the thought about how the soft skin of her freckled nose looked even more kissable, her eyes even more full of depth and wonder, or how kind and sweet she looked when she tucked a stray strand of hair away from her face. All because of the damned glasses. Never.

So rather, he settled for pointing over to where the subject of their stakeout was now standing, gun in hand as he conversed with one of his comrades.

But although her body followed his, listening to his directions, most of the information was going in one ear out the other, her brilliant mind occupied by a certain agent and his endeavors.

She was hard in thought, wondering about names of all things. A simple subject, easy to address, you would think. But apparently it was not so, not at all.

You see, Eggsy never had called Y/n by her name. It was always either “Lancelot”, or “Agent”, Y/n only being used for the exception of if he needed to quickly grab her attention.

And on the flip side, she was never allowed to call him anything other than Galahad. Agent was sparse, it put her on very thin ice, close to splitting at any second with no prior notice.

Now obviously, with Y/n being Y/n, she was determined to crack his rough exterior, despite however much he presented himself as “unbreakable”. (His words, not hers.) So, much to his displeasure, she often called out a quick “Oi, Unwin!”, or a “Jesus, Eggsy!” whenever he got in her way, which usually resulted in a similar distasteful glance to what she was recieving now being shot in her direction.

“Alright, Eggsy, I’m thinking that his partner is-“ She used her glasses X-Ray feature, confirming her suspicions. “The partner is in the abandoned pharmacy across the street, should we wait or go now?” He was silent, staring straight ahead, scrutinizing nothing in particular with a stare that was set in stone.

She whistled lowly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Eggsyyy-“

“Lancelot, would you shut the hell up! Don’t fucking call me that!” He stood up, leaving a vulnerable feeling Y/n in his wake.

Y/n’s jaw was suddenly like it was wired shut. She was paralyzed, unable to speak, only keeping her gaze fixated on Galahad.

“Look, I’m sorry-“

“Yeah, well good, then! When will you ever learn, we’re not friends, nor will we ever be. Get it through you’re fuckin’ head. It’s like you think you’re Roxy or some shit-“

Sadness and guilt turned to anger rather quickly for Y/n at his unfortunate choice of words.

“Stop it! Would you please, just stop it! For fucks sake!” Her voice was harsh, something he never would had never expected out of Y/n. Tears sprung into her eyes, and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, no doubt drawing crimson liquid in the process. She tasted iron on her tongue, feeling it seep into her taste buds.

“Lancelo-“

“Fucking hell, shut the fuck up! Really, please, Galahad, listen to me, for once in your life.” She was the one who shot up, inching closer to him with every word. The sticks and leaves crunched under her feet, causing her to cringe at the sound, hoping it didn’t alert the targets.

He nodded solemnly, his jaw locking up, and his hands she had been admiring only seconds before clamped into fists at his sides.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, Harry’s words of “remember your training” ringing through her head. She internally began chanting it like a mantra of sorts.

But if she was being honest, she couldn't quite remember a chapter in the Kingsman handbook (that she most definitely did read during training) that talked about emotional distress due to your coworker who you’re extremely attracted to calling you only by your dead best friend's name, but hey, who knows.

“I know I'm not Roxy. Nobody else could ever be Roxy. I know that, you know that, hell, she knew that. And I would say that you have no idea how it feels to be reminded of one of your closest friends who is dead every time someone calls you by a name that feels as if it isn’t your own, but you do, Galahad. Or you did. But now Harry is back and- and Roxy, well Roxy is gone!”

A single tear slipped out of her left eye. The agent in front of her felt a strong urge wipe away the tears he now felt guilty for playing a large part in. But he resisted, his hands remaining stuck to his side.

“So why would you do this? Say these things, act this way, when you know I have to live every day with you for some reason calling me Lancelot in every situation and me having to call you Galahad all the same! Maybe I shouldn’t have stepped up to be Lancelot when Roxy was killed, if I can’t handle it, can’t handle the dehumanization that comes with only being known as an emotionless fuckin’ agent to you.”

She stopped, hanging her head. She looked over to the flickering neon lights of the pharmacy, watching the outlines of the targets move around.

“I honestly have no idea if any of that made sense, or if I’m just rambling, I don’t fucking have the slightest idea what the fuck I’m even doing anymore.” Her voice got significantly more quiet, her sentences reduced to mumbles.

Aside from the target and his partners yelling at each other, it was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

His usually stern tone he took with the girl was softer now as he spoke, “You made perfect sense.”

She gave him a half smile before continuing, feeling oddly validated by his words.

“But what I’m trying to say, Galahad, is that I’m a fucking human being. I have a life outside of this Godforsaken job, and-and emotions, too! I mean, I might even have kids that you don’t know about!”

He internally rolled his eyes, yet again fighting another urge, this time to smile widely at Y/n. Weird.

“Do you have kids I don’t know about-“

“Of course I don’t!”

They shared a short laugh as their words overlapped, harmonizing in a sweet way, their voices like thick and golden honey. Weird.

The two were then succumbed to a blanket of comfortable silence, but only for a short moment before the hushed whispers of Unwin’s voice were heard.

“D’you wanna know why?”

Y/n cocked her head, beckoning him to go on with whatever it was he was going to say. “Why what?”

“Why I only call you Lancelot, why I don’t let you call me Eggsy.”

She nodded, sitting down once more and tucking her leg under her chin in a manner that Eggsy found endearing and adorable. It distracted him slightly, but not long enough for his starry eyed staring to become creepy. Not that Y/n would have it in her capacity to ever think that of him, if she was being honest.

“If I start to think of you as ‘Y/n’, rather than Lancelot things get too real. If you hurt, o-or if you get kidnapped, or God forbid- die.” He momentarily paused, looking up to meet Y/n’s eyes.

“It would make it all too real. I can’t do that, Y/n. After what happened to Harry and then Roxy, and everyone else,” he shook his head, his expression showing him close to crying at the thought of what he was speaking of.

“I can’t lose you too.”

It was like her soul had become visibly lighter, feeling an unimaginable relief flood throughout her system at his proclamation. She was able to come down from her, so to say, “high” almost as soon as she had started it, placing her hands on his, using them as leverage to pull herself up.

“You can’t be so afraid, Galahad. You gotta, you know,” she shrugged, offering him a small smile.

“Live a little.” She moved to look down to meet his eyes where his head was suspended in shame, forcing him to look back up.

“And also, try not to let your fear turn you into a dick, which is by all means just a suggestion.” Y/n laughed at the last bit, smiling and glancing to the side slightly.

They both shared a second laugh together, and it seemed as if for a short while, time stopped. It was just the two of them, features illuminated by the pale moonlight. No target, no saving the world, nothing. Just them.

So he reached forward, unsure if what he was doing was the right thing, just like always. The damn question of righteousness was engrained in his brain, restricting him like it did majority of the time. But for once, he decided to disregard it in it’s entirety.

So throwing all caution to the wind, unable to contain himself any longer, he closed the small gap left between the two, connecting their lips in a long awaited kiss.

One of his hands flew to the side of her face, the other wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer with a squeal. He laughed into the union, and she only smiled. One of her hands went to entangle itself with his on her waist, the other resting on his shoulder.

She could smell his cologne that he most definitely should not have been wearing per Kingsman on the job regulations, and welcomed the scent, doing her best to commit it to memory, a permanent reminder of what it felt like to be so close to the man.

After what seemed like a long time (but never long enough, honestly) they pulled away, panting for breath. Their foreheads rested on each other’s, the cool night air flowing around them, calming the pair completely.

Still struggling to catch his breath, Eggsy reached forward, taking both of her hands. He ran small circles over her knuckles in a way that made her heart flutter, before dropping them gently, reaching a hand out.

“Let's start over.”

She giggled and widely grinned, and he swore it was becoming his favorite thing in existence when she would do either of those wondrous things.

“Come on, put her there.” He shook his hand slightly making a silly face as well, widening his eyes and looking back and forth from his hand and her face. She placed it in his, proudly smirking as she did so. Their shiny rings clanged, which resulted in another small giggle errupting from her throat.

He shook it back and forth, a sly smile painting itself on his lips.

“Pleasure to meet you, Eggsy Unwin.”

She quirked an eyebrow, retracting her hand momentarily, letting it linger in the air.

“Eggsy, hmm? Bit of an odd name, don’t you think?”

He scoffed, placing his hand over his heart in false offense.

“Well if it’s so bad, what’s yours then?”

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

He looked to his feet momentarily, lifting his hands on either side of his head. “I digress, you win.”

She bit her bottom lip again, wincing as she hit the same spot from before. She ran her tongue over it, breathing out quickly.

“I’m not so sure. I think Eggsy is growing on me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

They smiled at each other like lovesick teenagers, still lost within the moment.

And although the bubble of ignorant bliss they were in was something the two of them never wanted to leave, it was sadly inevitable that it would be popped at some point in time.

And almost like an alarm to wake them up from a beautiful dream, gunfire was able to be heard ringing throughout the building across the way.

They pulled apart with a groan coming from Y/n, and a “For fucks sake” from Eggsy. With displeasure lacing their expressions, they began to run towards the pharmacy when Y/n felt a hand tug at her wrist.

“Y/n wait!”

Her eyes widened as she looked at him as if he was a mad man, only slowing to a backwards jog. She gestured around her to the burst of red and orange explosions that were now going off around her, screaming “What?!”

He sprinted to catch up with her forcing her to come to a complete stop with a firm hold on her shoulders.

“Eggsy, come on! Lets go- Ah!”

He cut her off with a firm kiss, gripping the sides of her head, scrunching his fingers in her hair. She let a small moan slip out at the feeling, which he responded to by chuckling. He then pulled away, a shit eating grin written on his face.

She stood in shock, unable to move from her place. He started running, turning over his shoulder.

“Come on, Y/n, keep up!”

Not focusing on where he was going, he tripped over himself, letting out a small yell of surprise. Y/n laughed loudly, going to chase after him with a miniscule shake of her head at his antics.

But nonetheless, the only thing going through Y/n’s mind during that situation that should have been horrifying, was that maybe she was wrong all this time.

Romance and espionage did go well together, especially when it was with Y/n and Eggsy.

♔♂♔

hello!!! so this was a multi-fandom account to begin with anyways so honestly i feel like i should start a seperate masterlist for “hj’s hyperfixations”. but yah this was my first fic for him and idk if i’ll do another but i hope u enjoyed this! also it’s my bday tomorrow (sept 7th) so this is a self indulgent fic. as a treat. ok love u bye!

xx hj

also avery asked me to tag her so @spideyspencer LMAO i’m so sorry for this mess.

324 notes · View notes

peakascum · 4 years

Text

Reunion

First of all, thank you so much for the feedback on my first fic! Second of all, I am still trying to make the masterlist but Ia m new to this so it will take time. In the meantime, I will put a “peakascum” tag on every imagine so you will be able to find every writing under that tag on my profile. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

Polly had smoked half a pack of cigarettes since the beginning of the family meeting. She had come in and sat at the most far out corner and stared aimlessly at the floor. Skin pale as ever, but her eyes held a whirlpool of emotions. She had a look of confusion, perhaps terror. A look the boys had only seen twice in their lives. The first time being when she bid them farewell at the train station before the war, the second time being when she learned the fate of her children.

Tommy concluded the meeting, dismissing everyone to go about with their work and stared at her intently. “So are you going to tell me,” he paused to light his cigarette, “or am I gonna have to wait until you reach your breaking point?” Polly looked up at him and stood up, nervously fiddling with her hands. “It’s nothing Tom. Just stress.” She said, barely meeting his eyes. “Polly,” he started, clearing his throat, “we both know how you get when you bottle everything up. Now, I’m already stressed enough dividing everybody's jobs and calculating our next move. If this is about our rivals, you have nothing to worry about, but if-“ she gave him a pointed glance and said, “Oh come off it, Tom. It’s not about that. It’s- it’s silly.” The room stilled for a second. Polly kept staring at the window, building up courage, adjusting the words in her mind as to not sound completely delusional.

“I was at the market buying the essentials. Had to go all the way across town for that new tea that Ada likes- and I swear to God Thomas I am not on pills anymore- but I could've sworn I saw Martha.” She looked up at him, the first time since the beginning of the meeting. They both chuckled at how bizarre the idea sounded. “Martha? Our John’s dead wife Martha?” He had to say it out loud. The tone in his voice acknowledging how ridiculous it sounded. “I told you it was silly.”

But it wasn’t. To them, it did sound as if Polly was back on the self medication journey she went on since almost hanging. That was years ago. Since then, John had died, Michael had come back from America, they had moved up to high society, and had struck up new rivals on various spots in England. Life had changed. Clouds no longer lingered on the streets of Birmingham, everything started to matter a little bit more. They all missed John. Polly would pray for his soul every morning and every night. She would pray for his kids, the ones Esme took, pray they were safer and that somehow she would be able to see them again.

The next family meeting had taken place in the small room at The Garrison. It was a quick one, more so to catch up on the day’s events. Arthur had come in around, whisky glass in hand, stumbling over his words, “So Poll you seeing ghosts now, eh?” He screamed, making the whole room chuckle and look at her expectantly. “That’s enough Arthur. Just an honest mistake.” She said, a grin painting her face, yet it did not reach her eyes. She knew it was silly, but it wouldn't be the first time she had seen the departed.

Finn stood near the door, facing Arthur’s back, laughing and mocking Polly with the rest of them. “I don’t really remember Martha well, but I don’t think you're delusional aunt Poll.” He said in a confident voice. The room kept ignoring his words, busy with roaring laughter and the sound of their aunt’s voice scolding them all. Finn kept his posture and continued, “Besides, thought I heard John’s laugh the other day,” he mumbled. The room quieted for a moment. Finn looked up realizing they heard him and continued, “but it wasn’t, eh? Obviously. I-I’m not Polly, don’t have any of that gypsy crap with me.”

Polly, furiously but steadily, stood up, “First of all,” she said making her way over to Finn, “it is not gypsy crap or gypsy bullshit, do not disrespect your roots.” She said as she smacked him in the head. “Now look at me and tell me what you on about boy.” She grabbed his young face in her hands. “It’s nothing aunt Poll. Just like Martha. It’s nothing. Besides, it was a woman laughing Poll,” he stammered and ripped his face from her grip. Polly stared at him, then at the whole table full of very confused Shelbys.

“I knew it. I can feel it,” she started, earning a deep glare from Tommy.

“Do not mock me. I can feel when the air shifts. I know what I saw.”

“Okay, that’s enough Poll,” said Arthur, no longer laughing.

The Shelbys had not made another sound, looking at each other, wondering who would be the first to speak up. Their aunt’s statement had steadied them into a haunting lullaby, reminding them of the many gypsy traditions that they secretly carried with them. The good omens, the way the wind suddenly stilled into an ominous glare that same morning; and in a drastic turn of events, the way the hairs on the back of young Finn Shelby’s neck stood up at the sound of what he mistook for John’s laugh.

____________________

A week had passed after the eerie conversation at The Garrison. They carried on with their business, with bets and the rival gang that had pestered Tommy for months now. They were closing in around corners of Small Heath, leaving threatening notes on their doorsteps and even going as far as killing a Blinder and leaving him on the betting shop’s entrance. This caused the family to carry trinkets of good luck and repeating gypsy mantras to calm their superstitious beliefs that came with their Romanian blood.

It had all led up to the current position they all found themselves in. Thomas had a gash on his brow, causing blood to adorn his features. His gun pointing at the enemy’s face. The Weston’s were known for their brutality, even worse than a Blinders wrath. Arthur held an already dead man in his arms screaming like a maniac, threatening others who would dare come for them. Finn, Isiah, and Michael incessantly beating and battling the other men, all in a row of punches and blood and gore. A scene so obscene that would have made any person queasy. But these were no ordinary people. They were Shelbys. Polly peaked her head through the small room’s door, enough to see the violence unfold. They had been attacked by surprise at their own pub, and she feared for her nephews lives, more so now than any other time. Never taking her eyes away from the scene, she ferociously prayed for a miracle, a gift, a second chance.

The men grabbed Thomas by his arms, dangling him whilst another pointed a gun to his face. “Mr. Shelby, always have the upper hand,” said one of them with a tantalizing smirk, “but it seems your reign is over and your crown is mine.” The men chuckled and cheered, seeing their enemy half dead in their hands. Tommy looked up and smirked, which turned into a manic laugh, making the Blinders pause their movements. “Brother?” Arthur asked, gulping at Tom’s actions. Tommy looked at them still laughing, “You think you’ll defeat me? Whenever you think you have the upper hand, I will always be one step in front of you,” he paused to spit, and continued.

“It’s my legacy, it’s my family’s legacy. And you have the nerve to barge into my territory and declare war on me?” His smile never leaving his face, blood covering his teeth. All of them looking upon him in confusion.

The doors to The Garrison opened letting in dust and a cold wind meddle its way in. Footsteps echoed through the current silent pub. Arthur dropped the man that he held between his arms. Finn’s eyes flashed a look of confusion, recognizing the presence that made its way into the pub. Polly’s hands shook against her sides, too numb to move them. The footsteps grew louder, yet the pace never changed. Tommy looked at the men as they noticed also and chuckled, “Do you you really think I would have left my pub unsupervised for you lot to take?”

There in the middle of the room stood a group of men led by a girl, a girl that was perhaps younger than Finn. Her dark hair gathered loosely by a ribbon, freckles adorning her face and piercing eyes that matched her posture, determined and hard. Their saving grace. Their hail Mary pass.

“Y/N?” Whispered Arthur.

In a split second the Blinders ducked behind chairs and the other side of the bar. Their guns cocked and immediately erupted in a song of metal and flesh and screams. The girl’s face never changed, her body unbothered. Each and every men dropped to their knees with multiple bullets to their bodies.

The noise suddenly stopped. The Weston’s Leader remained standing, too embarrassed and in shock to move. Y/N made her way over and pointed her gun to his face, “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” immediately putting a bullet between his eyes.

“Holy Jesus,” Polly said as she stumbled out of the room, “Y-You look just like her.”

Y/N turned around and smiled at the woman that stood there, pale as snow, as if she’d seen a ghost. “Hello aunt Poll.”

Tommy stood up with the help of a perplexed Arthur. “Who is she?”, Michael asked breaking the tension in the room.

“I don’t think any of you remember me clearly, I was just a girl when I left.” She said, a small smile appearing on her face. “This is Y/N, John’s daughter,” piped Tommy, looking at her tenderly.

“You weren’t delusional Polly, I just couldn't give her cover away.”

Polly made her way over to Y/N and cradled her face her hands. “I knew it,” she breathed out, “I knew it, didn't I? I knew that it wasn't a ghost. You look just like your mother.” Polly breathed out in a shaky voice causing the girl to smile widely.

“I reached out to Tommy. Wanted to be a part of the business, reunite with my family.” She said looking around the room excitedly.

Polly took the girl in her arms, allowing herself to sob freely. The room warmed up with the Shelby’s smiles. It wasn't Martha, It wasn't John, but it was their niece. A living, breathing piece of John’s heart for them to hold and treasure.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #finn shelby imagine #Michael Shelby imagine #polly gray imagine #arthur shelby imagine #peakascum #platonic reader #the garrison

258 notes · View notes

daily-dose-of-imagines · 4 years

Text

HITMEN AU! | HEAD CANONS | 19+ [HAIKYUU!!]

𝔍𝔬𝔥𝔷𝔢𝔫𝔧𝔦 [PART i] [PART ii]

Our chaotic precious messy babies~!! I honestly can’t believe that after I finish Johzenji, I’ll have about 3 schools and then a miscellaneous (aka the solo hitmen) left to do for this AU. I can’t express how much I’m thankful for all the love and support you all have given for this AU and I promise I’ll start writing a bunch of HCs, One shots, drabbles, etc once it’s all done~!

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««

A group that’s so chaotic it’s a rarity in itself when someone actually requests or makes a purchase from them.

It’s without a doubt that within the various self established hitmen groups that populate Japan, they’re one of the ones that are sent to deal with large scale catastrophic disasters.

It goes without saying that they’ve tried to recruit Hinata at one point, and had ended up failing miserably.

Y̷u̷j̷i̷ ̷T̷e̷r̷s̷u̷s̷h̷i̷m̷a̷

A force to be reckoned with. Despite his childish and overzealous amounts of energy he exudes, he quickly analyzes and can pick up any sort of technique or skill on the fly.

One of the most avoided leaders throughout the likes of Japan because of his chaotic thinking and lack of care.

Out of all the tactical geniuses that litter the underground crime world, he’s one of the most feared and hated. Playful and coy, Terushima not only enjoys toying around with his prey, but absolutely loves to bring utter chaos and destruction every step of the way.

Insanely intelligent, almost anyone who comes across him is thrown for a whole loop when he easily recites strategies or the composition of drugs in their collection.

A sly upturn of the lip was all that was really given as the cool metal from the barrel of his gun caressed the trembling figure’s jawline. The sheer and unaltered fear that swelled in his prey’s eyes only fueled his bloodlust as he leaned forward. Hazel hues burning an electric gold as he slapped the target’s face. The sharp clang of metal and the sickening sound of flesh against mass echoed throughout the room as crimson droplets painted the floor beneath him.

“I like to think I’m a nice guy, ya know with how lenient I can be with payments and providing you with supplies that would have any other desperate scum begging and groveling at my feet...”

Soft whimpers filled the room as the target’s breathing began to quicken in pace.

“You’ll agree when I say I’m being plenty kind to ya...right?”

Despite his tactical brain and elusive way of speaking to gain knowledge, Tersuhima’s appearance greatly contradicts that of a great master mind.

Bleached blond hair styled consistently in an undercut with hidden tattoos underneath, Terushima has the appearance of a punk than the leader of Johzenji.

Out of all the hitmen in his squadron, he’s the one who carries the most piercings. A plentiful amount on his ears, a tongue piercing, and finally an eyebrow piercing.

Besides that, every other week he can be seen visiting a barber to keep his undercut cleanly shaven.

He’s not as heavily built as most hitmen-- as he relies on his quick reflexes and thinking-- but he can be described as lean.

If he has an s/o he’s most definitely a playful one who will most definitely tease them to no end.

It goes without saying that he’s fiercely protective of them and strikes fear into the hearts of many if he finds so much as a scratch on them.

K̴a̴z̴u̴m̴a̴ ̴B̴o̴b̴a̴t̴a̴

The strategist of the group.

Despite his calmer demeanor, it’s without a doubt that Bobata is just as carefree and sporadic as Terushima.

His strategies are consistently unique, in that each one almost perfectly mimics that of any other group they’ve come across.

Additional to that, there are times where the plans he has are so insane and ludicrous that neighboring hitmen groups and agencies actively avoid the Johzenji group.

Alongside this, it is without a doubt that they have practically little to no enemies. Mainly due to their terrifying and unstable mindset.

Uneasy. That’s the vibe he could feel-- no taste in the air as he and the rest of his groupmates surrounded the cowering targets. A sense of heavy desire grew within him as he slowly leaned down to meet the frightened eyes of their targets.

“Eh? We were pretty certain we at least got the interesting job on the market. Who would’ve thought it would be this easy?”

Feigning exasperation, the strategist couldn’t help but feel a sinister grin form on his lips as he cocked his head to the side. A plan formulating in his mind that would not only cure his teammate’s boredom, but his own.

“Don’t you have contact with someone who could be a bodyguard for you? Perhaps...another hitmen group? After all we’re just a little bored...”

Tall and lean, Bobata doesn’t come off as intimidating initially, though when put in a certain mood he can most definitely make even the bravest of hitmen check behind their backs.

He’s known as the slenderman of the group. One who is not only thinner than the rest of his group, but is surprisingly one of the fastest members when it comes to execution.

Unlike Terushima, Bobata has more tattoos than piercings-- though he has his own fair share of them.

He has shaggy light medium brown hair that’s usually placed in a half pony tail.

When it comes to his s/o he’s surprisingly calm around them and tries (key word) to hold back his more...sinister cravings.

Like Terushima, he’ll become quite fanatic once he hears of any sort of harm that comes to his s/o.

T̷a̷k̷e̷h̷a̷r̷u̷ ̷F̷u̷t̷a̷m̷a̷t̷a̷

The one who looks the most innocent out of the entire group, he has a similar role to that of Hinata from Karasuno except instead of being a decoy in luring targets into a proper position for the kill he is a decoy in that of being able to make multiple connections and relationships by becoming an ‘innocent’ bystander.

Due to his sweet and kind features, it’s easy for him to persuade and wring out information from those unsuspecting of him.

Unsurprisingly, he’s similar to that of his teammates. Chaotic and insane in his own little way. He won’t admit it, but he enjoys manipulating and tricking his way into gathering information on targets or on rival hitmen groups.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yup! And get this,”

The figure glanced around. A sense of secrecy in their eyes before they leaned in close to the male.

“I heard that the CEO really likes to go to the club down on 5th.”

Feigning surprise, the young decoy put on a shocked face as he easily mimicked the surprise and bewilderment of any normal person who was delivered such scandalous news. In reality, the male couldn’t help but mentally jump for joy at the quick progression of his mission.

After all, the faster he’s able to take out the target, the faster he’s able to go back out on the field to greedily drain out the secrets of the world into his awaiting hand.

With messy black hair and wide dark colored eyes, Futamata has the appearance of a sweet gentlemen.

In reality, he has a large tattoo of a panther on his back-- usually hidden away from the public eye with modest clothes-- and a couple of piercings. Of course nothing too over the top as he wishes to maintain not only a boyish, but sweet and energetic appearance.

Similar to Bobata, he’s lean-- though not completely to the extent of the infamous slenderman. What he lacks in mass, he makes up for in speed and close combat.

Truthfully, Futamata doesn’t see himself with an s/o who isn’t at least in the same field as him. He personally would love to work by their side in causing massive chaos throughout the dark side of the world with them.

Once he’s attached though, he won’t ever let go. As they’re the only one who truly sees him for who he is and not who he pretends to be.

K̴a̴t̴s̴u̴m̴i̴c̴h̴i̴ ̴H̴i̴g̴a̴s̴h̴i̴y̴a̴m̴a̴

One of the close combatants at Johzenji.

Like most of his teammates, he’s able to mimic and copy any new technique or skill on the fly whilst throwing his own twist into it.

He most definitely enjoys being out on the field, and when he’s not working he spends most of his time on an obstacle course.

Higashiyama is usually paired up with Futamata, especially if it’s predicted that their target will be within an enclosed space.

Besides that, he’s also the team’s sniper. Though in actuality he picked up and learned the skill from Futamata who had just gotten bored of dealing with stuff from a distance.

Bodies pressed firmly against one another, the heavy heat that wafted over the club brought no surprise to the close combatant as he easily maneuvered his way through the crowds to get to his target. From the side he could see his partner easily chatting up with the target’s secretary-- no doubt draining the man of every little bit of information he could gather before the drop that would happen.

Thinking back to it, the male couldn’t help but grin to himself as he leisurely danced his way through and over to the man of the hour. The target in question was ordering drinks-- no doubt a chance to unwind from whatever stressful life he was living. But to the combatant? This was a perfect opportunity.

Without a moment’s hesitation he easily positioned himself in the way to start a mini fight. One that escalated quickly enough to the point that in the blink of an eye he found himself out in the alleyway easily overpowering the tipsy target.

“God...this is just too easy.”

And then the crack of bone.

Appearance wise, Higashiyama has an appearance similar to that of a thug. One that no one dares to mess with unless they feared his wrath-- when in reality the male could be considered one of the more stable members in his group.

Unsurprisingly, he’s built. With the consistent desire to be out on the field and on a course, his entire body is flexible and sturdy.

Around the base, he’s usually seen with his brown hair spiked up, or pulled back with a headband as to not obstruct his vision.

Out of all the Johzenji members, he’s the only one who doesn’t have a tattoo.

In comparison to the rest of the members, he’s the one who would most likely have the most normal’ relationship. Though in reality he’d prefer that his s/o be in the same line of field work as him.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyuu au #hitmen au #au #johzenji #johzenji x reader #yuji terushima #yuji tersuhima x reader #tersuhima x reader #kazuma bobata x reader #takeharu futamata x reader #kazuma bobata #takeharu futamata #higashiyama katsumichi #higashiyama katsumichi x reader

26 notes · View notes

my-fanfic-library · 4 years

Text

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [4]

Masterlist

~^*^~

Your eyes switched from Dracula, to the armed force team and then back to Dracula. You couldn’t help but think back to the day at the Jonathan Harker Foundation when he had told you that he knew he could easily win against the team of gun-wielding men. That lead you to remember his account aboard the Demeter, in which he had been shot four times in the chest. He had felt no pain and had almost immediately gotten up to devour the man that shot him.

How could you be so stupid?!

Of course he would easily win against mortal men! All they had was (to quote the brave gentleman deceased of 123 years) steel and powder! They were no match for Count Dracula. It was at that precise moment that you realised just how royally screwed you really were. You had lead yourself out to a concealed corner, meters above an angry sea, with the intentions of luring over an ancient vampire and had succeeded. A few bullets would do him no damage, but his fangs and his beastly power would be enough to finish you all off within a minute or two.

You turned your eyes to Dracula once more and he was staring straight at you. You kept the eye contact. He licked his lips and lowered his arms.

“Did you invite them?” He inquired.

You were too frozen to speak. The dread that had overcome you was too much for you to handle.

“Silly girl. Did you truly think that you would ever have the upper hand against someone - something - like me?”

Again, you were unable to answer him. He stretched his neck, rolling it backwards to expose his thick neck and a deep growl eminated from his chest.

“What a shame. I was beginning to like you, [First].”

“What are you going to do to me?”

He neared you once more and faintly you heard one of the men shout for him to stop moving. He did not listen. He swaggered towards you with some pride. You could only assume he knew that the ball was in his court.

When his fingers trailed against your waist for a second, you were unable to suppress the hum that rumbled in your throat. For just a moment, you forgot who was touching you. His mouth came to hover jusy above the skin just above your collarbone. He was almost touching the flesh, but kept enough space to tantalise you.

“You stepped out of line.” He breathed against your skin, “I never break my promises, Miss [First].” Your eyes widened.

He wouldn’t.

His other hand came to grip your waist and both hands were now holding you firm. You wriggled in his grasp, trying to set yourself free. You heard Zoe’s voice from some distance away but you knew she’d never get to you.

“You’re going to kill me.” You whispered the statement.

“No, I told you, I don’t want to kill you. You’re going to learn a lesson.”

“I-“

“Never cross me again, [First].”

He pressed his body firmly to yours and he pushed wyour body harshly backwards with no effort on his behalf. The railing behind you broke as if it was nothing more than a flimsy and tiny tree branch. You became weightless, with the Count clutching you tight as you plummeted down into the North Sea.

~^*^~

The days that followed were quiet. You suspected that you had most deeply offended Count Dracula, as although you continued to try and lure him to you, he made no attempt to visit you again. By the fourth day of his clear ignoring of you, you decided to spend a day inside of the Jonathan Harker Foundation, where you ended up running into a very old friend.

When your eyes had landed on Jack Seward, you swore you had a heart attack. A little more matured than the last time you saw him, with a slightly different cut to his hair, maybe an inch at most taller, he had hardly changed. Seeing him brought back a flood of memories, most of them painful, even more linking to another person whom you had buried down in the deepest dungeons of your heart and mind and begged to never have to think about again.

Jack’s eyes had lit up, despite the clear sadness evident in them and had begun to ramble about how much time it had been since you’d last met. Although Jack had never done a thing wrong to you, you couldn’t help that grease stain of a grudge on your heart catch a little on him in your mind. He had been associated. Although he never knew what went on, you felt like he picked her over you.

“So, what are you doing here?” You inquired, smiling through the whirlwind of negative emotions currently circulating you, “no offence, I mean. Do you work here?

“Not work, per se. I’m actually a junior doctor, I’m just here because Zoe- Dr. Van Helsing, put me forward for some study with a vampire. What about you?” The ease in which he spoke, the casualness of it made you scoff.

“Me? I’m an associate of Zoe’s. I’ve been working with criminals for the past two and a half years, learning how they tick and getting to the bottom of the why. She asked me to lend a hand on the vampire as we seem to be calling him.”

“I see...”

“A junior doctor, though, eh? Who would’ve thought the Jack Seward who couldn’t handle watching a birthing video in year ten would turn out to be a doctor?” You playfully sighed.

“I actually want to go into mental health. Definitely not.. birthing.” A chill ran down his spine and he visibly shivered.

You laughed and accompanied him as far as where he needed to be. Although you had no need to be inside of the institute, you knew you could find solace somewhere. Truth be told, you were trying to avoid Zoe for even a few hours. She had been relentlessly hounding you for information on Dracula, and trying to get your neck treated. After the Count had so kindly soft-chocked you, a purple bruise had bloomed in the shape of his hand stretching across your skin. If she knew about the similar marks on both sides of your waist, you knew she’d have a fit. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Zoe, it was quite the opposite. It was simply that you knew she was riddled with guilt.

Zoe had spent her whole life chasing the fantasy of finding Dracula. It was all that she ever wanted. She needed to know where he was. He had killed her great-great paternal aunt along witj several others with them not realising what he was for weeks and then all but disappeared. He had never been recovered from the shipwreck of the Demeter and no one had seen him since. Knowing that the foundation she ran, the institute she had in her clutches had brought back such evil was driving her crazy with the guilt. People were dying. Every day, at least two new victims would be announced, most drained of their blood and with a chunk of their throats gone. She felt responsible.

In your thoughts, you managed to find an unoccupied room and slumped down into one of the chairs closest to the door. You had found it difficult to sleep, worrying that a certain vampire would find you and gain entry to your home. You didn’t think that he knew where you lived, but he was a vampire who could turn himself into a fly. For all you knew he was hovering around you currently.

Every now and then, a rush of voices would flow past the door, and you’d sink further down into your seat to avoid being detected. For just a moment, you craved solace and quiet. It seemed this abandoned room provided it well. However, you only stayed for another short moment before pushing yourself up and leaving the room.

Standing against the wall opposite where you emerged was Zoe with her arms crossed. Jack was standing awkwardly beside her.

“I was beginning to wonder when you were going to come out of there.” She stated plainly, “it seems the two people I need to speak with the most are consistent in trying to avoid me.”

“I’m sorry, Zoe. I just needed a little space.”

“That’s understandable. You could have just said.” She pushed herself away from the wall so that she was standing fully, “you look exhausted.”

“I am.” You confessed, “I’m worried about-...” you cut yourself off. Jack was staring right at you with such pity it made you want to burst into tears right there.

“Dracula.” He finished for you.

“Yes, well, he did leave quite the nasty bruise on your neck and proceed to throw you both into the sea.” Zoe state’s as if you couldn’t recall. You definitely could.

Zoe then insisted that you go home and get some real rest. She allocated some men to be stationed around your home and kindly offered to drive you back herself. It was a quick drive and she decided to bring Jack along, considering the three of you seemed to know a little more about the Count than most. As she pulled up outside of your house, you looked through the windows. Everything was as you left it. To your left was the river, currently drained of nearly all it’s water as the tide was out. You bid the two farewell and retreated into your home.

Time slipped by with ease once you were home. You did not sleep, though you probably should have given the circumstances. At exactly 8:09pm, as you watched some aged comedy, your door knocked. It was most likely Zoe checking up on you, so you rose and went to answer.

You had no chance to try and slam the door shut once it was opened as his large hand held the wood with ease, preventing it was swinging back into its frame.

“How did you find me?” You inquired, a little scared, but as usual keeping your calm front.

“It wasn’t difficult. You walk home alone almost every day. That cinertrack has a lot of places to duck if someone turns to look, you know.” He informed you. Dracula’s eyes twinkled with mischief once more and he licked his lips he was triumphant.

“Why are you here?” Was your next question.

“To see you, of course. Will you invite me in?”

“Will you harm me if I do?”

“Have you learnt your lesson?”

“Come in, Dracula.”

“Good girl.”

You turned sluggishly, b-lining for your sofa once more. Dracula followed behind you. His footsteps echoed in your ears. When you flipped down on soft cushions, you eyed the vampire who took a seat on your La-Z Boy.

“Ah, you have one of the boxes, as well.” He mused.

“As well?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, whenever I have been invited in to feast, they’ve had those boxes,” he pointed at your TV, “clever thing isn’t it?”

“I mean, I guess so.”

“You humans seemed to have grown much too accustomed to these fine luxuries in life. Very ungrateful for them.”

“It’s not- never mind. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

You pushed yourself up once more and found yourself leaving him alone as you climbed your stairs. Upon entering the bathroom, you took a look at yourself in the mirror. The purple bruise was still evident on your neck. It wasn’t faded much at all and you wondered how long it was going to take for it to disappear. You traced the line with your finger.

“Yes, sorry about that.”

You turned your head to see him leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. A small smirk played on his lips. He wasn’t sorry, he was proud of it.

He moved into the room, slow steps nearing you until he was stood directly behind you. You locked eyes with him in the mirror. Like this, you could see the sheer size difference between you. He overpowered you in every aspect and it began to dawn on you how stupid you had been.

“Stupid things, mirrors.” He uttered, frowning and used his hands to turn you to face him, “they are beyond the complexity of this world, I assure you. Vanity is such a reckless thing.”

“Says the man clearly obsessed with keeping up with appearances.” You rolled your eyes at him, peering up through your eyelashes at his face.

“It is,” he brought up a hand, coolness stinging your neck where the bruise was, “beautiful. Did I do the same thing on your waist?”

“Would it matter?” You questioned.

“Of course. You must know by now that I revel in the things that I can do to you fragile beings.”

“You cannot scare me, Dracula.”

“You always lie to me when your pulse is so erratic.” He lowered his voice, “do you take enjoyment out of deceiving others, so?”

“No.” You whispered.

“Then why do you do it?”

You could not answer him. He already knew why. It was foolish to try and save face in front of a vampire who knew what you were going to do before even you did. A smirk cane upon his lips and he took a step back, allowing for you to leave the room. He followed you out and into your bedroom. This, you did not realise until you were sat fully in bed and turned to see him sitting causally in the arm chair by your door.

You inwardly grumbled.

Surely a man of his age would be able to realise what was crossing a boundary? Were you going to have to spell it out for him? He simply stared at you for a moment before sitting up and ridding himself of his navy suit jacket. Now he sat with his white shirt and black waistcoat. You glared as he made himself comfortable.

“What are you doing?” You snapped.

“Sitting.” It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“You do realise why I’ve come in here, right?”

“Yes, I’m not stopping you from sleeping, [First]. I’ll wait here until you wake up.”

“What so you can feed on me when I’m out cold? Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“[First],” he sat forwards once more, resting his elbows on his thighs and pacing his hands together with his fingers, “had I wanted to kill you, be assured I would have done it the first time we met. You are lucky you were so ballsy as to shut the light out just to talk to me.”

“Drac, I’m not sleeping in here with you sitting there.”

“Sleep or don’t sleep, I’m comfortable here.”

You groaned and flopped back on to the mattress. You cursed at yourself. Only an idiot would invite a vampire so intrusive into their house at bedtime.

~^Taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat -cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx

Thank you all for the support!

#if youd like to be tagged lmk #thank you all for the love and support #it was so unexpected and im so overwhelmed #it means the world to me #so thank you all so much #Dracula #bbc dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #claes bang #dolly wells

369 notes · View notes

1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

Princess and the Migraine -7

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: When Princess needs his help Murder Panther undergoes a trial by fire and comes out soft and gooey. Like a marshmallow. A really sexy, highly dangerous marshmallow.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and 'the code is more like guidelines' outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

NO SMUT, usage of names, mild groping (he’s still Diego), illness and medical establishments, plus size woman+fit man, secretly competent Diego!, helpless Princess, bad boys with too much money and not enough impulse control, secondary OCs, excessive swearing (???), illegal business dealings... I mean, its DIEGO

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I'm not a fan of "plot" so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

gif by @nicke0115

Diego had received the normal text from his Princess, a simple and efficient 'here' attached to a selfie. This Friday the selfie was in his bed, that mane of ringlets tossed up over the pillow and those deep blue eyes half closed in relaxation. There was nothing sexual about it, hell, he couldn't even see her lips, and it still made him half hard. What if I could see that every day? In person, right next to her? I must convince her to quit that stupid little job.

Groaning softly, he flips the phone to be held horizontally in his left hand while the right presses the heel of his palm into his burgeoning erection. He cannot wait to bury himself into that soft little body; fingers, tongue, dick, anything. She is the softest woman he has ever touched, even her tiny little feet are soft, it is maddening. He slouches down into the backseat to relieve some of the pressure from his pants.

"You want me to stop anywhere, boss?" Bastian asks from the driver's seat. Bastian is a good kid, he follows orders, he is efficient, he even anticipates needs like this, offering to get food on the way home. He looks nothing like his uncle. Julio always did say that his little sister liked blondes and Bastian was living proof.

"No, I will see what she wants to do first." Diego wants to get his hands on Princess more than he wants food.

Julio chuckles from the front seat, "His dinner is already at home, eh?" He's been with Diego for twenty years, he knows how this goes down.

"One can only hope." Diego mutters as he flips through the 'Pretty Princess' photo album in the phone's gallery. Sure, there are the expected compromising pictures (much to his delight, she enjoys posing seductively at any level of undress), but many are shots of her laughing, being excited at a new restaurant, snuggled into his side at some scenic location perfect for a couples' pic.

A couple. Is that what they are? Does he want that? (Yes) Can I have that? (I will). He hasn't wanted any of what used to be his regular girls in… six months. Sure, Franchesca and, and whatever-her-face-is accompanied him to some club events, he even let Franchesca blow him in the car. But it wasn't until he closed his eyes and saw another gaze, drowning blue and dark as ink, that he came. Vocally. Franchesca at least knew better than to comment. That was the last time.

He wants this. He wants Princess. His Princess. How, he has no idea, but he assumes he'll figure it out. He has figured out how to survive his sister and his profession all the way to age 42. He has figured it out so far and he has no plans to stop now.

That book about relationships and autism spectrum really helped, maybe there are other similar books that he can get. Is there a book on how to get women to admit feelings? There has to be a book on something so… unusual, yes?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The elevator dings and he steps out before the doors are fully open. The common area is dark and quiet. "Princess?" He calls. Nothing.

Maybe she is still in the bed waiting for me. The image throws him into rapid motion; the jacket is tossed over the back of the sofa and he pulls the gun out of his belt to place it on the breakfast bar as he passes by. With huge strides, he hurdles up the stairs and into the bedroom.

The small lamp on the nightstand is at the lowest setting, turned to a faint aqua color. She does love fiddling with the ridiculous color options. Her bag is on the floor in front of the closet along with her purse, shoes, and a trail of clothing to the bed.. Odd, she always places everything just so. Never just, just dropped… anywhere.

Princess is in the bed… but she is asleep.

Diego pushes his shoes off and pads over to her side of the bed. Her glasses are on the nightstand and next to them the gemstone ring he gave her is threaded onto one of the diamond tennis bracelet for safekeeping. It makes him smile, how thoughtfully she cares for his gifts.

"Princess?" She winces at his soft rumble and cracks one eye open. "What's wrong?" He reaches out to touch her hair and she flinches away. Ouch, what the hell?

She holds out a hand, he takes that instead. "Baby?" Her voice is so quiet he can barely hear her. Something is very wrong.

Kneeling to the floor, Diego rests his chin on the bed directly in front of her face and waits. He has learned that if it's something physical that is bothering her he can simply wait her out. Each time that he has tried this it resulted in a shorter wait period the next time and a less agitated Princess. He's not sure if he is training her or if maybe it's the other way around.

Her fingers curl around his thumb, small but strong. Finally, she opens her mouth, "I have a migraine. Was fine earlier, but police lights. On whatever bridge. We sat for like ten minutes, Bastian couldn't get out of the traffic. I took medicine, but I need to sleep." She pauses, her eyes closed tightly and brow furrowed. Her breathing is shallow, like she is trying very hard not to cry. "I'm sorry, baby." She whimpers, and then a real tear does escape.

"No no no, Princess. No crying. Please do not." The absolute last thing Diego can deal with today is that pretty little face all red and messy with tears. She sniffles but doesn't move away when he wipes the tears with his thumbs. Those blue eyes are watching him very closely.

"Are--" she licks her lips and tries again, "Are you mad at me?" Her high voice cracks at the end and she blinks back more tears. Apprehension is coming off of her in waves.

Diego cocks his head, trying to understand where this question comes from. "You… think I will be mad at you for being ill?" Slowly, he leans closer to her while she nods tightly with a tiny 'mm hmm' of affirmation. When she huddles into herself, almost hiding under the covers, understanding begins to bloom. "Have other people gotten mad at you for becoming ill?"

Princess swallows hard, her eyes slide away from his. She is embarrassed. Someone has managed to shame her into feeling guilty about a hereditary illness she has no control over. He can feel rage climbing up inside his chest.

"Y-y-yeah. It's really inconvenient. I ruin p-plans like this. I'm sorry." Her voice is muffled by the covers. She picks at the stitching on the sheet, snapping her nail back and forth over the threads in a nervous tic.

Right now, I am doing the training because this needs to be broken. Immediately. He takes a deep breath, "No, Princess. No one can be mad at you for suffering from a condition you cannot control. That is ridiculous. I could never be angry at you for getting sick." He tries very hard to sound soothing and not like he's about to reprimand a ludicrous child. Slowly, he pulls the sheet down until her entire face is visible. Her eyes flick back to him, then away again. "Aqui." She obeys the command thoughtlessly, locking on his gaze. Diego raises a brow in question.

Princess huffs a soft sigh, then whispers, "Okay." Her face smooths out, eyebrows straightening and lips relaxing back to their normal fullness. Her little nose even unwrinkles as she eases. She must decide she buys it, because next she timidly asks, "Will you bring me a Coke?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Diego gets her settled with her phone (which he silences) and the small bottle of Coke (opened downstairs so the noise doesn't hurt her). When she pulled herself upright to drink he realized she was still dressed so he got her into pajamas, it was odd putting clothing onto her instead of taking it off. She kept her eyes closed and allowed him to move her around like a ragdoll, relaxed and trusting.

The tightness in his chest only worsened when she crawled into his lap and nuzzled into him with a plaintive, "Hold me." Princess wasn't really a cuddly type of girl, so he knew this was bad. After ten minutes she was done with the 'mushy stuff' as she referred to it. He let her get situated then went downstairs with instructions to check on her in two hours.

Diego spent the time researching migraines, her medication, and other possible treatments. Julio came and went with dinner, cheesesteaks that Princess had mentioned long before the police strobe lights.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The required two hours have passed, Diego swears it was two days long, so he heads upstairs to check on her. Princess is on her stomach, head turned to the left, and her mouth hanging open. His hand lands softly on her shoulder while he calls her, "Princess?"

Nothing happens.

He tries again, just a little louder, "Princess? Hey, mirame." Still no response. She is a light sleeper, this is highly unusual. And he is beginning to be concerned.

Diego nudges her shoulder, then, when he gets nothing, pushes until she rolls over. She doesn't even make a sound. Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Hey! Bicki! Wake up, come on." Her lashes flutter and she makes a whiny noise. Sitting on the bed, he hauls her into his lap so she leans back against his left arm. Tapping her cheek with his right hand gets a semi-verbal response.

"Dieg.. Where. I'm. Can't." She slurs and burrows into his chest. "Too brigh. Is brigh." Her voice is so quiet he can barely understand her. Her tiny hands are fisted in his shirt, hanging on for dear life.

He grips her jaw in his right hand and turns her head to face him. "Princess? Can you tell me?" She's struggling through his name, like her tongue is too big for her mouth. "Yes, it's me. It's your Diego. We're home, in bed. You're safe." Her brow furrows as she processes this information. It takes three times longer than it should, he hasn't seen anyone this fucked up in a long time. Its terrifying.

Finally, her hands in his shirt ease their grip and she looks around the room. "Diego?" She is squinting hard, blinking slowly.

"Right here, Princess." Turning her to face him, he can see that her eyes are completely unfocused, pupils so small they're barely visible in a sea of grayish blue. Her hands come up to touch his face and she makes a tiny noise of distress.

"Baby. Can't see. I can't." Her whisper fades as she goes limp, eyes rolling up. Her breathing stays even, if shallow, so he doesn't panic. Yet. She said she does this, that she will black out. Her whole family does it. Her sisters, her niece, her mom… HER MOM.

Hit by sudden inspiration, Diego whips around to her phone on the nightstand and snatches it up. Her mom. Her mom would know what to do, right? Easing her deadweight back to the bed, he makes sure she is breathing easily, then turns back to her phone. He unlocks her cell with his left hand while digging his out of his right pocket. There, at the top of her contacts labeled 'Emergency', Mom. Dad. Diego. He ignores the sharp flutter in his chest at seeing himself as her emergency contact, and opens up the Mom item. Before he can second guess himself, he taps in the number in on his own phone and hits the green button. She better know who I am or this is going to be a disaster.

It rings twice before a remarkably similar voice answers, "Hello?"

Shit, now what?

"Hello, is, is this Kat?" Fuck. Shit. Damnit Diego.

"Yes…?" It really is startling how similar their voices are.

"I do not know if you know who I am, my name is Diego and I--"

"Diego! Ohhh, I know who you are." She laughs lowly, just like Princess. He notes the fact that she recognizes him instantly for later discussion.

"I apologize for calling like this, but I need your help." He tries not to sound scared. He does not get scared.

"What's wrong? Is she okay? Are you okay?" Apparently he failed. Her mom, Kat, knows instantly that something is amiss.

"She said she had a migraine and took her medicine. Now, I cannot get her to wake up fully and she keeps repeating that she can't see. I don't know what to do, I've never seen her like this. Please." It all comes out in a rush, he hopes she can understand his rapidly thickening accent.

"Okay, first of all, take a deep breath." Do I sound that panicked? Should I be panicked?!? "This isn't that unusual for her more severe migraines. As long as she keeps breathing. Is her breathing fairly normal?"

He watches her chest rise and fall at regular intervals. "I, err, yes? It's a bit fast, but even."

"Good. That's good, Diego. She is not going to like this, but you have to take her to the ER."

"Okay. I can do that. Yes." Wait, what do you do when you take someone to the ER?

"Okay, listen. You have to tell them that she's had these since she was a kid. She takes the highest tablet dosage of imitrex, tell them what time she took it. She needs the shots, yes she has had them before, no drug allergies. Under no circumstances do you tell them that she blacked out or they will admit her. Also, no chance of pregnancy, they'll ask that. If they think she might be pregnant then they won't treat her."

THEY WHAT.

"What do you mean? Won't give her the shots? If she might be pregnant? What shots?" Diego is very confused. This is a lot of information in a very short time and all of it is very important. Why would that matter?

"Hospitals will not give medications to pregnant women. Only tylenol, generally. And that isn't going to help." Her mom sounds like this topic has been thoroughly debated in their household.

"Okay. No pregnancy. No black out. Have been having these her whole life, need shots, have had those before. I have the bottle of ...imitrex? I should take it along?" He ticks each item off on a mental list. "Actually, could you text all of... that?" He most definitely does not want them to admit her.

"Of course. And taking the bottle is perfect, that's quick thinking. What time did she take it?"

What time did she take that?? She had already taken it when he got home. "Sometime before seven…? Yes. Between six and seven."

"One last thing, I want you to be prepared. Its two shots, a sedative and a pain medication, but they'll put it in her butt."

That's… interesting. "In her butt?? She won't even let me put something in her butt." He mutters petulantly.

Her mom is sputtering with laughter. "Oh, I see why this relationship works. Wow. This is perfect."

"Err, is there anything else? I've never been to an ER, so. Um." Something about the way she sounds just like Princess puts him at ease, like he doesn't need to worry about impressing her.

"No. I'll text you the list after we hang up. Just let me know how she is tomorrow, okay? I know you'll take care of her, Diego."

"Yes, I will. Thank you." He ends the call and texts Julio to get up here now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ER is pandemonium and Princess is extremely unhappy to be there. She is curled into his side, trying to hide from the noise and the light, while Bastian fills out forms for her. Julio thought to bring her purse, it was a very good idea since her entire identity is in there. When Bastian hands over the forms to the desk the nurse sees Princess's hospital work badge in his hand with her ID and she magically shoots to the top of the waitlist.

The nurses come to take her into the back, they bring her a wheelchair which she grumbles about but goes willingly when Diego pushes her into the seat. He wants to go with her, but he isn't family. If this were anyone else he would do whatever he wants, but this is his Princess. The thought of breaking her trust by violating her privacy is unbearable, anything like this has never been discussed.

They barely disappear around the corner before a nurse comes right back.

"Alright. Which one is Diego? She will not shut up and she will not calm down. Come with me." The nurse grabs his arm and practically drags him for a few steps until his longer legs catch up.

They go into a curtained room where one nurse is trying to manhandle yoga pants down well-rounded hips and another is opening prefilled syringes. Princess is swiping at the unfamiliar hands on her body, unbalanced and jumpy. Little noises of fear escape from her lips in high pitches, her head is down and her eyes are closed tightly against the florescent lighting. Diego suddenly remembers that she can't see. She is terrified.

"Princess?" The second he touches her with one hand she dives into him. Her own little hands claw into his shirt and she tries to mold her body to his. "I'm here. You're safe." Wrapping arms around her, he holds her still tightly. She nods against his chest and relaxes a tiny bit.

The nurse with the syringes looks pointedly at Princess's butt, then back up at him. Oh. Right. Sliding one hand down her back, he inserts fingers into the back of her pants and eases the elastic waistband down. "Its just me," he whispers into her hair as she trembles in his hold. The strong muscles of her butt twitch, but she doesn't fight him. She trusts me.

Its over in under five seconds, both shots and both bandaids, one set on each side. She jumps with each injection but can't seem to process what happened fast enough to respond appropriately.

The nurse doesn't even bother to look up from cleaning the table. "Okay, take her home and put her to bed. She'll sleep for the next eight hours."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That's it?"

"Yep, thanks for your help."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess succumbs to the sedative halfway home and Diego has to carry her to bed. She really does sleep for most of Saturday. He keeps going in to check on her, she is completely limp and doesn't change position once. Its a bit disturbing how helpless she is like this. Has she had to do this alone before? Or, worse yet, with the awful ex?

He stays right beside her after that.

When she finally wakes her eyes are normal again and she immediately reaches out for him. "Diego?"

Her little question makes him smile warmly.

"Right here, Princess. Welcome back." He rumbles softly, unsure if sound still hurts her. Stroking one hand down her back makes her arch up into his caress. So beautiful.

She squints up at him through the curtain of her hair. Slowly, Princess rises to all fours, then eases back to sit. "I…" she blinks at him. "I have to pee."

Okay, so awake but not totally coherent yet. She requires a little assistance in the bathroom, mostly a steady arm to lean on, but they manage it with only mild to moderate giggles and one bruise-inducing bump to the corner of the counter.

She stumbles back to bed, collapses face down, sticks her left arm out in his general direction, and wiggles fingers at him then back at herself.

"Take the stupid bandaids off. Shit itches."

Oh yes, finally time to touch the butt.

Diego sits on the bed beside her, one hip pressed up against her own. He firmly strokes both hands down her back just to hear her deep moan of pleasure. She arches up when he reaches the curve of her ass. Oh good, she is feeling better. Fuck that, she feels amazing, he chuckles at his own joke but doesn't pause in gently groping her. The silky panties slide easily over her cheeks, the sight makes his mouth water. The pale skin is only marred by the bandaids, so he pulls them both off in rapid succession then smooths fingers over the red marks.

"Mmmmm," she moans with the gentle treatment, "Thank you for taking care of me. That's the first time someone other than my parents did that for me. How did you know to take me to the ER, anyway?" Her voice is muffled in the pillow, soft and sleepy and content.

Diego absent-mindedly runs a finger down the crack of her ass, feather light. "Your mom told me what to do when I called her."

"YOU CALLED MY MOM?!?!"

Judging by her volume, apparently no, sound does not hurt her anymore.

#damnit diego #actually thank you diego #murder panther #soft murder panther #zash writes #stupid fluff

34 notes · View notes

wadjaya · 3 years

Text

He was awoken with a solid thwap to the back of his head, his eyes registering the bright lights in front of him as they opened in alarm. His legs were still sore from his encounter the day before, or was it two days ago now? As his eyes adjusted to the lights shining in his face, he recognized a few figures standing around him. Ahead, seated at a functional desk at the end of the room, Lucien Cote. The man didn’t seem to notice his prisoner being roused, instead eyeing what appeared to be some sort of revolver mechanism like you’d see in a gun.

To his right, a larger woman stood with arms crossed. Beyond her own frame, there were bits and pieces of what appeared to be bones orbiting at varying distances around her. Zara, the mean one.

To his left, a thinner frame leaning up against the wall. He couldn’t make out the details of her face, but her eyes caught his attention for seeming to glow in the relative dimness of the room beyond his lights.

(CW for torture, potentially upsetting implication of trafficking, sexual assault, drugs, guns, the stuff you’d expect from mafia themes)

“Oh look, he’s finally awake. Nice call, Zara.” The figure he didn’t recognize stepped forward as she spoke, inspecting him it seemed. Her glowing eyes reminded him of a cat’s as she came closer, and he almost thought he could make out traces of feline fur where the light ran across her face. He counted himself as fairly informed, but who exactly was this chick? Has Cote been recruiting? He looked back down to the floor and spit.

He felt a weird gap in his teeth, but no obvious blood hit the floor. Healed.

“And, uh, to what do I owe the pleasure?” The man’s voice was gravelly against his throat, just another sign that he had been hit pretty hard leading into this experience. “I don’t believe I have any dealings with the Cote family.”

“No dealings,” the stranger began. She finished examining him and stepped toward the desk at the back. She held her hand out before reaching the desk, to which the seated man nodded as she stepped forward to pick up a roll of paper. “But you did have something that belongs to us, and we’d like to know why you took it.” She walked back, turning one of the lights just a bit off his face to encourage him to meet her.

He remained silent, but glanced up toward her. He felt something sharp prod his spine, though no one else had moved. Zara’s bones, perhaps? Glancing toward the small swarm orbiting the figure in question, it was impossible to tell if they were all accounted for. Another prodding came, but this time harsher. He gasped and bit into his lip to keep from crying out.

“Well?” The thinner woman stepped forward again, holding the rolled document as though to refresh his memory. “What does the Covenant want with this design? Why send you, alone, to try and steal it?” The man didn’t stop biting his lip, so she continued.

“If you don’t cooperate with us, we can and will kill many of the people you care about. From what I’ve been made to learn about your ‘Family,’” she paused, looking toward the other woman for confirmation and continuing when she received a nod. “We’ve learned that most of you are hurting in that area. But your anonymous shtick ends when we’ve got you in chains. Whatever you do or don’t tell us, we can find however few you’ve got left. We can do to them what we’re doing to you- and no one can stop us. So tell me-”

The woman raised her leg to kick just below his sternum, placed so that nothing could break but it would all be felt- an expert, probably. He coughed and groaned, the sharp burr in his back ever-present with the small convulsions. He responded.

“We are the Covenant. We have no bonds from our past lives, we have no loyalties to anyone but those of us spurned. Our blood is thicker than any other bond. We will not answer your questions.”

“Covenant, eh? That’s a weird way to spell,” The woman paused as she unrolled the document and peered through it a moment. “Samuel Whittaker, son of Eilene and Matthew Whittaker. Brother to Marissa Townley and Brandon Whittaker. Three-time silver medalist for your middle school’s track competition. Very impressive.” She cast the paper aside, clearly unconcerned with anything else that might be written on it.

Good, he called the bluff then. They hadn’t found the document he stole. There’s a small, triumphant grin under the circumstances.

“You can threaten them all you want, they’re nothing to me. Those that still live, anyway.”

“Oh? And what about Marcus Brown, then?”

His breath hitched, his pulse quickened. How could they even know about Marcus? He had already taken the Covenant, they’d never met without their masks- not in public! His eyes darted to the man at his desk, seemingly now watching the proceedings ahead of him as a faint, reddish aura swam from around his shoulders to the items at his table. His eyes glowed, now, in the dark- a devilish gaze with his heavy magical exertion.

“So, it seems you do have names. We did some checking around, made some friends in your little outfit. Tight-lipped bunch, y’all are. It’s too bad, then, that Marcus hasn’t been especially loyal to you.” The woman kneeled down to force his gaze to meet hers, raising his face so he could not avert it. Samuel swallowed and forced his breathing to settle.

“We don’t know ‘Marcus.’ We are only the Covenant. I was given the designation ‘Jackson’ upon accepting my last task, and that is the only name I call my own.”

“Ah, right, you all and your morbid codenames. Let me guess, Jackson was one of those idiots we caught the last time you tried an assault on our businesses?” He bit his lip again, narrowing his eyes with the effort of holding his emotions back. God, how wonderful it’d be to lose a few hundred bucks to Jackson, again.

“We lost several of those who’d taken the Covenant in that….unfortunate misunderstanding.” Even as he said it, Samuel could feel himself cringe.

Not Samuel. Just me. “But our losses were only small sacrifices in the interest of the greater good. Between that misunderstanding and this one, it seems we’ve come upon something we want.”

Zara stepped forward, the orbit of bones shifting as a line of them began to form between her and him, several breaking off to float threateningly near his hands, throat, lower back. All at once, several points of searing pain erupted and he groaned with the force of it all.

“Tell us what we want to know, Faceless. Why take the blueprint? What do you even want it for?! Tell us, and we might be convinced to deal with you peacefully, even let you live.” Zara paused as she looked back to Lucien, who did not seem to react. “There is always a value to be put upon our goods.”

The man looked away from the woman threatening to gore him upon her own dismembered bones, the unnamed feline character who’d done most of the talking, and Lucien Cote himself. That blood red gaze seemed to cock sideways with piqued curiosity.

“You really don’t know? All that intel about my former self, but you couldn’t find out about the current operation?” The painful burrs at his lower back sharpened as he felt his own flesh part around them, pressing deeper into his body with an apparent lack of weight or force. How sharp are these things?!

“Answer the question,” came the rather non-encouraging demand from Zara.

“Unfortunately, while Marcus was very talkative about his ‘ex,’ he was less forthcoming about his designation and orders. If it would please you to know, he has been put to rest.” The thinner figure rested her back against the wall to his left again, lightly bouncing on her feet. Bored?

Interesting interrogation methods, though. Good cop, Bad cop sure- but she was offering a lot more ‘carrot’ than Samuel- ‘He-’ he was used to.

“Why do you care?” He finally asked.

He felt the thorns threaten to move again, the slightest shift as they were ‘unlocked’ from their resting position, but no pain came. Glancing up, he noticed Zara looking, agape, toward Lucien, who had lifted a hand. The glow in his eyes dimmed as he pushed his seat back, standing up and stepping around to personally view their prisoner a bit closer.

Lucien Cote was normally a rather unassuming man, perhaps a little scary to look at with his hardened gaze and obvious strong hands. Here, however, there was an absolutely terrifying presence to the man- the glare of a man who felt he had just lost everything to a bad cheat.

He glanced left, right, and the girls stepped back without a moment’s hesitation. There was bittersweet pain, followed by relief as the bones pulled themselves from his flesh with a soft groan.

There’s a pregnant silence as he looks Samuel over, eyes darting about his wounds and face as though judging for some sort of pet show. He was about to speak up when Lucien’s mouth opened. And he whispered, though his voice carried as though he was shouting.

“Why wouldn’t I care?”

The voice, soft and gentle, felt forceful. As though by whispering instead of screaming he was holding back instinct by sheer force of will.

“I- I mean, it’s just a gun. Not even any mutanium in it, nothin’ for us in it if there was.” He swallowed as he caught his mouth feeling uncomfortably dry. “Just a pea-shooter, really. But subtle. Cote’s never dealt in subtle, right?”

“Just a gun?!” Lucien shouted, and Samuel felt as though he’d just been placed in front of the blasting end of a jet engine. It wasn’t so bad that his flesh hurt, but his ears were ringing when the silence fell in the echoey basement. When Lucien spoke again, it was again at a whisper. “What you stole is not irreplaceable, perhaps not even particularly valuable to scum like you. But to me--” Lucien stopped himself as his face tightened, a vicious glare pointed to his captive before turning and nodding to the strange woman and proceeding back toward his desk.

The woman pulled something from her ears- ear plugs?- and stepped forward as Lucien leaned against the back of his desk, crossing his arms with displeasure. Once more, his eyes began to glow as that red aura surrounded his shoulders.

“Er, well, Lucien Cote is very protective of his intellectual property- as you know. While this particular gun design may not be….catastrophic, it sets a precedent we don’t particularly like. That the Cote Family can be fucked with, his designs stolen. We’d like to-” with a glance toward Zara, the larger woman sent a few more bones his way. She hardly so much as tensed any muscle that he could see to do so- kind of marvelous to be honest. He felt a drip of warm liquid on top of his head, never needing to even look up to know some of the bones were dripping with his own blood. “We’d like to fix that little notion, and let everyone go their own ways. And if that can’t be arranged, we will find out why you wanted that specific design.”

The prisoner looked between his captors once again, taking the pause in their ‘conversation’ to consider the opportunity costs implied in what they wanted. Samuel would be killed for leaking the Covenant’s plans, even to an organization which was likely to support it. If he did that, he’d need a ticket out of this god-forsaken city. Alternatively, he’d spend the rest of his short life in this room, probably. He thought about what even awaited him out there- and almost couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to him.

Brandon would miss him at the next festival, and so would his mother.

It’s not like Samuel would even be needed in the plan going forward. Medici would fall. He had played his part.

Cote couldn’t stop it- not short of vaporizing all of them, and all innocents. He sighed, and noticed everyone else straighten up a bit as they watched his resolve break.

Samuel looked directly to Lucien Cote- the man he had stolen from and ordered his capture. The man’s eyes were fading from a heavy fog of crimson, back to being hardly visible in the dimness of the room.

“The Covenant plans to fulfill our oaths. To destroy the organization which broke us.” He watched the three of them glance between themselves, entire thoughts being broadcast between the group without any words.

“Historically,” the stranger began, stepping forward once again to kneel at eye-level with Samuel, “the Covenant has been especially aggressive with the Medici Family. Is that who you mean? The organization that broke you?”

Samuel never met her gaze, speaking as though directly to the boss man himself. If he was serving himself up on a silver platter, he’d at least do it with a little pride.

“We swore blood oath to bring down the Medici Family, the family which took many of us from the safety of our own homes and introduced us to their menagerie in hell. They made animals of us, so we swore to rampage through their establishment as beasts.

Anthony Medici will bleed before his time, and with him anyone who could even lust for his estate.”

Samuel remembered his time under the Medicis’ watch as he spoke of the generational hatred the Covenant all held for him. As he went on his voice grew louder, more confident, daring them to argue with his personal hatred. The personal hatred baked in from every single person who’d taken the oath, joined the Covenant. He recalled the cages, the drugs, how he had been ‘rented’ to the lowest scum with money.

“We all hate the Medici, for what they did to us. We will see them eliminated, no matter the cost.”

Uncertain gazes joined his fanatical smile in looking toward Lucien, who kept his eyes locked on the prisoner. After a long silence, the man allowed his soft voice to reverberate painfully about the room at a seemingly normal speaking volume.

“Where is the document you stole?”

“If it’s been as long as I think it has, long gone. I dropped it in the postbox on West Chicago and North Wells. It was to be recovered the morning after.”

Lucien slammed a fist against his desk, an obviously painful thud. The women to either side began plugging their ears in the brief moment of pause before Lucien stood again.

“You Covenant have been a thorn in all of our sides for decades. You fools dabble in interfamily politics that keep this city under control- only to play vigilante and get under our skin! You threaten to disrupt the balance.”

“Balance means nothing if people like them benefit from it! We would see the city in anarchy if it meant protecting those they would hurt!!” His protest fell upon deaf ears- including his own as the ringing overpowered his own voice. He hoped he sounded as confident as he felt. “There isn’t a hell man could imagine that is worse than what Medici does to some of its animals!”

Lucien stood, collecting the few items he had taken in here with his unhurt hand, and nodded to the women. From the way the two looked between the men, they hadn’t likely seen the man so angry in a very long time.

They looked to him again, his breathing ragged as his last hope of getting out of this seemed to fall apart. The stranger nodded to Zara, and he called out.

“Wait! I know her, and I know him.” He nodded toward Zara and Lucien. “But if I’m going to die anyway, who are you? It’s been bothering me since I woke up.” His fanatical gaze fell onto the stranger, someone so elite amidst Cote but so unknown.

“Oh, honey.” There was a satisfied smirk on her face as she checked the placement of her earplugs. She stood, stepping between Samuel and her boss. He watched her reach behind herself, pulling a small handgun from the waistband of her slacks. Deftly switching off the safety without so much as a thought as the weapon never once leaves its target upon its reveal. Him.

“If Lucien pulls the trigger, then I suppose you could say I’m like the Hammer.” As she said so, she mimed the motion of pulling an imaginary hammer back on her firearm, though that was clearly just to punctuate her point. “But this little gun has a name, y’know? Since you die with it anyway, I’m Eliana. Sorry about this.”

She offered a sympathetic smile. He heard the loud boom, saw the muzzle flash as she pulled the trigger. He imagined a hammer hitting the back of the weapon.

And then, nothing.

#therabloggin #evoearth #eliana fenwick #lucien cote #zara volkov #oc #dako writes

2 notes · View notes

wincestreversebang · 4 years

Text

Master Post for 2020

That is a wrap, folks! Here is the Master Post for 2020!!! Title: I Never Knew Artist: ncdover1285 Author: midnightsilver Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: drinking Summary: How can you know a person better than you know yourself but never know this? A drunken realization with a little help from a friend. (aka: ‘of course you two love each other, shut up and kiss already’) Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: Untouchable for Life Artist: angeltortured Author: sintari Other Pairing(if applicable): Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore, briefly mentioned Dean Winchester/OFC Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Sex Work, Angst (see more at AO3), Jess Positive Summary: When Stanford student Sam is desperate for rent money, his girlfriend Jess suggests he turn to camming. As his uneasy relationship with sex work progresses, Sam's "Top Fan," the lurker Impala67, leaves him conflicted.... and something else. Art: Ao3 Story: Ao3 Title: Call of the Wolf Artist: tx_devilorangel Author: ncdover1285 Rating: PG-13 Warnings/Spoilers: N/A Summary: Something is terrorizing a small town in South Dakota. Sets of siblings seem to disappear into the woods and never be seen again. What is being seen is a huge wolf that is lurking in the woods. Sam and Dean go to investigate. Will they figure out what is happening in this small town, or will they be another set of siblings that simply disappear? Art: Live Journal | Ao3 Story: Ao3 Title: a sad fact of modern life Artist: emmatheslayer Author: thelegendofwinchester Rating: G Warnings/Spoilers: N/A Summary: The boys make a YouTube channel with the intention to easily be able to spread knowledge to new hunters and help them out. It goes downhill within minutes, but that’s not always a bad thing. Art: Live Journal Story: Ao3 Title: Cock Tails Artist: ncdover1285 Author: angeltortured Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: drunk sex Summary: Sam gets drunk off of phallic-shaped drinks at a gay bar. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: Strap Your Hands 'Cross my Engines (Don't Mind Me, You Usually Don't) Artist: midnightsilver Author: nevergettingoverwincest Other Pairing(if applicable): Sam/Dean/Impala Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: N/A Summary: “Hold your horses,” the witch called when Dean pounded on her door. Sam and Baby were behind him, Baby craning her neck to look in one of the cottage’s windows. The door scraped open and the witch poked her head out. “Back already? Who’s this?” she added, looking at Baby. “This is my car,” Dean said, flatly. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: Darkness And Light Artist: shealynn88 Author: ncdover1285 Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Incest, M/M Summary: Sam and Dean are cursed and they are sent on separate journeys to figure out how to break the curse. Finding out that they may just get exactly what they have been longing for is definitely a bonus. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: Burn for You Artist: darklittleheart96 Author: storyspinner70 Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Dom/sub, Alpha Dean, Alpha Sam, Unusual ABO Dynamics, Possessive Dean Winchester, Dom Dean Winchester, Sub Sam Winchester, Bondage, Top Dean, Bottom Sam Summary: No one was surprised when both Winchester boys became alphas. The surprise came when Sam figured out that, while he might be happy to be an alpha, the only place eh really wanted to be was on his knees for his brother. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: Trust Me Artist: ncdover1285 Author: amypond45 Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Time travel, Humor, angst, Sam POV Summary: Stanford Sam travels back in time to the week after he left for college to show Dean how much he loves him. Art: Tumblr Story: Live Journal | Ao3 Title: Spellbound Artist: tx_devilorangel Author: theydraggedmeinowianintleaving Rating: PG-13 Warnings/Spoilers: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Canon Compliant, Up til season 3, not entirely canon compliant though, Dean Winchester Dies, Dean Winchester is saved from Hell, No Apocalypse, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), the angels are good guys, or at least neutral, Jealous Sam Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester Friendship, endgame wincest, Dean's crossroads deal, John Winchester Dies, implied wet dreams, Canon-Typical Violence, Sam Winchester Dies, but only for ten seconds, implied soulmates Summary: Sam had always known they were outsiders; hadn’t needed the oh so helpful input from any Harry, Dick or Jane to realize as much when tv had already told him. Or maybe he hadn’t always known; had once been young (and perhaps innocent) enough to not know any better. However, he’d learned; from blurry images on tiny tv-screens whenever their dad found it necessary to rent a motel room for the three of them. On the screen everybody lived in houses rather than an old car driving from one end of the country and then back again over and over and over. Kids didn’t know how to use a gun – Sam might not yet be the marksman his brother was, but he knew how to use every single one in their dad’s arsenal; which was another thing the people on tv didn’t have: a goddamn arsenal of weapons. Art: Live Journal | Ao3 Story: Ao3 Title: The Human Trap Artist: bluefire986 Author: storyspinner70 Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Biker Dean and Sam, Violence, Aftermath of torture, Hurt Dean, Protective Sam, Revenge Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester were new to being the power behind The Knights of Hell biker gang, but they weren't new to the violence and pain that went along with it. They were working for a better future, but that was going to take muscle and brain and a lot of blood. Nothing worthwhile ever changed in a single day, but when Dean doesn't come back from a simple gun drop, The Knights worry that nothing will ever be the same again. Art: Live Journal | Ao3 Story: Ao3 Title: There Will Be Peace When You Are Done/I'll Come Back To You Artist: angeltortured Author: specialgentrin Rating: PG-13 Warnings/Spoilers: Major Character Death, Season 15 AU Summary: This is it. The final battle against Chuck Shurley. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: No Retreat, No Surrender Artist: bluefire986 Author: smalltrolven Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: N/A Summary: After everything with Chuck is over, Sam and Dean move up to Rufus’ cabin in Montana, to finally retire. After the hunting life they’ve led, they know there’s plenty of people and monsters left out there that have a score to settle. All the monsters forgotten, memories avoided and choices made in the past make what happens next even worse. Art: Live Journal | Ao3 Story: Live Journal | Ao3 Title: Box Up My Heart Artist: txdora Author: levisqueaks Rating: PG-13 Warnings/Spoilers: N/A Summary: Moving in with Sam had been perfect. They were living the life at Stanford with the world and their futures spread before them for the taking. But sometimes Sam was swallowed up in pain, whiskey, and knives instead of sweet dreams. One day Jessica stumbles across a secret Sam had been hiding for years and the darkness that takes over him begins to make sense. Especially when they get an unexpected late-night visitor and she witnesses a secret kiss. Art: Live Journal | Ao3 Story: Ao3 Title: A Little Sugar Artist: emberthrace Author: hit_the_books Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Season 2, Recreational Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content (see story for full tags) Summary: People are dying bloodily in Red Bluff, California, and no one knows how. The only leads? A strange substance that may or may not be a narcotic and hints of sulfur, and the rumor that a local outlaw motorcycle gang may be involved. Heading out to Northern California on the hunt, Dean and Sam are going to discover feelings they've been hiding from each other for a long time. Art: Live Journal Story: Ao3 Title: Payphone Symphony Artist: emmatheslayer Author: levisqueaks Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Barely Legal, Wincest, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Older Sam Winchester, Younger Dean Winchester, Pining, Deception, Phone Sex, Dirty Talk, Sam Winchester is basically Dean’s Dad, Mechanic!Dean, Age Difference, Phone Sex Operator Summary: Sam Winchester never claimed to be a righteous man but he hoped that his good deeds could someday outweigh the sin in his heart. After all, what 35 year old man, who practically raised their younger brother fell in love with them? Sam finds a mysterious bill that sets off alarms. But when he overhears Dean greeting a caller using a known sex phone company’s name, Sam is tossed into a whirling sea of intrigue, deception, and longing. Can Sam redeem himself? Or will becoming Dean’s most loyal customer only drag him closer to hell? Art: Live Journal Story: Ao3 Title: Under a Blue Moon Artist: emberthrace Author: amypond45 Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: dubcon Summary: While hunting a lycanthrope, Dean gets bit. Sam figures out a cure, but he knows Dean won’t like it. Art: Live Journal Story: Live Journal | Ao3 Title: Spinning On That Dizzy Edge Artist: angeltortured Author: ratflavored Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Rough Oral Summary: Sam’s tearing himself apart to finish the trials, so Dean forces them to have a night to relax in what he considers the bunker. But there's things going on behind Sam's poker face that Dean can't quite figure out. Most of the time, Dean can let that sort of thing slide, but when he's loose with whiskey and mulling over memories, it's a lot harder. What does Sam want from him? Booze, memories, and cards make for a dangerous combo. Art: Twitter Story: Ao3 Title: Titans Remembered Artist: midnightsilver Author: klove0511 Rating: PG-13 Warnings/Spoilers: Brief, non-graphic attempted bestiality; referenced animal sacrifice, hurt Dean Summary: Following a string of missing people and livestock mutilations, Sam and Dean stumble on a case where the monster has a personal beef with them. When Dean gets himself in trouble trying to do everything himself, Sam must come to the rescue and remind him that they're better as a team. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 | Tumblr Title: Wish Not Change Artist: kelios Author: smalltrolven Rating: R Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers for season 15 Summary: There’s a picture that Dean has in his wallet. It’s of the two of them, even though it’s not really them, but it’s still the stuff that wishes are made of. It takes a journey to New Orleans and back, a new case opened and closed, and wishes made and granted, for that wish to maybe come true. Art: Live Journal Story: Live Journal | Ao3 Title: Free Bird Artist: darklittleheart96 Author: merenwen76 Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: ExSlave!Dean, Hunter!Sam, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non, NSFW Art Summary: Written for the following prompt: Non-brothers AU, Sam (35 or older) is one of the best hunter, whose whole life has changed the day he rescued terrified and abused slave named Dean, who within the law is now Sam's slave... Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: The Boy Who Would be King Artist: sarasaurussex Author: annie46 Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: NSFW art, character death Summary: Without a soul Sam can be what he was always meant to be - King of Hell. He doesn't need Dean, or does he? Dean only wants to save Sam, or does he actually want more? Art: Tumblr Story: Live Journal | Ao3 Title: What Doesn’t Kill You Makes Us Stronger Artist: shealynn88 Author: ncdover1285 Other Pairing(if applicable): Dean Winchester/ others (mentioned), Sam Winchester/ Others (mentioned) Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Dark, M/M, Unknown Incest, Dark Winchesters Summary: Sam and Dean grew up in different ways, but seem to have quite a bit in common. Both finding their way to a life of killing and lies. It’s almost as if something is keeping one from killing the other though when they take the other as a mark. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: Moral Insanity Artist: midnightsilver Author: levisqueaks Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: Crack, This Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, Cowboy Sam Winchester, The Boys Film a Porno Summary: When Dean got down to it, this was all Sammy’s fault. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but when Sam convinces Dean they should make money by filming porn rather than credit card scams, the brothers end up a little too close to the fire. Why did he feel like he was walking to the gallows? He loved porn. He was a fine curator of porn. Had been since his first skin mag at 13. So why was the thought of being behind the camera so nerve wracking? Once Dean’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness beyond the wall separating them from the storefront he found the director circling Sam. Like a shark. This guy was a shark. Or maybe a vampire? He was some sort of deadly with teeth that wanted to eat his kid brother alive. What the hell had they gotten themselves in to? Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: The Hawk and the Wolf Artist: kelios Author: fledhyris Rating: PG-13 Warnings/Spoilers: N/A Summary: Two brothers, cursed for loving one another a little too closely, wander as knights errant, together yet forever apart. Their luck turns when Dean encounters a young thief, Garth, running from Winchester Cathedral with a stolen book. They have just one chance to meet the conditions for the spell to be lifted; will they win their hearts’ desire or be doomed to live out the rest of their lives under a cruel enchantment? Art: Live Journal Story: Ao3 Title: stumbling over universes Artist: kuwlshadow Author: embersdevine Rating: PG-13 Warnings/Spoilers: Some sexual content Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in another world. Again. But someone finds them and it sort of changes everything. Art: Tumblr Story: Ao3 Title: Titanium (With You On the Edge of Every Tomorrow) Artist: darklittleheart Author: abeautifullie3 Other Pairing(if applicable): (all minor or passing mentions) Charlie/Eileen. Jody/Donna. Cesar/Jesse. OFC/OMC. Rating: NC-17 Warnings/Spoilers: (full list at author’s LJ or AO3, here be the biggies) Spoilers through entire aired series…just to be safe. Semi-AU. Canon Divergence. A/B/O. Mpreg. Alpha!Dean. Alpha-to-Omega!Sam. A Few Instances of Gore. Graphic OC Deaths. Death of Not-A-Fucking-Lead Character. Graphic Deaths of Minors (not Sam and Dean's). Show Level Violence. Profanity. Graphic Sex. BDSM: A Bit of B…With Some D&S…No S&M. Pregnancy!Kink. Lactation!Kink. Pregnant!Sex. To Be Safe: Graphic Births. Kid!fic. Kinda-sorta Curtain!Fic. Kinda-sorta Fix-It!Fic. Angst. A Bit of Schmoop To Sooth. Summary: All the sigils, all the wards. All the hoodoo and white magic. All of the mystical safeguards they had in place, and yet there was one thing none of it could protect them from... Humans. Against the odds, Dean and Sam have built a life together aside from Hunting. With the help of a curse-turned-gift, they’ve even made their own family. Now, Sam eight months pregnant with his and Dean’s daughter, it’s all being threatened when Dean and their five-year-old son, Jameson, are abducted. It's perfectly executed. As if the kidnapper knows personal details about Sam and Dean's lives. Has knowledge – and access – to the bunker. Has been to their home. It's because she does and has. She's been training with them for over two years. Moved up in the ranks to both helper and friend. Hell, she's watched after Jameson for them. She's been biding her time. Now it’s Dean’s turn to bide his time, take care of his son as best he can while being held prisoner, keep them alive until Sam can rescue them. Which, if there is anything Dean knows for sure…Sam will save them. The weeks passing, stress taking its toll on Sam’s heavily pregnant body, with what little Sam and his people have to go on, what they’ve been able to piece together, he knows it’s up to him to find and rescue his brother and son from a sadistic psychopath who may be right in their midst. Semi-AU from season 6 finale. Some canon stuffs after that still happened. A helluva bunch didn’t…or played out differently. No time for significant “world building”, and not a primary focus, but this is A/B/O. Art: Tumblr Story: Live Journal | Ao3

#wincest reverse bang #wincest reverse bang 2020 #master post #master post 2020

27 notes · View notes

blackmissfrizzle · 4 years

Text

The Sacrifice

Summary: Dean finds out the reader is a virgin. Based on 3x12

Characters: Dean x black!reader

A/N: So, I’m basically doing a series rewrite of my favorite episodes. This is is based on the the reader’s and Dean’s relationship through the years. Its based on A Match Made in Hell Series. I’m not doing this in a linear order, but I’ll make a separate masterlist for this series and put the fics in order.

When you get the chance, you’re putting a bullet right between that British bitch’s eyes. Bela had managed to steal the colt and get the boys arrested by Agent Henricksen. The only reason that you weren’t in a cell with the boys is, that Henricksen could never physically tie you to the boys except for your Stanford connection with Sam. So, all he could do was call you to “consult” on the case.

“Where are you going Agent Y/L/N?” Henricksen stopped you on the way to the cell. At the sound of his voice, your body immediately went stiff. Agent Henricksen wouldn’t be too bad if he wasn’t so focus on locking up Sam and Dean, but you also understood from his point of view. With his limited knowledge and evidence, it all points to the boys being devil worshipping, psychopathic killers.

“To talk to an old friend and try to figure out how’s he connected to all this. That’s what you wanted me here for, right?” You cocked your head to the side, annoyance clear on your face.

Henricksen slowly approached you, trying to make himself seem bigger to intimidate you. Too bad for him, nothing scares you anymore, but you won’t let him know that. “Yeah, I brought you here so I can see your face when you see that your best friend and your boyfriend are finally locked up in a maximum-security prison.” He searches your face a reaction, but you didn’t give him one. “It may take me awhile, but one day I’m gonna get the evidence and then it’ll be you sitting in a jail cell.”

Throwing up the peace sign, you sauntered off. “Good luck with that, Henricksen,” you yelled over your shoulder.

—

“And why is that a good thing?” You questioned Dean after hearing him brag to Sam that they got a hit out on them.

“Because we’re awesome, that’s why.” You rolled your eyes at his arrogance. “Hey, why didn’t the demon go after you?”

In a blink of an eye, you flashed your eyes to black. “Oh, I forgot, you’re their precious half demon spawn.”

Ignoring his little snub, you pointed to Dean’s gun shot wound. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Eh, I’ll live. That’s if we don’t get killed first.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother before turning to you. “Is there any way you can get us out of here, Y/N/N?”

“No,” you sighed deeply. “Henricksen’s watching me like a hawk. He’s ready to throw me in a cell with you guys.”

“Well, ain’t that just peachy,” Dean muttered to the side.

The sheriff walked in on your discussion. It seemed that he was in a daze as he unlocked the boys’ cell, ordering them to leave. All three you were suspicious, and the boys refused to leave.

Before you could order the sheriff to get out Agent Henricksen came to do the same. However, nothing got settled because Henricksen put a bullet in the sheriff’s head.

Sam wrestled the gun away from him and began performing an exorcism while you and Dean held back the deputy.

Right before Sam sent the demon to hell, he screamed that it was too late and that more were coming.

“I shot the sheriff,” Henricksen confessed.

“But you didn’t shoot the deputy,” Dean joked, which earned him a kick to the back of his knees from you.

—

*Dean’s POV*

My eyes find her while I’m in the office with Henricksen. She’s talking to the secretary with that warm smile on her face that magically seems to calm everyone down despite being in the worst of situations. I’m too damn worried about her to focus on anything else despite the fact she needs no protection and can kick my ass to kingdom come.

“Scratch that. You just don’t have your brother. You got Y/N.” Henricksen interrupted my thoughts.

“We’re not together. Just friends.” I admitted, even though I wanted so much more than that. Its just my luck to fall in love with a girl when I have less than a year to live.

“Okayyyyyy.” Disbelief was soaking in his response. “What’s the deal with her anyway? How does a rich kid like her end up hunting with you two?”

I stopped cleaning my gun and gave him a hard glare. “Not my story to tell but know this: she’s probably our best way out of this situation.”

Henricksen was about to say something when we heard a loud crash outside. Both us plus everyone else ran to see Ruby caught in the Devil’s trap. Raising his gun to her, Henricksen asked how we kill her.

“We don’t. She’s here to help us.” Sam forced Henricksen’s gun down and opened the Devil’s trap. Me and Y/N traded annoyed looks. Neither one of us could stand Ruby. Y/N just kept her annoyance quiet unlike me. It was already hard to trust Ruby, because she was a damn demon, but if sweet Y/N doesn’t like someone then that’s a major red flag.

*Reader’s POV*

Great, there’s 30 demons out there ready to kill Sam and Dean. You’re pretty sure you could get through all of them, but you’ll be pretty banged up in the end. You were tuned out of the conversation, figuring out a plan of attack until you heard Lilith’s name.

“Lilith?” you repeated to Ruby.

“Yup. And she really, really wants Sam’s intestines on a stick. ‘Cause she sees him as competition.” Ruby informed us of Sam’s new nemesis.

“You knew about this?” A very pissed off Dean questioned Sam. “Well, gee, Sam, is there anything else I should know?”

Before they could get any further into an argument, you intervened. “Sam, you should’ve told us. Lilith’s no joke.” You weren’t gonna let Sam off the hook, but also you weren’t gonna rail into him like Dean was trying to.

Sam ignored Dean and looked to you with a face full of guilt. “How do you know about Lilith?”

“My dad talked about her all the time. He always told me that me and her could be a force to be reckoned with.” Just the thought of the many talks you had with your father had you bothered. He always tried to make it appealing that you were some kind of demonic second coming. At least this talk you remembered was helpful.

“I thought your parents were dead?” Henricksen asked.

You looked over shoulder and threw out, “My adoptive parents are. My real dad’s a demon and alive.”

Henricksen, Nancy, and the deputy gasped. You forgot that they just learned of the existence of demons and your lineage could be a bit troubling. “Relax. I’m only half and hate demons probably more than anyone else in this room.” The three of them eyed you cautiously, but that calming effect you had on people led them to believe you.

“Well, now that we got that out of the way. Where’s the colt?” If you had tea at that moment, you definitely would’ve been sipping it. Both of the boys tried to avoid Ruby’s gaze and when she looked at you, you furrowed your brows at her for even questioning you for losing it.

“It got stolen.” Ruby just about had a bitch fit when Sam admitted the truth. She was one insult away from you punching her in her gotdamned mouth, when Dean pulled you back and shook his head no.

But, thank the lucky stars, Ruby knew a spell. It would blow the demons out of the bodies, including Ruby, so it didn’t seem too bad; until she said she needed a virgin, specifically a heart of a virgin. And sweet Nancy still wanted to go through with it, but you couldn’t let an innocent sacrifice herself.

“I’ll do it,” you blurted out. All eyes turned to you and everyone was surprised except Sam. He remembered when you confided to him back at Stanford that you said that you were waiting til marriage.

“No way. Come on, you, you watch porn and you tease me all the fucking time.” Dean claimed.

“One, how else am I supposed to get my rocks off? Virgins are horny too. And two, its fun to see you turn red.”

Ruby seemed a little too happy with your decision to sacrifice yourself, but everyone else was heavily against it, except Sam. Dean tried to dissuade him, but you and him knew it was the best option.

“It’s my decision, D,” you told him.

“Damn straight, cherry pie,” Ruby replied with a smirk.

“Stop! Stop! Nobody kill any virgins!” Dean grabbed your hand and pulled you away and ordered Sam into a hallway for a talk. Normally, you made yourself scarce when they had these talks, but you guessed since you were offering yourself up, Dean thought it must’ve been a good idea to include you.

“Tell me you two are not seriously considering this.”

Sam and you both traded solemn looks. It sucked but it was necessary. “And we’re also talking about 30 people out there, Dean, innocent people who are all gonna die, along with everyone in here.” Sam argued back.

“It’s a numbers game, Dean. 1 life vs. 30. If you were in my shoes, you’d do the same.” Hell, Dean already did it. He’d offered up his life for Sam’s. How the hell is this any different?

“It doesn’t mean we throw out the rule book. I’m not gonna let that demon bitch kill the kindest person I know, who I might add hasn’t even been laid!”

“Then what? What do we do, Dean?”

“I got a plan. I’m not saying it’s a good one I’m not even saying that it’ll work. But it sure as hell beats killing our virgin best friend.”

“What’s the plan,” you and Sam asked simultaneously.

“Open the doors, let them all in, and we fight.”

Dean’s plan may be a little crazy, but it could work. Ruby was pissed at the suggestion and left. Her plan would for sure leave everyone alive except me. Offended that we didn’t go with her plan and refusing to watch us lose, Ruby left.

It worked. Dean’s plan actually worked. We were able to trap all the demon’s inside the station and played a tape of Sam saying the exorcism. It helped that you could hold 10 demons on your own, so the rest were left to Sam, Dean and Henricksen.

“Coming with?” Dean asked before him and Sam left.

“Nah, I gotta stay. Technically, I came with the FBI now I gotta write a report on how you two died on the helicopter. Yay me!” You hated writing reports and now this one was going to take longer, because you and Henricksen had to get your lies together.

The boys gave you a sympathetic look and made you promise to contact them once you got home before they left.

The remaining of you, began cleaning the station when a little girl came into the station. Your spidey senses started tingling and you moved a bit closer to Nancy. The little girl said she was looking for two brothers: one’s really tall and one’s really cute.

When Nancy asked her, her name, she responded, “Lilith.” You tried to attack the her, but soon you felt two sets of arms around you and you were teleported out of the station. It was your dad and his lackey, Brixton.

“Get off of me!” You yelled, just in time to see the police station overcome with a blinding white light.

Deep in your soul, you knew Henricksen and the rest were dead. What other reason would your dad save you?

“Calm down, princess.” Brixton said, fighting you off.

It wasn’t beneath your father to use dirty moves, so he grabbed you by your curls and threw you to the ground. “Calm your ass down, before I make you tell me where the Winchesters are and kill them myself!”

Quickly, you got up and wiped the dirt off you. “Why’d you save me?”

“Lilith’s orders. And I suggest you get used to the idea of a life without the Winchesters. Dean’s year is about to be up, and Lilith is gonna kill Sam sooner or later. Its just a matter of time.”

“Not if I can help it.” You claimed.

With a sweet kiss to the top of your head that betrayed his demonic nature, your dad whispered, “It’ll happen. Save yourself the heartbreak, baby girl.” And just like that he disappeared.

*Dean’s POV*

Sam and I were relaxing when we heard a knock on our motel door. It was Ruby. Damn, will we ever get rid of her? I’m tired of looking at her bitchy face.

As usual, she came in bossing us around. She told us to turn on the news. Supposedly, there was a gas main rupture that led to explosion at the sheriff’s station. The news anchor said everyone died, but one person did survive.

Please let it be Y/N, please let it be Y/N, please let it be Y/N, please let it be Y/N, I thought. It may be shitty, but I couldn’t bare the thought of losing her. Henricksen, the other FBI agents, the deputy, the sheriff, and even the freaking virgin secretary were dead, but I didn’t see Y/N’s face on the screen.

Just as Ruby was railing into us, there was another knock on the door, and I ran to open it. There she was standing there, tears running down her face. Probably feeling guilty that she was alive while the others were dead.

“I couldn’t save them,” Y/N whispered before her knees buckled. I caught her just before her she hit the ground.

Ruby threw us some hex bags that’ll help get Lilith off our trail. But I wanted to throw it back at her, just to get her to stop complaining how our plan sucked ass.

“And now look, your precious little virgin is having a mental breakdown, because even she knows you guys messed up.”

“Leave.” I ordered. I wasn’t gonna let her upset Y/N anymore than she already was. Ruby got one look at my deadly glare and took the hint, that if she didn’t leave right at that moment, she’d be dead. Sam followed her to make sure she leaves and to give me and Y/N some space. Over time, me and Y/N grew closer, especially now that Sam’s all buddy buddy with Ruby. It wasn’t unusual for her or me to go to the other to find comfort after a bad hunt.

This time I had no words for her. As much as I was hurting that we couldn’t save Henricksen and the rest, I think I would be hurting much worse if it was her, we lost instead, but I can’t tell her that. So, instead I just held her until she cried herself to sleep, hoping that in the morning I can find the right words.

Tags: @titty-teetee @cocooned-butterfly @nervouspetsonanime @thefaithfulwriter @meishaabae @dannixchristian @blacknthemix @mml232

#black!reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x black!reader #dean #dean x reader #dean x black!reader #spn #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fandom #spn fandom #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic

152 notes · View notes