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deadpool15 · 6 months

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Underwear?

"Hello, vlog. I'm currently in the kitchen. You can obviously see that if you have fucking eyes. I'm sorry, sometimes people will be slow. So, a couple of things have happened, first being I got MARRIED." Lyric says while smiling at the camera. "I've just been sitting in my house, living life. I got married in January, so it's been like a couple of months and I know what you thinking your this man done turned our girl into a fucking housewife. No, well shit I mean, the dick is good soo." I laugh while walking towards the refrigerator to grab out the ingredients for the pasta dish I'm making. Just a little simple meal, because I mean you got to save the best for last am I right. Yall know I'm right.

I managed to score me a 6'2, beautiful ass model and actor combined. Yea, that shig was definitely on my bucket list, I mean I was thinking more of a tall women like that video game with the zombies but, shit it's not like I fell short or anything. I met Byeon during Paris fashion week, during a bathroom accident. And by that I mean I walked into the wrong fucking bathroom because I was distracted and lost as fuck. I turn about towards the camera after explaining the situation. "I mean, I'm pretty sure that shit happened to everyone before to all of you. Agree with me, please. The sad part is this isn't the first time I've walked into the wrong bathroom. Let me live, ok. So, back to the story."

Flashback

"Omg, I'm going to fucking piss my pants. I'm too old for all this running and shit. A bitch is about 4'11, therefore I'm not athletic enough either. Sir fucking move." I practically scream at the random man blocking the entrance, ofc he tries to stop me but I pay him no mind, and immediately run into a stall. "This stupid fucking dress." After about what felt like 12 minutes I was able to use the bathroom. I walked out only to walk face first into a door, I looked up and saw a face. "Shit, dude, you are basically built like a wall. Wait, isn't this the women's bathroom, or do you identify as a women. If so, I'm totally sorry, ma'am." He looks down at me smirking before I notice this is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. "Shit, dude, you look like you were made by AI, I mean young lady."

It takes me a moment to realize he is speaking to me. Fucking beautiful specimen. I know his dick is big. Wait shit no what's wrong with me. Well, I'm obviously horny as shit and he could totally fix that issue. "This is the men's restroom, or you lost?" I look up at him basically staining my fucking neck shit this dude is tall, he could totally break my back. Wait, stop it. This is the men's bathroom, which explains why that dude tried to stop me from coming in here. "Yea, I am lost, sir. I was trying to find the womens bathroom, though that's obviously too late since I've already used the bathroom, and well, you know."I should walk you back them, just in case you get lost and wander into another's men's bathroom and some other guy gets the chance. Strange girl." I blush while looking around the bathroom." "Yes, you should be kind, sir."

Present

I start mixing all the ingredients while I finish telling the story, smiling at how the memories make me feel. "So. I'm just gonna let this cook for 30 minutes, and it should be done. I had already prepared the recipe last night, so everything is pretty much good. Anyways, how yall doing? Oo shit, this is a vlog, not a live video. Yea, I'm just gonna edit that out. I don't need yall thinking I'm slow and shit." As I finish speaking, my phone starts going off, and someone is literally blowing up my phone. "Acting like I owe child support in this bitch. I don't claim any foreign. Oo shit yall it's just my MAN." I smile once I see the contact.

Myman- Hey baby, are you busy ?

Mymam- Are you even up, I know you don't wake up til like 4 in the afternoon.

Myman- I was just checking in, baby. We got a break on set, and I told the staff that I had to speak with my wife.

Myman- There is this random girl that kinda won't leave me alone, not that you need to worry, though. I handled 👏 it.

Babycakes- I'm up

Babycakes- Who tf is bothering you, baby? If I need to come out there and check a bitch I will.

Myman- No, baby, nothing like that, I promise, just a little flirting.

Babycakes- Say no more say no more say no moreeee

Babycakes- I'm on my wayyyy

I gathered everything and headed to the car, and before I knew it, I made it on set. "So, since they still kinda filming, I can't bring yall. We'll I can I just like can show yall shit to be honest. So, I mean yall can we my man. My husband. So, let's go." I get out of my car walking up the security guards who greatly remember me and allow me in without a fight. "Omg, yall I thought I wad gonna have to be the anger black women in this bitch, anyways let's find our target." I walk pretty much all over the set saying him to everyone including Lee Yoon-mi. "It's my favorite strong girl. Guys, look at my girlfriend." She laughs hysterically at my comment. "Hello, to Lyrics vlog, stop saying I'm your girlfriend before your husband tries to take us apart." I kiss her cheek while hugging her, asking where would Byeon be right now. "He should be in his trailer. He heard you were coming and got all excited and locked himself in there, saying he was waiting patiently for his love." I laugh at how dramatic he is before telling yoon bye, leaving to finally get to him.

I spot the trailer that lists his name on it before knocking. "Are yall excited to see him, I mean, I am." I wait a while before I hear him at the door, "I told you all. I'm kinda busy." He opens the door staring at me wide-eyed. "To busy for me, sir." Byeon immediately grabs me and yanks me into the trailer, turning off my camera before I could introduce him to everyone. "I fucking missed you so much," I stare at him shocked since he is literally smelling me right now. He grabs my ass while pushing me further through the trailer, "You look so pretty. It's too pretty to walk out of the house. Fuck other people probably saw you didn't they?" "Ofc, they saw me baby I had to ask for your location, duh? What's wrong?" He grabs my jaw while pushing me against the Makeup table. "Don't sass me right now, I've been waiting forever. Sitting here hard thinking about fucking you until you can't walk. Seems like I didn't do a good enough job last night. Let's fix that."

"W-wait baby, we can't do that here," though it seems like my voice means nothing to him because he has already pushed me down bending me over. "But what if they hear, and I'm pretty sure you have to be on set soo- "Come on baby, don't make me beg. You know you want it to, and that's why you came here dressed up for me. All pretty for me." Before I can protest further, he starts fingering me slowly, causing me to moan out loud, and he stops. "Your sensitive baby, why are you sensitive? That would mean you were touching yourself earlier. Shit your already about to cum. I'm gonna have to punish you for that."

#byeon woo seok #strong girl nam soon

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godsstrongestwhmfucker · 9 months

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Barbenheimer: Hell is Real and We Built It

Last night I decided to commit to the meme of watching both Barbie and Oppenheimer on the same day. I had a bit of a mix up with the movie theaters, turns out that constructing movie theaters following the philosophy of Californian Starbucks is actually detrimental, but I digress. I was fortunate enough to have a two hour break between both of these films in order to let them properly digest. In fact, they’re still being broken down as I write them, so my thoughts are a bit more sporadic than I would usually have them when committing my thoughts to text. I have nothing but good things to say about both films, plotwise, I’ll try to stay away from any major spoilers, focusing more on themes rather than the story aspects of both stories. The Oppenheimer section will be riddled with spoilers, but I will mention that when we get there so you may skip that section.

Barbie was a bit of a shocker to me. I’m no stranger to stories that like to get on their soapbox, but Barbie was strikingly different. I wasn’t annoyed at the message the same way I was in regards to The Alchemist or Netflix’s Sabrina: The Teenage Witch. I make the connection between those three as they are incredibly loud about what they’re trying to tell you, they break a very fundamental rule of writing I hold very close to me: Show, don’t tell. None of those three tell as much as line up a series of megaphones directly next to your ear and yell their message, but Barbie executed that in an oddly entertaining way that felt real, felt genuine. When watching the characters loudly exclaim the issues of society, it’s not the writers telling me that patriarchal attitudes make life as a woman difficult, it’s someone’s mom venting to her friends, it’s raw.

The movie very loudly exclaims the issues of American, hell, Global patriarchal issues and the division it causes in men and the problems it causes women. Any system in which one group is the one in control inevitably oppresses the other while creating mass expectations for the oppressor that in turn are a source of anxiety and depression. Being in the position of power in turn chains us from any form of self-expression and creates societal expectations for the oppressor group. We refer to this issue in men as toxic masculinity (TM).

This is the opposite side of what we’re going to call Testosterone Poisoning (TP). TP is a voluntary and conscious thing, me taking action to look like a refrigerator with limbs because it’s what I want and it’s what makes me happy is entirely different to (TM). TM is doing things not because it’s what makes me happy, but because of the societal expectations that have been imposed upon me. To put it in layman’s terms, TP leads to himbos and TM leads to Andrew Tate. TP is self-actualization through masculinity, being masculine is your personality, you show up to the party driving the biggest fucking obnoxious vehicle but still give the right of way because in your meathead brain God has constructed you to be the epitome of goodness and virtue. You are the second coming of Christ with 3 scoops of protein. TM is none of that, as it fails at the act of self-actualization and instead follows the concept of conformity, you are no longer Todd, you are a man.

Which leads to my next point, why is that bad? It’s the dissolution of identity. Mike works out because he’s Mike, he likes lifting heavy objects because it’s a way for him to cool off after work. Todd works out to pick up chicks because some dude on the internet told him women like huge arms(which studies have actually disproven, women actually prefer you have a massive dumpy) and that he needs to have sex to be a man. I’m not going to say much other than Ken himself doesn’t actually like the image of what a man is in a patriarchal society and states he didn’t even like it at all nor that he found joy in it. The expectations of society to fit in to a specific gender norm/expectation made him unhappy, even if he was in a position of power. Combating the issue for women is just as problematic, though. Barbie and the mother acknowledge this in the end, as Barbie realizes that following these societal expectations of what female empowerment are accidentally have become her own chains. Society itself is a prison that we created ourselves because every idea of what we should be is shoved down our throats. You cannot be happy with yourself because of society's own expectations and fighting those expectations confronts you with more expectations of what the counterculture should be. If you’re a woman, in any position, say astronaut, you’re no longer just an astronaut. You’re a role model, you’re someone that all little girls should aspire to be. Anything you do will be judged because the society we live in simply does not want you to succeed.

Being happy with yourself in any society that does not see all as equal is simply not acceptable. As a man, you have to fulfill certain requirements to maintain that image of masculinity because it's expected of you, you are not yourself, you are a man, and you should act like one. As a woman, don’t you dare step out of line or we will find faults in you in every way possible. Don’t be single either, because you “aren’t complete” unless you’re in a relationship. Think about that for a second. Consider how many people online think that all their problems will be solved by having someone in their life and think about how many times you’ve heard the line “You complete me” in film. Again, society expects things from you, that you can’t self-actualize until you’re in a relationship. You’re not allowed to be happy until that American Nuclear Family ideology happens, because that’s what a happy ending *should* be, but is it? I’m not going to answer that for you, but finding out that I’m a massive Bible-Thumper and High Fantasy nerd did more for my mental health than any relationship I’ve been in.

I’m going to take a minute in regards to Allan(Michael Cera). Allan is perfect, Allan doesn’t abide by the gender norms, he is not “a man,” he’s Allan. Allan, if anything, is disgusted by the societal expectations of society and finds happiness in staying Allan. In a place where all the Kens choose to adopt the same personality, Allan retains himself as Allan and chooses to escape because that society is detrimental to his own self-being. I relate with Allan, it’s hard not to. Young boys are told not to play with dolls, like the color pink, or even grow their hair out sometimes, because it’s simply not “manly.” I’ve grown up with that, I’ve been told that having my hair at chest length is too girly and that I should cut it or even shave my head because that’s what guys do. Thankfully, there’s been a change in that, but you can see where I’m going with this. The patriarchy sucks. It’s a prison, for both men and women. Individuality is dead and the patriarchal attitudes don’t allow for people to exist for who they are, they must conform.

*Oppenheimer Spoilers*

Now that we’ve gone through that, let’s talk about Oppenheimer. I like to think we are all good, that no human is evil, but rather misguided, corrupted by the society in which we exist. Wars are never about good versus evil, they are conflicts of ideology. We can definitely argue that one side is “evil,” but any villain never considers themselves as such. No sane man would ever kill another willingly, yet, in war, it happens. We dehumanize the “enemy,” they are no longer people, they are rats, they are roaches, they are vermin. We do not kill, we eliminate the problem. War does not make heroes, it makes monsters.

Alfred Nobel invented dynamite for the sake of improving safety conditions in the creation of canals, but was labeled a “merchant of death” by the news as his explosives were used for war. Richard Gatling invented the gatling gun believing that it would diminish the need for large armies. Oppenheimer led the Manhattan Project with the idea of creating one as a deterrence against the Nazis of ever using one on the basis of mutually assured destruction.

Oppenheimer fell into the same problem as his predecessors. He had revolutionized wars.

In one scene, they are discussing which places to target with nuclear weapons. Kyoto is immediately stricken off the list. Not for any particular reason other than one of the individuals there really likes vacationing there. The deaths of hundreds or thousands isn’t the problem. The problem is creating an inconvenience. The Japanese did some horrendous things during WWII, but what do random civilians have to do with anything? Nothing, and that was all they were worth. They are set pieces, they are not even a number.Their lives do not matter anywhere near as much as someone’s vacation being ruined. The atomic bomb created a massive gap in power, one so great that the so-called enemy isn’t even dehumanized, they are not even ants. Ants at least are knowingly exterminated when seen, but the lives of the Japanese people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki weren’t. War does not create heroes, it makes monsters.

The invention of the nuclear bomb created an arms race that the US is still economically recovering from. It created a world in which a fight between major powers dare not target each other out of fear of complete annihilation. A world where it’s no longer about strategy, manpower, or ideology, but who has the biggest bomb and how many of them? Oppenheimer and the researchers in the Manhattan Project had created a world in flames.

Both movies show that every act of villainy or evil is something we have fabricated. That much in the same way God has created us in his image, we have created the Devil in our own. We forge the same chains that bind us. The ones we use to dominate others, end up around our own necks. Every good intention paves another brick towards our own personal Hell, one we have already built. We’re just finding our way back home.

#barbenheimer #oppenheimer #barbie

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coochiequeens · 2 years

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Men in dresses made it possible for other men to spy on women

A London Metropolitan police officer who secretly filmed a woman in a unisex Primark fitting room will not serve a prison sentence — despite also possessing hundreds of “disgusting and extremely distressing” pornographic images and videos of children and animals.

Former officer Swaleh Chaudhry, 36, pleaded guilty to to one count of voyeurism, one count of possession of extreme pornography, and three counts of making an indecent image of a child. He was handed a 10-month prison sentence at Kingston Crown Court on Friday, suspended for 18 months.

In the United Kingdom, a suspended sentence indicates that the offender avoids jail completely and is instead released into the community and expected not to commit another offense within the timeframe of their conditions.

On March 30, Chaudhry was spotted recording video of a woman while she was changing at the Primark store in Wandsworth, South West London. Prosecutor Stephen Apted said that Chaudhry, who was off-duty at the time, had entered the gender-neutral changing rooms 15 minutes before the woman arrived. The woman, who was in her mid-twenties, noticed Chaudhry pointing his phone up at her from the next cubicle after she heard a “rustling” sound, the Wimbledon Magistrates’ Court heard in April.

The victim then shouted “Are you recording me?” and heard Chaudhry respond “No,” an interaction which was overheard by her boyfriend. Following a confrontation, Chaudhry was escorted to a separate room while the victim called the police.

Initially, Chaudhry had “continued to protest his innocence.” Yet Prosecutor Suleman Hussain said officers found “various videos of the defendant upskirting… and the videos actually show the defendant’s face.”

Following his arrest, an investigation of his Wandsworth home uncovered a collection of “horrific” pornography. More than 1,000 Category B and C indecent images and videos of children were uncovered on numerous devices, as well as at least 52 files of the most serious kind, the court heard.

In 2015, a trans-identified male named Joni Bendall shopping at a Primark in Suffolk was directed towards the men’s changing area by a sales associate “who was about sixteen years old.”

Bendall said: “I paused to take a breath and said: ‘I’m not a man.’ And the assistant turned around and kept folding clothes… It made me feel dysphoric.” Writing about the incident, Bendall described himself as “6 foot 1 and built like a refrigerator,” and compared himself to butch lesbians.

Additionally, in 2018, Primark was ordered to pay £47,000 to a trans-identifying male retail assistant who filed a lawsuit for harassment. The court found that Primark had conducted “very severe” injury to Alexandra de Souza E Souza’s feelings.

Labour MP Rosie Duffield responded to news of Chaudhry’s sentencing by highlighting the necessity of preserving safeguarding measures for women and girls. “Women need safe, single-sex spaces,” Duffield tweeted.

Yet the issue of mixed-sex spaces has been controversial in recent years, with supporters framing opposition as intolerant or transphobic.

Discussing the policy in March 2019, novelist and broadcaster Lucy Beresford told Good Morning Britainhosts, “My worry is that there’s too much segregation in society… We should break away from this idea of segregation because that sets up this idea that there is something very hostile about somebody who is different to you.”

Beresford went on to say that she believed gender-neutral facilities ought to have cubicles. At the time of Chaudhry’s voyeurism offense, Primark’s changing area had single-stall cubicles in place.

Journalist Eleanor Mills hit back by saying “This is the transgender lobby [pushing] really hard against companies to try and get them to change these policies. The vast majority of the public do not want this.”

Numerous studies have found that unisex changing areas are more dangerous for women and girls than single-sex spaces. Research conducted by The Sunday Times in 2018found that nearly 90% of sexual assaults, harassment and voyeurism reported in locker rooms and changing rooms occurred in unisex facilities.

According to Nicola Williams, spokeswoman for women’s rights organization Fair Play for Women, “spaces where women are undressed should be single-sex as a matter of course. This is obvious, elementary safeguarding.”

By Genevieve Gluck Genevieve is the Co-Founder of Reduxx, and the outlet's Chief Investigative Journalist with a focused interest in pornography, sexual predators, and fetish subcultures. She is the creator of the podcast Women's Voices, which features news commentary and interviews regarding women's rights.

#UK #abusive men in law enforcement #Women need single sex spaces #Women’s safety is more important than men’s feelings

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destinyimage · 1 year

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‘I Had Dementia Before God Touched Me!’—Word of Knowledge Healings

A precious lady who lived on St. Simons Island was attending a garage sale in her community one morning.

She overheard another lady talking about the North Georgia Revival. They began to have a conversation about some of the mir- acles that had taken place here in the past couple of years at the revival. It built so much faith in the lady who heard these stories, she scheduled a trip to Georgia just to attend one of our Sunday night revival services. Once the baptisms began on this particular Sunday evening, she found herself standing on the steps, about to enter the waters and have an experience with the Lord for herself. As she came into the pool and turned the corner to come toward me, I pointed at her and said, “It’s your kidneys isn’t it?”

She came closer to me and stood about two feet from me and asked, “How did you know that?”

I replied, “The Lord just told me you’re having an issue with your kidneys. Is that right?”

She responded, “Yes, I am in kidney failure and it looks like I will be having to go on dialysis.” The team and I anointed her with oil, prayed the prayer of faith in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth, and then we immersed her. This precious lady went back home to St. Simons Island and in a matter of weeks contacted our church to inform us that she had gone back to her doctor and her doctor confirmed that her kidneys were fine and needed no dialysis at all. Glory to God! Jesus is King!

2021: “Blind in your left eye.”

My wife Paula was with me one weekend in Clarksville, Indiana. I was invited to preach two services on a Sunday morning in February of 2021. I was preaching at the second service showing pictures and sharing testimonies of what the Lord was doing in Dawsonville, Georgia. At the conclusion of the message, I showed a video from one particular water baptism at the North Georgia Revival where a nine-year-old boy named Reed from Delaware received sight in his left eye. Reed was born with glaucoma and required bilateral surgery at only 11 months of age. His right eye improved over the years, but his left eye got progressively and aggressively worse. The Lord miraculously healed Reed in the baptismal waters on August 2, 2020 (“the year of vision”). I asked if anyone needed healing for blindness in their left eye to come forward and we would pray with them and agree for healing from the Lord. Four people responded to the invitation, and a young man by the name of Matt was one of them. After we prayed for these with blindness in their left eye, we dismissed the service and my wife and I boarded a plane back to Atlanta.

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The following Tuesday, the pastor of the church back in Clarksville, Indiana, reached out to me and said he had just returned from a 7:30 Tuesday morning men’s breakfast held at his church. He said, “Matt came to the breakfast. You remember Matt—the young man blind in his left eye whom we prayed for the previous Sunday morning.” The pastor said he watched Matt walk into that Tuesday morning breakfast, and he immediately noticed as Matt entered the church he had his right eye, his “good” eye, covered with his hand and Matt was looking all around the room with his left eye, his “blind” eye.

Once the breakfast was served, the pastor asked if anyone had a testimony they would like to share. Matt’s hand went up. Matt went on to tell the men’s meeting that he had responded to an altar call and received prayer for blindness in his left eye a couple of days ago. He said, “You guys want to know what happened to me at the altar? Nothing. You want to know what happened when I got home Sunday afternoon? Nothing. But after I made my dinner Sunday night, I sat down to eat, and after a minute or two I saw what appeared to be light in the top left corner of my left eye. Then, more light started coming in. Then I looked and could see the floor. Then my refrigerator. Things started coming into focus in my left eye.”

Matt told the group that he invited his girlfriend over to show her what happened. He invited her to sit down at the table and then he got a book and began to read. Matt covered his right eye, his “good” eye, and continued to read with his left eye, his “blind” eye. It startled his girlfriend so bad, she jumped up and said, “Stop! What are you doing? How are you doing that?” His girlfriend realized he was reading from his “blind” eye. Matt informed her that God had healed him and that he could see out of his left eye.

I asked the pastor for Matt’s contact information so I could call him and rejoice with him. I spoke to Matt several days later and he confirmed everything you just read. He added that he was able to share his testimony with his family and friends and that everyone was absolutely amazed. We both celebrated and thanked God for what He had done for Matt. Before we ended our call, I asked Matt how old he was. He told me he was 41 years old. I then asked what had caused his blindness. I asked if he had suffered an injury or did his eye just get progressively worse throughout the past 41 years?

Matt sounded surprised and asked me, “Marty, didn’t pastor tell you about my blindness?”

I said, “No. Why?”

He said, “Marty, I was born blind in my left eye. I’ve never seen anything out of my left eye until now.”

2021: “Dementia and Alzheimer’s.”

A pastor from Louisiana attended our leaders and pastors conference several years ago that we hosted at our church in Dawsonville. This pastor and his wife came into the baptismal waters to be immersed together. I remember ministering to his wife, and upon her coming up out of the water, the power of God was upon her so strong our team had to hold her on the steps for several minutes. As they were continuing to minister to her, the Lord gave me a word of knowledge for this pastor. He told me this pastor had an intense fear that he may be beginning to suffer from the early stages of dementia and Alzheimer’s. The Lord told me that his memory was starting to fade a bit, and this pastor was very concerned about it. I waited until I knew his wife wouldn’t be able to hear before I shared with the pastor what the Lord had just spoken to me. Upon hearing these words, the pastor doubled over with his face almost touching the surface of the water. He began weeping. We anointed him with oil and prayed in faith believing for his miracle. The Lord touched him that night.

A while later, I was able to have a conversation with him and his wife. He reminded me of the word of knowledge the Lord gave me for him. He said, “Marty, what you don’t know is this—I’ve never told anyone about my struggle with my fear of dementia or Alzheimer’s. I’ve always had a great memory until lately. I began to forget simple things. That was never me before. Again, my memory was always sharp until recently. It began to scare me. I didn’t even tell my wife for fear that if I spoke it out, it would definitely come to pass in my life.”

The Lord touched him that night and his memory has returned. Well, glory to God! And if that weren’t awesome enough, listen to this. (Again, I say “listen” to remind you that we can hear even without using our physical ears. May you hear as you read these words.) This same pastor invited my wife and me to come minister and baptize at his church in Louisiana. We had an amazing time with him, his wife, and his congregation. The Lord moved just as mightily there in Louisiana as He had in Dawsonville, Georgia. As I ministered on that Sunday morning, the Lord gave me a word of knowledge about tithes and/or offerings. The word of knowledge came to me regarding someone in the church who was holding on to a substantial tithe or significant seed the Lord had already spoken to them to give weeks or months prior, but they had not been obedient to sow that seed yet. This was on a Sunday morning. The next day, Monday, the pastor of the church got a text from a man who asked if he could swing by the church later in the evening, after work, and if the pastor would meet him in the parking lot. The pastor agreed and met the gentleman in the parking lot. This man told the pastor that the Lord had blessed him several months back in his business and he hadn’t given the tithe off of it yet. The check was for $100,000.

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believeitseeitdoit · 3 years

Text

Legos and Language

Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: All bets are off when it comes to a Lego mishap in the Rogers-Barnes home

Rating: Y'all shouldn’t be reading the filthy things if youre under 18 anyways but this one is pretty PG (but language is the exception)

Warnings: Domestic stucky, suggested and slight smutty times, 90% fluffy, some foul language, talk of murder and destruction of legos forever, feel good shit, Steve, Bucky and their girl have babies

don’t steal my little munchkin oc names please, I like them

This is written from each lover’s POV, marked by ******** this

This is a work of love and hated of legos, solely to be read for a smile and maybe some happiness, be kind or go away

“Sonofabitch!” Your hushed curse rattles through the house as you stomp barefoot through your son’s pile of a semi built lego creation. With a few breathy “fuck’s,'' you hop over to the nearest chair to rub the new soreness out. Sharp indentations litter the underside of your arch, and you peel off a flat piece from your toe then mentally plot unmonitored use of the quantum realm to murder the creator of legos before they can cause any harm to you again.

Continuing your muttering, you delicately set your foot down and turn to the mess. You sigh in relief that you didn’t destroy any of the built chunk, you were only subjected to the ultimate test of parenthood, the loose pieces.

“Back to our regularly scheduled morning, coffee.” You say to the empty room, narrating your routine as if you were running a sitcom. Once in the kitchen, you set about making a hefty pot of coffee for you and your husbands, humming an 80s rock tune and letting your open robe swish around you loosely in the process.

********

They both notice you slide out of bed, a super spy and a retired Avenger don’t miss much in their own home. But rather than follow you down to the kitchen to disrupt your morning ritual, Steve pulls his husband against him and nuzzles his hair so they could get some quiet time of their own. A few moments later, Bucky is softly snoring against Steve’s arm, and Steve is on the brink of sleep when he hears a barely audible string of curses and the unbalanced thunking of feet along the hardwood. Bucky seems undeterred, so Steve leaves him be and slips out of the bed to investigate what caused the early use of language, not that he’s surprised considering their wife’s colorful vocabulary when the kids aren’t listening.

Pulling his discarded boxers back on from the night before, Steve saunters out of the master suite silently toward the staircase. He pokes his head into the nursery to check on the sleeping infant twins, and heads down the old hardwood steps, praying for them not to creak with every step. Halfway down the stairs, he hears you filling the coffee pot under the tap and the chorus to a White Snake ballad quietly playing from the speakers while you hum along. With a smile and a small head bob as he catches the tune, Steve steps across the threshold of the stairs toward the living room and kitchen, unaware of the torture devices scattered on the floor.

Steve intends to follow the wall to get to the kitchen without his presence known, until you hear a series of words that would make Tony blush and an unfortunate crunching sound of your son’s creation being smashed to bits.

“SONOFAFUCKINGMONKEYSASSHOLE WHAT THE FUCKING DICK ON A STICK GOD DAMN PIECE OF TORTUROUS BULLSHIT IS THIS?!!” He yelps loudly and tries to hop over the new graveyard of legos.

In his fresh misery, he misses you quickly dropping the coffee grounds onto the counter top and hustling toward him to make sure his verbatim doesn’t wake the twins. As you begin shushing him from a few steps away, Steve hobbles blindly toward your voice and you see it happen before you can say anything. Your big clutz of a husband smashes his un-assaulted foot through your son’s Legos, only this time Captain America is not the star spangled man with a plan. He has absolutely destroyed the near complete firetruck and you can only stand in awe at his ability to hit each remaining chunk of the build before he finally makes it to the couch.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck, why the fucking legos? FUCK!” His wailing is not going to gain any sympathies from you, only entertainment at the weaknesses of men.

“Steven Grant, you shut the hell up before you wake my babies or I WILL send Bucky to the store and you can have twin duty alone.” Sitting down at his feet to pull the pieces off his skin, you scold him lightly but without any venom or intention. He hisses as you pull the flat plastic off his big toe, and you chuckle as his pathetic whimpers cease.

“So, coffee?” You stand and pull him up with you toward the kitchen, letting his calloused hands and leftover cologne embrace you like a blanket as he leans down to caress your cheek. He kisses your forehead and softly brushes hair behind your ear with one hand while the other grips your plush hip under the loose robe.

“Maybe something sweeter to distract me first? This robe is teasing me.” His lips ghost down your neck and he nips at your collarbone while pulling the thin silk off your shoulders.

“You kept me up late, baby. I need coffee before anything today.” You whisper breathily against his tanned, thick chest, whimpering and shivering as you feel him trace the marks littering your skin and gently squeezing the flesh he is so obsessed with.

He allows you to pull away only after you shudder again, but he stands behind you, hands locked onto your hips as you pour the bitter amber liquid into 3 mugs. Steve’s love bites on your neck keep you distracted long enough for Bucky to come down the stairs without being noticed.

“I thought we agreed there was no third wheeling in this family, and yet here we are.” Your bonus husband is perched against the refrigerator offering your favorite coffee creamer and his signature pout.

******

Bucky is roused by his husband rolling out of bed and the accompanying coolness that surrounds him as the sheets flutter back down against the mattress. He listens to Steve pad lightly down the hall to check in on the kids, Hudson in his room first, then Charlotte and Talia in the nursery. As the footsteps recede down the stairwell, Bucky lets his body sink into the bed and the scents of his partners surround him and lull him back to sleep.

Until he hears a string of words leave his husband’s mouth, and a series of crunches and shattering sounds buried under more very inappropriate words. Now wide awake, Bucky shoves himself from bed and puts a loose sweatshirt over his head while he walks toward the stairs. He is halted by a whimper from one of his little twins in the nursery, but his ever present super senses note that both babes are still firmly asleep so he continues down the steps.

Not sure of the state of things on the main floor, Bucky alertly scopes the space and finds their son’s legos strewn about the floor. With a sigh, Bucky steps around them and shakes his head as he follows the sounds of his husband and wife to the kitchen. He is met with tangled hair and soft pants, an open robed woman more stunning than Aphrodite, and a man barely containing his impressive erection in his low hanging boxers. Bucky can feel the energy in the room, can practically taste the arousal on them, and his subconscious stirs awake, begging to join like a wolf waiting for the hunt.

*******

“And who plans on fixing our son’s firetruck creation? Because it sure as hell won’t be me, I will be taking care of our little girls where I am wanted.”

Steve is the first to respond, an arm opens toward Bucky in the same moment. “Honey we didn’t mean to leave you out, c’mon over here let us show you how much better it is with you.”

As Bucky steps into Steve’s reach, you push off the counter and into the thick warmth of your husbands. Their desire envelops you as kisses are peppered on skin and fingers prod at bits of flesh for a better grip on reality. The moment is nearly bursting with love and lust, blinding both man’s super senses of their incoming visitor.

“Who da hell bwoke my WEGOS!!!!????? MOMMYYYYY!” Hudson screeches from the bottom of the stairs and you’re running for him in an instant.

“Hudson Anthony! You do not speak like that. You know better young man.” Steve and Bucky hiss at the use of their boy’s middle name, knowing how he feels in both respects.

“Baby boy, I’m so sorry about the Legos, but you cannot use that language. No naughty words right?” You hate scolding him when you completely understand his frustrations, but heavens forbid he say any of that in public, the boy would be shamed and sent to his principal so fast even the Daily Bugle couldn’t catch it first.

Hudson sniffles and rubs his nose, trying to fight off tears of frustration in front of his daddy and papa, but quickly fails.

“But, is bwoken mommy. I woked so hawd on it! Wuh happened?” He begins wailing and stuttering breaths, and you pull him into your arms to hug and comfort him gently.

“Shh, handsome, it was an accident. See, they were left too close to the stairs and mommy stepped on some, then daddy heard her yelp and ran through them too. Papa moved them out of the way and reminded daddy that he needs to help fix it with you baby.” You bounce him on your hip, trying to push the sadness away like you did when he was a small tike.

Bucky and Steve step closer, each wrapping an arm around you and Hudson to initiate a bear hug. Hudson whimpers a bit longer then picks his head up from your shoulder and leans toward Steve, signaling he wants his daddy to hold him next. Steve pulls him close and whispers apologies only audible to his boy, but you and Bucky smile knowingly. They head to the far corner of the couch where they can have a quiet cuddle and talk about how Hudson can teach his daddy to rebuild the LEGO vehicle.

You lean against Bucky, enjoying the moment until he turns to the stairs.

“Time for round 2 with some sleepy babies?” You tie your robe closed and head up the walk way, stubbing your toe on the first step.

“Mother fu—dge on toast that was unpleasant.” You yelp and grip tightly onto Bucky’s vibranium arm. He chuckles and scoops you into his arms, carrying you up the remaining steps.

“Careful, I don’t want to use your middle name today too darling.” He winks, setting you down at the doorway of the nursery. With a huff, you begin fluttering about the room, softly waking your girls and beginning their morning routine.

“My sweet little Charlotte Ann, and my lovely Natalia Rose, you two are the most precious angels in this world. But for the love of all things holy, no Legos when you’re older ok?”

Tagging those who may appreciate this or can give me a helpful bit of advice on my writing : @bxccxdxll @iraot @sagechanoafterdark @tuiccim @thebescht @makbarnes

#stucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #parent Bucky #parent steve

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liliaeth · 2 years

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I just love Laura Barton.

I love what she adds to Clint, and how she makes Clint far more interesting than the typical dark broody anti hero that television and movies have made us used to.

There's just so many stories of men who lost their girlfriend/wife/mother/children... to the point that it's become a trope called 'women in refrigerators'(see Green Lantern for why the trope is called that)

The notion of it is stories where the dead love interest is used solely as motivation for the hero. They're not characters, just a source of manpain, to add some suffering for the hero as a substitute for an actual personality.

I've seen posts a few times where people ask 'so why aren't there stories where you get a hero, and you see him think of his wife, and people assume he's mourning her (as per the cliché), only to find out that no, she's still alive, and he's just thinking of her because she is his strength, his reason to fight and try to get back home to her.

Hawkeye gave us that story.

I love that Laura is clearly Clint's equal.

Oh she might not be a spy or a fighter like Clint. (though there's no reason to assume that she might not have been a SHIELD agent in the past) But she's Clint's partner, not his dependent.

He respects her to hold the fort. He loves and respects her ability to understand him, to know the truth about him, the full truth.

She knows what he did while she and the children were gone, and she understands the burden it puts on him. The grief he carried, and the guilt he feels now. And what that would mean to their family and why he can't come home till the situation is dealt with.

She doesn't nag, or complain, but she's never a doormat either.

it's the kind of strong woman we way too rarely get in series like these. A woman whose strength doesn't come from how hard she can beat the crap out of people. But from how she deals with life, with standing by her partner and being his peace, his home to come back to.

But that isn't all Laura brings to the story, that isn't all what the Burton family adds to Clint.

It gives Clint a sense of maturity.

He's not just a guy whose good with a bow. He's a full grown man, an adult, with adult responsibilities. When he sees Kate, he doesn't see some hot girl, he sees a kid who is way in over her head, and whom he feels the need to protect. And not just because she reminds him of his own oldest daughter.

It makes the relationship between him and Kate feel healthy, like a true mentorship, with no hint of creepiness that often comes when older men are paired with young women.

On top of that it works retroactively and makes Clint's relationship with Natasha more interesting. It sets it clear that Clint and Nat were partners, best friends, like sibligns. They had one of the deepest relationships imaginable. And it was never sexual.

Laura clearly never saw Nat as any kind of threat to her own relationship. Because she is secure in Clint's love for her. And Nat loved the Burtons, the way you do when you love someone, because then the people they love, become people you love as well.

There are just so few well developed platonic relationships between men and women, that it's amazing to see that be built between Clint and Natasha.

#Clint Barton #natasha romanoff #hawkeye #laura burton #mcu #disney plus

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binniesthighs · 3 years

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call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: chapter threeeee here it is!!! hehe thank you all for being patient for this update and thank you as always for giving this fic your love!! i start out the first part of this chapter in 3rd person which is a lil different, but i wanted to try it out! hehe i love hearing what ya thought of the chapter too! 😊

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, skz side characters, 3rd person for the first section, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, mentions of food, brief talk of gaining weight while travelling, there’s a few spoilers hidden in this one...can ya find them? ;)

CWs: blood and other wounds, shooting at a convenience store, thoughts about death and dying when in peril

Word count: 5.6k

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR

Two years of pocket change and Seungmin had finally saved up enough money to afford to study abroad. It had nearly taken him life and limb, and he might’ve suffered (1) concussion from a bowl of soup being thrown at his head, but, he had done it.

With grease stains on his sneakers Seungmin traversed the long and stretching corridor of the airport terminal with his backpack strapped onto him tightly. The air smelled different here. It was fresher than he was used to--coming from a large city center--everything here felt more pristine. Outside of the tall glass windows, airplanes lifted off into the sky like massive metal giants. He couldn’t remember properly, but the last time that he must’ve been on a plane, it likely had been when his mother...

Seungmin shook the dusty and cobwebbed ideas out from his head.

No more sad thoughts.

I’m gonna like it here. He thought to himself, then clipped the little buckle to his backpack straps over his chest with a determined huff.

I’m really going to like it here.

With his phone in hand, he tried his best to decipher what the signs said above him. Mostly, they looked like a jumbled mess of symbols, but luckily he had spent some time trying to learn the language between shifts and sneaking peeks at his little dictionary under the diner counter. The whole terminal buzzed with a lovely kind of energy, and he was thrilled to get to know it better. The first wonderful thing about travelling abroad was that no one knew who he was, and he could be whoever he wanted. In this new land, no one knew him or anything about the dingy little apartment that he had lived in. No one knew about his less than honorable roommates or the debt that he had put himself under to go to college in the first place.

I could be a prince for all they know.

Seungmin liked that idea a lot.

His stomach grumbled as he passed by food stands, however he hadn’t had the chance yet to change his currency, so he knew that he would have to wait just a minute longer. Seungmin had been assigned a host family by his college, and he hoped like crazy that they would be the kind to cook for him. Seungmin had heard somewhere that kids who go on study abroad gain a ton of weight at first...but he didn’t mind. Where else would he get the chance?

There had been a host father that had sent him an email a couple weeks ago--that he promptly had to run through Google Translate--who told him that he would meet him outside the main luggage claim area after his flight landed. Seungmin had tried to look up and see if his host family were on social media, but he could find no such profile of theirs. He decided it probably was better that it was a surprise.

Seungmin lugged his two large suitcases out to the summer air of the new and strange land, and it finally hit him. Standing on the solid ground of another land thousands of miles away from his home, it was really all happening.

The landscape outside was like that of a movie scene: rolling hills and jagged mountains capped with snow, adorable little homes built into the countryside and tiny cars with horizonal license plates. The sun was warm in the cerulean sky that puffed with perfectly white clouds. On the air, the scent of flowers wafted, and he was certain that there was a lake nearby too--he had researched it. There were old men in their caps with a crook in their back, and ladies with long floral skirts and dresses with Mary Janes. Each of them had smile lines on their faces and under their eyes as if they had all lived lives well lived. There were pretty girls too with slender legs and delicate arms swaddled in light scarves.

Seungmin wouldn’t have minded getting a girlfriend on this trip. While he kept the fact to himself, Seungmin had never really done anything with a girl before outside of some awkwardly handsy kissing in middle school. Maybe this time around, he would finally get his chance: he had read somewhere that girls often like foreigners.

“Seung Min! Seung Min?” A man’s voice called.

The young college student whipped his head around in the direction of the sound, finally finding a middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair with whiskers of the same color. He had red cheeks and a large nose, and looked a bit like a character from a comic. Seungmin waved back, greeting his new father. When they met, the older man threw him into a large hug with a chuckle. He smelled a bit like Tabaco and old leather. He had a couple missing teeth, but that didn’t lessen his bright smile.

“English?” Seungmin’s host father asked.

“Yeah! I can speak English.” He returned with a welcoming grin.

“I thought it would be good for us to speak English since I don’t know your tongue and you don’t know mine...meet in the middle?”

“Thank you for coming to get me!” He said, handing the man his suitcases which were just a bit too big for the tiny trunk of the car that looked as if it had come from the 80′s. In the end, they decided to put his bags in the backseat.

The man beamed with smiling eyes. “Of course...son!”

Seungmin gave him a little bow, “Heh, thank you.”

“Get in the car! You must be hungry right? Long flight?”

“Oh yes, it was really long.”

“You will eat well here! Mother knows how to feed well. She will put meat on your bones. She did with me!” He guffawed out with hearty laughter, and Seungmin already knew that he would really like this man.

“We have a room ready for you back at home, and I will show you tomorrow how to use the buses. Okay?”

Seungmin nodded with a bit of rose to his cheeks. He found his hand wandering down to his arm which he pinched at lightly--cliché as it was. His host father coughed and the engine sputtered, then they took off away from the sounds of jet engines to the countryside which was scattered with churches with protruding steeples and all kinds of homes with red-orange roofs and perfectly symmetrical windows. Seungmin couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to the window as they drove on to take in the whole scene. Never had he seen a place so beautiful or magical looking. They drove on past a crystal clear lake that stretched on and on to the base of a mountain appearing to claw at the heavens, and adorned in emerald green pines and other deciduous trees. If it was even possible, he had never seen greener grass in all his life.

“Beautiful, eh?” His host father said while tuning the radio.

“It’s amazing.” The young student said in his amazement. “Oh, do you know if there is somewhere I can change my money? I don’t have any of your money yet.”

“Ah!” The older man said with a wink. “I know of a place. I can take you there first.”

The radio hummed with a static fuzz as Seungmin’s host father messed with it, skipping over the channels, blurring the music and the talk radio all together.

Seungmin tried out the best he could to make out the words he knew, but even then he didn’t focus too hard, not when he had all this to take in.

Mad....crime....joke...violence in the South...drugs...unknown...information...hiding...red...

“Ah!” His host father called out after changing the channel once more, “I love this song!” He held his chest with an affectionate grasp. “The song of my homeland!”

Seungmin whipped his attention back, trying to listen to the song that sounded anthem-like, and was sung by what sounded like several men harmonizing. Seungmin tried to focus on the melody--it was nothing like he head heard before. It sounded very...honorable.

The small car whipped up to what looked to be a gas station on the edge of the town with one single pump and a little convenience store attached to it. In the window he read the yellow and black sign saying Currency Exchange.

“This is what you need?”

Seungmin nodded in his thanks then stretched his legs out once he exited, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Are you coming too?”

The older man shook his head and took out a pack of cigarettes. “I’ll gas the car, you go in.”

The young man gave his host father one more nod, then set fourth inhaling the immaculate summer air into his lungs. It was as if the very oxygen there held the vitality of life; he almost felt bad wasting it on himself.

The door swung open with the tiny tinkling of bells and he entered to the smell of cured meats hanging on hooks along side the dry scent of the refrigerators holding their display of soft drinks with labels that he had never seen before. He chuckled a little seeing the giant slab of meat with twine hanging from the ceiling as such.

“Free sample?” The attendant said while he picked his teeth with a toothpick. “Foreigner?” He added after looking Seungmin up and down.

“Yes, and no thank you. But, can I exchange my currency here?”

The unamused man nodded in the direction of the little kiosk in the corner of the shop. He went back to reading his tabloid where he slumped in a stool surrounded by an assortment of candy and cookies.

Seungmin picked his mother tongue first on the little screen, robotic and green, thankful to see Korean for the first time in this new place. He navigated to the options screen. Behind him, the little bells tinkled to the shop door again, followed by the sound of the attendant scrambling out of his stool, metal legs scraping the floor.

The student turned his head around in the commotion, taking in four very strange looking customers. Firstly, they were all covered in blood in one way or another, and each of them wore clothes--pajamas from the looks of it--which were shredded, torn, and blackened by something that might’ve been soot. Three men and one woman, and they all had a bit of a crazed look to their eyes. Clearly, none of them cared that they had walked into the store looking as such.

Seungmin pressed his body to the corner of the shop, as if this could make him invisible. The attendant cowered behind the counter with a series of scared sounding whimpers.

“Wh-what do you want?” He asked in his native tongue with quaking breaths.

One of the men in the group wearing a flannel with chocolate brown hair threw open one of the fridges, took out a water bottle, cracked it open, then greedily slugged the liquid down his throat.

“Pay the man, Fox.” He said to a man with pure white hair and shattered glasses.

The man with white hair and glasses nodded, digging through his pockets. The man with the flannel then proceeded to revenge the place, opening up snacks and shoving the cheesy dust into his mouth with gluttonous moans and crunching loudly with an open mouth. Had he not been doing something as unsavory as such, Seungmin thought that he was pretty handsome, and somewhat familiar. The other three simply stood and watched as he did so calmly, and surveyed the shelves themselves after a moment.

The attendant clocked Seungmin with fearful and confused eyes and Seungmin truly didn’t know what to do besides melt into the corner with the currency exchange kiosk.

A man in running clothes ran a hand through his deep brown hair, then turned to grab several first-aid supplies in his hand. Seungmin noticed that he had a horrible gash over his eye that crusted and bled into the white of his sclera. The woman approached the attendant with arms crossed over her thin camisole that was stained a number of different colors which Seungmin didn’t want to identify. He noticed that she was only wearing white socks that were nearly stained green.

“You do currency exchange right?” She said with a bold kind of confidence. “EGP?”

The attendant shook in his boots, then pointed a trembling finger at Seungmin. The young man nearly felt his heart stop. The woman had stern eyes that were bagged with exhaustion, but that didn’t make her any less intimating. While she too looked a wreck, there was something about her so cold and threatening that Seungmin felt like crumpling up into a ball. Over it all, she was startlingly beautiful too.

“Are you done?” She asked him kindly, and Seungmin struggled to get out a feeble “yes.” Of course, he hadn’t actually drawn any money out yet, but this seemed to be the best answer.

The man in running clothes dumped a large arrangement of goods on the counter with an emotionless expression: coffee drinks, shooters of alcohol, gauze and tape, Band-Aids, anti-bacterial ointment, gum, a couple lighters and toothpaste with four tooth brushes, combs, several bottles of water, sour candy, and, oddly, condoms.

The man with white hair came behind him to provide the cash to pay, and the attendant rang the odd group up with nervous glances to the man in the flannel who destroyed the store further. That man laughed maniacally as he popped open the plastic packaging to a pastry, then shoved in as of much of it as he could, smearing white cream over his lips.

“Bee!! You have to try this!! A day driving through the woods and this is fucking fantastic!” He jumped up and down like an ecstatic toddler--but this was a strange juxtaposition to all the blood staining his arms and the fabric of his flannel.

“Have some decency, Your Highness.” The woman chided, then held out her hand as the bills dispensed from the little machine.

“Your Highness?” Seungmin muttered, not really understanding why he was still in there in the first place.

“Fucking scam.” She muttered. “Is this all that you have??” She growled at the attendant.

“It’s a little thing!! What do you expect??” He stammered with hands thrown in the air as if she had pointed a gun at his head.

“F, tell Carroll to wire us when we get to Egypt. This’ll barely get us a place to stay.”

“When I get internet access, sure, I’ll try my best.” The man with white hair said with an edge to his voice, sarcasm clearly giving it a type of bite. He then took to shoving all of their goods into plastic bags since the attendant had been too fearful to do so. He slid a few spare bills onto the countertop. “This is for everything that he ate.”

“Do you have a bathroom?” The woman demanded, and the shopkeeper nodded, giving one more fearful glance to the college student.

“Is there somewhere around here to get clothes?” The man with running clothes asked.

“I-In town, a couple minutes in--”

Outside of the little store, the sound of tires screeching on cement screamed, and all four of the strangers whipped their heads in the direction. Seungmin jumped too at the sound, and held his backpack to his chest tightly as if it were some kind of safety vest.

The four strangers gravely exchanged terrified glances before throwing their bodies to the floor without a word.

“GET DOWN!” The woman screamed, and in milliseconds, the rapid-fire crack of machine gun bullets came shattering the glass of the convenience store.

Seungmin too threw all of his weight to land on his stomach on the cold linoleum floors and pressed his cheek against it while his ears rang. Tiny shards of glass pricked at his hands, but this adrenaline didn’t even let him feel the pain. He was certain that he must’ve been hyperventilating, because the room had started to spin among the relentless sounds of metal shells hitting the ground and metal shelves being upended from the force. The room filled with the smell of dozen different kinds of foods as packaging was ripped open and food and drink came spilling to the ground. The shopkeeper whimpered out loud prayers in his native tongue while he hid behind the counter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as three of the strangers whipped out hand guns from their waistbands and knelt down behind the remaining shelves to shoot back at the black van outside.

Seungmin pinched his arm with eyes shut.

He wished he hadn’t.

oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He bit the words into his lip.

“Hey kid!” The man with white hair growled at him. “You okay?”

While the two of them looked nearly to be the same age, this other man with snow white hair seemed to know what he was doing, so Seungmin decided to take the smallest bit of solace in that over the deafening sound of bullets.

“I-I think so?!”

“Keep your head down!” He said with gritted teeth, then angled his gun with a squinted eye.

“Bee??? Bee?” The fourth man with the flannel cried.

“Head. Down.” She said while firing more shots.

The room filled with a thin haze, and Seungmin covered his ears with bloody fingers.

The strangers fired their guns until there was nothing left, then escaped hiding behind the shelves with heaving chests. The young man had curled up into the fetal position, mouth feeling deathly dry with hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

Seungmin didn’t know that he had gone on this trip for his life to end.

How fucking cruel fate was.

His body shook, and he clung to his bag for dear life, waiting for it all to end, and for his time to come. Seungmin would’ve thought that in the moments before he had died, he wanted to think of all the good things that had happened in his life, but, he was disappointed to find that all he could come up with was fear.

“Did you get a look at him?” One of the strangers yelled on the other side of Seungmin’s muffled ears.

“NO!” One of them barked back.

“He was wearing the crest!! The red!!” The woman called out.

The world was black behind his eyelids, but anything was better than the scene that was actually unfolding before the terrified college student. Soon, the sounds faded, and Seungmin was then really convinced that it had finally happened. This was it. He was even still scared to open his eyes.

A grip at his arm pulled him up.

“You okay? They’re gone. You kinda blacked out there for a second.” It was the woman had pulled him up to his feet.

His head spun seeing the carnage of the destroyed store, and the student became dizzier by the second.

“I-I think I’m about to black out again--” His knees felt week and his vision blurred.

“Hey! Hey!” One of the other strangers, the one with the running clothes scooped him back up and gave a light pat to his face. “You’re alright! See?”

Miraculously, Seungmin really was unscathed.

“Who-who are you? Who...who the hell were they? What the FUCK was that?”

The four of them exchanged glances once more, communicating some kind of silent understanding between all of them.

“What’s your name kid?” The white-haired one said as he put his gun back into his waistband.

“S-Seungmin?”

“Ok Seungmin, there’s a lot going on here that you really shouldn’t be aware of, and there's a lot of answers that I can’t give you, I just need to to trust me, alright?”

“O-okay?”

Now that the shop was devoid of windows, the summer breeze came blowing into the store--an odd contrast to the mess that was made all over the glass shards and food.

“You’re safe now. They’ve gone. No one can hurt you.”

“A-are you sure about that?”

“We need to get going. I don’t know why the hell they leaved when they had us cornered, but we can’t be here for long.” The man in running clothes said with a tentative bite to his lip.

The woman nodded. “You’re right Two.”

“What do we do with him though?” The man supposedly named Two said, motioning to Seungmin.

“D-do?” His eyes widened to frightful full moons. “D-do????”

“We take him with?” The man in the flannel suggested and shrugged.

The woman rolled her eyes. “You don’t call the shots on stuff like this, Your Highness.”

“H-Highness? What??” Seungmin blabbered.

The man with white hair snatched the young student’s bag from his hands. “You got a laptop in that bag of yours?”

“--H-HEY!”

He man pulled out Seungmin’s dismal Chromebook that he had also saved several months for.

“Hm. This will do.”

“I guess we don’t have any other choice...” The woman rolled her eyes. “Introductions later. They could be coming back.”

“Hey, HEY!” The shopkeeper yelled, then rose from his hiding place to look in despair at his destroyed shop, and his aging cured meat slab stuck with bullet holes on the floor.

“We’ll take care of it all. We apologize.” The man in the flannel bowed deeply.

Sunlight stung Seungmin’s strained eyes, and he realized that he had completely forgotten about his host father in his little car from the 80′s. To his surprise, the little car was nowhere to be seen.

“M-my dad??” He said under his breath, also realizing that all of his belongings had gone with the man too. All he now had left to his name was his passport, a spare set of clothes, his laptop, and a couple school journals.

“Get in.” The man named Two said while throwing open the door, but then gave him squinted wink. “Been to Egypt before?”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“This mission is fucked.” Jeongin muttered to you, voice echoing slightly in the cobblestone alley.

“Yeah, it certainly seems like it.”

You fiddled with you new blouse. It was two times as itchy as you had expected and two times as expensive, but you had been desperate. With all of the spare supplies destroyed in the bombing, you and your partner had found yourselves hopelessly empty handed.

“Carroll is gonna have our asses. Fuck...” Jeongin slicked a hand through his hair with a bandaged arm. “We can’t take that kid to Egypt with us!! We already have to be on high alert for the prince...and now this??”

Your partner threw his head back incredulously against the brick wall, then stopped to watch the rest of the group sitting outside of the café and garnering odd glances from passerby's.

“Well what the hell else to do we do??”

Jeongin shrugged, then looking to the side shamefully. “You...know what the protocol is. We can’t stay here to watch over him until someone from the agency comes...and, we’re running out of time...White Rabbit is waiting for our correspondence..”

“Absolutely not.”

The poor young kid, naïve as he was, you couldn’t but help but feel bad for him. Not only was he all alone out there as he had explained, it appeared as if his host father had made off with all of his things too. It was hard to not pity the kid.

“Y/n, you know that he’ll only drag us down. If we take him with, his life becomes our problem. If he dies, we’ll have to answer to whoever his family is and we both know that could get messy. We already have a mission: get the intel, then get the prince home. Not take that kid along with us for the joyride.”

“You’re forgetting that they’ve seen him with us now. He’s associated with us. If we leave him in the dust, there’s gonna be an innocent kid dead in a foreign land, and it’ll be our fault for letting that happen. Do you want that to happen?”

Your partner sucked at his teeth in thought for a moment, then groaned out.

“I really fucking hate this babysitting thing.”

“It’s the three of us and the two of them. The odds are still pretty much in our favor.”

“It’s still dangerous odds.” Jeongin threw his hands onto his hips, then paced the length of the alley for a small stretch. “As of now, you’re assigned to the prince. Forget about the kid, Two and I will worry about him. The prince is the priority. If shit hits the fan, don’t even think twice, take the prince and get out. Okay? You should never leave his side.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sneaky sense of pride. After all of the chaos and the uncertainty, Jeongin was really coming into his own.

From the little patio where the others were, it looked as if Chan and Seungmin were getting a long swimmingly. You assumed that it had something to do with shared trauma. Weirdly, Chan had taken to the young man like a bit of a pet. Knowing all that the prince was going through, it made sense...perhaps this also could’ve explained why he had kissed you more than once. Anyone in his position would’ve acted as frantic as such--at least, this was what you had convinced yourself.

Two sat with the two men wearing thick black sunglasses to hide his gnarly eye wound, sipping espresso. Jeongin started walking back towards the group when you grabbed at his arm.

“--Wait, I need to talk to you about one more thing?”

Your partner’s rather gaudy Hawaiian-themed shirt flapped in the breeze. “What’s that?”

You drew him in closer. “What do you make of Two? He doesn’t strike you as suspicious?”

“Suspicious? Why?”

“I-I don’t know...it’s just a feeling that I’m getting. We know next to nothing about him--”

“--But isn’t that how this goes? We’re not supposed to know things about each other? That’s the point? He’s stuck with us this far...and...”

A couple passed by the two of you with linked arms, and Jeongin stopped his thought out of distrust of the two of them listening in.

His voice lowered even further, “If Carroll trusts him, so should we.” The young man nodded, then patted your scratched shoulder. You winced, and he quickly apologized. “It’s...fine that you’re suspicious. Its best for us to be, you know?”

“Expect the unexpected?”

Your partner dished out a little eyeroll, “Yeah. Something like that.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It was as if His Royal Highness Prince Chan had never seen the inside of a public airport before. Everything was just so novel to him, and he gasped out at all the little trinkets and tchotchkes.

As excited as he was, he still tried his best to keep a solid composure under his disguise: a cap, a hoodie, and thick framed sunglasses. The royal didn’t look the most non-descript, but you figured that it was better than nothing.

The young kid sulked seeing the inside of the airport once more, as he had claimed that he had just left from there. You still didn’t know what to make of him all the way, but at least you could tell that he had a good heart. While in the car he told you and your companions how he had saved up all this money to travel, studied the language and arranged to go to school here too. While all of his plans had been thwarted, at least the kid was still getting to travel...with a price on his head...but still...he was getting to travel.

Now that Jeongin had been able to contact HQ thanks to the kid’s computer, everything was arranged. Flight tickets, sleeping arrangements, supplies and Bun even knew that you were on your way. You had little desire to see that man considering how you had heard that he was one to live up to his eccentric reputation, but there was little other choice. Jeongin’s words ran through and through your head, “If Carroll trusts him, so should we.”

Over it all, it was the prince who had worried you most. He was out in the open, and undoubtedly whoever those bastards were with the red crests would be close on your tail. Your neck strained with a pain that only seemed to grow stronger with every corner that you turned to ensure that no one was there. While the handsome prince liked to joke about how his life was on your hands, it was much more serious than that.

You had seen the fear in his eyes that night--it was so tangible that you could practically hold in your hands. He was a man terrified of death, and he knew that he had little control over it. You had control over it, but you knew that you could only stretch yourself so far.

Your group of five neared your gate in the international terminal lined with several dozen different kinds of multi-colored flags. You situated yourself between Two and the Prince on one of the thin teal chairs with flattened cushions. Chan tapped his hands on this knees impatiently as he inspected the place.

“Kind of exciting isn’t it?” He said with a tiny grin.

“What?” You moved to look at him with his obscured features. “Exciting?”

“Yeah, you know, travelling together. It kind of feels like an adventure. I mean, they’ve got a gun to our heads, but at least we’re together right?”

You scoffed, simply amused at how he had taken the severity out of the situation. It was clear that this prince knew little about the concept of perspective.

“I’m not following.”

“I get that...we need to be careful, but who said that we can’t, say, enjoy the journey?”

“You’re saying that you want us to have fun while we’re running for our lives?”

The prince smiled. “You know that I like having fun. That and...I’m just trying to be optimistic.” Under his cap, he slicked his brown strands back. “The three of you seem to be so tense all the time. Obviously, that can’t be good for your health--”

You cracked out with laughter. “You’re being ludicrous, Your Highness. We have to be on high alert at all times--”

“I said, that you could call me Chan, remember?” He rather languidly spread out his legs in his seat, removing his glasses for moment. “How about, when we go to Egypt, I take you out somewhere nice to eat? We can relax, talk, get to know eachother more--”

You raised your hand up to silence him. “--If this is just a ploy to get me alone, I politely rescind the offer. Here I was thinking that you were concerned about all three of us...”

“--I am!” Chan quickly piped, “I-I’ll take you all out for dinner! But...but...you’ll have to allow me to take you out for drink then. Just the two of us. I still hold to my word of wanting to get to know you.”

The prince’s face was puffed and bloated, and scraped with little pink and red cuts, but nothing stopped him from pulling out his signature charming and persuasive grin.

“Try to kiss me again, and I won’t hesitate. You might be royalty but I don’t ca--”

“--Hmmm no promises.” Chan then cut in, his grin turned even more indulgent while you watched him inspect your frame in that god-awful scratchy blouse.

Next to you, Two let out a particularly amused sounding scoff of a laugh.

“Forward as ever, Your Highness.” Jeongin deadpanned, then buried his nose in his coffee and newspaper once again. He hadn’t gotten to finish doing so earlier.

Seungmin, the young student stifled his own laughter which then gradually got louder and louder. “I can’t fucking believe this. Me. Kim Seungmin, the most normal-ass person in the whole world with you four: a fucking prince, secret agents...and now we’re going to Egypt??? Egypt???”

“Why does that sound like the set up to a shitty joke?” Two popped a bubble he had blown with the gum from the convenience store. Turns out he actually had a bit of a “gum habit” as he called it.

“Settle down kid.” Jeongin said without his eyes leaving his paper. “You’ll make a scene.”

The prince yawned, sliding his sunglasses back on.

“I never really did end up getting as much sleep as I would’ve liked.” If you could’ve seen his eyes, you would’ve then seen him eye your shoulder. “May I?” he politely asked.

Rather than giving him an answer, you rolled your head around as if to say do I need to?

Chan let out a happy little hum after resting his head on your shoulder, nuzzling in slightly.

You met your partner’s side eye, and he repeated for you, I really fucking hate this babysitting thing.

“Thank you Bee.” Chan softly muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear. “I really do owe you everything.” He was careful at first, but he reached out his hand to rest it atop of yours. While the action made you twitch at first, you remembered how the same action had calmed him in the van when you had escaped the gala.

You told yourself that you were just being nice.

The young kid pulled out a journal from his backpack and started scribbling something, Two popped a bubble, snapping it on his unnaturally white teeth, and Jeongin sipped at his coffee.

This really was the set up to a shitty joke.

A woman cleared her throat over the intercom and announced, Flight C1180 to Cairo will be boarding in one hour. Thank you for flying with us today.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

Text

Wilfords Demands: Raising The Stakes

Summary- 6.2k Curtis Everett x You. Its the day after the disaster of the trains New Years party. Curtis processes some of what caused his out lash towards you as well as start to prepare for the up coming tournament against Wilford’s Prized Champions. You are once more checked to see if you have become pregnant and the doctor decides to increase your chances.

Warnings- results of the readers punishment, some language, use of needle, mentions of pregnancy.

A/N- Its been months since I have updated this series. It is a darker series with a darker version of Curtis. But we all know that I have a severe soft spot. Its only so dark. I am who I am.

Chapter 2 / Wilfords Demands Masterlist

Curtis woke to you sniffling next to him, arching a bit and feeling he was still buried in you after he filled you with his cock in anger last night. You had your arms over your face trying to stifle the soft sniffles, and he grasped your hip in a firm hold, feathering his thumb over fading bruises on your hips. His bruises, you were his girl after all and the only one allowed to put them on you. Finally he easily slipped from you, and once he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, you drew your legs up in a fetal way. Curtis looked over his shoulder and clenched his jaw seeing you pull away from him. Maybe he let his anger get the best of him, Grey hinting that he wanted you and was willing to take you by any means necessary really helped fuel his temper last night after seeing his hands on your hips. Curtis had taken it out on you, and not the one who deserved it. A sorry wouldn't fix the trust he had taken from you, and he already regretted it now that it was morning. He would have to work on gaining it back if he wanted to live in peace with you.

Mulling over this new issue, he moved to a stand, and went to the bathroom to shower. Hoping that giving you some space would ease you a bit, give you a chance to pull yourself together. Stepping in the hot water, he took his time. Recalling things that happened from the night before, he was going to have to step up his training to beat Grey. Because Grey was good, agile, and had speed on his side where Curtis was more solidly built. He was fast and agile, but he needed to be prime to beat Grey. His hand brushed over his short hair to swipe the soap out and turned off the water quickly. Stepping out to dry off, he poked his head out to see you had moved to a sit, finding one of his oversized long sleeves to pull over and cover yourself up. Your shyness made him smile a bit. He was well familiar with how you would downcast your eyes and peek at him while he was going about his business when you were reading in the chair. Whenever he would glance, you would drop your head back into the book like you weren't doing anything. Even now you would glance at the door, and he pulled back in to wrap a towel around his waist, before stepping out. Sure enough your gaze dropped back to your hands, picking at the thread of the sweater you were wrapped in. Although it occurred to him that this time you were more scared of him then so much shyness over your naked body.

Moving to the dresser built in the wall, he pulled out some clothes, and glanced at you. Knowing you wouldn't move from the spot till he said something. Straightening up, he nodded to the bathroom. “Go get yourself cleaned up.” his voice rough and you were quick, darting past him into the bathroom and the door shut. Letting the air rush out of his lungs as he rushed himself to dress. He had a meeting with Wilford after his slotted time in the gym and wanted to get it over with. Soon he was out the door, leaving you alone to finish up. Sure the door was locked behind him, he glowered at one of Grey’s friends lurking around, snapping out. “What the fuck you doing at this end of the car?”

The man pulled up short, looking at Curtis nervously before remarking. “None of your damn business.”

Curtis sneered as he pushed Grey's friend against the train's wall, tilting his head as he looked the slightly smaller man up and down. “It's my business when you're sniffing around my door. Tell Grey to mind his own girl.” Curtis was pushed back, but the man was making a quick retreat to get out of the car. Curtis watched as the door swished open for him to pass through. Once he was satisfied he wouldn't be coming right back, he turned the opposite way, heading towards the train's training car.

You were undressing when you heard the main door open, and then the lock click, breathing out a sigh of relief knowing Curtis was gone. You were so sore from the night before. Your ass stun and when you turned to look in the mirror, you could see the hand prints of welts on your ass. The water was going to make them sting, you just knew it. And your core throbbed from where he insisted you sleep together last night. Up until last night everything had been minor. This was the hardest he treated you. All because you let another man touch you. Not intentionally, but that didn't seem to matter where this person was concerned. You felt your throat close up just thinking about the rage in his eyes when he found you. When had this become your life?

Going to start the shower, you slipped in muffling a cry at the stings the water pelted on your ass until it went numb and you finally let yourself relax. The heat and steam relaxed those sore muscles, and you let the water just cascade over you for a good 20 minutes before you went to wash your hair.

You could feel yourself starting to break at your situation. All you wanted now was to go back. The warm clothes and food Curtis brought you didn't make it any better. You were so completely under his control, that you couldn't stop him when he wanted you. That was so overwhelming that you ended up sinking to the bottom of the tub, curling up your legs and ignoring the pain as you let the sobs wrack your body, feeling so hopeless in your situation. Time passed, and the water started to lose its intense heat. Pulling yourself up, you started scrubbing and washing yourself quickly before it turned icy cold.

There was nothing you hated more than ice cold water chilling you. You got out and grabbed your towel to dry off, not looking in the mirror again since you didn't want to see the redness on your ass or some of the bruises that got left behind.

Looking out to make sure you were still alone, you went to look for clothes that Curtis had brought to you. Grabbing leggings and a heavy sweater of Curtis’s, it swallowed you, hanging loosely to one side as it almost exposed a shoulder. You sought out some food, and found an apple in the small refrigerator tucked near the bed. You debated going back to laying down, but that seemed almost like an invitation to get fucked once more. Instead you curled into the nearby chair, picking up the book to try and lose yourself in the story once more, listening for when the door would unlock and your personal demon would return.

Curtis reached the training ring, leaning against the edge to watch what would be part of his competition. So far they didn't worry him, their dancing movements around each other stumbling, their jabs connecting against flesh was weak, the opponent grunting but nothing more. He took note of which sides they favored, and as always, it was to the right they swung. Means he would work harder on his left hand strike.

Looking beyond the fighting men, he could see Grey on the other side, using a towel to dry his face and the ripple of muscles under his tattooed back was still taunt. He must have just gotten out of the ring himself and when Curtis scanned the mat, he could see that there was blood in one corner. Must have been the other guy. One of the help came over, a towel draped over his arm, water and wrap for Curtis’s hands. When Curtis saw it was Edgar, he softened a bit from his usual demeanor. The boy was 17, and hoping to work his way into the ring one day, fight for honor and Wilfords gifts to the winner. If he would survive getting that far, let alone survive the ring itself.

Not many did, Curtis bore the scars littered across his body and almost lost a time or two. His opponent had taken mercy on him, choosing not to kill him that time. Curtis had not forgotten being spared, but it was a kill or be killed lifestyle. He knew next time they might not show mercy on him, not if Wilford demanded a sacrifice. He learned from those lessons, worked tirelessly when he wasn't meeting Wilford’s other demands.

Edgar sat on the bench next to Curtis and took his hand, working on wrapping it around his wrist and up towards his knuckles. “Grey just finished.”

Curtis grunted in acknowledgment while Edgar continued. “They had to take Mikey to the hospital wing, Grey shattered his nose and probably half of the other bones in his face.”

Shaking his head and glancing at Grey leaving the gym, flexing his hands as if he's sore while smirking at Curtis, Curtis turned back to look at Edgar. “Well I hope your not fucking stupid enough to practice with him Edgar, or else you will be leaving the ring looking like him.”

“Oh I won't, I will take my name off the list first Curtis. This will be the fifth person he's done this to in training and no one is putting a stop to him.” Edgar finished his other hand and added the tape to keep it all secure. “Nah man, my kronole is on you. You win, I might get enough to live comfortably for a while.”

Curtis shook his head and arched his brow. “And if I lose the tournament?”

“Then I'm fucked, might have to move back to the tail end so they don't find me.”

Planting his hands to his knees to raise, Curtis just shook his head. “Putting a lot of faith in me to win.”

“Well…” Edgar followed along with Curtis to the punching bags so he could warm up, moving to hold onto it while Curtis started with some easy punches of his hand, loosening his muscles and warming up before he went into the ring. “... You kind of have more at stake now? Grey’s request if he wins is to take your new girl should he win.” Curtis paused with his hands raised near his face, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching at the thought of Grey laying his hands on you again. Anger rolled through him at the idea of it and next time his fist flew out, it moved the bag and Edgar backwards a bit before Edgar planted his feet.

“Over my dead body.” Curtis growled and Edgar peeked around the sandbag, wincing.

“I-uh- think that's what he is hoping.”

Shrugging, Curtis went back to punching the bag till sweat rolled down his back and along the sides of his face. Edgar threw him a towel, and after a quick swipe to his face, he moved on to other exercises. First jumping rope, moving light on his feet, onto sit ups, push ups and burpees. Once he went through his regular routine, breathing heavily, Edgar passed him his water and Curtis took a quick break to catch his breath. Even after using the towel, sweat still rolled down his body but he had one more thing to do before he could go meet with Wilford for his monthly demands. Go in the ring. “You ready?” Curtis asked Edgar, and he nodded while grabbing the padding for his hands.

Slipping under the ropes, Curtis let calmness wash over him. This was one of the few places he felt in control. The mat was slightly spongy under the balls of his feet, and he rolled his head back and forth to loosen up. This was his domain, there were two things he was good at. Fucking and fighting.

Edgar stepped in front of him to hold up his hands, giving a nod he was ready. The two men have built up a relationship over the years, from that first time Edgar as a scrawny preteen approaching Curtis.

Curtis let a bit of a smile slip at the thought of the kid, scrawny as he was back then, he insisted he could keep up with them, and Curtis relented. Allowing him to train with him, he became his shadow, always right there with anything Curtis might need. Many a day he showed him moves that he learned over time, giving him some pointers. Edgar at first was awkward, but over the years muscles built up and he became fluid agility on his feet. He still had learning to do, but he was noticed already by Wilford. As long as he could stay alive, Curtis suspected Wilford would keep Edgar.

“Come on Everett, best shot. You’ve been slacking lately.” Edgar kept his hands raised, and Curtis bounced on his feet before lashing his fist out, bullseye right in Edgar's palm.

“Weak old man! Shit the tailenders hit harder than you.” Edgar edged him on, and Curtis responded with a right-left, right-left. Edgar nodded with a grin.

“That's better, kinda.” He kept going and Curtis rolled his eyes before hitting him hard enough to back him up a few steps and his leg swung out in a kick for his foot to connect with the glove, backing him up towards the corner.

“You gonna keep running your mouth, you little shit?” Curtis snapped out and Edgar laughed, bracing for another hit. After a while, Curtis backed off, going to collect his bottle of water and squirted himself in his red strained face and into his mouth to swallow. Edgar had peeled off the protective gloves and stuck them under his arm to massage at his hands as he ducked out of the ring, knowing Curtis was done for the day.

“Same time in a couple days?” Edgar asked and Curtis went over to the board, looking at the time slots available. Of course he could see Grey had every day for the next couple weeks lined up.

“Same time tomorrow, I have to step it up for the tournament.” Taking the marker hanging nearby, he added his name to several days, and Edgar blew out a breath of disbelief but didn't complain about it.

“Okay, I will see you here tomorrow.” Edgar reached up and marked and E underneath all of Curtis’s signatures. Saying their goodbyes, Edgar split off to his car and Curtis went in to take a quick rinse off. After he had redressed, he left the gym and started to go through the cars towards the ending and Wilford to do his monthly meeting with Wilford. The guards looked Curtis up and down a moment, which he sneered at them in return. One made a threatening step towards him, but he didn't flinch, used to them trying to intimidate him.

“Tell Wilford I’m here for my appointment.” Curtis said once the guard backed off, and he turned away from them to lean on the railing, looking down at the main floor where he had been just the night before. There was still partiers, high as fuck on the kronole littered all over the booths. Orgies happening among groups of people, which at this point was just everyday with Curtis. But his eyes wandered from that, thinking about you instead of the groups of people wiggling all over each other. Those sweet mewls that he had to work out of you. How you tried so hard not to give into the pleasure he brought you, but eventually you wouldn't be able to fight it anymore, and when you would come for him, it was a beautiful thing.

Sometimes it made him lose control, feeling you tighten around him, and your arms circling around him to hide your face against his broad chest while he was pounding into you chasing his ending.

Fuck since you were delivered to him, he hadn't sought out the sensation of getting lost in a multitude of endless people, high as fuck on the kronole and blanking out on how he reached his orgasms, just riding that heightened pleasure till he untwisted out of the group. Even when he was assigned a woman to impregnate, that was just a job he had to do.

You though, since he has kept you all these weeks, it was different, or starting to feel different anyways. Maybe that was why he was so mad that Grey took notice of you? The creak of the door distracted him from his thoughts, and the guards stepped away so he could pass.

Stepping into the next car, the door slammed shut and he went through the high walk above the gears. Reaching the giant W, that door was open enough for him to slip through to see Wilford standing with a scrawny boy and measuring tape. Claude nearby, watching with a nod occasionally when Wilford said something.

“They just get scrawnier and scrawnier every time you bring me a new one Claude. Would think we were not feeding them.” Wilford sighed as he dropped the kids arm and dropped his hands to his waist. Curtis listened to the conversation now, and raised an incredulous brow at Wilfords comment. When you had come to him, you were delicate, weak in his hands. He had to be very careful that first time. Now with proper care, you were finally starting to gain weight. Fuller in his hold. You still bruised easily. “Alright Claude, get him cleaned up, hair cut, some workable clothes, good meal, and a delousing. He's crawling in them.” Wilford winced as he brushed his hands together like he was wiping away the child's filth.

“You got an important job son.” Wilford looked down at the boy, giving him a wide smile of flashing white teeth. If Curtis had to describe it, it was like the villains in the movies he would watch as a kid. Fake and vile looking. Even the boy cowered in fear. “Help me keep the engine running. Now you go with dearest Claude, and if you behave, she will give you a cookie.”

Claude was quick to snatch the child away, and Curtis watched with sympathy knowing the child wouldn't last long working for Wilford. The boy’s eyes turned up to Curtis in fear while the two passed, making Curtis have to look away, leaving the boy to Claude slipping him out and the door shut.

“Curtis! Already been a month?” Wilford approached him, a gleeful grin on his face as he clasped Curtis’s upper arms, giving a squeeze before letting him go. “I heard you've been in the gym quite often.” He moved aside to let Curtis come further into the room and settle at his little table. Wilford went about making drinks for the two of them. “So tell me son, how's the last month been? How’s your girl been treating you? Is she pregnant yet?” Wilford shot the questions at him, but Curtis knew the one he wanted to know, because that was the only reason Wilford put you with him.

“No, she isn't pregnant yet.” Curtis said sharply and Wilford took a pitcher and poured two glasses of crystal clear water, a rarity on Snowpiercer. Setting it in front of Curtis, he settled across from him and sighed.

“I'm getting a tad impatient Curtis. You’ve had her for several weeks now.”

Curtis pushed the water away without interest. “Well she wasn't healthy like the typical women I’m given Wilford. It's probably going to take a while.” he leaned back and watched as Wilford sighed with exasperation.

“You know that is pure snow melted. Not that filtered stuff through the system. You should really try it.” Wilford made a point to pick up his glass and sip from it. “I suppose you are right, just like that child. I don't really know what else to do with the tail enders. Maybe cull their group again like I did with McGregors Riots. They are just fucking to much, and filling up that space. No wonder they are all sick all the time.” Wilford sighed as if in a predicament, and he turned his attention back to Curtis. “Grey told me this morning that you had to discipline your girl?”

Curtis’s jaw clenched, wanting to snap Grey’s neck. He should have known Grey would run his mouth.

“Yesterday at the New Year’s Day gathering. I thought Y/N would be ready for a partial evening with others. She might have gotten a bit overwhelmed at it all, but she won't be making the same mistake again.” Curtis informed Wilford, a bite to his voice. Wilford chose to ignore it, and continued. “Mmh, from what Grey told me, she was and I quote. ‘A sassy bitch who Curtis was much too easy on.’ Then he proceeded to inform me that he would be willing to take her off your hands, seeing as she must be too much for you to handle.” Wilford's icy blue eyes twinkled a bit under bushy brows, well aware how his two favorite men he owned were always clashing. “Is that so Curtis? Can you not control your girl? I watched the video from last night. I have to say she was letting Grey put his hands on what is supposed to belong to you. And I have never known you be willing to share your partner before.”

“I said I handled it.” Curtis hissed out, his eyes narrowing at Wilford. “She thought it was me when she was dancing and Grey took advantage of her innocence. Trust me, she wont forget her lesson in paying attention.” half snarling out, now clearly pissed at having himself questioned if he could handle you. Curtis wouldn't let them take you because of Grey running his mouth.

“Okay Curtis, no need to get all up in a huff. Grey was just showing some concern for how you were managing her.” Wilford said rather quickly, and Curtis found it hard to keep his mouth shut about Wilford’s other prized breeder. The anger in Grey rippled through his body. Recalling how his hands were all over you, feeling you in a way he had no right to. Sliding on your hips, gracing your curves that all belonged to Curtis. His dark eyes looking down at you while you were blissfully unaware of the predator ready to steal you away. It made Curtis want to rage in a fury.

“I'm managing her just fine Wilford. Now can we finish up please?” Curtis reached into his jacket to pull out a list when Wilford paused him.

“Be patient Son, we still have the matter of the tournament to discuss. Do you know what you're asking for if you win?” Wilford arched his brow in question, and Curtis gave a sharp nod. In the past he always asked for the same thing. Time away from Wilford's program. Not having a woman in his charge for at least a month. This time that wasn't what he was going to ask for. He honestly didn't know what he wanted this time. He just knew you had changed it for him.

“Well I will tell you that Grey and Chaz asked for your woman specifically.” Wilford informed him, cocking his head to see Curtis’s reaction.

His jaw snapped shut, not worrying about Chaz. If he had to kill him to keep him from gaining his request, he could easily. But Grey, well he knew that would be harder.

“Right now you and Grey are closely matched Curtis. In fact your actually edged up in favor with the rest of the front end. I’m even putting a hefty bet on you as well.” Wilford leaned forward, eyeing Curtis like a prize. “Don't disappoint me.”

“You have nothing to worry about Wilford.” Curtis slipped his list across the table, and Wilford looked down, his brows lifted curiously while picking it up and reading through it. Giving a sigh like it was an inconvenience, he picked up his phone.

“Yes, I need the following things brought to the engine.” He droned on, and Curtis listened while remaining quiet, sure that Wilford requested for everything he had asked for.

You were curled up in the chair by the window, the book resting on your lap, and flipping to the page you had left off the day before. Your fingers traced over the words, thinking about Curtis dropping it in your lap last time he had come back from Wilfords. You hadn’t asked for it, but he seemed to notice you had gone through his small bookshelf already to keep entertained. It was the first real nice gesture from him. You had thanked him softly, and he just muttered that it wasn’t a big deal.

Your gaze lifted from the book to stare outside, letting your mind wander about your predicament with him. You wanted to go back to the tail end, to your friends. But he had assured you last night that there was no going back, you wouldn't ever get to return. So far, being here hasn't actually been all that terrible although you hated what you had become. You didn't want to enjoy being with Curtis, and most of the time you tried to fight back by trying to not enjoy it. But your body gave in every time under his touch. So you didn't even get the right to be able to say him fucking you was all that terrible. Did you choose it? No never. You have not initiated it once, and he had to force you to submit to him.

He was a vile man, you told yourself. Feeling shame burn your chest. You knew that wasn't the case. Curtis tried in his own way. He was forced into this, and used in this disgusting way. In fact from what you understood, he had come from the tail end to at first. Forced into this prostitution by Wilford. Leaning your forehead against the glass, a few tears slipped from your eyes. You still were scared of Curtis, he had a forceful power that could make you do whatever he wanted. Your fingers clenched around the book, wrinkling the pages in frustration.

Breathing out, you smoothed your books pages back again when the door swooshed open, and you looked up to see Claude snap into the room. “Come on Y/N, your appointment time.” She looked down at her clipboard, and then her wrist at a watch. “Hurry it up, the doctor doesn't have all day.”

You were quick to comply, grabbing a pair of pants and slipping them on, choosing to keep the over sized shirt of Curtis’s. Holding the door open, she ushered you out and steered you to another cart that was filled with all sorts of different compartments. You by passed front enders getting hair cuts, a dentist cleaning teeth, a seamstress measuring someone and Claude forced you into a doctors section.

The doctor looked over his shoulder at you and Claude. “Up on the table, I don't need you in here.” he waved Claude to leave. As always Claude gave you a warning look not to cause trouble and she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. “So, Y/N, how have you been feeling?” The Doctor started scrubbing his hands with strong chemical smelling soap. You picked at your shirt.

“Fine Dr. Fin.” you responded and he picked up a chart, looking through it.

“Ahhh were checking to see if Number 13 has impregnated you.”

“Curtis…” You looked away as you slipped off the table and worked your pants off. You hated when the Doctor referred to him as a number, like he wasn't a person but some kind of experiment for them to toy with.

“Yes Curtis.” Dr. Fin said absently as he waited for you to slip back onto the table and place your feet into the stirrups. “Have you two been together frequently since I have last seen you?”

You gave a nod while pulling yourself back onto the table and slipped your feet into the stirrups. Closing your eyes and tilting your bed, you tried to relax while the doctor checked you.

“Alright, well nothing yet.” He pulled away and motioned you to put your clothing back on, which you eagerly did. “But I have something that may just help with it.” He reached in the cabinet above his head and pulled out a syringe and needle top. You eyed the syringe in his hand warily.

“What is it?” you backed up a bit, trying to put some distance between the two of you while he next took out a bottle, and plunged the needle in it, drawing the liquid out and clearing the bubbles from it with a slight shake before turning to look at you.

“Nothing you need to worry about Y/N, now come over here and hold out your arm.” A shake of your head made Dr. Fin frown and narrow his eyes at you. “Come on child. Don't make me call in someone.”

You still refused to approach him, which you knew was pointless. That you were going to end up with the shot, whatever it was. But you didn’t have to make it easy for them. Dr. Fin sighed with impatience and hit a button under the table. “Just making this harder than it needs to be.” he tried approaching you again and you went around the table. Bolting to the door was an option now, although you were sure it would be locked to you. It didn't matter, because that's when an armed guard came through and assessed the situation. “You tailenders never learn do you?”

He grabbed you and pinned you against the table, you struggled, screamed trying to wrench away. The guard shook you viciously and used his weight to crush your chest into the medical chair, punching out the air from your lungs.

“I need her arm.” Dr. FIn said calmly, and you struggled with that too. Till you were knocked upside the temple, pain blossoming and black stars dazing your vision. “Wonder if 13 has this many problems with her.”

Your lungs burned and things in your vision went into a haze while your arm was stretched out, the guard above you snickered while you gave a few more weak attempts to pull free. “Not too bad from what we can see. Once in a while, but he is easily able to subdue her. Although Wilfords getting pissed that she isn't pregnant yet.”

You felt the sharp sting in your arm, trying to rip your arm away but there seems to be a firm hold on it. The burn of the medicine made you gasp in pain. But it was fading out, everything was fading out and then back in sharper. A fire raced your veins and you could feel it curl into your bloodstream wickedly. “W-what did you do to me?” Beads of sweat popped on your brow. The Doctor backed away and dispensed the needle away while the guard grasped your wrists to wrench your hands behind you.

“Y/N is ready now to be returned to Curtis. It's fast acting and won’t last long, so be quick to return her.” Dr. Fin said while ignoring you and with that you were wrenched from the room. Stumbling in the guards hold, you could feel your entire body itch, the weight of your clothing was suffocating. You kept gasping, trying to draw in some kind of air. You kept fighting his hold, sobbing as your legs shook and fell to your knees, while wiggling around. “I can’t! Somethings wrong.”

“There ain't nothing wrong with you bitch, get up.” He yanked on your wrists, making you scream when the pain at the unnatural angle twisted your arms till you thought they were going to snap. Hauling you back to your feet, he finally got to Curtis’s door. It opened to Curtis yanking off his sweaty work out shirt and he pushed you into the room. Once more you sprawled against the floor, similar to last night. Curtis was reaching down, a look of surprise in his eyes as he snapped at the guard.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?!”

“She’s not my problem any longer, take care of her.” And the door was slammed shut, you curled in on yourself with a gasp as the heat took over again, and Curtis’s hands dug under your arms to lift you. Your hands pushed him away for a moment, and you started to paw at your clothing, tugging at them to get them off.

“Curtis, oh god get them off, get them off.” you said in a panic, and he once more picked you up and set you on the bed. Feeling him roll your shirt up and draw it over your head, he grabbed your shoulders to make you focus on him.

“Y/N! What did they do to you?” His eyes searched yours, dazed as they looked back at him. That heat settled now in your core, and you could feel your thighs trying to clench when a rush of arousal made your pants start to cling to you. You just needed him, right this second. Launching yourself at him, your lips pressing to his and biting at it, and your arms circled to his sweaty back, digging into the muscles.

“Curtis right now, fuck me.” you whined against his lips and pressed your chest into his, grinding your slick core against his groin. Curtis twisted you back onto the bed, his hand pressing against your neck to keep you pinned down while he leaned over you.

“Y/N, fuck your burning up. What did they do to you?” It was hard to miss the sweat running down your face and neck, droplets forming along your collarbone, and your breasts heaving as you took deep breaths, your hands wrapping around his wrist as you pressed yourself against him.

“Curtis please…” you tilted your head back and hissed as it all flooded you again, and Curtis gave you a slight shake.

“Answer me Y/N, what did they do to you?” He said firmly and you cried out in frustration.

“A shot! They pinned me down and injected something.” tears formed in the corner of your eyes, your pussy clenching needing to be filled, and you could feel him hard against you, but Curtis wasnt giving it.

“Those fuckers.” He snarled once you finally told him, and he pulled back to yank your pants and panties off, pulling you up to rip your bra off over your head. “We got to get you in the shower before you burn up.” You didn't care, were barely comprehending now his words. Locking your arms around his neck as you bite his shoulder to hiss against him while rubbing your sweat slick body to his, making him groan when your legs locked around his waist and your pussy slicked against his abs. Curtis could smell your arousal now, leaving him fucking aching and throbbing. The medicine they gave you heightened everything in you and you felt like you were loosing your mind. He slammed you into the wall beside the bathroom door, wrenching your head back to kiss you harshly, you met him back for the first time ever eagerly. There were no tentative touches and whines from you, no hesitation. You clawed at his back and rolled your hips against him, looking for more.

Tongues speared each other's mouth and teeth clashed, it was like you couldn't sate the hunger you had for this man now. You tipped away from that kiss, going down his jawline, and sucking on his earlobe.

“Fucking hell Y/N…” The solid muscle of Curtis crushed against you before pushing you two into the bathroom, he yanked your hot to the touch body off him, and pushed you into the shower to turn on the cold ice water. Slamming the glass door shut to keep you in there, he worked his sweats off his lean hips as fast as he could. Looking up, he could see your hand prints against the glass, pressing your forehead against the glass.

“Curtis, let me out.” you rolled your body into the glass, and he groaned seeing your skin clearing the sudden fogginess of the glass, your nipples pebbled in the icy cold water, and droplets running down your body while your eyes shined bright at him before you pulled away and the glass turned fogged again to just see your silhouette.

“Step back Y/N, i'm coming in.” Opening the door, you backed up, looking up at him from lowered lashes, water raining down on you to stream down your curves in drinkable streams. Stepping in, the glass door swung close again, your skin pebbled from the cold, but you paid no attention to the ice cold on the outside, but the burning on the inside. Taking in Curtis standing naked in front of you. You couldn't stop yourself, bringing your hand up to grasp the back of his neck, your arched to your tiptoes to close the gap, and dragging him into a kiss, his hands pushing you back against the wall, and his possessive touch squeezed your ass cheeks, making you want him in a way you never wanted before.

#wilfords demands #curtis everett #curtis everett x you #snowpiercer #curtis everett fic #snowpiercer fic #amber writes #sweater writes #tw: needle

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commanderserwin · 4 years

Note

omg are you still writing rn? we live in different timelines so idk if it's still drabble day skskskks but i've been seeing a lot of mafia boss erwin art on pinterest so i'm wondering if u can do that like a headcanon or a drabble if u want huhu luv u xfilanon

❯ notes: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK A WHILE!!!! okay, i have like 5 drafts of this mafia au, and i couldn’t really pick one. and i don’t even know if this is mafia-ish enough. but here it is! i hope you enjoy!!

❯ characters. erwin smith x reader

❯ summary. the mafia boss who’s gone soft.

same space.

The meeting started as he entered, taking the red leather chair at the head of the long wooden table. His black suit was crisp, the clothes over his shoulder enunciating his built underneath. Immediately, somebody lit his cigarette while he listened to his men discuss over business. He crossed his legs over, blowing smoke into the air as he listened carefully- eyes closed and the wheels in his head turning as he pondered over their words.

Another group has been making a mess out of the city, a couple of new-bloods who doesn’t know how well guarded the city is under Erwin’s hold.

When he finally opened his eyes, his first instinct is to look at you. As quick as he got his cigarette lit, it was also how fast he pinched the end of the stick with his fingers, throwing them in his glass with a soft sheesh. He never wanted to disappoint you, so he tried his hardest to not do those anymore.

The ghost of the smile on your lips made him breathe a little better, as he trained his eyes back to the meeting. The men talked over and over, dragging their own smokes, tapping their own fingers as their signet rings shone through the white light that graced their faces. Their men stood beside you, arms crossed, or for you— a hand resting on your thigh holster, ready to make a move if needed.

Erwin clasped his hands on the table, turning his head on whoever speaks, lending his ears to hear the same words over and over again. From the corner of his eyes, you tried to hide the yawn with your pressed lips, and it made him smile softly knowing that it bores you the same way it does to him.

"Is that all?" Erwin asked quietly, tapping his fingers on the table as everybody quieted down.

"Actually—," one leader started, but he only shut his mouth when Erwin looked at him. The man sighed, closing his folder as he clasped his hands on the table just like his superior. "We could talk about this tomorrow."

"Then we shall continue tomorrow. That's all."

With one flick of his hand, everybody stood up from the table, carrying their folders as they headed towards the door together with their men. When it was your turn— his voice echoed in the room, making you freeze as the others sliver past by you with sympathetic looks. Everybody feels sorry for whoever the boss calls on, and it had to be you.

His antics, and you're sick of them.

"Stay."

Erwin relaxed on his chair, hand fiddling with the leather as he watched you take the chair on the opposite side of the table. His hand immediately reached for his pocket, a stick and a lighter, and he lit them up, the smoke going like a halo around his head. Just one look and he knew it was a mistake.

"Smoke all you want," you assured, crossing your arms as you look at him flick his eyes towards the stick and to yours.

"You don't like it when I smoke."

"I don't."

"Very well," Erwin smiled, dipping the cigarette into the water where it died. He leaned on the table, hands clasped again as he surveyed you. Erwin squinted his eyes, while you looked impassively right at him.

"What is it?"

He thought long and hard as to what he was going to say. After all these years, he still says it and you’ll bite his head off and reject him. He’s used to it, but still he wants to try— a game in his mind of how long it would take you to shut him down. Erwin smiled, take a deep breathe before he opened his mouth starting time timer as he opened his mouth.

“Will you come—,”

“No.”

“I didn’t even?”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Erwin exhaled loudly, loosening his tie as he leaned on his chair, feeling the chill of the leather on his hands as he picked at it. You mimicked his movements while he only shook his head, recounting. It only took you a second to reject him even when he hasn’t said anything.

“Fine,” Erwin nodded, flicking his hand away as he twirled his glass in his hands watching the cigarettes swim in the water. He heard your chair screech against the floor, as you stood up making way towards the door. He noted how slow you walked as if waiting for him to call you back. He guessed he just had to surprise you. “Get home safe, then.”

The door to your apartment finally opened after so many tries, showing the mess of the place it is. Not a whole pigsty— just messy. The pillows needed rearranging, the carpet needs vacuuming, frames needed dusting and the shoe rack needs to be filled but only one pair of your shoes sits there.

“I am so tired,” you sighed, closing the door behind you as you dropped your bag on the floor, feet immediately going to the kitchen in search for something. You crouched down in front of your refrigerator, groaning at the water bottles that it displayed and no actual food. “Really?”

This isn’t what you needed after this day. Today has been exhausting, it has always been exhausting and too physical and you needed a break— but in this line of work, breaks were nonexistent. The amount of people you have met only to have them meet their ends and their days over some squabble over land and money made you too exhausted. The only thing giving your mind peace is the cold air coming from the refrigerator as it mockingly showed you the absence of food— and that you should go grocery shopping soon.

But your night just got even more exhausting. You knew nobody was following you, and you made sure of that. You weren’t a nobody in the organization so having someone stalk you was a normal recurrence but you didn’t want it now. The only good thing is that you haven’t taken off of your thigh holster where a pistol now becomes an extension of your arm as you surely cocked it in your hand.

Whoever followed you was good. Their footsteps were muffled against your wooden, creaky floors yet one sigh out of their body and you immediately let your guard down. You cocked the gun back into your holster— your heart calming down as you slammed the refrigerator behind you.

Their blue eyes made your heart melt as you took a deep breath.

“Can you please learn how to knock?”

“You ought to place another lock on your doors.” Erwin kissed your forehead in passing as he moved inside your kitchen, pulling back the bar stools hidden under your kitchen island.

“I have placed three locks already! So, knock!”

“I will knock if I can’t pick through your door.”

“Fine.”

Erwin moved past you as you just noticed that he brought a bag with him- presumably takeouts and your heart did a dance for his thoughtfulness. “Dinner?”

“I’ll grab the plates,” you sighed, peeking through his shoulder as you inspected what he brought. Erwin felt you behind him, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You tried to press your lips into a straight line but it all failed when he reached down to press a soft kiss on your lips alongside pushing you gently away to go on your merry way. “Burglar.”

“Boss,” Erwin mused, sitting down on the bar stool as he opened the food containers, waiting for you to come back with the plates and forks. He stood up, reaching for some glasses, wine, and water. Once you handed him his plate and fork, he pulled on your chair a little closer to him, serving a big one on the plate. “Eat.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, squeezing his thigh as you ate silently. It made you giddy inside that he brought you your favorite, never missing one bit on your likes and dislikes.

Erwin nodded, smiling gently as he took off of his coat to fold it near him. His hands moved swiftly, on his tie as he finally took them off as well as unbuttoning his shirt at the top. His hand went to his sleeve, but he stopped to ask you something.

“Will you pass me a napkin?” Erwin pointed to the folded ones inside the bag while you pushed them towards him, resuming your dinner. “Thank you.”

From the corner of your eyes, you watched him fiddle with his cufflinks and you wanted nothing more than to chuck those things away far from him as the rusty metal things stained his sleeves. He placed his rusty cufflinks on the napkin, delicately pushing them near his folded things. Erwin only raised a brow in question as you gawked on him, chewing slowly— waiting for you to say it out loud.

“You should throw those out,” you commented, pulling the napkin where his cufflinks were as you inspected them around your fingers. He only pulled them back, swatting your hand as he did so.

“Why should I?” Erwin asked, placing them aside as he turned to you. He watched the immediate rise of the pink tinge on your cheeks as he tilted his head to the side, “You gave them to me years ago.”

Erwin wouldn’t never admit it, but he always deemed those cufflinks were his lucky charms. His day would be incomplete if he wasn’t wearing those, and despite all the expensive and new ones that’s he got from you and others, he would always come back and place the rusty ones on his sleeves no matter how much it stained. Those cufflinks meant the beginning for him, a reminder, and the light at the end of the tunnel— because he knows if he wears those he’ll be fine at the end of the day no more how hard his work was. Those cufflinks meant you.

“They’re rusty,” you sighed, turning at him. “Look at your sleeves now, they’re stained.”

“I own a laundromat for that problem,” Erwin began, his hands feeling his chest for the golden chain that he wears. He always hides them from everybody, but not from you. He fixes them outside his shirt, where a dangling emerald rests on it, making it the sole color on his dark suit.

“I could always buy you a new one,” you said, pushing his plate towards him while he finishes his routine.

“I don’t need a new one.”

“Erwin.”

“I don’t want a new one.”

He pecked your lips once, twice— thrice until you have shut your mouth, defeated as he settled for those rusty cufflinks. It has been years since he has received them and you did notice that he wears them everyday, and at that point you made a promise to yourself to buy him a better one. But even after those days, he would always come to work, sit on his chair, listen to his men, barge into your apartment— still wearing those cufflinks.

“But?”

Four times.

“Eat,” Erwin pushed, turning his body away as you scowled beside him. He knows very well what you were doing and he wouldn’t want to let you go through it. He wouldn’t and would never want these— his favorite cufflinks to meet the trash.

At night, he laid down beside you, eyes droopily closing as you squirmed beside him to fit the both of you in the small bed. Erwin tightened his hold on your waist, making you stop as you chuckled in the dark, resting your head on his shoulder as he gently shook in laughter as well.

You thought about all the times he has invited you to come home to him. Never missing to ask you that question always at the end of the day, and always saying the same answer.

“What are you thinking about?”

Erwin turned to his side, clasping his hands below his cheek as he listened to you in the dark.

“What if I come home with you?”

“If you only want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Erwin kissed the tip of your nose, nudging them gently as he pulled away.

“So that I know you’ll be safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” you scoffed, snuggling on the crook of his neck as he immediately wrapped an arm around you tight. “Besides I know you have armed men here.”

“Well,” Erwin whispered, smiling atop of your head, “I do own the street.”

That got a laughter out of you, because it was true. His grand gestures always makes sure that you were safe and protected— even when he knows how well you could handle yourself if problem does arise. Erwin has been the first ones to witness it, and he would never forget about it. Still, he would want to make sure you were safe.

“But why?”

Erwin placed a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “I want to come home with you.”

“You can come home with me.”

“Baby,” Erwin chuckled lightly, pulling away from your embrace, “We could barely fit in this bed.”

“I’ll buy a new bed,” you smiled, turning away as Erwin immediately wrapped his arm around you, lazily kissing the back of your neck.

In the morning, you’d wake up to the sound of footsteps creaking over in the living room. Familiar footsteps— and you would get out of your bed to tiptoe for the burglar. His back was against your torso for a minute, feeling his chest ramble with every word that he speaks over the phone and it would make you smile— no matter how brutal they might be talking about.

In the afternoon, the meeting would resume once more, and Erwin would find your eyes in a second as he takes a sit on his chair, making sure to flick his wrist as the rusty cufflinks makes an appearance once again on his clothes.

In the evening when everybody is on their way home, Erwin would call you back to his executive room, ushering you take a sit before him. He counted again in his mind on how long it will take you to reject him. He’ll continue to ask even if his voice becomes hoarse, he would still ask. He tapped his fingers on the table, as you only crossed your arms avoiding his eyes.

Nervousness pools at the bottom of your stomach, feeling skittish underneath his blue eyes. Erwin knew something was bothering you, so he immediately jumped on his feet, rounding the table until he could place his hands on your shoulder.

“Look at me,” Erwin whispered, rubbing circles on to you jaw while he gently lifted your chin. “What is it?”

“Come home with me,” you whispered with your eyes closed. When he didn’t say anything, you pulled away— panting hard because he stayed silent. “Forget that I said anything.”

“Stop,” Erwin caught on your hand, pulling you closer to him, his eyes filled with a shine, as he smiled. Just one look at his face, your suppressed lips and nervous eyes fluttered away, while he nods at your invitation. He grabbed some pins from his coat, dropping it over your hand.

“What is this?”

“I don’t have to pick through your door anymore,” Erwin mused, pushing you towards the door with a hand on your back, while he whispered quietly over your temple, “I’d love to come home to you.”

#i was like no let me make it angsty :// and :)#erwin smith x reader #erwin smith imagine #erwin smith imagines #erwin x reader #aot imagines #aot imagine #snk imagines #snk imagine #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan imagine #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction

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naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 7 - Domestic

The moment you feel at home is when you start decorating the house. Dean had been repeating this to Sam ever since they had officially established their headquarters in the Men of Letters bunker. First of all, he began by displaying his favorite weapons in his room: his sawed-off shotgun, the machete he had made in Purgatory, a grenade launcher, his father’s fighting knives, his first stake… Quickly, the souvenir albums had left Baby’s trunk to weigh down the drawers of his bedside table.

Sam ended up imitating him by putting his clothes in the closet first, then his computer pouch in the desk, and finally he ended up storing countless books and tapes in boxes by his bed. Dean had obviously taken over the kitchen as quickly as possible and built his famous "Dean Cave" while Sam could spend whole nights devouring every book in the library or archives.

Castiel had also inherited a room — although it was rarely occupied — and was particularly fond of the calm of the infirmary, watching over one of the two brothers when necessary. Jack, for his part, was in the only house he had ever known and cherished every wall in this underground lair.

However, everyone agreed that the refrigerator was undoubtedly their favorite part of the bunker. The Men of Letters' was not a simple American fridge with two doors, nor even a fridge with a minibar option. No, their refrigerator was absolutely gigantic, with several doors dug directly into the wall and at least two meters of metal in width.

Of course, the food gets everybody to agree —especially when Dean felt like making his own handmade burgers— but that wasn’t the only reason this family was particularly fond of the fridge. It was not so much what was in it that found grace in their eyes, but what was on it.

The first person to hang anything on it was Sam. Tired of having to repeat to his brother to buy vegetables, he had then written a precise shopping list before hanging it with a magnet on the door containing the beers, certain that Dean would fall face to face with it before the end of the day. In response, Dean had hung another post-it on a lower door saying, "Here, rabbit man."

Soon after, Jack felt confident enough to hang one of his drawings, then another. Castiel had happily added the menu of this Chinese restaurant on the outskirts of Lebanon where the Winchesters loved to order after finishing a case. Dean had pinned a few handwritten recipes and Sam was again the first to put a picture of the four of them in the library, playing board games. Months later, Dean solemnly hung his wedding announcement with Castiel below the date of their first kiss, lovingly scribbled on a piece of paper. Little by little, the fridge was filled with memories and post-it notes, a fresco of their lives spread out among the gates of the metal surface.

It was past midnight when Sam decided to have a pick-me-up to continue his search among the archives. He proceeded as usual to his reserved part of the refrigerator when a bright yellow post-it attracted his attention. He knew every photo on this fridge so well that the slightest new element was now popping into his eyes and he came closer to read what it was saying.

"I’m sorry. Can we talk?"

It was definitely Dean’s handwriting. Sam frowned, the cogs of his brain creaking in his head. He hadn’t had a fight with his brother recently, it was barely if he’d seen him for the last two days. Jack had been on vacation with Jody since the beginning of the week and Castiel had left the bunker for… oh.

Dean and Castiel had a fight five days ago. Sam had not really understood the reason for the argument, the two of them shouting at each other behind closed doors before they remained silent for hours. This was the reason why Dean had been locked up in his room since Tuesday and that Castiel only came back from time to time to wander like a lost soul before leaving for an indefinite period. This message was therefore not addressed to him, Sam realized. It was a cry for help from his brother to Castiel. Although the angel did not need to drink or eat, it was true that he particularly liked to look at the refrigerator whenever he could as a reminder of why he called this place "his home".

Sam pinched his lips and decided not to interfere. It was something between his brother and his best friend and he would be there if they asked him for support, but not before. Although troubled, Sam grabbed a beer and a few cherry tomatoes before leaving the kitchen.

To his surprise, the first post-it did not stay on the refrigerator very long. The following day he had been replaced by a note written with much more careful writing despite the austerity of the words.

"You said everything you had to say and so did I."

A cold anger sweated in Castiel’s words. Sam was still in the kitchen when Dean made his entrance, heading for the food first as usual. He was also present when his brother’s eyes fell on the note and he froze to read it in silence. A few seconds later, Dean unpinned the post-it before wrinkling it and throwing it in the trash. He returned to his room without even getting the breakfast he had come to fetch.

"I’m an idiot. Please pick up your phone." Said the following note three days later accompanied by a photo of Dean and Castiel wearing reindeer antennas for Christmas that they had celebrated with family two years earlier. Sam recognized Dean’s trembling hand behind every word.

Sam soon found himself opening the refrigerator more often than usual simply to find out how his brother and Castiel were progressing in their fight, worried about each one of them. Dean was still as silent as a tomb about it and he hadn’t seen Castiel for a week now. Whatever happened between them, it was by far the longest argument the couple has had to date.

Dean’s last note remained unanswered.

When Sam opened the fridge door one morning to take milk, the post-it had been replaced by another still written by Dean.

"Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word, Elton John"

Sam could not help a small smile from appearing on his face. Dean had always been more gifted with music than words, but the mere fact that he chose Elton John showed something fragile and sincere. Sam hoped Castiel would get the hint. Just below this post-it was pinned a photo of their fingers intertwined, the bright wedding rings to their fingers, as well as a large black feather.

Indeed, the next day, Dean’s note was still there, but this time accompanied by a second piece of paper with an address.

"716 E Montana Ave, 1312, Baker. Room 17. You’re the One that I Want, Grease."

Not more than an hour later, Dean had gathered his belongings and was already finding an excuse to Sam when this one cut him off. They exchanged a look which they alone knew the secret before Dean nodded and fondly patted his shoulder. The next minute, the Impala’s engine was growling in the garage before moving away, leaving Sam free to go and have breakfast with Jack in the kitchen.

When Dean returned two days later, it was with Castiel next to him and a weight off their shoulders. Sam sent them a simple, gentle smile before going to hug his brother and Castiel. When he got up to bring them beers, he noticed that the post-its had not left the refrigerator. However, no one ever removed them afterwards.

The family simply added other memories as life slowly resumed in the bunker.

* * * @winchester-reload Hi! Here’s a short one for today with my favorite couple. Please, let me know if you enjoyed it!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos @petrichoravellichor @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37 @destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl @destielhoneybee @dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne @doofcas @castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites @vicmc624 @thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1 @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Link

LUCIAN K. TRUSCOTT NEWSLETTER

Do you remember what it was like during the early days of the COVID crisis? I didn’t. I had to look it up. Seventeen months ago to the day, on March 31, 2020, Time Magazine published a story about a woman in Brooklyn who had been watching from her apartment window as refrigerated trucks were pulled up outside Wyckoff Heights Medical Center and temporary wooden shelving was constructed to hold the bodies of people who had died from the disease because there was no space left for them in city morgues.

It was happening all over New York City. They even had a name for them: BCP’s, or Body Collection Points. There were two in Brooklyn, one in Queens, and one in Manhattan outside Bellevue Hospital. Some were 53-foot long trucks, some were refrigerated tents. They started building what they called “pop-up hospitals” to keep up with the COVID caseload, which had overrun the city’s hospitals. One such pop-up hospital was in the Jacob Javits convention center on the city’s west side. Another was quickly set up in Central Park.

Back in Brooklyn, they built a wooden ramp for hospital workers to use to wheel the bodies out of the hospital and into the trucks. Curious people started stopping on the street to watch the bodies being loaded into the backs of the trucks, so they brought the construction men back to the site to build thin white panels to keep the passersby from getting too close to the dead bodies or gathering in small crowds to stare.

Time reported that the New York State death toll had reached 1,200, with more than 66,000 cases of COVID. More than 900 people had died in New York City alone, thus the need for the temporary morgues in refrigerated trucks and tents.

Cable news covered the COVID crisis in New York City. You could see images of the refrigerated trailers lined up in Queens and Brooklyn. People were asking what it was about New York that the city had so many deaths from the disease. Was it because people lived so close together? Was there something about the lifestyle of New Yorkers that had made the disease spread throughout the city? Was it travelers coming in from outside the city?

I remember finger-pointing by politicians in states in the south and the Midwest, and the fingers were pointed at the big liberal cities of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles. There must be something wrong in those big cities to have so many people dying.

Oh, there was something wrong all right. A vicious, highly contagious virus was spreading rapidly through the population and infecting thousands of people and some of them were dying. Very little was known about the disease. Medical experts were arguing about how the disease could be controlled. Some recommended wearing masks, but it turned out that there was a shortage of what was called PPE, or “personal protective equipment,” and some experts were against recommending that civilians be told to wear masks so there could be enough for the medical professionals in the hospitals who were so overrun with patients with COVID.

The president of the United States formed a so-called “task force” and began holding briefings from the White House, but those briefings quickly devolved into exercises in denial and attacks on the press for making more of the emerging pandemic than the president thought was necessary. With shortages of medical equipment and PPE hindering the fight against the disease, he told the states to find their own, and his own son-in-law even set up a “shadow” task force, the so-called hedge fund volunteers assembled from young friends of Jared Kushner and housed in an empty office in the FEMA building. But the hedge fund volunteers quickly started bickering about how many deaths they should budget for – they made an estimate of a possible hundred thousand, because the estimate by outside experts, who actually had experience with disease and pandemics, was “too severe.” The group paid a lot of attention to Fox News personality Jean Pirro, who was calling up her friend Kushner and getting him to direct lots of the PPE to her favorite hospital in New York. And then one of the young hedge fund volunteers came down with COVID and the group had to stop meeting, and the whole thing fell apart and the states had to go back to bidding against each other for badly needed medical gear to fight the disease.

More than 639,000 dead bodies later, we’re still at it. Once again our television screens feature interviews with exhausted ICU nurses and red-eyed doctors attending patients lined up in crowded hospital hallways.

But there’s a difference. A big one. Seventeen months after the initial panic over the rampaging virus in New York City that no one knew anything about, we know a lot about how it spreads and what to do about it. This time, the New York Times tells us, “Of the 10 states with the most cases per capita in recent days, nine voted Republican in last year’s presidential race and nine are led by Republican governors.” This time the refrigerated trucks are being lined up outside hospitals in Mississippi and Texas and Arizona and Florida, and the temporary “pop-up” hospitals are being built in Mississippi and Missouri and Texas. This time, the states with spiking COVID case numbers and steeply rising death curves are in the South and upper Midwest and the country’s heartland.

What, you might ask, are all those Republican governors in all those Republican states doing to help contain this new pandemic outbreak? Are they following CDC guidelines and imposing mask mandates and encouraging residents of their states to get vaccinated?

No, like South Dakota governor Krisi Noem, who, wearing blue jeans and a black leather jacket recently rode a black Harley Davidson motorcycle into the big motorcycle rally in her state in the small town of Sturgis, they are brushing aside calls for vaccine and mask mandates. “The left is accusing us of embracing death when we’re just allowing people to make personal choices,” said Roem. Personal choices to die? you might ask. Apparently so. Texas senator Ted Cruz chimed in, “Freedom is good policy and good politics.” Cruz has introduced federal legislation to forbid mask and vaccine mandates, because, you know…freedom.

The Republican Party, which only a few years ago caused a stir by requiring welfare applicants in states it controls to get a blood test for drug use, has now decided that walking around coughing and sneezing without the bother of a mask that would protect those around you is what “freedom” means. The Republican Party has decided that Republican governors know better than local school boards which have the safety of school children as their responsibility, and they are busy passing anti-mask mandate laws giving parents the “freedom” to decide whether their children will wear masks to school to protect their fellow students.

This is beyond the old shibboleth that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Republican governors are not insane. They are cruel and mean and without feeling for anything other than power. And they are afraid. They are afraid that if they do what they know is right, which is to require that their citizens wear masks and get vaccinated so they won’t get sick and die, a big bad bogeyman named Donald Trump will come and take their toys away.

You look at the COVID statistics and they are incredible. On August 30, yesterday, 1,725 Americans died from COVID. 280,403 contracted the disease. In a single day. Go back and look at those New York stats from March 30, 2020. 66,000 cases and 900 deaths total, over a couple of months.

Is it that we don’t learn anything anymore? Or is it that some of us just don’t care? Is it that these people in Mississippi or Alabama or Arkansas or Missouri or South Dakota would rather watch the refrigerated trucks fill up with dead bodies than put on a mask and walk into a supermarket or sit down at a Walgreens and pull up their sleeves and let the libs win? Is it that they would rather die than act rationally? Is it that they’re sheep being herded by Ron DeSantis or Greg Abbott or Ted Cruz, or are they the ones herding the Republican politicians?

It would be nice to just sit back and say they’ve lost their minds, the whole Republican Party has gone crazy, wouldn’t it?

But people are dying. Thousands of people. Still. Once again, the bodies are piling up in the 53-foot long trucks. It’s sad. It isn’t all of us, but we’re fucking this up, folks, the whole nation of us.

Lucian Truscott

#newsletter #Lucian Truscott #COVID-19 #corrupt GOP #criminal GOP

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mosylufanfic · 3 years

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Killervibe + 66 😈😈

CONGRATS ON FINISHING! ✨🎉

66. “I’m not sure you understand how much I care about you.”

@thatkillervibe, I had this ready a few days ago, and then I watched the clips from the episode to get the details of her apartment right . . . and realized I'd have to re-write a bunch of it. Ugh! Anyway, thanks for your patience. Enjoy!

Keeping Warm

Ralph left after they got Caitlin stable - which in this case, meant they'd gotten her up to a temperature above freezing and she wasn't spilling off mist like a cooler full of dry ice. He was reluctant to go, but she shooed him out. "I'm doing much better and I'm sure you have things to do."

When she tried to shoo him along after Ralph, Cisco crossed his arms and said, "Nuh-uh, I'm parked here, young lady."

She knew that look. She gave up.

But she out-stubborned him on the topic of maybe going to a hospital, or at least urgent care. "They wouldn't know what to do if my cold powers took over again," she said, "and they might contract frostbite trying to treat me."

Cisco had his mouth open, ready to offer up a quick breach to Star Labs, before he remembered he didn't do that anymore.

He retrieved throw pillows from the floor instead, tucking them behind her so she could sit up on the couch and drink clear broth out of a coffee mug. There was still a zone of cold around her, but no worse than sticking your hand in a refrigerator.

Against his will, he pictured her as she had been when he and Ralph had burst in: lips blue, fingers bone-white, mist spilling out around her, even the blanket frosted over. And her plaintive voice - help me.

He shuddered.

"Real talk," he said. "You think this is going to hold?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I hope so. At least until my mom gets back to me."

She'd called her mom and left a message, clearly trying to strike a balance between asking for help and sounding like she didn't really need it, not really. Ralph and Cisco had exchanged the looks of men who had experienced Caitlin's mom in person.

Dr. T hadn't called back yet.

He brought her another mug, this one piping hot, drowning a tea bag, with a thick layer of honey at the bottom. "Well, I'm here."

She gave him a smile. "Thanks." She considered her half-full mug of broth and traded it to him for the tea. "I'm just glad that your plan worked to bring my temperature back up."

Cisco frowned down at the broth. He'd brought it to her less than ten minutes ago, fresh from the microwave, and it was stone cold. "You done with this?"

"Mhm," she said, stirring the tea.

He took it back to the kitchen and dumped it out in the sink. As he was stashing it in the dishwasher, a yelp of surprise and distress came from the couch.

He whipped around. "Caitlin?"

"I froze it," she said, staring into her tea.

"You froze it?"

She held the mug out to him and sure enough, the tea inside was frozen solid, the handle of the spoon sticking up straight, the string of the tea bag sadly flopping around the surface like ice fishing gone wrong. It was a wonder it hadn't cracked the mug.

He picked up the thermometer and aimed it at her forehead again. 4 degrees, he saw, and his throat locked up for a second before he realized it had switched to Celsius. He hit the button, and it converted to Fahrenheit: 39. Still not great, but not freezing, either.

All he could think to ask was, "Need another blanket?"

"I think it was a flare," she said, carefully setting the mug down on her end table. She held her hand out in front of her. "I'm not misting."

Her fingers were shaking.

He went and got another blanket anyway, tossing it over her feet when she wouldn't allow him to wrap it around her shoulders. He wanted to cuddle her for comfort, but she was worried that she'd freeze him next, and he wasn't one-hundred-percent pooh-poohing that notion.

He texted Barry to bring him a set of dampener cuffs, and got a text back that their friend was in the middle of something. He said, 911 Caitlin needs them and got no reply.

"I'll be okay," Caitlin said. "He needs to conserve his speed and the cuffs would be a last resort anyway. It took me by surprise the first time, but I know the warning signs now and I can turn things over to Frost if it gets really bad. She thinks she can handle it better."

Cisco sent out a group text asking for someone to bring him the cuffs, just in case, and stuck his phone back in his pocket. "Maybe you should call your mom again," he suggested.

She shook her head, pulling the second blanket up over herself. "I've called her once. She'll get back to me."

"Call her again. Please."

She looked away, and it might have been a really long-winded argument except that her phone rang at that moment. She grabbed it and informed him, "It's her," before answering. "Mom? Hi. Thanks for returning my call."

Seriously. Who said that to their mom? What kind of mom made their kid feel like they had to say that?

He tried not to listen in, but the open layout of her front room made that pretty hard. He focused on washing dishes and figuring out how to thaw the frozen mug enough to dump the tea-block out. When that was done, he busied himself texting Kamilla that he wouldn't be home tonight.

"Okay," Caitlin said. "Okay. Uh-huh. No, that's all right. Yes. I'll keep you informed. Okay. Bye, Mom."

At the sound of her sigh, he put his own phone down. "What'd she say?"

"She'll be here in a few days."

"A few days!"

"It's fine, I'll stay home until then. I'll take care of the wound and switch to Frost if I need, and if someone can bring by the cuffs, I can have those, too."

"But - "

"She has to get things in order at the office so she can take the time off."

He stopped dead, mid-protest. He couldn't think of the last time Mama Snow had ever taken time off work for her daughter. He was pretty sure that when Caitlin had been born, Carla Tannhauser had popped her out during a board meeting and stashed her in a file cabinet.

Caitlin looked up. "She's very concerned."

"Yeah." He sat down on the coffee table, ignoring the way she hissed at him. She hated when he did that. "So she's going to like, come here?" He pictured Mama Snow at Star Labs, snipping at all of them. "How long?"

"No, she - " Caitlin cleared her throat. "She'd like to take me to the lab in the Arctic."

"Hang on, Icicle's cryotastic lair of chilly evil?"

"Don't call it that, and yes."

"You're leaving?"

"I agree with her. We'll need the specialized equipment there to figure out what's going on, and maybe to stabilize it."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes, I guess."

How long would that be? "You want I should come with?"

"You just got back," she said. "And no offense, this is really more of a biomedical issue than a mechanical one. If it turns out we need some kind of device built, I can always call you."

"Yeah, you got my digits," he mumbled. "So what'll you do until then?"

"The wound did close up before my immune system went haywire," she said. "So now it's a matter of taking it easy. The antibiotics should start to work, and I'm taking in lots of fluids. I'm not concerned about that part, it seems like it's just a matter of time."

She was the doctor. He nodded. "Okay. But I'm staying here tonight to look after you."

"You don't have to do that!"

"Yeah, I know, I want to."

"What if I freeze you?"

He grinned at her. "Baby, I'm too hot to ever get that cold."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Seriously. You don't have to stay."

He squatted down next to the couch, as close as she would allow him to get. "Caitlin," he said, looking her in the eye. "I'm not sure you understand how much I care about you."

"I know you care about me."

"But you still think I'm going to see you in this condition and go swanning off back home."

She chewed her bottom lip. "What does Kamilla think?"

The rebuttal should have come easy. She's fine with it. You're my friend, you need help. It wouldn't be the first time he'd put in overtime to help a friend. It was one of the things Kamilla said she liked about him.

But for some reason he couldn't get the words out. "She understands," he said. "I filled her in. She says get well soon."

She doesn't have any reason to be jealous, he thought, and then immediately thought, Jealous? Why did that even cross my mind?

Caitlin studied him, and he tried not to squirm.

"Anyway," he added. "We should get in some concentrated bestie time, since I was on the road and you're going to be off in the Arctic. Hmm?" He looked around and found her remote. "Here, I'll even let you pick the first movie."

"Oh, really," she said archly.

"Yes, really, here."

She took the remote with a pleased hum. "I should get injured more often."

"Umm, hard no on that."

***

By the time they'd finished “Always Be My Maybe” and “The Old Guard,” she'd downed some egg flower soup and a mug of tea without flash-freezing either, and taken some antibiotics as well. The cuffs had arrived too, courtesy of Allegra, who'd stayed long enough to eat three egg rolls and watch the end of Caitlin's rom-com.

When Cisco finished cleaning up the Chinese delivery boxes, she was snuggled into her pillows, eyes closed.

"Hey," he whispered. "You awake there?"

She snored a little. He snickered.

He considered her couch. He'd had occasion to sleep on it before, and he knew it was decently comfy. But she would probably prefer her bed.

On the other hand, she was asleep now, and she clearly needed the downtime. He didn't want to wake her all the way up just to steer her into her bedroom a few feet away. Especially if it would break open her wound again, or her suddenly-uncertain powers were under shakier control in her sleep.

He decided to leave her where she was and claim the futon in her study. He knew where all her extra blankets and pillows were.

He held his hand a few inches away from her cheek, testing. When it failed to freeze over, he pulled the extra blanket up over her, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her skin was unsettlingly cool under his lips, and he paused until he saw her chest rise and fall. Then he brushed her hair back and murmured, "Sleep tight, frosty girl. I'll be right here if you need me."

FINIS

#Caitlin Snow #Cisco Ramon #killervibe #celebration prompt party #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #fanfiction #episode reaction #man it's been a long time since I did one of those #the flash #thatkillervibe

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bitchiha · 4 years

Note

The Boxing prompt with Kiba !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

All bark and no bite (The Rats 900 follower celebration!)

A/N: YAYAYAYAY HERE YOU GO SHAWTY!!! I was actually hoping Kiba would get this one and if he didn’t I already started a draft of it so he was gonna get one either way HSJAJSJS

Warnings: eventual NSFW, swearing, violence lol but non explicit its just describing the fight, also I just really exaggerated the money shawty Kiba makes from his fights because I wanted him to just fuck around and splurge LOL

There were two sides of Kiba Inuzuka: his bark and his bite.

If you were unfamiliar with the famous fighter - which would be highly unlikely considering he’s a goddamn star on the streets - then your first impression of Kiba would be that he was like a harmless Chihuahua, not at all like his fighting name that was plastered on posters on every street corner. The Wolf.

But to the newbies in the betting pools who are only doing it to satisfy their sketchy bosses, I mean come on... kids gotta be all bark and no bite, right? Besides all the good fighters are the quiet stoic ones... And Kibas done a good job of doing the exact opposite. Running his mouth with all his cocky smack talk any chance he could get, spitting teasing remarks about his opponents days leading up to the fight.

“What? That twig? I’ll beat his ass in my sleep.”

“Pffft. Not worried at all.”

“Oh thanks for reminding me, I forgot what that guys name was.”

So the newbies to the betting pools and underground fighting rings place their back-alley bets on his opponents victory.

They’re always confident with their bets too, some placing large wagers, completely confident in Kibas downfall or hoping to impress their bosses. It’s not the newbies faults though, they’ve never done this kinda thing before. They all go to fucking Cape Cod every summer in their vineyard vines shirts, thry don’t know shit about the underground world.

Plus, Kiba’s one of the youngest fighters, he's only been an adult for a couple years. He doesn’t even know how to act when he gets his wads of cash after fights, spending it on fancy cars and designer clothes. Compare that to the scruffy looking men in their late twenties built like refrigerators and you can see where their heads were at.

Getting into their front row seats, (they figured they were gonna get that money back with the bet, so why not splurge for some good seats? See their bet unfold before them...) Their confidence only solidifies watching Kiba approach the ring in his silk purple robe, basking in the cheers with a toothy grin. He was lean and clearly fit, the untied silk robe exposing his abs and muscled legs.

As the cheers of the Wolf die down, the announcer calls out his opponent. It was a Russian name that was very butchered, but no one could pay attention to that as the guy walked out from the opposite side of the stadium. Another spark of smugness swept over the newbies as they gawked at the opponent. He was a bulky man, at least 6′3, this Inuzuka kid looked like a fucking kid compared to that hulking guy. They were so winning that bet. One of them turns towards the occupant of the seat next to him, gaining the courage to finally talk to the absolute hottie and asks if he could take her to real nice french restaurant a couple blocks away after the match (with his newly won money of course.)

She declines effortlessly, that smug smirk mirrored on her own face. He thought to call her a bitch or something, pissed off with how she just brushed him off like that, but the bell rang and sliced away all the chatter and signalling the start of the match. The newbies go completely still as they watch Kibas demeanor shift from that little barking Chihuahua and into a frothing wolf.

With his boxing gloves strapped on tight, mouth guard secured and the crowd chanting his infamous name (yourself included), he starts dodging punches like its a simple dance. Everything boyish about him is gone and as he throws his first punch, the Russian man unable to block it, the newbies get their first real taste of the Wolf.

It was like he was untouchable. Now the rookies realize why nobody objected to their large wagers against him, why they did their best to hide their own bets. They didn’t agree with them, they were just conning their way into debting up some newbies, so they could be just like the rest of them.

Kiba’s giant opponent barely landed any punches. Whenever it seemed like he was gonna land one his opponent immediately blocked it and got his own touch in. It was kind of comedical, watching such a buff and intimidating man struggling so hard, especially after the Russian was the one who challenged him to the fight. Something about how he was tired of the Inuzuka’s attitude and how he needed to get put in his place? So many others said the same thing it was kind of annoying at this point. Kiba just wanted to get the cash and to go fuck his girl.

Not too long after it starts Kiba has already won the match, he lets the announcer grab his arm and raise it up to the crowd in triumph, before slipping through the roped enclosure and stalking towards you. He offered to shake the bloody mans hand in the ring, but he just ignored him (or he couldn’t see, Kiba wasn’t sure.) That predatory look was still in his eyes as he pulled you into a sweaty kiss and as you pull away you have to wipe the blood from under his nose, despite the other fighter not getting much hits, the ones he did get in were painful.

The crowd is whooping and once again chanting his name, but the newbies remain seated and watch utterly deflated. Seeing his big grin up close, they realized his canines were sharper than they had initially thought.

Then there was his bark of course, too. And Kiba barked a lot. He always wants you dressed in the most expensive fur (faux!! this is kiba we are talking about) coats, Chanel purses and gold and diamond jewelry... He’s well dressed too, with real gold chains (the subtle ones) and of his own and rings and watches. Hell even your pet dogs have designer collars. What he loves the most is his cars though.

His bark is important to him because up until a couple years ago all he has was bite, his bark measley and mouse-ish, you still loved him then though. But look at the two of you now?

After the match he’ll get you into one of his sports cars and have you count the cash he earned as he speeds through the city. One hands gripping your thigh, squeezing it with a smirk everytime you count another thousand. All that cash from one fucking match and he can’t wait to spend it all.

The two of you’ll blow half of it at that fancy restaurant that loser had proposed to take you to, barely keeping your hands off each other for more than five minutes. Your ordering shit you can’t even pronounce and he keeps whispering in your ear about how he can’t wait to fuck his favourite little good luck charm. He’s pressing some sort of tiny dessert into your mouth and after you eat it he’s making you lick his fingers and then you do the same thing to him. You two are like the nights entertainment for the other tables, but neither of you really give a fuck.

Dishes and glasses pile up on the table and the waiters become skeptical of how you two are going to pay for all of this, but your his last table before the end of his shift so he doesnt question the large wads of cash tossed on the table, then another one a few moments later as a tip.

Your back in his sports car and the engine is revving as you speed through the busy streets, ignoring the blaring horns of other cars because like I said before, neither of you really give a fuck. You two think you’re goddamn invincible.

Stumbling up the driveway to your shared mansion you can hear the dogs barking through one of the floor to ceiling windows. Kiba opens the door and your dogs run out to greet you jumping and licking at your faces, only to lead them into the backyard as you to run up the stairs to your bedroom.

One of your heels is still on and the other is downstairs somewhere, or maybe it’s in the backyard? Kiba’s shirt is half unbuttoned and he’s trying to shed the rest of them while unzipping your dress (you got mad at him the last time he ripped your dress off.) It’s all frantic and hazy, like it always is. Everything is just so intoxicating after he’s won a match.

Once your out of your dress he’s shoving you to the bed and as you crawl onto it he follows suit, settling right on top of you as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. He’s devouring every curve and crevice of your mouth and then he’s rutting his clothed cock against your stomach and growling into your mouth and your whimpering because your panties are absolutely drenched.

You’re trying to take off his belt as he continues exploring your tongue, even though it feels more like he’s trying to go down your throat. There’s spit pooling down your chin and you don’t know if its yours or his, its a mixture of both and either way he has no problem with licking it off your face. Managing to take his belt off he pulls away to do the rest on his own. That look was back on his face now, the one he always had when he was in the ring.

Despite how much Kiba tries to deny it, his bite was still much bigger than his bark. That’s just natural for the Wolf.

#kiba inuzuka x reader #Kiba Inuzuka #kiba x reader #naruto headcanons #the rats 900 celebration

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

Curves...

Requested by: @prettysourabbie

Can I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader, where she really shy and dorky but believes that she really bad at sex because she is bigger? And dean shows her that she not 😊💕 I hope this makes sense haha! I know this sound awkward turtle 🐢

Word Count: 4036

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: Smut!, unprotected sex, insecure reader, self-hate, plus-sized reader, unrequited/requited love, angst, self-loathing, fluff.

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you guys enjoy this one.

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!

*****MASTERLIST*****

Sitting alone in the cold and mostly dark library of the bunker, you waited for the return of your two favorite boys.

Sam and Dean Winchester.

You’d been working as the researcher for the Winchesters, and well most other hunters in the area, for years.

You were raised in the life, but you weren’t ever like your average hunter. You weren’t skinny, or athletic, with perfect aim, perfect stamina that it takes to chase down and kill all that shit that goes bump in the night. Much to your father’s dismay, you were always a little on the heavier side.

It’s not like all you did was sit on your ass, and eat or something either, it’s just how you were built, you couldn’t control it, no matter how much you exercised, ran, ate all that healthy crap; it did no good. You always maintained the same weight.

Which was… Well… Let’s face it…

Not exactly the standards of The Next Top Model.

Your stomach wasn’t flat and perfect, your hips were on the wider side, your thighs thicker than your average girl. You weren’t exactly small chested. You were just naturally larger than your average person. Even though you barely tipped the scales at five feet tall.

Your dad said you’d never be good for anything if he couldn’t marry you off, because you were too heavy for “breeding,” which was common in hunting compounds like the one you grew up on, and you couldn’t hunt, then you were useless to him.

He’d left you at a bar just outside of Seattle, Washington. That’s where you meet your rescuer, and honestly, your favorite of your two favorite boys.

Dean.

He saw you sitting outside of the side of the bar crying because you didn’t know what you were going to do, he didn’t hesitate to take you in just like you were one of them when he’d heard your story, taking you to your new home, the bunker.

Instead of discouraging your skills in research, he embraced it.

Sam helped you get started in this overload of information that the men of letters had collected, your personal heaven honestly, and you’d been here ever since; doing what you could to help the boys behind a computer, a lore book, or a phone.

You were happy here with your life, mostly anyway. It suited you, and Dean always made sure you wanted for nothing. He would always go out of his way to take care of you, no matter what you needed or wanted.

It didn’t take you long to fall for the overly gorgeous elder Winchester.

His smile, his bright jade green eyes, that adorable shading of freckles that covered his skin, dusting even his nose, and checks; giving him almost a boyish look. His infectious laugh, his soft auburn hair, the way he cared more about others than he ever could himself.

You had learned to love everything about him, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Even though there were parts of his past that were darker than he’d ever let anyone know. Even though there were things that had happened to him, that had affected him to the uttermost part of his being.

You loved him anyway.

Past all flaws, and beyond all reason.

Of course, you never told Dean that. Hell no. You’d never tell Dean any of that.

Dean liked girls that were supermodel types.

Bleach blonde, toned bodies, too much makeup, and cheap perfume. Easy lays basically.

You were none of that.

You didn’t have the confidence that those girls had, so you just never even tried with Dean. The two of you had a good relationship going, and you just be happy with that, and not do anything like confess your feelings to mess it all up.

The loud opening and closing of the bunker door pulled you from your self-loathing. You hurriedly straightened your glasses, fixed your messy bun, and checked to make sure your led zeppelin t-shirt, that you had borrowed from Dean and yet to have returned, had no stains on it.

You’d been researching some stuff for Garth on a strange case he was working on, probably a Djinn from the looks of it, and hadn’t really gotten yourself together today. You were still in your favorite PJ pants and fuzzy slippers.

"Hey Y/n,” Sam greeted you as he flopped down in the chair across from you, taking his boots off.

“Hey, where is Dean?” you asked him, listening for, but not hearing the elder Winchester anywhere.

“Dean, uh... Went out. Said he needed to blow off some steam. It was a pretty rough hunt for him... I’m sorry Y/n, I know you hate it when he goes out and does this…” Sam said, letting his sentence trail off before finishing it.

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, nod your head, reopening your laptop, burying yourself in your work.

You couldn’t look up at Sam, who you knew was staring at you with some pitiful look, and you didn’t want his pity. You knew your place, and Dean’s arms, even though you wanted to more than anything, would never be your place.

Sam was no idiot, he knew you had feelings for his brother. He just didn’t know what to say to make it better for you right now.

So he got to his feet, patted you on the shoulder, and then made his way to his room for the night.

You worked through the tears streaming down your face when he was out of sight until your eyes burned too bad to keep working, and your head hurt from crying. So you made your way to your room, and crawled into the bed, the cold lonely bed, and fell into a restless sleep. Your heart beating like it was going to just give up and stop any minute.

You laid there torturing yourself. Wondering what she looked like? Would she hold him when it was over? Would she be enough to comfort him the way he deserved? Would she play with his hair while he sleeps like you want to do? Would she realize how lucky she was to be in his arms? Cause some people, like yourself, would never get that chance.

—————————–

The next morning you made your way into the kitchen. Your head is still pounding, and your eyes are still red.

You were wondering if Dean had made it home yet, but you didn’t have to wonder very long.

As soon as you rounded the corner there he was, probably still in last night’s clothes, pouring a cup of coffee.

For a moment you faltered by the door, and started to just turn around, and go back to your room.

You didn’t know if you could face him right now, you knew you looked like a whole mess. Last night was harder on you with him going out than it was ever. Maybe it was because it had been so long since you’d seen him. Maybe it was because he had texted you the day before he headed back to Kansas, and promised a movie night when he got home. He must have needed to get laid more than he needed his friend.

You turned around to head back towards your room, but Dean had heard you. His hunter reflexes are faster than your feet.

Damn him.

“Hey, sweetheart! Want me to pour you a cup of coffee?” Dean said, looking at you over his shoulder, that smile that could stop your heart on his perfect pink lips, lips that some other woman was kissing last night. The signs of that visible with the deep purple hickey that was poking out just under the collar of his shirt.

You just nod, not trusting your voice.

Dean poured you a cup of coffee and fixed it the way you liked. You wondered how he knew that. You didn’t remember ever telling him how you liked your coffee, he just always seemed to know.

You made your way over to the table in the corner of the room, and Dean brought your cup of coffee and set it down in front of you.

“So, I was thinking tonight we would lock ourselves in the Dean cave, and do that Harry Potter marathon you’ve been talking about. I’ll order some pizzas and…Y/n, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

You cursed yourself for being so damn obvious this morning. You just shrug your shoulders, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Did some asshole hurt you? Tell me his name! I’ll kick his ass!"

You had to hold back a snicker at that because the mental image your mind painted of Dean kicking his own ass was quite amusing.

"No one’s hurt me, Dean, I’m fine,” you tell him, making to get up with your coffee cup, and just head back to your room.

“Bullshit Y/N, I’ve known you for years, we’re best friends. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He looked at you pleadingly, and you sighed deeply before looking down at your coffee cup.

“I just let myself get all in my head last night. I’m fine now. I’m just tired. I think I’m going to go and lay down for a little bit. We’ll do whatever you said you wanted to do tonight,” you said as Sam walked past you, giving you an apologetic look.

Sam was the kind of person who was not going to get in the middle of it, so he just continued to make his way to the refrigerator after his morning run.

“Are you sure you’re okay? ‘Cause you don’t look okay, Sweetheart. Maybe I could just come keep you company, and cuddle with you like we used to while you rest, or until you feel better.”

Dean made his way over to you while he was taking, and wrapped his arms around you.

As soon as he did you jerked back from him. He looked down at you confused and hurt, but he smelt like her perfume and it made your stomach lurch, bile rose in your throat at the thought of how it got there.

“No offense Dean, but you need a shower,” you said coldly and turned walking back to your room, leaving a very confused and hurt looking Dean, and a somewhat amused Sam.

Probably because he thought Dean deserved that.

You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with Dean, but you didn’t know if it wouldn’t totally rip your heart out, especially with him smelling so much like her.

—————————————–

After about two hours of you crying yourself to the point, you weren’t able to cry anymore in the darkness of your room, hating your weight, hating that you weren’t good enough, hating the fact that you had to wear glasses all the time, hating the fact that you were a nerd, and always were a nerd. Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you had skipped breakfast this morning, but you didn’t want to run into the boys again, so you had just resolved to lay there when you hear your door open, and close softly.

You could smell Dean’s body wash as he made his way quietly as possible over to the side of your bed. Your back was to him, and the door, cover pulled high up to your chin, your hair pretty much blocking your face from his view.

“Y/N, are you asleep?” Dean whispered.

You didn’t move, you didn’t say anything, you didn’t really have time to before Dean pulled the cover back, and you felt the bed dip under his weight. Your heart rate jumped up through the roof as his scent surrounded you, and he pulled the covers back over himself and you.

“I showered…I… I don't smell like her anymore… I made Sam check to make sure,” he said, moving his way over closer to you in a spooning position, wrapping his arm around you gently, and pulling himself closer to you.

Your heart was beating so hard now you were sure he could feel it through your ribs, even with all your “extra padding” as you called it.

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you say something to me before? I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t know. I would have much rather come home to you than run to some whore that literally meant nothing to me."

You made a mental note to kill Sam.

"Sam told you didn’t he,” you almost whispered, your stomach was in a knot at this point. What the fuck was he trying to tell you? You couldn’t do for him what he needed.

“Yeah, but in his defense, you left me standing there torn between hunting down whatever random dude that had hurt you that you weren’t telling me about, and trying to scrap my pride up off the floor,” Dean said.

It took all you had not to flinch at that. You shouldn't have snapped at Dean, but you couldn’t stand the smell of her either.

“I’m sorry Dean, I shouldn’t have taken my feelings out on you. You have every right to have sex with whoever you want. She could probably do more for you than I ever could. I know you are not attracted to me. I’m not blind. You don’t have to come in here, and say all those things just to make me feel better,” you said, refusing to turn around and look at him.

You felt Dean sit up, and for a moment you thought he was going to get up and leave, shattering your heart even further.

Instead of getting up and leaving, Dean rolled you over to your back with more ease than you thought would have been possible, and straddle your hips with his thighs. Bracing his weight off of you with his hands on either side of your head. You stared into his piercing eyes for a moment in shock. He looked cross between hurt and angry.

“Let me tell you a little something about that whore that you said could do so much better than you for me. Yeah, I fucked her, I’m not even gonna try and deny it, but after she was done I got up and got dressed to go jerked myself off in the car because some whore isn’t gonna get all of me Sweetheart believe that. I’d give my damn right arm to have you, what the fuck do you mean I’m not attracted to you? Every time we’re watching TV together I’m fighting to hide my boner because I didn’t want to freak you out. I wouldn’t be in here with you right now if I didn’t want to be. Why the hell do you think so low of yourself?”

Dean was still hovering over you, so many emotions on his face that it was impossible to read them all.

“Dean, I’m fat. I’m no good at sex. I couldn’t get you off if I tried to. You still would have ended up having to go and finish yourself off. Very few men want to touch this, very few ever have.”

You tried to avoid his gaze out of your own shame. Hating yourself at that moment more than ever.

“What? Fat? Baby girl, you are NOT fat. You're gorgeous,” Dean said as he reached and grabbed your wrist, bringing your hand down to his crotch, and resting it over the impressive bulge that had formed his sweats.

You did vaguely register that he’d skipped the underwear.

He felt huge, and you couldn’t stop your eyes widening.

You always figured that Dean was packing, but damn.

“Does that feel like someone who isn’t attracted to you? Baby, I can’t tell you the nights I’ve thought about you just to get off. About kissing every curve, every inch of skin,” his hands let go of your wrist as he trailed them down your sides, and over your up to your breast, causing your breath to hitch in your throat at his light touch.

“Dean,” you said cautiously, his hand slipping under your shirt, fingers trailing lightly over your stomach, the part of your body that you hated the most.

“Let me show you just how beautiful you are, Sweetheart,” he said, his voice husky and deep. His tongue running slowly over his lower lip as his eyes roamed your body. “Let me show you just how much I’ve always wanted you since the night I met you.”

You laid there underneath him completely dumbfounded for a moment. Finally, all you could do was shake your head yes.

If you were dumb enough to turn him down now, you would lose him, and your heart couldn’t handle it, it would crush you. So here you were, going to take a chance, and do what you so desperately wanted to do for so long.

Let Dean love you.

Dean didn’t hesitate, reaching down grabbing your shirt and pulling it off and over your head, throwing it to the floor. His eyes rack over your body, looking down at your bare chest, you immediately try to cover up, regretting not putting a bra on this morning.

“No, no, pretty girl, don’t hide from me,” Dean said, bending down, and capturing your lips in his with a sweet kiss, slowly kissing away some of the worries, and insecurity.

Moving his hands down your body he pulled the waistband of your PJs and underwear down your body in one pull, leaving you completely exposed before him. Keeping your mouth busy as his tongue invaded your mouth, kissing you drunk, exploring every inch of your mouth like he’d never get to do it again.

When he finally had to pull up for air you noticed that his sweats were gone. His thick length standing proudly against his shirt, and slapping his stomach as he pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

You didn’t have time to get nervous before his mouth was on you again, kissing you deeply, needier than the first time.

Making his way from your mouth to your throat he sucked his mark onto your neck, one that you’d wear proudly, one you’ve wanted for so long.

He continued kissing his way down your body, licking at each nipple before sucking them into his mouth, sending a sensation you’d never felt before jolting through your body. Your back arching to meet his hard chest. Little moans fell from your lips as his mouth continued the assault on your hard nipples.

Satisfied with his work, he began to move down your stomach. Kissing and nipping at the skin there, worshiping your body like no one ever had, kissing your hips, your tights.

That’s when it hit you where he was.

“Dean, don’t!” you said, right before his mouth made contact with your already dripping core.

Dean stopped immediately, moving back up your body, placing his lips on yours in a sweet kiss, slower this time than before.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not there yet. Not tonight,” you said as he pulled away to look at you, your embarrassment filling your checks.

“That’s okay Baby, we’ve got all the time in the world. If you want to stop we can stop,” he said, brushing your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want to stop, I’m just not ready for that specifically. It’s gonna take time,” you said, he nodded his head, kissing your neck and running his tongue along the shall of your ear.

“That’s okay baby girl, I’m not going to stop loving you, and eventually, I’m going to make you forget all that insecurity you’ve got built up inside. Even if it takes years. I’m a patient man,” Dean said, slipping his fingers down your body, and finding your swollen clit with his thumb as he pushed two tick digits deep side of you, working you slowly, your hips rolling against his hand on their own as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that stop no one has been able to reach before.

He didn’t stop playing your body like a well-tuned instrument until you were coming undone around him, and your walls squeezing his fingers as your orgasm ripped through your body, leaving you a panting shaking mess underneath him as he worked you through your high.

Peppering your face with little kisses he let you come down completely before lining himself up with you, sinking deep inside of you in one smooth thrust. Stretching you, filling you in every way. His thick tip is sitting against your cervix. You could almost feel him pulsing inside of you.

“Fuck, your so tight baby girl,” he husks in your ear, kissing your lips in a tender kiss before grabbing your hips, and rolling you over on top of him like you weighed nothing at all. A surprised squeak leaving your lips.

“Dean, no I’m going to hurt you,” you said, feeling silly, and embarrassed as you sat astraddle of his hips, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Baby. I want you to know just how capable you are of taking care of me, please,” he said, reaching up and kissing the skin of your stomach before grabbing your hips, and rocking your hips with his strong hands.

All thought processes flew right out the window at that point.

His tip moves over your most sensitive spots in the most amazing, almost overwhelming to the point of painful, but still pleasurable way, your clit dragging over his hilt with each drag of your hips. Soon you were rocking back and forth against him on our own without any assistance whatsoever. Your bodies molded together like they were meant to be.

Dean’s head was thrown back against the pillow, the veins in his neck visible, and his jaw tightly locked.

He was beautiful.

Completely lost in what your body was doing for him.

Something you never knew was possible, never thought you would ever see, or experience first hand. Just something they wrote about in cheesy romance novels, and fanfiction.

Before long you right at the edge your body shaking on top of him. The sounds and noises that were falling from both of your lips were enough to make a porn star blush. Dean's grip on your hips was now strong enough that you were sure it would leave bruises. You didn’t care though. You let him hold onto you as he fucked himself up into you as you rode him, closer and closer to both of your ends.

Dean cursed he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down close to him as he slammed himself up into you and stilled. Spilling himself deep inside of you. His seed coating your walls in warm streams, throwing you into your own end. Waves of pleasure rolling over you both as he slowly thrust into you, dragging out both of your highs.

When both of you had control of your bodies again, Dean rolled you both over to your side, his arms never leaving you. He peppered your face and neck with little opened mouth kisses as he slowly pulled out of your body, and you couldn’t help but whine a little at the loss of contact.

Dean’s lips found yours in a sweet, but searing kiss as his hands started to trace the curves of your body, while still holding onto you tightly. Not breaking the kiss until the need for oxygen became to grate.

“I love you y/n, I have since the moment I met, and I know I’m not much, and I don’t have anything to offer you, the life we live… It’s just not your white picket fence life, but all I have is yours if you will have me. You know how hard it is for me to admit my feelings, but sweetheart, I’ve never been more sure of anything in all of my life.”

A single tear that made its way down your cheek. One that Dean caught, and wiped away with the gentle movement of his thumb over your cheek.

“I love you too, I’m yours, I always have been, always will be.”

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aceademic · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2 & 2.5 of Band on The Run

Feel free to bash me intensely. Here is Chapter 2 and Chapter 2.5 (mini chapter) from the one and only liz! Enjoy!

Chapter 2

“You see that one?” Mom whispered in my ear, pointing to the far east.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“That’s where your Dad is,” she said. I turned to look at her. She had long and flowy dirty blond hair and the most intricate hazel eyes I had ever seen. There was a sort of glint in them, nostalgic and sad but also . . . wistful. The way she looked then, it made me almost believe what she was saying. Almost.

I gave a small pause. Unsure. “Is that so?” I asked eventually. Pops had told me that the doctors said that Mom developed selective amnesia because when my Dad ran off on her, it was too hard for her to deal with. So now she’s delusional with the idea that our father was a man from space that had to go back to his home planet. She never gave a reason why, her answer to that question was always, ‘He’s not gone forever. He’ll come back. He always does.’

“Yeah,” Mom whispered. “And when he does we’ll take the car out to the fields and sing Brandy at the top of our damn --”

“Geddup!”

I jolted upward and blinked, realizing it was just a dream and I was not at home, but in fact, in a spaceship. My heart sunk to the very depths of my inner ocean of self-pity as I pulled on my jacket.

“Give me a minute!” I answered. I heard rustling and saw Peter climbing out of the small bed, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Clean yourself up and meet me outside, okay?”

Peter nodded sleepily and I left the room, closing the door behind me. And there was standing Kraglin. He was wearing the exact same thing as yesterday and he look as fresh and awake as morning dew.

“Mornin’,” he said awkwardly.

“What’s going to be our orders?” I asked him, jumping straight to the point.

“Don’t know,” he shrugged. “You’ll have to find out yourself when we get to the hull.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be his second-in-command or whatever?” I asked dubiously.

“Just cause I’m his first mate don’t mean that he tells me everything,” he answered. “He’s a very private person.”

“I’m ready.”

Peter must have slithered his way to my side, because the door was now ajar, and Peter’s hair was slightly less mussy than it was before. I ruffled his hair anyways.

I stared in amazement as we entered the hull. The walls had veins that pulsed an eerie, vivid red and the walls were a dark, shadowy grey. Chairs, consoles and neon green screens surrounded me. In the chairs were all different types of aliens talking in headsets and taping the consoles, speaking to each other in a language had never heard before. Alien technology scattered the room, and my gaze set upon the crowd of crew members standing by a window with a breathtaking view of the peace of space. They seemed to be staring, whispering and pointing at me and Peter, as if they had never seen a human before. Some frowned, some seemed curious, and some made me want to punch them repeatedly in the face – or faces, because apparently some aliens have two heads.

Kraglin led me to the back where everyone was, and kindly guided us to the back corner where we would get less weird looks. After a few more of the crew hurried in, I noticed Yondu, sitting on a big, comfy captain’s chair, staring down at us all.

“Everyone, meet your new crewmates, Avery and Peter Quill!” Yondu shouted, holding an arm out in our direction. Everyone turned to look at us. So much for being discreet.

“I thought we were giving them over --” a man started, but Yondu shushed him, very loudly might I add.

“I don’t want another word out of your mouth Horuz, or I’ll scrub it clean in the canteen,” Yondu hissed. Some of the men snickered and the other went immediately silent, looking absolutely furious. “If you don’t like how I run things around here, you can get your skinny ass up and leave, you hear?”

It seemed that either no one heard, or no one wanted to leave.

“Good.” A pause. “Gef, Yorker, I want you in the training room. You’re getting to fat for my liking. Retch, Halfnut, Scrotch, I want you on canteen duty. Oblo, Narblik, Huhtar and Tullk, I want you on hallway duty on deck 10 . . .”

The list continued, and as he called out names, people left the room to go to their assigned stations until it was just me, Peter and Kraglin.

“Kraglin, I want you to show them littles around the ship and when you’re done, I want them to go to Rof’in in the training room. He’ll know what to do.”

Kraglin nodded and led us out of the hull. “All right, let’s start with the tour. There are 10 decks in total. Right now, we’re on deck one, all the way at the bottom.”

He started show us around the first deck. We passed the brig, which was where I was kept when I was unconscious, and we went into the hold, muster station, and a small saloon. I made a mental note of what each room was and its purpose. We continually went up, going through the quarterdecks (two whole decks just for where the cabins are), the training room, the turret (which I have to admit was pretty cool), medbay, the promenade deck, the canteen, multiple saloons, the galley, the escape hatches and small bays holding random equipment and such. One oddly contained a whole assortment of mini figurines (most of which were broken).

As we made our way back to the hull, Peter’s stomach grumbled. Kraglin and I both looked at him. I had forgotten I was hungry. I had forgotten that we needed food. For the glorious bliss that was 1 hour, I had forgotten that I was kidnaped and that my head hurt and that my mother was dead and pretended that my good friend Kraglin was showing me around a spaceship. The fierce rage of fire that roared inside me returned along with a loud grumble of my stomach.

“We can stop by the canteen on our way back to the training room,” Kraglin offered. We both nodded hungrily, and I wondered what aliens ate. Probably not grilled cheese.

When we entered the canteen, it was mostly empty except for the people who were working there, cleaning dishes and mopping the floor. No one looked up. There were refrigerators nailed into the wall, full of silver packets and water bottles.

“We don’ get fresh food often, so we eat these,” Kraglin told us, opening a refrigerator door and pulling out 2 packets, turning them over to read something on the back. “Today’s Flicodian tentacles. Should have a similar taste to – what’s that meat thing you eat?”

“Chicken?” Peter asked. Kraglin shook his head.

“No, no, it started with a T.”

“Turkey?” I asked. Kraglin nodded. He walked over to some built in cabinets and pulled out two bowls, opening the packet and squeezing out what looked freeze-dried octopus tentacles. He went over to a nearby tap, and filled the bowls up, sticking them in what looked like some sort of microwave. When the timer beeped after a minute, he pulled the two bowls out, releasing a hearty aroma that did indeed smell a lot like turkey, and Peter and I found ourselves sitting at the long tables in the room, scarfing down the tentacles as if they were our last meal. Kraglin watched in amusement. I put down my fork.

“What?” I asked. He jumped in surprise, and suddenly the wall became very interesting.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. I shrugged, and continued to shove food down my throat, ad sat back happily when the last remnants of food were gone, and the bowl was empty. Back then, I didn’t notice the pink tint that haunted his cheeks.

Chapter 2.5

Nebula kicked the punching bag. She kicked it again. Her father had given her another mission. And she wasn’t sure she would be able to complete it this time. At least she had Gamora to help. She kicked the bag again. Gamora wasn’t going to help. She would ruin her chances of ever completing it to keep up her status as most-favorable child. The star, his little-one. Nebula started to punch it repeatedly and finished it off with a roundhouse kick. It flew off its chain, and Nebula huffed, grabbing a bottle of water from the corner. She ignored the green alien with blue hair leaning against the doorway.

Nebula didn’t like the hair. This was the 5th time Gamora had attempted dying it and now it was a dark, ocean blue. It didn’t suit her.

“I know your upset with me,” Gamora said. She entered the room, her arms folded across her chest. Nebula gave another little huff, but other than that she screwed the bottle cap onto her bottle without a glance and went to pick up the punching bag.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Gamora said, her voice tense. Nebula turned to look at her with furious eyes.

“There is always a choice,” Nebula hissed. A ray of sunlight hit Nebula, and the silver prosthesis on her head glistened, causing Gamora to look away. “You had a choice not to fight me. To stand up to our fath – to him.”

She corrected herself. It was still hard for her to call him her father, the man who had slaughtered her family, her brother, her entire home planet. He who called her weak and worthless and forced her into impossible missions that almost always caused her to have to team up with Gamora, that back-stabbing wench of a sister. He who ripped out her eye for simply not besting her sister in a fight.

“You know that’s not how it works,” Gamora mumbled, grabbing her arm subconsciously. Nebula broke eye contact, grabbing the punching bag and attaching a new clip onto it, attaching it back to the screw in the ceiling.

“Did you need anything else, sis?” Nebula added a sneer on the last word, making Gamora’s stomach wretch horribly, her brows furrow and her heart twist.

“No.”

It was a lie.

#submission

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