#still honestly feeling insane in a bad way thinking of all the thousands of dollars shes spending on BAGS and trips to disney | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 4 years

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hulu & woohoo

summary: But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings: slight feelings of insecurity, smut; fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, handjobs, unprotected, riding, slight praise kink misc: if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read wc: 6.3k

[ this is a sequel to netflix & chill !! ]

started off silly then I was like 😳what if we sprinkled in a dilemma™️😳 anyway here’s the kook i imagined for this fic <3

Contrary to popular belief, Jungkook does in fact have his own paid subscription to Netflix. He doesn’t ride on his family account anymore, nor does he swindle his friends into sharing their passwords ‘just once.’ Just like everything else about his mature persona, Jungkook is adamant on paying those ten and something dollars for the streaming platform.

However, his fall into capitalism doesn’t end there.

Among other things, Jungkook also pays for Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney Plus, HBO, as well as a couple indie stuff you’ve never heard of in all your years. He’s a bigger nerd than you originally thought, with an incessant need to watch every single piece of media available.

Frankly, you don’t see the need to own so many different streaming services, especially not when pirating websites exist and you could so easily watch Jersey Shore for free, if you’re not too concerned with infecting your laptop with every software virus known to humankind. Luckily for you, your app developer boo with his—admittedly tiny—knowledge in computers can iron out those issues for you.

It’s moments like these, Jungkook fiddling with the internal system settings of your laptop to the best of his abilities, that you find yourself grateful for having met Jungkook, and even if it’s been a little over two months now and he still hasn’t popped the question (“Will you be my girlfriend?”), you’d still kiss him silly.

He sighs for the umpteenth time, rubbing his eyes as he stares at the same system warning on the screen. “Babe, just pay the six bucks for Hulu and you can watch all the Jersey Shore episodes you want,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he stares at you from across the dining table.

You scoff, almost scandalized by his suggestion. “You think I have the resources to hand over six bucks every month?” You abandon your homework in front of you, the one you had so dutifully been working on before your computer was flooded with about a thousand Hot Moms in YOUR Area! notifications before abruptly shutting down. “Buddy, that's lunch at Starbucks.”

Jungkook clicks around a few more times, round glasses sliding down his nose which he will occasionally scrunch up to save from falling. “First of all, lunch at Starbucks sounds sad,” he retorts, and you kick his shin from beneath the table. He doesn’t even flinch, the damn muscle bunny, instead leveling you with an unimpressed glare. “Second of all, I told you I’d give you my passwords but you said—“

“No!” You exclaim.

Call it what you want, but that rose-tinted image of Jungkook being a saint in this world, too sweet and naive for his own good, never faded. Your brain saw it that night of your first date and ran with it, never mind the fact he was quite the devious scoundrel, gentlemanly perception be damned the way he’d tug at your skirts and your hair in public like you were on the playground, always teasing, always playing with you, so discreetly no one would ever see it coming from him, of all people. Your brain saw all that too, the little childish streak he’d get sometimes, but your heart stomped it out, wrapped up in the image of Jungkook being your golden boy, and you couldn’t possibly take advantage of such an angel’s kindness to mooch off his streaming services.

From across the table, Jungkook gives you a pointed look, as if he knows you’re trapped in that brain of yours again. Unlike you, Jungkook was easily able to pick apart your true personality, and the way the devil on your shoulder spoke more often than not. He knew you were prone to outrageous schemes and evil villain monologues, and he still kept you around. Let you linger around his home in his big shirts and eat his healthy breakfasts with him. Jungkook liked you, as silly and mean as you were, and he was very obvious about it.

“The password—“

“Is none of my business,” you halt him with a tone of finality in your voice, gesturing for him to slide the beat up laptop back over. Jungkook sighs, runs a hand over his face like you’ve worn him out, but relents.

Taking it with a triumphant grin, you settle back into your seat, nudge his foot with yours beneath the table. Jungkook nudges you back, the adorable fuzzy socks he was wearing making you giggle, a sound that finally brings a smile to his face. “Y’know…” he says, “if you’re gonna be the Disney villain you claim to be, you might as well just take all my passwords.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus your attention back on copying some notes for class, falling back into the rhythm of glancing at the screen and back at your notebook. “You’re cute,” you mindlessly hum, taking great pleasure in the rosy hue that rises to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by coughing into his elbow. You set your pencil down, watch him squirm under your gaze like he always does, blushy and shy like he hadn’t had you twisted like a pretzel beneath him an hour ago. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching over to place your hand over his, where it’s idly tapping over some textbook he’s got out. Immediately, he turns it over, squeezes your palm in his. “I don’t mind getting thirty two viruses an hour.”

The reluctant worry in his gaze remains, sweet puppy eyes flickering over you as if trying to catch a hint of a lie. He was so adorable, you could kiss him silly. Finally, Jungkook gives in, though he does so with a lot of effort; letting you fool around on pirating websites truly was the bane of his existence. “Just bring it to me if it breaks down again, okay?” He settles, and you nod.

To your surprise, he brings your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles, holds your gaze like he absolutely adores you.

He was so handsome, so caring, and so blatantly not yours.

—

“Not heading to your boyfriend's house today?” Doyeon asks the second she steps into your shared dorm, fighting with the boots on her feet. In the last two months of knowing Jungkook (everybody say thank you, Kim Namjoon), it’s become rare to see you home for more than two nights in a row. Jungkook was irresistible in more ways than you could count. If you weren’t falling into bed with him, you were smothering his cute face on the couch, or hovering behind him in the kitchen.

“Not my boyfriend,” you deny, huffy, and she knows how you feel about the subject, which is why she only prods more.

“Wow,” Doyeon drawls, glancing over your shoulder where you’ve got Jersey Shore playing on one half of the screen, an essay document on the other. “The man you see every other night, who looks and fucks like a god, who buys you a shit ton of presents, and treats you like you’re his world… is not your boyfriend?”

On screen, the toxic couple of the century is engaged in another screaming match, the reality tv show quickly spiraling as dramatic music takes over the speakers.

You scratch the back of your head. “Yeah. Well.”

Doyeon almost combusts at your response, flinging herself onto her twin bed in disgust. “He is a fool, a court jester if you will,” she seethes. “You're the hottest babe in a fifteen mile radius chasing after him and he still hasn’t asked you?”

Deciding you can’t comfortably watch the toxicity on screen with Doyeon talking so loudly, you slam down on the spacebar to pause the show. The fickity website, set out to ruin you since you first discovered it a few weeks ago, crashes. It takes your half-assed essay with it as the whole computer suddenly blacks out. You sigh.

“And on top of that,” she’s still going, “you’re hot and evil. Like bro. Come on.”

“Yes, I’m sure every man dreams of getting with an evil seductress,” you sarcastically reply, reaching for your phone to text Jungkook for help, when you suddenly remember why exactly you’re not with him right now. He’d gone to Busan to visit his family this weekend, a quick trip, he’d told you with his tongue down your throat. You shiver at the memory.

You still really want to watch Jersey Shore, though. Almost desperately. It’d been a long time since you watched it, and you honestly forgot the pivotal role that and a bunch of other reality shows had played in shaping you into the conniving woman you were today.

Doyeon seems about done with her tirade against Jeon Jungkook, dramatically storming into the en-suite bathroom you share with your neighbors.

Tapping your phone against your lip, you carefully consider your options. You could just boot your laptop back up, pray for the best and move on. But the 240p episodes were doing a number on your eyes, and for a moment you considered handing over those six bucks to pay for a Hulu membership.

It’s short-lived, and eventually you settle on calling Jungkook.

He answers on the fourth ring, and wherever he is is insanely loud. There’s voices shouting, lots of bustling, until eventually a door closes and Jungkook’s silky voice oozes through the speaker. “Baby? What’s up?”

“Hi,” you respond, feel something disgustingly sweet settle in your chest. “Is this a bad time?” You ask tentatively.

Jungkook laughs, low and raspy. “No,” he tells you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Never a bad time for you.”

You could lunge through the screen right now, rain kisses down on his face until he’s giggling, telling you it’s too much. The feeling in your chest tightens, and you almost blurt out something embarrassingly cheesy, but a voice in the background calls for him, and Jungkook’s voice responds, “In a sec, mom. I’m talking to a friend right now.”

The glass roof shatters.

Even though you’d just told Doyeon you two weren’t a thing, despite all the coupley things you did, something about Jungkook telling his mom you’re just a friend isn't right. You frown, listen as his mother, a voice just as delicate as his, asks him to grab something from inside. With each second that ticks by, the discomfort you feel grows tenfold, until you’re barely holding yourself together.

Eventually, Jungkook returns. “So what’s up?” He asks again, and you remember what you initially called for. Putting on your big girl pants, you brush your uncalled for insecurities to the side, making sure he can’t detect anything in your tone.

“Your Hulu password. Can I have it?” You say, realize how robotical your voice sounds and belatedly throw in a, “please.”

Jungkook laughs, loud and boyish. The sound almost makes you melt, makes you fall for him even more. The niggling doubt in the back of your head still rings, but it’s temporarily washed away by the man on the phone. “Finally giving in?” He chuckles, doesn’t give you time to respond. “Sure, babe. I’ll text you the login stuff.” You hum, twirl your pencil idly as Jungkook announces he has to go, something about his family waiting on him. You bid him adieu, send him a halfhearted kiss over the phone, and only hope he feels half as content as you do when he does the same for you.

You don’t want to be dramatic about it. In your heart of hearts, you know Jungkook is just more reserved when it comes to dating. He wants to be one hundred percent sure your heart is in the same game as his, tied to the same rules, and putting in the same effort. But there’s a seed of insecurity that plants itself in the back of your head, tells you the reason Jungkook hasn’t asked you out is simply because you’re not good enough.

Jungkook was as rich as they come—not in money, but in personality. (Well, with the way he was advancing through his career, you get the sense he’ll be rich rich in the next few years too.) He had a huge heart, so caring and supportive of those around him, and an even bigger moral compass—hence the ridiculous amounts of streaming services he paid for—and you strongly believed no one was worthy of standing beside someone as wonderful as him.

Sadly, that meant you too.

Jungkook was your dream lover, and with every passing day, you were beginning to think you weren’t his. It had been two months since your first date, and realistically speaking, you know it’s not weird for people to casually date for such a time. It hadn’t been that long, truthfully, but the way you and Jungkook had clicked made it seem so.

He treated you like a queen, pleased your heart and body like no other. None of what Doyeon said earlier was a fib—he picked you up from school in that classy Benz, let you stay the night and sleep in his clothes, ate you out in the morning like you were his breakfast. You acted like you were in a relationship, but what exactly were the two of you?

Were Jungkook’s feelings even at the same level as yours?

Some days, you couldn’t fathom the idea of being so far away from him, texting him incessantly to feel a semblance of his presence. There was always a metaphorical elephant sitting on your chest, the weight of your unlabeled relationship, your insecurities, waiting for him to finally cut you off, decide you’re not what he wants. You wonder sometimes if he sees you out of convenience, but you always remind yourself Jungkook was too emotional and soft to drag someone around like that. (Or was he?)

Realizing how deep you’ve fallen into your spiraling pit of uncertainty, you shake yourself of those thoughts, mindlessly typing in the Hulu login credentials Jungkook texts you.

—

You’re in the student center when Jungkook comes home, laptop and books spread out over a circle table to stop anyone else from coming up to you. You’ve got your headphones in, the background sounds of late 2000’s club music from a Jersey Shore episode drifting through your ears.

A hand suddenly grabs onto your shoulder, and you send nearly half the table’s contents onto the floor when you screech, leg blindly kicking the table. “Woah, woah,” Jungkook calms, pulling out an earbud for you, and the sight of his face makes you relax again, before you’re striking his chest.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you warn, shooting daggers at him as he pulls a chair close to you, plopping down beside you. Jungkook laughs, kisses your temple.

“You doing okay, beautiful?” He inquires, and your heartbeat, which had only just begun to settle from your fright, lurches at the hooded gaze he sends you.

You nod, unconsciously lean closer to him. Jungkook smiles, cheeks pulled tight when you plant a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Glad to hear it,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to keep you close.

You never thought you’d be one of those people. Y’know, the couple shoving PDA down everyone’s throats in a very crowded place. But you can’t help it with Jungkook, gaze honed in on the mole beneath his lip as he recounts his trip to his family’s place. His hair is fluffy again, parted a little to the side to show his forehead. He’s got that big dark hoodie on, the one you love. Your love-addled brain thinks, I could give you a family, but you quickly shut that thought down.

There was no need to think as much for a man who wasn’t even your boyfriend.

Before you can spiral, there’s a set of fingers brushing over your neck, almost casually. You return your attention to Jungkook, watch him leisurely gaze over the bustling students around you. “Missed you,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. Hell, if your eyes hadn’t been trained on his face, you don’t think you would’ve.

Finally, he glances back at you. He says nothing, his eyes dipping down to your mouth. He leans forward, presses a smooch to your lips, only to smile at you afterward. “Come over?”

The difference between you and Jungkook is that you were very obviously, outwardly evil. You were not embarrassed to admit you were scheming, or that you had ulterior motives behind doing something. You used what you had to your advantage, mastered all types of expressions to get what you wanted.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was a subtle schemer. In fact, he was so goddamn subtle, you doubt he even knew he was a schemer.

But he definitely was one, and your experiences with him were enough to convince you so. There were times he’d stare at you longingly, like a puppy, until you’d do something for him. Times he’d use his demure face to lure you into going to the hardware store for him, into watching some boring documentary with him. Times, like now, where his voice was a little too smooth and low to be considered his normal pitch, clouded gaze sweeping over your features until you understood what he meant by come over.

Numbly, you nod, watch the quirk of his lips as he kisses you once more before gathering your things for you.

The car ride passes by in a flash, Jungkook’s hand on your knee, your head in the clouds. You imagine how easy it would be to just lean over right here, tug him out of his sweats and get that super suck 5000 on him. But Jungkook’s shy, the devil on your shoulder croons, he’d like it better in the backseat, where no one can see.

Your bag hasn’t even touched the floor yet when he pushes you against the door of his house, shoes and coats half off as he envelopes your lips with his.

His hands are warm, cupping your neck to guide you through the kiss, blindly pulling you down the hall. You feel him falter by the stairs, torn between just throwing you on the couch and ravishing you there or making the trip upstairs to the comfort of his bed. You reach up, run your fingers through his hair. “Wherever you want, baby,” you reassure him, and become consumed with glee when his hands grab into the backs of your thighs, hitch you into his arms as he rushes the two of you up the stairs.

The bed is as fluffy as you remember it, and you bounce up towards the pillows after he drops you on the end. He tugs his shirt over his head, chocolate strands coming out a mess afterwards, before crawling up your body. Jungkook’s hands are incessant, grabbing onto every inch of you he possibly can. He kisses up your tummy, pushing your shirt up as he goes, hikes it over the swell of your breasts to gently fondle them in his palms.

When he’s just about suffocated himself between them, he pops back out, catches your gaze with a twinkle in his. “Hi,” you squeak, and Jungkook grins, leaning up to kiss you.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he returns, let’s your tongue slide into his mouth, sucks on the appendage teasingly. You whimper, and Jungkook releases. “You miss me?” He asks, and if you hadn’t been well-versed in the art of Jungkook’s sexy talk, you wouldn’t have noticed the tingle of nervousness that curls around the question.

You placate him, “always.”

It’s all Jungkook needs as he wiggles you out of your clothes, shucks them off somewhere to the side. His hands trail over your body, massage your breasts and pinch the nipples. You sigh, melt into the sheets as he runs his palms over you. He rolls you over, pulls your hips up and carefully pushes your face into the mattress, pushing your hair to the side to peck your neck when he leans over.

“So soft for me, sweetheart,” he purrs, hands slithering around your waist, down your abdomen until the tip of his pointer finger is idly swirling over your clit.

You whine, clutch the comforter beneath you at the touch. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, push your hips back against him. He’s still got his sweats on, and you want desperately to turn around and rip them off of him, feel the press of his cock against your ass.

As if sensing your urgency, Jungkook calms you with kisses trailing over your spine, hot breath fanning over your neck. His fingers slow, just barely grazing over your clit. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asks, and you struggle to choke out a response when he presses his finger down against you.

“No,” you eventually gasp, jolt when his hand reaches down, glides through the swollen folds of your cunt.

As if content with your response, Jungkook lets his fingers caress you for a few beats, laps against the side of your neck as you whimper, beg him to continue. When he does, it’s with no ounce of his usual gentle attitude, two fingers shoving forcefully past the tight clench of your pussy lips, deep into your cunt. You shudder, gasping into the sheets.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises, flutters a kiss right below your ear. Your neurons are working overtime, unsure of what to do as he explores your cunt, fingers dragging against your walls. You want to close your eyes, bask in his touches, but every brush of his fingers has them rolling back, fluttering open. “This pussy is mine, isn’t it?”

His fingers curl, briefly brushing over your soft spot. But it’s enough to make you cry out, pant against the sheets. “Yours,” you choke, push back against him like he’ll do it again.

A thumb circles your clit, and the tight feeling in your belly snaps, has you crying out his name as your first orgasm in a few days washes over you. “Jungkook,” you whimper, nearly sob when his hands pull away, letting you flop down onto the mattress in a boneless heap. Your thighs feel sticky, and you watch blearily as Jungkook hovers behind you.

“So quickly?” He chuckles, turning you back over. He spreads your legs, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the room, and you shiver. A lone finger drags over your cunt, collecting the glossy substance on the tip, before Jungkook is sucking it into his mouth.

He had an affinity for this kind of stuff, you’ve learned. Like he genuinely thought your cum was the most delicious thing in the entire world. That being said, you’re not surprised when he ducks down, pushes your legs to your chest as he begins devouring your pussy.

“Slow down,” you gasp, hand curling in his hair as he spares you not, sensitivity be damned. He was gonna lick you clean. He groans, tongue shoved into your cunt, cute nose brushing against your clit. “Kook,” you warn, though it’s more of a shuddered cry. “I-I’ll come again.”

He pulls off with a wet smack, licks over his tongue as he narrows you with a daring glare. Gone was your sweet Jungkook, replaced with this cum-eating heathen who only purrs, “in my mouth” at your warning.

You scream when the second orgasm hits you, pushing his face against your cunt as his tongue continues, lapping at your folds and your hole as a gush of wetness spurts out of you. For a second, your vision pales, soundless cries caught in your throat as you come all over his face. When you touch down on earth again, your body feels featherlight.

Jungkook is watching you from between your thighs, his face, hair, and chest glistening. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, shit-eating grin slowly consuming his features. “Did you just.”

You groan, cover your face with your palms as Jungkook settles over you, beaming excitedly at your newest ability. “No,” you whine, pushing him away from where he’s basically glued to your cheek. “That’s so weird.”

He laughs, cute and airy. “Fuck, sweetheart, you squirted all over me,” he sighs, cuddles against you, and you wrap your arms around him only to hide your face in his shoulder, also glistening with your pleasure. He shifts closer, and the hard press of his cock rubs along the inside of your thigh.

“Can we take a break?” You murmur quietly, hesitantly. “I can’t feel my legs.” Jungkook nods, presses a kiss to your temple as he gets off the bed, tossing his t-shirt over to you. He stumbles towards the en-suite, comes back with a dry face and chest; his hair is still damp. He tugs the sheets out from under you, cuddles close. He’s got the two of you wrapped up in no time, your head cradled against his shoulder as he reaches out blindly for the tablet he keeps on the side of his bed, the Hulu app already open.

“Any requests?” He hums, scrolling through the multitude of movies and shows. You wiggle closer, stop his finger when he returns to the home page, and Jersey Shore is the first thing to appear. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s a good show!” You defend, click on it before he can argue. You press closer, throw a leg over his waist where you can feel his still rock hard member hiding beneath his sweats. Poor guy, you think, he must be suffering. But you have to rest for a moment if you wanna ride the shit out of him and knock him breathless like you’d planned.

Jungkook doesn’t comment on the erection he’s sporting, instead choosing to criticize everything wrong with Jersey Shore. You’re not surprised. He’s an avid film nerd, obsessed with ‘real’ storylines, not whatever reality tv shows were.

You’ve seen this episode about a hundred times, so you don’t really mind that he completely ruins it for you with his nitpicking. It’s cute, listening to him ramble about television integrity while you listen to the subtle thudding of his heart beneath your ear.

He’s on his fifth slandering of DJ Pauly D when you decide you’ve had enough, muscles in your legs feeling rejuvenated as you wiggle into his lap, toss the tablet off to the side as you straddle him. “That show makes you hard?” You tease, let your sensitive folds settle over the bulge in his pants.

Jungkook combusts, cheeks flushing at your jab. “No,” he huffs, “my pretty girlfriend’s boobs pressed up against me does.”

You short circuit.

“Huh?” You blurt dumbly. Jungkook rolls his eyes, too concerned with guiding your hips over his crotch to realize you’re having a complete meltdown in your head. An airy moan leaves his mouth, head lolling back against the pillows, when he moves you just right, grinds against you perfectly. But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. “Kook,” you say, cup his face in your palms to force him to look you in the eye.

Jungkook huffs, pointedly looking down at where you sit on him, “babe, gonna need you to—“

“What did you say?” You interrogate, press your foreheads together until he has no choice but to look at you.

Annoyed with your act, he groans. “Babe, your hips,” he urges, almost desperately.

“No,” you retort, “not until you say it again.”

“Say what again?” He cries, lips twitching in irritation, and you’re about two seconds from behind shoved into the mattress, pounded into from behind like he’d done the last time you teased him a little too much.

“That I’m your girlfriend!” You exclaim, heart hammering in your ears.

Jungkook seems to finally halt at that. “Oh,” he responds, leaning back to scan over your expression. “You are?” He says, unsure of what point you’re trying to make.

Your brain fizzes at the news. “Since when?” You cry, suddenly feeling dumb for all the time you spent moping over this perfect boy you thought didn’t want you. “You never asked!”

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed stare, reaches over for the iPad you tossed to the side, some dramatic fight scene on a boardwalk taking place on screen. You wanna scream. Why is he so concerned with Jersey Shore now of all times?

Before you can rain down your displeasure on him, he’s turning it around and showing you a bookmarked email.

It’s from you, apparently, sent a few weeks back at exactly two in the morning. You glance at the date received. It’s from Doyeon’s half birthday, when the two of you had drunk yourselves silly on wine. The title is some mix of dashes and exclamation points, but that’s irrelevant when the contents of the email come to view, some stupid slur of beeee myyy boyfrienderdd????? ;))((;;; that has your jaw dropping in mortification.

You glance back at Jungkook, who seems just as confused as you. “What the hell?” You shriek, snatch the tablet from his hand to see that not only was it a single email, but a thread of emails all asking the same question—there’s even a three stanza sonnet detailing your love for the mole on the side of his neck. You could die. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?! I was so drunk— how could you even take me seriously?”

Jungkook shrugs, almost amused now as he watches you scroll through the twenty emails you sent him. “The next day you told me you really liked me over lunch, so I didn’t mind. Besides, drunk words are sober thoughts, y’know.”

You stare in disbelief. “You told your mom I was your friend,” you whisper.

The blood rises to his cheeks quickly. “Babe,” he sputters. “I’m not exactly introducing her to every girl I date after three weeks.”

It makes sense, and you hate how much it does so. Pursing your lips, you look away, focus on the bedside table and hope he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to spew out of your eyes. He does, he always does. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hums, sits up to pull you into his arms. One hand brushes over the back of your head, gently. Softly. “Did that upset you?”

You shake your head no, can’t help the ugly Kim Kardashian sob that rips itself from your throat. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you sniffle, covering your face with the iPad when he tries to duck closer and get a look at you. “Because it’s been two months.”

Jungkook shushes you, hugs you close to his chest as you cry like a baby over some apparently unjustifiable doubts. ��That big brain of yours,” he sighs, kisses the frown of your head. “Too busy being evil to be logical.” You whine in protest, and Jungkook chuckles, carefully laying back with you clinging to his chest.

He lets you cry it out, palms rubbing over your back, listens to the annoying Jersey Shore opening song playing when the episode ends. When you’re done, you sit up, try to pretend your eyes aren’t swollen and puffy. Jungkook smiles. “All good?”

You might love him.

“I’m gonna ride you,” you announce, and he chokes in surprise, and before he can try to convince you it’s okay, you’re wrestling his sweats and boxers off, taking his half hard cock into your hand. Jungkook flounders, tries to calm you down, but you’re on a mission, working your hand over him until he’s fattening in your hold, melting into the pillows.

“Baby,” he grunts, rolling his hips into your palm. You lean over, pucker your lips and let a thick drop of saliva fall onto the tip of his cock. It trickles over your fingers, makes it easier to run your hands over him. Jungkook groans, reaches down to cup his hand over yours, urging you to squeeze tighter.

When he’s finally as hard as you want him, tip engorged and angry, you sit up, place your palms on his chest as you scoot over him. Jungkook watches you with dark eyes, skin flushed as you line him up. His hands reach for your hips to steady you, tiny gasps falling from his lips at the first prod against your folds. You’re wet from watching him squirm beneath you, from feeling the heavy weight of his cock in your hand, and you hope he feels how much he excites you.

“That’s it,” he croons as you slowly sink down on him, whimpers catching in your throat from the stretch. “That’s my girl.”

Jungkook is purposeful with his words, smiles at you when the muscles in your thighs jolt at the term. When you’re seated to the hilt, folds brushing against his pelvis, Jungkook ruts experimentally. “Fuck,” he chokes breathlessly.

You let your body adjust, spine tingling with every subtle shift from the man beneath you, still so sensitive from your two orgasms from before. Jungkook waits, even though you know all he wants to do right now is fuck up into you like a madman.

When you’re relaxed enough, you begin to move, pushing yourself on your knees slowly, hissing at the drag of his cock against your folds. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, fingernails scratching against where you’ve got them on his chest still. Jungkook grips your hips tightly, and you unconsciously reach for his forearms to steady yourself instead.

“There you go,” he purrs as you slowly pick up the pace, cock sliding inside of you rougher, faster. You know it’s mostly him, muscles in his arms flexing as he moves you up and down, but you don’t care—it feels so good, the upward curve of his cock brushing against your soft spot with each drop of your hips.

He holds you down on one thrust, grinds you over his cock until your clit is rubbing against him roughly, and you cry out his name. You want to kiss him, so very badly, but your position makes it hard. Besides, the sweat beginning to pool in the deep of his collarbones hinted at his oncoming orgasm.

Still, you can’t help the way your eyes instinctively go to trace over his mouth, pouty lips pushed out even more in exertion, teeth grinding together every time your pussy swallows him anew. “Kook,” you mewl, hips bucking forward.

He hums, plants his feet firmly on the mattress as he begins fucking into you. “What is it?” He grunts, pistons into your dripping cunt as you whimper, pleasure crawling up and down your spine. “My pretty girl needs something?”

You wail, nod your head as he continues fucking, ramming his cock into your quivering hole, precum dripping over him. “Yours,” you gasp, mind stuck on what he’d said earlier. “‘M all yours,” you sob, body finally giving out, and you barely catch yourself from falling into him with a palm pressed flatly against his chest.

Jungkook smirks, bucks into you brutally, like he wants you to fall into a boneless heap on top of him. “Yeah, you are,” he groans, as you finally give in, lips brushing against his ear when you flop down on him. “My pretty girl,” he huffs, and you nod, muscles pulled taut as your orgasm begins looming over you. “So cute and mean,” he rambles, lips pressed to your temple. His hips are beginning to lose their rhythm, thrusts growing stilted as he chases his high. “But you know what?” He murmurs, and you whimper. “I like her just like that.”

If his words don’t knock the air out of your lungs, your orgasm surely does. It makes you shudder, the way his hands run over your body, cock ruts into your heat, and you almost cry when the pleasure gets a hold of you. Your muscles tighten, and then loosen, melting into his chest. You’re trembling in his arms, like a leaf holding onto a branch for dear life, choked gasps of his name muffled against his neck.

Jungkook pistons into you, rounds the final corner in his race to orgasm, and eventually spurts his hot cum into you, coats your walls as another reminder that you’re his. He’s a silent orgasmer, sounds catching in his throat as his body twitches beneath you, silent even afterwards as he regains his senses.

A few moments later, you’re shifting out of his hold, pushing yourself onto your elbows to glance down at him. Jungkook’s eyes are shut, but, as if sensing you’re looking at him, he flutters them open, chocolate irises softening at the sight of you.

“Holy shit,” he groans, rolls you off of him carefully. His hand brushes over your thigh, like he’s contemplating licking you clean again, but you stop him with a pointed raise of your brows. “Fine. Pass me the tablet.”

You do, and it’s almost unnerving how easily the two of you slip back into comfort, Jungkook changing into some shorts and handing you your discarded panties, before climbing into bed to watch Jersey Shore. You’ve missed about an entire hour-long episode, so you end up rewinding until the point you last saw.

“You and your Netflix and chilling,” Jungkook snorts, head nestled against your breasts. You roll your eyes.

“This is Hulu,” you point out.

“Oh yeah,” he hums, snuggles closer. His body feels so nice and warm over yours, hands wrapped around you like a lifeline. You end up positioning the tablet off by your hip, supported by a pillow so the two of you can watch properly.

You’re still processing your new title, your new boyfriend, when he perks his head up suddenly, solemn gaze catching yours.

“Hulu and Woohoo,” he says, ever so seriously, and you understand why Doyeon thinks he’s a fool.

[ part three ; imax & climax ]

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #mine

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css1992 · 3 years

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Guilty Pleasure

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Almost two months after moving out of Beck’s place, Peter was able to rent an apartment in the same building as Ned and MJ. It was tiny, of course, but pretty inexpensive, compared to other options he found around that area. Besides, with the money he made with Just4Fans over those few weeks, he would be able to afford it comfortably for at least a few months – largely thanks to YKWIM. He still planned on saving up as much as possible, so he put a lot of effort into making his account grow and it was working – by the end of April, he was up to five hundred subscribers.

He didn’t check to see what Beck was doing, he was too afraid to look and see him with his new boyfriend, but he got lots of comments from his old fans, who still followed Beck, telling him that the new boy had nothing on him. Again, he didn’t dare to check, but the ego boost was nice, even if he didn’t really believe them. Also, he was down to crying once every two days instead of every other day, so he was counting that as a win as well.

His apartment was still pretty empty, specially because he spent most of his time downstairs at his friends’ place, but he decorated the bathroom and his room to the best of his ability, since they would be the background of pretty much all his videos and pictures. He also bought some new lingerie sets, a few costumes and sex toys he wasn’t even sure how to use, but he was slowly figuring them out.

Aside from decorating his room and the bathroom, he also bought an armchair and placed it by the window with a couple of pillows. It was a nice spot to spend the afternoon reading or working on his computer. The light in that apartment was great, sunlight streamed right into his living room and warmed it up nicely. As they approached the end of April, the weather was getting better everyday.

Some days, he felt happy. He felt okay with the fact that he was still doing porn and that it wasn’t a terrible crime. Sure, it wasn’t what he had planned to do with his life, but he was young, he would eventually figure things out. For the time being, he needed that gig and he couldn’t beat himself up for it. Also, it wasn’t so bad now that he was only doing solo stuff.

Some other days, though, were just – hard. He remembered all the videos that were still online and he felt awful for the sole reason that they existed. Not so much for the ones he filmed with Beck, he was somewhat okay with those, the guy was his boyfriend after all, they had sex anyway, the only difference was the camera in the room. But the other ones…

When he started filming with other men, it quickly turned into an unpleasant experience for him. He hated every second of it and always ended up feeling guilty, used and disposable at the end of the day. Beck didn’t make it any better with the way he looked at him afterwards as he told him to get in the shower.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the reasons why those videos bothered him so much, sometimes it felt like it wasn’t even him in them. It was like he was watching a different person, he looked at himself and felt completely dissociated from that boy – at the same time, he looked at him and he knew – he knew – exactly what he was feeling when those were shot.

But that was a lot to unpack and he just wasn’t ready for that particular crisis.

So in short, sometimes he was still a little unsure about how long he would be able to keep his Just4Fans account, because even though most days he didn’t feel too weird about it, sometimes it reminded him of things he preferred to forget. But that was fine, he was usually able to work around that. Also, most of his subscribers were great and didn’t make him feel like a cheap whore, so he had that going for him as well.

YKWIM was one of the good ones. They chatted almost daily, and Peter always sent him exclusive pictures and videos just because. He never posted those pictures on his feed once he sent them to him, it was their little secret. In return, he got his own collection of short videos of YKWIM finishing himself off. He didn’t know much about the person behind the videos, he’d taken to calling him daddy because most of his subscribers seemed to like it and YKWIM never complained, so it stuck.

Peter did know he lived in New York – which made him shiver – and that he was a businessman of some kind, but he also always talked about a workshop, so Peter wasn’t sure and he avoided asking personal questions. He worked most of the day and into the night, they usually talked when it was late, always around two in the morning.

He traveled a lot, too, and sometimes sent Peter small clips of his hotel rooms or the view from his balcony. In return, Peter sent him pictures of his messy bedroom and the horrible view from his window as a joke. It was nice talking to him, he always made Peter laugh – and then it often ended with a very satisfying orgasm that put him right to sleep, which was awesome.

Peter estimated YKWIM was older than Beck, but not by too much. He clearly had a fit body, which at first led him to believe he was in his thirties, at most; but he noticed YKWIM sometimes talked about the 80’s like he lived them, so he had to be at least in his forties, but Peter couldn’t be sure. He really wished he would show his face, though, it would be nice to have one to fantasize about. But then again, maybe it would ruin the whole thing.

One afternoon, after Peter spent hours taking pictures, shooting videos and editing them so he could post them over the following week, he got a message from YKWIM. He hurried to check it and was shocked to see that he had sent him yet another tip – forty thousand dollars this time.

“For you to buy pretty things so you can show them off to me.” Said the message that came with the money.

Peter almost dropped his phone when he saw it. It had been only five weeks since his last insane tip, so that made fifty thousand dollars in just a little over a month. For, like, thirty nudes. Who even was that guy?

“Wow, daddy, that’s way too much!” He added a flushed face emoji, for lack of something better to say. He was honestly feeling a little overwhelmed, even if the guy had millions to spend, there was no way just giving someone that amount of money was normal.

“That’s not nearly enough for what you’ve given me, baby.” Peter’s cheeks burned.

“I’m very flattered, but please, I really don’t think I deserve all this.” He was pretty sure he sounded pathetic, but that was how he felt, so. Yeah.

“Oh, but you do. Trust me, you really, really do. You’re worth every penny.” Peter bit his lower lip, a little unsure and still a little shocked.

“At least tell me what you’d like to see from me, please. Do you have any kinks that you’d like me to perform? Don’t be shy.” He asked, even though it always made him nervous to offer that kind of thing. Sometimes people were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to make the weirdest requests.

But, to be fair, he had been talking to YKWIM for over a month, so he somewhat trusted him not to ask for anything too absurd. And then again, the guy had just paid him forty thousand dollars.

“Well, if you insist...” Here it comes, Peter thought, bracing himself. “Red and gold are my favorite colors. I’d love to see you wearing them.” Oh. Not what he was expecting at all.

“Done! Anything else? Come on, there’s gotta be something else.” Again, risky move. But again, forty thousand dollars.

“I’d love to hear you. You’re always so quiet in your videos. If you feel comfortable, I’d love to hear you call my name.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at that request. It sounded… almost sweet? It obviously wasn’t meant like that, it was completely sexual, but out of all the wild things he could have asked for, he wanted to hear Peter call his name.

“What’s your name, daddy?”

“Tony.” Tony. Peter tested the word out on his tongue, saying it out loud once, twice. Tony. It suited the image he had created in his head. Tony.

“I can definitely do that, Tony. Anything else?”

“Buy yourself something pretty and send me a picture wearing it. Nothing sexual. Something you’d wear to a date with me.” Peter’s breath hitched. He supposed it was probably just a weird, rich people kink or something, but his mind went wild anyway. Very, very wild.

“I don’t know what I’d wear to a date with you, daddy. Any advice?”

“I like expensive and beautiful things such as yourself, baby.”

Normally, Peter wouldn’t appreciate being called expensive, like he was a thing to be bought, but he felt weirdly flattered by the answer. He promised YKW – Tony – he would send everything he requested over the next few days, and he was actually excited about the whole thing. And of course he knew that feeling was trouble, there were warning signs flashing like crazy before his eyes, but he ignored them and convinced himself that he was just having fun and he was allowed to have fun if he was going to keep doing porn. He didn’t have to feel miserable and guilty all the fucking time. He could – and should! – take some pleasure from it. He deserved it.

So the following day he asked MJ to go shopping with him, but he still didn’t tell her the whole story, he just said it was for his Just4Fans and she readily agreed to go. They went to Victoria’s Secret and Peter told her what he had in mind.

“So, how’s the job going? You’re doing okay? Not too overwhelmed?” She asked coolly as they searched through the panties section.

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s different when I’m in control, you know? Like, I know my limits and I don’t need to count on other people to respect them. Well, most of the time. So it’s cool.”

Some subscribers were a little pushy sometimes, asking for things Peter wasn’t willing to do and then getting really aggressive after being told no. But it didn’t affect him as much as it did when Beck ignored his boundaries, because those pushy subscribers could be easily blocked, whereas with Beck, well. It was a different story.

“Don’t ever feel like you need to push your limits, okay?” Michelle stopped what she was doing to grab him by the shoulders and force him to look at her. “If you ever feel like stopping, for whatever reason, just do it. No matter what, you’ll always have me and Ned, understand? We’re family, we’re here for you, we’d never leave you alone. If you want to stop, we’ll figure something out together, you hear me?” The way she looked into his eyes made him understand that she really meant every single word of it.

Family. He had a family with them.

Peter felt silly tearing up in the middle of Victoria’s Secret, so he pulled her into his arms and hid his face in her neck.

“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” he muttered, as she squeezed him a little tighter, before pushing him away.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all teary-eyed on me, come on, you’ll ruin my reputation.” She looked around, sniffing, then stuck her hands in her pockets. Peter laughed halfheartedly, drying the corner of his eyes. “C’mon, there are panties to be bought.”

They spent a couple of hours searching the store, but in the end he found the perfect set. He bought some other pieces, too, for his feed, people had been asking for lingerie a lot lately, after a slightly weird phase of cat ears and tails. Once they left Victoria’s Secret, Peter was nervous because he had to tell MJ at least part of the truth to get her help with the second part of Tony’s request.

“So, listen,” he started and she turned to him, happily sipping her large coffee as they walked down the street. “I have this subscriber. He’s, like, a rich, old dude who always sends me tips and stuff. Anyway, he gave me some money and asked me to buy something nice and pose for him, but like, not in a sexual way. He wants to see me clothed.” She frowned, staring at him suspiciously. “Um. I was wondering if you could help me with that?”

She was silent for a few seconds, just looking at him with narrowed eyes. He looked away discreetly, trying to avoid her mind-reading skills.

“Should I be worried?” She asked, finally. He shook his head and chuckled nervously, waving a hand dismissively.

“He’s harmless, just some lonely, old dude. So, will you help?” He looked at her expectantly. She was still frowning and definitely knew something was up, but she nodded anyway, to Peter’s relief.

“What do you have in mind?” MJ asked and resumed her stroll down the street, Peter had to jog a little to keep up.

“Something expensive and beautiful,” He quoted Tony, like an idiot, because he honestly had no idea what that meant.

“That’s oddly specific and somehow not helpful at all.” She lifted an eyebrow and looked around the busy street. “How expensive are we talking about?”

“I’m not sure. Very?” He answered nervously, and, yet again, she looked looked like she wanted to rip the truth out of him, but she also knew that was not the way to go with him.

“How much did this guy give you?”

“Um. for – five thousand dollars.” He stuttered. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the actual amount, because it sounded absolutely insane and she would worry unnecessarily.

“Holy shit!? Fuck, why aren’t I doing porn?!” She screeched and Peter hurried to put his hands over her mouth, because at least three people turned around to look at them.

“Don’t even joke about that, you hear me? You have a bright future ahead of you, don’t fuck it up,” he told her seriously and she looked like she wanted to argue just for the sake of being annoying, but something in the way he looked at her must have made her realize he meant it.

“Chill, I’m joking.” She patted his shoulder and looked away. “So. Five thousand dollars? We can work with that.”

He was a little scared of the weird gleam in her eyes, but followed her anyway.

They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping, it was a lot of fun and he even got her a pair of shoes she kept staring longingly at. She was worried they would go over the budget because she wanted him to save some of the money, but he assured her he could afford it. They managed to put together a great outfit that he was very confident about and then called Ned to meet them for dinner in the evening.

Later, they took the subway home and, for a while, he felt like a normal 20-year-old guy – happy, weightless and just a little heartbroken, like everyone was bound to be at some point in life. He was going to be okay, he realized. That thought hit him like a punch in the face and it felt fucking awesome.

He rested his head on Ned’s shoulder with a sigh of relief, feeling the warmth of MJ’s hand on his thigh.

It was around midnight when he got home, which for him was still a little early, he had developed the terrible habit of going to bed well after two in the morning – he blamed Tony, but to be fair, many of his subscribers were mostly active around that time as well. He debated whether or not he should start working on Tony’s requests, he was a little tired from a long day of walking around carrying bags, but also surprisingly eager to show the older man what he got for him.

He took the Victoria’s Secret bag and displayed the new outfit on the bed. It was a simple, but beautiful lingerie set. What Peter loved most about it was the fabric – it was made of deep red satin, smooth and glossy, and it felt simply amazing on the skin.

He decided to try it on, just to make sure it fit properly.

The top was a delicate bralette, two little triangles only big enough to hide his nipples and a little bit of his pecs. It was the perfect size for him, it sat flush with his skin, no unflattering cup gaps. The panties were tiny, Peter wasn’t too sure about those back in the store, he was worried not everything would fit in it. It did, but just barely, but it actually worked in his favor, in his humble opinion. Lastly, he put on the garter belt, which was just a thin piece of fabric that went around his waist, with two straps that hung down to clasp onto two elastic bands that went around his thighs.

Since Tony said red and gold, he also put on a thick, golden choker, just to see how it would look.

Once he was dressed, he went to check in the mirror. He bit his lower lip, running his hand over the fabric that covered his chest. It felt really smooth, and the way it brushed against his nipples sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Tony’s hands on his body. They looked strong enough to hurt, but he imagined they would be gentle with him, as they traced a path from his collarbone to his neck, to wrap themselves around his throat – but not tight enough to choke him, just a promise.

He sighed, as if to check that he could still breath under the pressure, and slowly slid his hands down from his neck, brushing his hard nipples on their way down to the front of the panties – God, it was so smooth...

For some reason, he imagined Tony would be a gentle lover. Maybe it was the way he talked to him, always so charming, all sweetheart and baby, all praise and compliments. Maybe it was the way he never demanded anything, only asked nicely, all please and thank you.

Tony wouldn’t ruin him, like he promised so many times in those last few weeks, he would fuck him long and slow, raspy voice whispering sweet praise in his ear, rough hands holding him down, hips snapping with each unrelenting thrust.

He bit his lips, knees buckling as he felt the front of the panties getting wet, while his leaking cock struggled to get free.

Well, then.

He grabbed his camera from the closet and positioned it on a tripod in front of the bed, just a few feet away, and programmed it to take pictures every five seconds. He sat on the bed, facing the camera, feet still on the floor, and just closed his eyes for a minute, letting a sigh escape his lips as the fantasy from before filled his mind again.

He spread his legs and his fingers reached down to the front of his panties again. His cock felt impossibly hard, straining against the delicate fabric, dark pink tip peeking out of over the top of the tiny underwear. He touched himself slowly, hips rocking lightly to match the pace of his own hand, as he listened to the clicks of the pictures being taken.

He had to force himself to stop, before he lost control, and moved to kneel on the bed, with his side facing the camera, and lowered his chest until it was touching the mattress, letting his back curve in a sinful arch, head turned to the side, staring right at the lens. At Tony. Imagining what he would do if he were there.

He sat back on his heels and turned his back to the camera, spreading his knees, each of his hands grabbing one ass cheek, pulling them apart, only a thin, barely there strip of fabric hiding his nakedness. He looked over his shoulder and waited for the camera to take at least a couple of pictures.

Next, he laid on his back, side facing the camera again, left hand rubbing one nipple over the silky fabric, as the right one reached down the front of the panties, to finally give himself some sort of relief. He let out an almost pained moan as he wrapped a hand around his cock, pumping it slowly, once, twice, but all that teasing was driving him a little insane.

He knew he should probably take a few more pictures, but he also knew wouldn’t last much longer.

He got off the bed and went to the dresser where he kept all of his “work stuff”. He grabbed a tube of lube and a vibrator that was neither too small, nor too big, it was a size Peter was comfortable with.

He switched the camera to video mode, pressed record and resumed his position on the bed, knees on the bed, holding his lower body up, and chest resting on the mattress. He squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, pushed the panties a little to the side and circled his hole gently, slowly, because that was how he imagined Tony would do it. Those big, rough hands would have grabbed him by the hips, put him in that exact position, before teasing him mercilessly.

He moaned quietly and closed his eyes, rubbing slow circles around his rim, pressing a little against his entrance, but not hard enough to breach it. He felt his cock pulsing, begging for attention, but he didn’t dare to touch it, not yet.

“Tony, please...” He whined, pushing his hips back against his own hand, he was so lost in his fantasy he almost forgot he didn’t need to beg. Almost. “I need you...”

Gently, he started pushing one finger inside, knuckle by knuckle, he was so aroused he barely felt the burn, just delicious pressure that made his eyes roll to the back of his head. He started fucking himself on his finger, feeling the muscles around it slowly make way.

“’Been thinking about you, Tony…” he rasped out, hips pushing back against his hand. “Can’t stop thinking ‘bout you...” When he felt loose enough, he pushed another finger inside, the stretch becoming a little more noticeable as he slowly scissored himself open. He got on all fours and turned his back to the camera to give Tony a better view, all spread out for him, and kept fucking himself, picking up the pace once just those two fingers weren’t enough. “Fuck, daddy, need you so bad...”

He eased the fingers out of himself, sighing at the loss, and reached for the vibrator that was sitting on the bed and turned to face the camera again. He knelt on the bed and, with one hand, he propped the vibrator up on the mattress, holding it down from behind him, as with the other hand he guided its tip to his already abused hole.

He flicked the switch and it vibrated to life, nudging against his hole before finally slipping in. Peter’s breath hitched at the intrusion, feeling the delicious burn on his lower back, as he moved his hips up and down slowly, trying to push more of it inside with each painful thrust.

“Fuck me, Tony,” he begged, as his free hand finally reached for his neglected cock, pumping it hard and fast, matching the maddening pace his hips set. He lost all sense of rhythm when he felt the tip of the vibrator finally – finally – reach his prostate and he pushed it even further in, until the pressure against the bundle of nerves became too much and he exploded in one of the best orgasms he had had in a long, long time. “Oh, f-fuck!” His vision went dark for a second as he let himself fall back on the bed, wasted.

He spent almost ten minutes just lying there, trying to catch his breath and regain consciousness. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that, he was boneless, floaty, completely satisfied. It was honestly the best he felt in months.

When his legs stopped shaking, he got up and headed straight to the shower, still feeling a little dizzy and weak, but he wasn’t complaining.

Once he was finished, he debated whether he should just go to bed or send Tony what he had, but with the way he was feeling, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep so easily. So decided to send at least the pictures right away, even though it was nearing 3AM. Peter knew Tony was probably up, the man did say that he was an insomniac and that he sometimes went days without any real sleep, so it wasn’t a surprise when he answered just a few minutes after Peter sent them.

“Holy fuck, Peter!!” Peter bit his lower lip, burying his face in the pillow to hide his blush, even though he was alone in his room.“What the fuck, baby, it’s three in the morning, are you trying to fucking kill me?!”

“So you like them?” He asked with feigned innocence.

“I fucking love them, you little tease, these are hands down my favorites yet. I swear I’m gonna have them framed and hung in my workshop and I’ll spend the rest of my fucking days just writing odes to you.” Peter giggled into the pillow, turning on his side to get more comfortable on the bed.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” He joked lightly, blushing again, which was stupid, but he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck no! You’re something else, kitten, and you don’t even know it.” Peter suppressed a smile, biting his lower lip.

“Are you touching yourself right now, daddy?”

“To be honest, I’m so fucking hard I think I’m gonna come instantly if I even brush my fingers on my cock. I’m literally just staring at the pictures right now and worrying I’m gonna come untouched just from that.” Peter laid on his stomach and bit the pillow, gently rocking his hips against the bed.

“That’s so hot. Can I see it?”

Seconds later, there was a video in the chat. He played it immediately and, sure enough, Tony wasn’t kidding. His cock was rock hard, throbbing, the head was an angry purple, already glistening with pre-cum. Tony was just holding it at the base, not daring to touch it, and the whole thing almost made Peter hard again, but he was really exhausted.

“Fuck, daddy, I really wish I could help you with that.”

“Oh, you don’t even know what I wish.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a few minutes and Peter figured he had gone to sleep, but then his phone beeped, alerting him to another message from him. It was, of course, a picture of Tony’s spent cock, resting against his belly, which was covered in come, so much of it Peter’s mouth watered.

“Was it good, daddy?”

“The best, sweetheart. Thank you. I’m gonna sleep like a baby today.” Peter chuckled. Tony always said that was high praise coming from someone who hardly ever slept and the younger man took his word for it.

“Goodnight, Tony. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it, Pete.”

He knew he was fucked the second he tried to suppress a small smile, but couldn’t.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

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meyeselph · 3 years

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Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

#gwenpool #fanfic #deconstruction #outofloveiswear #fortheoriginalwritersnotmarvelordisney #tw mental health #tw mentions of suicide #tw mentions of drug abuse #tw violence #tw gun violence

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kulaykape · 4 years

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Ina Kingsley x MC: Receiving Gifts

This is the longest one yet 😳 but I've been wanting to put it out for a while so here it is 😁

Tags: @nydeiri @thepotatobleh

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"What, you think I forgot?"

Rarely was Ina Kingsley appreciative of her status as 'Professor Dreamy'. This was one of those times.

Thank god that these Belvoire brats were rich kids. That meant, at this time of year, all the starry-eyed students harboring crushes on her would pull out all the stops for the perfect Christmas gift.

Ina was currently munching on a To'ak chocolate bar. Which, she didn't know what the hell was until Chloe St. James told her it was the most expensive chocolate in the world as she presented it to her. Definitely not worth two hundred dollars in Ina's opinion, but she wasn't about to complain. The benefits of being deemed the hottest professor on campus were far and few between, so Ina was going to take all the dubs thrown her way.

One of those dubs being the Golden Ticket candy bar sitting in a gift bag under her desk. Was it really that well-known that Ina had a weakness for sweets?

A knock on Ina's door made her start, and she scrambled to stow away the overpriced chocolate. "Uh, c-come in!" She called, checking her watch. Only one person ever came into her office at this hour.

"H-hey, Professor K-Kingsley," Aliyah greeted her as she stepped into the office. The first thing Ina noticed was how she was shivering so hard that she might as well have been trying to escape her own skin.

"Aliyah!" Ina stood up and quickly made her way over, "Christ, you know it's in the negatives outside, right?" She cupped the side of Aliyah's neck before she even knew what she was doing, and winced at the biting cold she was met with.

"I d-do now," Aliyah said, tone drier than her lips. She didn't even have the energy to react to Ina's warm skin against her neck, partly because she could barely feel anything. She started to shed her coat, but Ina stopped her.

"Leave that on for now, else you'll be the next boy in the iceberg," she said.

Aliyah's jaw dropped. "Ina K-Kingsley, was that an Avatar reference I just heard?!" She practically screeched as Ina led her to the fireplace by the armchairs. Damn, were all the professor offices pimped out like this? This woman wasn't even tenured.

Ina gave her a small smile. "My geekier side tends to come out when I'm in a good mood," she replied.

Aliyah smiled right back as she plopped down in an armchair, and started to brush snow off her nose. "Uh oh, Christmas fever?" She suggested.

"You could say that," Ina gestured behind her to her desk. Aliyah could see gifts overflowing from beneath Ina's desk, where she'd probably hidden them for the sake of good sportsmanship with the other professors.

The younger woman's smile faltered a bit as she glanced down at her backpack. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. She'd forgotten that she'd be faced with so much competition around Belvoire.

"Aliyah?" Ina asked softly. Aliyah's head snapped up.

"Yeah, sorry," she said as she started reaching into her backpack, and then pulled out two thermoses. She'd start small. But apparently not too small, as a grin practically burst onto Ina's face when she realized what she was holding out. "Merry Christmas?" Aliyah asked, smile sheepish.

"You're the most wonderful person I've ever met," Ina said as she took a mug gingerly from Aliyah. And her tone was joking, but Aliyah still felt her face grow hot (which was honestly a welcomed feeling, seeing as she was a literal ice cube at the moment). This was supposed to be the part where Ina went 'what I meant was…' but it never came.

"Oh god," Ina groaned as she took a sip, "Now I know what heaven tastes like."

Aliyah couldn't help but laugh. It was almost ridiculous how good of a mood this woman was in. "What, the thousand dollar chocolates and pearl necklaces don't do it for you?" She asked. Please say no, she thought.

"It was two hundred dollar chocolate, mind you," Ina pointed out with a smirk. Aliyah jerked back in that sarcastic 'my bad' gesture. "And not to say that I'm ungrateful for them, they just… don't possess the same level of sincerity."

"'Cause they bought it with daddy's money?" Aliyah asked.

Ina nodded, and Aliyah relaxed. "Because they bought it with daddy's money," she confirmed, and the two women shared a laugh as they drank Aliyah's (patented) red velvet hot chocolate. "I'm surprised you haven't left for the holidays yet. Almost nobody is in school these last couple of days," Ina quipped.

"Well, there's not exactly anyone for Leon and me to visit," Aliyah replied offhandedly, not realizing how morbid that sounded to Ina, who frowned. "What about you, Professor 'Anthropology is the love of my life'? You gonna leave this office any time soon?" She asked.

Ina blushed profusely. "Am I really that bad?"

"You're horrible, honestly," Aliyah said, even though her grin translated into 'you're wonderful, and I have the fattest crush on you'.

"I myself am not traveling, but my sister and my niece are coming up from Boston for the break," she said with a wistful smile. Charlotte was going to go insane when she saw her Christmas present.

Wait a minute… present.

Shit!

Ina started in her seat, lurching towards her desk. Then she paused. Aliyah shot her the most confused look Ina had ever seen. "Now would really not be a good time to have a seizure Ina, I'm tired," she said. Ina refused the urge to roll her eyes as she looked at her desk.

Had she brought Aliyah's present? Yes, of course, she'd been keeping it in her desk so she wouldn't forget.

…Should she give it to her right now and send her on her merry way home? (pun intended)

Selfless Ina said yes, she had a little brother and some good friends to spend time with. Selfish Ina said no, keep her here as long as you can. Neutral Ina decided to listen to Selfish Ina for once.

Ina cleared her throat as she settled back in her seat, "Sorry about that." Aliyah's brows bounced up in that unconvinced manner as she took a sip of Heaven's Hot Chocolate.

"So, what all did the student body pour on top of you in gifts?" Aliyah asked. She'd heard murmurs around campus of ideas from other students. She wondered if that one guy had actually followed through on buying Ina lingerie…

Ina tapped her chin in thought. "Plenty of chocolate, some jewelry, perfumes, gift cards," her face twisted oddly, and Aliyah was laughing before she'd even said it, "One student got me some… ahem… bedroom wear."

Aliyah was wheezing like a deflating balloon as she slapped her knee. "You can say lingerie, Ina," she managed to say. It's not like I haven't seen yours before.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it lingerie," Ina replied, before stalking over to her desk and pulling a bag out from underneath. Aliyah started wheezing again when Ina held up some kind of abomination to her. "If I was any less compassionate, I would've thrown it back in his face," Ina said.

For God's sake, the thing was yellow and green. It looked like something that would be sold at Babies R Us, but someone took it and then tried to make it sexy. Ina was holding it gingerly by the hems, like just touching it was messing up her sexual mojo.

"Oh my god, put it away, put it away," Aliyah flapped her hand towards her. Ina laughed as she did just that. "Jesus, did he think he'd come back to school after break to see you wearing it just for him?" She asked.

Ina smiled in good nature. "Well, it's not like he could have known I favor warmer colors," she quipped.

Aliyah smirked under her thermos. "Actually, purple's considered a cool color," she replied. Ina shot her a challenging look from her desk, and Aliyah was surprised to see it lacked the typical sternness of Professor Kingsley. Her brow was arched sharply, and Aliyah swore she could see a hint of a smile playing on her lips…

…Wait, was she playing coy with her?!

"Anyway, you need to try this chocolate Chloe St. James got," Ina said as she sauntered back over, packet of To'ak in hand.

Cheap instincts kicking in, Aliyah leaned away from the forsaken bar. "I swear, I'll deserve to go to hell if I ever eat some two-hundred dollar chocolate," she said.

Ina rolled her eyes as she set a square piece down in front of Aliyah. The younger woman would have gagged if it didn't… you know, actually look pretty good. "You've accumulated enough blessings in your life to deserve a piece of overpriced chocolate, Ali," Ina said.

'Aliyah' was the only term of acknowledgement Aliyah had ever heard from Ina, and so her head snapped up when she stopped one syllable short. She really was feeling loose.

Aliyah picked the chocolate square up off the table, appraising it suspiciously. "If I have to see the devil when I bite the dust, I'm blaming it on you," she said, before popping the piece in her mouth.

Ina leaned forward, waiting impatiently for an explosive reaction. Instead, she was met with the most unimpressed side-eye God could have made possible on anyone's face.

"Wow," Aliyah drawled, "It tastes like chocolate."

"Hard to impress as ever, hm?" Ina asked. Aliyah shook her head as she gulped the piece down.

She wasn't about to admit it, but that definitely was the best chocolate she'd ever had in her short life. By a mile. "I'm actually embarrassingly easy to impress," she admitted, "It's just that overpriced chocolate isn't the right angle."

Ina tapped her chin in thought, narrowing her eyes as she scrutinized the woman before her. A smile slowly creeped onto her face. "Let me guess. A fast food restaurant date where you don't have to pay?" She suggested.

If that had come from anyone else, Aliyah might have actually been annoyed. But since it came from Ina, she threw her head back and laughed. "Well… are you offering?" She asked.

"Would that be a satisfactory Christmas present?" Ina countered.

Aliyah hummed contemplatively, while the little devil on her shoulder screeched 'hell yes!' Hell, Ina could offer to take her dumpster diving, and she'd say yes. "I mean, it'd be rude of me to say no to such a generous present…"

Ina chuckled as she rose from her armchair and started for her desk. Aliyah's gaze followed her curiously. "I'll keep that in mind for another time, then," she replied, "But for now, I'm hoping this will do."

When she made her way back over, she was holding a small gift bag out to Aliyah. Aliyah stared at it, wide-eyed. "You didn't," she said. Ina laughed a little nervously.

"Except I did," she replied, "Merry Christmas, Ali."

With the most cautious touch, Aliyah took the gift. To be honest, she'd gotten into a habit of forgetting that you were supposed to receive gifts as well as you give them during Christmas.

A grin slowly broke out onto her face, that mischievous one that made Ina anxious but also… other less than appropriate things. Aliyah shed her coat before unzipping her backpack, and pulling out a rather clumsily wrapped rectangular package. "Do not make fun of the wrapping," she said sternly.

Ina laughed as she took the gift graciously, "You really didn't have to."

"Except I did," Aliyah replied with a smirk, "Merry Christmas, Ina." She looked back down at the gift bag, shaking it slightly. "Open at the same time?"

"Sure."

"1… 2… 3," Aliyah popped the bag open while Ina tore away the wrapping (Aliyah didn't totally know why, but that made her kinda upset… she'd spent, like, an hour trying to wrap that thing). Aliyah's jaw dropped first, and then she laughed as she pulled the first thing out. "You weren't kidding about getting me a mug," she said as she held the '#1 TA' coffee mug up to the light.

"Of course I wasn't," Ina replied as she tossed the wrapping she'd pulled off on the coffee table. Her eyes promptly widened as she stared down at the half-visible gift.

Aliyah peered up at her nervously. She wasn't sure if that expression was one of positive or negative awe. "Ina…?" She asked carefully.

Ina breathed out a laugh as she pulled the rest of the wrapping off, and held the book tightly. "I can't believe you did this," Ina said, grinning. She held up the copy of The Tailend of Humanity (some old book that mashed sci-fi with anthropology; right up Ina’s alley) with a near reverent gaze.

"What, you think I forgot?" Aliyah replied with a cocky smirk. Chloe St. James and her overpriced chocolate could kiss. Her. Ass. 'Cause Aliyah had never seen Ina smile so wide.

"How did you even get a hold of this?" Ina asked, "There are only twenty copies!"

"Uh, I got one of them, duh," Aliyah replied, "Had to haggle with some guy down on Sixth for a few hours, but it was worth it. Plus, he had a signature in there." Aliyah gestured to the inside of the book cover. Ina had never flipped a book open so fast.

Yep. That was the author's name alright, written in his unmistakable cursive hand. "You really remembered my whole lamentful spiel about losing this book?" Ina asked.

"Well, that spiel included your apartment burning down," Aliyah replied pointedly, "I wasn't exactly gonna forget that." Ina shot her an amused smirk, and Aliyah gave her a wink. "Sooo… is it better than the green and yellow lingerie?"

Ina threw her head back and laughed, before setting the leather-bound book on the coffee table and sitting down next to Aliyah. "That has to be one of the best gifts I've gotten in the past years," she said. Fireworks set off in Aliyah's head. She was honestly winning so hard.

Ina gestured to the gift bag at Aliyah's feet. "There's one more thing in there that I think you'll appreciate," she quipped.

Would she though…? The doubtful persona in her head asked, I mean, you're definitely gonna look like the materialistic one here. Ina told that particular facet of herself to shut the hell up before she could get too far in her own head.

Aliyah raised a brow suspiciously as she picked the bag back up, and it did indeed still have a little bit of weight. "Two presents? You're spoiling me," she said.

"You deserve to be," Ina replied fearlessly. Aliyah's face flushed red as she turned her gaze back to the bag.

Slowly, as if she thought she was taking out the wrong gift, Aliyah pulled out a long, thin jewelry case. The younger woman looked up at Ina with a wide, doe-eyed gaze. "Ina, what is this?" She asked, bewildered.

"Open it," Ina urged her in reply. And Aliyah did exactly that, and holy shit, that was a nice necklace. She actually gasped, and would've been embarrassed for it (and Ina also would've teased her to no end) if she wasn't so busy marveling at the piece.

Aliyah lifted the silver chain out of the case and let it spill into her hands. Jesus Christ, did it look expensive. Ina had gone from Aliyah's chemistry-fired infatuation to her damn near sugar mama in a New York second.

A flicker of recognition passed over Aliyah's face the longer she marveled at it. Her head snapped up and she looked at Ina. "This looks…"

"An awful lot like the necklace you had that Bea Hughes snapped?" Ina suggested, "Well, I didn't remember exactly what it looked like, but I tried to get as close as possible." For a moment, Aliyah couldn't even remember her propriety and say thank you.

Bea goddamn Hughes had some nerve. Aliyah couldn't quite recall what had been said, but she more than vividly remembered Hughes reaching up and snatching the chain clean off of her neck. She was nearly impressed.

But then she also vividly remembered giving that girl a black eye, and threatening to knock her out so hard her soul flew back to Farmsville. Ina had stopped her before she could uphold that promise.

"Here, let me," Ina shifted behind Aliyah, holding her hand out for the necklace. Aliyah snapped back into non-violent consciousness, and fumbled to give the necklace to Ina.

"That necklace meant a lot to me," Aliyah said as Ina brushed the hair away from the back of her neck.

Ina hummed thoughtfully. "I could tell. I'd never seen you so absolutely livid before," she replied as she brought both arms around Aliyah's shoulders. Neither of them were ignorant to Aliyah's sharp intake of breath.

She smells good, she smells really good, why does she smell so good? Aliyah thought as Ina's perfume wafted incessantly into her nostrils. She could feel the warmth radiating off of Ina, the lapels of her blazer just brushing her back. Aliyah wished she would hurry and put that necklace on, before she started thinking with something besides her head.

Ina's fingertips brushed the back of her neck, eliciting goosebumps as she worked to clip the necklace into place. "There. Hopefully it's a worthy enough replacement?" She asked as she shifted beside Aliyah again.

Aliyah touched the necklace, and smiled down at the silver as it winked in the fireplace light. She looked up at Ina again, whose fingers were caressing her hand absently. Dark brown eyes crinkled at her in a subtle, knowing smile. Aliyah was powerless to resist smiling back.

"You're perfect," Aliyah said. Ina's eyes widened. "I-I mean, it's perfect! It's awesome!" She stuttered as her face turned the reddest shade of red on the color spectrum. Aliyah cleared her throat gruffly, ignorant to the small smile plastered on Ina's face.

"I'm glad you think so," Ina replied mercifully, before checking her watch. She frowned slightly as she realized that this Cinderella night was about to come to an end. "It's getting late. You should head home before your brother starts to get worried," she continued.

"He's with my uncle right now," Aliyah replied. Well, not really her uncle uncle, but everybody was your uncle when you were Filipino.

But why did she say that? Ina was either compassionately giving her a way out of this, or telling her to get the hell out now, and Aliyah was a useless lesbian who couldn't tell which one it was. But it only took her a moment to decide that there was one more thing she wanted to do before she left…

"Hey, uh, I've got one more present for you," Aliyah quipped. Ina cocked a brow curiously.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

Aliyah's eyes darted not so subtly to her lips, and Ina had her glasses on, so she saw it. The younger woman bit her lip pensively, but Ina's hand squeezing her granted her the necessary confidence. Slowly, she leaned in…

Aliyah hovered not even half an inch away from Ina's lips, their breaths one and the same. "May I?" She asked softly. Ina's eyes met hers underneath her long lashes. For a long moment, the two of them only stared at each other. Contemplating, waiting.

"Please," Ina finally replied. Aliyah's eyes creased in a hidden smile before she leaned forward, lips just barely brushing against Ina's. Ina's breath caught, and the hand on top of Aliyah's shifted to her waist. "Come here," Ina demanded, pulling Aliyah towards her and crashing her lips against hers.

"Mm…" Aliyah smiled against Ina's lips, dragging her hands up her arms and into her brown hair. Something had cracked in Ina, and Aliyah could see it through the light filtering through now. "Ina…"

After a long, long moment, Ina finally tore away with a gasp. Her eyes stared wide and lost at the floor, as if she’d just committed the indefinitely worst taboo. Aliyah watched her face expectantly...

And like clockwork, it slowly grew cold again.

"I… I can't. I just can't. I’m sorry," Ina said, "Aliyah… I think it's time you headed home."

Aliyah let out a mirthless laugh, practically tearing her hand away from Ina as she stood. Ina winced as the air around Aliyah shifted. She didn't so much as spare Ina a look as she scooped her jacket up into the crook of her arm and slung her bag over her shoulder.

Only when she was at the door of Ina's office did she look back at her. Aliyah’s eyes were glassy with what she would say was frustration. Ina stomach tightened painfully. "You need to figure your shit out, Ina. You're about as decisive as a horny high school sophomore," she spat, “If I wanted to be your little college girl plaything, I would’ve just told you so. This isn’t fair.”

Ina flinched at the sting, and then once more as the door slammed shut behind Aliyah. Neither of them saw the other as Aliyah brushed her fingers over the necklace and let out a sorry whimper, or as Ina ripped her glasses off and threw them across her office.

But, Dammit! They both thought.

~end~

#ina kingsley #professor kingsley #ina x mc #queen b #i love one (1) dorky nerd #that sexting scene left me dryer than a desert

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

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Nothing But Her - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Warning: 18+ cheating/mature themes/strong language/spousal conflict

Note: It’s been about 2 months since the last installment of HxM, and I apologize for that. As you all well know, this year has been the topper on the world’s largest pile of shit, and I’ve tried to limit my time on the internet to not lose touch with my present reality. Aside from that, some writing burnout and adapting to the new norm posed some delays. But this is the angsty part I warned y’all about! It’s also a pivotal moment for Henry, so I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!

Read past Henry x Mistress imagines here > Masterpost

Quarantine pushed back Henry’s court hearing. While business ground to a halt, you and Henry spent the weeks alone in his penthouse. He had his work meetings via Zoom calls and enjoyed his nights next to you on the couch watching your favourite shows. Over the weeks, you got to know Henry even better, learning and appreciating his quirks and figuring out what made him tick. It was a surreal experience living under the same roof as your lover. After years of being on your own, having another presence to fill the days with conversation and entertainment was a new, exciting notion. Even though you grew bored several times a day, Henry kept you occupied that didn’t involve rolling around in the sheets. It brought you even closer—the opposite effect it seemed to have on some of your friends and their partners.

Three months of domestic bliss oozed by, and soon, the business had to resume. Meetings had to be held in person, and you started arranging his schedule to accommodate his clients and the process of his divorce.

The rescheduled court date took place in two weeks. It was the first time Henry would go in front of a judge and explain the reasoning behind his failed marriage and why he should be granted an even split of the assets. Mary’s lawyers had already outlined her demands, but all Henry wanted was to sign the paper that freed him from her, no matter what she wished to gain from the proceeding. If she wanted the house and the more expensive car, and to sell their Summer cottage and take half the money, he was more than happy to oblige. He had all he needed when he was at home with you.

Henry was on a smooth road toward his goals until a letter arrived in the mail from his soon-to-be ex-wife’s lawyer. Henry opened the envelope and scanned the first few lines, skipping vital information before shaking his head and refocusing his attention. As Henry read, his stomach dropped. The hand holding the page shook before he balled up the paper and threw it on the floor. Anger gurgled in his chest as he took useless deep breaths.

“Fuck!” He shouted, alerting you from across the condo.

You found him in the kitchen, pacing and tugging at fistfuls of his hair.

“Henry, what’s the matter?” You asked.

“What’s the matter? The matter is: Mary just scrapped our settlement! She wants it all. Everything! She wants the condo, my car... The summer house.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, scoffing. “I thought she agreed to an even split?”

“Says right here, the settlement is up for renegotiation because there are new allegations of infidelity.”

“Infidelity? You mean?—Oh, no. Henry. What does that mean?”

He picked up the paper and smoothed out the creases, slapping it down on the kitchen island for you to read. “It means she’s coming after me because I’m with you. This will maim us. If she has proof... Oh, God. I don’t even want to think of the sneaky shit she’s probably done.”

“There’s no proof! We started seeing each other after you separated.”

“But, we hooked up before then.”

You shook your head. “She can’t prove that.”

Henry went white as the paper glaring up at you from the countertop. “And what if she can? What then?”

“You have job security, Henry.”

“I have a bad feeling,” he mumbled to himself. “A very, very bad feeling something’s up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to talk to her... Figure out why she’s doing this after we agreed to be civil.”

Your throat constricted as a grave veil fell over Henry’s face.

“Can you call her?” You asked.

“I could, but I think this would be better suited to a face-to-face conversation. Mary can’t hide anything if I’m looking her straight in the eye.”

“Well, if that’s what you think. But what if she refuses to talk to you?”

Henry threw his hands wide, shrugging. “Honestly, babe, I don’t know what’s going on in her head. She’s... She’s fucked!”

You rose your eyebrows, his cursing a testament to genuine anger. Henry rubbed his jaw, shifting it to one side until it cracked. He couldn’t keep still, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to calm down until he got the newest issue out of the way.

“You should go talk to her. Today. Don’t put it off. I don’t like it when you get in these moods.”

“Neither do I, sweetie. But I can’t just drive over there and demand she explain herself.”

“Why not? It’s still your house. You can do whatever you want.”

He weighed his options, considering your input and gave another long, strained sigh. “You really think I should?”

“Yes! Go to her now before this goes too far to fix. She can’t pull this shit and expect you to roll over and get screwed. You worked hard for what you have, and you deserve half. She’s the one who initiated the separation by treating you like dirt. Now she wants to drain you all of a sudden? After months of negotiations, she just scraps it all? If I were you, I’d go in there guns blazing.”

Henry thought it over, dreading the thought of facing Mary again.

“You’re right,” he bit his lip. “God! You’re right, babe. I have to go over there.”

“I’ll be right here when you get home, handsome. You just let me know if you need a drink ready and waiting for you.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you so much. Gosh, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you too, Henry. Now go on.”

~*~

The street, although familiar to Henry, reminded him of how much life had changed. He drove by the houses he used to see on his morning jogs—structures that all fit a similar style around the block and lent the neighbourhood a comforting intimacy. He remembered the first time he and Mary turned down the avenue; newlywed and eager to get their life started in a quiet alcove of town, on a suburban strip. The houses had all seemed so large and intimidating at the time, but he had struck gold in his career, and nothing was too fancy for them.

The Lexus was in the driveway. That meant Mary was home, and the impending confrontation became more real. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought of seeing her again. He knew their exchange would not be a pleasant one and prepared himself with a few calming yoga breaths—the kind his girlfriend had taught him when they worked out together during the quarantine.

“You can do this, Deaver. Just stay calm. No matter how loud she yells. No matter what she says to insult you,” he murmured after turning the engine off, sitting in the driveway until he mustered the courage to get out.

Henry didn’t try the keypad on the door. Instead, he rang the bell to not catch Mary off guard by walking in unannounced, despite no warning of the change of heart on her end that brought him to his former home in the first place. Henry respected her privacy, though he knew she wouldn’t consider the same for him. Flashbacks of Mary storming into his bedroom at the condo while his secret lover hid in the bathroom dried out his throat, and he swallowed as the deadbolt drew back.

Mary gasped when she looked up at him, closing the door slightly in her surprise, then squaring her stance and tossing her hair off her shoulders.

“What do you want, pig?”

“I want to talk.”

“That’s what the lawyers are for,” she began to shut the door again, but Henry splayed his hand over the wood, stopping it from closing another inch.

“Mary. I’m serious. We need to talk. Inside.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m letting you in my house.”

“My name is still on the house, and you have no orders against me coming here. Please don’t make this more difficult.”

Mary studied her husband’s face for a flicker of insecurity, but there was none. The months he spent in the company of a loving woman had revitalized his confidence, and her frigid glare no longer held him hostage. Henry came to Mary prepared for anything she might have left in her repertoire of vilification. She had already accused him of hiring prostitutes, embarrassed him in front of his employees and colleagues, belittled him in the presence of their lawyers and accosted him at the condo. Mary had nothing left with which to shock him.

“Fine,” Mary conceded, stepping out of his way. “Let’s talk, Henry.”

They sat down in the kitchen, old smells embedded in the plaster reminding Henry of different times, unhappier times. His eyes coasted over the stove they had purchased at Sears, the matching refrigerator, the countertop they selected out of catalogue as they sipped sweet tea in the living room and the dark floor laminate that had caused a minor argument. Though the memories were still so vivid, Henry knew not the man who’d fallen in love with Mary all those years ago. Looking at her now, it seemed impossible that he’d had any attraction to her at all. Not enough to justify the lavish proposal he’d given her, the hundred-thousand-dollar wedding and his commitment. Yet the house still possessed the comforting warmth Henry had fallen in love with when the realtor walked them through for the first time.

“Would you like something to drink?” She offered.

“No, thanks,” Henry lied, throat still parched from secret nerves.

“Very well. What would you like to talk about? And if you can keep it speedy, I’d appreciate it. I have an appointment in forty-five minutes.”

Henry sighed and rolled his knuckles on the kitchen table as she took the adjacent seat. “Why did you change your mind? I thought we had this all sorted out. You get the house, the Lexus, the boat and half the money from the cottage sale. It’s enough for you to retire on, Mary. Why are you coming after the condo now? And the Beamer? You don’t even like the thing.”

Mary pursed her lips. She had thought about this conversation many times in the last few days, and how it might play out, as she expected to hear from either Henry or his lawyer at any moment. What she didn’t expect was her husband to show up at the door, appearing composed and ready to have a mature discussion. But he didn’t know the truth yet, and she suspected, once she revealed it, Henry’s calm demeanour might shift.

“Did you not read the letter? I thought it was quite clear.”

A tendon in Henry’s neck pulled as he snorted and shook his head. “Infidelity. You think I cheated on you.”

“I know you cheated, Henry.”

“I’d like you to explain how you came to that conclusion.”

Mary pushed her chair out to cross one leg over the other, hands clasping around her knee as she gave a sarcastic smile. Henry rolled his eyes at the smug display, waiting for her to get comfortable.

“Witnesses. Timelines. Footage.”

“Footage?”

“After you kicked me out of the condo, I hired a private investigator.”

“We were already separated by then. You can’t hold that over me. It will never play out in court,” Henry explained.

Mary sniffed, flashing delight in her eyes at the chance to prove Henry wrong. “See, I thought so too, but then I started digging a little deeper, asking around, and lo-and-behold, I made the connection. It’s your assistant.”

Henry went pale. Mary’s smirk spread into a full-blown smile.

“Ah, there it is. You were always a terrible liar, Henry. That’s right. I know it’s her. I have irrefutable proof now.”

“No, that’s impossible. I started seeing her after we separated. And there’s no rule against me having a relationship with her. Yes, it may be frowned upon at work, but it’s not against policy.”

“You sure you don’t want that drink, Henry?” Mary asked, getting up to get herself a bottle from the fridge.

“I want you to tell me exactly how you think you have me cornered.”

Mary sat down at the table, looked at her watch, and then sighed. “Well, after I went to the condo to get some things and I saw the state of the place, that’s when I knew you had at least had a woman over. And yes, we were separated, but nobody knew at the time. You were still keeping it hush-hush. So, as I said, I hired a PI to find out if you were seeing somebody. At first, I heard nothing from the investigator. You two were diligent. But then, you slipped up in the parking lot on your way into work one morning.”

Henry knuckled the table, scoffing at what Mary had to say, though his heart hammered a dent in his chest. “That still won’t hold up. We. Were. Separated.”

Mary’s pointed smile disappeared in an instant. Her eyebrows came together, and the delight on her face melted into cold disdain. Henry saw that expression many times, suffered under the weight of it, and it always sent a shiver down his back.

“Oh, it will hold up,” Mary assured. “Because you made one colossal mistake.”

“Is that right? What, kissing my girlfriend because I was finally happy and in love?”

“No, you nitwit. We went to the benefit. Hundreds of our friends and colleagues saw us together. Theo and his wife sat with us all night and can confirm we were very much together. Couple that with the photos of you grabbing her ass and shoving your tongue down her throat in the lot at work, and you’re screwed. Looks like cheating to anyone but you.”

“Why the hell are you doing this to me? Did I not treat you right for our entire marriage—give you everything you ever wanted and more? I made sure you got the upper-class life and all the expensive little trinkets to go along with it. I did anything you asked of me. But still, any time I have even the smallest flame of happiness, you have to snuff it out! Why are you such a... Such a fucking bitch?”

The insult echoed through the kitchen and rattled in Mary’s head. Her eyes flared. “So you admit it then? You cheated.”

“I’d been miserable for a year and a half, Mary! After trying so hard to get you to come back to me, I was bound to give up. You despised me—you still do! And even after all this bullshit, you still won’t tell me why you treated me like a doormat for all those years.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Henry threw up his hands. “Of course, you don’t! You’re not accountable for any of this, are you? You’re just a poor little victim! You’re so opposed to me finding happiness that you had to resort to hiring some idiot to follow me around!”

“Even if I didn’t hire somebody, I already knew. I knew it was her, too.”

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that? Did you hire someone to follow her around as well?”

“Your grandfather’s pen.”

Henry tweaked his mouth to the side, fluttering his eyes and shaking his head. “What about it?”

“You never let anyone touch it. You kept it on you at all times. Even during our happiest years, you wouldn’t have parted with the damn thing. Not even if I asked to use it. The day I came into your office—after my suspicions were already high—I saw her using it. And then I remembered her face. I’d seen her before. She used to work at the hotel we always stayed at across the city. That’s where you met her.”

Henry dropped his face into his hands, sighing through his fingers. He stayed that way for a long moment; the jumbling thoughts in his head creating fuzzy chaos. Mary had succeeded. He could deny it, but Henry was sick of the lies. Sucking a breath through his nose, he finally looked back up at Mary, his eyes bleary from pushing his palms into them.

“I fucked her in that hotel. In my room. I picked her up from the bar after we drank a tonne, and I fucked her. I ate her pussy all night, and, God... She fucked me like I’ve never been fucked before. And when I went to that big conference in Paris after I asked for a divorce, I flew her out to see me there. I’ve never had my cock sucked that well before. And you know what else? I think... Once we sign the divorce papers and you take everything I’ve earned, I’ll ask her to marry me. We won’t have shit, but I know I’ll be a thousand times happier with nothing but her than I ever was having everything with you.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“No, you’re the disgusting one! You had every chance in the world to make it right with me, but you drew out my pain like it got you off.”

A gaping silence pervaded the room. Henry felt beads of sweat emerge on his back, and he swallowed, regretting his refusal of the water Mary offered. Stunned by his brash admissions, she stared at the table as though what she would say next was written in the spalted wood. The pulse in his neck choked off any more confessions, though he longed to watch her blanch from across the table a little more. Only the humming of the refrigerator filled the silence.

Mary drew in a shaky breath. “Leave her.”

The two words bounced around Henry’s head for a second before he chuckled. “Never. I love her.”

“Leave her, and I’ll drop this. We can go back to fifty-fifty.”

Henry pushed his chair out swiftly, and rose to his feet, leaning over the table so far he came a foot away from Mary’s face.

“Fuck. You. I’ll see you in court.”

#bill skarsgard fanfiction #castle rock fanfiction #henry deaver x mistress #henry deaver fanfiction #bill skarsgard imagine

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taylorswiftandx · 4 years

Text

Taylor Swift and Questions

Note: For related lyrics, see posts on Wondering and Asking.

'Taylor Swift'

Teardrops On My Guitar: Drew walks by me, can he tell that I can't breathe?

A Place In This World: Could you tell me, what more do I need?

The Outside: But nothing seems to work the first few times, am I right?

The Outside: So how can I ever try to be better?

Stay Beautiful: Does he know? Will you ever know?

Should've Said No: I shouldn't be asking myself, "Why?"

Should've Said No: But do you honestly expect me to believe we could ever be the same?

Should've Said No: Was it worth it? Was she worth this?

Our Song: He says, "Baby, is something wrong?"

A Perfectly Good Heart: Why would you wanna break a perfectly good heart?

A Perfectly Good Heart: Why would you wanna take our love and tear it all apart now?

A Perfectly Good Heart: Why would you wanna make the very first scar?

A Perfectly Good Heart: How do I get it back the way it was before?

'Fearless'

Love Story: Is this in my head?

Hey Stephen: Hey Stephen, why are people always leaving?

Hey Stephen: Why aren't you here tonight?

Hey Stephen: All those other girls, well, they're beautiful, but would they write a song for you?

You Belong With Me: So why can't you see you belong with me?

You Belong With Me: Hey, isn't this easy?

You Belong With Me: Hey, what you doing with a girl like that?

You Belong With Me: All this time, how could you not know, baby?

You Belong With Me: Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you?

You Belong With Me: Have you ever thought just maybe you belong with me?

Tell Me Why: Why do you have to make me feel small so you can feel whole inside?

Tell Me Why: Why do you have to put down my dreams so you're the only thing on my mind?

Tell Me Why: Tell my why, why?

Forever And Always: Were you just kidding?

Forever And Always: Baby, what happened?

Forever And Always: Was I out of line? Did I say something way too honest?

Forever And Always: Where is this going?

Forever And Always: Did you forget everything?

Change: Can you feel it now?

The Other Side Of The Door: So, babe, if you know everything, tell me why you couldn't see that when I left I wanted you to chase after me?

The Other Side Of The Door: Was she worth this mess?

'Speak Now'

Mine: I say, "Can you believe it?"

Mine: Do you remember, we were sitting there by the water?

Mine: Do you remember all the city lights on the water?

Mine: Do you believe it?

Sparks Fly: Won't you whisper soft and slow?

Back To December: How's life? Tell me, how's your family?

Speak Now: You wish it was me, don't you?

Dear John: Don't you think I was too young to be messed with?

Dear John: Don't you think nineteen's too young to be played by your dark, twisted games when I loved you so?

Dear John: Don't you think I was too young?

Mean: Why you gotta be so mean?

The Story Of Us: Is it killing you like it's killing me?

The Story Of Us: How'd we end up this way?

The Story Of Us: Why are we pretending this is nothing?

Enchanted: Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?"

Enchanted: 2 AM, who do you love?

Better Than Revenge: You might have him but haven't you heard?

Better Than Revenge: Do you still feel like you know what you're doing?

Innocent: Wasn't it easier in your lunchbox days?

Innocent: Wasn't it beautiful when you believe in everything and everybody believed in you?

Innocent: Wasn't it easier in your firefly-catching days?

Innocent: Wasn't it beautiful running wild 'til you fell asleep?

Last Kiss: You told me you loved me, so why did you go away?

Superman: And you smile and say, "How are you?"

'Red'

22: Who's Taylor Swift anyway? ew.

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together: When you said you needed space, what?

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together: Remember how that lasted for a day?

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together: I mean, this is exhausting, you know?

Sad Beautiful Tragic: Could you just try to listen?

The Lucky One: But can you tell me now you're the lucky one?

Starlight: Don't you see the starlight, starlight?

Starlight: Don't you dream impossible things?

The Moment I Knew: What do you say when tears are streaming down your face in front of everyone you know?

The Moment I Knew: And what do you do when the one who means the most to you is the one who didn't show?

'1989'

Blank Space: Nice to meet you, where you been?

Blank Space: Love's a game, wanna play?

Blank Space: Oh my god, who is she?

Out Of The Woods: Are we out of the woods yet?

Out Of The Woods: Are we in the clear yet?

Out Of The Woods: Are we out of the woods?

Out Of The Woods: Remember when you hit the brakes too soon?

Out Of The Woods: Remember when we couldn't take the heat?

All You Had To Do Was Stay: Why'd you have to go and lock me out when I let you in?

Bad Blood: Did you have to do this?

Bad Blood: Did you have to ruin what as shiny?

Bad Blood: Did you have to hit me where I'm weak?

Bad Blood: Did you think we'd be fine?

Bad Blood: Did you think it all through?

How You Get The Girl: She'll open up the door and say, "Are you insane?"

Wonderland: Didn't they tell us don't rush into things?

Wonderland: Didn't you flash your green eyes at me?

Wonderland: Haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds?

Wonderland: Didn't it all seem new and exciting?

Wonderland: Didn't you calm my fears with a Cheshire cat smile?

'reputation'

...Ready For It?: Are you ready for it?

I Did Something Bad: They say I did something bad, then why's it feel so good?

Delicate: We can't make any promises, now can we, babe?

Delicate: Dive bar on the East side, where you at?

Delicate: Is it cool that I said all that?

Delicate: Is it chill that you're in my head?

Delicate: Is it too soon to do this yet?

Delicate: Isn't it, isn't it?

Delicate: Do the girls back home touch you like I do?

Delicate: Sometimes I wonder when you sleep, are you ever dreaming of me?

Look What You Made Me Do: Locked me out, then threw a feast, what?

Look What You Made Me Do: Why? Oh, 'cause she's dead

So It Goes...: But honestly, baby, who's counting?

Gorgeous: But what can I say?

King Of My Heart: Is this the end of all the endings?

Dancing With Our Hands Tied: So, baby, can we dance, oh, through an avalanche?

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things: So why'd you have to rain on my parade?

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things: Did you think I wouldn't hear all the things you said about me?

Call It What You Want: You don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?

'Lover'

I Forgot That You Existed: How many days did I spend thinking 'bout how you did me wrong, wrong, wrong?

Cruel Summer: I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Lover: Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Lover: Can I go where you go?

Lover: Can we always be this close?

Lover: Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

The Man: When everyone believes you, what's that like?

The Man: What's it like to brag about raking in dollars and getting bitches and models?

The Archer: I say I don't want that, but what if I do?

The Archer: Who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?

The Archer: But what if I'm all right, right, right, right here?

The Archer: Can you see right through me?

I Think He Knows: Where we gonna go?

Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince: Where are the wise men?

Death By A Thousand Cuts: But if the story's over, why am I still writing pages?

Soon You'll Get Better: But who am I supposed to talk to?

Soon You'll Get Better: What am I supposed to do if there's no you?

False God: Remember how I said I'd die for you?

False God: Remember how I'd fly to you?

You Need To Calm Down: Hey, are you okay?

You Need To Calm Down: Like, can you just not step on my gown?

You Need To Calm Down: Why are you mad when you could be GLAAD?

You Need To Calm Down: Like, can you just not step on his gown?

You Need To Calm Down: Like, can you just not step on our gowns?

Afterglow: Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It's Nice To Have A Friend: Wanna hang out? Yeah, sounds like fun

'folklore'

The 1: But we were something, don't you think so?

The 1: If one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

The Last Great American Dynasty: How did a middle-class divorcée do it?

The Last Great American Dynasty: Who knows, if she never showed up, what could've been?

The Last Great American Dynasty: Who knows, if I never showed up, what could've been?

Exile: You're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now?

Exile: I'm not your problem anymore, so who am I offending now?

My Tears Ricochet: Even on my worst days, did I deserve, babe, all the hell you gave me?

My Tears Ricochet: And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Seven: Are there still beautiful things?

August: Whispers of "Are you sure?"

August: Will you call when you're back at school?

Invisible String: Were there clues I didn't see?

Invisible String: And isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?

Mad Woman: What did you think I'd say to that?

Mad Woman: Does a scorpion sting when fighting back?

Mad Woman: What do you sing on your drive home?

Mad Woman: Do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn?

Mad Woman: Does she smile, or does she mouth, "Fuck you forever"?

Mad Woman: Every time you call me crazy I get more crazy, what about that?

Betty: But if I just showed up at your party, would you have me, would you want me?

Betty: Would you tell me to go fuck myself or lead me to the garden?

Betty: In the garden would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?

Betty: Will you have me, will you love me?

Betty: Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?

Betty: If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it, will it patch your broken wings?

Peace: Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Peace: Is it enough?

Hoax: You knew the hero died, so what's the movie for?

Hoax: You knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score?

The Lakes: Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?

'evermore'

Gold Rush: What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

Tolerate It: While you were out building other worlds, where was I?

Tolerate It: Where’s that man who’d throw blankets over my barbed wire?

Tolerate It: You assume I’m fine but what would you do if I... break free and leave us in ruins?

Happiness: Tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk?

Happiness: When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?

Dorothea: Hey, Dorothea, do you ever stop and think about me?

Dorothea: But are you the same soul I met under the bleachers?

Coney Island: If I can’t relate to you anymore, then who am I related to?

Coney Island: And if this is the long haul, how’d we get here so soon?

Coney Island: Did I close my fist around something delicate, did I shatter you?

Coney Island: I’m sitting on a bench in Coney Island wondering, where did my baby go?

Coney Island: The question pounds my head, what’s a lifetime of achievement if I pushed you to the edge but you were too polite to leave me?

Coney Island: Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?

Coney Island: Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?

Coney Island: Were you waiting at our old spot in the tree line by the gold clock?

Coney Island: Did I leave you hanging every single day?

Coney Island: Were you standing in the hallway with a big cake?

Coney Island: Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray a universe away?

Ivy: How’s one to know?

Ivy: What would he do if he found us out?

Evermore: Oh, can we just get a pause to be certain we’ll be tall again?

Evermore: Is there a line that I could just go cross?

Right Where You Left Me: Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?

Right Where You Left Me: Did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion?

Other Songs written by Taylor

Babe: How could you do this, babe?

Beautiful Ghosts: Should I take chances when no one took chances on me?

Beautiful Ghosts: Is this hope just a mystical dream?

Best Days Of Your Life: Ain't it a shame, a shame that every time you hear my name brought up in a casual conversation you can't think straight?

Best Days Of Your Life: And ain't it sad you can't forget about what we had?

Best Days Of Your Life: Do you like what you see or do you wish it was me?

Best Days Of Your Life: Does she know, know about the times you used to hold me?

Best Days Of Your Life: Ain't jealousy funny?

Christmas Must Be Something More: What if ribbons and bows didn't mean a thing?

Christmas Must Be Something More: Would the song still survive without five golden rings?

Christmas Must Be Something More: Would you still wanna kiss without mistletoe?

Christmas Must Be Something More: What would happen if God never let it snow?

Christmas Must Be Something More: What would happen if Christmas carols told a lie?

Christmas Must Be Something More: What if the angels did not pay attention to all the things that we wished they would always do?

Christmas Must Be Something More: What if happiness came in a cardboard box?

Christmas Must Be Something More: What would happen if presents all went away?

Christmases When You Were Mine: And were your cousins late again?

Christmases When You Were Mine: When you were putting up the lights this year, did you notice one less pair of hands?

I Don't Wanna Live Forever: What is happening to me?

Ronan: When the blind hope turned to crying and screaming, "Why?"

Ronan: What if I'm standing in your closet trying to talk to you?

Ronan: What if I kept the hand-me-downs you won't grow into?

Ronan: What if I really thought some miracle would see us through?

Ronan: What if the miracle was even getting one moment with you?

This Is What You Came For: Who knows why it's gotta be this way?

Today Was A Fairytale: But can you feel this magic in the air?

Today Was A Fairytale: Did you feel it?

You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home: And you're feeling like you got nowhere to go, don't you know?

#taylor swift #lyrics #taylorswiftandx #lyric parallels #questions

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

raising hell

figured id keep going so s1 ep 04 here we go

kay first off, noone moves that much in their sleep.

also slightly creepy that she wakes up and simon’s just watching her

somehow, i'm starting to see a similarity in simon and alec, a sentence i never thought i’d say. it’s interesting how they’re both trying to protect against their ‘better half’s’ trusting nature;

simon blames jace for the craziness

alec blames clary for the craziness

yay! magnus bane!

oh nooo, simon don’t leave

am i the only one wondering why jace has training equipment in his room? i mean the institute is filled with this stuff, why does he need a personal one?

so first clary barges into jace’s room which btw is super clean, just like canon, sees him shirtless and apologises (yay for human decency) and then turns her back for him to put his shirt back on? like she’s already seen him, what’s the point? and clearly this is not just me. just look at jace’s smirk.

captain america ha! i should just make a list of all the pop culture references simon makes about jace. also him yelling at jace to do his own homework, pent up rage issues anyone?

‘i’m not saving his ass a second time’ well, he does get kidnapped a lot

‘i think these are my people.’ really? so she’s just gonna turn her back on simon who’s practically her family? for what, the chance to be a shadowhunter? on a further note, how can she expect simon to just stay at the institute all day? i mean won’t his mom be super worried about him?

omg, david guetta’s a vampire. ha!

‘can you focus? this is not a joke?’ yeah, alec needs to meet his future husband.

did izzy just say alec needs to get slayed or laid? because for the latter, he needs to meet the guy first

i can’t help but be irritated every time jace takes the lead in season 1. let me see leader!Alec :(

‘warlock gets around.’ please tell me he isn’t slutshaming a warlock.

hahah. ‘how is it that my most effective asset is the one who’s comatose?’ whoever writes the lines for villains is a god.

also did the fair folk seriously send seelie scouts to chernobyl? ooh, tongue twister! seelies send six scouts spying on chernobyl! ha!

did valentine smell them or something?

oop pangborn dead! oh noo

we stan two positive girls slaying!

jace giving her another blade, let’s hope she remembers to use it this time

‘i was alive when the dead sea was just a lake feeling a little poorly.’ eek! book quote!

reference to tessa gray! yay!

i always hate how guys can get away with a dress shirt and jeans but girls have to wear dresses to parties. but my grumpy archer boy cleans up well.

hahaha. ‘at least now things are interesting.’ imma let alec explain

valentine is alive and actively seeking the mortal cup

he threatens our entire world

we’re helping his daughter (who by the way, we have no reason to trust and who showed up out of nowhere)

we’re gonna end up overpaying some warlock (my future husband) who may or may not have information we need

thus, alec does not find this interesting and does not feel better now (okay, maybe a li’l)

point to be noted: feelings can explode, and not the fun kind of explode according to izzy

simon’s home! also he’s acting like every pasty 15 yo gamer boy who stayed up to late and is now allergic to the sun.

mrs lewis is not ‘one of those moms’.

also maureen is very relatable with her whole ‘i’d like to date you.’ honestly very realistic.

so if all downworlders hang out at hardtail, is it just demons that hang out at pan-demon-ium? ‘cause if so, maybe it means demons love their damned puns

‘Iz, with a body like yours, everything is your colour.’ WE STAN ONE POSITIVE FRIENDSHIP!!!

‘most men like it when i admire their jewels.’ cue jace’s smirk, alec’s eyeroll and clary’s grin

‘magnus bane. so you’re the one who stole my memories.’ she doesn’t have to be such a dick to him. he did it at her mother’s request.

really? ‘i have to confirm it’s authenticity’. jace honestly fell for that?

again, she’s such a dick to him. ‘now it’s your turn to pay up.’ i can’t believe her.

really? dot’s dead? after all the times that woman should have died, i need to see a body

‘i won’t offer again.’ classic magnus. still love him.

‘who are you?’ why, your future husband of course. sorry, i just ship malec so hard. and this whole scene gives me book!malec vibes

“If Jace was gold, catching the light and the attention, Alec was silver: so used to everyone else looking at Jace that that was where he looked too, so used to living in Jace’s shadow that he didn’t expect to be seen. Maybe it was enough to be the first person to tell Alec that he was worth being seen ahead of anyone in a room, and of being looked at longest. And silver, though few people knew it, was a rarer metal than gold.”

the bane chronicles | the course of true love [and first dates]

‘you’re my only hope.’ should’ve treated him as that then. reason #15 why i dislike clary fray

hahaha, the irony behind the cat eye button.

how do they keep murdering circle members? not that i don’t appreciate alec’s timely rescue, but do they never take people alive?

‘we have to go’ jace moves to leave. cue clary just sitting down on a table.

‘i’m catching my breath.’ from what? she literally just got out of a nightclub. this matchstick is killing me.

‘we have risked our lives again and again for this girl and where has it gotten us?’ angry!archer time. also his eye roll when clary goes, ‘hey, i am right here.’ imma just do several dot points on this one scene, cuz it really pisses me off.

‘hey, i am right here, i don’t care about you damn jewellery.’ spoiler alert, neither does he, but chances are that necklace is worth thousands of dollars (a 1857 london townhouse for that matter). that kind of bargaining chip doesn’t come cheap and in exchange for it, they’ve gotten nothing.

‘i’m sorry you’re gonna look bad in front of your bosses.’ damn right he is. alec has a responsibility to bear and she should be glad he isn’t yelling at her. in fact he’s never yelled at her thus far. second, he’s liable for derunement and exile, not to mention the severe humiliation his parents will receive.

‘my mother is still missing and my last chance at finding her just disappeared into thin air.’ i mean, magnus did almost just die from that circle member if alec hadn’t shot him. and second, she should show a little less attitude to the people that are risking their lives and their jobs for her.

‘people are dying because of me. magnus will never come out of hiding again while valentine’s still after him and i will never get my memories back.’ first of all, the only person that died for her is dot (and even that’s unconfirmed). magnus came out of hiding for the necklace, and hotch isn’t dead yet. simon is about to be but clary fixes that anyway

ooh, emeraude’s accent makes a comeback.

PARABATAI TRACKING!!!

‘of course they are.’ bitch, is she jealous? whaat? ‘this whole parabatai thing seems oddly intimate, if you ask me.’ literally noone asked. also, she could look a little happier that they’ve found a way out of this mess. second, i feel like that’s borderline homophobic, but that might just be me overanalysing again.

‘magnus lives in a warehouse?’ hahaha, the notion that magnus ‘dramatic bitch’ bane lives in a warehouse is insane. he bought a necklace with his townhouse for crying out loud.

also, why do they keep dragging her into these missions? she’s a liability with no training and she’s apparently the most un-athletic matchstick in the world considering she lost her breath exiting a nightclub. then again, clubs are exhausting.

sadistic shadowhunters. that’s nice.

future husbands fighting together warms my soul

were magnus’s first words to alec seriously a steak pun? ‘well done, more like medium rare.’ i love these dumbasses so much.

awww, alec’s first real smile. and the stuttering. it makes my cold, dead heart melt. AND THEN HE RUNS AWAY! GAAA

okay, so this whole magnus and clary thing has more than a few points, can’t wrap it up as neatly as the others but:

first off, he’s giving clary sole credit for saving zoe’s life when really it was all of them. technically she kicked his ass while izzy grabbed him and jace threw a knife in his back.

second, if she hadn’t called him out of hiding, this situation wouldn’t have even come onto him. and as much i hate to stomp on magnus, if he hadn’t been reckless enough to answer the call, they wouldn’t have been in danger.

third, clary is exactly like jocelyn, but for all the wrong reasons. clary uses people, offering them false promises she doesn’t have the capacity to deliver, and exploits anyone who gives her the most basic human decency, refusing to understand the cost at which they do so. (see alec)

fourth, she’s not a real shadowhunter, not without training or experience. that’s like calling a newly enlisted soldier an officer. sure, they’re part of the system, but you can’t send them into battle without an ounce of training. clary barely knows how the chain of command works. so saying, she’s not like the other shadowhunters is ridiculous. obviously she isn’t considering shadowhunters grow up in a society where downworlders are looked down upon. so when she’s introduced to this new world, obviously she looks at them as decent human beings.

‘normally, i love a dirty lair...’ ALEC’S FACE AT THAT HA!

also where’d all the warlocks? because it’s literally just the 5 of them. otherwise, imma have to assume they’re dead.

‘about Alec, is he more of a flower or cologne man?’ magnus’s subtlety is killing me.

‘pretty boy’ alec’s little smile and shrug though aaaa

‘trust no-one, especially the clave’ i mean, i get it but how’s she meant to protect it on her lonesome?

why does jace look so wounded? i’m starting to think he’s a little jealous of not getting hit on. oh nvm it’s cause he has to burn her flesh.

‘this might sting.’ cue clary screaming. i know, i know, i should feel worse about this but if any of you have seen the behind-the-scenes footage from matthew daddario’s twitter profile, you’ll understand. when they were shooting this scene, harry shum jr (magnus bane) was dancing outside and lip-syncing to kat mcnamera’s (clary fray’s) screams. it’s hard to get out of your head.

that pentagram is the most beautiful thing i’ve seen. i never thought i’d say that.

again, subtlety is not magnus’s strengths and i love him for it.

michelangelo

i aspire to be as dramatic as magnus bane is leading a demon-summoning ritual

aww izzy loves alec the most, clary and her mom obv, oh noo, alec and jace, that’s not good

also why does jace look so injured by it?

alec’s panicking, alec’s panicking, ALEC’S PANICKING

f*ck her memories, save jace. im assuming this whole thing is just a plot device to keep stuff spicy and to give clary credit for killing a greater demon.

i have to point out 4 things, you can skip this bit where i just talk about the team as people and how their reactions reveal stuff about them.

alec’s panic over injuries is very controlled which i think says a lot about him as a person where he has to control his reactions, but you can see he feels guilty

izzy instantly looks for any injuries, says a lot about her being more active and level-headed

clary, naturally, panics and looks to magnus for help

magnus sort of strolls over and brushes off his shirt. clearly apathetic about shadowhunter but expects that they’ll ask him to help and is his very cynical self (‘I don't know. Does he normally just lay like that without moving?') which naturally results in a very obnoxious face made by clary

somehow in this moment i feel worse for alec than jace. (maybe cause the latter is loud, arrogant and annoying) the guy’s terrified that he’s been out-ed, guilty about almost killing his parabatai and angry at himself for releasing the demon. and in typical alec fashion, instead of addressing his problems, he watches from a distance and then leaves.

okay, so jace has almost died from that demon, yet he’s the one asking clary if she’s okay?

vision time

okay how does valentine keep seeing stuff he’s not meant to see?

alright something i gotta point out. almost every angsty show/movie i’ve seen does the same thing where the girl gets frustrated at a necklace (usually a gift), rips it from her neck and throws it away. shouldn’t that have broken said necklace?

well, that’s the end of that. malec made all the difference in this ep. much more excited about magnus and alec finally meeting each other. till the next ep.

#shadowhunters #tsc #alec #alec lightwood #jace #jace wayland #izzy #isabelle lightwood #clary #clary fray #clary fairchild #anti clary fray #anti clary fairchild #anti clary

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating. ... 18+?

word count. ~5200

note. THIS GETS REAL NON-PG-13 REAL QUICK. I'M SORRY.

chapter 6.

You don't think you'll ever get used to it. The kisses pressed to your crown, over your eyelids, coaxing sandman's dust from your lashes. The saccharine laughter muddled by sleep and swept into messy sheets, threaded into stitches and saved for another day. His hands and his warmth, all over and everywhere and yet never enough. He was like a straight shot of adrenaline and you were a junkie, desperate for the thrill.

Every day was like some wonderful dream - some quietly whispered wish come to life.

And it was all thanks to Taehyung.

Since that first night, you'd fallen into an easy routine. Good morning texts and on occasion, more, his deep drawl acting as a lullaby rather than a wake-up call. Flowers at your doorstep when he knew you didn't have class; a coffee and boxy smile ready when he'd meet you after your last. Date nights every Tuesday, because your lectures ran late and you didn't have time to cook on those days. Your favourite meal from the nearby mom-and-pop shop memorized as easily as his own name.

He was so good to you. Too good to you, you insisted, only for him to brush you off.

Because he'd swept into your life like spring rain and where there'd once been monotony - pretty but boring shades of grey - there was now colour that blinded you. Swaths of red and blue and yellow you'd never seen. Some kind of King Midas, you thought.

"Are you hungry yet?" You're partially inclined to believe he's speaking to someone else - whoever's on the other side of his voice chat - but fail to realize he's behind you, broad frame curled around you as he traps you beneath him. His arms span either side of you, palms planted firmly on the tabletop where you've made a bit of a mess. There are notebooks and loose papers, a textbook with dogeared pages that looks like it's on its last legs. There's even a half-eaten stick of Pocky sticking out from its container, lonely and forgotten.

You turn and peer up at him, trying to focus despite your swimming vision. You've been working on the same composition for the better part of three days and it's been hell. No matter what you do, it doesn't come out right.

When you almost go cross-eyed in your vain attempt to reconcile the two figures in your line of sight, he's slipping your thin gold-rimmed glasses over your ears and off your face, setting them down gently beside your pencil case. You think he's frustrated - you would be, too, if you'd been invited over only to be ignored all night - when his hands find your jaw. You know he isn't by how gentle he is, pad of his thumb pressing soothingly over your bottom lip.

"Take a break, okay?" It's a demand dressed as a request, seducing in its tenderness. You know he's not going to take no for an answer.

You hesitate nonetheless, ready to present your first, second, and third excuses. He silences them before they can see the light of day, coaxing them back into their hiding spots with the sweetest graze of his mouth. Cheater.

Before you know it, you've forgotten yourself and all the reasons why you'd been so ready to return to work, fingers curling over the backs of his hands. It's a makeshift handhold, your way of finding balance after being swept up in the storm that is Taehyung. "Not fair," you chide, not unhappily. You draw his hands to your lap, ignoring the awkward way his body shifts to accommodate the movement.

"I'm just looking out for you," he responds, like that's a good enough reason. You huff. He rolls his eyes but there's no venom behind it.

"What do you want to eat then? I think we have some kimbap leftover from yesterday."

"I ate that earlier when you were having a mini breakdown." You ignore the teasing in his tone because there's adoring understanding too, and a hint of concern. He's not part of your world but he's trying to be. You appreciate that.

Unfortunately, your gratitude doesn't fill hungry stomachs. "How about jjapaguri?"

Taehyung's brow quirks and you know he's going to make some bad joke before it leaves his lips. You recognize the tell-tale signs in the little twitch of his mouth, the way his cheeks tighten and release as if he can't hold back the absolute genius that is he. It's only been a few weeks but you can already read him like a book. (Also, he's a really easy book, like Goodnight Moon.) "Are you trying to tell me you're hiding your husband in the basement?"

"Damn, you got me." You're as deadpan as possible. There's more tonal variety in dry toast.

You stare at each other for half an eternity and then you're both giggling. The sound curls out of your mouth and flits into the air, dragging weight from your shoulders as it ascends.

"You're the silliest." It's meant to be a compliment as much as a rebuff. Darling Taehyung takes it as only the former, beaming proudly. He pulls gently at your hands, coaxing you to straighten with him. He's got you where he wants you now, cradled to his chest like porcelain, and you can't help but relax into the welcoming embrace, cheek pressed to the velveteen cotton of his Celine shirt. When you speak again, it's muffled. "Thank you."

You feel more than hear his laughter, his shoulders reverberating with the motion. "Nothing to thank me for, jagi."

When he uses the term of endearment, poppy red sprouts across your skin, blooms prettily from the tip of your nose to your temples. You still weren't used to it and you're grateful for the cover of your hair, the expanse of his chest that you're burrowed against. "I'll go make food. You stay here."

Then you're gone, scurrying from your bedroom before he can say another word.

Your setup is perfect. From your chair - functional yet pretty, you'd boasted the moment he stepped foot into your bedroom - to the custom-built aluminum keyboard with cat paw esc key, it's a gamer's paradise. Your mouse has all the sensitivity he's used to and it shifts dreamily through the colours of the rainbow, moulded grip lightweight in his palm. (He wishes it were a little bigger, but that's a him problem.) Even the tri-monitor display soothes his secret nerdy itch, filling the void of being away from home with it's insane resolution. The fact that there's thousands of dollars worth of studio equipment in and around it doesn't even deter him. He appreciates that you trust him enough to be seated here.

Pulling your headphones over his ears, he aimlessly reaches for the attached microphone before remembering it doesn't exist. That was something he was still getting used to. He's not really sure where or how the sound is being picked up - maybe by one of the two microphones positioned strategically on either side of your desk, though he can't bother to figure out which - only that it is, and it's good enough for him.

"Ready?" He prompts, watching as his user tag lights up to indicate his question.

JKMKNAE lights up below him. "To kick some ass? Yeah."

Overwatch loads, the FINDING GAME screen sliding into view. The timer rolls on, seconds dragging, and he makes small talk over voice chat while he waits. No one else is on yet - their usual group of near and far online friends still showing offline on Discord - so it's just the two of them.

"Are you going to that party?" He's referring to the little get-together being thrown by Hoseok's new girlfriend. Honestly, he can't remember her name - Gahyeon? Dohyeon? She was nice enough and his friend was clearly smitten, but given that he'd met her in passing only once, he hadn't committed it to memory. He'd learn it before Friday, though. Maybe. H'd have to, if he planned on introducing you.

Couldn't really say 'Jiyeon, meet Hoseok's unnamed girlfriend.'

"Don't know." The response comes indistinct and he imagines Jungkook is shovelling ramyeon into his mouth - can practically hear the slurp slurp slurp through your state of the art earphones - while they queue up. It makes his stomach growl. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Slurp. Swallow. Response. "It sounded like a freaking animal."

Had Jungkook heard his stomach? No way. "That was me."

This seems to surprise the maknae, who takes a moment to cease his endless eating noises. Thank god - Taehyung had been worried the call was about to turn into a full-blown ASMR session, complete with smacking lips and clinking chopsticks. It wouldn't have been the first time. "Did you get a new headset?"

"Uh, no," comes his response after a beat. It's enough for his friend to latch onto, bowl of noodles long forgotten in favour of the unravelling string of his hesitation.

"You do sound clearer actually. Which did you get? Sennheiser?"

"I didn't get a new headset." Taehyung sounds a little as if he's frustrated with having to explain himself and that only makes the other all the more curious. He should've known. Since they'd been teenagers, Jungkook had been like this. Endlessly curious, tripping over his own feet to be included in whatever news their friend group had to share. It was almost always endearing.

"Then are you wearing a mic taped to your stomach?"

Another pause, punctuated by a sharp exhale.

It's only been a few weeks - three as of this weekend, in fact - and Taehyung's still not sure where you stand. Even when you were opening yourself up to him, there was always another layer. You were an enigma. An enigma wrapped inside a burrito. He chuckles at the thought and reminds himself to use the comparison later. He's sure you'd laugh and he loved the sound - like it was the most beautiful song in the world.

When Jungkook doesn't get an immediate response, Taehyung can practically feel the chagrin rolling through the chat. As much as the youngest liked to tease his hyungs - and he did it often, whether with words or action - he'd never purposely upset anyone. He didn't have a bad bone in his body.

Before he can apologize, Taehyung's cutting him off with a rush of words, like it's the greatest secret ever spoken into existence. "I'm at Jiyeon's."

He'd expected some sort of excitement or downright bro-like congratulations. It was how Jungkook operated, his bravado presented for all to see. Anything to hide that big soft heart of his. (He was different like that - hiding his sensitivity whereas Taehyung and Jimin paraded it around, shouted it from rooftops.)

Instead, there's silence. Because what he doesn't see is Jungkook looking like he's been sucker punched, dealt a straight shot to the gut that he hadn't expected. And why hadn't he expected it? He'd known you were seeing Taehyung, heard about your frequent dates from his friend himself. He'd had to smile along, offering congratulations like the mere thought wasn't burning him from the inside out, like battery acid hadn't replaced the blood in his veins.

"That's great, hyung." It sounds off to Taehyung's ears, cutting over the connection. For a moment, he wonders if he's jostled a cable. You'll kill him if he has. Then there's a bang, an ear-splittingly loud crash. "Shit! I have to clean this up."

Then there's the sound of a participant exiting the channel and he's left to queue all on his own.

"Four packages was two packages too many." You're groaning into your hands, your arms, anywhere you can bury your face. The cold glass of your coffee table is soothing against your cheek, your heated breath forming condensation across the surface.

Above your head, somewhere on the couch behind you, Taehyung laughs, the sound punctuated by chewing. "I could've told you that."

You're not sure how he's still eating, diligently working through his bowl of noodles when you feel like you might explode like some scene out of Alien. It's hard to breathe - in fact, you think you can feel the tail end of a noodle at the top of your throat - and you bite back a gag, shoulders shaking a little with the exertion.

You're being overdramatic, you know.

"I thought I was hungry! I thought you were hungry!" A hand is flying up, wrist weaving bonelessly through the air as if it'll help you drive your very poor point home.

"I am hungry." More laughter. You reach behind you, flailing wildly in the direction you know his legs are, and huff in triumph when your knuckles collide with the sharp bone of his shin. You ignore the fact that you've somehow hurt yourself, too. "You probably haven't eaten today so your stomach is the size of Po's."

As if on cue, the feline sweeps into the room, sniffing curiously at your prone figure before flouncing off to the kitchen in search of more interesting things.

"Why are you so reasonable?" You croak like a dying woman or a frog.

Somehow, against all odds, Taehyung still finds you adorable. He sets his bowl down on the side table, careful to place the chopsticks neatly across the rim, and bends at the waist to fix his hands under your armpits. You can already feel the upward momentum but whine nonetheless, the sound tipping out of your mouth like some sort of Dickensian street urchin.

"No! Stoooop."

"Come here," your not-boyfriend boyfriend coos, dragging you onto the couch. You slump against the cushions when he releases you, rather than falling into his side, eliciting another crinkly-eyed smile from him. It's hard to resist when he's like this, playful and enticing. Still, you try. You pretend like it's nothing, curling your arms around your middle as you stare up at the ceiling.

"I don't feel good." It's a statement that demands payment.

Taehyung happily gives it, peppering kisses over the delicate bones of your face, his broad chest encompassing your frame. He locks his arms around you, sliding them into place around your own, and holds you recklessly close. You don't think you could run if you tried. Whether it's from the noodles you've all but inhaled or the hazy desire that blooms beneath each of his kisses, you're not sure. Maybe both.

"I can make you feel good," he purrs, his mouth feather-light and teasing. He's focused on the sensitive dip by your ear, right where your pulse throbs, and you swear you hear him chuckle before you lose all sense of your surroundings.

The flat of his tongue presses against that sweet spot, laving hungrily at the skin like he might be able to taste the copper that sings beneath it. You whine, louder and higher than you'd meant to, desperate even to your muffled ears. You hear his laughter more clearly this time, breath hot against the outer shell of your ear, and you're not sure whether you're burning up on the outside or just internally.

"See, aren't you feeling better already?" Every word from his mouth is honeyed and intoxicating. You chase the sound, turning your face just in time to feel his lips against yours, more forceful than you'd anticipated. As much as he teased you, he was a kind and forgiving lover, bending to your will as easily you did his.

"You're terrible." You mean it like an insult but, in true fashion, he accepts it like the greatest compliment he's ever received. He preens with it, tossing his head back, causing his hair to fall prettily over his eyes.

Eyes that threaten to swallow you whole, if you'd let them. They're so dark, the ring of his iris all but engulfed by the desire that presents itself in the void of his pupils.

Your heart stutters in your chest. Your breath catches, hitches and careens into a gasp. Somewhere, just beyond the realm of comprehension, you recognize a familiar fluttering in your core. He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful piece of art he's ever seen and he wants to bang - hang - you on the wall, where you belong.

"Do you want me to stop?" Despite whatever war wages in his mind and the thrum of want that skitters up his bones, he's genuine in his delivery. He wants you to want this as bad as he does. He won't hold it against you if you don't.

You owe it to him to be honest. "I'm not sure."

You don't miss the way his expression slips, fall just an inch. He's so careful to retain his composure, offering you the most heartfelt smile you could ever hope for. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, despite his best efforts. You feel awful. Worse then awful. Like you'd shut the sun out.

You reach for him all at once, long fingers framing the edges of his face, thumb sweeping just beneath his eye. He blinks once, twice, and says nothing.

"I want you," you start. It's not clear where you're going with this but you hope you find it along the way - for both of your sake's. "I like you, Kim Taehyung." His eyes sparkle when you say his full name and you want to give up this conversation and smother him in kisses instead. "I really, really like you. But I'm also scared." You say it out loud, though you're certain he already knows.

He presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb that's drifted and found a rhythm in soothing circles at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm an assa." You don't seek pity or understanding. You'd chosen this; you liked it this way. "I don't let people in often. Those I do, I trust explicitly." Your hand slides to his chest, palm flat down the column of his throat to the expanse hidden just beneath his shirt. You settle there, over his heart, and tap experimentally. "I don't want to ruin this - whatever it is - because I expect too much. We deserve to be on the same page. I don't want to ask for more than you can give."

Where the words have come from isn't clear but they spill forth, settling like lead into your veins. He's only been good to you, accepting all of your quirks and flaws in stride. From the first time you'd lashed out - irritable after a long night of rearranging notes - to the time he'd found you half-asleep in front of the fridge at 3 AM, he's accepted you without hesitation. Time and time again, he'd proven his capacity for kindness, for giving you everything and asking nothing in return.

But you can't help the little voice in your head, the same one that demands love in the same breath it rebuffs it.

"I'm right here with you." As if to drive his point home, Taehyung's hand finds yours and squeezes. He's so heartbreakingly handsome like this, unwavering in his sincerity. "But even if I weren't," he indulges your worries, because he knows he needs to face these demons with you, lest they steal you away, "we'd still be reading the same book. You'd just be a few chapters ahead and that's okay."

Not for the first time, you're reminded of how overwhelmingly good he is. It makes your heart swell ten sizes and you crash your lips to his because you want to and he wants it, too.

"You're so poetic," you muse, withdrawing just enough that your words don't get lost.

He grins and does that same toss of his head, chin cocked as his tongue swipes over the soft pillow of his bottom lip. "O, Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou, Juliet?" He's inching closer, like it's a game, and you're nearly stumbling back, though you have nowhere to go. "Deny thy father and refuse thy name." There's mischief in this expression, setting his smile aglow. "Take all of me."

You only manage to get your taunting response out, a snarky "that's not how that goes" before he's upon you, devouring you whole.

Despite the hunger in his kiss, the way his mouth slants over yours in a demand, it's anything but rushed. He takes his time in coaxing your mouth open, seeking out the warmth with tentative passes of his tongue. You hum appreciatively when he chases yours with his own, catching your bottom lip between his teeth as some sort of punishment for getting away. You think you could do this forever.

So you pout when he withdraws, out of breath and delirious. You think you must look the same, can see it reflected in his blown out pupils.

As if to sooth your ache - it's not enough - he caresses your jaw, the delicate line of your neck, capable hands running the gamut of hot and heavy and soft and searing. He's sprinkling weak kisses where his hands go, following the paths they carve over your exposed skin. When he dips his tongue into the dainty turn of your collar bone, you keen, chasing the sensation when he exhales cold breath over it.

"We have lots of time," he parrots with a grin so smug, so salacious, you want to cry.

You're pouting, fingers curling into the silk at his nape, tugging none-too-gently on the hairs there.

He seems to find that funny, his nose brushing the collar of your shirt, the valley of your chest that he aches to explore. "Patience is a virtue."

"Who says I'm virtuous?"

You're meeting his surprised stare with big doe eyes, a coy smile playing over your kiss-swollen lips. Taehyung almost considers giving in. Almost.

Instead, he returns to the task at hand, trailing open-mouth kisses across the front of your shirt. He's grateful for the flimsy cotton, the way it drapes over you like wrapping paper begging to be torn apart. You're reclined against the cushions but it's not enough - there's no more space for him to nose past your rib cage. He stops; you whine.

"Tell me we can keep going." The words are nearly lost into your skin. He's holding you so intimately, the curve of his cheek pressed to the underside of your breast. He can feel the scalloped trim of your bra. It's not nearly enough. He wants what's underneath, exhales his need in a throaty moan, lips seeking out his hidden treasure.

You don't immediately respond and his head snaps up, a little concerned. But you're not looking at him, lost to the ceiling above and the heavens beyond. You look so hot. He feels his cock twitch and he has to remind himself to wait, to hold out for your breathless yes.

The moment it comes, you're in his arms and your eyes snap to his face, bewildered. He's an anomaly beneath you, equal parts hard and soft. The planes of his stomach are taut but comfortable; he's lean muscle beneath a yielding layer. You've never been this close, body pressed recklessly against his as he carries you to your bedroom. Your ankles lock around him, heel of your bare feet digging into the expanse of his lower back. He says nothing, simply nuzzles into your softness of your neck and smothers you with affection.

"What was wrong with the couch?" It's meant to be mocking but it loses its edge when Taehyung releases you atop your bed, eagerly slotting himself between your knees when your hold on him releases.

His hands are driven, making quick work of your tee shirt, and then he's feasting like a man-starved, taking in every line of your body like he can commit it to memory. "You're so beautiful," he says in response, diving into your skin that begs to be touched, soft as silk and unblemished. He hums happily against your throat, licking a wet stripe from your clavicle to your ear, pausing to bite thoughtfully on the lobe. The sounds you make should be illegal. He wants to hear them forever, until the day he dies.

The strap of your flimsy bra - pretty periwinkle lace, he notes with a quirked brow - twists around his finger and he can feel you staring at him, expectant. When he lets it fall and you huff, he wants to laugh. He doesn't, though, choosing to drop his head to follow the trail of his hands over the swell of your chest. Thumb and then mouth catch, teeth nipping at your nipple in a way that makes your back arch. He flicks his tongue out, circling the pebbled bud with precision, and he thinks he might be stealing the breath right out of your lungs by the way you're coming undone beneath him.

"Sensitive?" He drags the edge of lace down between his teeth until the fabric is caught beneath your tits, showcasing them proudly. He leans back on his calves, catching your wrists with ease when you try to cover up. You're so pretty like this, head thrown back, body on display. Like a piece of art.

He wishes he had his camera.

"You're a tease, Kim Taehyung." You don't know how much he loves it when you say his name like this, a little authoritative and full of want.

Your own personal Adonis settles over you once again, kissing you as if his life depends on it. He swallows you whole, taking all of your moans and pleas like they're prayers and he's your deity. Maybe he is. "Patience, jagiya." You can feel him grinning against you, sweet as sin. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, dragging the edges of your teeth over the sensitive petal.

Now it's his turn to whimper, hand fisting into your hair before relaxing, fingers soothing the roots he'd just pulled.

"I said patience," he repeats. You don't have time to test him again, suddenly encompassed by the feeling of his warmth pulling away, drifting lower. You miss the weight of him, his chest pressed to yours.

But you like this, too, his hot breath fanning over your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. You like it even more when he licks a strip down the valley of your cleavage, inhaling your scent. You're sure you're coloured like a neon Christmas sign, rouge blossoming over your skin where you want more - need more.

"I'm going to be so good to you."

How he manages to be so unrelentingly sweet, even while mouthing sloppy kisses over your bare abdomen, you're not sure. He does it so well, like this side of him is only for you. It makes you see stars. They flicker brightly in your vision, sparked to life with each pass of his lips, each concentrated glide of his hands.

"Look at me." It seems almost impossible that his voice has dropped even further, the lower octave simultaneously exciting and surprising. It sinks like weights in your stomach, forcing your eyes to his face. He's at the edge of the bed, his head ducked against the swell of your bare thigh - when had that happened? - eyes half-lidded as if swept up in dreams. You know he's paying attention when he nips gently at the sensitive flesh, manipulating your softness with firm, unyielding hands. "Do you know how crazy you drive me?"

You thought you'd had a clue - had spied it in the way he kissed you in the morning, held your hand in his - but you were wrong. You realize that now, watching him watching you.

"Show me," you all but whisper. An appeal, a wish, a begging demand.

When he looks at you, it's as if your words are the keys to his heart. He smiles that blindingly handsome smile and dips forward, shifting your calf over his shoulder. You think you might die from the sight alone but you're sure you do - heart stopped and all - when you feel his breath at the juncture of your legs.

He inhales deeply and you blush scarlet, the desire to clamp your thighs shut twitching your limbs. As if he can sense your sudden shame, he redirects your attention with the tip of his tongue. You nearly buck at the sensation, somehow already wound so tight that the feeling is a harsh constriction of the coil in your stomach. You need him. "Tae, please." The sound is a garbled whine, half bitten into the pillows you're buried in.

Luckily, he needs this just as much as you do. He's generous with his love, spreading you wide open and nearly groaning at the sight. You're already dripping, inviting him to sink his tongue into you. He alternates between long, languid strokes along your slit and teasing, penetrating delves of his tongue into your hole. He dutifully ignores your clit. You writhe beneath him and he mimics the motion, grinding his straining erection into the bed. He feels a little bad when the motion jostles you but he thinks you don't care, too far gone in your own blissful heaven to notice.

"Tae," his name barely registers, so caught up in the taste of you and the way you coat his tongue, his lips, his chin. "Tae. Baby. Please." You're keening, teetering dangerously on the edge of ecstasy. You hadn't known how badly you needed this and now it's eating you alive, burning you from both ends until you're left in ashes.

"What, jagi?" Taehyung's the devil in disguise, pausing his ministrations to suck a wet kiss into your thigh. Wet from his own mouth or your juices, he's not sure.

"I need more," you whine, the neediest he's ever seen you. He's so turned on. He curses his choice of pants, the soft cotton too inconsequential against him and his useless rutting. He needs a zipper or your hands or better yet, your mouth. But this isn't about him.

This is about you. He'd come later. Literally.

"Is this more?" The last word disappears, a shot in the dark as he wraps his lips around your aching clit and sucks, simultaneously sinking his middle finger into your feverish core. He groans when your hips undulate with the pressure, seeking out more like the greedy kitten you are. He pumps into you once, then three more times for good measure, before adding his ring finger, endlessly proud of the way you take him to the knuckles without an ounce of hesitation. "You're doing so good," he praises you as if he knows you need it, laving at the sensitive bundle of nerves with unrelenting attention.

He can feel it before you're able to verbalize the words, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your plea careening off your tongue. "Please don't stop. I'm so, so close." A hiccup. Your voice is wet. "Tae, please."

So he doesn't, instead twisting until he finds that spongy spot at the front of your pelvic wall. He rocks against it, fingers tapping with brutal precision. It's what sends you over the edge into an Earth-shatteringly strong orgasm that he fucks you through with tender care, rolling your clit over his tongue and basking in the feel of you soaking his hand (and face and chest).

Your head's still in the clouds when he pops up, triumphant. Even in your fucked-out bliss, you recognize he's drenched. If he didn't look so proud, you think you'd be mortified.

"Well, that's a first."

notes. as @fortunexkookie and @taehyungforreal (two of my main reasons for writing, tbh, and people i fangirl over from afar) once said, kim taehyung remains the reigning king of lovemaking. i hope i did him justice. xo

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary - Chapter 32

Warnings: some smut

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thorsbathroomchicken, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

His eyes flicker open as she returns to bed; lifting the comforter ever so slightly -even the smallest of movements or the faintest of noises often enough to snap him awake- as she slides in next to him. Tucking her back snuggly into his front before pulling the heavy blanket up to her chin. She’s unsettled ; unable to get comfortable, readjusting her pillow several times; repeatedly sticking one foot out of the covers before drawing it back in, continuously rubbing her ass against him in a vain attempt to find just the perfect spot in the mattress. He presses a kiss to the back of her head, then loops his arm around her waist and drapes a heavy, muscular leg over hers. Effectively stilling her movements and providing that weight and pressure that she often craves when having a rough a night. They’ve been few and far behind over the past three years; the Dhaka nightmares rarely making an appearance, and relatively tame when they did. Nothing like she used to experience. That first year following had been rough; there had been more restless nights than there had been good ones, and he’d gotten used to having to calm her down after the nightmares.

“What time is it?” she asks, and he lifts his head just long enough to cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the digital clock on the nightstand.

“Almost five thirty,” he replies, and then tightens the hold on her body and buries his face in her hair. Eyes closing as he takes in her soft, familiar scent. Body soft and warm against his. “Go back to sleep. Lots of time left before we have to get up.”

“I can’t,” she laments.

“Just try,” his hand moves in slow, smooth circles against her stomach. “Just close your eyes and try.”

“I honestly can’t. I’m too busy worrying about when and if I’m going to puke again.”

“That’s like the fourth time this week alone. Maybe…” his hand slides down a bit further.

“That’s wishful thinking on your part. There is nothing…or should I say no one…in there yet. We just started trying two weeks ago. There hasn’t been enough time for things to develop. There’s no way I’d be feeling anything this soon.”

“Just because we weren’t trying before that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. You don’t have to actually be trying for it to happen. We never tried with the other ones. None of them were planned. And it’s not like we just started having sex in the past two weeks. We’ve always had it. A lot.”

She can’t deny that. It has always been a huge component in their relationship. Right from the very beginning in Dhaka; two relative strangers that couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of each other, both igniting something in the other that had been missing for a hell of a long time. And it is the one thing that they’re good at. No…scratch that. The one thing they’re amazing at. Even when things were rocky between them, sex had been the one constant. All the harsh words and the brutal arguments forgotten the second they were behind closed doors and they were able to take their anger and aggression out on one another.

“I am definitely not pregnant,” she says. “I’d know. I think I’m used to it by now.”

“You’ve been throwing up all hours of the day for four days. You’ve been complaining about headaches. Dizziness. That you can’t sleep. That sounds exactly like everything you’ve ever experienced.”

“It’s not the same. I know my own body. I know what it feels like when there’s a baby inside of me. This is not it. This is stress and worry and the fact I miss my kids and I want nothing more than to get home to them. That I’m thousands of miles away from them. From my babies. When there could be some sick fuck just out there watching them and waiting to hurt them….”

“That’s not going to happen,” he pulls her even tighter against him. “There is no one after them. There’s no one waiting to hurt them. And even if there was someone out there, they’re safe. They’ve got Nik and her guys there keeping an eye on things. No one would even be able to get close to them.”

“And they were okay? When you called today?”

“They’re fine. They’re being spoiled rotten and enjoying bossing your mom around and driving her insane. Maybe this will be what she needed to snap that last thread of sanity. Mine snapped a long time ago. The second I had to read fucking Goodnight Moon six times in one night.”

“I thought it was Paw Patrol that did that. That stupid theme song over and over again. Remember how Tanner was obsessed with it and he’d make you put it on repeat on your phone? I think you aged about ten years in those six months. And let’s not even talk about the great potty training fiasco.”

“No. Let’s not talk about that. I may have a nervous breakdown if I have to relive that. You think I have PTSD from the job? No. It’s from having those two. Especially Tyler. What the fuck is up with that kid? Some kind of imbalance from your side of things? “

“Please. He’s just like you. He’s wild and uninhibited and fears nothing or no one. Good thing he was the one that came out first. Because it totally makes sense that he’s a junior. He’s the one that you’re really going to have to keep an eye on when he’s older. He wanted to be just like you before he found out that fight bad guys and safe good people. How he think you’re some kind of super hero and wants to be one when he grows up.”

Tyler gives a derisive snort. “I’m no hero.”

“To him you are. To all your kids you are. To me you are.”

Lifting his head from his pillow, he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I just do what I’m paid to do. Nothing more. Nothing less. And it’ll be a cold day in hell when I sit back and watch any of my kids follow in my footsteps. They’re better than that. They’re better than this life. And they deserve better. No way am I letting any of them do what I do.”

“You know…” she rolls over to face him, chest pressed against his. “…you’re not the horrible person you think you are, Tyler. You’ve helped a lot of people. You’ve gone into some dangerous and scary situations to get peoples’ loved ones back. And that’s pretty damn selfless when you think about it. That you’re willing to put your life on the line to save someone else’s.”

“It’s not selfless when you’re doing it for money.”

“What about Dhaka?” she challenges. “When you found out that Mahajan fucked us over? When you knew there wasn’t going to be the pay out that you expected? You still did everything you had to do to keep Ovi alive. Even when Nik wanted you to just leave him in the street. Even when Gaspar was going to split ten million dollars with you. You still didn’t abandon or betray that kid. And that is selfless. You were willing to die for him. You were willing to die for me.”

“I still am. I’d do it in a heartbeat if I had to. No questions asked.”

“You’re a big man with an even bigger heart. I’m blessed because I get to see that side of you. I get to live with it every single day. You’re not a terrible person, Tyler. You’re a great person that’s been forced to do terrible things.”

He thinks of his loss of control the previous afternoon. When something inside of him snapped as soon as McMann put his hands on him. How easy it would have been just to kill him. With his bare hands. He’d known what he was doing; it wasn’t one of those ‘black out’ moments when he lost his shit and didn’t realize what was happening. He’d been fully aware of what was going inside his own mind; of the power and strength that his body possessed. And yet still he hadn’t been able to stop.

He’d wanted to kill him.

“And they were terrible things…if you want to call them that…that you had to do to stay alive,” Esme continues. “So you could make it back home. To me and the kids.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do so I could make it home.”

“You don’t kill because you want to. Or because you enjoy it. You kill because you have to. And believe me, I’d rather you take someone else’s life than have them take yours.”

He smiles at that, then presses a soft, tender kiss to her lips. He wants to tell her. About how the plan to intimidate McMann into giving him information hadn’t gone exactly as planned. That he’d come so close to making things a hundred times more complicated by killing the man. That he’d felt a rush at what he was able to do; seeing the colour drain out of McMann’s face, hearing him gag and choke and struggle to breathe, the sheer terror in his eyes. But it would scare her. He would scare her. And that’s the last thing he wants.

“You have to promise me that if it comes down to saving yourself or saving the, that you’ll choose yourself,” she pleads. “I know that sounds horrible. It know it makes me sound like a terrible person that I’d even think that, let alone say it. Especially because they’re children and I’m a mother myself. But Tyler, if you have to make the decision, if it comes down to only being able to get yourself out, you have to promise me you’ll do it. That you’ll get the hell out of there. Because I need you. And your own kids need you.”

Sighing, he smooths her hair away from the sides of her face and away from her forehead. “That’s not the job.”

“Fuck the job. Fuck the money. I don’t care about that. All I care about is you. And believe me, I don’t want it coming down to having to leave the kids behind. But if it does, you have to promise me that you’ll worry about yourself first. Because I’m not ready to lose you yet. It’s only been five and a half years. That’s nowhere near enough time.”

Pressing his lips against her temple, he lays a hand on the small of her back and draws her even tighter against him. Chin resting on the top of her head, eyes closed. “I’ll get myself out of there. I promise.”

He feels her smile against him, and she nestles her face into his neck, lips against his throat. The hand that had been on his back sliding up to the space between his shoulders, fingertips tracing the outline of the large Nordic tattoo that graces his skin.

“Now it’s my turn,” he says. “To tell you something.”

“Something bad or….?”

“It got me thinking. About when you said you were worried about me going to meet McMann alone. Because we didn’t know for sure if he was on the up and up. He can’t be trusted. He’s shown that time and time again. So I called someone. For help. That would have my back.”

“I thought Nik said there wasn’t anyone that could help? That the three of us were pretty much on our own. And if Yaz was with me…”

“I called Mark,” he admits, and she draws back to look at him. “Which I’d never thought I’d ever do a million years. But you were worried and it got my brain fucking with me and I didn’t want to take the chance that it was all a set up. He’s the only one there was. Trust me, I would have called someone else if I had the choice.”

“And he actually showed up?”

“He’s not my favourite person and I know I’m definitely not his. But he did what he said he would do. He’d said he’d show up and he did.”

“Well, one thing he always was a good solider. When it came down to protecting other people, he was loyal to a fault. I wasn’t one of those people, mind you. “

“Which is exactly I didn’t want to call him. Because of everything between you too. And I still want to kick the shit out of him, just so you know. But I needed someone to keep an eye out. Half my back if I needed it. And he did. He showed up and he kept an eye on things. He keeps his word, that’s for sure.”

“Until you’re married to him. And then his word means shit.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not into guys and I’m already married,” he teases, and kisses her softly. “I almost killed him.”

“Who? Mark?”

“McMann. I went into just wanting to scare the hell out of him. Put enough fear into him that he’d crack and give me the information I needed. But things went south. Quickly. And if Mark hadn’t have been there, this entire thing would have been well and truly fucked. I would have screwed everything up. It would have fucked things up even worse and made things even harder.”

“Tyler…” her eyes narrow, brow furrows. “…what did you do?”

“It’s what I almost did. Everything went fine. At first. I got him off guard and scared the ever loving shit out of him.”

“Physically?”

“Well, yeah. That’s how I do things. I’m not a psychological warfare master like you are. I go in and fuck shit up and I leave. So I went there to scare the shit out of him and it worked. It was the last thing he expected and he almost pissed his pants.”

“But…”

“But I fucking snapped. When he started to retaliate. I lost my shit. Completely lost it. I almost killed him. I almost choked him to death. And you know what? I wanted to do it. I knew exactly what I was doing and I didn’t want to stop. I wanted him dead. And part of me still does.”

She falls silent. Slightly unnerved by his confession. He’s not usually the type of person that revels in the chaos and violence he finds himself embroiled in. He doesn’t take pride in having to take the life of another a burden that has always weighed heavily upon him. Killing for him is…and has always been…about survival. Self preservation. No matter how much he hated someone, how badly they’d betrayed him, no matter how perilous the danger was they brought upon him, he ever revelled in the fact that he’d had to resort to such drastic acts.

“I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn’t black out. My brain didn’t zone out. You know how it goes completely blank and I don’t realize what I did or said until later? When it all starts coming together?”

She nods. They’ve had many fights just like that. Where something inside of him has snapped and he’s been fully unaware of the things he is doing or saying.

“That didn’t happen. I was in total control. I knew what I was saying. What I was doing. I had my hand around his throat and I watched him struggle to breathe. And you know what, I liked it. I like that I had that power over him. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to kill him.”

Her eyes are sad as she reaches up to clear his hair away from his forehead.

“Don’t like at me like that.”

“Like what? I’m just…”

“Like it makes you sick to look at me.”

“Tyler…” she pecks his lips. “…I could never look at you that way. Your brain is telling you that I’m looking at you that way. Trust me, I’m not. I understand where you’re coming from. He lied to you. He’s been lying right from the start. He brought you into a crazy messed up situation. Which in turn brought me and the kids into it. Of course you’re going to be upset. Anyone would be.”

“But like that? To lose control that bad? That’s not me. When I snap, I don’t remember the things I said or the things I’ve done. I’m not aware of it at the time. I just lose it. I don’t think about it. This was different. I knew exactly what I was doing and I knew I didn’t want to stop. I wanted him dead.”

“Is he still walking around and breathing? Is he still on this side of the ground? If you can answer yes to any of those questions, you were able to control things. A lot of people wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Mark stopped me. He’s the one that stepped in. If he hadn’t have been there….”

“But he was. He was there to protect you. To stop you from making things worse. I know he’s not your favourite person. And trust me, he’s not mine either. But he at least showed up. He could have just said ‘fuck you’ and not bothered. But he was there and he stopped you. That’s the important thing. He stepped in and McMann lives to see another day. Which means those kids live to see another day.”

“Do you realize how worse I could have made things? Or how bad things might get? What if he decides to try and take me out…or have someone else try and take me out…because of it?”

“He won’t. He needs you. He knows he won’t get his kids back without you.”

“He could come after you. Or send someone after you.”

“He’s not that stupid. He’s a liar and a sexual deviant, but he’s not stupid. If he did something like that, you’d know it was him and he realizes that. Which only puts an even bigger target on him. He’s crazy, but he’s not that crazy. And lets look at this from your side of things. He lied to you. Right from the beginning. He brought you here because he wanted you to blow things up and cause all kinds of shit and then take the fall for it. And then he brings your family into it. Especially your kids. Anyone would snap over that.”

“I’m not anyone,” he argues.

“You’re a goddamn human being. You’re not a machine. You have feelings, you know. You have moments of weakness and anger and everything in between. You have to let yourself feel things, Tyler. No matter how much it unnerves you. It doesn’t make you weak because you have weak moments. That’s all in your head. That’s your father’s doing; putting it in your head that any emotionally based reaction makes you less of a man.”

“Are you sure you weren’t a shrink in your previous life?” he grins. “Because that sounds like something a shrink would say.”

“I don’t need to be a shrink to know that your dad is quite possibly the most toxic person I’ve ever met and he had no right trying to raise you to be just like him. And I meant what I said. You’re nothing like him. You never will be. So you need to let go off all the shit that he’s put on in the last forty years. Get all that crap out of your head. Because you’re a far bigger and better man than he could have ever hoped to be.”

“You really do have a lot of faith in me.”

“I do,” she admits. “And trust. And love. I happen to love you, you insufferable pain in my ass.”

“I bet right about now you’re thinking that’s the worst decision your brain ever made.”

“Actually, it’s the first time I ever let my heart overrule my brain. And I think things worked out okay.”

“I do too,” he says, and the kisses her. Much longer this time yet still as tender; closed mouth upon closed mouth, her nails lightly scraping down his back. And he pushes his hand through her hair; gently gripping the silky strands between his fingers as he feels her tongue pushing against his teeth. He grants her access. The kiss deepening, one of her legs coming up to wrap around his waist, heel of her foot pushing into his ass. Allowing himself to pulled on top of her. Letting her take the full burden of his weight for several seconds, until he plants a palm on the mattress and lifts himself off of her.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “I mean are you really are okay? Not just with what’s going on. Not with just this job. With everything. With life. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Well, what do you know? What is your brain telling you?”

“That I’m fucked up and I need professional help.”

“That’s something we can work on. When we get home. I think it might be good for both of us.”

“It’s telling me that things are getting worse. I’m getting worse. The memory problems, my temper, all the pain.”

“And that scares you,” she states.

He nods. “I’m worried one day I’m going to snap like I did on McMann. That you’ll say something totally innocent and that my brain will take it the entirely wrong way and I’ll just lose it. And I don’t want that happening. I don’t want to be reacting towards you the way I did with him.”

“You won’t.”

“How can you be so sure? How can you have that much trust in me?”

“Because you know I’d kill you,” she’s only half joking. “You know I would beat the ever loving crap out of you. And I know you’d take it because you’d hate yourself for hurting me and you’d know you deserved a shit kicking.”

“I’d kill myself. If I ever hurt you or the kids. I’m not joking. I’ll end it if I ever get to that point.”

“You won’t,” she assures him. “You won’t let yourself get to that point. I know you won’t. It’s not that I have an extra ordinary level of faith and trust in you. It’s because I know who you really are. The kind of person you are when you’re not on the job. I’m the only that gets to see that. Experience it. You’re not a bad person, Tyler Rake. No matter what your brain tells you.”

He kisses her again. Longer. Most intense. His free hand tangled in her hair, tongues in each other’s mouth. Her hands beginning that slow, methodically exploring of his shoulders and back. And she giggles against his lips when he presses his already rock hard cock against her.

“Can you tell what my brain is telling me right now?” he asks with a grin.

“That’s not your brain talking, Tyler. Unless your brain packed up and moved south.”

“What do you think is sending the messages down there?”

“No. No. I think it pretty much things on its own when it gets to this point,” she says, and then laughs and wriggles underneath him when he sucks a little too hard on the side of her neck. “I swear to God if that leaves a mark….”

“What are you going to do about? You weigh a buck fifteen soaking wet.”

“Asshole,” she grumbles, and then grabs a hold of his hair and yanks painfully hard, using his initially startled reaction to get her knee into his stomach and push him over onto his back. “You were saying…” her grin is wicked as she straddles him.

“That doesn’t count. I let you do that.”

“Mm…hmm….” She leans over to press a series of kisses along both sides of his throat, over his Adam’s apple and across his collarbone. “What’s your brain telling you now?” she asks with a grin, his hands on her thighs, fingers biting into the fresh.

“My brain’s clocked out. I’m only listening to my dick now.”

“Yeah? And what’s that telling you?”

“That it wants to put a baby in you.”

She grins. “Very good answer.”

****

“You guys are good to go,” Yaz says, over the two way radios they each wear in their ear, the transmitters clipped to the hip pockets on their jeans. They’d been expecting his call; parked half a block away from McMann’s house, engine idling as they waited to be given the all clear. “He left ten minutes ago. Satellite isn’t showing any other cars or warm bodies within a half a kilometre radius on either side. There’s no one watching the house.”

The ruse had worked; Mark calling McMann and arranging to meet him half an hour away to ask him more questions in regards to the wife’s background and her possible hand in snatching the kids. Depending on how the ex Marine could stall for, it gave them at least ninety minutes to search the property without worrying about McMann showing up unexpectedly. The radios would make communication a lot easier; Yaz could use remote satellite links and neighbourhood security cameras he’d hacked into to keep and eye one the outside and alert them if any possible trouble was on the way.

“Make sure you guys keep in contact with me. And each other if you get separated for whatever reason. I’ll keep an eye on the outside. You guys do what you have to do inside. Good luck. Hopefully you find something.”

Tyler kills the engine and shoves his keys into his pocket. It’s safer to walk; less chance of anyone spotting the unfamiliar vehicle in McMann’s driveway and alerting either him or the cops. They paused at the back of the car and he pops open the truck; a handful of weapons and other paraphernalia hidden under the false floor. Including a smaller sized Kevlar vest that he removes, tearing open the Velcro fasteners and then holding it over her head.

“Arms.”

“This is going a little overboard don’t you think?”

She’s nervous enough without thinking about what the bullet proof vest represents. While going into the house the first time had been anxiety inducing, the second time has her feeling nauseous. Her nerves are on edge and have been since his confession that he’d wanted to kill McMann the day before. It was something she’d never thought she’d hear; that he could actually get joy out of taking another human being’s life. It was acceptable when he had to do it; killing a means to an end, ensuring his own safety and survival. But to hear that he could have easily done it and have no lingering remorse. He didn’t scare her; he’d never given her a reason to be afraid of him. But she was scared of the lingering effects of years on the job and PTSD were doing to him.

“Arms,” Tyler repeats, and she obeys the requests. “It’s just better to be safe than sorry,” he reasons, and then pulls the straps tight around her sides and across the chest.

“In that case, you should be wearing one too,” she points out, as he removes the transmitter from her pocket and then clips it to her left shoulder.

He sighs. “Don’t start.”

“I wouldn’t be the only one they shoot at if someone shows up,” she says, as he clips his holster -Glock already securely inside- to his waistband. “How come I don’t get one? How come you get all the cool toys?”

“I’m the muscle, remember? You’re the brains. It’s always been that way. It’s why it works as well as it does,” taking her face in both his hands, he presses a kiss to her forehead before adding, “Why we work so well.”

“Holy shit, you’re actually admitting it for once. That we make a good team.”

“When have I ever denied that? We make an amazing team. Even way back when in Dhaka.”

“You mean when you thought you were my boss and completely order me around.”

“Well, technically, I do have more experience so I was…in a way…in charge.”

“Still delusion. Even five and a half years later. That’s okay, baby. I’ll let you think you’re the boss. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Let’s compromise. You can be the boss at home, I’ll be the boss when we do things like this, yeah?”

“Okay,” she relents. “I’ll give you that. But only because of your fragile masculinity.”

He snorts.

“So who’s the boss in the bedroom then?” she inquires, as they fall in step alongside of each other.

“You have to ask that? It’s me. It’s always been me. Because that’s the way you like it. Don’t tell me you’re going to pretend that it isn’t. That you don’t like when I get all mean and shit and boss you around and pull your hair.”

It’s the farthest they’ve taken it; aside from extremely rough sex. Her penchant for ‘fuck me like you hate me’ sex has been an ongoing and much enjoyed them for five a half years now. He draws the line at anything more intense; refusing to call her degrading names or using any other kind of physical force. He’s much bigger. Far more powerful. And often didn’t have a grasp on just how strong he actually is. And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

“I can’t believe we’re even talking about this right now,” she laments.

“Yaz can’t hear us unless we press the button. So…”

“No I mean talking about this like there’s nothing majorly serious going on here. We’re talking like it’s just another day and we’re talking just a normal walk somewhere. It’s kind of….weird.”

“What are we supposed to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Something job related.”

“We can talk about that shit when we actually get to where we’re going.”

“Do you think he can pull it off? Mark? Do you think he can actually spew enough bullshit to stall McMann long enough for us to get a good look around and get the hell out of there?”

Tyler shrugs. “I don’t know. He spewed enough bullshit to me when he came to our house. If he puts even half the effort into McMann that he put into me, he could be holding him off for hours. He really think’s highly himself, yeah? Mighty big chip he has on his shoulder.”

“He’s actually pretty tame now. He was worse when I first met him and married him. Shit! Dog walker.”

An elderly woman crosses the road and makes her way towards them; a yapping and feisty toy poodle on the end of a retractable leash.

“She’s going to see the vest. She’s going…”

“Just relax,” Tyler says, and then pulls her into a long, deep kiss, both arms wrapped around her slender body, drawing her tight against him and effectively hiding any sign of the Kevlar from the other woman. Who merely calls them ‘kids’ and grumbles about the inappropriateness of their very public display of affection. And he keep as a hold on his wife as he watches the elderly woman and dog continue on their walk. Never given them a second glance over her shoulder and then disappearing around the corner.

“I’m impressed,” Esme grins, as they continue on their way. “Very effective. Nice thinking on your feet. You kiss everyone you work with like that?”

“Only the cute, tiny brunettes,” he says, and gives her a playful nudge with his elbow.

“Go through here,” Yaz’ voice comes through their ear pieces. “There’s an alley way between the back of this house and the back of McMann’s. There’s a gate to his place. Can’t tell if it’s locked or not. Someone may have to hop the fence.”

Tyler looks at his wife, eyebrow arched, amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Why would have to be my job.”

“Because you’re smaller and can probably climb it a lot faster than I do. Come on. Take one for the team. You climbed the fence when we were at Mahajan’s place.”

“Only because Ovi was too scared to do it. You’ve got longer legs. It would take you less time to get over it.”

“What’s the saying? Good things come in small packages? You might taste better to the guard dogs and keep them occupied while I get in, get what we need, and get out.”

“You’re such a dick,” she grumbles, and he playfully tousles her hair and then takes her by the wrist, pulling her backwards and tucking her behind him. If there was anyone watching them and waiting to ambush them from the alleyway or McMann’s backyard, at the least the bigger and stronger one would the first person they’d encounter. He stood a better chance at fighting someone off than she would.

They make it through the backyard of the first house; bypassing an inground pool and an elaborate guest house, then stepping through an unlocked wrought iron gate. The squeak accompanying it seeming a hundred times later than what it should normally. Trash and gravel crunch and pop under their feet; the alleyway in such a high class and influential area at look more disgusting that they’d thought it would be.

“No lock,” Tyler says, as he tests the latch in McMann’s gate. “Looks like you don’t have to work too hard today. Sorry. You don’t get the chance to commit B and E again.”

“You’re just full of smart ass comments today,” she mutters, as he holds the gate open for her and allows her to pass through before once again stepping in front of her. And she takes the opportunity to smack his ass. Painfully hard. Both hands. “Nice bum where ya from?”

“What are you? Like twelve?” he’s grinning at he says it.

“Not my fault you have a crazy hot ass. This was place is insane…” she takes in their surroundings; an enormous kidney shaped inground pool with a twelve person hot tub and smaller pool solely for swimming laps alongside of it. Immaculately landscaped grass and garden areas, outdoor showers, a guest house, a three tiered wooden deck, even an area that boasts an outdoor kitchen and living room space. Immaculately landscaped grass and garden areas. “What kind of jobs is he taking that he can afford to live like this?”

“All this is not from the job,” Tyler says. “There’s no way. You know what kind of payouts you’d have to be pulling in to not only afford all this but keep it up? There’s no way you’d be able to do all of this and take care of it just being on the job.”

“Maybe it’s her money,” Esme suggests. “Old family money. The Buckmans were into some pretty shady shit. They have been for decades. Just what are we looking for?”

“An entrance. Something that leads into a bunker or a cold cellar or a storm shelter.”

They split up; each taking a side of the house and working from the very back of the yard and moving slowly towards the deck. Shoving furniture aside, kicking away piles of loose grass and debris that could possibly be covering up a doorway. The possibility become more and more remote the closer they get to the rear of the house; turning their attention to the sides.

“Tyler!” Esme whispers, sticking her head around the corner of the house. “I think I found it.”

He keeps an eye on the surroundings as he joins her; eyes surveying the windows, not just of McMann’s house but his surrounding neighbours. Making sure that someone hadn’t heard them moving around the backyard and were now peeking out from behind curtains and through the slats of mini blinds.

“This?” Esme asks hopefully, and nods down at wooden double doors that sit flat against the grass. “Is this what we want?”

“Exactly what we want,” he replies. “Good job, babe.”

The smile says it all. The way she happily gives a little bounce on her heels.

“Shit. Locked. Go and find a rock. About this big…” he makes a circle with his hands, roughly the size of a baseball. “…or anything else I can use to break it open.”

“Shoot it,” she suggests. “You have a gun.”

“You don’t think someone will hear a gunshot and call the police?”

She frowns. “Very good point.”

“Make sure you keep an eye out. For anything. For anyone. We don’t know for sure that there’s no one watching. Just be careful.”

She nods, and then hurries off around the corner and into the main area of the backyard. He stands; hands on his hips, eyes sweeping back and forth between the windows of adjacent houses, the back alleyway, and down the narrow path between this home and the next.

“Here,” she says as she returns, with one of the bricks that she’d pried out of the dirt; being used an ornamental border around one of the gardens. “I didn’t see or hear anything weird. You?”

“Nothing,” he takes the brick from her, then crouches down in front of the doors. “Give me the sweater.”

She shrugs out of her hoodie…his hoodie…and passes it over. Whether it’s nerves or the slight breeze in the air, she crosses her arms over her chest and rubs at her bare arms in an attempt to warm them.

“Here,” he slips his gun from his holster and holds it out to hear. “You see anyone come down this path or come in from the alley, you shoot them. Don’t ask questions. Just shoot. Got it?”

She nods.

Tyler lays the sweater over the lock, muffling the sound as he smashes the brick down on top of it. The first one breaks the dial, while the second causes not only the entire lock to shatter several into several pieces, but tears off one of the door handles.

“Please tell me you brought a flashlight,” Esme laments, as he opens the doors. “Because this has shades of disgusting Dhaka sewer written all over it. It’s been five and a half years and that smell is still stuck in my nostrils.”

“Wait here, keep an eye on things, and I’ll tell you when it’s okay to come down.”

“What if someone is down there?” she frets.

“I have a gun,” he motions for her to hand the Glock over. “They probably don’t. So it’ll be okay. Just wait here. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t go around snooping or whatever you want to call it. Just stay here and don’t move. Anyone comes in the yard, just yell. I’m not going far. I’m just looking to see if there’s electricity down there.”

She stands at the top of the stairs, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, once more folding her arms across her chest as she watches him journey down the stairs and then disappear into the darkness. She can hear the faint drip of water, the rustle of the soles of his boots as he passes over dirty and whatever debris may be down there. Then furtively glances around the yard and down the path towards the road, then to the back alley and up into surrounding windows. Breathing a sigh of relief when a light flickers on below.

“Be careful,” Tyler says, as he stands on the second bottom step and offers a hand. “The stairs are steep as shit.”

“What’s it smell like?” she asks, as she curls her fingers around his hand. “Because the last time you made me go into a place like this, I threw up in my mouth. A lot.”

“It smells damp. Like a basement. Doesn’t smell like shit. And there’s no rats. So….”

The cellar is impossibly narrow; he has to turn slightly to the side, shoulders too broad to fit in the space, and a protective hand falls on the small of her back, guiding her in front of him. The walls are brick; cracked and faded in some spots, weeds and mould growing in some of the crevices. Floors are a mix of dirt and concrete; cracked and worn in a number of places. Above them, bare light bulbs hang from a single strand of wire.

“It goes pretty far back,” he nods down the hallway. “There’s a couple of rooms off of it. Might be more.”

“It’s like some kind of bunker,” she observes. “What the hell have we walked into?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But lets get to work.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character

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f0x-meets-w0lf · 5 years

Text

please read (if you have a lil time)

hey my pals, so i never really thought i’d be the type of person to do this, but i’ve mentioned starting up a patreon/ko-fi/paypal link a few times in the past and was met with enthusiasm and support (because y’all are angels). i know that at this point posting on tumblr is basically equivalent to yelling into a dark cavernous void and hoping someone else hears, but... it’s the only place i really have, haha. twitter stresses me tf out and tumblr is all i’ve known for like 10+ years; the great tumblrocalypse can’t deter this ol’ tumblrer.

SO anyway, here’s the deal - being an independent adult in los angeles is expe$$$ive af and my life gets increasingly more insane and stressful as my career continues to grow. it’s an honor and a humbling blessing to be busy, of course, but it has come at a price -- my ability to do much of anything else is very limited, and tattooing is an expensive job. needles and tubes cost a shit ton, ink costs a shit ton, machines cost a shit ton, everything costs a shit ton. and on top of my daily job expenses, i’m in the process of trying to open a private studio, which is def going to save me some money and sanity in the long run, but is also going to cost me a shit ton up front (and always, monthly, forever, lmao).

you might be thinking, hey, don’t tattoo artists make a shit ton of money? shouldn’t it be chill?

in short: no. at least, not me, haha. some artists definitely make a shit ton, and those artists are certainly living cushier lives than most of us. (i’m mainly taking about artists who are well established, well known, ‘insta-famous’ or otherwise famous, etc. -- artists who charge literally thousands of dollars as their minimum for any tattoo, artists who require a $500 deposit just to hold an appointment slot, etc.)

however, one of my biggest efforts that i make as a tattooer is to try to remain accessible to my audience, which is largely made of of young queer people who are crippling under the weight of this expensive city/life/world just like me, haha. i try to keep my prices as fair as possible while also paying myself a living wage AFTER the 50% cut (per tattoo) that my boss takes (this is pretty standard for the tat industry). i barely charge anything for all of the time that i spend researching and sketching for a design before the appointment/tattoo session itself even happens. morally, i don’t want to charge people any more than i personally feel is fair, and learning to value my own art and time has been a bit of a learning curve for me, to say the least, haha. (you know it’s bad once your clients start telling you you’re undercharging. like, who says they want to pay you more money unless they actually mean it?! haha.) but like, morally, i can’t sit here charging people out the ass for tattoos. i want to keep my personal minimum & other pricing as reasonable as i can.

in addition to the everyday costs of being a tattoo artist, i also have lots of life expenses like everyone else, and lately, some of those life expenses have expanded into health-related issues. issues that largely are spanning from my job (bad tendinitis in my wrist, bad back and shoulder pain from constantly hunching and getting into crazy positions to get the right angle for a line, headaches caused by eye strain from starting at small needles vibrating into people’s skin for 8+ hours a day, just to name a few) -- as well as issues that i’ve been trying to ignore because of the recovery time getting in the way of making money at my job (long-overdue wisdom tooth extraction to take out these impacted bbs, chiropractor evaluations/sessions to see how we can fix my effed up spine/neck from a bad car wreck last year, among other things).

as an independent american artist, i don’t get any free/included benefits; i pay for my heathcare and dental care out of pocket every month, and it costs me several hundred dollars. it would be cool if that wasn’t the case - benefits would be awesome - but i will literally never have a job with heathcare or a 401k, and that’s just a fact of life. it helps a little bit to have insurance, but even still, full costs are never covered, especially the more specific and/or frequent of treatments/doctors’ visits that you require.

SO. all rambles aside, i’m really here to say that i’ve finally started up a ko-fi page. i want to start a patreon so you guys can like, actually GET something for your money, but i know that realistically i don’t have the time to make content for patreon right now, and even if i did, my wrist can’t really keep up with doing any art outside of my work at the moment. (see: bad tendinits. also: part of the reason i’m imploding a little all the time, lmao.)

money stresses have been really weighing on me lately, and i know that $3 here or there doesn’t seem that significant, but honestly, anything helps. i want to be able to keep sharing and creating art for you guys, and would absolutely LOVE to get back into fandom again - if i weren’t so worried about making enough money to survive in LA 24/7, maybe i’d actually be able to scrounge up a little time for that again.

please share with your pals, if you feel obligated, and thank you all so much -- i seriously think you are all amazing, and i appreciate your support in any and every form, whether it’s just reading this post and sharing it or actually throwing $3 at my ko-fi or following my tattoo instagram. you guys are the bee’s knees and i love y’all. for real for real.

#help #i'm panicked all the time #internally mostly #externally i'm good at like #pretending things are chill #and compartmentalizing my stress #but WOW literally all i can ever think about in the back of my mind #is money #and how i just want to have enough of it #to open my own space #and to feel like... moderately secure #so that i can actually relax and like #breathe for a sec #and have a semblance of a life #outside of work #maybe?#ko-fi #this post has been sponsored by #5am insomniac anxieties

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years

Text

The Light in my Darkness - 1

Pairing: None yet

Warnings: um...no

A/N: We’re setting up the story, folks so no interaction yet. Hope you like it and it lives up to expectations. :)

****

You hurried into the Red Eye Café, slipping off your jacket as you came through the door. “Sorry, I’m late.”

Curtis was in his usual spot behind the counter, looking more linebacker than diner owner. He looked up at your announcement before waving you off as if it wasn’t important. And to him it wasn’t. He and his wife Maria had opened the little diner when they were in their mid-20s. Now, they were in their fifties and had three grown boys and twice the space.

They treated you like family and that meant they weren’t overly put out if you were a couple of minutes, or even a couple of hours, late. You cared more than they did, truth be told. Curtis finished topping off someone’s coffee and glanced at you as he put the pot back. “Everything all right?”

You nodded as you tied on an apron. “The mailman came right as I was leaving. I stayed until he finished.” You held up the large envelope clutched tightly in your hand. “They’re here. All of them.”

“Maria, she got the letters,” Curtis called through the window to his wife. You saw her wipe her hands off on a towel before she came out of the kitchen.

“Well, let’s see what you got, baby. Don’t keep us in suspense,” she ordered as she came to stand beside her husband. You grinned as you dumped out the envelope of mail from your father’s house. His butler collected it all week and then would send it on.

You pulled out the four envelopes you’d been waiting on and laid them on the counter in front of you. When you announced at the end of your previous semester that you were dropping out of business school to pursue a degree in art, your father had cut you off completely. Well, he would in less than two weeks when the new semester started and you weren’t enrolled in your business classes. These were the letters that would tell you how much financial aide you would be receiving to help with school.

The letter from the art school was first. They had their own scholarships and grant programs and you’d applied for everything you were eligible for. You unfolded the paper and ran your eyes over the text.

“We think you for your interest. Your status is below. Blah, blah, blah.” Your voice trailed off and your brow furrowed as you took in the list. Denied. Denied. Not awarded. Not qualified. What the hell?

You ignored Curtis and Maria as they asked what the letter said and dropped the paper onto the counter. You grabbed the envelope for a state grant and skimmed that letter to find more of the same. As you feared, the two federal grants were no better. You licked your lips as moisture pooled in your eyes. You dropped your head into your hands.

“Not even a dime,” you said, knowing your bosses were waiting for the verdict.

“What? That doesn’t make any sense.” Curtis snatched one of the letters off the counter to read it for himself.

You lifted your head. “I don’t qualify for any sort of aide because my father makes too much money.”

“But he’s not helping you pay for anything,” Maria argued.

“They don’t care. He’s capable of it, so they won’t help me.” Tears overflowed and ran down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. There’s still student loans.” His voice took on the soft tone he got when either you or Maria were upset.

You shook your head. “Not without him cosigning. And what’s the point of an art degree if I have to pay back thousands of dollars of debt when I graduate. I’ll be paying off loans until I’m eighty. Shit.” You shoved the papers across the counter. “Throw those away. I can’t stand to look at them anymore.”

“Maybe you should try talking to your dad again. Maybe he’ll see that you’re serious about art school and help you out. He could loan you the money at a lower interest rate.” Maria looked so hopeful you almost felt bad for snorting in disbelief.

“I wouldn’t bet on it. He’d probably charge me double.” It wasn’t that your father disliked you or anything, but he was used to people doing as he said, you included. And he wasn’t beyond doing whatever he had to enforce that compliance. The disappointed look on Maria’s face had you backtracking a little. “I’ll call him as soon as my shift is over.”

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Nonsense. This is more important. You call him now.”

There was no point arguing with her. Maria always got her way. You gave her a nod and pulled out your phone before heading through the kitchen and out the back door. You leaned against the building and called your father.

“Rumlow.”

He always answered the phone like that. As if he were too busy for any sort of formalities or niceties. It bothered you maybe more than it should have, but you had been raised by your mother for the first ten years of your life. A more courteous, kind person had never existed. You were the product of a youthful indiscretion as your father put it. Though his parentage had been confirmed by a DNA test, you looked nothing like him. All your features came from your mother to the point you could have been mistaken for her clone. You even carried her last name.

In rare moments, your father would really look at you and tell you how much you reminded him of her. The thread of regret in his voice always made you wonder if that was a good or bad thing. You shook your head, knowing you were only putting off the inevitable. “Hello, Dad.”

There was a brief pause “Y/N. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“I want to borrow some money.” You forced the words out.

“Borrow?”

You sucked in a breath to steel your nerves. “Apparently the school doesn’t care that you are refusing to pay. I don’t qualify for any of the financial aid I’ve applied for because you make too much money. The only option left is student loans.” You braced yourself, prepared to listen to his insane requirements for lending you the money.

“No.”

His outright refusal took you a minute to recover from. “Just like that?”

“Just like that, Y/N.” He sighed when you didn’t say anything. “Listen, I know you don’t see it, but this is for your own good. You’ll thank me in the long run.”

You hummed low in your throat. “You think so?”

“I know so. With a business degree, all sorts of doors are open for you. Hell, you could work for me when you graduate. Take over the company someday.”

You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that would be the last thing you’d be doing. His company was involved in too many things that didn’t set right with you. Nothing illegal, but some of it was damn sure immoral. “Business doesn’t interest me, dad. I gave it a shot like you asked, and it wasn’t me. You know that.”

“What I know is that is a choice you are making and a damned stupid one. I don’t have to agree with it and I sure as hell don’t have to support it.” He was near shouting by the end.

“Okay. I get it.” You hated fighting with him.

“No. I don’t think you do. But you will. This was the last month I will be paying your rent so I suggest you make other arrangements. I doubt you can pay it on your own with what you make at that diner.” When he told you to get a job in high school, the diner was not what he had in mind. He’d offered you a job in his company mailroom and you’d decided to wait tables instead.

The line had gone silent. “Dad?”

No response.

The bastard had hung up on you.

A sob tore its way from your chest and you did your best to suck it back down. You hated that you got like this, but you couldn’t help it. Every time you fought with your dad, you cried. It was stupid, but unavoidable apparently.

You swiped the tears from your cheeks and focused on breathing. You needed to calm the hell down and get back to work. Not wanting to get sucked into a lengthy conversation, you tapped out a text to your best friend Wanda.

You had met her and her twin Peter the first week of your freshman year. You all attended the same private high school. Wanda was a fellow artistic soul and the two of you quickly became inseparable. Peter was a track star who inexplicably liked hanging out with the two art nerds. When he died in a car accident your Junior year, Wanda almost faded away with him. Slowly she healed and things were as normal as they could be with part of your trio lost for good.

The two of you were supposed to look at apartments later this week so you could live together just off campus. There was no way you could afford to do that now. You weren’t even going to be able to attend classes this semester. If you called, she would only argue with you, claiming she didn’t need you to pay any rent. And she didn’t. Her father was as well off, if not more so than your own. Unlike your own, he’d actually encouraged her to attend art school. But you couldn’t let her pay your way. You wouldn’t.

Text sent, you slipped the phone into your apron and swiped at your eyes again, hoping there were no remnants of your tears remaining. You stepped inside the door and were immediately wrapped in a tight hug by the petite Hispanic woman you worked for.

“I am so sorry, baby. I listened, I couldn’t help it. I was worried.”

You hugged her back. Honestly you didn’t mind that she had eavesdropped. It kept you from having to repeat everything. Joshua, their middle son glanced over from his spot by the grill and looked you over. You gave him a little wave.

“Someone make you cry? Do I need to have a word with someone?” His gruff tone had you grinning. All three of their sons treated you like a sister, including being a bit overprotective.

Maria clicked her tongue again and waved her son off. “It’s just that father of hers.”

He nodded and turned back to the food he was cooking. You phone buzzed in your pocket as it rang. You ignored it, knowing it was Wanda. You didn’t feel like crying again right now.

“We have a spare room. And you know you can have all the hours you want. Study between customers. Just like Jericho.” Jericho was their youngest son who was in the middle of getting his law degree.

“Don’t do it, Y/N. It sounds nice but don’t be fooled,” Joshua called over his shoulder, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Oh, stop it you,” his mother chastised before turning back to you. “And you get to work. This will all work out. You’ll see. Just have a little faith.”

#clint barton x reader #clint barton #hawkeye #hawkeye x reader #series #the light in my darkness #avengers #sugar daddy au #clint barton sugar daddy au #avengers fanfiction #clint barton fanfiction

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kellyzeagman · 5 years

Text

Hello from the cruise ship in Singapore!!

What a crazy last few days. I guess I should back track a little bit, even though it might be a little hard because everything has been such a blur. Firstly, the airport in Toronto. Definitely extremely hard to leave. The entire time I was there with my parents I felt like I was having an our of body experience and watching myself from the outside. I had never felt so uneasy about something in my life. Obviously I was so excited to start this new chapter but my nerves definitely took over. I have never lived more than 20 minutes from home, nor have I ever spent more than a month away from friends and family. So, getting on a plane to live on the other side of the world for 5 months was extremely terrifying. I tried my best at not acting like it, but I was definitely feeling it. After I said goodbye to my parents and got through security, pretty much the only thing going through my head for the next hour before getting on the plane was “what the F*** am I doing”. It was 100% the most overwhelming moment i’ve ever experienced. Once it took off, there was obviously no turning back, which changed the game and I had to sit in this new reality for the next 20 hours of travelling. I was doing this whether I liked it or not. I liked the idea of what was about to happen, but wasn’t too fond of leaving. The plane ride to Hong Kong was 15 hours. It was also such a blur. I honestly don’t know how I made time pass by myself. I felt super lucky because I was able to pick an aisle seat online but once I got on the plane, I found out it was right beside the bathroom. I could quite literally lift up my left arm and touch the door. People opened and closed that door for 15 hours straight. I wondered why this aisle seat hadn’t been taken, but now I do :D. But hey, at least I could stick my legs out and always have my own arm rest. I probably only slept for a combined 3 hours, so I don’t know how the other 11 seemed to go by decently quick. Watched a few movies, listened to some podcasts and basically pondered what the hell I was doing and why I was doing it. There were quite a few young children on the plane and a decent amount of crying (bless ear plugs). However, they made up for it because TRULY, there is nothing like a little toddler walking up and down the aisles of a plane to bring everyones mood up and provide a little bit of entertainment and give everyone the feels. Finally, we landed in Hong Kong and I had one hour till my next 4 hour flight to Singapore. I was able to lay down on the sexy airport carpet for a bit and then quickly got on my next flight. I was beyond exhausted and wanted to just pass out as soon as we took off. It wasn’t a busy plane, so there were quite a few empty rows. Part of me didn’t want to be annoying or a bother and lay down across the seats when no one else was, but thank god I did. I would’ve punched myself in the face if I decided to not because it was so worth it and I will never see those people again. Passed out across 4 seats until we landed. Amazing. We landed in Singapore at about 6:30pm. I wanted to store my bags so that I could explore a bit of the INSANE airport. While struggling to carry my 3 heavy luggage items to storage, I managed to completely destroy the “pull up” handle on my suitcase. The handle literally cracked off and snapped out from how heavy my bag was. If I went to pull my suitcase, the handle would completely come out and the suitcase would drop to the floor and I would have a piece of metal with two prongs in my hand. I now have to pull that suitcase using the tiny little leather handle. It is truly horrible and I can’t wait to never touch the suitcase again until March. Anyways, I wanted to go see “The Jewel” at the airport. I’m planning on posting a picture of it at the end of this, but if it doesn’t work, google it because it is crazy. I went there for 7:30 because there was a light show. The Singapore airport is like a different planet. Everything is so futuristic and obviously very expensive. Very much similar to “Crazy Rich Asians”. The Jewel is basically a mall with stores and restaurants, but the middle has been made into an enormous waterfall that falls from the ceiling and the entire space around it has been made into a jungle/forest. I can’t really think of how else to explain it. I was a little bit sad watching the light show and exploring the airport by myself, because everywhere I looked around people were with friends and family and then there was just me by myself. ~Maybe I developed some personal growth~ Anyways, if you’re ever in Singapore- go to the Jewel!! Definitely worth it to go see, and free. I then lugged myself and my broken ass suitcase to catch a taxi to go to the hotel. When I checked in, the guy was like “your roommate has already arrived” I was so confused because I obviously thought I would have the room to myself and was ready to just pass out. Luckily, my roommate also happened to be a youth staff and was starting her 5th contract. I ended up staying up longer than I wanted because I asked her about 100 questions. It was such a relief to get to chat to her about the job and what cruise life is like. And so great that my first friend I made was going to be someone I would be working with. If I had been alone in that hotel room that night I feel like my head would have exploded, so I’m so glad it worked out the way it did. We went to bed at 10:00 and I totally thought I would pass right out until our alarms went off, but i’m silly and have never experienced jet lag before. So basically I think I only slept for 3 hours and just tossed and turned and panicked the rest of the night. When we waited for our shuttle the next morning to take us to the cruise ship there were two other new hire youth staff members waiting outside. This is also their first time working on a cruise ship, which was definitely comforting. I feel like everything just played out perfectly that night and morning which made everything much, much easier. The shuttle to the cruise was about an hour drive, so we got to see some of what Singapore has to offer. Super clean, lots of buildings, seems very rich.

The boat I am working on is currently in a “dry dock” where it is getting a 150 million dollar renovation. The total time in the dry dock will be around 5 weeks, and they are about half way done now. We got dropped off in the shuttle and had to walk our luggage about 400m to where we could enter the ship. It wouldn’t have been that bad if I had a suitcase on 4 wheels like every other sane person. And if it wasn’t 45 degrees. I looked like an absolute fool struggling to wheel my broken suitcase, with a 20lb duffle bag over one shoulder and a backpack over the other. I thought we would walk on the ship on a nice ramp, but because it is in dry dock, that wasn’t the case. We had to lift all of our suitcases up the most narrow 10 stairs i’ve ever seen in my life and pull them across a metal plank that was barely wide enough for any of the luggage. Luckily I’m not afraid of heights, because it was damn high. And not above water. The ship is literally out of water during this dry dock. Can you even picture a cruise ship out of water? It’s crazy. The amount of work and labour going into it is hard to wrap my head around. The first three days have just been filled with a ton of paperwork and training and touring around the bottom of the ship. I can’t believe i’ve not even been here for three full days yet, it feels like it has been a month already. We aren’t allowed on any upper levels that guests would go to because of all of the construction. However, I did get to briefly see a bit of deck 5 which is where one of the main guest areas is and I have no idea how they are going to be finished all of this in time. Literally everything is getting revamped. Everything. There is an unfathomable amount of things to get done still and to clean up. They have hundreds (if not thousands) of people from all over the world working on it on top of the 1,100 cruise staff that are also helping to do things. Everywhere i’ve seen on the ship is a sea of contractors in blue jumpsuits working 24/7. Its a mess, but a good mess.

Starting my contract during the dry dock has been great because there won’t be any guests on the ship until mid October. Everything has been extremely laid back in terms of training because there is not a rush. Myself and the other new hires are also super lucky because we do not have any duties during this time. Mostly everyone else has to be on “fire watch” where you are supposed to supervise a part of the ship for like, 6 hours and make sure a fire doesn’t start. Very glad to not be doing that. So when we aren’t doing training, we can kind of do whatever we want, which mostly involves napping or laying in bed. Jet lag is truly something. I’m in a temporary room right now until I can get placed with another youth staff. The room is a legit shoe box and everything is crammed, but I knew this would be the case. I currently am on a top bunk and cant sit up without bumping my head. It’s tricky to get out and requires some core strength. I’m also living out of my broken suitcase because I don’t want to unpack everything and then have to pack it all up again in a few days when I move. The last two nights i’ve gone to the crew bar where all the staff can drink, apparently some people go every single day, even when they are working. I’m now ready for a chill night in bed after the last 2 days.

It’s crazy how many different people i’ve met from all over the world in just 3 days. I’ve met 3 Canadians so far and one happened to be an engineer from Burlington. I was wearing a mcmaster t-shirt and he came up to chat. Small world. I think there are over 70 different nationalities working on the ship. Talk about a melting pot of culture. The food here is looking like it might be a bit tricky for me as a vegan. It has been the same stuff pretty much every day (pasta, salad, rice, potatoes, peanut butter sandwiches and fruit for me). Apparently the food gets better once it is out of dry dock, so we shall see. I’ll also be able to eat at guest restaurants once they are up and running. Unfortunately/also kind of fortunately, it looks like I wont be having any sweets or desserts until March. I have to make my dark chocolate from home last! It’s going to be so weird (but kind of nice) to not cook or clean any dishes for the next 5 months, though i’ll definitely miss being able to make whatever I want.

Dry dock is looking like its going to be pretty repetitive and similar every day. I’ll have more to share once things get rolling and when we actually start working. I’m already missing the autumn weather that is going to be coming soon at home, it is so unbelievably humid and hot here and is only gonna get more intense. I think tomorrow we are able to get off the ship and go to Marina Bay Sands and Gardens by the Bay at night time.

I’ve posted some pics either above or below this text post of the airport and one panorma of the back on the ship’s view in dry dock. (not supposed to post any pics of anywhere on the ship during the reno)

Cheers

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storiesnobodyreads · 6 years

Text

Introduce me

Characters: Bucky Barnes x reader

Story: Bucky wants to be introduced to your parents but you dont really wanna cos your parents suck. Bucky tries to convince you/blackmail u all the time and finally he wins a bet.

Warnings: abusive/neglecting parents, fighting, but also love and fluff

A/N: yay I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for so long and it feels good to finish things.

You tried to remember how you had gotten yourself into this situation. Bucky by your side, silently moving his fork around in the disgusting, brown-looking mashed potatoes, opposite you were your parents, who judgementally stared at you and your boyfriend as if it were a staring contest in which only they were participating.

This sucked. You wished it had never come to this.

Bucky had been wanting to meet your parents for a very long time. Quite frankly, he was insulted that you hadn’t introduced him sooner: as if you didn’t take the relationship seriously. You did. You just didn’t want him to experience the horror to meet your parents. As much as you appreciated everything they had done for you, and they were still your mom and dad, you despised visiting them. They always made you feel like a failure. Nothing you did was ever good enough. Ever.

Nevertheless, Bucky never ceased to grab the opportunity to get you to introduce him to your parents. “Because I want to meet the people who created you,” he’d offered as an explanation when you’d asked him why on earth he was so determined considering this. The second reason was because he’d lost his family a long time ago, thus he insisted on appreciating every sort of family member that he had. It was this second reason that got to you.

Often did Bucky attempt to blackmail you, but he’d never had the proper leverage. He once took an embarrassing picture of you from an unflattering angle, showing you with three double chins and one eyelid closing slightly faster than the other, while you were taking a bite of pie. “I’ll delete the picture if you introduce me to your parents,” Bucky had tried to make a deal. “If you don’t, I’ll show it to all the Avengers.”

You had politely declined. Bucky had then proceeded to show the photograph to all the Avengers, which was awkward but much more endurable than having to sit through dinner with Bucky, mom and dad.

One day, you and Bucky had gone out to dinner and afterwards decided to take a walk through the natural park in your neighbourhood, enjoying the golden hour and watching the sky light up pink as the sun set. Birds chirping, squirles gathering nuts, leaves flying peacefully through the air. Everything looked gorgeous, and with Bucky’s hand in yours, it all became even more stunning.

The two of you were peacefully strolling over a bridge, at least thirthy meters above a wildly raging river, when you made a bad decision. “Do you know what would be awesome,” you offered suggestively, “If you could jump off this bridge. You know, and do a triple salto like the pros.”

It was completely a joke and Bucky took it completely seriously. He smiled broadly. “If you want me to do it, I’ll do it.”

You realized your mistake instantly—the fact that Bucky was prepared to do anything for you. “Bucky,” you sighed deeply, “As much as I love you, even you, Sargeant James Barnes, Winter Soldier, cannot possibly survive a fall this high. So do me a favour and just give up.”

He cocked up his eyebrows in indignance. “You don’t think I can do it, doll?”

“I don’t—“ you started.

Before you could even finish your sentence, Bucky interrupted you. His eyes started shining as if he had got struck by the greatest idea in the history of great ideas; he looked like there quite literally lit up a lightbulb above his head. “What do I get from you if I jump?”

You rolled your eyes. “A dollar.”

“I am about to risk my life,” Bucky spoke up exaggeratedly, emphasizing risk my life. “I’m not gonna do that for one dollar.” He held a dramatic pause. “I will, however, do it if you’ll introduce me to your parents.”

A little laugh escaped your lips. Not for a second did you think he was actually going to jump. “Sure, Buck, but you—“

“You said sure!” Bucky gestured excitedly. “If I jump, you’ll introduce me to your folks. Now you promised. No take-backs.” It was ridiculous how childlishly exhilarated he became by all this. In a wild movement, he pulled you toward him by your forearms and kissed you firmly on your lips. Then, suddenly, without saying another damned word, he swirled around and jumped. Straight over the railing.

It was as if he had slammed all the oxygen out of your lungs. “Bucky!” you shrieked, throwing yourself toward the edge. Hearing his scream over the roaring river, you could just see him plunge into the water with an enormous splash. He fell in flawlessly; his body firmly in pencil-shape.

“SHIT!” you screamed, staring at the gaping cliff below you, hoping and praying and wishing that Bucky would come up. You stared desperately for what felt like eternity—finally, his head bopped up through the hostile surface. You couldn’t quite make out whether he was alive and swimming or dying and drowning. Before you know what your body was doing, you were running over the bridge as fast as you could. All your training with the Avengers, with the strict supervision from your boyfriend, kicked in as you sprinted to the side of the bridge, then jumping down and parcouring all the way down the rocky hill. You flew over the stones; heart beating insanely fast while panic clouded your senses.

Bucky was standing, you observed as you could hardly keep your balance when you reached the sand on the banks of the river. He was standing. Alive. ALIVE. You were still sprinting faster than your legs could carry you, now into the river, toward Bucky.

Bucky welcomingly spread his arms as he stood knee-deep in the shores of the rushing river. “Mr and Mrs Y/L/N, here I come.”

You shoved him against his chest. Tears were burning in your eyes. You were pretty sure you had never felt so many extreme emotions before. “Jesus Christ, Bucky!” you hoped to say it angrily, but the words came out rather like panicky sobs.

The smile on his face quickly vanished when it occurred to him you didn’t find this as hilarious as he did. “Okay, babe, calm down—“

You shoved him again, causing him to stumble backwards. “I thought you were dead! I honestly didn’t think you could survive this!”

“Argh,” Bucky did tiredly when you tried to hit him again but he effortlessly caught your arms. You struggled, but he didn’t show any recognition of your struggle. “Will I make it better or worse when I tell you I’ve done this before with Steve?”

You stared at him. “Yes—no.”

He stood there grinning with that stupid, boyish smirk on his face, very aware that he had shocked you but also very aware that you were already forgiving him.

The emotions were still swirling inside of you, to the extent that there really was only one reaction possible. It came so out of the blue, even the Winter Soldier didn’t see it coming. You climbed onto him, wrapping your thighs around Bucky’s neck, then threw yourself backwards into a summersault to slam Bucky to the ground. Only when he was fully underwater, did you release the grip you had around him. It was a particular move that Bucky and you had practiced a thousand times, mostly because he enjoyed the move a little more than he probably should.

He had started teaching you to fight three days after you had joined the team of Avengers. You weren’t an actual Avenger, no superpowers or actual skills, but you were an engineer. Quite a good one, if you dared to say so yourself. By working incredibly hard, studying your ass off, doing everything in your might to become better, you had managed to catch the eye of the one and only Tony Stark. You had become his intern and was now his assistant, helping him whenever you could, otherwise working on your own projects that Tony always declared to be mind-blowing. The Avengers had soon recognized your talent, noticing Tony’s face light up with pride every time you dropped by with a new invention for them, and everyone had welcomed you with open arms.

Three days into being Tony Stark’s official assistant, and it was publically known, Hydra wanted you. You, being an unprepared city girl with no experience in fighting whatsoever, was easily kidnapped walking down the street. The van stopped, two men jumped out, wrapped a dark bag over your head, pushed you into the van, and drove off.

It shouldn’t have been that easy, but it was.

Thankfully, the Avengers had immediately come to action after you had slammed the emergency bulb you carried in your pocket, setting off all the alarms in the Stark Tower. “We had no choice but to go rescue you,” Tony had later complained, “You were the only one who knew how to turn off those alarms.”

Bucky had been less capable to joke about the situation; he was furious that you had been taken by the enemy so effortlessly, and insisted that you’d learn how to fight. You’d told him you’d do it, but only if he’d be the teacher. And it was pretty clear how that relationship turned out.

You realized your thoughts had gotten slightly off-track; you had been chewing the same piece of carrot for a full minute.

After years and years of being around your parents, you had grown used to the fact that they didn’t respect you. But it bothered you to hell that they didn’t respect Bucky. First, they had wasted half an hour staring at his metal arm, their expressions filled with fear and not-so-subtle disgust. They had then proceeded to ask Bucky to put his coat back on and keep his hand underneath the table, so that they would have to see it as little as possible. Bucky had been polite about it. He was used to people being scared of him.

It was almost hard to describe how much you hated them for it. There was an uneasy feeling in every nerve of your body—only half-way through dinner you realized this was what it felt like to really want to punch someone in the face. Hate.

“How did you two meet?” your mother asked, voice cold and lips pursed.

Bucky put his fork down and leaned back in his chair, glad to start up a conversation. “Actually, it was Tony Stark who introduced us. See, your daughter is one of the brightest engineers on the planet, so of course she caught Stark’s eye, and he recruited her. She instantly proved invaluable to the team. I think she’s the most intelligent person I’ve ever met.”

“Hmm,” your mother did, shaking her head a little after Bucky finished his last sentence.

Bucky didn’t miss the nonverbal signal she was sending. “Excuse me?” he asked for an explanation.

“You just give her a lot of credit,” she shrugged disapprovingly. “Without the education that we provided for her, she would have been nothing in this world. She might be able to study, kind of, but if we hadn’t given her the chances we have given her, she would have been completely worthless.” Never mind the fact that you had worked insanely hard to make money to provide for the entire household during highschool, and despite that had managed to get a scholarship for a University.

Bucky’s eyes were wide. “I mean, what does—“

“Yes,” you interrupted him, “Thanks, mom and dad, for everything you did for me. I would have been nothing without you.” You had learned over time to get the words over your lips without vomiting.

Bucky glared sideways at you, his eyes shining confused. Offended for your sake.

“Dad, why don’t you tell Bucky about your business?” you suggested. He did, and that was it then. That was the last time you were mentioned in the conversation or that you even said anything. Your parents didn’t want to talk about you or your life; they didn’t care about you or your life. They wanted to talk about themselves. The only way you could come up in the conversation, was when it would make them feel better; by either emphasizing it was thanks to them you were successful, or remembering what a failure you actually were. You had always found this quite a conundrum.

“I almost cancelled that meeting for Y/N’s tenth birthday party,” your dad was telling Bucky about the meeting in which he had been offered a promotion. “Boy, was I glad I didn’t! No one showed up to her party anyway.” No one had showed up because everyone was scared to death by your parents; you’d later celebrated your birthday in class because the teacher and the kids wanted you to feel happiness when you reached the age of two hands.

Your mom laughed. “That’s right, dear,” she smiled evilly. “She didn’t have any friends. No one likes her.”

Bucky’s fist was balled so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“You’d think that her having no friends would mean that she’d spend more time helping out in the house, but no, lil missy here was always too good to clean a table. Like I said before, quite a worthless child.” Your dad seemed to have a good time talking about this to Bucky.

“After her tenth birthday party failed so miserably, we gave up on her birthdays,” your mom added. “We knew that no one was ever going to celebrate her. So after that, we always went on a nice vacation, to Hawaii or something alike.”

Bucky’s jaw was hard as he was clenching his teeth. His jaw did look sharp as if it could cut you. “That’s nice,” he brought out politely. “Must have been cool to spend your birthday in Hawaii,” he said to you.

“Oh, no,” your dad laughed out loud. “We didn’t take her with us. Why would we take some stupid child to ruin our holiday?”

Bucky looked so shocked, he came up with no response.

“Not that all children are horrible,” your mom intoned, completely misinterpreting his mood. “I’m sure you were a lovely child. Before you lost your arm, that is.”

Your dad agreed, “Yes, you are quite the gentleman.” The old man leaned forward over the table, making it look like he was going to whisper, but his words were as loud as before. “Tell me, Bucky, why on earth are you with our daughter?”

“Oh!” your mom snapped her fingers excitedly as she got an idea. “She paid you to pretend to be her boyfriend, didn’t she?!”

Bucky’s expression promised a storm. “No, I—“

“How much did she pay you?” your dad went along with it whole-heartedly. “Must have been a lot! She’s such a nobody, foolish and worthless, and you, well, you are a superhero!”

Your mom nodded. “Must have been a million bucks, for someone as talentless and dull—“

All of a sudden, Bucky rose to his feet. Promptly and aggressively, making the glasses of wine spill and the cutlery rambling. He angrily threw his napkin from his lap on the table. “I love Y/N,” he spat out the words. “I love her so much I didn’t even fucking know it was possible to love someone so much. And you—“ He inhaled sharply, having trouble finding the words. “Just because you cannot see what an incredible woman your daughter is, does not give you the right to speak about her like that. You are family. I can’t even wrap my head around how you can act this way.” Roughly, he shoved his chair backwards and held out his hand to help you up. “I mean, come on.” His voice dripped with disapproval. “Have some damn respect.”

The looks on your parents’ faces was priceless.

Bucky’s metal fingers tightly held your hand as he steered you out of the house, not allowing you to say another word to your parents. You had never seen him this mad before, except perhaps after you had gotten kidnapped by Hydra.

He didn’t let go of your hand until he had the door of his jeep open for you to enter. After you had climbed into your seat, he slammed the door shut behind you, making the vehicle shake. He moved around the front, took his seat behind the wheel, grunted something about “no idea what family means”, and as soon as the car was started, hit the gas to jolt of your parents’ property.

“Bucky?” you tried to say.

“I love you, but I need a minute to calm down, okay?” he breathed out.

You could feel yourself shrink, as if he had stepped on your soul. Softly, you replied, “Okay.” For a year you had managed to prevent this occassion. You had known that it was going to be a disaster since the beginning. But perhaps you had overestimated the strength of your relationship. Maybe this was the thing that pissed Bucky off to the point of no return—that you had made him loose faith in the concept of family.

You sat there worrying for quite a while. Bucky drove and didn’t speak. His silence was deafening. You couldn’t figure out what he was thinking or what he was going to say; soon the unrealistic fear that he didn’t love you anymore settled in. God, did you love him. You couldn’t imagine your life without him.

After what felt like hours, Bucky finally spoke up. “Your parents were wrong, you know.”

You sighed, feeling relief wash over you that he was saying words to you again, but also feeling very tired. You didn’t want to talk. You could predict a preach coming, one that Bucky had undoubtedly picked up from the righteous Steve, and you didn’t want to hear it. Sharing your feelings sucked. “I know. I refuse to argue with them, so I let them think they’ve won. I get the satsifaction of knowing they haven’t.”

“As much as I respect that approach,” Bucky started carefully, “I don’t think you—“

“Do you want to listen to some music?” you interrupted him. Now that you knew he didn’t hate you nor did he want to break up with you, you realized the absolute last thing you wanted to do was talk about your mommy and daddy issues. You preferred ignoring the problem until it just went away. You knew Bucky had been a fan of that method, too, until he had found you to talk to.

Bucky tensed his shoulders as if he intended to protest, but you had already arranged the music anf turned up the volume to its highest extent, blasting Bruno Mars across the dark, abandoned road. No one was out and driving in this neighbourhood on a Tuesday evening. No lanterns. All there was, was the risk of hitting a deer crossing the asphalt.

Soon you found myself getting absorbed by the stars, your forehead firmly pressed against the icy glass. You attempted to seek out constellations, but you were constantly welcomed by so much light from the moon and stars that all you could do was gawk. Mouth agape.

After at least an hour of driving through enchanting no-man’s-land, Bucky abruptly switched off the music. Only when you snapped your neck to look at him did you realize your neck muscles were aching. “What is happening?” you brought out insecurily.

“I’m pulling over,” Bucky informed you, while instantly following up on his words, stopping his jeep on the side of the road. His metal arm whirred in readjustment.

You still hadn’t the faintest clue what his intentions were. “Are we out of gas?” was your simplest conclusion.

Bucky threw the door open and leaped out of the car, leaving the engine roaring and the headlights shining bright. Stomping on the muddy grass, hands in his neck to help him breathe, he stood in front of the car. His silhouette perfectly outlined by the headlights—you were painfully reminded by how gorgeous he was.

“James?” you asked quietly. His name brought up no reaction, though it should have, since you only called him James during intimate times. Slowly, you made your way out of the car and joined Bucky to stand by his side.

“Okay, here goes,” growled Bucky, his eyes fluttering open when he sensed your warm presence beside him. “I don’t think you should let your parents talk to you that way. That makes no fucking sense. But that’s not why I’m mad. That’s your parents’ fault. Apologies, but they fucking suck. They don’t deserve you. At all.”

“Wait,” you still had to catch up, “What are you mad at me for?”

“For not fucking telling me!” Bucky busted out. “Doll, I have told you everything there is to know about me. My whole past, all my fears, it’s all out there. I talk to you. You have to talk to me too.”

For some reason, you could only think of that once he’d said it. After helping him overcome so many traumas, he could help you, too. Though the things you experienced were on a significantly smaller scale than Bucky, it was still troubling, and Bucky still wanted to help. You couldn’t even remember how often Bucky had woken up from a nightmare, screaming, bathed in sweat, occasionally attacking you with his metal arm, the one that had been so wired to do the killing. It had taken a long time before he was willing to talk about it. It had taken an even longer time for him to stop trying to push you away every time something happened. However, once he had accepted that you weren’t going anywhere, the relationship had grown all the more stronger.

“Bucky, it’s not that easy--”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Bucky demanded, his full body and full frustration now turned to you. “Doll, you’re the one who convinced me to share my feelings, talk, talk, talk. And now I find out you haven’t been talking about the thing that bothers you most. I guessed your parents were shitty but I never knew it was like this.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, aching your ribcage. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you exclaimed. “You have enough on your plate as it is. You don’t need my childish mommy and daddy problems on top of that. It’s fine! I learned how to deal with it. I just didn’t want to fucking bother you with it.”

Bucky’s eyes flared dangerously as he stepped in closer to me. “I want you to bother me!” he yelled. “I want you to tell me everything that’s on your mind, every little thing. I want to know everything about you because I love you, and I want you to trust me. I want you...” He inhaled sharply, seeing your shocked expression, taking a step back. Took a deep breath. “I just want you to bother me. Like I bother you.”

There were tears burning in your eyes. “I’m sorry. I... I guess I tried to protect you from my stupid problems but you’re right. I wanted you to bother me, too.”

“Okay,” Bucky was focussing on his breathing, probably counting to ten. It had started to rain. There were only several raindrops one second, then ear deafening thunder boomed in the distance, and suddenly rain came pouring from the sky without a shred of mercy, instantly draining you to the bone. “Well, shit,” he growled. “I hadn’t expected the day to go like this.” The furious fire that had been awakened in his eyes was slowly mellowing, and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue despite the rain.

You shrugged, wiping a tear from underneath your eyes, which also didn’t matter thanks to the rain. “I kind of did. I knew it was going to be a disaster.”

“All this because I jumped off the bridge, huh?” Bucky smiled a little, picking up your gesture and removing the smudged mascara from under your eyes. “Listen, I love you, crazy parents or not. I’m glad you introduced me. Feel like we took a step today.”

“I hadn’t expected this, but I’m glad I introduced you, too,” you said. “I mean, you really showed them. Told them what you thought and then got the fuck out of the house. That was... Thank you for that. I love you so much.” You were still crying, but they had transformed themselves into happy tears, and mingled with the rain streaming down your face. Your hands cupped Bucky’s face, holding him close.

Bucky’s hands, flesh and metal, were on your waist, pressing you closer to his body. “I love you too,” he whispered against lips, his hot breath sending chills down your spine.

You shivered, inhaling the smell of him, strengthened by the heavy rainfall. “We did enough talking and sharing feelings for today, right?”

Bucky couldn’t get himself to properly respond, and firmly pressed his lips on top of yours. He held onto you and you held onto him, both with so much passion and adoration, you realised it didn’t matter how much you would ‘bother’ each other. You’d always love him, and he’d always love you.

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