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venus-haze · 11 days

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Power Play (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: So, you lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship. It happens all the time. Maybe not quite like this.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Crazy ass 80s Vought debauchery. I might be a little rusty, but it was fun getting back into writing readerfics after two months🖤 Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Power imbalance, cheating (Soldier Boy’s with Crimson Countess). Mentions of drug use. Soldier Boy is his own warning. Sexually explicit content involving elements of forced intox, semi-public sex, breeding kink.

You were dizzy. With Vought’s investor gala rapidly approaching, you spent the better part of your day camped out in your office, flipping back and forth through your rolodex to call and confirm catering, entertainment—you still couldn’t believe the board of directors actually approved Duran Duran’s booking fee—and transportation, off the top of your head. You already told Stan Edgar you were taking the following week off, which he had no qualms about—so long as the gala went off without a hitch.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you were interrupted by a knock at your office door, which you’d left open in an effort to be available in the lead up to the event.

“Don’t tell me Edgar’s got you working tonight,” Soldier Boy said, walking in when he saw he had your attention.

“The most important night of the year is less than a week away and I still have a to-do list as long as your dick, so, yeah.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Must be pretty busy then.”

“How about you? Where’s Countess?” you asked.

Soldier Boy probably would have sought you out even if Crimson Countess were around, but from what you’d been hearing through Vought’s extensive grapevine, they were in yet another rough patch. Though, it seemed to you like their relationship was one long, extremely rough patch with some calm once in a blue moon. You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself that you ate up the gossip of their relationship like candy, especially when the other members of Payback—including Countess herself—would rant to Edgar about it. Since your office was right next to his, and most supes had little to no sense of subtlety, you could hear just about everything.

“She’s at one of those wildlife charity things, pandas or some bullshit.” He rolled his eyes. “Bitched at me because I wouldn’t go. She won’t be back until Friday.”

“Soldier Boy, I can’t just—“

“Sure you can. I mean, I’m technically your boss too, aren’t I?” he asked. “So, I say there’s no harm in taking a ten, fifteen minute break. Relieve some stress.”

You sighed. It had been a while since you actually got up from your desk. “Alright. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

He grinned. “Now we’re talking. You keep that minibar stocked?”

“Pick your poison.”

“Whiskey?”

“Sure.”

At least, you were pretty sure. The minibar in your office served as a nice gesture for the variety of people who’d come into your office for meetings related to all of the aspects of event planning you were in charge of. Over the past few weeks, though, you’d been reaching for bottles of whatever you could find to relieve the stress. Powdered your nose every so often, but tried not to make that a habit—not that you blamed your coworkers who did. Working at Vought was brutal and demanding, but hell, who else got to work with superheroes? Especially handsome, smarmy assholes who knew just how to fuck the lingering thoughts of any deadline or event planning out of your mind if you played your cards right.

He handed you a shot glass. “What should we toast to?”

“To taking next week off.”

“Yeah? What’ve you got planned?”

You threw back your shot. “Nothing.”

“That’s no fun. How does a few days in Miami sound?”

You nearly scoffed. Of course he could make something like that happen on such short notice. For forty years running he was America’s superhero and Vought’s cash cow. After a night of schmoozing at the investor gala, he could very well clear out his schedule and fuck off for a week of sun, sand, and sex, too.

“I might need some convincing.”

“Then make yourself comfortable,” he said, walking back to the minibar to pour another shot for each of you. Almost comical, he’d have to drink the whole bottle and then some to feel the same way you did after two shots.

You glanced at the open door. “Someone might see.”

“Are you gonna make me repeat myself?”

Sparing the door one more glance, you worked at unbuttoning your blouse, tossing it aside. You shimmied out of your skirt and let it fall to the floor.

“Heels stay on,” he said, his back to you. “Everything else off. Everything.”

With a hesitant huff, you unhooked your bra and pulled off your panties, throwing them in his direction when he turned around with the shot glasses. You made yourself comfortable on top of your desk, pushing some of your belongings aside to accommodate you.

He whistled lowly as you quickly finished off the second shot he gave you. “Look at you sitting pretty for me.” His green eyes burned a hole through you, though your gaze was fixed on the prominent bulge in his pants. He brought his shot glass to your lips. “Drink up, sweetheart.”

And you did, forcing the alcohol down as your vision blurred with tears at the unrelenting burning in the back of your throat. Felt some whiskey dripping from the corners of your mouth when you drained the shot glass. He collected the excess from your lips with his thumb, sucking it clean as he kept his eyes locked with yours.

“See how much fun we have together?” he asked, leaning over you until you laid back on top of your desk. “Could do that all next week.”

He kissed you, hard and mean like you needed him to. Perfect teeth that caught your bottom lip between them for a moment before releasing. Whiskey on his tongue that went to your head even though you knew he could hardly feel it. Rough hands feeling up your breasts, giving your nipples a harsh tug that made you moan in his mouth.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice husky as he rubbed his fingers between your slick folds with tantalizingly slow strokes. “If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask.”

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“What was that?”

You groaned in frustration. “Just fuck me already.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

His mouth was on yours again, nearly distracting you from the sound of a zipper, the your gut clenching in anticipation as he pulled his cock from his pants.

It’d been a while since you had to brace yourself to take him, but you were wet, and maybe a little more than tipsy, so your body gave little resistance when he slid his cock inside you. Though, if Soldier Boy were anything, it was a guy who took what he wanted anyway, giving you hardly a second to get used to the feeling of how his cock stretched your pussy before he was pounding into you with harsh, unforgiving thrusts that made you grip the edge of your desk.

Sometimes you forgot how strong he was. Hell, so did he, and there was little else you could do but lay there and take what he gave you. In all honesty, it was nice letting someone else take charge after having to hold it together all day. Let him fuck the stress out of you and replace it with all the aches and bruises that came with having sex with the strongest man on earth.

“Harder,” you forced out, pushing that damn rolodex onto the floor.

“I go any harder, I’m gonna break you in half, and I don’t wanna do that until I’ve got you locked away in a hotel room for a week.”

“What are you gonna do to me?”

“Whatever the fuck I want. Not like I don’t already.”

You moaned. “Soldier Boy—”

“I’m not pulling out, so you better be on the pill or say your damn prayers,” he growled, his hot breath kissing your skin. You were on the pill, but nevertheless your hips bucked at his words, pussy clenching around his cock. “Oh shit, you want that, don’t you?”

“Yes—oh my god!” you cried out, muscles cramping as your orgasm pulsed through you, pleasure stealing your breath, choking you gently enough to leave you dizzy. “Yesyesyes—fuck!” Your heart was beating so fast you thought it was going to explode in your chest, especially as he kept mercilessly pounding into you, chasing his own release.

He soon came with a groan, his cock twitching inside you as he bottomed out, practically knocking the wind out of you with a particularly hard thrust.

You felt empty and sticky when he pulled out, and you didn’t want to think about the poor soul who was gonna be cleaning the mess you and him left behind the following morning, because you sure as hell weren’t in any shape to clean up the cum that was leaking out of you and onto the floor.

You put your hands on your chest, trying to catch your breath as he stood over you. The guy hardly broke a sweat, and you felt like you just ran the New York City Marathon. Super stamina. God fucking bless America.

“Hey,” he said, waving his hand in front of your face. “You good?”

“Sure,” you managed to answer. “Except now I don’t know how I’m gonna walk out of here, let alone get home later.”

“The ride up to the 99th is quicker. And if you need more convincing about Miami—“

You pursed your lips, considering the work you still had left to do before you could reasonably call it a night. But you were tired, and admittedly drunk, and Soldier Boy was already hard again. “I might.”

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy the boys #the boys x reader #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys tv #the boys soldier boy #the boys imagine #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy smut #im a feminist i promise #but do you ever think about how that man could literally break you in half if he wanted to?

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reiderwriter · 6 months

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◇ Now That I Found You, Stay ◇

Chapter 11 of That's What You Get

Summary: A long, overdue conversation is finally had.

Warnings: smut, minors dni 18+, fingering, vaginal penetration, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talk, pet names, creampie, breeding kink, marking etc. Spoilers for Season 7 of Criminal Minds, episodes "Hit" and "Run."

A/N: And next week is the end of our journey! If anyone is interested, I can answer any questions you have about this series and its ending/ what I'm planning for after this, etc. in my inbox this weekend! I'm really thankful for everyone's support so far! 11 down, 1 to go!

As always, you can find my masterlist here, and my requests are currently open!! <3

You weren't expecting him to be so very prompt, but after hearing the panic in his voice on the phone call, you really shouldn't have expected any less.

Taking in his appearance, you were almost sorry that you'd caused such an upset. His eyes were darker than usual, a look of no sleep crossing his features, but he still stood hypervigilant in the doorway. Almost as if he were scanning you for injuries or harm, he drank you in.

"You're wearing it?" The words fell from his mouth before either of you could say hello. The second his eyes locked onto the ring on your hand, it was suddenly the only thing he could think of.

You could see him biting back further questions as he waited for you to invite him in.

"I'm wearing it. That's okay, isn't it?" You asked, glancing up into his panicked face as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"Yeah, it's… it's okay, yeah. Why… why are you wearing it?" He asked hesitantly, blinking a lot as he waited for your answer. You pulled the door further open and waved him in with your arm. He stepped into the immediate space but didn't move in further, as if he were scared to go in too far for fear he'd be led straight back out again.

"Listen, Y/N, I know I should've told you, and I'm so sorry, and-"

"I know."

"No, you don't. You didn't remember anything when we woke up, and I was so scared that I'd forced you into it, that you were going to regret everything, and-"

"Spencer," you grabbed his attention, flattening your hand on his chest as you forced him to focus on your words. "I know." His rambling ceased as he tried to sus out your meaning, obviously coming up blank of the furrow in his brow was anything to go by.

"Penelope was here. Thank you for that, by the way. Penelope was here, and she showed me this video she took." Your hand lazily stroked over his chest, settling into place over his heart, where you could feel the organ desperately thumping, trying to make its way to you.

"I heard that being presented with photographic evidence of an event can spark memories of it. I guess that worked for me." You sighed and took a step towards him.

"I know how much you love me because you told me."

Since watching Spencer's Chapel confession, glimpses of the night had been falling into place, puzzling out the entire story.

You remembered being in the casino with him. He'd taught you some special tricks for the card games, and you'd laughed in delight as you'd raked in the cash. You hadn't done as well as him, but you knew you never would.

You remembered how you'd left hand in hand, him pulling you out of the casino, away from an angry security guard, who obviously had questions about his sudden luck. He'd pulled you into am alleyway, and you'd stood there, laughing, chests heaving as you grew closer, finally wrapping around each other in joy, your lips meeting as if it were something they always were meant to do.

He had flushed beautifully as he'd pulled away, so concerned that he was taking advantage of you. He whispered his love to you into the small space between your skin, under the influence of alcohol or cupid or something that made him brave for that second.

You remembered the way he'd tried to take the words back, and you remembered just as vividly how you'd refused to let him, smile growing to the point where your cheeks had felt tired.

He'd kept talking, though, and you remembered every word he said to you.

"You know I have this recurring dream," he had started. "I used to have bad nightmares, but now it's a dream. I wake up in bed, and you're there. We eat together, we get ready together. We go to work together. We are together. Is it weird I have dreams about being married to you?" His eyes had flashed with panic for a second before you'd pulled him down for a kiss.

"Okay." Your voice barely a whisper, your nose pressed against his.

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll marry you. It seems like a lovely dream." And you had, and it was.

You focused on him in the present again, looking up into his eyes as you connected your other hand with his.

"Spencer, it was a lovely dream." His eyes soften as he breathes a sigh of relief.

You pull back for a second, leading him out of the doorway, before turning on him. Plucking the ring from your finger, you drop it into his palm, closing his hand around it.

"Oh. I understand, I… I get it, if you don't want this-"

"Spencer, what I want is a question." You sink to the floor, pulling him down with you until both of you are on your knees.

"Now that we're both sober, I want the question. I distinctly remember you not exactly asking last time." It took him a few seconds to understand, and you squirmed as you waited for him to finally give you what you needed.

"Oh." You laughed at his dumb-struck expression, still acting obviously for him to ask you to marry him.

"Oh, right, okay. I'm sorry, I thought I'd be better at this." He fumbled the ring in his hand for a second before offering it out to you, clutched awkwardly in both of his hands.

"Y/N, will you marry me?" The anticipation bubbling up in you spilt over as you threw your arms around him, tackling him to the floor as you shouted yes as many times as your breathless lungs would allow you.

The ring is forgotten underneath the two of you somewhere as his lips attach themselves to yours, stealing even more of your oxygen while giving you life. His hands pulled you in by your waist until you were a mess of limbs on the floor, wrapped around one another.

He pushed your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear when you finally broke apart, drinking in as much air as you could.

"Great, because I don't think I could go back to the nightmares."

"And I don't think the title divorcée suits me very well, Spencer. This is mutually beneficial." He laughs as his lips draw yours in again, using his body weight to flip your positions, quickly but carefully lowering you to the ground, kissing every inch of your face as you curiously roll your hips up into his.

When you try to come up for air again he doesn't let you, pushing your shoulders down as he sucks love bites into your collarbone.

"Spencer, how…How should we tell everyone? It's going to be a shock, right?" You tried to keep your voice steady but even you couldn't control the reactions you were having to this man's touch.

"I have some ideas," You feel him smile into your skin as his head slopes lower and lower. The top of your dress was low enough that his head could graze the tops of your breasts without having to disturb much, and you weren't sure if you wanted an answer to your question or his undivided attention more.

"Care to enlighten me?" You asked as he planted a final kiss to your chest before pulling up and off you slightly.

Picking up your hand, he delicately brought the inside of your wrist to his mouth, kissing it tenderly.

"You could walk into work with this on your hand," he said, pushing the ring back onto your finger. The cool metal and his warm touch sent shivers down your spine as you dedicatedly watched him make his way across your body.

Back at your neck, he spoke again, softly. "I could mark you up, nice and good, until everyone knows what an obedient little wife you are." His tongue flicks over a particularly sensitive spot, and you moan as you squeal into the touch. He spends some time there, making companions for his earlier love bites.

Letting his hands trace lower, he finally ghosts a finger across your clothed pussy. With just a few mere touches, you're putty in his hand, whimpering his name helplessly, your arms wrapped about his neck.

"We could do it that way, too. Those motel room walls are always pretty thin. I'm sure one scream of my name and the entire team would know." Your hips buck up violently into his own and you're surprised at your sudden lack of self-control.

You moaned for him, waiting for him to give up his teasing and give you what you really wanted.

His hands remained ghostly, though, and you almost cursed in frustration. Pulling your dress up, he was swift and agile, hands falling to your bare hips once he'd made sure you were displayed to him. You moaned as you tried to buck your hips up into his hands again, but he caught you before you could.

Instead of meeting you where you wanted, be pushed your dress even higher, head moving lower to begin pressing kisses over your stomach and lower.

"Or I could knock you up and we can for you to introduce the baby with my last name. Really let everyone know just what a horn little slut you are for me." you contemplate grabbing a fistful of his fair, but his lips are back on yours in a flash, and you gasp as you feel him finally push your panties to the side and let his fingers dive inside of you.

"Or I could give you a real wedding. Claim you right there in front of everyone.

"I could take thee, to be my wedded wife," his hands slipped deeper into you still as you moaned underneath him.

"To have and to hold," his other hand dropped to rub your clit as he kept his eyes locked with your own, mouth wide with arousal, trying desperately to prologue this pleasure and not come undone so instantly on his hands.

"From this day forward, for better or worse," your mind goes blank, filling with his voice and only his voice.

"For richer, for poorer," he pulls his fingers away for a second, and you moan in protest.

"In sickness and in health," he sits you up in his lap, ridding you of your remaining clothing as he drinks in the view of your entire body.

"To love and to cherish," he kisses you again, so soft and passionate that you are almost surprised when his dick slips into you from under you.

"Till death do us part." He rises to his knees, holding you up in his arms as he begins thrusting into you, hard and fast.

With his attention so wholly on you and your pleasure, you come undone in a matter of moments, Spencer still finding his rhythm as you stutter around him.

"Good girl, you're doing so good for me, milking my cock like that." He doesn't slow down as you give yourself over to him, just stroking your hair as you readjust to all the touches you're receiving. You claw your hands into his back as you start getting over stimulated, trying desperately to retain hold of your sanity.

He's pounding into you too desperately to sustain your position, quickly pressing your back into the floor once again, spreading you once more, and continuing his ministrations.

Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, desperately holding on for fear that letting go would mean losing him again. You feel your nails break the skin of his back as you scratch, claw, grip.

"How about we do all of that?" He grunts in your ear. "I'll give you whatever wedding you want I'll give you the world. If you let me breed you like a nice little whore." You moan his name in response, your entire body growing rigid again as his words build another climax inside your stomach.

"Let me mark you and show off who you belong to." You remember the feeling of his cum shooting into you, and suddenly you find it is everything you've ever wanted.

"Fuck, Spencer I'll do anything, please just don't stop."

His mouth finds yours again as his hand finds its way to your clit again, and suddenly your hips are jerking up and down his cock as you cum.

He isn't far behind you, not bothering to pause his movements at all as he spills his seed inside of you, pushing it in and letting it leak out of you, your collective fluids pooling under your ass as he gently calms his movements.

Holding himself like that on top of you, your breaths sync, and even as you're both gasping for air, looking into each others eyes is enough to spark more laughter. You're all tenderness and love, and and filled with him.

He doesn't bother to pull out, simply making sure your legs are tight around his waist and your arms are tight around his neck as he hauls himself to his feet, warming his cock inside you as he hauls you to the bedroom.

Finally pulling away, he lays you gently on the bed, taking notice of where the carpet has bitten into your back. He slips his cock out of you and retreats to the bathroom, no doubt seeking out cleaning materials.

When he rejoins you on the bed, he rubs your cunt lazily until you're cleaned up, but you grab his hand and urge him to keep going, before pulling him back over you.

The remainder of the night is restless as you make vows back and forth with every clash of your bodies, mouths hot with the need to prove your love for one another.

You finally get to wake up in his arms the next morning. He hasn't left, and you certainly didn't kick him out. You watch him peacefully for as long as you can before he stirs, and the two of you have to ready yourself for a day's work.

"We should tell everyone as soon as possible, right?" You say as you both climb out of the shower. Sharing it saves time, he'd said, but it hadn't been quite as efficient as he'd made it out to be.

Towelling off his hair, he replied. "Honestly, most of them already know."

"Wait… the witnesses!" You gasp as you remember what it is that you still didn't quite remember. "I know Penelope is one of them. Who was the other?" You demanded, whirling around on him as you brushed your teeth.

If you take everyone you'd talked to so far at face value, that left only three options.

"We're going to work soon, right? Maybe you could figure it out. Profile your second witness, perhaps." You scowled at him and threw a towel half heartedly, resisting the urge to stomp childishly when his phone begins to ring.

"Hotch," he answers, growing serious once more. "Yeah, we're awake, I…. Where? Okay, be there soon." He hangs up quickly and turns back to you.

"Will's partner was just killed as they responded to a call about a bank robbery. They want us to consult apparently, it's still in prog-" His hurried words are cut off by the even more hurried shrill of your phone.

"Hotch, yeah, I know, I'm… I'm with Spencer."

Hotch's voice is silent on the other end of the line for a second before his familiar stern tone sounds into your ear.

"We'll talk about that after we get everything settled for now, just get yourselves into the office."

You, too, hang up, and, with your husband, you make your way to the crime scene.

--X--

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

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sniffles. giving izuku a fashion show. squeezing into all the dresses ‘n skirts ‘n tiny shirts he bought you 🥺 squeezing his arm ‘ n pulling him into the dressing room so he can get a better look <3333

+ warning(s): smut, mdni 18+, public sex, oral sex (f!receiving), fem!reader, fingering, face sitting, reader is wearing a dress!!

gargles :((

izuku loves spoiling you, his pretty baby— it’s the least he could do when you’re weeks without him and he’s away on missions. something about the way you light up when he splashes the cash or flashes his black card (meant for agency stuff only but it’s you, and he doesn’t care), something about the way you smile just for him when he approves of something you want— it makes izuku warm, makes him feel proud and idolised by the one person he truly cares about.

izuku who likes to sit back in the plush seats of a chanel store changing room— dior being the one prior, a second away from purring as you slip out in dress after dress, skirt after skirt. “do a twirl for me, sweetheart.” “oh you like this one? i think i like it too.” “you’re so pretty baby, so pretty.” he praises each time, emerald eyes glued greedily together the way the fabric is caught on your hips and your chest and your thighs. making you toddle over to him every time just so he can get a better look, his usually quiet mind running wild at the thought of you sauntering around his agency in such skimpy, designer fits that he might have to tear of off you.

izuku who lets you drag him by the wrist into the dressing rooms, staggering after you even though your grip on him is barely enough to move to a fly (he’s built like a tonne of bricks stacked together with the perfect foundation). you giggle as deku lets you shove him against the opposite wall— back cooled by the glass mirror before his hungry eyes slink down to your cute little ass as you stand on your tip toes to draw the curtains. he groans, hand running through his hair when he gets a peek at your sweet cheeks.

“i…fuck, i don’t think i should be in here, sweet girl,” izuku’s breath stutters not because he’s nervous but because he wants to fucking devour you and you know exactly what you’re doing. his tongue pokes into his cheek as you wriggle the skirt of the dress up, grab at his scarred hands and let them sit at your ribs— thumbs tucked under the swell of your breast. “but oh…oh i like how this one fits.” he coos in a lower voice, when you smile and gasp and your nipples hardened under the pads of his thumbs as he rubs them from over the soft fabric. “pretty colour too, baby.”

izuku who slips the spaghetti straps down your shoulders, kissing every beauty mark or scar— revealing inches of your skin that were once covered by Forrest greens to match the pro hero’s hair. “picked it for you, you always like it when i dress in your colours, i-izuku,” the ends of your words are sighed out as he flips your positions— your back now against the cool wall though your bodies are pressed together and heated.

you gasp, he bites into the flesh of your chest. “izuku—“

“hmm, baby?” pro hero deku, the country’s shining light runs his tongue down your neck— eager fingers pulling down the front of your dress while his other hand pushes its way up the rest of the skirt.

“l-look underneath, wanna show you what’s underneath.”

so he takes a peek, strong hand that’s saved more than half the world cupping your pretty pussy like it’s the most precious thing in the world. and that’s where he feels it, the little lace that covers what little modesty you have before he pulls them right down so they pool around your ankles. “these are f’me? oh…oh sweetheart,” you’re already wet, surrounded by all these people yet trapped in your little bubble of lust and you tremble above izuku when he drags two slender digits along the length of your slit. he’s hungry now, head under the fabric and tongue lapping at you like a man deprived of the water he needs to survive. “oh…such a treat. thank you baby, you’re such a good little thing...” the words vibrate against you, sending tingles of pleasure to your spine until you’re scared you can’t stand and deku wraps his arms around your midsection to hold you up— nose nudging your clit, tongue wriggling against your sensitive walls.

you give into him, collapse into deku and rut against his face— the frills of this expensive skirt messing up his precious perfect curls while your juices dance among the freckles that are paint brush splattered against his face. fabric bunches at your hips, and you begin to unravel on japan’s most loved face like a lose thread. “fuck, baby you’re so pretty… ‘n so so, wet,” deku growls, voice now deep and husky— abandoning his sweet boy charm saved for public as he tongue fucks you and slurps on the honey that drips between your puffy folds. “fuckin’ droolin’ in this dress sweetheart and it’s not even yours yet.” glowing green eyes pull back from under your skirt to look into your own, rough fingertips rubbing sharp circles into your swollen nub.

“i want it.” you grunt, grinding down against deku’s fast pace with tears brimming in your eyes and your body doused with sweat from how vigorously you move with your partner. “please, izu…wanna, wan—!”

“want what? to cum? want this dress? how about both, yeah?” when you nod your head, izuku grins almost sadistically. he loves spoiling you, he loves how you look down at him when you’re seconds away from losing it all on his tongue— he’ll get you this dress and then ten fucking others, he just wants to taste you. so deku slurps, suckles and spits beneath your dress, slaps a hand down on your cute ass and squeezes your fleshy thighs— using his grip to drag you back and forth across his strawberry tongue as its tip draws his name and price tags against your syrupy cunt.

deku does nothing to hide your moans while you shake and finally fucking cum in his mouth from underneath the dress— your juices running in thick droplets down the insides of your thighs and down his big muscled arms. heck, deku does nothing to hide his own moans, growling into your sex, high pitched and needy from time to time as your nectar spreads across his tastebuds and his fingers sink into the softness of your flesh just underneath the fabric.

and when he’s sure you’re cleaned up (an overstimulated and with licked clean cunt or jelly like legs), deku fixes the dress against your hips and chest perfectly— pulls your panties right back up and makes you walk with him to the tills so he can purchase you half of the dresses on display.

of course, ruining you in each one later.

#tteokdoroki #deku x reader #deku x you #deku smut #deku thirst #deku drabble #izuku midoriya smut #midoriya smut #izuku midoriya x reader #💒. user sem #[ exe. princess of softness ]#🖇. moots #💌. you’ve got mail

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

Note

Ransom x reader

Enemies to lovers , bot came from wealthy backgrounds as one is a trust fund (ran) then the other has her life getting good with a buissness outside her family . Why are they enemies at first? Shes admired for not relying on her folks too much as a teen and down to earth , enjoys the finer things as she views them as a reward or gift but ransom Demands that shit they also bicker how shes freinds with people bellow her and she sasses him how he always rely on perks thats petty

Warnings: so. much. cursing. It's all from Ransom's point of view, and since he's a disturbing(ly sexy) asshole, that translates to language. Plus smut (protected sex) MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Reader's background/company is ambiguous. Also of note is the 'enemies' portion is quite subtle. WC 4k

The Root of All Ransom, Part One (see series)

There’s new money and then there’s new money.

Ransom loves the smell of new, physical money, and because he spends so much of it, he gets to feel those crisp bills all the time. Sure, his black card gets the same look at a register, but the plastic gets tattered after a while. The metal cards are a nice touch. Hefty. Metal makes a great tapping sound when he’s bored of waiting for a retail worker to do their fucking job and let him leave already. Cash is easiest to toss down and run out. He likes all forms of money. Ransom is diverse that way.

You, however, you are the New Money, the shit that’s a title, the shit that’s been earned, and it reminds him of his mother’s ranting. ‘Self-made’ his ass. Grandpa Harlan never made Linda repay a dime; that’s not a million-dollar loan. That’s good, old-fashioned nepotism. That’s inheritance come early. Old Harlan is Old Money, but New Money You is just as stale.

“She’s a breath of fresh air,” the middle-aged woman beside him coos.

Fucking gross.

Each time Ransom sees you he gets a foul taste in his mouth. His nostrils flair. He can smell the budgeting on you even at a distance. For every one of these events (with swag bags and a charity write-off promise) where you make a speech after receiving an award for whatever—he’s already too bored to listen—Ransom drinks heavily to make it to the end of the night.

He hasn’t given a dime, mind you, but Harlan has, and Linda has. Neither of them ever wants to go hobnob. Linda would but can’t trust Richard at these things, so she sticks to daytime shindigs. Walt is a bumbling, awkward mess, so he can’t represent anything other than why big pharma for every neurosis exists. He’s not welcome. Instead, it falls to nowhere-else-to-be Ransom.

He thought he’d hate the events as much as the company until he found a thick, silver lining: some starry-eyed wannabe is always seated at an adjacent table. Handsome, young Ransom is guaranteed someone to go home with. Bonus points if they give head during the car ride.

Tonight though, he fucks up.

Ransom Drysdale makes the mistake of chatting up your date: your friend, Mariah, from high school who’s in town for the weekend. She’s doing a remarkable impression of a bimbo socialite, and he’s already wasted most of the meal trying to land an unattainable prize—though not a worthwhile prize, obviously.

It’s not his fault; he was at the bar when you and Mariah arrived, so he had no clue.

He expects you to be defensive once you make your way back to the table after your speech and find your friend with him. Ran is sure his reputation precedes him. He looks great in the photo ops just as he looks for great ass. He thinks your smile seems forced until you get closer. All you do is tell them to enjoy themselves.

Mariah here looks like she’s about to drop to her knees under the table, and you’re gonna let her?

You can’t possibly be stupid enough to trust him, can you?

He snorts out a chuckle, thinking you may know your business but you clearly do not know people. He wants to fuck Mariah. Then he really wants Mariah to tell you about fucking him, ad nauseam, hopefully, multiple times. Then he’s not sure whether he’d prefer you want to fuck him or you be mad about him fucking Mariah. He’ll have to wait and see.

“Isn’t she the best,” Mariah tosses out as flippantly as her hair extensions over her exposed shoulders. “I’m surprised she wanted me to come instead of a real date.”

“Sure,” he swigs his whisky quickly, “but then I wouldn’t get you for the evening, too.”

If he’s not mistaken, Mariah just soaked the pretty little thong he can just see the outline of in her tight dress, so Ran lays on a few more easy moves and thinks it’s a done deal.

Alas, he is wrong, and you and your friend leave together smiling while he races to text a booty call to meet at his place in a half-hour.

It’s all very frustrating, and Ransom hates you that much more.

Ransom has two new coats, a half-dozen new shirts, a three-piece suit, three new pairs of shoes, and he’s looking for the piece de resistance: a scarf (or several).

He loves accessories because he loves to change things up. He gets bored extremely easily, and he feels better when he treats himself.

In Hermès, he eyes a few options. He might even bother to get that one for his mother just because it has a few hideous accent colors he knows she’ll hate. Linda will still smile tightly and fake gratitude; it’s the only type of gratitude she knows. He doesn’t find anything for himself though, so he heads to the counter and recognizes the curves of a woman’s backside…in a dress that he’s seen in multiple candid tabloid shots.

How old is that garment? Jesus. Have some pride, woman.

His bored greeting startles you.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you exclaim, hand over your heart, “good to see you again.”

Is it?

“Right,” he grumbles roughly. “What brings you out of your goodie-two-shoes hole this afternoon?”

You seem excited, but in a different way than he’s ever noticed. At events, you are the picture of humility, full of genuine gratitude (and possibly the only reason he knows what that looks like), but this is something else.

The salesman returns with your order and unboxes a Birkin bag for you to inspect.

Now you’re just plain giddy, overjoyed, and vibrating, and Ransom preens a little to see Ms. High-and-Mighty so lowered as to indulge in retail therapy.

That’s a twenty-five thousand dollar bag you’re holding.

“Nice color,” Ransom chides, but he isn’t rewarded with your deterrence. You simply turn to beam at him.

“My favorite!” Your hands return to sweeping over the beautiful pebbled leather. “I had to wait for years—which is fine—“ you quickly add “—but I promised myself I’d do ten hours a week of volunteer work to earn such an extravagance.”

“Are you going to use it?”

You nod without turning back to him.

“Are you going to enjoy it?”

Another saleswoman motions to help him with the scarf he holds, and Ransom says nothing to her but drops his black card on the counter.

“Very much so,” you say quietly, almost like a confession.

“Then what’s so crazy about that?”

You giggle. You actually giggle. You don’t tell him how wrong he is or judge his spending in any way, which is surprising when that’s all those events he knows you from are for—to get him to spend money their way.

Ransom doesn’t know what compels him to stand there with his small purchase and watch while your bag gets squared away. You don’t choose to wear it out of the store, something he finds patently ridiculous because it’s a fucking Birkin and you’re about to walk out of Hermes with it in a box in another bag.

He pushes off the counter to walk out with you, an idea springing up.

“You’ve met my mother, I believe.”

Your polite smile gives nothing away. “Yes, a few times. Very briefly.”

“Her birthday is next month—” he lets an employee open the door for you both “—her sixtieth, allegedly.”

“Oh, well, tell her happy birthday for me.”

“You could come.”

Your face scrunches but whether from his offer or the bright sun on the street, he doesn’t know. His sunglasses are already on. You rummage around in what looks like a tapestry bag on the bad side of vintage for yours.

This is why you should have left using the Birkin, and he’s honestly surprised Hermès even served you looking like you do.

Where’s all that new money now, he thinks, because one bag is certainly not all of it.

“Why not? You both own businesses and run in similar circles.”

“Hugh, I don’t think—“

“Ransom,” he corrects with a sneer.

“Well, I just…” You regard him thoroughly for a long moment until a black car pulls up and its driver opens the door for you.

There it is. There’s a bit of pomp. He’s almost proud to see you being served. You’re just like him—or rather his family—in a way; you have help.

“Fine,” you say to Ransom while nodding to your driver, “text me the details, and I’ll see if I’m in town.” Even though your words are dismissive, they sound genuine and kind.

Yuck.

Your driver fishes a card from his breast pocket and curtly adds a ‘sir,’ before shutting you behind tinted windows.

Ok, so it’s not the easiest ‘yes’ he’s ever gotten. It wasn’t a ‘no’ either. Good news is that Ransom is not holding his breath. If it works, it works.

The idea is to flaunt you in front of Linda, not romantically, of course, but as a younger woman, perceived as better, more self-made, more successful, with a Birkin bag in his mother’s actual favorite color, while he gives her a scarf she’ll be revolted by. It’s perfect.

This did not at all go to plan.

Linda is supposed to be pissed. She’s supposed to be appalled and furious and have to hide that from her guests—which is most of the family, catering staff, and Harlan’s house help. She’s supposed to look at Ransom and know that he did this on purpose.

He told you not to bring a present for a reason, but he made damn sure when he picked you up that you were wearing that damn bag.

How the fuck was he supposed to know you’d go and be the dumbest bitch ever?

Linda got through two whole sentences of greeting after obviously clocking the Birkin and then turned it about her. She’s predictable that way, but you are not.

“That’s my favorite color,” she said.

“Mine too,” you said.

You both fucking laughed.

“I’ve always wanted one,” she said.

“You should have one,” you said.

He should have known right then except for on what planet does someone…

Ransom only stepped out for a few minutes to mess with Walt, smoking that sickening cigar. When he comes back in, there on the table right beside Linda is your bag. He looks around, but you aren’t in the living room. Then his mom smiles and pets the Birkin possessively.

“Oh, Ran, that girl is so sweet,” Linda coos.

Richard snorts in astonishment. “She’s really something.”

Ransom cringes at the lustful leer on his father’s face while he stares off toward the library.

What the shit?

You gave his mother your bag? After one minute of conversation?

God fucking damn it.

He has no words. Ran just purses his lips and stalks off to the other room in search of you. You’re deep in conversation with Harlan, seated across from each other in the bay windows of the library in high-backed upholstered chairs. On the floor beside your foot is a Blood Like Wine tote, partially filled.

“Grandpa,” he interrupts, leaning one arm against your chair with a questioning gaze.

“Ransom, my boy, it’s good to see you.” Before he can get a word in, Harlan waves an arthritis-gnarled hand in your direction. “Have you met my neighbor?”

“Neighbor?”

You shrug with a weak smile. “I purchased the Carlyles’ old property last year but kept my apartment in town.”

He’s thrown off by this news, thinking. “That’s walking distance from here,” Ransom says flatly.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I can find my own way home tonight.”

“Ah,” Harlan taps his nose, “so you two know each other.”

“Your grandson was kind enough to invite me.”

“And you made quite a fucking impression,” Ransom growls while putting a hand on your shoulder.

Harlan flicks Ransom away. “Don’t be creepy, son. Get the lady a drink.”

“Mr. Thrombey, please.” You stand, forcibly pushing his hand off of you. “Ransom’s your family. Why don’t I get you boys something while you catch up?”

“Whiskey, neat, two fingers,” Ransom bitterly spits, shoving the hand in his jean pocket.

Harlan tsks him with a solemn look.

“The same,” his grandfather sighs before returning your smile. “I appreciate it, dear.”

“Anytime.”

Ran fights the urge to kick your tote on the floor.

Harlan simply moves on. “One of my next novels is an intrigue of corruption, involves a non-profit, and Good Miss was enlightening me to a few details of their inner workings.”

“Glad you both can turn it off for five minutes,” Ransom grunts back.

Harlan’s sharp gaze lands on him.

“While I am glad you did not use her and lose her, as they say.”

“God, no,” Ransom groans in revulsion. “She’s here to rub Linda the wrong way…not me.” He tries to bury his self-satisfied smirk in a sweater sleeve held to his mouth.

“Charming.” Harlan means anything but charming as he looks to see you side-tracked again by a chat with Marta. “You’ve done much worse before—“ he turns to the window “—but my guess is she never has.”

Ransom’s jaw twitches. This is why he hates his family, even his favorite among them. No wonder he brought someone exclusively to annoy them, hoping to make them feel small and selfish, but he forgot something important.

They’re all like him. None of them care to be selfless. They don’t want to be charitable. They are fine being perceived that way, if necessary, if it gains them something else they want.

But.

What Harlan says gives him another idea. What if he keeps you around? They are sure to lose their minds. Harlan would be impressed (and proved wrong). Richard will be jealous (although that’s still gross). Linda would be unable to manipulate that situation (though she’ll try).

Plus, Joni will hate you instantly because you’re prettier and don’t need her snake-oil skin shit.

“Harlan,” you offer his grandfather his drink first, then turn to Ran with that irritatingly kind smile. “Hugh.”

He takes the glass and flashes pearly whites.

It’s decided. He just hopes the sex won’t be as boring as he thinks. You’re definitely not a roadhead bitch.

Although based on that damn Birkin, you are stupidly generous, so he hopes that translates to the bed…or wherever he fucks you.

“Sure your shoes can take it?”

As if he can’t walk across the fucking woods…the embers of waning alcohol all push around in his gut on the trek over to the Carlyles’ place. He hasn’t gone over there since maybe freshman year of high school during a long Christmas stay at Thrombey Manor.

He was wrong. Ran’s shoes are not fine, but he has to bury that irritation down deep while entering the warm and inviting mansion filled with your...roommates?

Four other people live in a house that you sometimes stay in: Angela, Diego, Terrell, and Luca.

Ran doesn’t fucking care. This is not some weird orgy he’s planning. He almost walks right back out and floors the Beamer back to civilization.

Mercifully, you have most of the upstairs entirely to yourself, a small suite of a bedroom, office, and bathroom neatly tucked above a quieter part of the house.

He’s surprised that you drop the tote bag and start shedding clothes so quickly.

“Sorry about them. We all went to uni together and this works as a crash-pad for the internationals.”

“No problem,” he sighs, “I know what it’s like.” They’re freeloaders, like my cousin Meg, is what they are, but Ransom keeps that thought to himself.

You offer him another drink, which Ran accepts, watching you like a hawk with sky-blue eyes.

Beneath your dress, you wear a slip, a silky satin thing that actually impresses him. He’s convinced there is thick shapewear beneath it because that just seems like a you thing to do: one sexy move, one boner killer. Instead of showing him though, you spin your finger around in front of him.

“Really,” he quips. He’s already resigned to putting his dick in either way, so he doesn’t really care.

You smile too sweetly for it to read as coy. “Make yourself useful and go to my bag.”

“That’s not a bag,” he scoffs. “Might as well be made of tissue paper.”

He still obediently wanders over to the chair you draped it over and flips back a handle. Excellent. This nearly makes up for the entire party. Ran derives a sickening amount of pleasure from knowing these condoms were stored in the Birkin his mother will now carry around with pride.

He downs the remainder of his drink and whips out a wrapper. He wouldn’t care if you didn’t have any, or didn’t want to use one, or if you made some reference to them but the lights were off and didn’t check. The lights are still on though, and you’ve pointed him right to them. He’ll play ball. He hopes you play with balls, too. He hopes this is fun instead of just mediocre. He prepares himself to be actively bored, however, because that’s the most likely scenario.

It’s his usual MO. Works like a charm. Start out slow and teasing—girls tend to think it’s sensual but he’s being lazy (and they beg soon anyway)—until he can take over in exactly whatever fashion he wants. Except you don’t quite let things unfold that way.

He expects you to want him to kiss you, but you playfully turn away each time he advances. You swat his hands when he tries to touch you, only to grab the hem of his sweater and rip it off him. You don’t wait for him to unbutton his jeans before sliding cool fingers down past the band of his boxers.

Fuck, he does like it when they're forward.

He pops the button, pushes the zipper, and shuffles out of the heavy cotton while you get a good hold of him. Ransom doesn’t care that your hands are soft, just rough enough for friction and nothing more, and he doesn’t really care that your slip is still on because he’s figured something else out.

You’re not wearing underwear. He’s not sure if you were but tossed them aside while he grabbed the condom, or perhaps you’ve been speaking with his family for the better part of two hours with your cunt kissed by the same air they were all breathing, but he’s happy about it.

Ransom leans forward to you again, but instead of letting him kiss you, you look down to spit in your hand and work him harder.

“The sooner you suit up…” you taunt him, glancing at the wrapper still clutched in Ran’s hand, “sooner you get in for the night.”

He’s been with bossy doms before—not his favorite—but this is different. His instinct is that you want a show of it, maybe you want to see him touch himself, maybe you want to see his face as the tight latex is rolled down his throbbing cock, but you hold his gaze while turning your body away from him.

Since he doesn’t have to play up how he looks, Ran focuses on the expanse of skin across your back. There’s so much more than your dress showed, yet not enough, and it’s beautiful. He thinks about the same, smooth skin that must be stretched across your ass and rolls his hips against the fabric while his mouth maps your neck and shoulders.

Not romantically, of course, he’s not trying to make you feel better—you are more than capable of feeling yourself, but Ransom enjoys a little taunting of his own now and then.

His hands move to cup your breasts, and fuck, did you not have a bra on earlier either? This day is full of surprises.

His intense rutting coupled with teasing your taut nipples makes your slip catch between your ass cheeks, and he angles his dick to press through the apex of your thighs, taking the satin with him.

Pretty skin beneath his lips, pretty noises ringing in his ears, Ran pulls away.

The fresh wet spot on your slip sticks to the condom when he looks down at his demanding erection.

You’re ready. He’s ready.

Fuck, Ransom is so ready, and you know it, climbing onto the edge of your bed to get comfortable presented in all your glory, all the lights on, fingers already teasing and working yourself open.

This is already way better than he expected. He doesn’t have to work. He doesn’t have to try. He doesn’t have to fake interest. You handle your clit like the expert you are on yourself, and Ran works himself up, sheathed and thrusting in you like the expert he is on himself. Pleasure for pleasure, and fuck is it pleasurable.

His fist holds onto the bundled satin across the small of your back, and you make natural escalating noises.

It sounds genuine.

Shit, when was the last time he didn’t get annoyed at some bitch hamming up her moans? Not that it distracted him from coming, no, he could get him whether she was dramatic or an awkward, silent one. Takes more effort when he has to ignore something she’s doing though.

Then you demand he goes faster, and he’s into it. Then you come with a groan that’ll haunt his hindbrain, and he can feel the massaging grip and release. Then you take his balls in hand, tugging gently, and he fucking loses it.

He feels the hot flood of his cum into the condom as your walls still ripple against him.

Damn, he doesn’t even care if you made him wrap up. That was fucking satisfying. It wasn’t even complicated, but you came and he came and that’s all he needed.

Ransom hasn’t been at a girl’s place in a while (certainly not without his car ready to get away) because he prefers to kick them out and already be home, but his hookups are usually clinging to the idea of staying the night.

You immediately go to the bathroom, clean up, and—now completely naked—stand at the foot of the bed.

“You good, Hugh? I’m on a call with Beijing in fifteen, so take your time—“ you button up a plain, blue shirt, your nipples showing right through “—or sleep or whatever. I’ll be a bit.”

“Only the help calls me Hugh.” It’s all he can come up with while he stares at your breasts and contemplates why he feels a bit used.

He got off, you’re not clinging to him, and you’ve given him an easy out. If he had to describe his perfect fucking date, this would be it, and his gut twists oddly just thinking about being dismissed.

You don’t miss a beat, heading for the door with only panties and the shirt on. Your ass pops out easily from under the hem.

“Suppose I’ll see you at the Kennedy thing next weekend, huh?”

Ran slaps his hand over his face, remembering there’s another fucking event coming up. “Yeah. Is that the stupid inner-city garden initiative?”

You hum in response, grabbing something else out of your flimsy purse tote. He better not see you carry that fucking thing around in front of actual fucking people. You don’t see him staring at your ass through his fingers before you swivel back around.

“If you need something, text me. Don’t knock.”

He snorts, knowing that he wouldn’t stay if a girl paid him to.

For one shining moment, you turn to beam at him. “Thanks for making it quick,” you chirp with a wink and shut the door behind you.

You goddamn wink at him after chucking him into the quickie category in your own mansion.

What the fuck?

Out of spite, he should just sleep here, he thinks. Let Harlan question why the Beamer is still in the drive. Let Walt stare at the car and know Ransom can get better pussy than that twat has had in a lifetime. Let Linda…

Hell, let Linda do whatever the fuck she wants and let Richard think whatever the fuck he wants.

Ransom takes his own naked walk of glory to the bathroom and does just that—he sleeps in a hookup’s bed all night, completely pleased with himself and his control of the situation.

a/n: Honest to god, this was supposed to be a one-shot. Genuinely, I swear. Now that I've plotted it out though...there was no way. I just personally don't really like more than 5k per Tumblr post. Too easy to lose your place. This way we stick with a three-ish-act structure, too. Squee! Hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know what you think in comments, reblogs, or anon asks!

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#hugh ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #ransom smut #fanfic #fanfiction #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale smut #ro answers

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deerlottie · 3 months

Text

🐶🦝 — the best tip

summary: shauna and nat don’t have enough money to pay for the pizza. warnings: 18+ MDNI, based off a porno…delivery guy!reader, bondage, dubcon, transmasc!reader, tdick, degrading.

as you wait outside the front door with a hot pizza in hand, you sigh and kick your feet. you couldn't wait to go home after this. it was your last delivery of the night and all you wanted to do was jump under your comfy blankets and sleep.

you stand up straight when you hear rustling from inside and clear your throat. a woman with brown hair that falls a little past her shoulders opens the door with a kind smile, making a noise of happiness as she eyes the pizza. "oh, finally! come on in sweetie. set it on the table will you? i'll be right back with the money."

nodding, you walk in and notice another figure off to the side smoking. they're wearing nothing but a white t-shirt, panties and fishnets. you blush and avert your eyes while timidly putting the box on the table.

"what's your name, pizza boy?" they speak, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray.

"uh, i-its-"

"natty, leave them alone! gosh, i'm so sorry. how much was it again?" the woman asks, fishing in her wallet.

"18.50." you reply, impatiently leaning against the chair. you catch who you now know as natty's eye and he smirks at you, raising his eyebrows.

"shit. i don't have enough. nat, do you have any cash on you?"

"nope. only a credit card that has a dollar on it. sorry shauna." he doesn't sound sorry at all. in fact, he looks smug as he walks towards you and looks you up and down. "how 'bout this - you give us the pizza for free, and we fuck you."

your eyes widen at his proposal and you laugh. yeah, right. you shake your head and go to grab the pizza box but nat is faster. he pushes you away, causing you to stumble back. "fuck it. just take the pizza, i'm out of here."

but before you can open the door, shauna and nat jump on you, grabbing your limbs so you're rendered useless as you try to punch at them.

"what the fuck?! let me go!" you struggle in their grip but they easily overtake you and lead you over to the couch, tossing you on it. they're on you again, and shauna covers your incessant 'bitching' with her hand, your groans muffled. "look at him, natty. so pathetic under our grasp."

you thrash around on the couch but it's no use, nat has his whole weight on your legs. he laughs condescendingly at your feeble attempts to flee and smacks the side of your ass. "stop moving! shut up and enjoy this, slut."

he motions at shauna, "go get the rope. and duct tape too."

once they finish securing the ropes, shauna places the tape around your mouth while nat holds your face still. "good. now we can't hear him complain." he slaps your face playfully and shauna moves to sit on your legs.

her hands leisurely travel down to your pants, running against your unfortunate bulge. you hear hear chuckle as you moan from her hands feeling around it, still trying to wiggle out of the rope. "seems like your mouth says no, but your head says yes." she squeezes your tdick, making your whimper out in pleasure.

as she unbuckles your belt, you feel a wave of panic surge through your body and start kicking your legs again, but you can't lie, some part of you likes this. you hear nat mock how you're still struggling and he kneels by your head. "look at him shauna, still tryna fight back when he knows we've won."

nat roughly tugs your pants down to your mid thighs and you hide your face into your arms as you prepare for their words as they notice how drenched your boxers are. they both coo, rubbing their hands along your skin, groping and grabbing at you.

"c'mon, just relax. we'll take care of you." nat murmurs in your ear, lifting your shirt up to your chin. he squeezes both your pecs before harshly pinching one of your nipples between his fingers. you groan out in pain, trying to twist your body away from him.

shauna's still feeling you up, but now her focus is on your stomach - specfically your happy trail. she tugs and pulls until it feels uncomfortable and you plead for her to stop, but your voice is concealed.

"what's that, sweetie?" she asks in a sickly, sweet tone. "i couldn't hear you."

"i think he wants us to fuck him already." nat replies, getting up and heading to the kitchen. he returns with a pair of scissors and your eyes widen. he cuts a strip up your shirt, tearing the rest off so your upper half is completely naked.

you hide your face in your arms as nat leans down to lick at your hard nipples, ashamed at how much pleasure you're getting out of this. he bites down, growling like a dog as he tugs it between his teeth. as he's savoring your upper half, shauna's doing the same to your lower half.

she's giving your tdick little licks through your boxers, holding your hips down as you subconsciously try to hump her face. you slowly relax against the couch, mind going empty and numb as you take in everything that's happening to you.

"look at him, natty." shauna speaks softly, as if she spoke any louder you'd go back to fighting them. "he's finally giving in."

"good boy," nat praises you. you whimper, turning your head to face him as you stare down at him with dazed eyes. "i think he's ready." he nods at shauna.

your body shudders as shauna cuts up your boxers and takes them off, the cold air making your tdick twitch. she immediately warms you up though, greed mouth hungrily sucking you off.

nat watches for a minute before scooting over and resting a hand on shauna's head, making her bob up and down on your cock. your eyes flutter as you melt further into the couch, letting them use you however they want.

"i think we're gonna keep you, pizza boy." nat rasps out, and when you open your eyes, his are already on yours.

and you don't fight back, you don't disagree, because you want to be theirs. forever.

#.myworks #yellowjackets x reader #shauna shipman x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets smut #natalie scatorccio smut #shauna shipman smut

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assembletheimagines · 2 years

Text

warnings: oral f!receving, smut, 18+ to interact

My mind went to biker! Bucky and now I can’t stop thinking of him coming into the bar you work at.

Clad in his leather jacket, his eyes meet yours and you know he’s trouble.

But there is just something about him that lures you in.

He comes in most nights with a few other bikers, majority of the time they sit in the back in the corner. And it’s always you they want to serve them. And by the fifth time in a week, you know their orders by heart. Majority of them just want an endless supply of alcohol while Sam and Steve share loaded fries with Natasha.

Natasha by the fourth shot, leans back in her chair, her legs crossed at the ankles on top of another chair she dragged from the table next to her. She’s usually has a hand of cards in her hands as her piercing green eyes rope the other men into a round of cards.

You notice the pile of cash on the table mixed with a knife or a gun sometimes, but the bar owner Clint tells you to turn a blind eye, so you do.

And for a group that is clearly dangerous, they aren’t disrespectful. All flashing smiles when they lumber in with a “hey”. Bucky is always the last to trail in, a simple nod in your direction that somehow still gets your heart rate to accelerate.

You’ll humor them by standing before their table to take their orders and that’s when you feel Bucky’s hand brush along your jean-clad thigh and the feeling spreads a warmth up your leg and throughout your body that you don’t know how to feel about. It makes you scratch your pen on your small notepad to pretend you are writing to distract yourself from his stare.

By the fifth week, you’re still not used to them coming. Especially when some nights they sport a cut on their upper cheek or a busted lip. But you know not to question it, they still flash a smile and still tip you more than enough.

And when you go to take out trash, you don’t expect Bucky to be outside. Leaning against the wall, taking a drag from his cigarette as he meets your eyes. You are supposed to go right back inside once everything is thrown out, but Bucky’s waving a hand to come closer and your body reacts before your mind does and you find yourself standing in front of Bucky.

And he surprises you when he tilts his head, fingers hooking in the belt loop of your pants, pulling you closer. Your hearts in your throat but you’re not moving away as he leans his head down, pressing his lips into yours. And you taste smoke, whiskey, and honey as you melt in his kiss.

When you do pull back, you feel lightheaded and Bucky’s smirking and silently nudging you to go back inside as he finishes his smoke.

You hope you don’t look as dizzy as you feel as you finish your shift. But Clint needs to help Natasha back home so he’s trusting you to lock up, following a drunk Steve and Sam out of the door.

Wanda finishes her side tasks, giving you a side-hug in good bye as her brother comes to pick her up and go home shortly after Clints absence. And now it’s just you and Bucky.

He stays seated in the corner, not looking at you as you finish counting the drawer and putting away the cleans glasses. You trust him as you go in the back to take stock and he’s still there as you re-shelf the bottles behind the bar.

And when everything is done, and chairs are flipped on top of cleaned tables, you’re unsure of what to do. And that’s when Bucky’s getting up, his leather jacket no longer on him as he strides over to where you are awkwardly standing at the pool table. You don’t know what to say, and Bucky’s overwhelming you as he stands close.

He’s got a smirk on his lips, eyes dark and filled with mischief. His fingers tilt your head by your chin, and his lips are on yours again. Tongue gliding over your bottom lip as his hands go to your hips.

And he takes you by further surprise as his hands hook under your thighs, swiftly bringing you onto the pool table, standing between your legs as you let the kiss deepen. Your moans are soft and quiet as he trails his kisses down your neck.

His fingers sneak under your shirt and before you realize it, your shirt is thrown to the side and Bucky’s taking his off.

Ink covers up his left arm, swirling to his chest, hiding scars you never knew about and then his hands are pushing you back. His body leaning over yours as he kisses down your chest and stomach, enticing more moans and gasps from you as you close your eyes and relish in the pleasure, he brings you.

His teeth nip your stomach as his fingers hook into your jeans and your eyes fly open to see he’s already staring at you. Hovering over the zipper to your pants and you give him the answer he’s silently asking by helping take your jeans off.

You feel completely bare to him, laying on top of the pool table. But then his lips are on your thighs and his fingers rub up your waist and you can’t help but be responsive to his touches. Your moans encouraging him as he sinks onto his knees before you. You can barely hear the praise that falls from his lips as he drags your panties down your legs and then you’re gasping as his tongue dives between your wet folds.

His groan bringing a shiver down your spine as his hands keep your thighs open for him and he buries his face into your pussy. He makes you forget to breath when his lips wrap around your clit, a sinful whine spilling from your mouth and he only adds onto the pleasure.

His fingers slip into your wet heat and the coil in your abdomen winds as your orgasm builds. Your fingers get lost into his hair, keeping a pressure to his head so his mouth stays between your thighs. But Bucky’s going nowhere, his arms wrapped under your legs, fingers digging into your waist as his other hand works you up.

The fact that he’s groaning in pleasure with you, adds a new wave of slick to form and when he finds the sweet spot inside you, you see stars. Your body arching as your orgasm takes over and leaves you feeling like your legs are jello.

And it shouldn’t turn you on when Bucky’s resurfacing, half of his face dripping in your arousal but it has you pulling him closer not caring as you kiss him.

His jeans get unzipped and his boxers are pushed low enough to free his cock. And your hips jerk as he teases the head of his cock along your wet folds and puffy clit.

But when he pushes in, your mouth drops, the burn of his cock stretching you mixes with pleasure he brings of filling you up slowly. You can feel the veins on his cock and your nails dig into his arms when he pushes to the hilt.

And fuck you think he looks gorgeous as you stare up at him.

His eyes are closed in satisfaction. His hands holding onto your hips as he savors the feeling of you wrapped around his cock. You’re so wet, so warm and tight he could stay like this forever with the way your walls pulse around his shaft.

But the pleasure as he drags his cock almost all the way out before snapping forward. It has both of your breaths hitching and he doesn’t take long to pick up the pace.

The sound of skin slapping skin resonates in the empty bar as he bullies his cock into your pussy. Your moans mix with the jukebox that’s still playing songs in the background and you’re at a loss of words. Actually, the only words you can say are his name and “yes” as you feel your second orgasm fast approaching.

Bucky’s no better, grunting and telling you how good you feel. Each time he pulls back you’re sucking him back in and it’s euphoric. His abdomen is tensing as his release gets closer and he can feel the way you’re tightening around him that you’re right there.

So, he shifts the angle of his thrusts and pushes his hands on your abdomen, each stroke hitting the gummy spot inside you as his thumb connects to your sensitive clit.

It’s what gets you over the edge. Your vision briefly going white as you cry out.

But Bucky doesn’t let up, rubbing tight circles on your clit as he helps you ride out your orgasm.

And then his release comes shortly after, and he’s slipping out, hand fisting over his cock as he paints your abdomen and thighs white with a low groan.

#assembletheimagines #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n

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kissesinelevators · 7 months

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After Dark Pt. 1

Synopsis: What do you do when there’s a man with fangs lurking in the shadows, swearing he can keep you safe but ever since he’s popped up in your life things just get worse? Change is weird and very permanent.

Pairing: Spider-Man 2099 x female reader

Word Count: 5,761

Genre and Warnings: Romance, Angst, Smut (eventually), Obsession, Violence, Stalking, Slow Burn (kind of)

18 + Part 2 3

Changes happen every day here. New York was called the Big Apple, you wasn’t sure why. You had never really seen an apple tree here. Things just don’t make sense. They never do.

“That will be $75.35.” You hand the invoice over the the shorter balding gentleman who had a mustache so great it looked like he was a bounty hunter.

“No, I was told over the phone it would be $20.” You turn around and grab his hung up coat that was neatly pressed and washed. You behind to unwrapped it from the plastic bag and presented it to him.

“Sir, there were a lot of bodily fluids along with other things.” A hint of disdain was clear in your voice. “We charge extra for that. Usually I can give you an accurate quote over the phone but sometimes I’m not told exactly what the issue is unto it gets here.” The older man shook his head and angrily took his card out of his wallet.

“Fine, but don’t charge me the card fee.” You take his card.

“I’m sorry sir but you know it’s .50 cents.” He grumbled under his breath as he gets charged out. You put the coat back in the plastic bag and hand it to him along with his card and receipt. “Have a wonderful day.” He takes the items from your hands and walked out.

You sigh and sit down at the counter of your store. You look around, and start thinking about how maybe you should really clean out the cobwebs in the upper corners of the store. Not that it was difficult but it was much higher up than you could reach even with the broom. You wonder if the spider living there would ever come by and say hi, or at least help you scare away the people who come by to hit up your store for free cash.

Your dry cleaners store wasn’t successful so to say, you couldn’t hire anyone else to help you. You practically lived here, might as well since there wasn’t enough to afford rent in New York as it was. The shop was passed down to you through generations of family members. Your parents decided to migrate back to their home country as the sentiment towards immigrants wasn’t exactly kind and they realised just how much they missed home. You had only ever known New York so that was your only sense of home so despite missing your parents terribly, you stayed behind. And now here you were, 7 years later. You swivel around in the chair of your countertop waiting for new customers. Not that there ever was any.

However, someone did come in after 45 minutes.

“Hello.” You look up from your phone and see a younger man. He looked like he was a teenager.

“Hello.” You reply, putting your phone away back into your pocket. “How can I help you?” The boy grabs his backpack and opens it, pulling out what appears to be a soccer jersey.

“My sibling accidentally spilled wine on my jersey and I have a scrimmage this weekend. I was hoping you were able to help me? I only have $40, will that be enough?” He nervously shifts under your eyes. You smile.

“$20 is more than okay.” He proceeds to hands you his jersey. “It will be finished by Thursday, tomorrow. Is that okay? Like around 11 am?” You take the jersey and hand him a number back as he gives you the crumpled up $20 bill.

“I get off school at like 3, can I pick it up afterwards?” You nod and put the cash in the register. “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow after school!”

“You’re welcome.” You smile warmly at him as he walks out. You start to hang up the jersey behind you, putting on gloves to inspect the stain. Sure enough, it was a bright purple red maybe a few days old. It wasn’t going to easy as it had time to seep and stay there but you would try your best. As you started to make your way further to the back to grab some items to help facilitate the cleaning process, you hear a ring up to the front of your store. “I’ll be right there!” You call out and you grab your white vinegar.

No one responds.

Panic quickly enters your body like cold water shocking the system. You know who it might be.

Recently there had been an influx of robberies around the neighbourhood, armed. Usually though Spider-Man always seemed to be there right in time, conveniently you thought but he was never there when you would get hit. It made you feel uneasy about him. Like something was clearly wrong. The police was basically nonexistent in the part of New York. After all, he was here to protect, why didn’t he protect you?

You hear something heavy fall and you run out towards the front of your store. Sure enough, there was two guys in black baklavas who had knocked over your cash register.

“Hey stranger,” the taller one said with a smile in his voice. “Lou sends his regards. Also, he wants to know what’s going on with this week’s payment? It’s a bit late.” You walk over to the counter and look over, seeing the banged up register.

“I don’t understand why I’m paying weekly if I still get hit. Plus, this place doesn’t make much money, I’m going to lose the place soon.” You plead with the two men, tears clouding up your vision. You try your best to keep it in and stay calm but this wasn’t the first time they do this.

“You know the rules.” The other man speaks softly, more kindly. He kneels down and begins to pry open the register with a screwdriver.

You watch helplessly, allowing the tears to slip out. They don’t look at you while the register is opened forcefully and start counting the cash.

“There’s only like $120 in here.” The taller man points out angrily.

“I told you I don’t make much and you didn’t listen.” Thank god they were always after cash because otherwise you would truly be out on the streets.

“Boss won’t like it.”

You angrily wipe your face clean from the hot tears. “Well I don’t like it either so what can we do?” The other nicer man places your register back on the counter and puts the cash in his pockets.

“You have until Saturday.” He turns away to leave and pulls the taller guy away with him. As they exit the shop you see a shadow on the side of the buildings as it swims by.

Spider-Man.

But surprise surprise, the men who just robbed you don’t even flinch and walk out like nothing is wrong and you know that the tall bulky man cosplaying as some spider hero didn’t even bother to look. What else was new? You roll your eyes as you head to the door behind them and start locking the doors.

You begin to make your way towards the back again when you hear an aggressively loud knocking back in the front of your store against the glass windows. It honestly scares you.

You look back and see an older older, the same one from earlier that didn’t want to pay for his dry cleaning. The choice was to open the door and see what was wrong or walk away.

Why didn’t you just walk away?

You quickly run to the door and unlock it as he quickly slides himself in and shuts the door.

“Lock it please, LOCK IT!” The panic in his voice sends your heart in a frenzy and causes you to fumble with the locks.

“W-what’s wrong?” You almost scream at him in terror. He looks white, lacking of any colour and it’s almost scary because you can see the green and purple hues of his veins through his delicate aging skin of his face. You start to pull the curtains around the windows of the front of your store, your back turned to him when suddenly you hear a clicking sound behind your head.

Time stops, your hands feel numb as they stay in place, twisted in the curtains trying to pull them to the other side of the store to shield the view from within. Your breath hitches in your throat before it makes its way to your lungs. Your brain goes blank.

Things just don’t make sense.

You open your eyes, unaware of how or when you closed them. Something feels wet, your hair is the first thing you see as it is covering your face. But your vision blurs. There’s this pressure in your ears, a muffled like sound. But it starts to irritate you, as if a fly was stuck in there buzzing. You open your mouth and feel your jaw sore, extremely sore as you try to flex it. You suddenly feel liquid on your hands but you can’t yet see what it is. It feels warm but thick. Your knees then start to come into the picture of senses, you feel them raw almost, they’re against something that feels hard as if you were stuck in a box and couldn’t get up from it. Your back is rolled, almost like you’re a rollie pollie. What did you do this morning? What about later during the day? Wasn’t it almost 1 pm? The little boy’s jersey. You have to clean it. It was due tomorrow morning. No, he said he would be there by 3 pm tomorrow. Good, it gives you time to start it.

Ow, what was that?

The awful buzzing in your ears starts to get sharper and the pressure in your head starts to almost seep out through them. Suddenly you hear clearly, the pressure is gone and your eyes roll back into your head from the crash of it.

“Okay, pretty girl. Okay.” A male voice soothes you as a warm large hand makes its way up and down your back, caressing you. You instinctively push up against the hand, you didn’t know whether it was because you were trying to throw them off or leaning into it.

“Ow,” you inaudible gasp out, choking. You start to cough violently, the hand starts to rub circles into your back as you feel the roughness of the cough almost rip through your chest.

“Breathe.” The voice orders, firmly now. You try your best to breathe but your head is pounding more and more intensely.

You let out a pained whimper.

“Please.” The voice leaving you sounds almost inhumane.

“I know. I’m here.” The male voice gets closer to you. “I need to take you somewhere safe. May I?” You nod ever so slowly, fearing that even that movement will rip your brain out through your eyes. “Okay, I need you to hold onto me. You’re bleeding a lot.” The man puts his arms now under you, starts to carry you and puts you over his shoulder. The angle makes your brain scream. “Please knock out, please knock out.” You hear him pleas desperately under his voice. The screaming worsens and you sound realise it’s actually you, your mouth screaming. Eventually everything fades to black as you look at red and blue colours.

“Hey.” The male voice is back. You see darkness. Did you close your eyes again? When did you do that? “Shh, it’s okay.” A large warm hand comes into contact with your skin. “You’re okay.” Part of you wishes that was true. “Can you open your eyes for me, pretty girl?”

You suddenly remember that you can in fact just tell your brain to open your eyes and you do. You see a tall figure in the dimness of wherever it is that you are. Your eyes adjust to the lack of brightness and see a masked figure towering over you. Red and blue.

“You’re Spider-Man.” You manage to cough out.

“Yes I am. Okay so you’re kind of okay.”

“What happened to me?” You then realise you’re in a hospital bed. Why had you not noticed the beeping of the machine next to you?

“A man came into the store you were working at and decided to rob you at gun point. It seems like this was his first time ever because he attacked you first before anything.” Your hands quickly make their way to your head. “No, he didn’t shot you.” You feel bandages on the back of your head, feeling your stomach sink. “It seems like he first cocked his gun and then pistol whipped you but the idiot shot up into the building and scared himself. Your injuries are light despite how much blood appeared. Head wounds bleed more as you have many more vessels there.” He explains as you finger into the bandages terrified that the hospital staff had to shave your head to put these bandages on you. You couldn’t have bald spots! Not now! “You’ll be okay.”

You scoff.

“Wait so when did you get there?” You feel skin and immediately feel nauseous.

“I got there a few seconds afterwards, I heard the gunshot from a few miles away and got there as fast as I could.” You feel light as you pull your fingers out of the bandages around your head. Thank god he didn’t crack your skull.

“That’s a first.” You reply bothered.

He look down at you, a quick squint of his eyes takes place and disappears almost immediately causing you to wonder if you just made that up. Probably did since your brain wasn’t okay at the moment.

“What makes you say that?” You look out of the corner of your eye and see that the curtains are slightly drawn messily but it’s pretty dark outside. The kid’s jersey needed to be done.

“I’ve gotten robbed at my store more times than I can count. I have to pay someone else to supposedly protect my store but he steals from me too. I see you constantly helping everyone but you don’t help me.” You quickly look back at him and sign. “Didn’t. You didn’t help me. Thank you.” You push your hair out of your eyes. “I really appreciate it.” You try your best to sound genuine but you’re angry with him. It’s not his fault, he has a whole city to help, like over millions of people and you’re throwing a tantrum? “Hey I gotta go.” You start trying to get up from the hospital bed, the spill of the moonlight emitting from the poorly drawn curtains make the soft cream colour of the hospital sheets glow as you try your best to swing your legs out to the side of the bed. Spider-Man suddenly leans down and holds your nude legs in his hands, keeping you in place gently. The texture of his suit is almost silicone like, sticky. But the body heat emitting from his hands that engulf your claves feels good.

“No,” he whispers as he leans down closer to you, his towering figure now almost on top of you. With his other free hand he puts his fingers under your chin and directs you to look at him. “You need to stay here.” His breath smells of blueberries and honey for some reason. You close your eyes, inhaling. This was the first time a man had touched you in so long. How could you have forgotten how good it felt?

“But there’s a child’s soccer jersey that I need to fix. He needs it for his um-“ You rattle your brain, flustered and tripping over your words trying your best to concentrate but it’s proving to be difficult because this muscular man who smelled of musk, sweat, blood, and a hint of a certain cologne that induced butterflies in your stomach made it difficult for you to prioritise. “-his un, soccer thing.” The last words come out breathy.

Get a grip! You didn’t even know what he looked like!

The man’s glowing navy blue eye like part of his mask seemed to be staring deeply into your eyes. You felt strangely naked, all your expressions were out for him to see and you couldn’t even tell what he was thinking or feeling. You had to guess off his body language.

“I’ll get it for you if you truly want it that badly.” He almost hisses at you. You’re confused. Why was he angry all of a sudden?

“Oh, oh okay.” You meekly reply. He gently pushes your legs back onto the bed and lets go of you entirely, making you feel heavy on the bed.

“What does it look like?” He calls out as he starts to walk towards the window of your hospital. You doubt it opens.

“It’s red and white, it belongs to a teenager so it’s teenager sized?” You watch as he opens the window with ease. The realisation suddenly hits you.

Why was the curtain of the hospital room so messily closed? Did he bring you to the hospital and then sneak back in through the window to stay with you? The thought sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. But that couldn’t be it. Why would Spider-Man do that? That made no sense at all.

He swung out without saying a word, leaving you there in a now darker room with the window open, fresh air filled the room in his absence.

You stayed up, waiting for him to come back. The minutes turned to hours. A nurse came by to check on you and saw the window opened. She looked at the tablet in her hands and made an o shape with her mouth. She went over the window and closed it only slightly.

“We don’t want your friend to not be able to come back.” She says to you, who’s halfway between asleep and awake. She holds the tablet close to her chest and sighs. “You should have seen the way he fought to be with you through everything. But it was difficult since he is Spider-Man. Everyone wanted to come by and say hi.” She shook her head and made her way over to the machine next to you. “How do you feel, love?” You nod, unable to talk. “Do you feel any pain? Just give me a thumbs up if you do.” You don’t and she puts the tablet down by your legs. “Okay, that’s good. I’m going to just quickly run a few tests and then I’ll be out of here.” She takes a pen out of her pockets and clicks it causing it to shine. “I’m going to point it towards your eyes and I need you to follow it, I know you’re sleepy waiting for your friend to come back but I want to make sure there’s no concussion. Is it okay if I touch your face a bit?” You nod and she proceeds to put a hand under your chin and with her other hand, brings the pen flashlight up to each eye. “Okay, follow the light.” You do as she says, almost enjoying the soft touch from her, the whispers, the light of the pen dilating your eyes making them even more tired. After she’s done with the eye exam she moves onto another test. “I’m going to move you a bit so I can check your breathing. Is that o-“ suddenly the window is opened from outside.

You both look towards the window and in comes in your knight in shining armour with a jersey in his hand. The nurse looks back at you, ignoring him as he closes the window shut and messily half shuts the curtains allowing the moonlight to be the only light source in the room besides the soft glow of the beeping machine next to you. It’s not dark though, it’s just oddly comforting.

“Okay, is it okay if I place my hands on your back and chest?” The nurse goes right back to her professional self as if the most famous hero didn’t just come in through the window. You like her.

“Yes.” You manage to say. She listens for your breathing and your heart beat.

“I think we can do more later on, I’ll let you sleep.” She turns to your guest who’s now made his way to the foot of your bed. “Reminder that we don’t allow family members or guests in the hospital floors after 8 pm. Sir, it is almost 1 am.”

Spider-Man shrugs.

“I just want to make sure she’s fine.”

She looks at him, then at you.

“Do you want him here?”

You nod.

“I won’t cause any problems.” He says as she picks up the tablet and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her quickly. “I like her.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Did you get it?” He walks up to you and holds up the jersey proudly.

“I did better than that, I got the stain out myself.” His voice is dry but it’s clear he was proud to show his work. Your eyes soften and you are taken aback by his action.

“Wow, thank you. I don’t know what to say.” He noticed you starting to reach your hands out so he places the shirt by you for you to inspect.

“Yeah well, thank you was more than enough.” He clears his throat as you grab the shirt and touch it, looking at it to see any imperfections left behind. “I know a bit about chemicals and whatnot so I did my best.” He sounded pretty cocky to you but he was genuinely trying to make it seem like it wasn’t anything to him which okay, maybe was pretty cocky of him.

“Wow, maybe I should hire you.” Your voice is flat.

“Hey so I never got your name and unfortunately the doctors and nurses didn’t want to tell me much about you or your condition since we aren’t related or married. Your nurse was kind enough to look the other way when I came by afterwards looking for you and even now she’s being kind.”

“My name is (Y/N). What’s yours?” Spider-Man starts to sit down next to you in your hospital bed. Your cheeks start to burn. Here you were, technically in bed with a superhero but you were wearing what appeared to be a medical gown which meant that your ass was probably out. You cringe mentally at the thought.

“Spider-Man or you can call me friend as the nurse keeps receding to me. YOUR friend that is.” He chuckles as he tries to not take up much space next to you but fails. You didn’t know what he was thinking by trying to squeeze his big hunky self into this tiny hospital bed with you. He quickly got off and instead sat by your feet. “I should probably let you sleep though. It’s really late and I wouldn’t feel okay with myself if I left you here alone awake anyways. I’ll be back tomorrow before you wake up.” Why was he allowing himself to get involved with you? Was it the fact that you basically insulted his ego earlier about how he didn’t actually help people like he thought since you went by unhelped and alone for so long before he took notice? It had actually weighed down on him heavily. Usually he wasn’t one to let things get to him personally because he wasn’t a teenager anymore much less a 20 something year old doing this for a few years. He has been at the superhero business for a long time now actually but it still bothered him that you thought so lowly of him. Yes, he did deserve it but why was he trying to go above and beyond to make you believe otherwise?

“Oh, you’re leaving?” He puts a hand on your shin and nods. “But you’ll be back? Why?” He feels annoyed now. Did you not want him to come back? Should he just fuck off and never return? But he kept his composure.

“Yeah, I doubt you have family members here who will pick you up from the hospital. It looked like you’re living at the dry cleaners so I want to make sure you’re good. You know, to make up for my lack of protection for all of New York’s citizens.” The last part came out a bit sarcastic but he didn’t care anymore.

“Oh.” You quietly say as you look away. “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Spider-Man.” He nods and gets up. He starts to make his way to the window when he decides to look back at you for a moment. A ghost like tear makes its way down the side of your cheek, translucent to the human eye but not to his. He wants to stay and comfort you strangely enough but he decides it’s better not. Just because he couldn’t save you before doesn’t mean he had to make it up to you. He had other responsibilities, many!

He opens the window quietly and swings out again.

Miguel feels lost in his head as he webs his way through the night between buildings. You had reopened a very old wound for him. When he first started off as Spider-Man, there was no one there for him. It felt like that city hated him at first for being such a nusciance to it. He messed up a lot. Like a lot. He would not help right the people at first, he didn’t know exactly how to train himself or limit himself with his new found strength. It was quite difficult. With time, he found himself doing better but again, it took time. And he overcame that part of his ice so many years ago, so why was he feeling like the lost dumb teenager he once was?

Miguel snarled almost in frustration and before webbing onto another building, he reach out with his claws and started to climb up further up. He clawed his way all the way to the top of the brick building, pieces coming off. He had to stop doing that, the city was bound to invoice him for the damages at some point. He shook his head as he quickly scaled further up. He finally stopped at the top and sat there.

A hand came up and ripped his mask off him, he angrily sighed as he crumpled up the mask in his hands. He leaned his head down and closed his eyes. There was no need for her to be so, so ungrateful! He felt the emotional turmoil in his chest, he could see behind his eyelids the electricity of his suit getting stronger.

“Calm down.” He lowly says to himself as he tries to take deeper breaths in. This wasn’t even his original dimension, he only came to the one because there was no Spider-Man in it. No one else wanted to do it because they were too busy which was his fault. He didn’t give any time to spare to the other Spider-Men in his group. Why would he? There was a teenager causing issues through the multiverse, how was he suppose to let anyone relax and take time off?

You woke up with a start. Anxiety filled you quickly, your breathing became labores, the machines around you started going off like crazy and the incessant buzzing triggered you worse.

A nurse came running in and immediately came over you.

“What’s wrong? You can’t breathe?” He quickly adjusts the bed to lay down as you look at him with panic eyes, your hands make their way to his and you hold his wrists, begging him to look at you. Where were you? What happened? He stops what he’s doing and the look in his eyes melts into understanding. “Oh, you’re here in the hospital.” He holds your hands in his and lifts them to his chest and gives you a squeeze. “You’re safe.” You start to relax, he starts to loudly breathe and you follow suite.

“I’m-im sorry,” your voice a mere whisper. He smiles softly at you and shakes his head.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here.” He turns around slightly to look around the room as if he were looking for someone. “Your friend left?”

“Who?” You close your eyes and shake your head slightly.

“Mr. Spider-Man?” You open your eyes and remember. He in fact did come back last night after you had cried. He didn’t make a noise but the window made a creek which woke you up but you didn’t move. But when did he leave? Had you fallen asleep again afterwards?

“I don’t know.” The nurse gave your hands a final squeeze and set them down onto your lap. He began to adjust your bed into a sitting position.

“You know, he’s like a runaway right now.” He quietly tells you, almost like he’s gossiping. “He is not allowed to be here at all, goes against all laws and hospital policies but he saved my dad when he suffered a heart attack, he brought him here just in time and it saved him. He’s a good friend to us all.” He smiles. You look at him and see just how happy he seems telling that story, as if it were the best thing in the world which it is, his dad is alive and well. But you can’t help but feel a bit of a childish envy crack in you. You couldn’t even look at the police because it was their job first to help and they never did. But Spider-Man? Whatever. You give him a small smile.

“I’m glad your dad is here with us still. But he’s not my friend. When can I go home?” The nurse raises his eyes brows.

“Today, later on in the afternoon. We just need to make sure you’re okay. It was a bit of a nasty hit to the back of your head.” He motions for you to lean forward and starts to remove the bandages. “It looks fine, no more bleeding. I’m going to apply new bandages okay? I’ll be back.” You nod as he walks out and closes the door behind him. However as he closes the door, you see your familiar so called friend standing there.

“Were you there behind the door this whole time?” He give a nod. “Okay, why did you hide?” Spider-Man starts to slowly make his way towards you, his tall built figure makes you almost shrink back into bed, he looks almost animal like the way he stalks over to you with his massive size.

“I didn’t hide.” He states coldly. “I merely let your nurse give you the attention you deserve.” His eye lenses on the mask slightly close as if he were squinting at you and crosses his arms. “Can’t be taking all the attention away from you, princess.” He lets out a deep chuckle.

“I guess not. You’re so kind.” The sarcasm in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by him as his fingers slightly twitch from your tone. Keep it together, he thinks to himself. “Look, can you just swing me out of here so I can go home and do what I need to do? I have a business to run, it’s my only livelihood and I promise a boy his jersey.” You starts to pull yourself up and move to get out of the bed. Within seconds with what seems to be inhumane speeds, Spider-Man is right next to you holding your legs in his hands. He turns his head to you.

“I can have my friend give it to him.” Why would you say that?! He thinks to himself angrily. “You take the day off, I’ll have him open shop for you so your clients can at least pick up their stuff.” Now who was he suppose to assign to this? It’s not like he could tell anyone to do it because then they would know he was doing something he wasn’t suppose to, the only person who knew was his assistant, Layla. And she was forbidden to come through when he was in this dimension.

Seems like his friend was going to have to be him.

“Why would you do that?” You pull your legs from out of his hands and move away to come off the bed on the other side. You finally stand up and immediately stretch. He watches you from behind, admiring how catlike you were during your stretches. Suddenly he sees a bit of skin peeking though from behind. “Like what you see?” He immediately looks away and you smile. You knew he was watching, not that it mattered.

“Because I’m your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, that’s why I would do that. Plus he kind of owes me.” He did in fact own himself this, he didn’t want to destroy yet another dimension but he quickly began to talk to occupy himself from thinking of the other one. “You know, if you really want to leave, you can right? No one is holding you here against your will.” It came out a bit harsher than he intended. You turn back to look at him over your shoulder and roll your eyes. What a dumb boy.

“Look, Spider-Man,” you turn to face him now. “You need to realise that it’s not usual for a man, idk who you are because I don’t know you, a strange man to be in another woman’s hospital room. I’m basically naked.” You start to tie the cords of the hospital gown tighter. However he doesn’t move or make any indication of it bothering him.

“If that’s how you feel, that’s your right. I’ll leave you alone and have my friend at your place soon. I still have your keys, but your clothes and other personal items are over there.” He jerks his head towards the direction of a table in the room where there’s a bag. “I’ll be on my way now. I’ll catch you around.”

“Do you even know my name?” He was in mid turn away from you when you asked which stopped him. He thinks for a second. “It’s (Y/N). Thank you for everything. I truly mean it.” He nods once and turns to the window, opening it. He begins to slid out when he stops again.

“The name of the guy who will be at your store is Miguel. He’s a friend.” And with that, Spider-Man leaps out.

(A.N., so my boyfriend is our beta reader, lmk if he caught all the grammar problems lol and this is my first fanfic so please be gentle with me. I just couldn’t find any fanfics that were story based off Miguel and I couldn’t help but make one, I just love that man and I love being hurt by love lol)

#miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction

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pompadourpink · 2 years

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Hi mom I'm going to spend three weeks in France in a few months and I was wondering what things I should know so I don't upset anyone lol thanks for all you do

Hello dear,

Exciting!

We are attached to politeness. Say hello when you start a conversation with anyone (including salespeople), enter any type of professional place (bakery, small store, waiting room) and to the bus driver. Walking up to a stranger and immediately asking a question is extremely rude and we will be rude back (which explains our reputation - tourists were unknowingly crass first).

When talking to strangers/salespeople: the right question is something like Bonjour (pause until they make eye contact and say it back), excusez-moi de vous déranger, je ne trouve pas le sucre/je cherche la rue Victor Hugo/---, est-ce que vous pouvez m'aider? (...). Merci beaucoup, bonne journée, au revoir.

If you don't speak French, learn how to pronounce Bonjour, excusez-moi de vous déranger, est-ce que vous parlez anglais? (and after a possible no: C'est pas grave, merci quand même, au revoir) so you don't look like a donkey.

Blend in. Don't be loud, respect people's space (and escalator/pavement laws), avoid intrusive questions, bashing the country + money talk. No PJs at the store. You are trying to befriend cats; "my way or the highway" is not going to work.

Use the right pronouns. Level 1: say Vous to any professional, older strangers (including people's relatives, who will say Tu back), and Tu to friends, their friends, any kid or teen. Level 2: most likely say Tu to people your age, unless their energy calls for something else. Level 3: say Tu in non-formal places (bar, tattoo parlour) regardless of age. Cheat code: avoid making a choice by saying things like Comment ça va? instead of Comment tu vas?

Random tourist advice:

In cafés/restaurants: we don't really tip, cooks aren't used to personalised orders, and waiters will leave you alone (no refills, small talk, pet names) unless you lift your hand, make eye contact and mouth "Excusez-moi". You can pay with cash or a debit card but I wouldn't recommend checks.

Other cities are fine but if you are using public transportation in Paris, take notes or download la RATP's app beforehand: you'll often need to take two or three subways to get somewhere and there is no info inside the station.

Travel light and pick trusty trainers, cobblestone doesn't like heels. Watch your step. Men pee outside a lot and people don't pick up dog poo.

Be aware of pickpockets. Zip your pockets, keep your bag on the side or the front, avoid flaunting luxury items or looking/dressing/acting like a professional tourist, and for the love of God, don't go to the Champs Elysées at night.

Catcalling and street harassment are unfortunately common. Feel free to hook up, condoms shouldn't be a problem but don't expect to find a husband, your typical French Tinder match isn't looking for love.

If you're into skincare, pharmacies are your wet dream.

If you want to travel, take a TGV (very fast train, to book preferably weeks to months before) to get to other cities in 1-5h. London via the Eurostar is 2h30 away and many capitals are a 2h cheap flight away. Going to Disneyland takes about an hour from downtown Paris to Marne-La-Vallée.

If you need medical assistance, call the 112 (European emergency number) or the 18 (fire brigade, good eggs) and the police, the 17 (take forever to answer).

At the moment, there's a weird thing happening in France where young people (mostly girls) get spiked with needles in nightclubs. Keep yourself safe.

Many museums are free/stores offer discounts if you're under 25 and you get a free ride on a bateau-mouche if your birthday is the same week.

Carry an umbrella and sunglasses regardless of the season.

More: restaurant guide, why won't the French let me practice my French, list of Parisian museums + Planétarium + movie theatres.

Hope this helps! x

#ask #visiting #culture #france

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starrystevie · 1 year

Text

they don’t talk about it, not really, how the name on eddie’s original birth certificate didn’t match the one on his driver’s license. how there was a packet of sealed files somewhere in a safety deposit box at hawkins federal bank that he had access to once he turned 18 but never had the guts to go and get. how uncle wayne wasn’t really uncle wayne but it was the easiest thing to call him after adopting the scared 8 year old from the trailer park after his parents left.

the munson men learned how to live together in that tiny trailer after eddie officially became one. wayne taught him how to ride a bike and how to make a grilled cheese and the right way to separate out his clothes to do a load of laundry. eddie taught him how to have patience and how to speak softly and what it’s like to stay up half the night wondering where the hell his boy was at 2am.

it’s after everything happened that eddie finally talks about it. hawkins had pieced itself back together with bandaids and craft glue, the powers that be came up with some story to explain it all away and that included why eddie munson was a free man. the money that was wired into wayne’s bank account for his cooperation was swiftly taken out in cash to hide in an envelope between a mattress and a box spring. there’s a chunk missing for a down payment on a real brick and mortar on the outskirts of hawkins with two bedrooms and a real backyard and a dock on loch nora where wayne has his morning coffee.

“this is cute,” steve said as he opened a moving box, photos of a young eddie covering a pile of old school assignments, drawings and report cards. “look how big your hair was!”

eddie’s mouth pulled into a smile, soft at the edges like it gets when steve’s around, and he went to stand by him to look at the old pictures, shoulders touching and hands overlapping as they dug through the old papers.

“yeah, i used to be cute,” he muttered, and if he’s fishing for a compliment, steve was more than willing to take the bait.

“still are,” he breathed out with a blush on his cheeks, ear tips tinged pink, eyes focused on the papers under his hands rather than on eddie’s matching flushed face. “who’s eddie claybourne?”

he hadn’t heard that name anywhere other than in his own memories in years, the ghost of it rattling around in his brain somewhere like an old friend. it forced him to pause and look at the old hawkins elementary progress report card in steve’s hand. the corner was folded, flipped over the less than stellar grades that he had tried to hide from his parents the day he had brought it home.

“used to be me,” he replied after a beat. his eyes flicked up to wayne’s bedroom door, looked through to see the old patchwork quilt covering his bed that he used to wrap eddie up in when he had nightmares and the framed photo of them on his dresser. the walls of this new house spoke to him in ways that made his chest tight. the possibilities of starting over, of leaving behind the bad memories for the sparkling new ones that he’d make with the only family he ever had.

he grinned up at steve, real and light. “but now it’s munson. feels like it’s always been.”

#listen... i started thinking about uncle wayne this morning and got emo #eddie munson #wayne munson #steve harrington #stranger things headcanon #steddie #steddie headcanon #steddie hc #my writing #stranger things fic

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fablesrose · 5 days

Text

Ch 18 - The Maltese Falcon Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: The season finale! The team has to back track a little bit, but continue to take down the mayor and his partner to get justice for Bonanno.

Words: 6194

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

No one spoke as Eliot sped away from the waterfront. I couldn’t even allow myself to ponder on how my leg was pressed against his and I tried not to slide into his seat when he made a sharp turn. He finally pulled over under a bridge in the middle of the city, far enough away for us to get our bearings.

“The mayor’s a federal witness? Federal?” Eliot demanded in disbelief.

“Every badge in a hundred miles is looking for us,” Tara said.

“Guys,” Hardison said as he looked through his phone, “They are ripping through Nate and Tara’s cover stories. All their financials are blown. So look, until I know what they know? No credit cards, no debit cards, no ATMs, nothing that can be traced back to us, okay? Cash in hand, only.”

“It just gets better and better,” Parker said sarcastically.

“So what can we do?” I asked.

“Okay, the mayor’s not innocent,” Nate pointed out. “He cut a deal with the feds because he’s guilty and he’s got somebody working on the outside.”

“At the warehouse he admitted he has an accomplice,” Tara added.

“Alright, do we scatter or stay?” Eliot asked Nate.

“No, if we scatter we give the mayor and his partner time to cover their tracks to get away with murder, literally,” he replied.

“Well we can’t get anything done out here in the street, we need a hiding place,” Parker said.

“Guys look, when I contacted the FBI team lead I put a worm in the operating system from the SIM card on her phone-”

“Hardison,” Eliot interrupted, “geek spiral.”

“We can listen to what they say,” Hardison summarized.

He played a clip from his phone, the team lead saying that they weren’t taking the mayor to a safe house. Interpol wanted him somewhere off the FBI system, so they were taking him to the Governor Hotel.

“Okay, that’s it. That’s where we’re gonna hole up,” Nate said.

“The Governor Hotel?” I asked, a bit skeptical, but I thought I could see his logic.

“Yeah,” Nate said.

“The hotel crawling with FBI?” Tara clarified incredulously.

“FBI and Interpol,” Eliot added.

“It’s the one place in Boston they won’t be looking for us,” Nate said. “Come on, we just gotta get there first.”

We did manage to arrive at the hotel before all of the feds showed up. We sent Tara, Eliot, and Parker into the hotel to sneak into a room. When we finally followed, Tara opened the door wrapped in a towel, clothes in hand.

“Did I, uh, miss something?” Nate asked, voicing my own thoughts.

“She was naked,” Parker said matter of factly.

Hardison didn’t acknowledge that, simply getting on his computer to address the room situation. “In-room check out. This means that I have access to the hotel’s billing computers. It’s a big old backdoor into every hotel room in America.” He then went on and made it so we had an additional week and a half on the reservation for the room. It was all under the name of the previous guest who apparently, watched a lot of adult content while in the room.

“Hardison, I need background on all the mayor’s business partners and all his little shell companies,” Nate said, taking a sip of some alcohol that was left in the room.

“You want background checks on this? A TV?” Hardison asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I’ll have Super Mario and Dig Dug get right on that.”

“Guns – anything to do with guns,” Nate then walked out of the room.

Eliot started to follow, “Alright, I’m gonna go get some keys made. I’m going to the gym. Make sure I can charge stuff on the room.”

Parker headed down to the lobby to snag someone else’s keycard for Eliot’s ruse of going to the gym and the key to his room not working anymore. It seemed to work and he got the keycard reformatted for our room when Nate told Hardison, Tara, and I to stay in the hotel room and for Eliot and Parker to meet him outside.

“Why?” Hardison asked.

“Sterling,” Nate answered gravely.

“Uh oh,” I said.

Once the others met outside, Nate asked Hardison to go over what he had found on the mayor’s business partners.

“Alright guys, this is Tony Kadjic,” Hardison began. “He started out as a smuggler in Albania. He left a lot of competitors in shallow graves. He’s been indicted for murder eight times in four different countries with zero convictions.”

“His shipping company looks semi legit,” Tara said. “It has ties to countries in the ‘stans’ and Central America. He’s got a big batch of government contracts including for US security forces.”

“Why do we care about him?” Nate asked.

“Cuz he’s big on the surplus weapons market,” I answered.

Eliot puffed an amused scoff, “That’s just a polite way of saying arms dealer.”

“His specialty is buying cheap guns from third world countries and reselling them,” Tara said.

“Okay, well, uh, this tracks,” Nate said. “So the mayor grifts the 9/11 money that’s meant to improve security at the ports. That along with crooked cops makes the Bellbridge ports a perfect place for Tony Kadjic to run his guns in and out of the country.”

“Interpol must be chasing down the gun running,” Parker concluded.

“Don’t worry about Sterling,” Nate assured.

“Did you just say don’t worry about Sterling?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah, don’t worry about Sterling,” Nate repeated. “What? You don’t think I can beat Sterling?”

“I think in the last six months I’ve heard you talk about beating the Triads, beating the Russians, alright?” Eliot reminded him. “Maggie’s boyfriend? Huh, how’d that work out? We all said that meet was a bad idea. But now you’ve got a taste of taking down this mayor, and you can’t resist.”

“You wanna walk away? Walk away,” Nate said.

“I’m not walking away, that’s not my job. My job is to get your back, and Nate?” Eliot said seriously, “I’m gonna do it, all the way down. But I need you to do your job.”

“And what’s that?”

“Be Nathan Ford!” Parker cut in. “Be the person we came back for.”

There were two beats of silence where Nate took in what they were saying before he spoke again, “Listen, guys, I’m trying to figure out why a group of very rich, very powerful men are trying to take out a good, decent, cop. Now are you going to stick with me on this? Is that enough?”

Eliot gave a quiet, “yeah.”

Hardison looked at Tara and then me.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I pointed out.

“Us too,” Hardison said for himself and Tara.

“Good,” Nate said. “Tony Kadjic is the one who pulled the trigger, I wanna know exactly what he’s up to and who he is.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Hardison asked with a smile.

“Let’s go steal a mayor.”

The plan was pretty simple, by some standards. I dressed up as a hotel maid, the costume a little too on the nose in my opinion. With the mayor consistently ordering as many mini bottles of alcohol he could get his hands on, it was easy to give him one that was drugged, knocking him out quickly. The guards at the door wouldn’t let me in the room, but I handed them off to the mayor himself when he opened the door. I used a master key from the maid cart I had grabbed to enter the room next to the mayor’s. One that happened to have a conjoining door.

Unfortunately Sterling was coming back sooner than anticipated, so it was Nate’s job to stall him, without being seen. With the sound of Nate’s heavy breathing and the routine sound of the elevator dinging, it didn’t take long to figure out what he decided to do. I don’t think it was pleasant for either of them.

Parker, Hardison, and Tara dropped down to the room I stepped into from the roof using Parker’s equipment. Parker quickly moved to pick the door into the mayor’s room. Once we walked in to find the Mayor passed out on his bed, we took pictures of the room in all of its mess to replicate it. We were able to situate him into the lower compartment of my maid cart so that I smuggled him out the door, right under the nose of the agents at the door. The cart was significantly heavier and harder to push, but the guards didn’t seem suspicious of it.

Eliot played the red herring by rolling the largest trunk we could find, one that could possibly hold a whole person in it, by Sterling, placing it in a taxi to make him believe we had moved the mayor off the premises.

And that’s how we kidnapped the mayor. Now to get information out of him.

The first step was to convince him we meant business and that there was no one there to protect him. When the mayor was panicking about the FBI agents that were supposed to be at the door, Eliot and I’s small role came in.

“You ready for this?” Eliot asked me.

I rolled my head side to side to loosen my neck and adjusted the maid outfit I was still wearing, “yup, just play dead. And you try not to drop me.”

“I’d never drop you sweetheart,” Eliot said with a smile and a wink. He then squatted down, allowing me to lean over his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around my legs and the other grabbed my wrist, pulling it to his other side to keep me on his shoulder.

I went limp as he stood and slightly kicked the hotel room door open, effectively shutting up the mayor.

“Did you have to?” Nate asked. “She saw our faces,” Eliot said.

“Okay,” Nate relented easily. “Put her in the tub with the others.”

Eliot put me down gently in the bathroom to which I gave him a thumbs up to refrain from speaking and alerting the mayor I was, in fact, alive.

Nate was now playing a more serious and powerful role for the mayor. He was the boss, and not too happy with being turned over to the feds. What might make up for it and not get the mayor killed would be a cut in and meeting with Tony Kadjic. Every answer that Nate didn’t like, Hardison played a goon that would go to strangle the mayor with a coarse rope.

When we got all the information we needed from him, Eliot went out and knocked him out again, this time with his fist.

Tara and Parker then came in announcing that the FBI had cleared the building and I exited the bathroom to join the others.

“So we kidnapped a mayor,” Tara said, “I hope you realize that even if we pull this off, we’re gonna leave the city with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

I thought it over and determined that I was okay with that. I could buy almost everything I needed and anything I thought I couldn’t live without for sentimental reasons I was sure I could get Cora to hold onto for me. Anything else I could figure out.

“Yeah, okay, uh, Kadjic has a shipment at the docks,” Nate moved on quickly, “Hardison, stash the mayor somewhere else and uh, see what you can dig up.”

“If I can access the security cameras at the port, maybe with facial recognition I can find Kadjic,” Hardison said.

Nate sighed, “Yeah. Eliot, Parker, Tara, y/n, do a physical sweep of the docks.” He then nodded and walked straight out of the hotel room.

“Where you going?” Eliot asked him before he shut the door. Eliot looked at Tara and I, “Where’s he going?”

I looked at where he exited, I couldn’t help but shake my head. I didn’t know, but I hoped it wasn’t where I thought. Or somewhere stupid in general.

Tara stepped out for a moment before we went to the docks as directed. Once we got there we split up into pairs, Eliot and Parker, and Tara and I. We each had a list of ships that were anchored there and went to work to try and find the ship with Tony Kadjic’s weapons. We looked at each other for a moment before heading in opposite directions. This was gonna be a job, that’s for sure.

Tara and I took the strategy of checking two ships at a time, one for each of us, not straying very far from each other so we could check in after each one. We had gotten through about ten when Tara suggested we check each one together and just move through each ship quicker. It didn’t take much longer before she stopped me completely.

She obviously took out her ear bud and placed it in her pocket.

I hesitantly followed her lead and removed my own, “yes?”

“So, we need to talk,” Tara said.

“About?”

“About you and Eliot.”

I was brushing my thumb over the edge of the stack of pages I was holding onto, but at her words, everything stopped, “What? What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

I could feel the heat rushing to my head, surely causing my face to turn red. I immediately broke my eye contact with her and looked down at the list of ships. I found the next one on the list and tried to walk past her, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

She caught my arm and placed me in front of her again, “Nope, not doing that. I need you to be honest or else this is probably gonna blow up in the future.”

I sighed, “Isn’t lying like your whole thing?”

“Not relevant right now, and plus I’m always honest about my feelings and what I think when I’m not grifting,” she replied.

“Look, like I said, there isn’t anything to talk about. Nothing is going on, probably nothing will ever happen-”

“You like him though. You have feelings for him beyond ‘coworker and friend’ before you give me that crap.”

I simply stared over her shoulder into the distance, I couldn’t decide if I was trying or not to say something in response.

“I can see the way you look at him and act around him. It’s different than the rest of the team.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No, I’m just good at reading people. I doubt anyone else has noticed.”

I finally looked at her again, “Look, Tara, I have been trying not to acknowledge it or make it a reality for a while now. Eliot and I met on a con, when I wasn’t in on it. We flirted, I thought we hit it off, but it didn’t go anywhere. Probably because Nate told him off for it, even if I’m a big girl and can make my own decisions. Still, Eliot still has some respect or duty to Nate, so… whatever.” I sighed before continuing, “Despite that, you’ve seen Eliot. He flirts with any pretty girl that crosses his vision for more than ten seconds. I didn’t miss the look he had when it was mentioned that you were naked, Tara.”

Tara gave a little shrug, but allowed me to continue.

“That first con didn’t mean anything, I said that in Ukraine to Maggie, it’s true for you too. So no matter my feelings, it needs to stay platonic, because I know that’s all it will end up being. I don’t really belong in this world, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I may want to. I’m sure it will end eventually. All of it.” I took a deep breath to keep myself from falling over an emotional ledge, “So I’m not allowing or acknowledging my feelings to become anything more. I will enjoy the time I have with the team. With Eliot. Even if nothing comes of it. I have to keep telling myself that, so maybe I’ll believe it.”

I stopped talking, not wanting to say more. Not wanting to fall over the edge. Tara gave me a moment before speaking.

“That’s a good start, but in order for this to not blow up eventually, you need to acknowledge it so you can do something about it. Whether that be to jump his bones or get over it,” she finally said with a look on her face that told me this was not negotiable.

“Fine,” I said, clenching my hands to release some of the pressure building inside of me, “Yes, I like Eliot. I like him more than a friend. I wish something would happen between us. He’s handsome, and strong, and so protective. And he's talented in more ways than I anticipated.” My rambling trailed off as I realized, “He’s… He’s everything…” A rush of feelings was churning inside of me at the admission. I wasn’t sure if I could handle much more. “I don’t know how I’m gonna face him anymore. His touch already lingers on my skin and I can’t get him out of my head when he sneaks in.”

“That was a little bit more than I was wanting,” Tara said, “But it was good.”

“You asked for it,” I batted back, “Now I feel like shit.”

She laughed, “Now that you’ve released those feelings, you’ll feel better, promise.”

“Why are you treating me like a high schooler who has their first real crush?”

“Because you are kind of acting like one.”

“Go to hell Tara,” I said with only moderate conviction. I jumped around and shook my limbs trying to release the emotional energy and tension that had built in my body. “Okay, this job isn’t over. My feelings don’t matter, let’s go.”

Tara stopped me before I started walking again.

“What?” I snapped, “I did what you wanted, can we leave it alone?”

“Your feelings do matter, y/n. Just so you know.” She then walked in the direction of the ships and started searching again, not waiting for a response for me.

“I hate this,” I said to myself. I slipped my earbud back into my ear and looked at the list. “Next ship.”

After what seemed like forever, we met back up with Eliot and Parker. You would think that this meant we were close to the end, but no. We still had over a hundred ships at port that we hadn’t searched.

“This is hopeless,” Tara said as we fell into step with Parker.

“And it smells,” Parker added.

“Yess,” Tara and I said in sync.

“Like old clown shoes,” Tara described.

“Briney despair,” Parker added.

“Rusty defeat,” I countered.

“Maybe Hardison…” Eliot began but trailed off. Before stopping us with a ‘hey.’

“What?”

“He’s Italian,” Eliot said, digging into his jacket pocket and pulling out the page from Bonanno’s notebook. “Bonanno’s Italian.” Eliot after looking at the words ‘Maltese Falcon,’ he walked off towards a ship.

“So now he’s walking off?” Tara asked in disbelief.

“It rubs off on people,” I said before following Eliot.

“Yup,” Parker agreed.

“Sparky, slow down,” Tara called after him.

When we finally caught up and looked at the ship’s name, there it was. ‘Il Falcone Maltese,’ the Maltese Falcon in what I assumed was Italian.

“Well that was easy,” I joked. The others gave me a glare so I backtracked, “I’m kidding, you cracked the code Sherlock.” I leaned to nudge Eliot with my shoulder, trying not to overthink any interaction I had with him after my talk with Tara. Everything seemed to be becoming real after the talk, something I feared would happen. I tried to feel resentment or anger at her for forcing my hand, but I had to admit, I felt a bit more free. And the feelings I felt were fuller somehow.

“Hey guys,” Hardison said through comms, “Head over to Nate’s apartment. He says he has a plan.”

“Is it safe?” I asked, already heading back to the car.

“He said it is,” Hardison replied.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” I said once we got back to the apartment. The ride back was quiet and tense, but if Nate said he had a plan…

He outlined the plan for us that mostly consisted of Nate posing to strike a business deal with Kadjic and ultimately pinning him with the weapons and the shooting.

“Is it possible?” Nate asked solemnly once he relayed what he wanted done to complete the plan.

“I’ll need Eliot,” Hardison answered, “and to buy some new supplies, and maybe five hours. Plus I need to hack into the cargo ship and system at the docks.”

“What about the money?” Nate asked.

“It’s on short notice, but…”

“Use my accounts.”

“That’ll clean you out,” Hardison pointed out. Something didn’t seem right here.

“Use them,” Nate insisted. “And what about you guys, on your end?” He was referring to Tara and Parker breaking into the FBI Boston field office to deal with evidence.

“I don’t think we can make it in through the main entrance,” Parker answered. “So I think we need to go up and make it down from the roof.”

“But you can do it.”

“Sure, it’s not our part of the scam that’s impossible,” Tara said.

“No, it’s everything else,” Parker added.

“Yeah, definitely that, but our part, no,” Tara emphasized.

“Alright, well, I’m gonna set up the meet with Kadjic,” Nate said, not addressing the ‘impossible’ parts of the scam.

“No, no,” Eliot tried to stop him, “I said I know where the weapons are. I don’t know if Kadjic’s gonna be there.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to lure Kadjic to the weapons,” Nate said as a solution as if it were easy. “Our whole plan depends on our ability to confirm Kadjic and the weapons being in the same place at the same time.”

Before we knew it, it was go time. Hardison and I moved the mayor into a storage container on the docks, while he was knocked out of course so he wouldn’t know where he was. The container had plastic hanging around with electric lamps to give a very ominous look. To top it off, Hardison was in his mob suit, and I had dressed in an all black, long sleeve and pant ensemble myself to match.

“Everybody ready?” Nate asked as we were finishing setting up Hardison’s laptop and Nate and Eliot approached the dock.

“Yeah, but remember, once you’re on that ship, all that metal’s gonna mess with reception,” Hardison answered. “Won’t be able to reach you once you’re below decks.”

Tara and Parker indicated they were ready over comms as well.

We listened in as Nate and Eliot boarded the ship and made their presence known when Eliot beat up some guards. Nate mediated with the armed guards by asking for a meeting with Kadjic, a bag of cash in hand. It seemed to work as nobody got shot or was injured, but I wasn’t hopeful about the situation when Eliot mentioned he was counting how many guys with guns there were. Apparently there were a lot.

In the storage container, I sat away from Culpepper to have less chance of him recognizing me from my stint as a dead maid, and monitored the computer. Hardison adopted a thick Irish accent to threaten the mayor, asking him to act scared when calling Kadjic. Hardison had a drill with a scary looking bit on it for good measure. The mayor agreed quite readily to comply.

He called and begged Kadjic to do whatever we wanted, citing what we supposedly did to his FBI handlers before Hardison revved the drill again and cut the line with Culpepper’s scream. It sounded very convincing to me, especially since the mayor was still screaming behind me.

Nate used the call to his advantage, building up a more threatening reputation and the now open opportunity to be Kadjic’s business partner. Kadjic was at least interested in the proposition, enough that he led them around the ship it sounded like, and eventually below deck.

Meanwhile, Parker and Tara were able to gain access to the field office, their database, and physical evidence. I watched as Hardison took his computer back to transfer the digital evidence in the FBI’s database, deleting the original files. Once that was completed and he relayed to Tara what case file to destroy the physical evidence in, he put his system back to work on facial recognition around the dock. After a while, the computer alerted us, saying that it had a match.

Hardison and I looked to see what the match was and a security photo of the docks popped up on the screen. What we weren’t expecting was for Tara to be in the shot with Kadjic. The shot was taken early this morning. The two of us shared a look.

“That can’t be good,” I said.

Hardison shook his head as he put his finger in his ear, trying to get a hold of Parker. When he couldn’t, he dashed out between the plastic and out of the unit to try and get a better signal. I followed, leaving the mayor tied up in the unit. Once we were outside Hardison was able to talk to Parker. Hardison relayed what we found to her and took a sigh of relief that it seemed she was okay. Once she had all the information, she could handle herself.

What really startled me was the ship nearby starting its engine. The ship was Il Falcone Maltese, the ship where Nate, Eliot, and Kadjic were. The ship that wasn’t supposed to be going anywhere, especially with them on it.

I immediately started running to the ship.

“Where are you going?” Hardison yelled after me.

“To do something that’s probably stupid!” I called back. There was a large pipe wrench on a bench that I picked up along the way. “But I’m pretty sure we should stop that ship!”

I heard Hardison follow me as we scampered up to the ship’s deck and dropped down to the lower levels, finally finding the engine room. I looked at Hardison who had grabbed a large tool of his own along the way.

“Let’s get to work.”

We started pulling and twisting knobs left and right, hacking away at electronics and pipes with our heavy tools until everything was flashing red lights or leaking something. We heard the engine start to sputter and shut down.

Hardison and I shared a smug smile and a fist bump, “Nice work.” That was until there were some noises coming from around the corner. We walked around to see Eliot start to climb some stairs to one of the upper levels. There was blood on his face and it looked like he was looking to spill someone else’s.

“Hey,” Hardison called to stop him from running off, “took you long enough.”

“What?” Eliot asked, walking towards us instead. An armed guard jumped around a corner next to Eliot and it took less than two seconds and three hits to have him on the ground and out of commission. “One,” Eliot said to himself once the guard was down.

“What?” Hardison asked.

“Wha- where’s Nate?” Eliot changed the subject.

“I don’t know, man. All this metal is messing with the signal,” Hardison replied.

The sound of heeled shoes came from a neighboring corridor and caught our attention as a familiar looking woman walked by. I dashed around to get a better look with the boys following after me. We stopped when we were behind her.

“Sophie?” We asked all at once.

She looked over her shoulder at us and echoed Hardison, “took you long enough. Come on,” she then walked off in the direction she was previously heading, expecting us to follow.

We shared a quick look of confusion before following. While we navigated the ship Sophie relayed how Tara told her everything and how she met with Kadjic to get Sophie a meeting in order to be here. That explained the security photo from this morning and why she was here. Eventually we found a room that had a single armed guard. Eliot quickly knocked him out, busting open the door in the process and finding Nate sitting there handcuffed.

“Zero,” Eliot said before grabbing the handcuff key and freeing Nate.

Hardison, Eliot, and I left the area and waited for Sophie and Nate to have a short conversation. In all the previous commotion, I now had a good look at Eliot. He had his hair in a half updo, keeping it out of his face. Blood had begun to dry on his temple and from his nose. My heart skipped a beat in a way I couldn’t deny anymore that I cared for him. More than I should. I gently pulled a corner of my sleeve up and approached him to clean him up a bit. I raised my hand steadily, making my intentions obvious when Eliot grabbed my wrist gently.

“Don’t get your shirt dirty for me, it’s fine,” he said softly.

“It’s black, it’ll be fine. Please?” I whispered, my eyes tracing where a bead of sweat dropped to his brow. He finally released me and affirmed with a nod.

I started at his temple, brushing away the newer blood to luckily see that it had stopped bleeding with the exception of a small bead, just enough to form a scab. The rest had dried to his skin despite the sweat, but I was able to get it off with a few gentle scratches of my nail. I moved on to the area under his nose where a single track of blood had trailed to his lip. This brushed away a bit more easily. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment of time with my thumb brushing over his top lip to remove his own blood how much I wanted to kiss him. The skin of my fingers brushing his face so intimately became too much and I stepped away when I was sure the blood was gone.

He whispered, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

I didn’t have time to reply before Sophie and Nate finally caught up to us. They led the way outside where we saw the mayor, still in his hotel bathrobe, enter the bridge of the ship, coincidentally, where Kadjic was as well, trying to get the ship underway. Hardison and Eliot went to lock them in one side and Nate and Sophie went to lock the other, trapping them there with no escape. I went around the corner to wave down Parker and Tara who were on their way.

The four of them came up behind me once Kadjic and Culpepper were trapped just as Parker and Tara climbed the stairs where I was.

Parker almost immediately hugged Sophie.

“Oh,” Sophie said at the gesture, “Parker, touching.”

“Kinda, yeah,” Parker replied a bit bashfully.

There were sirens in the distance, coming to arrest Kadjic and Culpepper with any luck.

“Listen, I hate to cut goodbyes short,” Tara said at the sound, “but they're playing my song.”

“Keep out of trouble,” Eliot said.

“Or if you wanna get in trouble again,” Hardison said with a smirk.

Tara smiled at the implication.

“Is this why…?” I asked, wondering about the earlier conversation we had.

She shrugged, “Maybe.” She then looked at Sophie, “So we’re…”

“Oh, we’re even,” Sophie responded. “Absolutely.”

Tara nodded and with a pat on Nate’s arm, started to dash around the back side of the ship.

“Hey,” Nate stopped her, “Are you gonna be alright on your own?”

Tara smiled, “What do you think?” She then continued on her path.

We then looked at each other, wondering what to do.

“There’s not that many ways out of here,” Eliot said after an assessing look around.

“Eliot, when I arrange a rescue, I do it properly,” Sophie said with a smug expression.

We all looked above as a helicopter touched down on the docks next to the ship.

“Indeed you do,” I said following after Eliot and Parker down towards the getaway vehicle.

Just when we were going to climb off the deck of the ship, Sterling popped out of nowhere, clapping his hands and a “Bravo!”

FBI agents then surrounded us, stopping us in our tracks. Of course it wasn’t a clean getaway.

“So,” Sterling said, approaching us. “Where is Tony Kadjic?”

“He’s locked in the bridge,” Nate replied from behind us, but moved in front of us to talk directly to Sterling. “And the guns are stored in boxes in the hold.”

“I see you kept your end of the deal, Nate,” Sterling said.

“What?” I asked softly, looking at Nate, trying to figure out what was going on.

Nate didn’t respond, he just walked slowly to the side and handcuffed himself to the rail. “Yeah Sterling, we have a deal.”

“Nate, what are you doing?” Hardison asked this time, but still, Nate didn’t answer.

“Quit messing around,” Sterling said. “In thirty seconds there will be another dozen guns on the deck.”

I looked around, the team was edging closer to the rail, Nate, and ultimately freedom in the helicopter. Eliot was specifically keeping his eyes on the armed FBI agents. I was unsure what to do. I kept close to the team, but it almost felt like my feet were glued to the deck.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on right now, Sterling?” Nate asked. “There’s a fire in the FBI evidence room,” he said, referring to the tampering Tara and Parker did earlier, planting an ignition system to destroy evidence. “And Hardison wiped the servers of all the evidence.”

“Where are you going with this?” Sterling asked.

“I destroyed all the evidence the FBI had on Culpepper and Kadjic. You have no photos, no tapes, you don’t have anything. You don’t have a case on anybody, unless you arrest me, and only me,” Nate explained. My eyes were glued on him, explaining his case to Sterling, and us, all unaware of what he was planning. “I agree to turn state’s evidence. And I testify to what Kadjic told me, how he put the hit on Bonanno. Hell, I’ll even give you Bonanno’s evidence against the gun running!”

“Nate,” Eliot said steadily, “I can take these guys.”

“It’s just ten more yards to the chopper, man,” Hardison said.

“Listen, guys,” Nate said, “I got you into this mess, this is the only way to get you out.” He turned to Sterling, “And I can feel you thinking Sterling, and don’t, don’t bother! And if you touch one of them, the deal is off. Nevins loses two years of work, and your first case with Interpol.”

“So, you’re my case, or I have no case,” Sterling summarized.

“Exactly.”

There was a slight upturn to Sterling’s lips that finally dropped, “Fine, we’ll call it a draw then.”

Nevins, the FBI agent in charge, protested, “No, we do not take this deal!”

Sterling forcibly lowered her gun, “Take one more step, and I’ll shoot you myself.”

The agents and Sterling backed off, leaving us somewhat alone.

“Come here,” Nate said to us, “You guys are the most honorable people I’ve ever met in my life. You’ve become my family,” he looked at me, “Our only family.I won’t forget that.” There was a pause before he said to Eliot, “Now get them on the chopper. Now!”

Eliot took a moment to nudge Parker and Hardison towards the stairs to get off the ship. I wouldn’t move, raising my hand at Eliot to give me a moment. He allowed it, standing a bit off to the side.

“I’m sorry, Birdie,” Nate said, his face sorrowful, but determined.

“I know,” I said, surprising myself with how calm I was, at least on the outside. “But I’m still angry.”

“At me?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said. I paused before taking the two steps forward it took to close the gap between us, “But I know I would regret it if I didn’t hug you right now.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, knowing this was a different kind of goodbye. I felt a tear roll down my cheek and onto his coat before I released him. I took a step back, but couldn’t find it in myself to keep going.

I think Nate could see that, “Goodbye Birdie.”

I just nodded.

Nate looked over my shoulder to Eliot, “Get her out of here, please.”

I felt one of Eliot’s arms wrap around my waist, the other on my arm to guide me away. He whispered a “come on, sweetheart,” as we walked down the stairs, leaving Nate and Sophie on the deck of the ship. We passed Sterling on the way, and Eliot told him coolly to watch his back, a stark contrast to the way he gently led me towards the helicopter. He helped me to my seat and waited to help Sophie in as well before we took off.

To freedom I suppose.

A/n: Hey guys! So glad you were able to stick it out until now. I'm going to be taking a little bit of hiatus between seasons 2 and 3. I have finals these next two weeks and want to plan out this next season a bit more, hopefully getting a few episodes written before I start posting again. Thank you so much for reading so far, can't wait for next season, where stuff might start moving!! Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder @mushycore

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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randomeanonjustwatching · 9 months

Note

Fine Cuphead x reader here we Go-

Maybe like a type of “forbidden love” due to elder kettle telling them not to go to the casino cup meets y/n who works there?

Quiet answers

(A gn!reader x Cuphead story, both characters are seen as 16 year olds.)

Cuphead isn't one for romance. Mugman is much more of the "oh look how pretty she is" type.

Atleast, that's what he thought till he met you.

Sneaking out. Again. He thought Kettle not letting him go to the casino was stupid and that he should be allowed to go. So every once in a while, when everyone in the cottage was asleep, he'd slowly open the bedroom window and sneak off.

Normally he would just goof off, talk to Chalice or the magic pool he forgot the name of. But tonight, he had 20 bucks, and hopefully a lot of luck.

He practically ran down the path Elder Kettle told him not to tread on, and there it was.

Glowing lights and bouncy dance music. The Devil's Casino, the townsfolk called it.

"Why hello there, you seem new. How...old are you? We accept 18 and older kid." A man with a dice for a head said.

"Oh! Uhm, Can I go in even though I'm 17?" Cuphead lied, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

"Hmm...well I suppose. Just don't cause to much of a fit if you lose all your cash. By the way, whats your name kid?" The dice chuckled.

"Ah, I'm Cuphead. And you?" Cuphead said, slightly excited.

"Name's Dice, now card tables on your right, pool tables on your left, and slot machines where the bar is." Dice explained and walked off.

"Right, thanks Dice!" Cuphead said, before running off to the card tables.

Maybe if he won enough he could buy himself a motorcycle for him and Mugs.

After all, Mugman loves those dang bikes.

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

Cuphead was on a winning streak.

He had won about 3 games already, and had about 400$ in cash from winning.

"I'm swapping out with a different dealer, they're new so be nice ladies and gents." The dealer said calmly, standing up and whispering something to the other dealer coming over.

The other dealer sat down, and Cuphead blushed.

They looked charming, beautiful (e/c) eyes, and a calm smile on their face.

"Uh, h-hello there." Cuphead stammered, and others at the table chuckled at how he was acting.

"Hi, ready to start everyone?" The new dealer said, and most of the group nodded as Cuphead let out a small "mhm" in response to the wonderful voice.

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

Cuphead walked out with a winning streak, a lot of luck, and 673$ in cash. Not enough to buy a motorcycle, but maybe if he came back again he might get enough.

He saw the dealer that was at their table.

"Hey! Wait!" Cuphead said quickly as the walked out of the casino.

The dealer turned around. "Uh, hi again, was there something you need?"

"I was wondering....uhm...if I can get your number? And your name too?" Cuphead stammered, trying to stay calm as the dealer chuckled.

"I'm y/n, and you are?"

"C-Cuphead.."

"That’s a nice name. Sure, you can have my number." Y/n smiled softly, before saying, "If you can beat me in a game of pool mext saturday, deal?"

Cuphead grinned, face still slightly red. "Deal."

"See you then." Y/n got into their car, driving down the main road.

Cuphead started walking back home, pockets stuffed, and for once, a lovey-dovey grin on his face as he climbed back in through the window, hid the cash in a box under the bunk bed, and went to sleep.

He couldn't wait for next Saturday night.

(Wow, look at me writing a full story lol)

#cuphead x reader #cuphead #loved writing this loloo #where are the story requests??

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e-wills-afterhours · 5 months

Text

Pretentious Coffee, Chapter 2

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Modern college/coffee shop AU

----------

Astrid tapped her mechanical pencil against her desk, rattling the lead inside. She knew how obnoxious the clicking must be—she had nearly throttled a girl for doing the same thing during the last course exam—but a day and a half’s cram session left her feeling anxious and unprepared.

Upon reflection, she could not recall what possessed her to go to that party with Ruffnut. It was so unlike her, the weekend before any kind of test. She usually was a much better student than she had been over the past week: sleeping in, procrastinating, and spending lectures ignoring the buzzing of her cell phone, seething over everything she imagined the texts and voicemails would say. It was not her normal behavior, and it had nothing to do with her recent breakup…or so she told herself.

There was no possible way he could still get under her skin. She had excised him from her life, regardless if she was the one who had actually been dumped. If he didn’t want to be with her anymore, fine. No point in pining away or wallowing in self-pity. That kind of behavior was pathetic, and there was a perfectly logical explanation as to why her academic motivation had dwindled.

There had to be.

Burnout was perfectly normal, even if it was only halfway through sophomore year.

She stiffened as a stack of exam papers hit her desk, feeling the sickening twist of her stomach that was usually milder on test days. Her leg began to shake in addition to her clicking pencil, and she noticed the sidelong glance from the girl adjacent to her.

Screw her.

Astrid took a deep breath.

The Scantron sheet was tucked inside a dense packet of questions, stapled together. There were seventy-five questions worth of political science theory, and she ran once more through the base philosophies of Plato, Aristotle, and Machiavelli, feeling marginally better she could remember those flash cards verbatim.

She twisted in her seat to pass back the remaining tests. For no particular reason, other than curiosity maybe, she quickly scanned the room, wondering if anyone else shared her nerves—

There, two seats behind her to the right, was a tall, lanky face she had only just committed to memory: the barista. There no mistaking him, even without his beige apron and black slacks. The dark green hoodie pulled over his head, framing that same bored, unimpressed face—not arrogant, just disinterested—only made him look more apathetic than he had been behind a cash register. It was as if all of it—school, his job, and surrounding peers—were inconsequential to him. It was as if the mundane world of what was normal and expected was merely an inconvenience.

His eyes met hers and he smiled, bright and lopsided, like he was happy to see her, but still uncertain if she was worth reconnecting to the world.

“You may begin as soon as you get your test,” the professor announced pointedly.

Astrid tore her gaze away from that oddly engaging stare, turning back to her exam and finding the nuggets of political theory growing fuzzier in her brain. Bubbling her name into the appropriate field had become cumbersome. Her attention was suddenly divided between a GPA-determining test, and the utter shock that the skinny, snarky coffee barista had been in her class for half a semester without her noticing…

Yet, his face had been deemed worthy by her subconscious to file away so that bumping into him for the first time set off frantic bells to a tune she couldn’t quite name.

Well, now she knew.

The midterm exam seemed to simultaneously drag on and speed by in some bizarre time paradox. When her mind reluctantly wandered to freckles and sarcastic wit, it was like substantial blocks of time simply evaporated. Minutes of the clock were magicked away. It was disconcerting.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she flipped to the last page. A quick glance at the remaining time confirmed she hadn’t burned it all fixating on a guy she had no business thinking about, after a break up she definitely was not still hurting over. She was glad to be unattached, frankly. It gave her the freedom to focus on what mattered—like the final three questions her pencil had been hovering over for a good few minutes

What was wrong with her?

Movement caught her eye, and she hazarded a glance at the back of that green hoodie striding to the podium. His bag was hanging off one shoulder in a manner as careless as the rest of him. The professor glanced over his Scantron to make sure it was properly filled out, nodded, and the barista was gone—off somewhere, to whatever gave him purpose.

Astrid snapped back to her own test, breezing through the last three questions with more urgency than she had felt since she started—perhaps more than was prudent. She nearly sprinted up to the front, holding her test out with one hand, purse and coat clutched in the other. She was already on her way out the door before the professor gave her answer sheet an approving nod.

It was baffling, even to herself, why she felt compelled to chase down this relative stranger who was nothing to her, if not irritating. Hiccup was his name, she remembered; and he had served her bland, over-priced coffee with complimentary sass. Jerk. He was also some quiet, distracted soul who sat behind her in her political science course, apparently. They had no connection, no real conversational starting point other than, “Hey, remember when you were a total dick to me the other day?”

Maybe she wanted an apology? Maybe she was finally alert enough to give him a piece of her mind?

Or maybe, after years of the same old thing—muscles and swagger—she was intrigued by something different. The feeling was not a willful attraction, if “attraction” was even the correct word for it. She would describe it as more of a pull, a gravity; it was something that had her rushing out into the snow, squinting against the blinding white expanse.

But Hiccup was gone, disappeared into the flurries like a phantom. She would not see him again until the next political science class the end of the week.

Or maybe she could, again, pay just a little too much for unsavory coffee, sprinkled with sass.

#hiccstrid #hiccstrid fic #hiccstrid modern au

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klance-daydreams · 2 years

Text

where's the lost and found? 💌🌙🔎

(a space ranger vlogs mini fic)

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Keith: 8:39 pm

"God, Keith, why can't you just see that we don't need those clips?" Lance shouts. "They're weird, and I look so bad in them!"

Keith rubs the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed. "For the last time, Lance. Nobody cares! It's good footage, and we need it. We have to post tomorrow, and we barely have fifteen minutes in the video. For what, a week's worth of content?"

"Are you even listening?" Lance spits back. "We can shoot something else, or extend the end card."

"We don't have time to shoot more things. I need to finish the last edits and get it uploaded!" Keith stomps his foot on the ground. "This is the best footage we have! I'm sorry you don't look like royalty in it-"

"I DIDN'T SAY IT LIKE THAT!"

"THEN SHUT UP AND LET ME USE THE FOOTAGE!"

"NO!"

Keith's breath hitches. They haven't fought like this in a while. But that was the last straw. Keith is so done. He's so tired. His throat is scratchy from arguing so he leaves. Yeah, he slams the van door and doesn't even say goodbye. He can't stand Lance right now.

The warm night air greets him as soon as he steps out.

Lance: 8:44 pm

It's been four months. Four months since Lance and his best friend ever decided to hop in a van and film their way through all 50 states in the U.S. and this is how it's going. Could this night get any better?

Lance sighs and flops on the bed. Whatever. If Keith won't care about him, he's not going to care about Keith. The laptop is still open to the video editing app with all of the footage. Lance replays the debated clip again and promptly drags it to the trash icon in the corner.

Keith: 9:01 pm

The sound of gravel crunching under Keith's footsteps are louder than they need to be, but he doesn't care. He doesn't know exactly where he's going right now, but anywhere away from the van will be good enough for him.

The camping parking lot lies just at the edge of town, so within minutes, he's surrounded by street lamps lined with shops and apartments on top of them. He turns right and left, not keeping track of where he's been. It doesn't occur to him to do so.

Most places are closed by now since it's Sunday night, but Keith spots a bar a block down. Light pours out of the glowing neon entrance. Keith doesn't do bars, but it's not like he has many other options.

Voices chatter and glasses clink around him while classy music plays in the background. The overhead lights cast a warm tint to the room, creating a feeling that Keith can't quite place. There's not much of a crowd, thankfully, so he finds a bar stool and sits there, resting his elbows on the platform in front of him.

"What can I get ya?" A voice asks, and Keith suddenly remembers that this is a bar, and people order things instead of sulk around. Well, maybe they do sulk around, but still, they do it with a drink.

Glancing at the chalkboard menu of non-alcoholic beverages, Keith responds, "Uh, can I get a ginger ale? No ice."

The bartender nods and leaves. Keith reaches for his pocket and pulls out some cash. Rule number one for living on the go: always have money on you.

Lance: 9:07 pm

With Keith not having yet returned, and a video that can't be posted without a mutual agreement, Lance has basically nothing to do.

So, sick of waiting for his friend, Lance pulls out his phone and scrolls through Instagram. He checks out a couple or stories, likes some posts, and gets bored within minutes.

If Keith were here….nope.

Lance shuffles through some things in one of the upper compartments above the bed and pulls out a book. He hasn't read in a while, so maybe he'll just do that.

Keith: 9:18 pm

Sipping on a glass of Canada Dry, Keith realizes he should probably call Lance to tell him that he'll be back in a bit. The other part of Keith wants to avoid him for the whole night. Still, he pulls out his phone to possibly text Lance.

The second he tries to turn it on, his heart drops. Staring back at him is a dark screen with a battery symbol with a red cross going through it.

"No, no, no, no, please," he curses under his breath. This cannot be happening.

Panicking, he looks around the room, as if that would help.

Okay one, his phone is dead, which means no way to contact Lance, or anyone else for that matter. And two, since his phone is dead, he also has no GPS, something he needs for a town he's completely unfamiliar with.

He leaves the empty glass at the bar, and starts to get up. The bartender promptly comes to pick it up, and Keith gets an idea.

"Hey, excuse me," Keith starts, and the bartender looks at him. "Do you know where the camping lot is? It's right outside of town, right?"

The bartender shakes his head and shrugs. "Sorry kiddo, but you must be far from it because I'm not sure what you're talking about."

Keith feels a literal punch in his gut. This is just perfect.

Lance: 9:27 pm

The book is interesting, Lance supposes, but it's not anything that he'd want to spend more time reading. He glances at the time on his phone. It's been almost an hour since Keith left, but no texts or missed calls from him. Lance frowns. Was Keith really that mad at him?

Keith: 9:36 pm

The air outside, once calming, feels suffocating. Keith wanders aimlessly in the dark, trying to remember the streets he passed. It feels like he's been walking for at least fifteen minutes at this point. He feels like such an idiot.

There's practically nobody around, and Keith has no way home. Out of nowhere, he starts missing the van. He starts missing Lance. A lot.

He walks some more before spotting a mom and her son strolling down the block. If it were any other circumstance, Keith would never go up to them, but he's desperate. He starts walking fast towards them and hopes for the best.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm lost, and I need to get back to the camper van parking lot. Do you know where that is?"

The woman seems to ponder for a second. "The one just after Elm Street?"

The name sounds familiar, so Keith goes with it. "Yeah."

She points towards the next block. "If you go down this street, you'll find Allen Street. Take two rights after that, and you'll see a huge sign for the library. Keep going forward and I'm sure you'll find the lot."

Relief washes over Keith. He smiles and says, maybe with a little too much enthusiasm, "Thank you!"

The lady grins sweetly. "Of course! Have a good night."

"You too."

Lance: 9:49 pm

Missed outgoing call to "Keith♡":

Hey, buddy, it's me. Uh, I hope everything's alright. Text me back when you can, okay? I promise I'm not mad at you.

Lance: 9:54 pm

Missed outgoing call to "Keith♡":

Keith, I'm really sorry, okay? Please can you call me? It's getting too late. You're scaring me.

Keith: 10:03 pm

Ever since Keith received the directions, he spared no time, and has been jogging ever since. Out of breath, he can see the familiar chain link fence surrounding the lot. Freaking finally.

Lance: 10:07 pm

Currently, Lance finds himself pacing around the van. He wants to leave and go find Keith, but what if he comes back and they completely miss each other? Lance can't risk that. But he has to try something, right?

Just then, he hears the click and swoosh of the van door, and a head with tousled black hair peeks through, and Lance just stands there.

"Keith?"

Keith: 10:07 pm

"Lance!" he exclaims. "My phone died and-"

Before Keith could even start, Lance is firing questions a mile a minute. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? What- oh"

Keith's not a hugger, but this is an exception. He holds him so tight, like if he lets go, his whole world would disappear. An unknown feeling floats within Keith, but he doesn't mind. He just breathes in the scent of Lance's hoodie and allows himself to close his eyes. They stand like that for a minute.

"Hey, I'm really sorry," Lance whispers. "I got so angry for no reason."

"It's okay." Keith's voice is shakier than he'd like it to be. "It was two minutes of video anyways. I should have just let it go."

"Everything's alright now, then? Wait. Are you crying?"

"M'not crying," Keith says as he wipes a stray tear from his eye. "Just missed you, that's all."

Lance smiles. "Can't stand being away from Lancey, huh?" He opens his arms, showing off himself. Keith giggles, and the other boy clears his throat. "Um, but in all seriousness, I think it's good that you left. I mean, the van's stuffy. Fresh air is good.

"Yeah." Keith nods. "It was good to get out. No offense."

"Nah, just be sure to charge your phone before you storm off next time," Lance winks.

Keith rolls his eyes. "Sure. I'm tired though. Gonna sleep."

"Well lucky for you, we have a beautiful bedroom right in the back." Lance fake bows. "Right this way, sir."

"Pfft." Keith crawls into the bed, and closes the curtain divider so he can change. Afterwards, Lance joins him and shuts the lights while they lay down.

"I have one more question," Lance says in the dark, right as Keith is about fall asleep. "Where'd you go?"

Keith pauses for a moment before answering. "Nowhere important," he mumbles.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"Mhm. Go to sleep."

"G'night, Keithers."

"'Night."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

#i hate making them argue. ohmygod.#but they love each other. so its okay.#anyways hdhsshshj i really hope y'all like this one! i'm very proud of it ;0 #klance #klance fanfiction #keith and lance #keith voltron #lance voltron #klance fluff #space ranger vlogs #klancedaywrites???

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teaandfiction-28 · 9 months

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I was one of those that guessed correct 🙌🏼 Could I request smut 1 please? Honestly enjoying your writing so much 👏🏼

Well-guessed @r3dskywaterfall 💛

Thank you so much for the lovely comment - I'm thrilled you're enjoying these stories!

I'm not sure why but Hank Voight losing his virginity has been a little plot bunny bouncing around in my head for *years* 😂 So here you go - hope you enjoy!

—————————

Prompt: “Staying quiet was never your strong suit, was it?"

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Smut, First Time, Language [18+ only]

Timeline: Set during C31 of ‘Brand New Day’.

“Hank, do you remember your first time?”

It was almost midnight on Christmas Eve and, after finally getting an overly tired Alexis to sleep, Hank and Kate had collapsed into an exhausted tangle of limbs on the sofa, two half-empty glasses of wine on the coffee table and ‘It's a Wonderful Life’ on the TV.

She wasn’t sure where the question came from but she supposed that it stemmed from her incessant desire to know everything there was to know about Hank Voight. In her eyes, no piece of knowledge was trivial when it came to the enigma that was her husband but, when his body tensed beneath her and her question was met with complete silence, Kate lifted her head from his chest to peer up at him, curious hazel meeting startled russet.

“That’s a subject I ain’t touching with a barge pole.” He eventually grumbled with a huff of amusement, prior experience dictating that these conversations were better had when their house was void of both Erin and their daughter but, undeterred, Kate continued to gaze up at him expectantly.

“Honey, why would I let you get upset about something that happened long before you were born?” He challenged, more than a little baffled at her left-field line of questioning but, when she jutted out her lower lip and muttered a quiet ‘please’, he rolled his eyes and caved like a house of cards.

“Summer of ’84. Prom night.”

Kate pushed into a seated position at his side and instantly he regretted indulging her when she robbed him of the warmth of her body, the soft cotton of his t-shirt instantly becoming cool without her touch.

“I’d had a great football season my senior year of high school and Northwestern had offered me a full scholarship. I guess as a promising Quarterback, I was like catnip for the girls who wanted to hang off the arm of a football player.”

Of course she knew he had snubbed both college and a career in football to follow in his father’s footsteps but she couldn’t help but imagine a young, inexperienced version of her husband in a darkened classroom, locking lips with his giggly date as he battled with the ruffles on her dress with shaky, unsure hands.

“Hank Voight, the cliche.” She teased with a smirk but the cute montage playing in her mind soon came to a screeching halt when provided some clarity on the identity of the young woman with whom he’d cashed in his v-card.

Turns out, it wasn’t his prom date after all.

“Wait…you lost your virginity to your Spanish professor!?” She balked, her jaw going slack and her eyes widening comically when he hiked a casual shoulder as though it was commonplace to loose your virginity to a woman who was probably old enough to be your mother!

“After I took my date home like the perfect gentleman I was, I headed back to school to meet some buddies and she was, uh, waiting for me under the bleachers.”

His teacher was waiting for him under the bleachers!? Part of her wanted to hunt this woman down and knock her teeth down her throat for taking advantage of him but she wasn’t naive enough to believe that even a teenage Hank Voight could have been forced to do something he didn’t want to do.

So instead of letting her fiery protectiveness ruin the rest of their evening, she simply cocked an eyebrow and levelled him with a serious look.

“So…how was it?”

Biting back the clipped bark of laughter that rumbled in his chest, Hank shook his head in disbelief. Of course she would want to get right down to the horny details.

“Fast.” He admitted with a snort of amusement, vaguely recalling how he’d almost ruined his dress pants when his busty, olive-skinned instructor had propositioned him with a lascivious glance over her shoulder, blood-red lips quirked into a coquettish grin as she slowly lifted her tight skirt up and over her hips.

It had been over almost as quickly as it began, stumbling away from her on trembling legs as he fought to catch his breath, his heart jackhammering against his ribs. But she had simply shimmied her skirt back over the voluptuous globes of her ass, pecked him on the lips and left him standing awkwardly in the darkness with her sultry adios cariño echoing in his ears.

When he caught Kate’s pensive expression out of the corner of his eye, he idly wondered what she was thinking. Was she imagining him pinning a faceless brunette against a jagged beam, their quiet moans interspersed with the sound of flesh meeting flesh? Or perhaps she envisioned him looking utterly terrified as a Mrs Robinson-type character dropped to her knees at his feet and proceeded to blow his innocent little mind into the next solar system?

Either way, he couldn’t contain the quiet sigh of relief when the corner of her mouth tugged into a wry grin, her eyes sparkling with genial mirth as she met his gaze from across the couch.

“Well, it’s good to know you weren’t always a stallion in the sack.” She teased with a wink, a pleasant sensation blooming low in her belly when his eyes darkened with lust, a fission of sexual tension zinging between them like an electric current.

“A stallion, huh?” He growled, caging her between his arms as he planted both hands on the cushions either side of her hips, inching forwards until her had her pinned between the pillows and his warm body.

Capturing her lips in a searing kiss, Hank settled his weight in the cradle of her thighs, her long limbs instinctually winding around his body like ivy to draw him down until they were pressed together from chest to thigh.

“You know I saved my best work for you sweetheart.” He rumbled when his mouth left hers in favour of tracing hot, tongue-filled kisses along the line of her jaw and down the slope of her neck, grinning against her heated flesh when she mewled in response and her hips jerked against his in search of sweet friction.

Whatever smart-assed response she had in mind died in her mouth when Hank slipped a hand along the soft curve of her belly, fingertips gliding over the smooth flesh to slide beneath the elastic of her sleep shorts.

“Hank, we can’t…Erin’s upstairs.”

Her protest fell on deaf ears when his deft fingers dipped between her legs to trace slow, teasing circles around her swollen bundle of nerves with the pads of his fingers.

“Better stay quiet then.” He whispered with a smirk, clearly having forgotten how they had both almost perished with embarrassment not too long ago when they were caught in flagrante by his pseudo-daughter.

While at least they were still fully clothed, it was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea. But all thoughts of trying to persuade him to wait until they were in the privacy of their bedroom left in rush when he slipped first one, then a second thick digit inside of her, the rough pad of his thumb taking over the rhythmically stroking of her aching clit.

“Fuck Hank!” She whimpered, hands scrabbling to find purchase on the soft cotton of his t-shirt, the fabric bunching in her vice-like grip as she used his body as a counter-balance to her own undulating hips.

“So good for me.” He husked, adjusting his weight so that he could shove her t-shirt up and over her chest, lips quirking into a grin as her dusky nipples instantly pebbled when bared to the cool air.

When he drew one tight bud into the warm cavern of his mouth, Kate released her grip on his shirt in favour of frantically clutching at the back of his head with one hand, the other flying to her mouth in an effort to muffle the tight whine of pleasure that was threatening to escape unbidden in response to his masterful stimulation.

Before long, Kate was dancing along the precipice of bliss, her chest damp and heaving as she gasped for breath, desperate for him to push her over the edge. Releasing her nipple with a quiet ‘pop’, Hank increased the pace of his once-languid movements, propping himself up on one elbow to watch her lithe body bucking and writhing beneath him, face contorted in pure ecstasy.

“C’mon baby, let me feel you.”

He could sense her climax coming long before her slick walls began to pulse and throb around his fingers, giving him ample time to knock her hand out of the way and seal his mouth over hers when she came with a sharp cry, suppressing the instinctive, guttural groans that followed before she woke up the rest of the house.

Easing her back down to earth with slow, steady strokes and soft, easy kisses, Hank was watching her intently with an expression of smug satisfaction plastered across his handsome face when Kate eventually managed to force her eyes open, the flushed skin at the base of her throat pulsing rhythmically in time with her rapid heart rate.

When the fluttering around his fingers eventually ceased, Hank withdrew his hand from her shorts and, with his eyes still locked on hers, lifted his arousal-slicked digits to his lips, sliding both fingers into his mouth with a hum of delight.

Ignoring Kate’s breathy “Jesus Christ” at his salacious display, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the very tip of her nose, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he peered down at her.

“I guess staying quiet was never your strong suit, was it?”

#hank voight #hank voight fanfiction #hank voight x ofc #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #hank voight imagine #hank voight fluff #prompt #hank voight smut

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