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rotworld · 3 years

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The Truth in Masquerade

usurpers part 7. previous | next

derek gives in. izsák reaps the rewards.

->derek/oc. explicit; contains d/s dynamics, degradation, biting/blood drinking, descriptions of violence and torture, and the usual derek things.

It takes less than a week for curiosity to eat through Derek’s resolve completely. Izsák speeds things along by bringing up weird shit every chance he gets and then waiting, perfectly poised, for a shift in Derek’s expression. It’s always some off-handed mention when it’s just the two of them. Izsák will help him prepare for another guest appearance at another dreadful party, presenting him with a fresh towel after a shower, tying his tie, and then he’ll sigh in a wistful way and say, “You never have liked these little soirees. It was much easier when Ferenc was here, wasn’t it? He bore the burden of public scrutiny with such ease.”

And what the fuck is Derek supposed to do? Not ask questions? Not think about why Izsák will stare, studying his face expectantly, and then suddenly laugh and mutter, “Pay me no mind, sir.” He tells himself it’s just Izsák being his usual freaky self, but has he always been so strangely in tune with Derek? Did he always stand so close and act so concerned over every little thing? Fussing over him when he bangs his knee on a table, or after a particularly public breakup? It’s fucking weird. Derek tells him it’s weird, and Izsák just smiles peaceably and goes about his business.

Three days after the museum, Izsák is drinking tea at the kitchen table while Derek eats lunch. His father is out with Clarice and the house is blissfully quiet. Derek is texting Emilia, who is hysterical and wants to break up with him again over some new bullshit that Derek can’t remember and doesn’t care to figure out from the vague hints she’s dropping. He’s sure he can talk her into a night out and a quick fuck with the right combination of sweet talking and apology gifts. He wouldn’t bother, but his father chewed him out about how it looks when he brings a new girl to every social function. People notice, his father claimed, and people talk. Derek rolls his eyes just thinking about it. His father keeps a girlfriend for a few months and now he thinks he’s some kind of fucking expert on monogamy.

And then, out of nowhere, Izsák breaks him out of his thoughts. “Are you feeling restless, sir? I had something in mind, if you are interested.”

“Unless it’s something to get Emilia to calm the fuck down, I’m not interested,” Derek says. He only looks up from his phone when he hears the scrape of Izsák’s chair across the table and sees him coming closer. He stands behind Derek, rests a hand on his shoulder, and leans in to peer at the phone screen. His touch, light, weightless, totally innocent, makes Derek burn with desire.

“I see. She’s upset that you have taken other partners.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Of course it’s that. Nobody can keep a goddamn secret anymore. He wonders which one of them couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Regina? Francine? Couldn’t have been Laney, because Laney...

Derek swallows hard at the thought, the memory. Standing here in the kitchen when Emilia called him sobbing, saying her two-faced bitch of a friend was comatose in the hospital. Car accident. She never woke up. Izsák had looked up from organizing his father’s day and watched as Derek took in the news. There was something knowing in his eyes, and Derek remembered suddenly how Izsák had uncorked a vial of chicken blood and flicked it after Laney.

There’s no way. Derek repeated that in his head like a mantra whenever he caught himself starting to believe it. The blood of a black-feathered hen. No fucking way. He looks over his shoulder at Izsák, at the eyes gazing back at him and awaiting—something.

“You got a spell for this?” Derek says. He’s perturbed when Izsák smiles, like he’s delighted to be asked.

“Of course, sir,” he says. He retrieves his tea and strides quickly to the kitchen sink, dumping the rest of it down the drain. Derek watches him pluck the damp bag of herbs out of the cup, shaking the rest of the water out, and setting it on a plate. “You may watch if you’d like,” Izsák says.

“I don’t care,” Derek says. And he shouldn’t. But his gaze is drawn back when he sees Izsák pull a lighter from his pocket and flick it until a little wavering flame appears. It looks like he’s trying to light the tea bag on fire, but it’s too damp to catch. Some foul-smelling smoke sizzles to the ceiling. Izsák whispers something, not in English, and Derek just stares.

That’s when Emilia messages him back after a solid ten minutes of the silent treatment. She says she can’t stay mad at him and asks to meet up later that night. Derek stares at the text in disbelief, then looks up and finds Izsák standing there, watching him. Smiling.

“You may ask me questions, if you have any,” Izsák says. “I wonder if you remember this one.”

“Where exactly am I supposed to remember it from? I’ve never seen that shit before.”

Izsák answers automatically, like he’s been waiting for this. “Csejte, 1578. I performed this spell for you for the first time.”

Derek doesn’t know how to react, so he doesn’t. “You did not.”

“I did,” Izsák insists.

“You fucking didn’t. That doesn’t make sense.” Izsák frowns, opening his mouth to disagree, but Derek gets up, leaves the table, and goes out to the pool to soak his feet and avoid whatever it is that’s happening. Izsák knows better than to pursue him and gives him space, but it’s too late. Derek is thinking about chicken blood. He’s thinking about headless girls encased in ice. Which is weird because he’s never seen that before, but something about the statue at the museum, about the things Izsák said, put a distinct image in his head. He’s hungry. He wants to taste somebody’s blood. He feels himself salivating when he remembers biting Izsák’s neck and he wants to feel skin give beneath his teeth.

“What the fuck,” he mutters to nobody. He kicks at the water until dusk, until his erection is gone and his father comes home with Clarice and Izsák is busy with other things so Derek can avoid his eyes and that look that knows too much.

Four days after the art museum, Derek wakes up and his dick is so hard it hurts. The dream snaps out of place and tries slipping away before he can remember it, but he holds tight to everything that’s left;

A castle. Stained glass windows. Stone archways. The snow-covered courtyard with its frozen women like grotesque, grasping trees. Long corridors and echoing screams. He stood eclipsed by flickering candlelight and writhing shadow, walking barefoot through puddles of blood. There were bodies dangling from the dungeon ceiling, hung from meathooks and impaled in iron cages. Slit throats. Dangling entrails. They wept and moaned above him, and their blood rained on his skin. These were his kills. He hunted them himself, hung them like trophies. He reveled in their pain. Silhouettes played across the walls, human and beastly shapes that grew and warped and twined together in obscene dance. Derek felt these shades watching, but he didn’t fear their gazes. There was no need to perform for them.

And Izsák was there, smiling gently. He wore nothing. He was deathly pale, unmarked as though the blood couldn’t touch him. Derek was possessed by the need to dirty him. He reached desperately, his grasp leaving bruises, dragging Izsák through red rain and filth. He was tainted slowly, a splatter across his shoulder, a rivulet dripping down from his scalp. It fell in heavy clots in his lashes. Derek pressed him against the cold stone wall, his wandering hands smearing abstract shapes over Izsák’s skin, and then he licked it off of him with long, slow drags of his tongue.

It was so fucking stupid. He’d never do that in real life. But just thinking about it gets him even harder. Derek palms himself through silk pajama pants, shivering, leaning back against the headboard. He’d never be so tender and gentle. But in the dream, Izsák looked at him with this passion, this reverence, like Derek was God and that castle dungeon was their private, depraved heaven. It was so vivid. The musk of all that flesh and blood was heady and visceral. He slips his hand beneath the waistband of his clothes. It’s pathetic. Jacking off has never been so disappointing. He can see it when he closes his eyes, dreamlike and hazy; bodies and darkness. Izsák beneath him, his hands framing Derek’s face, his eyes glazed with wanting. He twists his palm around the head of his cock and imagines it’s Izsák doing it, Izsák between his legs and covered in blood.

It’s not the first time he’s fantasized about Izsák, but it was always different before. More impersonal. Izsák’s mouth around his cock. Izsák’s hips moving against his. The way Izsák’s back arches and his muscles all go taut while Derek fucks him raw over his father’s desk. But this is so much more heated and detailed. It’s not just the sensation or the view, it’s how Izsák looks at him, how he talks to him. It’s how he knows Derek in intimate and frightening ways, and doesn’t expect anything more of him.

In the dream, Izsák worshiped him. He got to his knees and the sight of Derek’s body, his apparent desire, the hard cock swollen against his abdomen, seemed to mesmerize him. He looked up at Derek as he pressed a kiss to the head of his cock, drool and precum on his lips. His tongue caressed Derek’s length from base to tip and his hands smoothed along his thighs. He moaned shamelessly, the sound vibrating against Derek’s flesh as he suckled on the sensitive underside. He mumbled something, unwilling to pull away and cease pleasuring Derek for even a moment, but Derek understood somehow. He knew what he was trying to say; I’m yours.

Derek bites his lip so hard it bleeds, desperately fucking his fist. It’s too hot. He has to throw off the sheets and pull his pants down around his thighs but he’s still sweating, his head pounding. He still feels the stagnant dungeon air, the blood drying to his skin. He remembers the way Izsák bobbed his head, the hot slide of his lips and his tongue at the base of Derek’s cock when he started to deepthroat him. Izsák gagged and squirmed but he didn’t pull off, didn’t even try. Derek wasn’t holding him still because he didn’t have to. They didn’t speak to each other, but he understood in that moment the depths of Izsák’s devotion to him. He knew Izsák would do anything for him. Would kill for him. Would give his own blood, his own body, if it would satisfy Derek.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, panting. Izsák is too hot and wet and perfect around his cock. He thrusts deep, feels his balls slap Izsák’s chin and he grinds against the back of his throat, and Izsák chokes on a moan. His worship becomes even more fervent. His hands grip the back of Derek’s thighs, squeezing his ass, spurring him into more violent movements and keeping them locked together. He wants everything Derek has to give him. He accepts it all, the hunger and brutality, his every whim and desire. When Derek cums down his throat, Izsák gags on it, his hands tightening on Derek’s legs, but he stays. He looks up at Derek through hazy eyes and swallows obediently. He lets Derek soften in his throat, sucking gently as though to milk him of the last of his climax.

Derek lays there, dazed and confused, realizing he’s alone and his sheets are soiled. It takes time to catch his breath. He lies in his own mess, eyes closed. He’s still there, in the castle dungeon. The dreamfog begins to clear. He isn’t standing anymore. He’s reclining, encased in liquid warmth. When he moves his hands, red swirls around them. He licks it off his fingers. It’s hot, metallic, and sickly sweet. It’s so clear, so detailed and real, that Derek is startled to open his eyes to the dark ceiling of his own room again.

Just a dream, he tells himself. His heart is still racing.

Five days after the art museum, Derek’s determination to ignore all the strangeness is shot. Pretending that everything is fine and he isn’t turning into a fucking vampire goes from a chore to a battle of epic proportions against his own body. He’s hungry all the time, his libido is out of control, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep himself from sinking his teeth into anyone else. He takes Emilia out to see a movie and he can’t focus on anything but her neck. The way the light plays across it, the moving shadows, the outline of her muscles every time she swallows or laughs. He imagines himself biting her, his jaw clamping down on her throat like a wild animal. He tells her he has to use the bathroom halfway through and jacks off in a stall fantasizing about tasting her carotid artery.

Asking Izsák is out of the question. His pride won’t allow it. Izsák is already smug as fuck about all of this, sneaking up on Derek constantly and asking very pointed questions about how he’s feeling or whether he’s had enough to drink, all with that fucking smile on his face. He retreats to his room in his father’s house, blessed with a rare moment of privacy, and gets online. The tentative approach doesn’t get him far; a quick online diagnosis gives him two types of cancer. In desperation, he starts trying the things he’s heard Izsák casually mention, names he can’t remember right and places he can’t spell.

Inevitably, he finds her. Frozen in time, she gazes back at him from her lofty position atop a webpage detailing her atrocities. One hand rests daintily upon a faded red tablecloth, the other holding an embroidered handkerchief. She isn’t smiling and there’s a weariness to her regality, a thinly veiled disdain in her eyes. Derek feels that he knows her, that he recognizes that quiet sneer. He’s seen it in the mirror before. A strange, twisting feeling knots up his stomach, and he doesn’t fully understand it, doesn’t know what all of this means, but he knows something has happened to him. Some change has taken root.

He skims the page absently, the words washing over him both exhilarating and deeply familiar. Torture. Mutilation. Bloodbaths. The stories are fantastical, too incredible to be true, and yet there is no shortage of them. Derek searches further, needing to find her, needing to know exactly who she was. Elizabeth, Erzsébet, the Bloody Countess—no matter what she’s called, Derek finds kinship in the morbid details. Born into wealth and excess, thrust into the noble’s spotlight, and utterly disinterested in it all. She was on a quest for timelessness, to escape the mundane world. She performed as Derek does, marrying, attending to her courtly duties, wearing the mask of contented civility, but she also indulged and hunted, relishing in the viciousness of it all. Derek looks at her portrait with newfound emotion, something heavy yet freeing.

He almost isn’t surprised when Izsák speaks as though suddenly materialized behind his chair, “Your father sent me, sir. I am to prepare you for this evening.” Derek turns and examines Izsák, searching for things he hasn’t noticed before, or things he didn’t want to notice. His easy, eager submission. His smile. His eyes that know Derek, know what he wants, what he needs before Derek himself is even aware. Eyes that have seen centuries.

“Which one?” Derek asks.

Izsák tilts his head, silently seeking clarification. He’s smiling very slightly. Did the Blood Countess see this same smile? Did it greet her before grand balls, assuring her of the safety of her secrets? Did it welcome her to the dungeon, her private sanctuary?

“She had accomplices,” Derek says. “Servants who helped her keep things quiet. Some of them were questioned at the trial.” He doesn’t clarify; doesn’t have to. Izsák listens patiently, his smile widening as though this is precisely what he’s been waiting for. How long has he waited? Derek wonders. How much longer was he willing to wait? “There was one man who helped her torture her victims, but the rest were women. One was her old wetnurse, and one was one of her personal servants. The other two were witches or something. Right?” Dorottya and Darvulia. He didn’t bother to learn the rest of the names, but he memorized those. One of them was important. One of them mattered more than all the rest.

Izsák hums thoughtfully. “That is what many people say, yes.”

Derek stands up and hits him. It’s sudden, impulsive, happening so quickly that he doesn’t realize he’s done it until his hand starts to sting. Izsák touches his reddened cheek with soft, uncertain strokes, as though he’s just as surprised. The way he looks at Derek is wrong. Not disdain. Not disappointment. Elation. The joy of a long-awaited reunion.

“Which one are you?” Derek asks.

Just like in the dream, Izsák sinks to his knees before Derek. The movement is slow and graceful, as though he’s done it a thousand times before. He takes one of Derek’s hands in his and holds it as though it’s something precious. “I am the one who did not betray you,” he says, pressing his lips to the back of Derek’s hand. The gesture is gentle and intimate, stirring something violent within him. He wants to hurt Izsák. He wants to dirty him. He wants to thank him for coming back after all this time, saving him from suffocating in his own constant performance, but he only knows how to lie about gratitude, not show it for real.

The one who didn’t betray him. Derek turns the words over in his mind to admire like precious stones. He remembers—did he read it somewhere, or does the knowledge come from somewhere else?—that the countess’ servants were called to stand trial. Each one confessed to the atrocities, the beatings, the bloodletting. The man. The wetnurse. The servant. Even Dorottya broke her vow of silence and servitude to testify against her mistress. They all betrayed her.

All but loyal Darvulia, her devotion unending. She wasn’t there that day. Already dead, some stories say. It doesn’t matter. Derek knows what became of her now. He threads his fingers through Izsák’s hair.

“I don’t get it,” he admits. “I don’t get how it works. But I believe you. I see pictures of her, and I know we’re the same.”

Izsák nuzzles against Derek’s palm like an animal, a pet seeking affection. It’s intoxicating, the power he holds, the total submission Izsák gives him, unchanged by the centuries. It feels right. It makes sense the way a dream does in the midst of it. “I couldn’t save you,” Izsák murmurs. “I was not strong enough then. This time will be different.”

Derek is too caught up in the thick need in Izsák’s voice, the curve of his spine as he leans into Derek’s touch, to understand the words right away. “Save me from what?” he asks, but Izsák is already standing, stepping away from him. Derek isn’t done with him. He yanks him back by the forearm and bites him without warning, leaving the shape of his teeth in his earlobe. “Save. Me. From. What,” Derek growls, each word punctuated with a nip to Izsák’s delicate skin. He bruises so easily.

“From your family,” Izsák gasps. He holds onto Derek, moves against him shamelessly. Derek feels how hard Izsák is and smirks against the fluttering flesh of his throat. He slides his thigh between Izsák’s legs, giving him the privilege of rutting against it. Izsák is so needy, so desperate to serve and explain as he chases his own pleasure, his words coming in breathless pants and whines. “Just as it was before, your own blood plots against you. Your father, he—oh, sir, please!”

Derek can’t pay attention to whatever Izsák is trying to tell him. It doesn’t matter. Nothing is more important right now than getting inside of Izsák and tasting him. “On the bed,” he demands, and Izsák obeys without question. They’re all over each other. Derek savors the roaming worship of Izsák’s hands down his biceps and across his chest. It feels good. It feels right. He can’t get undressed fast enough, still shedding clothes as he nips and licks at Izsák’s tempting neck, and Izsák is so good and obedient, turning his head to give Derek better access. “You really are mine,” Derek says.

“All yours, sir,” Izsák says. Derek has barely touched him and he looks blissed out already, eyes glazed, a delirious smile on his face as though just being in Derek’s presence is the greatest of pleasures. He unbuttons his shirt further, exposing a tantalizing flash of his collarbones and old, faded marks Derek left days ago. “Take me. Drink from me. Do with me whatever pleases you.” Izsák’s nails sink into his shoulders as he pulls himself up enough to whisper against Derek’s ear, “Please, master. I’ve waited for you.”

The final, worn string of Derek’s self-control snaps. He bites into Izsák like he’s meat. He hears skin and tissue give beneath his teeth, splitting, squelching open, tastes the tangy burst of Izsák’s lifeblood on his tongue. He ruts against Izsák’s hard, twitching cock, trapped between their bodies, and Izsák’s head falls back in ecstasy. Derek sucks at the wound and tastes Izsák’s tenderness, the sharp sweetness of him. It’s so good, so right and familiar. Izsák was born for this, born for him. He would never belong to anyone the way he belonged to Derek, would never know anyone as deeply, would never want anyone as wholly. Somehow, arched and gasping, Izsák moves himself, grinds slowly against Derek’s achingly hard cock. He reaches between them and guides Derek to his twitching, anticipating hole. Derek slams inside of his welcoming, tight heat and his eyes roll back in his head. Nothing has ever felt so good.

“You’re mine. My loyal little toy. My cockslut,” Derek hisses, unclamping his jaws from Izsák’s neck just to find a new, fresh spot to taste. Izsák shudders around him, beneath him. His legs open wider. Derek hooks Izsák’s ankles over his shoulders and bends him in half. It’s new, doing it like this. He’s fucked Izsák while looking at him a couple times but never staring like this, never pressed chest to chest and sharing breath. Izsák’s lips are right there and he moves without thinking, swooping in, crushing their mouths together. So soft and tender. His teeth crunch through Izsák’s lower lip and blood gushes into his mouth, heady and intoxicating. “Can’t get enough of you,” he moans into Izsák’s mouth.

Izsák’s nails rake down his back hard enough to draw blood. Derek lets him. It’s better that way, more raw, more wonderful. He pulls back to admire the blood and saliva smeared across Izsák’s lips, dripping down his chin. It feels like the desert in his room, the heat, the intensity, a soft body surrendering beneath him. He slams his cock into Izsák’s helpless body over and over again, relishing the sensations, the sounds, the desperate raggedness of Izsák’s breathing. He crushes Izsák against the bed and this time he kisses him. He should’ve done it earlier. Izsák’s mouth is so hot, so soft and slutty and wanting him. He sucks on Izsák’s tongue as he fucks him into the mattress, hips pistoning, cock drilling into his pliant, shaking body.

Izsák has been wanton and shameless before, but this is more than that. This is devotion, Derek thinks. This is what he’s always deserved. Izsák’s thighs quiver as Derek pounds into him, so hard and fast his own legs are straining but he can’t bring himself to stop. The pleasure is blinding, a liquid heat in the pit of his stomach. He’s kissing Izsák in filthy, hungry ways that he’s never done with any of his girlfriends, licking into him, tangling their tongues together, sucking on the bite he left for every bead of blood that bubbles to the surface. He’s going to cum. He’s going to claim Izsák so thoroughly, so completely, that he’ll never be satisfied by anyone else ever again. He’ll worship Derek’s cock just like this with his whole body. He’ll beg for it. He’ll beg for a chance to suck his dick under the table at dinner parties. He’ll thank Derek when he cums down his throat and swallow every drop.

Izsák is his. He might be Derek’s father’s assistant on paper, he might spread his legs for him sometimes, but he’s Derek’s. He’s been Derek’s across centuries, across continents. He’s come all this way just to get on his knees before Derek, where he belongs. Derek squeezes Izsák’s ass, digs his nails in. This is mine, he thinks. This body, this mind, this entire being. He stops kissing Izsák to nose against the other side of his neck, licking and teasing the unbroken skin.

Derek smirks against Izsák’s hammering pulse. He’s close. He’s going to cum. He fucks Izsák deep, grinds against him, feels his balls roll over Izsák’s smooth skin. “Beg me to bite you,” he purrs.

Izsák clings even more tightly, begs even more sweetly. “Please, give me your bite,” Izsák cries for him. “I need it. I was born to receive it. Please use me, make me yours. I should always belong to you, master.”

Derek cums hard, buried deep inside of Izsák. Everything whites out, sight and sound and understanding consumed by orgasm. There’s a sharp stinging sensation somewhere on his body, a pain that crests with the pleasure, intermingled too tightly to process on its own. Izsák writhes and whimpers through his own orgasm, his own cum splattering across his chest and Derek fills him. It feels like the aftershocks last forever, heat rushing through him, waves and pulses.

Derek is trembling when he pulls out of Izsák, watching Izsák’s hole clench obscenely around emptiness as cum leaks out of him. Neither of them speaks for some time, basking in the completion of it all. Derek feels the world swaying as though he’s riding a metronome, the call of sleep smothering and irresistible. He can’t believe how hard he came. There’s still blood on his mouth and he licks his lips, humming at the taste. He feels someone touch him; Izsák, gentle and reverent. Tracing his muscles. Caressing his chest. He doesn’t cuddle, but when he’s this tired, teetering on the edge of oblivion, he can’t complain.

He wonders if they did this before. If Countess Bathory laid with sweet, loyal Darvulia, cuddled like lovers. Just this once, he thinks, he’ll let Izsák get away with it. For old times’ sake.

—murmurs. Someone calling him. Calling his name. Softly and distantly, then loud. Close. Not Izsák. Not respectful enough.

“Derek. Get up.”

A rustling sound, the scrape of curtains rising. Blinding, burning light assaults Derek’s eyes and he groans, rolling over. God, what time is it? Sleep clings stubbornly to his mind, clouding his thoughts. He’s sore, mostly in his legs and back. Right, it’s coming back to him. He and Izsák fucked last night. Izsák, Darvulia, hundred year old Hungarian witch, whatever. It was some of the best sex of his life. But usually, it’d be Izsák who comes and gets him in the morning, so why is his father here, looming over Derek’s bed and refusing to leave?

“What?” he says, groggy. His father is frowning in that tense, disappointed way that turns Derek’s stomach. He sees it directed at other people mostly, former business partners, overambitious rivals, people who really, really fuck up. Derek’s mouth goes dry. “What?” he says again, struggling to sit up straight. What happened? What did he do? He can’t be mad about Izsák, right, it’s not like they were being subtle. Did he forget something?

Derek looks at the window and fuck, it’s late,he must’ve slept through an event he was supposed to go to or some shit. He rubs his eyes, pushing himself to remember. He thinks, maybe, there was some kind of afternoon social he was supposed to make an appearance at, but the details are foggy. Why is his head pounding like that? It’s like having a hangover. He feels like he slept for decades.

His father paces halfway across the room. Derek follows the movement with his eyes and spots something at the foot of the bed. Is that blood? Dirt? Some kind of ugly stain on the sheets. They really got carried away last night, he thinks, but then he sees an arm.

Just an arm.

Not Izsák’s. He’s not sure why his mind goes there immediately, but it’s not, he knows it isn’t. Izsák doesn’t wear flaking pink nail enamel with glitter. He just knows there’s a severed human arm on his bed and a bunch of stains around it. Definitely dried blood, but there’s dirt, too, like someone dug up a grave, and.

That’s cum. That’s definitely a cum stain. Derek’s eyes slowly trail up to meet his father’s. His father looks down at him and doesn’t say a word. Derek swallows hard and tries to think of something, anything, that he can say. Nothing comes to mind.

“I’ve had concerns,” his father says. Derek can barely hold his gaze. That judgment, that cold scrutiny—he works tirelessly to escape it, to put on the most convincing performance he can. “You don’t know the first thing about discretion. That’s one thing. It’s another that you think I’ll clean up all of your messes for you.”

Derek glances at the arm, sprawled grotesquely over his sheets. “I don’t know what that is,” he says hoarsely. Obviously he knows what it is, but he doesn’t know how it got there.

“I’ve been lenient,” his father goes on, as if Derek never spoke. “Too lenient. I’ve turned a blind eye to most of your deviancy. But this? This crosses the line. I should have listened to Izsák sooner.”

Derek’s blood goes cold in his veins. “What does that mean?” he demands. His father turns his back on him. Derek throws himself out of bed, rushing after him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you’re cut off,” his father says. He doesn’t even look at him when he speaks. “I want your things out of here by tonight, but don’t go too far. The police want to speak with you. Something about graverobbing and desecration of a corpse.”

Derek stands there numbly, watching his father walk out and the door slam shut behind him. No. He didn’t do it. He didn’t do any of this. He looks back at the arm hatefully. What the fuck is it doing there, ruining his life? Heat rises to his face, shame, humiliation. Maybe he was getting a little arrogant, brazenly packing his bags for his desert outings, leaving things lying around in plain sight, but it was always so easy to explain away. He’s good at his performance. No one suspected anything. If he’s going to get caught, it’s not going to be for some bullshit he didn’t even do. He wipes angry, helpless tears out of his eyes and storms downstairs. Izsák. He needs to find Izsák.

He runs into other housekeepers who pale and dart out of his way. Derek ignores them. He doesn’t care about any of them, his gaze lingering only if they’re the right height, wearing the right uniform. No sign of Izsák in any of the usual places. No one in the kitchen. Not a soul out by the pool. He scares a gardener when he comes storming through but finds nobody else. His father has retreated elsewhere in the house and Derek finds his office abandoned, paperwork strewn across his desk. Derek sees several financial forms and summaries, land deeds, company assets, stocks and bonds. A copy of his father’s will sits in the corner and Derek’s heart stops.

Under the section for inheritors, his name isn’t listed. Neither are any of his siblings or cousins. Not even Clarice shows up anywhere. But one name does appear, getting absolutely everything his father could possibly leave behind.

Izsák Varga.

There is one moment of silence. A lack of comprehension. Derek reads the name several times before it makes sense. Then comes the storm building, the fire and venom churning inside of him, a tight, clenching pain in his chest. Disbelief. Bitter humor. A hatred so powerful it makes him lightheaded and hot in the face. He goes through the stages of grief in the span of a millisecond, mourning something he didn’t realize he even wanted, and a crazed smile stretches across his face.

Calmly and quietly, he goes upstairs and begins going through his things. He shoves his dresser out of the way and pushes aside a false wall panel concealing a large, musty-smelling duffel bag. He unzips it, checks the contents. Grains of sand trickle from an open compartment. Good. Everything he needs. He’s angry. He can’t remember the last time he was this angry, his hands shaking, his whole body seeming to vibrate with the need to stab and strangle. But there’s an excited edge to it, the sort of anticipation that comes with his vacations.

I’m going to fucking kill him, he thinks. I’m going to make him beg for death.

He’s smiling too big, too honestly. He feels giddy and he can’t hide it. A woman dusting in the hall gives him a wide berth when he passes, plastering herself against the wall. He’s a predator passing, a wolf with better things to do and bigger prey in mind. He licks his lips. His mask fails him. He doesn’t even try to pretend anymore.

#rotpeach writes #usurpers #tpof #derek #izsak #i feel like i should apologize in advance lol brace yourself for this one #i'll do my best not to make you guys wait another year for the followup lmfao

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javistg · 3 years

Text

A Second Chance CH 4.

Chapter 4 is ready!

I want to thank you all for your messages and support. I can't believe you've stuck with me and my story for this long and I'm incredibly grateful.

Also, I have added one more chapter to the story.

The next chapter is almost ready, but it won't be very long. It's just a short epilogue. Still, I hope it will be enough to answer all those questions I haven't answered so far.

In the meantime, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy. ❤️

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird For EFE 2019]

Want to read from the start? Go to AO3 or FF.net

CHAPTTER 4.

Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms all around the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!”

As soon as the clock runs out, Katniss jumps from her platform and makes a beeline for the nearest backpack.

She’s almost at the tree line when she feels the impact of Clove’s knife sticking into her bag.

Right on cue, Katniss thinks as she slips into the woods.

Relying on her memory, she runs through the narrow paths and slopes until she reaches the lake. Getting on her knees, she shrugs the backpack off her shoulders and makes a quick inventory of its contents.

One thin black sleeping bag that reflects body heat. A pack of crackers. A pack of dried beef strips. A bottle of iodine. A box of wooden matches. A small coil of wire. A pair of night-vision glasses. And a half-gallon plastic bottle with a cap.

After filling her water bottle to the brim, Katniss starts walking again. She doesn’t want to go too far from the water —she refuses to deal with dehydration once more. Still, she tries to keep to the route she followed the first time she was there.

As she retraces her steps, she eventually comes across a familiar tree. A willow that’s not terribly tall but set in a clump of other willows, offering concealment in its long, flowing tresses.

She climbs up, sets her sleeping bag, straps herself to the branch, and waits.

The sky has already gone dark when she sees a small fire begin to bloom.

Katniss curses under her breath. Even now, she can’t bring herself to feel any sympathy for the tribute who’s decided to advertise their location in a place full of predators.

A few hours later, the Careers come traipsing through the forest. They’re about ten yards from her tree when an argument breaks.

Katniss grabs onto her branch and holds her breath in expectation.

Peeta’s words cut the bickering. “We’re wasting time! I’ll go finish her and let’s move on!”

Up on her tree, Katniss presses her lips together to contain her smile. The cameras are on her, watching her every move, and she stubbornly refuses to let the Capitol see her relief.

As Peeta walks away, she tries to conjure up all the anger and hurt she felt during her first Games so she can glare at him as he disappears from view.

XXXXX

Katniss runs through the woods, crushing branches and trampling down leaves and flowers in her rush to escape her nightmares, but it’s no use.

As the tracker-jacker poison courses through her veins —turning the world into a big shimmering bubble— Katniss berates herself for her carelessness.

She can’t believe her bow and arrows ended up stuck in Glimmer’s hands again; or that she needed Peeta’s warning to start moving.

Now, as she rushes through the forest trying to fight the ever-growing hallucinations, she knows that, once more, her clumsiness has placed Peeta’s fate in Cato’s hands.

Katniss turns a bend on the road. The earth shakes beneath her feet with the force of an explosion. She knows it’s not real, but she can’t fight it anymore. She sinks to her knees, exhausted, doomed.

Her nightmares have found her, and all she can do is give in.

XXXXX

Katniss wakes up a few days later to find her bow and arrows placed neatly by her side and Rue hiding behind a tree.

Together, the girls hunt and forage and --just like the first time-- their fast, easy friendship blossoms.

When the time comes for Katniss to leave to blow the Careers’ supplies up, she hesitates. Maybe I should take Rue down to the river, she thinks. We could dig Peeta from the mud and start treating him. The three of us could hide in the cave and…

With a shake of her head and a heavy heart, Katniss gives up. Thanks to Peeta’s intensive training for the Quarter Quell, she knows how that story ends. Alliances in the arena never last.

She would only be postponing Rue’s death. And for what? So that she can end up holding her mutilated body after a strange mutt kills her? The thought makes her shudder.

I need to weaken the Careers, she reminds herself as she walks towards the Cornucopia. Otherwise, Peeta and I won’t stand a chance.

XXXXX

Katniss is perched up on a tree, waiting.

A part of her mind is still consumed with Rue. Images of her, bloody and speared, play on a loop behind her eyes. She tries to block them out, to distract herself with something else, but she doesn’t have the strength; she’s too disgusted with herself.

Overcome by despair, Katniss hates the choices she’s made.

She hates that, despite having a second chance, she’s still helpless to do better, that she still thinks she has to put her life first.

As the sun sinks behind the trees, her mind flies back to Peeta. He’s somewhere out there, hurt, slowly bleeding to death by the stream.

She wants to drop this stupid pretense and rush to him, but she can’t.

There is one way out of this arena, and she needs to stick to her past actions to find it. So, Katniss wraps her arms around herself and waits.

She’s almost reached the end of her rope when the sky finally lights up. No deaths.

Her heart nearly jumps out of her chest when she hears the trumpets. Eager, she perks up in anticipation.

Claudius Templesmith’s voice blares down from overhead, congratulating the six tributes who remain. “There’s been a rule change in the Games. Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive.”

Claudius pauses, giving his audience time to digest the news. He repeats the change again, “Two tributes can win this year. If they’re from the same district.”

He’s barely finished speaking when Katniss reaches for her belt and begins unbuckling herself. The last time she was there, she waited for day to break, but she can’t do that this time. Not when she knows Peeta needs her.

With quick fingers, Katniss packs everything in her bag and slips the night-vision glasses on.

“Hold on, Peeta,” she says as she shimmies down the tree. “I’m on my way.”

XXXXX

As soon as she reaches the edge of the water, she realizes her mistake.

It’s a cold night. A bright round moon bathes the arena in pale light but, even with her glasses, that's not enough to make her way through the slippery mud.

Muttering obscenities under her breath, she backtracks until she finds a tree to spend the rest of the night.

With the first light of day, Katniss heads downstream.

After a while, the stream begins to curve to the left into a part of the woods where the muddy banks, covered in tangled water plants, lead to large rocks that increase in size.

Keeping her eyes to the ground, she spots a bloody streak going down the curve of a boulder.

Her heart picks up speed. Hugging the rocks, she moves, as quickly as she can, in the direction of the blood.

The blood trail stops. There’s no sign of Peeta.

She knows he’s close, though.

Crouching down, she whispers, “Peeta?”

The voice that answers back is hoarse and weak, but she would recognize it anywhere. “You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”

Katniss whips around.

“Peeta?” she whispers, biting back a smile. “Where are you?”

There’s no answer. So, Katniss creeps along the bank. “Peeta?”

“Well, don’t step on me.”

Katniss jumps back.

His voice is right under her feet. Still, there’s nothing.

Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves.

Katniss’s gasp is rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs.

“Close your eyes again,” she orders.

He does, and his mouth too, and completely disappears.

Katniss kneels beside him. “I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off.”

Peeta smiles. “Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.”

“You’re not going to die,” she tells him firmly.

“Says who?” His voice is so ragged it makes her chest hurt.

“Says me. We’re on the same team now, you know,” she tells him.

Peeta’s eyes open. “So I heard. Nice of you to find what’s left of me.”

Katniss pulls out her water bottle and gives him a drink. “Did Cato cut you?”

“Left leg. Up high.”

Her heart drops, she had hoped Peeta would fare better this time around, but it seems that they’re exactly in the same situation as before.

At least I didn’t leave him lingering here while I had breakfast, she thinks as she helps him take a few more sips. “Let’s wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you’ve got.”

“Lean down a minute first,” Peeta says. “Need to tell you something.”

She leans over and puts her good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. “Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

Katniss bursts out laughing. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

Remembering how hard it was to move him, she decides to skip that part and strip and clean him right where he is.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up,” she says as she begins digging into the mud and plants which seem to have imprisoned him.

To her surprise, Peeta shakily pushes his upper body away from the ground. A little push from her, and he’s sitting up.

His new position doesn’t last long, though. With a pained grunt, Peeta slumps against a nearby rock.

“How do you feel?” she asks, brushing the matted hair from his face.

“Woozy.”

Using her two water bottles and Rue’s water skin, she begins cleaning him up. It’s slow going. The water is cold, and he’s so caked with mud and matted leaves that she can’t even see his clothes.

When she’s done, she gently unzips his jacket, unbuttons his shirt, and eases them off him.

His undershirt comes next. It’s stained, but at least it’s not stuck to his skin.

“Can you lift your arms?” she asks.

Peeta complies, lifting one arm at a time and dropping them limply by his side as soon as he’s done.

With one last tug, Katniss pulls the undershirt over his head.

Tears well up in her eyes when she takes him in.

He’s badly bruised. There’s a long burn across his chest and a superficial cut on his arm. There’s also a bit of good news, though.

Only one of his tracker jacker stings looks bad. The skin around it is swollen and angry. The other three have been treated, Peeta's covered them with wads of chewed-up leaves.

“Did I do OK?” Peeta asks.

“You did great,” she tells him as she gently peels the dried leaves from his skin. “You only missed one.”

Peeta closes his eyes. His head lols back. “Where is it?”

“Right under your ear.” Carefully, she pours some cold water on the spot to clean it. Just looking at it makes her chest hurt. “Hold still,” she says as she digs the stinger out of the lump.

Peeta winces, but the minute she applies a fresh batch of chewed-up leaves, he sighs in relief.

Cleaning his clothes seems pointless right now that the sun isn’t hot enough to dry them. So, she uses the cleaner side of his undershirt to pat him dry and applies some burn cream to his chest.

His skin is warm but not excessively hot. This feels like good news but, Katniss isn’t sure. They’re out by the stream, and the nighttime chill hasn’t dissipated yet. The cold weather could be masking Peeta’s fever.

Since they can’t afford to waste any time, Katniss keeps going. Standing up, she shrugs off her jacket and gently drapes it over Peeta’s shoulders to protect him from the cold. Then, she digs through the first-aid kit she got from Marvel until she finds the pills that reduce temperature.

“Swallow these,” she tells him. Peeta obediently takes the medicine. “You must be hungry.”

“Not really,” says Peeta.

“We need to get some food in you,” she insists. Remembering what happened last time, she forgoes the groosling and gives him the dried apple instead.

“Can I sleep now, Katniss?” he asks after he’s had a few bits.

“I need to look at your leg first.”

Gently, she removes his boots and socks and then very slowly inches his pants off of him.

Her heart plummets when she sees the tear Cato’s sword made in the fabric over his thigh. Gritting her teeth, she keeps going.

As Peeta’s leg comes into view, Katniss gasps.

The wound isn’t exposed. Just like the tracker jacker stings, it’s been covered with leaves.

With trembling fingers, she carefully removes the green plaster.

The wound is terrible, a deep inflamed gash, but Peeta’s done a better job of taking care of it. It’s not oozing as much blood or pus as it did the last time.

“Pretty awful, huh?” says Peeta. He’s watching her closely.

Katniss shrugs. “I’ve seen worse,” she tells him honestly. “I just need to clean it well.”

Scooting her square of plastic under him, Katniss begins washing down his lower half.

Except for Cato’s cut, Peeta’s legs have fared pretty well. There’s one more tracker jacker sting, which he’s also cured, and a few minor burns that she treats quickly.

After pouring a few water bottles over it, the wound doesn’t look any better but, at least, it doesn’t look any worse.

Katniss applies a handful of chewed-up tracker jacker leaves to the wound. Within minutes, pus begins running down the side of Peeta’s leg. She repeats the process. This time, very little pus comes out.

“What next, Dr. Everdeen?” Peeta asks.

“I have a bandage I can use, but there’s something I need to do first.” Reaching behind her, Katniss pulls out Rue’s backpack. “Here, cover yourself with this, and I’ll wash your shorts.”

“Oh, I don’t care if you see me,” says Peeta.

Katniss sets her jaw. Anger and humiliation rush through her veins as an image of Johanna --stripping in front of Peeta-- comes to her mind.

Fixing him with a blistering glare, she growls, “I care, all right?”

With an aggravated huff, Katniss stands up and turns to look at the stream.

As she waits for Peeta to shimmy out of his undershorts, his words come back to her. “For the Capitol, you’re pure,” he had said, clearly trying to mollify her. “For me, you’re perfect.”

Placated by the memory, Katniss sighs.

As soon as Peeta’s undershorts splash into the current, she turns to look at him.

There he is, her boy with the bread, so strong and fierce and brave. He looks small right now, pale and weak and vulnerable, but she’s not worried. Peeta's done better this time, and he’s going to push through. Just as he always does.

Katniss walks over to him and puts a few dried pear halves in his hand. “I'm going to wash your clothes. In the meantime, you eat these,” she says before heading down to the stream.

XXXXX

Katniss holds the small vial of sleep syrup in the palm of her hand. She doesn’t like what she’s about to do, but she knows she has no choice.

Peeta’s condition is not as critical as the last time. She’s managed to keep his fever from spiking, but the wound on his leg isn’t getting any better.

Besides, if she doesn’t go to the feast, Thresh won’t kill Clove.

With grim resolve, she gets to work. She mashes up a handful of berries and adds some mint leaves for good measure. Then she heads back up to the cave.

“I’ve brought you a treat,” she tells Peeta, “I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream.”

XXXXX

“You better run now, Fire Girl,” Thresh tells her.

Katniss doesn’t need to be told twice. She flips over, digging her feet into the hard-packed earth, and runs away from Thresh and Clove and the sound of Cato’s voice.

She reaches the woods and keeps going. Blood pours into her eye, but she just swipes it away.

After a few minutes, she hears the cannon. Clove has died.

When she finally reaches the water, she slows down. She’s fairly certain Cato headed out after Thresh. Still, she doesn’t want to waste any time.

Katniss pulls off Rue’s socks, which she’d been using for gloves. Setting them aside, she splashes water over her forehead to clean the cut.

Moving quickly, she presses the socks to her forehead to staunch the flow of blood.

She knows the socks will be soaked in minutes. So, she reaches for the bandage in her small backpack and wraps it, as tightly as she can, around her forehead.

That should do the trick, she thinks, standing up to continue her trek downstream.

She makes it back to the cave in record time.

After squeezing through the rocks, she pulls the little orange backpack from her arm, cuts open the clasp, and dumps the contents on the ground—one slim box containing one hypodermic needle.

Without hesitating, she jams the needle into Peeta’s arm and slowly presses down on the plunger.

Exhausted, Katniss sighs. Her head is throbbing.

Her hands go to her forehead. When they drop back on her lap, she sees they’re clean.

After taking one of the fever pills, Katniss snuggles next to Peeta and drifts off.

XXXXX

Cato rushes through the woods, making a beeline for the Cornucopia.

Without question, Katniss follows him.

Her hands have just landed on the metal at the pointed tail of the Cornucopia when she turns back to look at Peeta. He’s not that far behind, but the mutts are closing in on him fast.

She sends an arrow into the pack, and one goes down, but there are plenty to take its place.

Peeta waves her up the horn, “Go, Katniss! Go!”

Katniss starts climbing, scaling the Cornucopia on her hands and feet. The pure gold surface has been designed to resemble a woven horn, so there are little ridges and seams to get a decent hold on. But after a day in the arena sun, the metal feels hot enough to blister her hands.

Cato lies on his side at the very top of the horn, twenty feet above the ground, gasping to catch his breath as he gags over the edge.

Katniss stops midway up the horn, loads another arrow, and points it at him, but just as she’s about to let it fly, she hears Peeta cry out. She twists around.

Peeta’s just reached the tail, and the mutts are right on his heels.

“Climb!” she yells.

Peeta starts up while Katniss keeps her eyes on the mutts. When one of them places its paws on the metal, she shoots her arrow down its throat.

Peeta reaches her feet. She grabs his arm and pulls him along.

Remembering Cato is waiting at the top, she whips around. He’s still doubled over with cramps and apparently more preoccupied with the mutts than with his fellow tributes.

This is my chance, Katniss thinks. She’s replayed this moment hundreds of times in her mind. She’s ready.

At the bottom of the Cornucopia, the mutts are beginning to assemble. Katniss can hear their calls for blood. She knows they won’t stop until they get it.

She tugs Peeta’s arm to get his attention. “Think you could push him over?”

Peeta glances at Cato. He still hasn’t regained his feet, but his breathing is slowing. Soon he’ll be recovered enough to come for them and hurl them over the side to their deaths.

“Shoot straight,” Peeta says before taking a step in Cato’s direction and crouching.

Katniss aims her arrow at Cato’s head.

In. Out. Katniss breathes as she tries to block out the sounds of the mutts sniffing and tasting the metal, scraping paws over the surface, and making high-pitched yipping noises to one another.

Smirking, Cato pushes himself up and ducks his head under his arm to deflect the attack.

Katniss’s arrow flies and reaches its mark, piercing right through Cato’s unprotected hand.

Cato cries out and doubles over in pain just as Peeta slams against him.

Knocked off balance, Cato plummets to the ground.

XXXXX

“Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed,” Claudius Templesmith says. “Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

Katniss looks at Peeta in dismay. She’s exhausted. She just wants the whole thing to be over.

“If you think about it, it’s not that surprising,” Peeta says softly as he pulls the knife from his belt and throws it into the lake.

Katniss doesn’t falter. She immediately drops her weapons.

“No,” Peeta says, reaching for her bow and pressing it back into her hand. “You need to use this now.”

“I can’t,” Katniss says, shaking her head. “I won’t.”

“Do it.” Peeta tightens his hold on her wrist in a silent plea. “Before they send those mutts back or something. I don’t want to die like Cato.”

“Then you shoot me,” she says furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. “You shoot me and go home and live with it!”

“You know I can’t,” Peeta says, discarding the weapons.

He turns to look at the lake. Frustration drips from his voice as he says, “This is why I didn’t want you to go to the feast, why I didn’t want you to risk your life for me. I knew it was pointless, that in the end, they were going to make us choose.”

Peeta drops on one knee and begins untying his shoelaces.

Katniss scowls; this is something new. “What are you doing?”

“I think I’m going to go out for a swim.”

Panic rises within her. The lake isn’t too deep, but Peeta doesn’t know how to swim. What if the Gamemakers decide to create waves or a strong current?

She needs to think. Fast.

Katniss kneels next to him. “Peeta, please don’t!”

“Katniss,” Peeta reaches for the end of her braid and gives it a little tug. “This is my choice. It’s what I want.”

“You’re not leaving me here alone,” she says, reaching out to grab a fistful of his jacket.

“Listen,” he says, pulling her to her feet. “We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me.”

Katniss swallows thickly. This is the opening she was waiting for.

Her fingers fumble with the pouch on her belt, freeing it.

Peeta’s eyes widen. His hand clamps on her wrist. “No, I won’t let you.”

“Trust me,” she whispers.

He holds her gaze for a long moment, then lets go.

Katniss loosens the top of the pouch and pours a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm.

She fills hers. Her heart races in fear and anticipation as she asks, “On the count of three?”

Peeta leans down and kisses her once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says.

They stand, their backs pressed together, their empty hands locked tight.

“Hold them out. I want everyone to see,” Peeta says.

Katniss spreads out her fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun.

She’s not afraid this time. If the Gamemakers call their bluff, she and Peeta will have a quick death. Protected by their anonymity, Prim, Gale, and the rest of District 12 will be safe.

Still, as she gives Peeta’s hand one last squeeze as a signal, she hopes it’s not a goodbye.

They begin counting.

“One.” Did she get it right?

“Two.” Maybe this do-over is not for her but for Snow, who’s wanted her dead from the start.

“Three!” She’s about to find out.

Katniss lifts her hand to her mouth.

The berries have just passed her lips when the trumpets begin to blare.

The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. “Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you — the tributes of District Twelve!”

XXXXX

The tribute train speeds back to District 12.

Alone in her compartment, Katniss washes the makeup from her face and puts her hair in its braid.

As she stares in the mirror, she tries to remember who she is and who she isn't.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me, but I came back. Peeta is safe. Our families and our district are waiting for us.

With a steady hand, she pins the mockingjay back on her shirt and adds, Snow’s days in power are numbered.

The train makes a brief stop for fuel, and they’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air.

There’s no longer any need to guard them, so Peeta and Katniss walk down along the track, hand in hand.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Katniss leans into Peeta’s side and asks, “Have you talked to Haymitch?”

Peeta shakes his head. “About what?”

Remembering how poorly this conversation went the last time, Katniss grabs his arm to keep him close. “He told me the Capitol didn’t like our stunt with the berries.”

Peeta’s body tenses under her touch. “What?”

“He says it seemed too rebellious.”

“Seemed?” Peeta deadpans.

Katniss’s jaw drops open. This is not the reaction she was expecting.

“Come on, Katniss, you can’t be that surprised. We basically forced their hand into doing what we wanted. It’s no wonder they’re upset.” Anger and suspicion quickly flash through his eyes. “Why didn’t he tell me anything?”

Afraid that he’s going to storm away, Katniss tightens her grip on his arm. “Because he didn’t want me to mess up in front of the cameras. He was afraid I’d be all prickly and aloof. So, he told me I needed to act like I was so madly in love that I wasn’t responsible for my actions.”

She knows she’s messed up the second Peeta takes a step away from her. “Act?”

“For the interview,” she quickly clarifies. “Only for the interview.”

The explanation seems to placate him, but he still asks, “So, what you did in the Games, was that—,”

“That was not an act,” she tells him. This time it’s the truth. Her only hidden motive was to bring him out with her.

Peeta nods but, before he can say anything, Haymitch appears by his side.

Even in the middle of nowhere, the old mentor keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be OK.”

“Thanks for the update,” Peeta growls under his breath.

A deep frown settles on Haymitch’s face. “What’s up with you?”

“I just told him what you said about President Snow,” Katniss whispers.

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” Peeta asks.

Haymitch lets out an exasperated sigh. “Since when do you need coaching on how to act in front of the cameras, kid? You’re smooth and personable, and you always know exactly what to say.” Hunching closer to the two victors, he adds, “Besides, the walls have ears, even here. I didn’t have that many openings, you know?”

Mollified, Peeta nods. Katniss knows it's just a reprieve, though. Peeta's never liked being kept in the dark, and he'll probably go after Haymitch once they're back home.

“Alright,” Haymitch says, “fun’s over. Time to hop back on board.”

The three victors head back.

Katniss is already on board when she notices Peeta has fallen behind.

Alarmed, she whips around to look out of a window. Peeta’s just a few steps away. A smile splits her face when she notices the bunch of wildflowers in his hand.

As soon as he climbs up the stairs, he presents the pink-and-white flowers to her.

Katniss bursts out laughing. Her eager hands reach for the offering. “You brought me lunch, how thoughtful!”

Peeta tilts his head in question. “Lunch?”

Katniss nods. With soft fingers, she traces the edge of a pink petal. “They’re wild onions. Gale and I gather them sometimes.”

Peeta’s face turns serious. “Katniss, I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to snap—,”

“No,” she cuts in, “I get it. We’re a team. We’re in this together.”

Peeta reaches for her hand, interlacing their fingers to bring their palms even closer. Hope lights up his face when he asks, “Together?”

Katniss nods. Standing on the tips of her toes, she presses a soft kiss to his lips and whispers, “Together.”

XXXXX

The Tribute train pulls into District 12.

Katniss and Peeta stand side by side, watching their grimy little station rise up around them.

Through the window, Katniss sees the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching their homecoming.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Peeta extend his hand. His eyes are warm and soft, her safe place in the storm that’s about to be unleashed.

Smiling back at him, Katniss takes his hand and holds on tightly as she prepares for the cameras. Her heart feels full, grateful for the fact that she won’t ever have to let go.

XXXXX

On the first Sunday after the Capitol cameras leave, Katniss sneaks out of Victors’ Village.

Partially hidden by the dim light of dusk, she quietly walks to the Seam.

A part of her wishes she could sneak under the fence and go to her and Gale’s meeting place like she did before. She mises the sounds and the smells of her woods and longs to hold her father’s bow, but she knows the rock ledge isn’t safe. Not today.

President Snow has eyes and ears everywhere, and she can’t afford to repeat her past mistakes. Not when what she has to say is this important.

Two blocks away from Gale’s house, she finds the perfect spot; a narrow corridor that stretches between two shacks. Despite being open on both ends, it’s dark and much too small for foot traffic or lampposts —which makes it a perfect hiding place— and it faces the street Gale uses to go to the woods.

She’s only been there for a few minutes when a silent silhouette walks past.

“Gale!” Katniss hisses as loud as se dares.

Gale stops on his tracks and turns towards the sound, leaning slightly into the small dark corridor.

Smiling fondly at her friend, Katniss lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers in greeting.

The glimmer in his eyes tells her he’s surprised to see her there, but he doesn’t hesitate. In two long strides, he’s by her side with open arms.

Just like she did the last time, Katniss jumps into his embrace.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembers crying —sobbing in Gale’s arms until she began to hiccup and tremble— but she doesn’t cry now. She doesn’t have time for that. Instead, she buries her face in his jacket and breathes him in, letting his fresh, clean scent comfort her and give her the strength she needs to carry on.

Pulling away from her friend, Katniss smiles. “Hi!”

“Hey!” Gale points his thumb back towards the woods. “I was on my way out to meet you.” Dropping his hand, he turns around and inspects their tight hiding place. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew you’d pass by.” Her smile drops. “We need to talk.”

A dark cloud passes through Gale’s eyes. “What’s wrong, Catnip?”

Grabbing a fistful of his jacket to keep him from storming away, Katniss begins to talk. As quickly as she can, she tells him about President Snow’s anger.

“He’s mad at us for showing the Capitol up in the arena and turning it into the joke of Panem,” she says. “It’s something that wouldn’t have mattered much before, but Snow’s control over the country is slipping. His enemies are gaining strength, and he can’t afford to look weak in front of them.”

Anticipation lights Gale’s eyes. “His enemies?”

“Rebel forces are organizing all over the country,” Katniss says, “even the Capitol has a few dissenters, but Snow’s biggest problem is District 13.”

Gale takes a step back. “Thirteen? There’s no Thirteen. It got blown off the map.”

“No, it didn’t,” Amused with the look of shock on Gale's face, Katniss smiles. “District 13 is still there. That footage we’ve seen, with the rubble and the ruins, is always the same shot. The Capitol just uses it as a backdrop for its TV presenters.

“The people of Thirteen have spent the last 74 years living underground, and they're done waiting. They’re eager to get rid of Snow.”

Gale shakes his head, still too disconcerted to fully grasp what’s happening. “How do you know all this?”

“I heard about it while I was in the Capitol,” she lies, convinced that this is the only possible explanation she can give him that will make some kind of sense. “I overheard some conversations during my training, and then, while I was recovering, I was... approached.”

“Approached?”

Katniss nods, hoping Gale won’t press any further. She’s ready to tell him what she knows about Eight and a few other districts, but she doesn’t want to go into any specifics in case someone decides to check up on her info later on.

Luckily, Gale is a man of action, and his hatred for the Capitol runs deep. He has all the information he needs. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Well... All eyes are on me right now, so there’s not much I can do —not if I want to keep my family safe— but I was thinking...”

Katniss looks up, silver eyes bright with trust and hope. “Nobody knows who you are, Gale. No one is following you. You could go. You could just sneak under the fence and march down all the way to Thirteen and tell them everything I know."

"Wait a second," Gale says, raising his hands as if to shield himself from her plan. "If what you're saying is true, District 13 must have agents in every district. So, why would they need me to relay your information?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Thirteen is in contact with a few people, but they don't have access to every district. My information is not very detailed, but it comes from every corner of Panem. The leaders of Thirteen might be able to use it to band the rebels together before Snow sends his Peacekeepers to start cracking down on us."

Pulling his shoulders back, Gale backtracks until his arm touches the cold cement wall. Looking past Katniss, he stares at the empty street at the end of the corridor.

Enveloped by silence, she sees his mind working, turning, and churning ideas as he tries to come to terms with what he’s heard.

“What about my family?” he finally asks.

“I’ll take care of them,” Katniss promises, “just like you took care of mine.”

When Gale looks back at her —full of fire and determination— she knows, clear as day, that she’s made the right choice.

Gale Hawthorne wants the revolution more than he wants anything else.

“I’m going to need a few supplies,” he says, his mind already thinking ahead.

“That’s not a problem. I’ll help you get whatever you need.”

Crossing his arms, Gale tilts his head to study her closely. Uprisings and rebellions are far from his mind when he asks, “So…you and the baker’s son. How long has that been going on?”

Katniss shrugs. What should she say? A year and a half? A month? A week? She doesn’t really know when to start counting. So, she sticks with the vaguest thing she can think of. “A while.”

A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “I can’t believe I never noticed.”

“Well," Katniss slips her hands into her pockets. Discussing Peeta with Gale --or Gale with Peeta-- has always made her uncomfortable. Luckily, her friend's tone is a lot more subdued than it used to be. "We weren’t exactly shouting it over the rooftops, you know?”

Raising a questioning eyebrow, he locks his gray eyes with hers. “I thought you didn’t want to get married.”

“I changed my mind.”

As soon as the words pass her lips, she knows they’re true.

She still doesn’t want to have children. If her trips to the Games have taught her anything, it's that Panem is not a safe place to live. But she doesn’t want to be alone anymore, not when she can be with Peeta.

Hoping to put the conversation to rest, she lifts her chin and adds, “Peeta changed my mind.”

Gale nods, slowly taking her in as if he's seeing her for the very first time.

In the small space, Gale offers his hand. "OK, Catnip, I'll do as you ask."

Smiling, Katniss reaches out to shake it and seal their deal.

Katniss heads back to Victors' Village feeling lighter than she has in weeks. Her plan is in motion. Gale is going to District 13.

As she reaches the steps of her new home, a thrilling thought crosses her mind.

She's back on uncharted waters. The future is about to become uncertain once more.

#things I write #a second chance #time travel!everlark #Everlark Fic Exchange #camp nano april 2021

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parkmuse · 4 years

Text

Ultimatum (M)

Word Count: 10,339 (Reposted) (Wonhopes Masterlist)

Your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

cr.

“I love you so much baby,” He hums, kissing you sweetly on the tip of your nose.

“Shut the fuck up and let’s just get this over with okay?” You groan over the silk sheets, arms laced tightly against the headrest as you get more and more impatient from the restrains.

“I love it when you use your dirty mouth with me,” He grunts, erection getting much more prominent in his blue-red tights.

You roll your eyes, “Jungkook can we just-“

He puts his clothed finger on your lips, shushing you. “Nuh uh uh, you promised you’d call me by my other name.”

You open your mouth to try and chomp on his finger, but he quickly retracts before you can do any damage. You give him a sweet smile when he smirks right back at you.

“…Can we please hurry and do this, Mr. Peter Parker?”

“Noooo Y/N! You’re not supposed to know my real identity yet! Do we have to go over this again? I found out you were trapped here, swoop on in to save the day, you’re shocked and extremely turned on from me saving you and start seducing me, and then I fuck you into oblivion as Spiderman.”

“Yeah but nowhere did you mention I’d be tied to the bed by your stupid fake spider webs-“

“No complaining! You said you’d play along,” He pouts, the spider symbol on his chest jutting out as he crosses his arms.

You only agreed to this because your dumb ass boyfriend begged you nonstop for weeks to fulfill his one fantasy he’d been dreaming of probably almost all of his horny teen life until now. You really didn’t know what the hype was with this superhero roleplay and how it could possibly get someone off, but literally even you brushing your elbow against him by accident can have him up and ready in a matter of seconds. Many instances of accidentally touching him in public led to public bathroom quickies or doing it in the car to which you couldn’t really complain since he would give you a piece of relief as well. This scenario really proved much harder to collaborate with though.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry.” You sigh. Your arms are really starting to hurt and he would probably give you the cold shoulder for weeks if you made him stop now, so the less you talked the quicker you’d get this over with. “Let’s do this spiderboy.”

“SpiderMAN!”

“Okay, Spiderman.” What’s the difference anyway?

“Okay. Now get into position.”

Aren’t you already in position? You can’t fucking move an inch.

You bothered not making any snarky comeback so he can resume. You watched him pick up a thin cloth on the bedside table, slipping on his mask before walking out the bedroom door and shutting it closed.

It’s silent for about a good 15 seconds. Where did he go?

You hear the door creak open and you’re met with his dumb ass masked figure. “Did you forget your lines?”

Even if you can’t see it, you know his face is scrunched up in annoyance by the tone of his voice.

“O-Oh right, sorry.”

He turns and closes the door again.

You clear your voice, “H-Help! I’ve been kidnapped! I’m so scared, I-if someone hot and strong could only come and save me…” You internally curse yourself from agreeing to this bullshit.

You jump in place when the door is kicked open, slamming against the wall.

“Have no fear young broad, your friendly neighborhood Spiderman is here!” He hops onto the bed dramatically, crouched and looking around frantically with his hands ready to spit out fake webs to any nonexistent thugs in the room.

“I’ve taken down the 50 guys in the other room with no problem whatsoever, you’re safe now pretty lady.” You try not to burst out laughing at his ridiculous remark, but swallow up your sounds. He moves above you, leaning forward to remove your hands from the laces. Finally.

You’re waiting for him to release you, but he halts his movements. You’re looking at him in confusion until he whispers to you.

“Do the next thing we talked about.”

“Oh…right.” You sigh.

“I was so, so scared, thank you so much for saving me,” You say as dramatically and helplessly as you could muster up.

He gestures you to continue.

“Oh…a-and um, you were like so, so sexy too. How could I possibly make it up to you?” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his hips closer to yours.

“It’s no problem Miss. I don’t need to reap any rewards for good deeds.”

“Great, so if you could just untie me then we can go on our separate ways-“ You start releasing your grip from him but then you hear him huff.

“Y/N,” he whines under the fabric, “You said you’d do this for me.”

“Are you really gonna make me say the next line??” He removes the mask and you see him give you a pout, eyes looking as disappointed as when he missed Stan Lee at Comic Con last year from getting stuck in traffic. He knew it was your biggest weakness, and you couldn’t possibly say no to him after he showed you that.

You groan again, eyes darting away from him as he waits for you to continue.

“Can you help me out with another problem?”

He tugs the mask back on, “Of course, anything for a damsel in distress.”

Fuck this guy.

“Y-You’re making my…my s-spidey senses tingle,” You felt like gagging. “Please, Mr. Spiderman, h-help me out.”

“I can’t possibly leave someone in need like this high and dry, especially a beautiful little seahorse like you.”

“Did you just fucking call me a seahorse-“ Your question was cut short when he brings a hand to your thighs, fingers slowly inches upwards in feather light touches. Your breath hitches in your throat, his other hand already working on unbuttoning your shorts and shimmying them off your hips. He moves downwards and grabs your legs, planting your feet flat on the bed with his hands resting on your knees.

He brings a finger to trace down your clothed slit, sending shivers down your spine. How the fuck could you possibly be turned on after all this? You have no idea.

As he digs a finger deeper along your warmth, you feel your juices soaking your thin lace panties. He uses two fingers to push the fabric to the side, stretching your folds out to get a good look at your already leaking core.

“My my my, I think I’ve found a way to resolve the drought crisis in this town.”

“Oh my god, could you please shut the- oh fuck!”

He dips his head down between your legs, partially lifting up his mask to latch his mouth onto you. He flattens his tongue against you, getting a full taste of your wet juices before nibbling your bundle of nerves. You moan out loud, hands balling into fists as you arch your back and clench your legs around his head.

He pries your thighs open, pushing them flat against the bed as he thrusts his tongue much deeper into you, nose nestling right against your curls.

“F-Fuck, oh my god, Jung-“

“Shhh, my frisky little chinchilla, call me what I want to be called and how we rehearsed,” he hums, nipping lightly on your inner thighs, “And maybe I’ll reward you.”

You have no idea where all these weird ass nicknames are coming from but try your hardest to overlook it, forcing yourself to get back into character for him as much as you hated it. One of his hands are drawing circles on your thighs while the other is slowly prodding at your entrance, ready to take you right where you want to be if you cooperated.

“P-please Spiderman, touch me more.”

“Mmm, yeah? You want more?”

“Yes! Please, give it to me.”

He hums, “Oh yeah?” He removes the mask and looks straight into your eyes. “You want to see how much web this spider can shoot?”

You swear to god you dried up instantly. “Jungkook,” You groan.

“You said you’d play along!”

“Yeah but not when you’re throwing out all you’re dumb superhero puns!” You huff. “Seriously, I think it’s the Sahara down there now.”

He raises a brow at that, scoffing as you see him move his hands to rest on your thighs. He smooths one closer over to your core, his thumb resting directly on your swollen clit, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Really? You’re not feeling it anymore baby?” He digs the pad of his thumb into you, pressing tight circles that makes you cry out.

“What a shame. I was gonna eat you out for hours and make you cry for my dick so all the neighbors could hear,” He alternates between tracing over your folds and back to your neglected clit that aches for more than just his fingers, “And after I got you all ready for my cock I was really going to fuck you senseless you know.” He licks his lips, probing the tip of his finger at your entrance.

“Watching that pretty little face writhe into the sheets, taking those gorgeous tits into my mouth and make you take it like the good girl I know you are…” You clench over nothing as you whine loudly over that remark. He pushes his finger deep into your cunt, curling upwards and finding your spot almost instantaneously, making you scream his name.

“Pounding into your pussy where I know you love it the most…”

“J-Jungkook,” You whimper as he slowly but harshly presses against the spot that makes you feel like you’re going to explode at any moment.

“Have you begging for my cock and make you cum all night until you couldn’t walk for the next three days,” He hums as you arch yourself into his fingers, attempting to make him go faster.

He pushes your hips down and releases himself from you, the ache in your pussy almost unbearable from the loss of fullness. You slightly tear up from the feeling, looking up at him with your lips between your teeth.

Smirk plastered all over his face he wraps his lips over his wet fingers as he sucks away all your juices. “Mmm,” He tsks, “What a damn shame.”

“Jungkook,” You mewl in the smallest and neediest voice possible, “Please.”

“What is it, baby?” He feigns innocence.

“I need you,” You whimper, “I need you so bad.”

He grunts in response, pretending to think when you knew he loved it when you begged.

“I don’t know, I don’t think you want it enough Y/N,” He says with a sigh, to which you loudly protest.

“No! I want it Jungkook, believe me I want it!” You cry, tears brimming at your cheeks, “I want you to fuck me, make me forget about all those bad guys in the other room. Show them who’s I am, I’ll take it like a good girl Spiderman.”

He tongues his cheek at that, watching you as you spread your legs further to reveal your sopping wet core, completely ready for him. He grunts, reaching to palm himself through his tights as he leans forward to connect your lips. You moan into his mouth, letting him ravage you as his hands explore your body. He hikes your shirt up to your stomach, grazing his fingers over your torso before dipping his fingers under the hem of your bra. He uses his other hand to unclasp them, tossing them aside as he squeezes a handful, making you moan. He disconnects from you to attend to your breasts, kneading and sucking on them as you whimper.

He kisses down your stomach until he reaches where you need him the most. He places a soft, delicate kiss right on top of your pussy, having you writhe from beneath him.

“Call me your daddy.”

“Ahh, there! Wait…I’m, You—what?”

“You heard me Y/N. Call me your daddy…daddy long legs.” He says it in the most serious expression possible, making you gawk at him. You squeeze his head between your thighs, hoping you could somehow choke his annoying ass to death.

“Are you fucking kidding me Jungkook?!”

He pries your thighs open, dodging your fatal move. “Dead serious. You want this spidey dick or not?”

You throw your head back with a groan, hitting the headboard. More than half the time you don’t get why you’re with this man. Is it really worth all the headaches?

“I’m kidding,” He chuckles. He kisses the inside of your thigh.

“You did good sweetheart, now I’ll reward you.”

Before you can say anything he plunges a finger inside you, lapping up your bundle of nerves as you cry out loud. He reaches upward and massages your breasts, pinching a nipple as he starts to enter a second finger into your tight heat.

“Oh f-fuck! O-oh! Yes, Jungkook!” You moan, wrists burning from the amount of times you pull against the headrest. “Fuck, untie me. I want to t-touch you.”

He doesn’t listen, hands still plunging deeply into your sopping wet core as he laps up the excess. He curls his fingers upwards, making you thrash as he hits your spot relentlessly.

“J-Jungkook, please, please untie me,” You beg, wanting nothing more than just digging your fingers into his brown locks as you grind your hips onto his hot tongue.

You watch as he still doesn’t let up, enjoying every moment of you under submission. You whimper as you look down at him, his erection moments from bursting through the confines of his tights. You see him grinding himself against the bed for relief, rutting his hips harder each time you moan louder for him.

“Baby please, untie me,” You cry, lifting your hips in time to match his thrusts and grind your clit into his wet muscle.

He pulls up, face glistening in all your releases as his tongue swipes over his drenched lips. “I thought you were going to be a good girl for me.”

“I am! I will be, just please, I wanna fucking feel you.” Tears brim your eyes as you give him the best puppy dog eyes you can muster, nails digging deep into your palms that they form crescents. Jungkook knew you hated being restrained when it came to sex and all you wanted to do was grab a fistful of his hair as he worked his mouth against your aching wetness.

“Please,” You beg, “Please baby, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

You knew at the sound of his tone he’s scheming something, but honestly, what could be worse than this?

“Yes, anything!” You groan, hips thrusting upwards to try and get any sort of relief.

“You said it honey bunny.” He kisses your inner thigh and smirks, sitting up and pushing himself off of you making the bed squeak. You watch him curiously as he leans over the side to grab something under the bed. He pulls out a shoebox, placing it beside you two before getting back to sit snugly between your legs again.

“What are you doing? What is that?” You look at him with furrowed brows, getting nervous as the stupid smile plastered on his face gets much wider.

“The best thing man has ever created.” He flips the box open, pulling out an extensively large green neon silicone rod. You stare at the foreign object in his hands, trying to figure out what the fuck it actually was.

A baton? It didn’t really look like it since the stick got thinner as it reached closer to the tip. Plus, Jungkook was way much kinkier than to buy something like that.

And why is it green? Maybe it’s a peeled cucumber? But Jungkook isn’t that weird to keep it secured in a shoebox under the bed…

Then for some godforsaken reason, it clicked in your head. You didn’t fucking believe it, nor did you seriously want to believe what your boyfriend had ready to use under the bed you two shared almost every night. You immediately tried to squeeze your legs closed but firmly gripped his hips instead.

“Jungkook…are you fucking kidding me?” You said, voice laced in anger and disgust for what he really thought he was going to get away with right now.

He knew that tone anywhere, instantly flipping a switch in his personality to get on your good side.

“L-Look here, my Queen-“

“Don’t.”

You see his shoulders slouch, bottom lip jutting out as his eyes pout along with the rest of his face. “ But Pudding, you said you’d do anything-“

“Jeon,” You cut him off, “If you seriously think for one second that I’m going to let you shove a fucking tentacle dildo up my vagina you have another thing coming!”

Seven billion people in the world. Seven billion you got to choose from.

Seven.

Billion.

And this is who you chose to continue your life with.

You watch him whine above you, crossing his arms like a child that won’t get his way. “But baby, this costed me two paychecks! We can’t let it go to waste!”

“Is that my fault? Where did you even get that thing?!”

“At comic-con last year, duh!”

Of course.

“You could have gotten a comic book, a keychain, a signed photograph, a collectible…and that’s what you chose?”

“This is a collectible! It’s special edition! Look,” He moves to flip a switch on the base of the toy, beaming lights emitting from the tentacle. “It’s Spiderman edition, with blue and red lights. And look at the bottom here.” He shoves the base of the toy toward your face, making you frown in disgust. You see some black scribbling at the bottom, having no clue what he’s even trying to show you.

“What? What are you trying to show me?”

“Stan Lee signed it! The Stan Lee! You know I had to have it since I missed him, but at least I got this now,” He gushes, stroking the signature admiringly as he smiles to himself.

“And okay look, I know we got off on the wrong start with this but I really think you’re going to like all these other features,” He presses, not that you can stop his blabber mouth anyways since you’re literally all tied up. So he continues.

“Look here pickle, there’s a button down here that’ll activate the vibration settings,” He pushes a button at the base and the tentacle comes to life, the tip flopping wildly back and forth.

You flinch, “Jungkook, that seriously would tear my insides up!”

“Sorry that was maxigasm setting,” He pushes a few buttons and the toy slows, gently buzzing from the palm of his hand. “See? So there’s like fourteen different settings you can play around with. And as amazing as that all sounds, that’s not even the best part.” You hate the way he makes it sound, and you knew that this was just going to get much worse.

He turns the toy and you see a red switch, his finger lightly tracing over it. “And here fruit loop, here’s where the show really begins.” He presses the button and before you even comprehend what’s happening, white blobs ejaculate out from the tip of the dildo and onto your thigh, the liquid slowly streaming down your inner legs.

You scream instinctively, thrashing yourself against him. “What the fuck Jungkook?!”

“It squirts!” He gleams, bunny smile spread on his face while the red and blue blinking tentacle vibrator toy spurts out more liquid from its tip.

“Why would you buy that?! I don’t want tentacle cum on me GET IT OFF ME!”

“What? You really don’t like it?” His brows furrow, slight confusion written on his face. “But I even got it strawberry flavored, I know it’s your favorite.” He swipes the liquid from your thighs onto his pointer finger, slowly bringing it to your face. “Here, just give it a taste-“

You kick his face with your heel, throwing him backwards with the toy flying out of his hands and onto the edge of the bed.

He groans from the floor, rubbing his chin as he sits back up to give you an annoyed pout.

“What was that for?!”

“Can you quit being such a weirdo? Can we do something normal for once-“

“Like me fucking your face?”

You roll your eyes at that, but then the perfect idea comes to mind. You quickly cover up your annoyance with a sweet smile, “Okay, sure.”

Jungkook looks at you quizzically, thinking you wouldn’t agree so easily. “For real?”

“Yes, on one condition.” You pull your hands forward from the bed post, “Untie me and no tentacles.”

He pouts hearing your response, but nonetheless you can tell he’s thinking about it. You see him twiddling his thumbs, something he does when he’s deep in thought as he weighs the pros and cons of the situation. You know just the right buttons to push to get your way though.

“Jungkook, baby, you know you want it as bad as I do.” You lick your lips slowly, making sure he gets a good look at your pink muscle.

“I want to taste your cock so bad,” You whine, arching your back off the bed, “Can I? Pretty please?”

You saw the glint in his eyes, and immediately you knew you got the hook and sinker. You smile at him when you see him get up from his spot, seemingly making his way to untie you from the bedposts. Victory is not much far from here, and then you can finally give him a taste of his own medicine-

You hear the bed creak from the side, and next thing you know Jungkook is straddling your chest.

“What are you-” You moan when he grabs your breasts, kneading them and pinching your sensitive nipple.

“You want it that bad huh? It’d be torture if I made you wait any longer,” He pulls his tights down his thighs, exposing his rock hard erection. You can’t help but drool a little over seeing the precum that leaks so deliciously down his cock, unconsciously making you lick your lips once more.

He grabs your breasts once again, slipping himself in between. You can’t deny how fucking hot this is, watching his face contort in pure ecstasy as he uses you to relieve himself. You both groan at the feeling, your mewls spilling out between your lips as he flicks your nipples with each thrust. It makes you completely forget your proposition just a minute ago.

“Open up for me.” You oblige, sticking your tongue out when he pushes the tip of his warm cock to your mouth. You suckle on it, taking the opportunity to lap up all his precum and take the rest that’s threatening to spill out. He grunts above you, slowly pushing himself further into your tight little mouth.

“Fuck yes, that’s it.” You relax your muscles, letting him guide his way into you. Your mouth always gets so full, his girth stretching you out in all the painfully right ways.

“You’re such a good girl, taking me like this.” He’s halfway into you before he pulls back out, brushing his angry tip against your bottom lip. He decides to rest his hands on the back of your head, positioning you the right way for what’s to come.

“Y/N!” He pushes back into you slowly as to not hurt you, going much deeper than the first time. The tears are already threatening to fall, but you can’t help but love every second of Jungkook whining above you, praising you, falling apart above you. As much as it hurts, you love when he really gets into it, thrusting deeply into your mouth that you feel him almost everywhere inside of you, making you gag all over his throbbing cock.

“Mmm, yes, ah! J-just like that Sweetheart,” he groans.

Saliva spills from between your lips and down your face with each thrust, your head aching a bit from each time Jungkook braces himself when his tip reaches the back of your throat. You swallow each time he praises you, making you a moaning mess all over his dick.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” He grunts, his balls slapping against your chin, “My cock was made to fuck your pretty little mouth.” He pulls out to let you breathe, tapping his dick against your bottom lip. You stick your tongue out to get another taste of him, making him hum.

“Look at you, so hungry for my cock.” He rubs himself against your cheek, letting you suck on his balls. He groans, pushing himself away from you. You whine at the lost, making him chuckle.

“You can’t sweetheart, I’ll come all over your beautiful face.” He resorts to pressing himself against your breast, the tip flicking your erect nipple.

“Fuck,” You cry, wanting for him to do nothing more than what he just proposed, “Come all over me Jungkook, please.”

He grunts at your response, grinding himself harshly between the valley of your breasts.

“As much as I want to, I’d rather fuck you full of my come.” You whimper at his words, your pussy throbbing over nothing as you clench your thighs in attempt to relieve yourself. It doesn’t work though, and what makes matters much worse is when you look up to see Jungkook closing a tight fist below his tip, veins popping from his neck and deep pants spilling out from his mouth above you. He slaps his cock against your chest a few more times, slowly regaining his composure again with a relieved sigh.

“You know, you’re so good to me.” He scoots back enough to lean down and give you a soft kiss, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He moves to the headboard to untie your wrists, releasing you from the fake webs.

Fucking finally.

You immediately rub your wrists, flinching at the red lines etched into your skin. He grabs your wrists and kisses them, “You good, baby? I didn’t go too far did I?”

Instead of answering you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. He moans into your mouth, letting you sneak your tongue into his warm cavern. Your tongues dance along each others as a fight for dominance, but Jungkook is almost putty in your arms once your lips wrap around to suck on his warm muscle, making him whimper. You take this as a chance to flip your positions, rolling around so you’re straddling him and his head is nestled between the pillows. He looks so fucked out from under you, cheeks tinted pink and sweat running down the sides of his face.

You lean down to pepper kisses down his jawline. “Jungkook,” You whisper as seductively as you can in his ear, “Are you feeling how wet you made me?” He moans when you grind yourself against him, letting out a breathy fuck yes as you continue to suck and nibble on the sensitive parts of his neck. You slip one of your hands down to your core, coating two fingers in your juices before bringing them back up to Jungkook’s plush lips. You sink your fingers into his mouth, humming as you feel his tongue wrap around your digits.

“Do you like that?” He moans around you to tell you how much he enjoys it.

“Do you want more?” You slip your fingers out with a pop, leaning down to kiss him once again. You feel him all over, running your hands up his biceps and guiding his arms slowly above his head in the most subtle way possible.

“Do you want to feel me? Do you want me to sink down on your cock and fuck you til’ you fill me completely up with your come?”

“God, yes,” He whimpers, so lost in your dirty talk and you nibbling against his jawline that he didn’t even notice you pinning his wrists above his head. You smile against his skin,

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait until I’m done with you, bitch.”

You secure the webs around his wrists, pulling his hands down to settle behind his head.

“What are you-” You muffle him up with his mask that was mindlessly thrown on the bedside counter, making sure it was lodged in there enough that he can’t make a peep.

“You’ve been talking way too much tonight babe, I think it’s time to shut you up.” He squints at that, brows furrowed as he tries to release himself from the webs.

“Nuh uh uh, you’re not going anywhere.” You climb over him quickly, trapping his arms under your thighs. His hands are stuck under his head with the weight of your body over him, not allowing him to move an inch. You wipe his hair out from his forehead, slicking it back from his face to meet his eyes.

“It’s my turn.”

You pull the mask out of him, not even sparing him a second to breathe when you lower your pussy right onto his mouth. You moan when his tongue meets your neglected clit, relief finally washing over you as you sink yourself deeper into him. He moans, the vibrations racking through you as you grind yourself further into his mouth to feel as much as you can.

“Fuck, Jungkook!” You cry, one hand holding the bed frame to steady yourself while the other has a firm grip in his brown locks. You can hear the dribbling of your juices spilling out from his mouth as he tries his best to capture every drop. He delves his tongue deeper into your pussy, making sure you’re getting fucked by it while you grind your clit against his nose.

“Oh god, yes, Jungkook,” You’re going insane as he thrusts his wet muscle repeatedly into you, your thighs tightening against the sides of his face. You roll your hips into him, mewling as he doesn’t stop pleasuring you from below. As much as you didn’t want to stop, you lift yourself up briefly to let him breathe.

Both of you are panting, eyes boring into each other as you collect yourselves for a moment.

“-get it,” You hear him murmur from below you.

“What?” You looked at him in confusion, not catching what he said before.

“I said, you’re gonna fucking get it,” he growls, “Just wait.” You’re sure you’re supposed to be a little scared of his threat, but can’t help but think about how fucking hot he looks right now. His jaw is clenched, chin and mouth glistened in you. You swipe a bit from his face and place your thumb on his bottom lip, smearing it nicely over him. His tongue darts out to lick your thumb, making you hum.

“Don’t worry babe, I know I’m gonna get what I want.” You use your thumb to pull his lip downward, “Open up for me.”

He complies, sticking his tongue out as your pussy hovers inches above him. You let your juices drip from out of you, groaning as you watch him catch every drop with a satisfied hum.

“Do you love tasting me?” You hear him hum a god yes before you lower yourself onto him once more, throwing your head back once he starts assaulting your core in all the right ways. Your toes curl in on you as you ride his face, whimpering his name as the headboard thuds loudly against the thin walls.

“Oh my god, Jungkook, yes, yes, there!” You cry, egging him on further to let you reach your high.

“S-so, ah! Fucking good,” you moan as you continue grinding into his hot tongue, your cries slowly progressing into high pitched screams when he gets himself in deeper than ever before.

“J-Jungkook, Jungkook, g-gonna, ah!” You dig your nails into the headboard when you come, riding your high out as he continues to thrust himself in and out of you. He moves to roll his tongue against your nub, causing you to cry out once more as your hips grow more erratic through your orgasm. The feeling keeps coming in waves, and Jungkook never seizes until your hips slowly come to a halt, pulling yourself off of him as the overstimulation becomes too much to handle.

You rest your head against his chest, exhaustion washing over you as your eyelids become heavy. You always fall asleep rather quickly after an orgasm, especially after a good one like that. You’re already slowly drifting off to sleep when you hear a loud tear above you, making you flinch. You look up to find Jungkook’s wrists free from the confines of the web, hands slowly moving to get a firm grip on your waist. He’s staring daggers at you, nostrils flaring with his lips in a tight, thin line.

Fear floods you when you realize you really got yourself in for it. “J-Jungkook,”

You yelp when he flips you over, back hitting the bed. He wastes no time shoving your legs opened, resting himself in between.

“Wait, baby-”

You cry when he slaps your clit, rubbing a tight circle with the pad of his thumb. He uses his pointer and middle finger to trace your drenched folds, tsking as he looks up at you with dark eyes.

“You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?” He continues to sink his fingers into your wetness, bringing them up for you to see all your release.

“Taking what you want, then making a mess like this and not even bothering to clean it up. Such a spoiled fucking brat.”

He moves his fingers to your mouth, pushing them in for you to lap up all your excess. You moan, using your tongue to get each and every drop that he offers to you.

“That’s right, clean your cum off my fingers, nice and clean.” He pulls out with a pop, pushing his hips closer to the back of your thighs. He moves your legs up so that it’s more elevated, then pulls your arms down towards him.

“Hold your legs up and spread yourself.” You listen, not wanting to push his buttons any further. You hold your legs by hooking your arms under your knees, spreading yourself out so that he has the perfect view of your pussy below. He grunts, biting his lip as he takes hold of his raging cock to give it a few strokes. You feel a spark in you ignite once more when you watch him pump himself, teeth caught between his lips as he stares intently at your wetness dripping down to the sheets. He stops himself and grabs hold of your inner thighs, placing his cock right in between your folds. He begins slowly grinding himself against you, pushing forward so his tip brushes against your clit ever so deliciously, making you moan.

He grunts above you, wet squelches echoing through the room as your slickness coats his length each time he ruts into your folds. As good as it feels, you can’t ignore the growing ache of wanting to be filled up by him, to have him ramming his cock into you and making you forget your own name for a few days.

“J-Jungkook,” You mewl, “Fuck, just put it in me!”

“No,” He grunts, “This is your punishment. You’re not getting it so easy this time, Y/N.”

He pushes harder against you, his tip almost being exactly where you needed him to be with each thrust but missing your entrance by literally a hair. Your pussy clenches over nothing each stroke, making you cry in frustration as tears start pricking your eyes. You try to grind back into him to feel more, but the position he has you in makes it impossible.

“P-please, Jungkook, just fuck me,” You whimper below him.

He ruts into you faster, your legs shaking from all the teasing.

“No.” He pants, “This is what you g-get for being a b-brat.” He looks just as fucked out as you are, and although you know he wants nothing more than to drill you into his mattress, when he’s set on punishing you he keeps his word. You don’t know how long he’ll go on with this, but you’re so desperate you’re resorting for other ways to relieve yourself.

You moan, moving one of your hands to rub your clit. Jungkook shoves your hand away,

“Don’t even dare, Princess.”

You groan, hands balling into fists against the bedsheets. You were going insane.

“Jungkook, you have to let me- fuck, do something!” You whimper, “At least fucking let me touch m-myself.”

He rolls his hips into you slowly now, but deep and hard enough to have you writhing underneath him.

“You want to touch yourself that bad? Fine, I’ll let you.”

You sigh in relief when you hear him say that, reaching for your clit again. He grabs your hand before you reach it, shaking his head. “Not with that. With this.”

He grabs the tentacle dildo that you thought was long forgotten on the edge of the bed, the distasteful neon green filling your vision as he shoves it in front of your face.

“A-are you fucking serious?” You thought you were done playing his games.

Apparently not.

“Take it or leave it babe, it’s up to you.” His cock sinks deeper into your folds once more, rubbing you in just the right ways. You can feel your orgasm building, but you know you need that little push to finally get you over the edge.

You can’t believe he gave you this ultimatum. As much as you fucking hated this, you were so desperate that you didn’t have any other choice.

“UGH, FINE!” You groan out loud, grabbing the toy from his hand.

He has the biggest smile on his dumb face as he watches you play with the settings, making sure to avoid the deathly strawberry cum squirting option. You finally find the button that brings the toy to life, vibrating mildly against the palm of your hand. After having an inner battle with yourself that Jungkook is probably never going to let this go but you’re way too fucking horny to even care right now, you slowly bring the toy to your clit. You jerk when it makes contact with your nub, closing your eyes as the vibrations actually feel...really nice.

You play with it a little, moving it around to graze over your clit as you get more and more into the vibrations. You click the button to change it so it goes a bit faster, and after circling it around yourself you find the perfect spot that makes your toes curl.

“Holy fuck,” You moan, grinding yourself into the toy as Jungkook continues to rub your folds.

“Someone likes this more than she thought she would,” You hear him comment, already seeing the smug smirk on his face but you’re too lost in your own world to care. You continue to circle the toy around you, your clit swelling as Jungkook holds your waist down to keep you from squirming so much. Just as you were really getting into it, the toy is whipped from your hand.

“What the fuck are you- oh!” Jungkook sets the toy at an even faster pace, pushing the toy harshly against your clit that has you a moaning mess.

“F-fuck, oh my god, Jungkook!” You cry, nails raking down his toned stomach.

“Shit, this is so fucking hot,” He grunts, grinding himself harder against you and allowing his tip to brush against the vibrator each time he thrusts, making him whine. “You fucking like that? Want more baby?”

You feel him tracing the toy away from your nub to your lower folds, brushing them against your entrance. Before he can push the toy into you you grab his wrist, halting his movement.

“O-one more move Jeon, and I’ll cut your dick off,” You pant tirelessly. Yeah, you’re desperate and you wanna be fucked, but you’re not THAT desperate.

You hear a small okay from him, bringing the toy back to your neglected clit. You moan, arching your back as he presses the toy against you, circling it around making you see stars. You feel your orgasm coming, and just when you thought it couldn’t feel any better, Jungkook clicks the toy to the highest setting, pushing his cock deep into your tight heat so suddenly you scream.

“Jungkook!” Your body arches upward abruptly, the toy stimulating your clit intensely while Jungkook’s cock pounds into you simultaneously. All these feelings make your eyes roll back, thighs clenching around the toy and your pussy sucking in Jungkook that he has to stop before he spills into you. He holds you as you come down from your amazing high, peppering light kisses against your jawline. You feel limp, completely exhausted from this whole day that you want to take a 3 day nap.

The toy continues to vibrate against your clit, pleasure slowly turning into pain as the overstimulation gets too intense.

“Mmm, Jungkook, take it off,” You groan. You see him visibly fumbling with it, pressing the keys but not bothering to take it off.

“Stop messing around and- ah! take it off,” you growl, not wanting to play around anymore.

“I-I’m trying,” He says, and you feel him attempting to pull the toy off of you but your clit gets pulled with it, making you cry out. You feel the vibrations through your core and throughout your body, all your senses going into overload. The toy rapidly abuses your clit, and Jungkook isn’t making it any better as he basically pinches your nub along with each pull. You fist the sheets, whimpering as you feel another orgasm resurfacing, but the pain mixed with pleasure is almost too much for you to handle. You clench around his cock that’s still buried deep within you, causing him to jerk his hips forward with a moan. He hits your spot with that, pushing you over the edge once again and making you come a second time embarrassingly quick over his swelled cock. Jungkook whimpers as you tighten so deliciously around him, mumbling out fucks as he can’t help but rut himself into you a few times, you crying out his name as you finished riding out your high.

Once your hips have fallen back down and you’re begging for him to make it stop, he finds the setting on the toy to turn it off. You pant, hair sticking to your face as sweat slides down your temples.

“W-what the hell was that?” You manage to say over stuttered breaths, trying to muster up the best glare you could in his direction.

You see the slight panic in his eyes, and when he looks up you see him cover it up with innocent eyes and pouty lips.

“Um, spider monkey...there’s just been a slight little hiccup,” He bites his lip, giving you a tight lipped smile.

“What? What is it?”

“W-well, um, it’s just-”

“Just spit it out, Jungkook.” You groan.

“It’s...the toy, it’s kind of...stuck?” You look down when he says that, seeing the toy still pressed up against your pussy.

“It’s what?” You look at him incredulously, blinking slowly as to process what he just said to you.

“It...one of the suctions on the toy, your...” He stutters, not having to even finish his sentence when you look down again, more intently.

You see your clit lodged into one of the suctions on the tentacle, completely wrapped around it. You scream when you see it, the worst scenarios coming to mind with each passing second.

“Oh my god, no no no-” You take the toy and pull it upwards, but you’re still so sensitive that it pains you so you stop. You try again, but to no avail.

You cry in frustration, throwing your head back into the pillows and covering your face in your hands.

“...B-baby?” Jungkook calls out to you after a few seconds of silence, concern laced in his voice.

“My clit...” You whisper, “My poor, poor clit.” You scream into your hands.

“Y-Y/N, it’s going to be okay-”

“No it won’t!” You cry, “It’s in there! It won’t come out! You’re going to have to take me to the ER and they’re going to have to cut off my clit in this sex crazed tentacle act!” Jungkook tries to calm you down but you don’t listen and continue your tangent.

“She didn’t even do anything wrong, she just came out to have a good time,” You whimper in your palms, “She didn’t deserve this.”

“She?...Um, okay Y/N, she’s gonna be fine, I’m telling you babe,” He presses, reaching over to grab his phone. “I have a solution.”

“You do?” You look up at him, hopelessness washing away as you watch him tap away on his phone.

“Yeah, I really thought about it once I bought this, and just in case of an emergency I decided to get a warranty,” He continues pushing some buttons on his phone. “The dildo comes with troubleshooting with the manufacturer, I even have an app for it. Isn’t that cool?”

“So you just type in what model the toy is in here, and then it’ll transfer you over to your own personal assistant. And then from here...”

You see him moving the phone horizontally, angling it a certain way.

“...Then you just take a picture and send it to them, telling them what the problem was. Then they’ll hit us back up in about an hour, and we’re all good-” You kick the phone out of his hand, hitting him in the chin along with it. He groans as he throws his head back, rubbing the spot you clipped him at.

“Ow!”

“DON’T TAKE A PICTURE OF THIS! Why would you send a picture of my pussy to some rando!?”

“Y/N, they are trained professionals. Privacy is their best policy. This has probably happened lots of times before-”

“I’M NOT SENDING NUDES TO YOUR DILDO COMPANY!”

“I don’t know how to help you then,” He huffs, continuing to talk under his breath about how amazing their customer service is and how they would probably send some new products for this mess.

“You know, they’d probably even give me a money back guarantee over this.”

“My fucking clit is priceless Jeon, priceless.” You groan, not knowing what to do. “Fuck, my life is over! What do I even do now?! How do I live?!”

How do you even tell someone about this? You let your weeb boyfriend mess around with his signature tentacle dildo collectible on you and then a freak accident happened, making you lose a vital part of your body? You’re going to die without your clit. What would people tell your parents at your funeral? How could you even show up to the ceremony, clitless?

“Y/N, stop being so dramatic. You have me!”

“No! That’s not enough!” You huff. His eyes widen and he touches his chest, visibly offended.

“Wow, I can’t believe you just said that.” He purses his lips as he watches you mourn over what you thought was a grave loss, assessing the situation. Having you mope like that is actually making him go soft. He has to fix this quick.

Then an idea pops into his head.

“Okay sweetheart, I think I know how to get this baby off of you.” You watch him pull out and push himself backwards, his face level with the toy. You look at him questioningly, wondering if he’s going to pull some careless act that’ll really have you saying goodbye to your best friend. She’s been there for all your life, all your ups and your downs, and you can’t lose her now after Jungkook’s one stupid act.

“It looks like its lodged up in there pretty good, but I think with enough slickness it’ll slip off.”

“And what are you gonna use?” You look at him, mildly concerned.

He looks at you smugly, “My best weapon.”

Before you can respond he dips his head down, pushing his tongue to partly wrap around the suction. The sudden contact makes you yelp, thighs wrapping around his head. He uses his hands to keep your legs opened, lapping at the suction to get it more wet. You shudder when you feel the tip of his tongue sink into you, making you grab a fistful of his hair.

“Jungkook,” You moan, “A-are you sure this is even gonna-ah! work?” It’s hard to concentrate when you feel his lips at your core, his tongue working wonders against you even though he doesn’t mean to.

“I’m Spiderman baby, I’m always here to save the day. And in this case, my mission is to rescue this clitoris-” You shove his face deeper into your cunt, muffling him up.

“Okay, just do what you gotta do Jungkook and for the love of god, stop talking.”

He mumbles something incoherent, but nonetheless gets back to work. You feel him working against your core, trying his best to soak the area enough to try and slip off the toy. He grabs hold of the toy, slowly pulling it upward but you still feel the pressure of it pulling you with it. The pain gets masked by the pleasure of Jungkook pressing his tongue against your spot, slowly making your insides tingle with a burning want as you feel your lower stomach coiling for more contact. You instinctively pull his face closer to you, moaning as your hips start slowly grinding into him. He pushes you down firmly, causing you to stop your ministrations.

“Stop moving, I think it’s almost off,” He continues to run his tongue against the base of your clit, making your pussy ache. You try your best to stay still for him, but his mouth feels so good you’re literally on the brink of another orgasm. You try to recount all the weird ass nicknames Jungkook’s been giving you all day, all the superhero puns he’s probably been waiting to say for months on this day, anything that’ll stop you from thinking about his wet muscle working you wonderfully down below. Just as you were repeating daddy long legs in your head, you couldn’t contain the loud moan when he tugs the toy upward a bit harshly, his lips wrapped around most of you as his tongue assaults your nub. You feel it, the wave of adrenaline rushing up just to drown you in a feeling of pure ecstasy. But before you can reach it, Jungkook removes the toy with a pop, whipping his face upwards to look at you with his big bunny smile.

“I did it! I did it! It worked, I told you!” He gushes over himself, “See, I knew I could save you! Spiderman is still as sexy and reliable as ever-”

You cut off his little praise pitch early by getting up and shoving him down to the bed, crawling up on him to straddle his waist. You lean down to kiss him before he can speak, his lips melting into the kiss as his arms wrap around your waist.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” You kiss him again, “But we’re never fucking do that ever again.” He hums an I guess before you grab hold of his long neglected member, pumping it and making him shudder.

“You still haven’t come?” He shakes his head, cursing as you take one of his nipples into your mouth. You lightly suck on it, earning a moan from him.

“Well, even though it was your fault from the start you ended up fixing it, so I guess I owe you one.” You use that as an excuse when you’re really desperate to feel him inside you at this moment. You lift yourself up to line yourself with his cock, already ready for him from his previous actions.

You sigh as you feel his tip pressed against your entrance, “How much do you want this?”

“So bad, fuck, so bad Y/N.” He practically whimpers, giving you a spike of pride that you could make him act this way.

His cock slowly spreads your walls as you sink down, filling you up so well that your legs feel numb.

“Ah! Shit, you’re so-god, so-mm, good.” He mewls.

“Mmm, yeah?” You take him inch by inch, his moans encouraging you to keep going as you finally bottom out, sitting on him snugly as you savor the moment you’ve been waiting for all day. You grip his hands that are secured against your waist and start moving, your moans synchronizing with each time you move up and down his length.

“Y-you’re so fucking tight,” He groans, nails pressing further into the skin of your hips, “So fucking warm.”

“Yeah? You like me, ah, swallowing up your cock?” You move your hands to his chest, angling yourself forward so that you can fuck him at a harder pace.

“Fuck yes, yes, oh my god, you’re taking my cock so good.” His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on it as you roll your hips into him. He’s reaching you so deep from this angle, his hips slightly bucking up to push himself further into you.

His hands make their way to your ass, squeezing them harshly before giving you a firm slap on one of your cheeks. You moan, raising yourself from your position so now you’re directly bouncing on his cock.

“Y/N! Shit,” He whines, “Faster, god please go faster.”

“Yeah baby? You want it harder?” You love hearing him beg for more; it was one of the hottest things you’ve probably ever heard in your lifetime. You see his eyes start to water, teeth sunken into his bottom lip as he holds onto you for dear life. You moan, pushing yourself to go harder against him just to hear him cry your name, seeing him slowly lose it because of you.

“Yes, yes, ah! Fuck...Y/N,” He whimpers your name like a mantra below you, bed creaking faster and begging for mercy as the continuous slap, slap, slaps echo throughout the room.

“God! R-right there Y/N, please.” You can feel your ass almost bruising from the onslaught of you slamming down on him, your pussy aching just as delightfully around his thick cock. As much as you want to keep going, your pace starts slowing down, the soreness in your thighs finally getting the better of you. You resort to rolling your hips, moving yourself back and forth against him to try and keep the momentum going.

“Tired, sweetheart?” You bite your lip, slowly nodding as he chuckles. He pushes the wet strands of your hair back from your face, leaning up to kiss you. The kiss is soft, warm, nothing intense like before. He kisses you like he could almost break you, but you can feel all the emotions tumbling down on you through that one simple kiss.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He smiles, grabbing you by the hips and flipping you guys over, careful not to separate you two as your back makes contact the bed.

“I’m really glad I could call you mine.” He moves his hands under your head and lifts you up, moving some extra pillows to make sure you’re comfortable. He moves himself closer into you, adjusting the back of your thighs so they’re resting against him rather than hanging up in the air.

“Better?” You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck to connect your lips again. Times like these are the ones that bring you back to reality, making you remember you chose the right guy. Although he has his weird little kinks and he can be a complete idiot sometimes, Jungkook was always there for you. He always made sure you were comfortable, always there for reassurance for anything. Always kind, always loving.

“I love you,” You whispered against his lips, making him smile into the next kiss.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He wraps your legs around his waist, holding your face as he kisses you much deeper. His hips slowly start moving, making your breath hitch in your throat.

His strokes were slow but deep, making sure he was taking his time with you. He kissed your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, your lips. He covered your body in bits of love, each one letting you know how much you mean to him. Once he hit that spot that had you arching your back and mewling his name, he set a faster pace.

“Mmm, right there baby?”

“Yes! Jungkook, yes, right fucking there,” You cry, holding him closer to you. He thrusts deeper into you, his toned thighs slapping against your ass as the headboard bangs against the wall. He makes sure to rut against that spot, making you clench harder around his aching cock.

“Jungkook!” You moan his name repeatedly as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. He kisses the corner of your mouth as you lose yourself in him, your nails raking down his broad shoulders.

“Come for me sweetheart, I wanna feel you all over me,” He snakes a hand down to your bundle of nerves, pressing the pad of his thumb against it in tight, quick circles.

You cry out his name when you come, clenching so tightly around his cock he can’t help but come with you, his seed spilling deep into you as he fucks you both through your high. You feel him filling you up, some of it leaking out of your core as he slows down but doesn’t pull out. You both pant against each other, covered in sweat as he falls on top of you. You brush his sweaty hair back from his face that rests on your chest, tracing his jawline as you regulate your breathing.

He looks up at you, chin resting on your skin and you both tirelessly laugh.

“I really don’t want to let you go, you’re so warm,” He murmurs, keeping himself in you for a bit longer.

“Well, we have to clean up, then we can cuddle naked and watch Naruto.” He mumbles a fine at your offer, knowing that he couldn’t say no to that. He gets off of you and slowly slips out of you, a mixture of both you and him spilling out and onto the sheets.

“You look really good like that you know,” Licking his lips as he watches your wetness make more of a mess below, “I could literally get off on just this image.”

You smile and roll your eyes, “Just get something to clean this up, okay?” You’re waiting for him to move off the bed to grab a towel, but instead he grabs your legs, dipping his head down to your core. Before you can stop him he laps up his own cum along with yours, sucking on all the excess as you grip his hair. He juts his tongue into you, getting every drop from you and making you moan tiredly. It’s too much, and you force his mouth off of you.

“Okay Jungkook,” you whine.

He reluctantly lets you go, licking his lips when he looks up at you. “Fine, but just because you were so good to me today.” He winks at you before he sits up off the bed, walking to the closet to grab a towel.

“You know, this was honestly the only weird fantasy I’ve ever had, and you’re amazing for letting me live it out.”

You scoff at that, making him turn back to look at you with a quirked brow.

“What?”

“Jungkook, I know your pervy weeb ass better than anyone and know for a fact this is not the only fantasy you’ve had.” You almost can’t contain the laugh that’s bubbling up in your throat.

“I’m serious Y/N! Okay, the tentacle was a little extra, I know, but that was just because Stan Lee was all over it, I had to have it!”

“Don’t say Stan Lee was all over it, that sounds so gross!” You gag.

“Okay, not like that! Not like how you were all over it, which by the way, was really really hot-”

“Jungkook!”

“Kidding! But you know what I meant okay...” He huffs, “Anyways, you make it sound like I’m some weirdo that has a cosplay kink. I like comics, yeah, I like anime, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to go on some sex crazed superhero roleplay series-”

Just as he’s talking he opens the door to his closet, making a litter of boxes and clothes fall on the floor in front of you two. You look down to see the mess, and the first thing that caught your eye surprisingly wasn’t even shocking to you.

You see a full on, decked out suit that spilled from what looked like a box stored deep inside his closet. The top half of the suit was all gold, with what looked like actual gold gems along the neckline. A gold, expensive looking belt was also included in the attire, and the bottom half of the suit was bright green that was covered in what looked like..scales?

You both looked at the costume and then back at each other, Jungkook’s eyes widening as he looks at you in panic.

“Y/N, I can explain-”

You both hear a loud clang from the closet, a stick about to tumble onto the floor but he catches it before it falls. You both look at the gold trident in his hand, covered in sequins and diamonds that you don’t even want to bother asking how many paychecks it must’ve costed.

“...Aquaman? Really?”

“Y/N, look, it’s not what you think! When I was trying to go to DragonCon two years ago they had this little collective superhero convention and Stan Lee was-”

“Jungkook!”

#jungkook smut #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts smut #jungkook fic #bts #wonhopes

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

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Title: Love, Maybe? {42}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Cursing, Heavy Angst

Word Count: 4.7K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

NOTE: **Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊❤❤️

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Chapter 42: Down With The Ship

-Vixen-

Thanks to how close opening night was you were busier than ever making sure things were perfect. You checked, double-checked and even triple checked everything, décor, menu, staff, vendors, setting, everything. You left nothing untouched by your meticulous eye and obsessive-compulsive attention. This meant you ate, slept and breathed your restaurant. You were up before sunrise out after breakfast with Ella, gone all day and not back until just before midnight. It was exhausting and you missed spending time with Ella but you were grateful for the distraction.

Before you knew it two weeks had passed since your life imploded. Two weeks since the story of the decade broke. For those two weeks, you were hounded by paparazzi almost everywhere. You were now on their radar and they were learning your moves. You had to be extra careful not to lead them back home to Ella. When Ella went anywhere it was usually with Nexus who was more than happy to play mom. She said it was great practice which made you think that things with Anthony were getting even more serious.

For the two weeks Chris called, but you ignored every one of them. What began as four or five calls a day dwindled to two then one. You still didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. You had way too much going on and you didn’t want to add to your plate. You took a meeting with Charmaine St. John to hear all she had to say then abruptly told her you didn’t want anything from him when she eluded you could get a “nice cut.”

She looked shocked at that. Then when you went on to say you weren’t going to proceed with taking half of everything she almost fell out of her seat. It was clear she was used to dealing with jilted Hollywood wives who felt entitled no matter what and wanted to go down fighting. That wasn’t you. You just wanted peace and quiet. She prepared the paperwork and faxed it to you. It was paperwork you still held on to.

Ella’s inquiries about Chris increased. What was once or twice a day turned into three or four or even five. The numerous facetime calls you’d orchestrated between Ella and Chris didn’t even seem to have mattered. Every time Nex told you it broke you. This was the reason you were apprehensive to involve him in the first place; this was why you worked as hard as you did to keep everything strictly platonic and complication free. For all the work you attempted you’d ended up right where you didn’t want to be.

You heard the bell chime from your phone and checked it to find an email from Kassius. He’d sent the contract proposal from Food Network a few days ago for you to review and go over with your lawyer. When you did it was revealed that they were being very generous, more generous than you suspected they had been to other no-name chefs.

According to Charmaine, they were offering an eighteen months contract for production of a cooking show with a twist that was creatively left up to you. Within the eighteen-month period, there were to be four episodes filmed a month, with smaller recordings they hoped to push for YouTube, and an extension review to be done at the end of the contract period. When it came down to money you were shocked by how many figures you saw. Charmaine told you it was very generous, but you should definitely leap on it.

You were apprehensive because it was rare for them to offer this kind of money to some no-name chef. You suspected and worried that they were showing the “kindness” of their hearts because of everything that was going on and your newly ousted status as Chris Evans’ wife and baby mama. You suspected they wanted to capitalize on it, either way, it was a win/win for them.

“What’s got you so far away?” Your mother approached and sat across from you. You sighed and shook your head.

“Remember that deal with Food Network?”

“Yes, we are all still incredibly proud of you, honey. My god, all your years of work, sleepless nights. I know it has been hard, harder than you let on and I am over the moon for your successes.” You felt the prick of tears. You knew she loved you, you knew she always had your best interest at heart, but this was so nice to hear her praise you rather than berate you for not having a boyfriend let alone a husband.

“Thanks, mom.” Her smile was warm, as was her hand that rested atop yours.

“The contract they sent over is—impressive. There is trying to woo someone to join you and then there is going all out. This is all out,” you explained.

“That’s good, right? So, what’s wrong?”

“I feel like it’s because I’m now linked to him. I feel like they’re willing to offer these things, this amount of money not because I’m me but because I’m close to him.”

“I’m going to stop you right there Vixen. You are my daughter, you are smart, talented, willful, ambitious, strong and such a force to be reckoned with. You know everything and if you don’t you fake it till you make it. You have no idea how talented you really are. I do not doubt for a second that the reason you are seeing the fruits of your tireless labor now is because of that talent, ambition and grueling desire to make an amazing life for your family and Ella.” Your tears rolled down your face of their own accord.

“Vixen, you are a star, that is the reason why your father and I gave you that name. Vixen to the American definition is fierce, fiery-tempered, and it was true. You cried twenty times louder and longer than any of the other babies, you were stubborn, quick to anger, and that temper ooh, it was hot but were you adorable.” She smiled bright which prompted your smile. You sniffled and dried your tears but they kept flowing.

“Vixen also means female fox. You know I believe in every culture and take pieces where I feel a connection. Guess you can call it my way of keeping in touch with my gypsy spirit, something I think you inherited more so than Nexus. This beautiful free spirit that loathes being tied down, loathes being boxed in and caged like a gilded bird. You want to be free, so you keep running for that freedom. In Japanese culture, there is a creature called Kitsune, a powerful mythical creature with an abundance of intelligence and power. Their energy is bright, hence your middle name. Your name is no coincidence honey, it was destined for you. It is your time. You are here because of you and you alone. Reap those rewards unabashedly,” she finished.

You could hear the conviction in her voice and see the pride coming off of her. It struck you. Nodding your head, you wiped your face and allowed her words to sink it.

“It is your time.”

You signed the contract and faxed it back to Kassius. You were filled with a mix of excitement, happiness, and sadness. You wanted to call him and tell him the good news, tell him about this exciting new thing in your life but you couldn’t. You also wanted to feel the happiness the event deserved but again, you couldn’t, not completely.

-Chris-

“I cannot believe you would do this! I cannot believe you’d do something so stupid. On the list of stupid things you’ve done which is quite long, this is the stupidest.”

He sighed and rubbed his face. He was tired of being reprimanded. This was round three with them and by them, he meant all of them. He was now sitting in his office in front of one of the biggest group video calls he’d done. On the screen was his mom, his sisters their significant others, his brother and his partner. It was a full house. He’d sat here for the last forty minutes as they each took a turn telling him what an idiot he was. He listened to it from every point of view, and no matter how he cut it he still felt like a dick.

“Okay enough! Jesus Christ, I get it I screwed this up,” he shouted.

“Baby brother, you did more than screwed it up. Ya’ fucked it up!”

Everyone began talking over each other and none of it sounded any different than when they’d started.

“Fa’ the love of God!” His shout was loud, and it echoed throughout the first floor of his home. It was loud enough for them to shut their mouths and hear his accent pop through. No one spoke for several long moments.

“Look, I know what I did was wrong. I know I messed up. I know I should have done things differently. I have gone around it time and time again, I wish I could change what I did, go back and handle it differently. I’m sorry.”

They still didn’t speak.

“Chris. Getting past the fact that you lied to us about marrying her and then continued to lie when you realized you were still married. We all can see you’re in love with her, I don’t know how she hasn’t seen it,” Shana stated.

He didn’t know it was that obvious. Thinking further, he’d practically told you how he felt, he just hadn’t said the words. You had to know.

“You have to tell her how you actually feel Chris. I get it you’re scared and everything that comes along with it. I get it. At some point though in order to get what you want you have to go after it—or her.”

He sighed. Somehow this had turned from a berating session to a counseling session.

“Look, I know you all mean well, but—she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you ya’ idiot. She’s hurt,” Carly informed in an annoyed tone. She then shook her head. “Chris you lied to her and honestly it is just the same as the lie she told. Neither of you are in the right. I get why she lied but you, I don’t get it. You lied to her and she feels stupid, she feels as if maybe you had an agenda. Like maybe you manipulated her and anything that was between you wasn’t real that it was just some figment of the situation that you ensured with your lie,” Carly finished.

“I had no agenda. All I wanted was a little time to show her what could be there, here between us.”

“You should have told her and gave her the choice. You took her choice away Chris. I get that rights and choices are huge with her especially seeing how independent she has been her entire life,” his mother simplified.

He sighed and nodded. She was right. He took your choice just as you’d taken his. Everything he’d felt in the first initial days since you’d told him about Ella you were now feeling. He didn’t think about it in that light.

“You have to be the one to fix this,” Shanna added.

“I don’t think I can. She said that they were better off without me.”

Scott made a “yikes” face, as did the rest of his siblings.

“Well, you kinda deserve that one. Have you seen what the press are doing to her? Her entire life is plastered everywhere. Not even just her, but Ella’s too. She didn’t ask for this and certainly wasn’t prepared. Her privacy is gone. This blindsided her,” Shanna’s boyfriend enlightened. It was insight from someone like you, normal, away from the eye of the press.

“Regardless if she wants you or not, or if you think she wants you or not you have to make this right. You have to stop using that as a crutch. You have to take a chance, Chris. Don’t she and Ella deserve it?”

There was the cincher, he thought. He was so used to getting what he wanted with little effort and work. He was now face to face with what he had to do, he had to put in the right kind of work.

-Vixen-

“Very good Ella, I’m so proud of you. You read that so well.”

She smiled widely and clapped her hands excitedly. You ruffled her soft curls then kissed her forehead.

“Mama, I sweepy.”

“Okay, let’s get the little princess to bed.” You stood, lifted her and carried her to her bedroom while softly singing her favorite lullaby.

“Smile, though your heart is aching, smile even though it’s breaking. When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by. If you smile through your fears and sorrow. Smile and maybe tomorrow, you’ll see the sun come shining through. If you just smile.”

By the time you made it to her bedroom, she was half asleep. You tucked her in and finished the lullaby while tracing gentle patterns on her scalp. It always did the trick and within a few minutes she was out like a light. You sat there for a few minutes more and just watched her sleep. When you felt like your tears would start you hopped in the shower and allowed it to clam your mind.

You still had some work to do so you wrapped in your robe after your post-shower ritual and went down to your office and got lost in work. You didn’t know how long you were in there sipping wine and working but when you looked up you heard muffled voices. You stood and slowly walked down the hall. As you got closer you could make out whose voices you were hearing; your mother, Nexus and Chris.

“I’m very sorry Mrs. Giovanni. There are no words or excuses I can give, and I am ashamed of my actions. I can assure you what I did was not an act of maliciousness or manipulation. I hope with time I can show you how sorry I am and earn your forgiveness,” he said.

For a few seconds, there were no words, and you were sure that they’d fallen for it. How could they not? He was respectful, sounded sincere, charming and was laying it on thick as fuck. Then your mother spoke.

“Chris, when I first met you I saw the kind of man you were through your eyes. I know you’re a good man, with good intentions. I know you love Ella and would do anything for her and Vixen. I have no doubt that this wasn’t malicious and I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

“That doesn’t change that there was harm done, a lot of harm,” Nexus added. You slyly peeped around the corner and saw Nexus leaning on the wall with her arms crossed before her, she was the furthest from him. she was not happy. your mother, on the other hand, looked neutral.

“You’re right I did cause harm.”

“Chris, I know that you know what you did. I just don’t know why you did it. I don’t get it and you know what I don’t know if I want to get it. I believed in you, I was rooting for you and I kind of feel responsible for the pain my sister is in. She didn’t deserve to find any of this out through a tabloid show,” Nexus shouted with as low of a whisper as she could manage. You could tell she was angry.

“You’re right, she didn’t deserve this, any of it. I’m sorry. I just—I want a chance to explain to her. I need to say some things to her.”

You’d heard enough. Coming around the corner your mother was the first to see you.

“Get out. There is nothing here for you,” you blurted out and you hoped you sounded believable.

“Vixen, stop it,” your mother interrupted coming up to you. “The least you can do is hear him out.” Your jaw dropped.

“The least? Excuse me?”

“Vixen, this isn’t something that happened to you. You were at the altar with him, you married him the same way he married you. Yes, he wasn’t forthcoming about the status of that marriage, but your life isn’t about you anymore. You have a daughter, a little girl who will be affected by this. She is already affected. She asks for him. She deserves the two of you to get it together.”

You were speechless. You had no idea she had it in her to be so bold about this. You also hated that she was right. Ella did deserve normalcy. Sighing you cross your arms and roll your eyes.

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?” Nexus approached you giving you an inquisitive look. You nodded assuring her you knew what you were doing although you had no idea what you were doing. “Okay. Just holler if you need me.” She gave you a quick hug and walked away with your mother trailing behind you.

You didn’t look at him, instead, you walked away to the kitchen. You could feel him following you. Once you walked in you made a beeline for the freezer and took out the tequila bottle then filled a glass. You could feel his eyes on you, he didn’t speak, and you were quickly getting annoyed.

“You better start because I didn’t fuck up.”

“You’re right, I fucked up,” Chris admitted.

“No shit! You lied to me, Chris. For weeks. You orchestrated everything on the basis of that lie.”

He rounded the island attempting to get closer. You evaded him and walked around to the opposite side. He stopped and raised his hands in the air. “That’s not true. Not entirely. When Sherman told me about the error and that we were still married I didn’t know what to think or do. I didn't know how to tell you. I was scared to tell you. I thought you'd insist we file and end things.”

Pulling the glass from your lips you gulped down the liquid more quickly than you should have and felt the intensified burn. “So what! That is a stupid reason, Chris. That doesn’t matter,” you lashed out.

“Of course it matters. I didn't want to lose you again!”

The admission had you frozen just staring at him across the island. The words were pretty, but they were said to cover an ugly lie. You closed your eyes and refilled your glass and took another out to fill it. You then slide it across the island to him. There were almost two full minutes of silence. The two of you just sipped your drinks, well he sipped, you gulped. Then he spoke.

“I’d spent months, years regretting how everything went down three years ago. Spent so many nights sitting up with a glass like this one just watching the ghosts of memories all around me. I spent so much time wishing I'd done things differently, wishing things had ended up differently. Then out of nowhere there you were and the minute I saw you everything I felt three years ago came back, everything I'd been trying to bury for three years came right back.”

“None of this matters. You lied to me! You used this lie to your advantage. None of it was real. None of it was true.”

The words stung you even more. The realization that this was reality, that everything over the last few weeks wasn’t anything real. You felt the tears and you tried so hard to keep it in.

“That's a lie and you know it Vixen.”

He raised his voice at that point. Realizing his tone, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and slowly blew it out. You took another gulp.

“This is what I know.” Another swig of tequila burned your throat before you spoke.

“You said the worst shit to me three years ago, made me feel like a modern day prostitute, like I was only worth what was between my legs; like that was all I was good for. That fucked me up, it fucked with me for years. Had me second guessing my worth, my value to a man, to you. So I got the hell out of there. Did I regret it? Sometimes, but for the most part no. Then I found out about Ella and I could have told you, I could have tracked you down, but I didn't. I was scared I didn't want to let you anywhere near again so you’d hurt me all over again. Part of me did want to stick it to you for what you did. I can be honest here and now. Then three years later you show up and you're charming and kind and everything you were three years ago, everything that I--then you kiss me and bring me to that lake and we--then San Francisco. You had so many chances to tell me the truth. You didn't.”

“I should have. I tried to so many times. I tried the night you met my family, tried in the pool, tried the night in the backyard in Boston, I tried, and I did but you were asleep when I said it in San Francisco. Jesus Christ, I tried Vixen.”

“Not hard enough. What you wanted one more romp in the hay to see if it was like old times?”

Again, Chris walked around the island to you. You backed up to the oversized fridge holding your arms out trying to keep him at bay. He ignored your hands and still approached, closing in. Walking away you were hoping to create distance between you, but he followed you.

“What's not fair is you keeping this from me. Something that was important that mattered and I know I did the same thing so don’t pull that.

“I wanted time to show you how perfect we were for each other, for you to see that maybe things were the way they should have always been. God Vixen I've never felt this way about anyone before. I've never felt the things I feel for you, I never thought I could, but I do.”

The tears were steadily approaching, your breakdown was coming. “You feel nothing it was an illusion; it was the sex.” You attempted to walk away again but Chris’ hand wrapped around your arm pulling you back to him.

“I've been in love with you from the night I married you. I didn’t know it then; I didn’t know it until I saw you again. When I looked in your eyes and had you in front of me I knew exactly how I felt and seeing you with Ella--our daughter only made me fall more in love with you. You are such an amazing mother, such a kind person with a good heart. You are so damn ambitious and determined. I love that about you, love how genuine you are and how you have an incredible work ethic one that shows the kind of person you are. This was never about sex for me Vixen. It started with Ella, but it didn’t take long for me to realize I didn't just want her, I wanted you. I want to build a life with you and Ella, be by your side as you shatter that glass ceiling you are so damn close to shattering. I want to be your biggest fan and supporter, I want to grow with you, build something others could only dream of. I want to see you every morning, go to sleep beside you after tucking Ella in, I want family vacations, princess dress-up parties, trips to the lake, birthday parties, a family, brothers, and sisters for Ella. I--I want you Vixen. I love you.”

Everything froze. He’d said the words. You thought you’d wanted to hear these words, thought if only he felt this way things would be so much easier. Now here they were. You thought you’d be happy or feel some sort of excitement but the only thing you felt was fear. You were filled with an abundance of fear, so much fear you couldn’t speak for several long moments. He stood there waiting for you to respond and each second that passed he looked as if he were unraveling.

“I want to love you, Vix. Let me.” His voice was pleading, as were his eyes, it was like he was begging you. When his lips dropped to yours the only thing your body did was kiss him back with as much passion and desire that he kissed you. He pulled you closer to him and the heat from his body had you pressing against him trying to savor it. A moan escaped you then one came from him. In a matter of seconds, the kiss was quickly getting out of hand. You were getting lost in the moment despite your common sense. You were the one to pull away.

“Until the day you wake up and want something else or don't want me anymore. The day you've finally gotten me out your system.” Your tears finally won as you expressed your deepest fear concerning him. Pressing your forehead to his chest you accepted defeat and cried allowing your fears and sorrow to seep out of every pore. You’d suppressed this cry because you feared you would never be able to stop.

Somehow, you found your voice for words. “Chris I barely put myself back together last time. I have no idea how I did it, no idea how my heart healed I--I can't.”

Somehow you got the words out through your tears. Somehow you were able to speak. You were scared to look at him, but you chanced it and immediately regretted it. Chris looked hurt. There was visible pain on his face and shining through his eyes. That only made you cry more. You put your forehead onto his chest again and breathed him in. When you felt his forehead on the top of your head you sobbed.

“Right.”

“I swear I won’t stand in the way of you getting to be there for Ella. I promise I won’t be that woman. We will work something out that you can see her when you want. I just--.” Unable to finish you walked away toward your bag.

“So you don’t want me?”

“Chris--.” The question was blatant. You couldn’t lie about it. You also couldn’t say anything. The terror in you was at its peak and the truth was you were too scared.

“You don’t feel what I feel?” You could feel him behind you. You wanted to turn to him and stare in his eyes but you knew if you did you couldn’t get through this. You were barely making it now. You reached into your purse and took out the folded papers.

“Tell me Vixen. There is no way that you feel nothing; no way that all this time we’ve spent together, after everything we’ve done together meant nothing.”

You try to keep a straight face, one that was arid of emotion that could give any indication just how much you were dying inside. The outward signs of that agony were your tears that continued to roll down your cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed the papers to his chest. Debating inside yourself you kept your hand on them—on him. This was yet another time a war was being waged within you, brain, reality, freedom, safety, or heart, dreamland, complication, risk. Maybe you had a lot more of this gypsy spirit your mother spoke about, you thought.

“I'm not strong enough, or brave enough. This won't end well.”

After a long hesitation and endless internal debate, you pulled your hand away from his chest just as he gripped the papers. You still didn’t know if you were doing the right thing from your heart or from fear. Unable to look at him anymore you slinked past him and down the hall. You had no idea how you did it so gracefully, especially considering how shaky your legs were.

-Chris-

He couldn’t believe his eyes. The force of his realization of seeing this knocked the wind out of his lungs. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears, hear his heart pounding so loudly that there was no other sound that he heard. Divorce papers—signed divorce papers. He gripped the side of the island hoping to steady himself. More hurt than he’d ever felt in his life bombarded him. His hyperventilating came on quickly and impacted his other senses, his vision, his breathing, his scent, even his touch. This was his worse nightmare, the worst outcome.

“It’s over. She doesn’t want me.”

Acknowledging that out loud felt like ripping his heart out. It had been so long since he’d felt pain like this, it dated as far back as his childhood. Even then did not compare to now. He didn’t know how long he stood there, didn’t know if he could move, or speak for that matter. When he finally did move his limbs felt heavy as if he had fifty pounds of lead in his body. He couldn’t think but he sure felt everything. Digging in his pocket he took out his pen and pressed it to the paper on the island right next to the blank line for him. He wavered for a few moments but shook off the hesitation and signed his name on the line next to yours. Once complete he got the hell out there sparing not even a second to look back.

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#love maybe fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #Chris Evans X black reader

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cagestark · 5 years

Note

Would love a vengeful Tony - those who ignore, insult or hurt Peter in any way find that texts intended for mistresses are sent to wives, their names go missing off guest lists for important events, shady business deals are exposed, etc. Those who are kind and thoughtful to Pete reap rewards, their businesses thrive, their children gain scholarships, etc. Everything is done quietly, discreetly. Nothing can be connected to Tony, but Peter is a genius too - he knows and loves Tony all the more. 😍

Read on AO3 here.

Hope this is okay

Warnings: dark!Tony who will do anything for his precious boy. Explicit sexual content. Peter is 18+ though. Violence. Dark stuffs. But it’s still pretty soft IMO

Alternate universes are infinite. That means that there are an infinite number of worlds out there where Tony Stark does not own Peter Parker. In those worlds, Tony’s must be soft-bellied, burden with consciences that bow their backs over things like right and wrong. Maybe the attraction is there still, the lust for a boy with curls and eyes like liquid cedarwood. He probably jerks off in the dead of night for a kid less than half his age and then cries about it afterwards.

Tony feels sorry for those poor sons of bitches.

He has no such qualms. When Peter applies for the Stark Industries internship, freshly eighteen years old, Tony sees, wants, and takes. Finding out that his boy is also a super hero feels like kismet. Peter adores him. Its visible in the wide wet eyes, the flush that still blooms on his cheeks when he sees Tony naked even months after the first time. And maybe a little begrudgingly, Tony begins to feel the same way about him. His worth to Tony grows exponentially until he can no longer ignore that the boy is the most important thing in his life. Peter is precious. He is kind-hearted (foolish as kindness is), thoughtful, and intelligent.

And he is damaged.

It is months into their growing relationship when Peter finally confides in him, but Tony is no fool: he knows the signs of a bruised apple when he sees one. Peter is shy to the point of insecurity, apologizing for his enthusiasm, for the way his body looks naked, for using the wrong size coffee grounds in the French press. Tony himself has never felt the need to apologize for his own existence, so the habit in his young lover is particularly unfathomable.

Then they get drunk. Peter isn’t legal to drink—not in this country—but if he’s responsible enough to fuck who he wants to, he should be responsible enough to partake. Tony drinks scotch, but Peter coughs his face red when he takes a sip. Instead, he prefers the softer, sweeter or sour liquors and mixed drinks. They have a full bar, so Tony spends the evening making one of every kind of drink he knows just so Peter can take little sips of each, flushing with alcohol, eyes shy as he proclaims it’s good, if he like it and it’s alright, if he doesn’t.

They end up on the couch together, Peter reclined between his legs. It’s there in a soft, trembling voice that Peter begins to cry in his drunkenness and admits the love he had before, the one who bruised him.

“Tell me his name,” demands Tony.

Peter shakes his head.

“He never like, hit me,” Peter says. “But he did slap me sometimes. It didn’t really hurt, but it was so embarrassing. Like I was a, a child. Or a dog.”

Tony just hums, waiting. On the back of the couch, his hand in clenched into a fist, but still he waits. A sniper holds his breath when he needs to steady the scope.

“We went to school together—” yes, yes, go on, Tony thinks. “—he bullied me for a while. Innocent stuff. Then one day we had a heart to heart and he admitted that his animosity towards me was because he was gay. He didn’t know how to express himself, I guess. Or maybe he resented me, because I was out and he wasn’t. I don’t know. We started dating in secret, and I thought—god, I’m such an idiot. It sounds so stupid now—I thought that it was cute. We were like, enemies to lovers. Like the stories. But it wasn’t a story. Not a good one.

“Even after he came out, it felt like no matter what I did, he wasn’t happy with me. Sometimes, it seemed like he enjoyed being unhappy with me. My body was always too scrawny—this was before the bite—and I was always doing things wrong. He said that I embarrassed him. Maybe I did. I don’t know. He’d invite his friends over, the ones who used to bully me with him. They would make fun of me and he, he never stopped them. They’d say the m-most humiliating things to me. Why didn’t he stop them, Tony?” Peter asked, voice cracking, weeping into Tony’s chest.

“A name, darling. Be brave for me. Give me names.”

Peter turns to look at him, eyes red and glazed from alcohol, cheeks wet. He is painfully beautiful. “What will you do to them?”

“Nothing, my sweet,” lies Tony. Some lies are necessary things. “Nothing, unless you tell me to.”

He gives names. A whole list of them, and Tony doesn’t need his artificial intelligence recording to remember them. He doesn’t need an eidetic memory to remember them. They are burned into his brain along with the image of Peter now only thinner, cheeks wet and red because he was slapped like a dog.

Peter cries himself to sleep. Tony carries him to bed, undresses him with glazed over eyes. His mind is miles away. Once the covers are pulled up snugly against Peter’s chin, a wastebasket beside the bed should he wake and feel sick, Tony goes down to his lab, still buzzed, wearing nothing but his pajama pants. The air is cold, but he doesn’t feel it.

“FRIDAY, baby?”

“Yes, boss.”

“We’ve got work to do.”

Peter is naked in his bed, artfully covered by a sheet still damp from their lovemaking. Belly down, he props himself up on his elbows with a Stark tablet in front of him, scrolling through news stories, filling Tony in on news articles involving him.

“This article says you’re trying to create a new world order,” Peter says. This is like after-play for Tony. Besides his cock, his next favorite thing to have stroked is his ego. When he hears Tony snort, the younger man glances over, lips still swollen from the tender abuse they suffered between Tony’s teeth. Peter smiles. With a flick of his finger, the tablet goes dark. He nudges it onto the end table and rolls so that he can spoon his naked body against Tony’s side. When he speak next, he sounds sleepy. “Can you imagine that, Tony? You ruling the world?”

He hums. He can imagine that. He does. Sees it in his dreams, knees bending in supplication to him, wills bending to his way. “Can’t you, Pete?”

The boy presses a hot kiss to one of Tony’s pecks. It’s amazing how little water can help a blossom to bloom, and for Peter, he would bring down a veritable rainstorm. Look how far he has come from days when he would hesitate to brush their fingers as they watched a movie together or were in the back of the car together. He is becoming a diamond, Tony’s crown jewel. “I can see you as a king,” Peter says.

Tony grins. “And where are you, my sweet?”

Peter hums. His hand drags across Tony’s flat stomach, gently scraping blunt fingernails against where stomach becomes pelvis, feeling the muscles beneath it twitch to his whims. The boy has come twice in the last hour, but he is already hard against Tony’s leg. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. The hand drifts lower and brushes his soft cock, which makes a valiant stir. “Maybe I’ll be your—paramour. Your willing slave. At your feet to take care of all your needs.”

Tony frowns. He leans away, loathing even the brief look of anxiety on Peter’s face at his withdrawal, the cheeks flushing with anxiety, wondering did I do something wrong, did I sound stupid? Taking the softly pointed chin in his hand, he brings them so close their noses almost brush. “You are no servant, and I don’t intend for you to be anywhere near my feet. You will be my queen.”

And like that, his blossom blooms a little more, leaning forward to press their mouths together, soft and sensual as rose petals.

The galas are a treat since he’s starting dating Peter. They make games of them, usually delightfully sexual ones that have them tugging their dress pants down in the limo on the way home so Peter can sit on his cock—though there was that one lovely night that Tony took him into the bathroom during the speeches, locked the door behind them so he could bend his boy over the sink and rim him within an inch of his life. For the rest of the night, Peter hadn’t been able to look away from his mouth, blushing and adjusting himself.

Tonight, Peter is wearing a plug. Watching him shift restlessly at dinner has had Tony half-hard for the better part of the evening. Desperate for a reprieve to clear his head, he stalks to the bar to order them drinks: a glass of champagne for Peter and a scotch on the rocks for himself. If they know he is giving his underage date alcohol, they don’t dare say anything.

It’s there leaning up against the polished bar that he overhears Peter’s name spoken from a group nearby. His hearing is excellent, and it takes little effort to block out the white noise of the room to listen in to the conversation taking place among three heads ducked together. He recognizes them: the man is CFO of a private security franchise in upstate New York that made several attempts to offer Stark Industries security services. Tony had humored him for far too long, asking detailed questions about the company’s capabilities before turning him down—and why shouldn’t he know what techniques the little guys are using? It’s smart strategy. Hacking into the man’s private servers to read his emails had been purely for entertainment. All work and no play would make Tony a very dull boy indeed.

Beside him are two women, most likely a wife and a secretary, probably interchangeable.

“—look ridiculous together. Like father and son. If he wanted to feel twenty years younger, a prostitute could have done the same thing for him and with half the work.”

“He’s a cute kid,” the secretary or wife says.

The CFO snorts. “Have some taste, Margot.”

Tony doesn’t see red. His hands don’t turn into fists, his teeth don’t gnash. He doesn’t get angry, he gets even, wracking his brain for the most insignificant details, anything that he could use to his advantage here—and then he remembers, something about a food allergy, berating the PA who went out to the local bakery for breakfast and brought pastries back to the office.

“Three more glasses of champagne,” says Tony, leaning against the bar. “And tell me. Do you have strawberries?”

When Tony appears behind them, drinks in hand, CFO’s soul nearly leaves his body. All the blood leaves his face. Even the secretary wives look anxious. One of them can’t even meet his eyes. There are probably rumors about the kind of man that Tony is and the kind of business he conducts. When his reputation does half the work of intimidating scum like this, then he considers himself thankful for it.

“Drinks?” Tony says, passing around flutes. “It’s an open bar. Please make sure to partake.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Margot says. Sensible woman. If only she kept better company.

When Tony returns to the table with Peter’s champagne and his own scotch, the ice hasn’t even begun melt. “That was fast,” Peter says. This is his second glass, and he is already looking more relaxed, eyes a little lidded. Whether it is from the alcohol or the plug inside his ass, Tony doesn’t know. What he does know is that he himself is unbearably hard, has been since the strawberry idea came to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests.

It’s as they’re leaving that the other shoe drops. It must have started as a tickle in his throat, maybe the buzz of numb lips. By the time CFO realizes he’s having a severe allergic reaction, his throat has swelled and his face is turning purple. A crowd gathers, and he and Peter are part of it, the boy pressed against him back to Tony’s front. From what he can gather, the man has an epi-pen that his secretary carries, but she has left it in the Rolls Royce. By the time the valet finds her car among the sea in the parking lot, the man is unconscious.

“Is there anything we can do?” Peter asks, watching as the paramedics administer an emergency shot of epinephrine.

“I’ve done quite enough already,” purrs Tony. His hips give a tiny aborted thrust, cock aching. Peter’s chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly. It’s a warm enough night for them to shed their jackets, holding them over their arms and in front of their erections like the gentlemen they are.

But nothing they do in the limousine on the way home is gentlemanly, and that’s the way Tony likes it.

There are three names Peter gives him. By the time FRIDAY is done working her magic, Tony has entire life histories, not just for the three boys who graduated alongside Peter at Midtown High School, but for their families. Their ancestries. Tony doesn’t know where inspiration will strike, so he has FRIDAY compile everything. He reads the files leisurely in the evenings when Peter is lounging between his legs watching television or even in bed when the boy slumbers next to him.

Of the three, he knows that Flash will receive the worst of it. Tony will be the old testament God, cursing Flash and four generations of his descendants. That is where he puts his true energy, drawing from that dark well inside of him where is wrath pools. It makes him giddy, wondering how far he is willing to go.

The inspiration is endless, with Flash’s life laid out in front of him. After graduation, he went to a second-rate technical school in New Jersey after a series of rejected applications to MIT. Had he been trying to follow Peter?

Afterwards, he moved north to Maine where he works for the Gulf of Maine Research Institute, probably spending his days smelling of salt water, working on electric monitoring systems meant to replace human observers on commercial fishing boats.

Digging into his criminal record is where it gets personal. Because there is very little. One domestic violence charge, the plaintiff being the State of New York, but it takes only a little elbow grease to see that it is Peter. Flash had pled no contest. He served no time in jail, just faced parole for 18 months and a required anger management class.

Besides that, there is nothing. No more charges. Tony tells himself that the vast majority of such personal crimes go unreported—and really, would it make Peter feel any better? To know that it hadn’t been personal, it hadn’t been just him that Flash had abused?

Tony has never been a victim of abuse. While he usually doesn’t have difficulty imagining how people will feel, even in such instances of heightened emotion, Peter is an enigma. The consequences of being wrong, of hurting his boy. It’s too much to bear.

Still, he digs deeper. Flash is married to a native Maine woman. FRIDAY has social media photographs included in the file, and they look—like a couple. He won’t say a nice couple, because he desperately wants them dead. But they would probably look lovely in side by side burial plots. The smiles look genuine, arms wrapped around each other. Pictures of them together on the beach looking out at the bleak Atlantic Ocean. But he knows the kind of masks people put on for the public. He’s more interested in knowing about Flash’s relationship when the camera is off, pointed elsewhere.

“Get me their phone conversations, FRIDAY, baby.”

But whatever he expected; it wasn’t this. The tenderness between them. The loving messages sent in the middle of the day. The largest argument they have is over what they will have for dinner after Flash comes home from work, and the boy apologizes for his terse messages within twenty minutes of sending them. He sounds contrite. He sounds genuine. He sounds in love.

Why does that make it worse? Why does that make Tony angrier? Tenderness existed inside this Flash the whole time—why wouldn’t he give it to Peter? Tony logs off, turns off his systems, shuts down the lab for a while. Sometimes the wrath he keeps deep in that well inside him swells up like the tide, swells up like a spring after rain. It no longer feels like the well is inside him, but that he is in the well, looking up through a haze of fury towards a sky he can’t see.

He doesn’t want to act in anger.

The kind of justice Peter deserves is cool and calculated.

His boy is in his lap, confident enough to crawl there while the movie they were watching draws on behind them, their kissing a sensual soundtrack. Peter is so beautiful like this, when the slightest arousal melts away his inhibitions. It is animalistic, the way they lick into each other’s mouths, the biting of lips and gnashing of teeth. There is a restlessness though, a rising fever that isn’t being quenched quickly enough. More is needed. His boy needs more.

“You’re going to top tonight,” says Tony lowly, dragging his teeth across Peter’s hairless, cut jaw. He’s close enough to hear the boy’s breathy gasp. He clams up, going tense, drawing away. When they meet eyes, Peter is already anxious, unsure.

“Why would you want that?” he asks.

Tony frowns. “Why do you like having someone in your ass?”

Peter flushes. “I just—I guess I always thought that the person who. You know. Received—it’s, like, a power thing. People top because they’re stronger.”

“Are you not strong? Do you not want power, Pete?”

“I—I’ve never. I was always the one who. You know.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Tony assures. He presses his palm flat against the boy’s clothed chest, feeling his heart hammering away. When his thumb brushes the pebbled nipple, Peter shudders, eyes fluttering. “But you have power here. I’d like to show you.”

Peter swallows. “I’ll try.”

Tony blows him first, just to take the edge off. Peter’s stamina, while better than it once was, isn’t legendary. With the taste of cum in his mouth, he kisses his lover, legs spread and Peter propped between them. The amount of lube he slathers on his fingers is overkill, but it makes Tony warm: the innocence, the desire not to hurt his partner. How someone could hurt this sweet creature, Tony will never understand.

The first finger Peter presses inside him, the boy groans like he’s fingering his own ass. It’s been a while for Tony, but Peter’s pace is slow bordering agonizing, thrusting in carefully, catching softly on the rim as he pulls free. Two fingers feel fuller and Tony groans. Could he convince the boy to take him like this, half-prepared so that it might sting? But half the joy is the look on Peter’s face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack as he crooks his fingers to rub so gently against Tony’s prostate. When Tony moans, Peter’s entire body shakes, his cock hard and leaking, giving aborted little thrusts against the bed.

“Take me, Pete,” he asks. “I’m ready. How do you want me?”

“I—I don’t know,” Peter whimpers. He’s already gripping the base of his cock, knuckles white, wincing at the ache. Tony strokes his back to let him recover giving him the time he needs. Maybe he should suck him off again—but now he’s getting desperate himself. Let the boy come quickly. That in itself is a turn on.

Desiring to watch, Tony just presses a pillow underneath his hips to improve the angle, holds his cock and balls in one hand, and lets Peter press forward, the head of his cock nudging Tony’s rim.

“Jesus,” Peter gasps, even though he hasn’t even pressed in. “I can’t do it Tony, I can’t—”

“You can,” Tony says, low and dark. “Fucking look at yourself Peter. So goddamn strong. So powerful. You could pin me to this bed and fuck me half to death if you wanted to, and god do I want you to. You could snap me in half, couldn’t you sweet boy? Take me. Overpower me. You’re strong enough.”

Peter keens. Wet and warmth hits Tony’s hole as the boy’s hand flies down, too late to stop himself and instead wrapping around his shaft to jerk himself off, strings of cum spurting onto Tony’s cock. He watches, half-amused and more than half-aroused. Wiping a hand through the cum, Tony wraps it around himself and fucks into his fist to spill onto his own abs.

“What did I say?” he says afterwards, pressing a kiss to Peter’s embarrassed face. “So powerful. God that was hot.”

“I didn’t even get inside,” mutters Peter.

“We can try again. If you want.”

He feels the boy smile against his chest. “I—think I’d like that.”

Justice starts closer to home than Tony thought it might, because on the first page of FRIDAY’s report about Flash Thompson, Tony discovers that Flash’s father works for Stark Industries and has for years. With thousands of employees, it isn’t difficult to fathom that a well-off man growing up in New York city, but it still irks Tony to know that at any time coming and going, Peter might have crossed this man, might have had to remember. Harrison Thompson is a consumer relation’s specialist working in their marketing department. The man looks trepidatious when he enters Tony’s office bright on Monday morning.

Tony can see the resemblance between father and son. He knows a lot about this man too. His record is not nearly as clear of domestic violence charges as his son’s. Abuse is a vicious cycle in which the offended can become the offenders. The seed of violence in Flash was probably cultivated for years before he met Peter—then again, after remembering the graphic images of a battered Mrs. Thompson, Tony can’t deny that Flash’s DNA probably came from the seed of violence.

The man sits, looking like he’s ready for his own execution. “Mr. Stark.”

“Harrison,” Tony greets. “Have we met? Tell me, in all the years that you’ve worked here, have I ever bothered to meet a little pissant like you?”

“Once, sir,” Thompson says, slow. He’s sweating. “We spoke on the phone.”

Tony coos. Inside his top desk drawer is a stack of papers, which he draws out onto his desk. Forging them took no time at all. He must look unhinged, eyes glittering like hellfire is just behind the pupils, grinning the way he is. “What a shame then, that we’ve had to meet under these circumstances.”

Everybody is talking about it, Peter texts. Tony is in a meeting when he sees it, but he has no qualms about answering his boy when he should be listening to shareholders complain about the way the media is spinning Stark Industry’s image.

Talking about what, baby?

An employee you fired yesterday.

From 5th floor.

Caught him stealing from me, baby.

Firing him was just the start.

Wait until the police get their hands on him ;)

Tony. You must know.

Know what, my sweet?

Peter doesn’t answer. If he is worried that the boy will be cold to him when he returns to the penthouse for the evening, his worries were for nothing. There is dinner on the table, with candles. Dinner is only half eaten when they end up in the bedroom, and after undressing him, Tony finds that Peter has shaved. Everywhere.

“Wanted to do something nice for you, daddy,” he gasps while Tony rims him, shifts to mouth at his tight balls.

The sweetest boy.

Flash himself, Tony never even meets. Tony has maids to take out the trash in his penthouse, custodians to take out trash from Stark Tower, and Bucky to handle the more personal refuse that Tony would rather not dirty his hands with. He has a thing about his hands.

It is handled all through phone calls from his untraceable line. Bucky is one of the only men in the world besides Peter that Tony would admit he likes: the man listens twice as often as he speaks, has incredible loyalty, and also takes initiative. “How bad do you want him?” Bucky asks.

“Use your discretion,” Tony says, feet braced up on his desk. That’s code for let him live, but not easily. Through the glass walls of his office, he sees Peter getting off the elevator, waving cheerfully to the secretary. When they spot each other, the boy blushes softly, and Tony winks. “But I’m sending you a little extra compensation. There’s an additional detail that’s very important to me, and I want to see it come to fruition.”

The others are child’s play. Via anonymous tips, he alerts the IRS about one of the boys’ fraudulent tax returns. The other keeps his nose cleaner, but that is no problem for a man who doesn’t mind playing dirty: Tony empties his bank accounts, trashes his credit score, and sends several fake incriminating messages to his wife. It barely scrapes the surface of what they are owed, but he figures that there will always be time to expand on a solid foundation of misery.

The pictures arrive one after the other an hour after the sun sets on the East Coast. The boy is barely recognizable: face swollen nearly to bursting from the shattered cheekbone and orbital fracture. Bucky’s gloved hand is visible in the last picture, clutching a head of dark hair to pull the boy’s head back so his throat is visible, wreathed in livid bruises. But the dog collar looks good.

Pet Supply, Bucky says. $4.99.

Tony sends him five grand. Then he saves the pictures on a private server that FRIDAY is under orders to destroy should it be breached or should Tony die. He’d delete them altogether but…one day, Peter might want them.

And he would give Peter anything he wanted.

“Boss, you’ve received a text from Peter.”

“Read it to me, baby,” says Tony, welding mask on, sweating. FRIDAY’s voice is barely audible over the sound of the blowtorch.

“It’s a news article, sir, from Portland Press Herald, dated this morning. The headline article is titled GMRI Employee Left Paralyzed After Overnight Attack.” Tony turns off the blowtorch. He takes off the mask to reveal his smile. Peter knows how much Tony loves to hear news about himself. “Shall I keep reading, boss?”

“Please do.”

Peter never mentions it, but sometimes Tony catches him staring. The look on his face is one that isn’t easily read. On anyone else, he would expect to see fear, but this boy is finally starting to grow into his own. He is finally starting to see how he should be treated, and the ramifications he—and Tony—can rain down on those who treat him poorly. Instead, Peter looks hungry for him. So, fucking, grateful to him.

“Do you want to try topping again tonight, my sweet?” Tony asks in bed. “Do you want the power?”

Peter plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back into the mattress. Eyes heavy, he is sure the boy will finger him open, thrust desperately inside him to completion. Maybe he won’t even pull out, just rest his cock there until it hardens, and then Peter will take him again. Until he is strong and satisfied.

Instead, Peter throws a leg over Tony’s hips and sinks down on his cock. The look he gives is positively devilish, resting his hands on his thighs while he begins a brutal, perfect rhythm. He smiles, impish, delighted. Bruised apples are soft, riper and all the sweeter in spite of it.

Peter says: “I already have it.”

#starker #tw: violence #dark!tony #SIM

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years

Text

Someone You Loved (Part 3)

Summary: The reader is the daughter of a well known mafia boss in her city and is used to an easy going life. When her father is arrested along with his crew, the reader is forced into a different life full of lies and adversity. Worst of all, her boyfriend of the past year, Dean, is an undercover cop who put her father away. She’s perfectly content with never seeing Dean again but he has a habit of making his way back into her life…

Pairing: Cop!Dean x Mafia!reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 5,600ish

Warnings: language, angst, harassment

_____

You’d just finished jotting down the last of your math notes when the doorbell rang the next day. You heard your dad answer as you hopped up from your desk and grabbed your purse, quickly out in the hall. Dean was wearing a loose open flannel, smiling at something your dad was saying to him.

“Ready?” asked Dean.

“Mhm,” you said, cocking your head at him in his plain clothes.

“Small department. We don’t have much of a dress code,” he said with a smile.

“Being the boss has its perks,” said your dad.

“It does indeed,” said Dean. “I figured we could grab a bite here in Deer Creek? So I can get you back in time for class.”

“Oh, she can take the classes whenever she wants. She’s already two weeks ahead of the curriculum,” said your dad.

“Dean does have work, dad,” you said. “Come on.”

Dean gave him a smile before you were both piling into Baby, Dean driving for a few minutes before finding the cafe on main street, the two of you seated quickly.

“Your dad looks different. Way less stressed out,” said Dean.

“Being a bum will do that to you,” you said. “I’m trying to figure out ways of getting him out of the house more to be honest.”

“He could get involved with town stuff. These small towns are full of those meetings and boards,” said Dean.

“Maybe. How’s the town council going?” you asked.

“It’s alright. I had a meeting this morning on it. There’s a lot of stupid stuff in my opinion on it but you know, these people don’t have much else to do,” he said.

“You’ve never been afraid of taking charge,” you said.

“I came here so I could get away from that sort of thing,” he said.

“You came to hide,” you said.

“I’m okay with a quiet little life,” he said.

“You really want to live in Hawthorne forever?”

“I wanted a slower pace job. I can do what I’m supposed to and that’s it. They had a spot open and I knew it was close to you,” he said, pursing his lips. “Someone needs to watch your back. You have a knack for finding trouble.”

“I find the trouble? Look who’s talking,” you laughed. He shrugged, thanking the waitress when she brought over your drinks.

“Deer Creek’s a nice place,” he said. “Near the woods and mountains. It’s pretty here.”

“Hawthorne is pretty too. It’s quieter is all,” you said. “It feels like the middle of nowhere.”

“I mean, there’s nothing on the other side of Hawthorne so it kind of is. I’ve heard there’s lots of good hiking and camping around. There’s a big outdoors store here I’ve been told,” he said.

“That sounds fun,” you said. “I should totally get my dad to go hiking.”

“That’s a great idea. He’s looking a little rounder than I remember,” he chuckled.

“He was like that after my mom died too,” you said.

“How’d you snap him out of it?”

“We started to hang out more. Dad was not the mafia boss anymore but just dad, you know? Now that I know what he was really up to, I know he’s a better person than I gave him credit for,” you said.

“He still was a money launderer,” said Dean with a smirk. “But there’s a reason they never tried to get him for anything. I think out of your family only your cousin Mark had like a public intoxication arrest on him and I mean, that was Mark so that’s not surprising.”

“Do you know what happened to all of them?” you asked.

“I think most of them stayed in their new towns where it was safe, started living normal lives. Your cousin Sarah is going to art school in Florida I think,” he said.

“Good for her,” you said.

“It’s probably a blessing in disguise you know. Your family all have normal jobs, no records. They got out before something bad happened,” he said.

“How’s Sam?” you asked. He shrugged. “He still undercover?”

“No. He...he’s actually transferring to the Deer Creek department. He got in a bit of trouble for telling you the truth. But he trusted you,” said Dean.

“I’d like to have a civil conversation with him for once,” you said. “Tell him Gary was a super dick.”

“He was, wasn’t he?” teased Dean. You bit your bottom lip, Dean giving you a smile. “What?”

“Why’d you blow up at the bar that night? I mean, you knew that was Sam playing Gary after all. Couldn’t you have blown your cover?” you asked.

“Yeah. I could only take so much though, even pretend,” he said. You nodded and were both quiet for a few minutes, your salad coming out and a tiny smile on your face as you caught Dean eating one of his own. “What?”

“I thought you didn’t eat rabbit food,” you said.

“I’m trying to,” he said, picking at the meat in his bowl first. “So. You go to school everyday?”

“It’s all online. Aside from a few timed tests on certain days, it’s more go at your own pace. I figure with summer classes, I’ll get a degree in three years instead of four,” you said.

“What about your college classes from high school? You would have gone in with credits,” he said.

“I...totally forgot about those actually,” you said.

“See if they’ll take ‘em. You’re just looking for a degree right? Maybe you can save yourself a semester,” he said.

“I told you about that like, once,” you said.

“I am very good at remembering,” he said, poking at the rest of his salad.

“Excuse me,” you said when your waitress went past. “Can we get a BLT wrap instead of the salad?”

“Sure thing,” she said, taking the bowl away.

“Thanks,” said Dean, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Baby steps,” you said.

“Baby steps,” he said.

His new food came out a few minutes later, Dean telling you about the local area as he ate. He’d been there about a week or so. He was staying in the previous police chief’s house on the edge of town. He was a bit miffed that there was no garage with it but he figured he could always add one later on.

He started to talk about Baby, a topic you knew he could on about for hours and hours if left to his own devices. You smiled as he spoke and ate his wrap, Dean loosening up and acting like his old self.

“What’s with the goofy look?” he asked with a chuckle. You shook your head.

“You sound like you again is all,” you said.

“You always did like listening to me talk about Baby,” he said.

“You don’t get between a boy and his first love,” you teased.

“No. You don’t,” he said, twitching his lip up. “You got a little…”

He wiped at the corner of his mouth, your tongue jutting out around yours.

“Still didn’t get it,” he said as he leaned over, wiping off a bit of dressing with a napkin. “Perfect.”

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said.

“You shaved this morning,” you said. He ran his hand over his jaw, a little hair there but much more like you were used to. “It looks good.”

“I was due for one,” he said. “I got to head back to work but maybe I’ll see you at Breacher’s tonight?”

“Yeah. I’ll be working,” you said.

“Good. I’ll make sure to swing by then.”

Two Weeks Later

“Are you two sure you ain’t dating?” asked Mel. You smirked behind the bar top as you poured his refill, Dean hiding his smile as he bit into his burger.

“They flirt enough,” said Victor, Dean chuckling and wiping off his mouth. “What do you say chief?”

“It’s complicated,” said Dean.

“Extremely,” you said.

“Eh, it ain’t that complicated,” said Mel.

“Trust us,” you said, wiping down the bar, surprised when Victor stood up. “Just the one drink tonight?”

“Yeah. I ought to go spend some time with my wife,” he said. “Night.”

“Night Vic,” said Dean, Mel raising an eyebrow when he left. “There a story there?”

“They been fighting a lot lately. I keep telling the idiot to spend some time with her,” he said.

“Maybe he’s finally listening,” you said. Mel nodded and knocked back his drink.

“I should take that advice myself. I’ll see you kiddos around,” he said.

“Drive safe, Mel,” you said.

“Do I smell or something?” teased Dean.

“Oh yes. It’s quite horrifying,” you said, giving him a laugh after a moment. “Those two should be at home anyways. It’s getting late.”

“It’s nine,” said Dean.

“Late for them,” you said. You cleaned up their plates and glasses, exiting out of the kitchen area a minute later to see another man sitting next to Dean, a head of longer hair on him.

He gave you a friendly if not weary smile.

“Moose,” you said, tossing down a coaster.

“Chipmunk,” he said. “You look good.”

“I was wondering when I’d see you around. Looking like the fifth beatle there,” you teased. Dean snickered in his seat, Sam whacking him in the back of the head. “What’ll it be, Sammy?”

“Just a pepsi. I’m on duty,” said Sam. “Lunch break actually.”

“Want the kitchen to whip something up for ya?” you asked.

“Is there anything not covered in grease?”

“Pie. They make good pie here,” said Dean. “Can I order my pie now too?”

“Pie for Dean and I’ll get a garden salad for you Sam,” you said.

“Thanks,” he said as you jotted it down. His salad was out fast with the kitchen slowing down, Dean wolfing down his pie the second you had it out. “I guess you really are doing better.”

“Told ya so,” said Dean.

“So...you guys dating again?” asked Sam.

“It’s...a work in progress,” you said.

“We both agreed we should wait a little while, give us time to try and get our heads on straight,” said Dean.

“Is that why you smile at your phone like an idiot when she texts you?” asked Sam.

“Shut up,” said Dean.

“Hey, Y/N,” said Sam, turning to you. “About the Gary thing...I’m sorry for all that stuff.”

“You were just doing your job,” you said, setting his second soda down in front of him. “It’s alright, Moose.”

“Oh I see. I do all the groveling groundwork and Sam gets to reap the rewards,” teased Dean.

“Just a tad different, De,” you said.

“Yeah. De,” said Sam with a big smirk.

“At least I have a girlfriend,” mumbled Dean.

“I thought it was a work in progress. Plus I’m married you idiot,” said Sam.

“Didn’t I tell you he was an annoying little shit?” said Dean.

“He’s a little brother. Kind of in the handbook, Dean,” you said.

“I didn’t hear a correction in there,” said Sam.

“You really are a little shit, Sam,” you said.

“Told ya,” said Dean.

“Still,” said Sam. “You two…”

“Leave it alone, Sammy,” said Dean. He dropped it at that, making some small talk as he waited for another slice of pie to come out. You tended to the rest of the bar, the two of them talking about their days. It reminded you of when they’d talk when you were over Dean’s place. It was always kind of cute to you how they checked in everyday.

“Y/N?” asked Sam. You hummed, giving him a smile. “I asked if you were going hiking with us this weekend.”

“I didn’t know I was invited,” you said. Dean glared at Sam, opening his mouth slowly. “Hey. You two should have your brother time.”

“I was gonna ask later,” said Dean quietly. “You got midterms soon and-“

“And Y/N’s coming with,” said Sam. “Right?”

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

“Don’t bug her, Sammy,” said Dean.

“When are you gonna stop being depressed and tell-“

“Really?” said Dean. He stood up and put down some money, Sam looking to you for help. Dean was gone like that though and Sam closed his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” mumbled Sam.

“Probably not,” you said. “It’s why it’s a work in progress, Sam.”

“It’s kind of stupid in my opinion. You’re both still into each other. It wasn’t like you broke up because you stopped liking each other,” he said.

“No. What happened was much worse,” you said. “There’s a lot of hurt feelings there.”

“Then why don’t you hate me as much?” said Sam.

“I didn’t love Gary, Sam. Gary was a dick. One that scared me,” you said. “But you weren’t that much worse than a bad night tending bar or the walk home at three in the morning.”

“He never told you, did he,” said Sam.

“Told me what?”

“There were two regulars at your bar. Hank and a younger guy, Teddy. You never noticed that Teddy always came in just after Hank would head out?” asked Sam. You tilted your head back, Sam taking a sip of his drink. “Dean was concerned. He convinced the department to give you a protection detail in the event that you might be able to help with the organization.”

“So you’re telling me that every night I was creeped out walking home by myself, there was a cop nearby watching my back?”

“Pretty much,” said Sam.

“He didn’t tell me that,” you said. “He’s such an idiot sometimes, I swear.”

“There are worse idiots to wind up with,” said Sam.

“Carl, you mind watching the bar for a minute?” you asked, one of the waiters nodding as you skirted around the top and over to the front door. You poked your head outside, Dean leaning over Baby with his head down. “Winchester!”

He popped his head up and spun around as you headed over, Dean looking behind you, his hand on his gun.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No. No. You gonna invite me to go hiking?” you asked.

“What’d Sammy say in there?” he asked, dropping his hand away.

“You’re sweet. Nothing I didn’t know already though,” you said. “So, hiking?”

“I’m not…” said Dean, gnawing on his bottom lip, shifting on his feet. You reached out and grabbed his hands, Dean staring down at them. “You know I shove stuff down. You have a way of dragging it up and making me deal with it and I don’t want to deal with...I want to be your boyfriend again. I do. I want it to be the way it used to be but I know it’s never going to be that way. You’ll never trust me like that again and I’ll never not feel guilty. I just need more time to deal with that, okay? Maybe we go hiking next weekend, just us. I need time to-“

“Don’t assume things about me Dean,” you said, dropping his hands.

“A month ago you hated my guts,” he said. “You’ve spent the past few months hating me.”

“Don’t push me away because you’re afraid of feeling something again, Dean,” you said. “Don’t put words in my mouth either.”

“You said-“

“I said a lot of things and most of it when I didn’t know the full picture,” you said, kicking at the ground. “There’s always more secrets, more I didn’t know, Dean.”

“I told you the truth,” he said.

“Then why am I still finding stuff out like I had a police tail on me every night?” you asked. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back against the car. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter,” he said.

“Actually, it does. Now I knew I was safe back then. So what else are you hiding?”

“Nothing!”

“Dean.”

He wasn’t quick enough to make his face blank but maybe he wanted it that way, wanted you to know there was something he still wasn’t saying. He quickly turned his gaze hard though.

“You always gotta push, don’t you?” he said. “You push and push and push and push. You’re so fucking annoying sometimes. You can’t just let things be. You gotta dig and ask stupid questions and be the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met in my life. Why do you never, never, shut the fuck up? Please. Just shut up.”

“You know what? Don’t come back to the bar. Ever,” you said as you spun around. “I’m done. We’re done. Fuck you, Dean. Just stay the fuck away from me from now on.”

“How was work?” asked your dad when you came home an hour early. “Feeling alright?”

“I hate that fucking asshole!” you shouted, rubbing your hand over your face. “I should have never...fuck him. Don’t ever answer the door for him again.”

“Y/N-“

“I am done with Dean Winchester. Forever.”

“What the hell are you doing?” you said the next day, storming into Dean’s office as he ate some yogurt.

“Lunch?” he asked.

You slammed the parking ticket down on his desk, Dean raising an eyebrow.

“You pay that over at the front desk?” he asked again, looking you up and down. “Are you on something?”

“I am sick and tired of the police harassing me!” you shouted. Dean leaned forward in his chair and took the ticket, glancing at it.

“Nina. Can you come here a minute?” called Dean. You glared as a cop came in, looking at you wearily. “You write a parking ticket this morning?”

“She was double parked.”

“Double parked my ass,” you said.

“Miss. This is a police station,” she said.

“Oh, don’t go there with me honey,” you said.

“There,” said Dean, ripping it in half. “No ticket. Nina, try not to ticket people for being a little over the line.”

“Alright,” she said, staring at you.

“Back off,” you said. She put a hand on her hip and Dean stood up, grabbing your arm. “Hey!”

“I do not need a fist fight in my office,” he said, leading you out a side door and outside. You shrugged away from him, Dean taking a deep breath. “I didn’t put anyone up to it. Don’t go starting fights with cops.”

“I want you to leave me the fuck alone,” you said.

“Yet you’re the one…” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Go back in the station. Now.”

“No! I-“

“Get the fuck inside,” he said, grabbing your arm hard, practically shoving you back through the door. He locked it behind himself, barely giving you more than a quick glance.

But it was enough.

“You’re still protecting me, aren’t you,” you said.

“Yeah well, deal with it. I had a feeling shit would hit the fan and it’s hitting it,” he said, shoving you back towards the cell area. “Lock the door. It’s the only way in or out. Don’t open for anyone but me or Sammy. Call your dad and tell him Alpha Green two. He knows what it means.”

He left the room and you almost locked the door after him, his hand suddenly on it. He was holding something big and bulky out to you.

His thigh holster with the gun in it.

“Put it on. Point and shoot. Make sure the safety’s off. You got sixteen rounds. Don’t use it if you don’t gotta,” he said.

“Dean, what’s-” you got out before he was out the door. You locked it up after him and strapped the thing on your leg, shaking your head as you pulled out your phone.

“Hey, sweetie,” said your dad when he answered.

“Something weird is...I’m with Dean at the police station and he said to tell you Alpha Green two and I have no idea what is going on,” you said, the other end quiet. “Dad?”

“I’m not gonna see you for a long time, kiddo. I gotta go away for awhile. I want you to stick with Dean. He’ll keep you safe. I know you two got your issues but you’ll work them out,” he said.

“What is happening?” you asked.

“Alpha Green two means get out. Dean saw something he didn’t like so I gotta go,” he said.

“He gave me a gun,” you said.

“You’re gonna have to get out too then. They know if they grab you, then they get me,” he said.

“Dad-”

“Remember where I said I met your mom?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“October first. You meet me there at noon if it’s safe. That’s how I’ll know it’s safe to come back,” he said.

“Dad-”

“Do what Dean tells you and for the love of God stay with him,” he said. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said quietly. “Who’s here? That organization?”

“Worse. His brother. I gotta go. I’ll be with Sam. I’ll see you in October, kiddo. Love you,” he said.

“Love you t-” you heard before he hung up. “Too. What the fuck?”

“Y/N,” you heard on the other side of the door, Dean knocking lightly. “Open up. It’s me.”

You carefully undid the door, a backpack tossed in your face along with a police jacket.

“What-”

“No one saw you on the street thankfully. Your dad getting out of here?” he asked. You nodded, Dean glancing around. “I got Baby packed. Sam’ll try to help your dad get out of here as best he can. We gotta get you out of here and now.”

“Am I ever going to know anything real about you?” you asked. He stared at you blankly, cupping your cheek and pressing his lips to yours.

“I kept lying about my job. Not about me,” he said. “I will explain everything later. For now-”

“Let’s get going then.”

“This jacket is nice and warm,” you said, curling up in the thing in Baby’s front seat, Dean humming as he rolled into hour nine of your impromptu road trip. “We gonna stop soon? I got to go to the bathroom.”

“Yeah. We’re almost there,” he said.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” you said.

“We’re almost there too,” he said. You closed your eyes and rested your head against the window again, trying not to think of what had happened to your dad or where he was. Dean was mum on everything until you were settled he said but you knew wherever it was you were going, you were going to have to lay low.

He pulled up to an old farm house near a field and nestled near some woods, driving down the dirt path for a moment before he put it in park.

“Where are we exactly?”

“Safest place I ever knew,” he said. He opened his door and got out. You followed his lead and stretched out, hearing some clanging going on in a nearby garage. It stopped quickly and a man walked out, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Sorry I didn’t call. Sort of last minute.”

“You must be Y/N,” he said, looking you up and down, giving you a smirk. “He gave you a gun?”

“Who is he?” you asked Dean.

“Y/N, this is my dad, John,” he said. You turned your head a little wide eyed as he stepped over and gave you a big hug.

“Nice to finally meet Dean’s girlfriend in the flesh,” he said.

“Dad, we’re not…” said Dean.

“Oh,” said John. “Was that...okay, now I’m confused.”

“Welcome to the club,” you mumbled.

“We were. We broke it off when you know, her dad and family went into hiding,” said Dean.

“Okay?” said John.

“I didn’t know he was a cop for starters,” you said. His dad raised an eyebrow. “Then there’s all the lying and secrets and sounds like you do that with everybody, hm?”

“I thought you had to go to the bathroom,” said Dean.

“Go up through the back door, past the kitchen, door on the left,” said John.

“Thanks,” you said. You wrapped your jacket around yourself as you jogged up the back steps into the quiet house. The kitchen was sparse and half of it was ripped up. Half the house looked under construction in your opinion.

The bathroom looked like new sheetrock had been put up and needed to be painted but otherwise it looked brand new. You were quick to relieve yourself, voices coming into the house by the time you were exiting.

“He’s an idiot,” said John as he walked past you, going to the kitchen cupboard and pulling out a bottle of liquor.

“Where’s mom?” asked Dean.

“She and Jess went to the movies. Apparently I annoyed them today,” said John, taking a sip.

“Maybe if you finished working on the house they’d be less pissed,” said Dean.

“They got hands. They can pick up a hammer and get to work,” he said.

“Dad.”

“I know. It’s hard to renovate a whole house by yourself is all,” he said.

“Maybe Y/N can help with demo. She’s pretty pissed off lately,” said Dean.

“I can see why,” he said.

“You’re taking her side?”

“Sammy told Jess.”

“Sam and Jess are married. It’s different. He had permission. She was different,” said Dean.

“You still could have told-“

“I fucked up. I don’t need everyone to keep reminding me,” said Dean, dropping a bag by the stairs and going out the front, slamming the door shut after him.

“He probably didn’t need that,” said John.

“Can I have a sip of that?” you asked.

“Knock yourself out.”

“He didn’t,” said John, cracking up beside you a few hours later.

“He sure did,” you said, giggling as you passed the bottle back to him.

“Oh, that kid doesn’t know the first thing about being in a city,” he laughed, taking the last sip. “Shit. I think we’ve been cut off, kiddo.”

“Well you’re both drunk so it’s probably for the best,” said Dean as he stepped out the back door. “Mom and Jess are back. I told them you weren’t up for meeting any more new people today.”

“I think he’s pissed,” you laughed.

“You should have seen his face when he was three and-“

“Alright,” said Dean, leaning down and taking the gun from your holster. “Before you two get into real trouble, inside. Y/N, we got the air mattress in the guest room so get your tush up there.”

“I’m enjoying myself here just fine,” you said.

“Yeah. What are you? The fun police?” joked his dad.

“I’m tired. Please, just go inside for the night and sleep this off,” said Dean. “Both of you.”

“Alright,” said John. “No harm in helping her calm down.”

“I’d rather it have been done sober,” said Dean.

“Yeah, well. You can work on that tomorrow,” said John. “Come on. Better do as told.”

You grumbled as you stood up and went inside, the house quiet. Dean showed you upstairs, his dad staying down and heading down the hall where you assumed the master bedroom was. You trudged past an open room, a girl probably around your age laying on a bed, reading a book.

“Hey,” said Dean, pointing a finger at you. She lifted her head up. “This is Y/N. You know, don’t shoot her if you see her around. Drunk girl, this is Jess. Don’t shoot her if you see her around.”

“Always a joy, Dean,” said Jess. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a cop too,” you said.

“I’m a nursing student,” she said. “Or I was I should say.”

“Look. I brought you a friend so you can both hate me together,” said Dean.

“Shortie,” she mumbled, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Asshole,” he said, spinning you around. “Night Jess.”

“Night De,” she said.

“Sam says hey too,” said Dean.

“Just hey?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just hey,” said Dean, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out an envelope. He flicked it over to her, Jess smiling wide as she caught it. “Page three, whoo, Sammy. I thought the boy was innocent but boy was I wrong.”

“Goodnight Dean,” she said with a grin, tearing open the letter.

“Night Jess,” he said, pulling her door shut. “Okay. Let’s get you in bed.”

He showed you down the hall and into a room, nothing inside but two backpacks, a duffel and an air mattress with a blanket on top.

“Okay,” he said as you kicked off your shoes. You plopped down on the mattress, rolling to the left side. “Before you pass out completely on me, this backpack with the red tape on the strap? That’s your bag. If I ever tell you the furnace light is out, that means take the bag and get out of here. I don’t care how but you do it. If the furnace light is broken, that means ditch the bag and just go. You got that?”

“Talking about the furnace is bad. I got it,” you mumbled, tugging the blanket around yourself.

“You can change into something more comfortable,” he said.

“Like what,” you mumbled.

“Hold on,” he said. He went over to a closet and pulled out a box, digging through it a minute before pulling out a few things and tossing them to you. “It’s from when I was about your size. It should fit.”

You stared at him, Dean rolling his eyes.

“This is my grandparents house. It was in somebody else’s name and trust me, it’s safe,” he said.

“So this stuff is from when you were a teenager?”

“Yes. Bathroom is across the hall,” he said, leaving the room for a minute. You changed into the loose shorts and t shirt, smiling at the baseball camp shirt.

The door opened and he popped his head in, another bunch of blankets under his arm.

“Did you go to camp around here?” you asked.

“Yeah. For a summer. Sam and I stayed here. We’re both tired, we’ll talk in the morning,” he said. He took off his boots and jeans, shrugging out of his jacket and taking one of the blankets for himself, leaving the others on your side. He flicked off the light switch and lay down with a sigh, his back turning to you when you crawled under the blankets.

You stared at his stiff shoulders, Dean taking a few deep breaths.

“Thanks for the extra blankets,” you said quietly. He nodded, stilling after a moment.

You turned your own back to him, closing your eyes, already regretting the alcohol in your system.

“Is my dad dead?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Okay,” you whispered, a tiny shudder running through you.

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“I can sleep on the couch if you want,” he said.

“Okay,” you said.

“Do you want me to go?”

You didn’t say anything and for a moment, you thought he’d get up and leave. Then you felt him roll behind you, roll closer. You didn’t lift your head as you turned to face him, ducking your chin down and letting yourself bury your face in his chest.

“I know,” he said quietly, placing his arm over your back, holding you close. “I know.”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled, a shudder running through you.

“I got you. That’s all you need to worry about tonight, alright?” he said. “I got you.”

You nodded your head, fisting your hands in his shirt as you willed yourself to get some sleep.

_____

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn

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limelocked · 4 years

Note

Naruto OCS???? Do tell us about them

oh now youve got me started!

i made a post about their history (very general) in this post so ill talk more about their personalities and things that stand out about them cuz i love them

so the tldr is that they’re an off shoot of the uchiha clan from the first great ninja war when yokumo fucked straight off from konoha due to 75% paranoia that turned to 99% paranoia when he left but cant go back now! hed be a rogue nin! so he settles down in the land of grass with Asaro the most best girl character ive ever made. She’s a tailor/seamstress/weaver in this tiny village and she just radiates chill, shes been your mom friend since grade 2 and will continue to be your mom friend until death

yokumo is Stressed and Strict because my dude has the sharingan so when they have three kids (not at the same time hot damn) he decides like any good parent to just refuse to let them use their eye powers at all (note: this is probably not a good parenting tecnique)

tenjo is the oldest daughter and she idolizes her dad so fucking much dude and shes fighty, boy pulls her hair and gets an ass whopping , shes the queen of the village kids but with different leading skills than her mom. she legit saw yokumo use jutsu ONCE and went “oh hell yeah time to be ninja”

yokumo said no

jiyuro is the middle kid and he just vibes dude, hes a normal easy going kid that reaps the reward of being the sibling of the queen of kids, hes also the kind of bastard that can and will use his sharingan to cheat in exams, something he can only pull of thanks to the babiest brother 30 under 30 ninja luminary chiban who cant use the sharingan but damn is that boy neck deep in genjutsu training

chiban put like all his dnd leveling towards genjutsu and some taijutsu so he wouldnt mcfucking die in the middle of a fight in the event that his genjutsu fails. his illusions are amazing tho and real specialised, he can make you believe that those eyes? those red eyes with weird dots in em? yeah totally normal, you didnt see shit. the same with cuts and bruises, dude specialices in detailed genjutsu instead of haha you got caught in a plant or some of the other ridiculus shit naruto characters do

now tenjo gets married not once, not thrice but two times, first time to your local imported bitch boy hatsunaio ha’ame whos playing the longest con in existance aka he “falls in love” with tenjo and gets married, has a kid, all so he can confirm that the clan has the sharingan to report back to konoha cuz that aint right, sharingan outside of konoha and even more sharingan outside a hidden village

fear not tought! imported asshoe gets killed by tenjo with the sweet loot of the mangekyou sharingan and Trauma!

her second marrage is 4-5 years later with drinker of respecting woman juice Tsumashin Aishika who had been a family friend since a bit after ha’ame got what was coming to him. Aishika is super patient and just Kind Man, if only he was stupid and buff he would be a himbo but he’s average and kinda smart so Good Dad will have to do. He likes to read and is a wood worker.

Tenjos kids are a fucking story too, btw hope you wanted a long long post cuz youve really gotten me started now

Renge, the kid she had with Ha’ame, is the oldest and she doesnt remember her dad at all, shes been called a clone of her mom with the fightyness and the “wow cool! need to learn that!” reaction to jutsu. Shes impulsive if shes on her own and the worlds biggest glass canon in a fight because she has trash chakra stores and the impatience to skip on learning to distrobute it properly, she also has the vibration style kekkei genkai (lightning + wind) which just eats up her chakra

first kid with Aishika is Hotoki whos like her mom but EXTREME, shes the naruto of the kadzuki fam, impatient, a brat and ready to throw down instantly, shes stubborn as fuck and she wants to be the Tsukikage, a position that doesnt exist for a village that doesnt exist in a land that already has a hidden village. her family is supportive tho

last kid is Makuto whos one of only three kids in this clan thats youngler than naruto. his life starts of great by killing his mom with complications during birth giving him absolutly no problems down the road, nope, haha. Hes pretty reserved and likes his grandmas craft better than his grand dads so he takes up tailoring and later pottery, hes a fast learner 100% because of the sharingan

then we have jiyuros wife Pantama Hoshi, shes friend shaped and radiates chill like asaro. they met while team one (aka tenjo, jiyuro and chiban) was out at another town for a mission. shes a gardener and grows medicinal herbs along with real good flowers. theyre by far the most calm parents in the family and basically became foster parents for Tenjos kids once she died so yes, they have two dads. Hoshi can and will support you in anything thats not plain out stupid

Jiyuros first kid is Nishi whos good and cautious, shes the single kid in the budding team 2 that thinks things through properly before doing something, but too much, shes a pesemist, and probably has anxiety, on the upside all of the plans shes involved with goes without a hitch because she provides endless “what if bad thing happens” scenarios, in the downside plans take so much longer because of said what ifs, she specialises in sealing and summoning but really really wants to be a medical ninja because you see what if someone gets hirt! what if renge becomes dumb bitch during a mission and gets hurt because shes a glass canon

the second kid is Takuhi whos the mediating voice of reason that pushes Renge to listen to what ifs and makes Nishi remember that sometimes improv is whats needed during a mission, hes on the cautious until proover otherwise side. He hangs out with Yokumo a lot and is slowly inhereting his paranoia and or world waryness

TIME FOR MY FAVE BRANCH

Chibans family is amazing because i love them, his wife Yamatora Seiho, usually called by her last name, is an ex shinobi from the land of grass (she freaked Tenjo out a bunch after the Ha’ame bullshit went down) thats just so fucking done with the kage and government so she went to do that good good farming cottage core life but shes really not suited for it. shes ready to throw the fuck down at any time but shes also kind to her kids and real serious

she also had a previous marrage that ended in good ol murder (not her killing her husband for once in this clans history) but basically she took her at the time 5 y/o son Usagi with her and Chiban said fuck it join the family instantly

Usagi feels so fucking left out tho cuz he wants to be included in the playing the other kids do but he cant manage to care about that whole ninja thing plus he doesnt have eye powers and just why bother, so instead he goes to Asaro and asks her to be his teacher, he also becomes a barber in the town because my god did Jiyuro really just almost cut his sons ear off???

THEN THE TWINS!!

Hikame and Yorukoi are twin girls and the other two that’re younger than naruto in the clan, theyre 9 when hes 12. They spend their time usually together or with Hotoki and Makoto since Usagi is 13 years older than them and Renge, Nishi and Takuhi are team 2 on missions a lot. Yorukoi really loves animals and looks up to Nishi because holy shit mom she can summon animals with only a lil blood holy fuck meanwhile Hikame likes art and drawing the aimals Yurokoi comes sprinting home to tell everyone she found

The twins and Hotoki will make up Team 3 just as soon as Yokumo lets them because oops a few years ago the whole konoha branch of the uchiha got fucking annihilated and we might be next.com

#long as fuck post #kadzuki clan #god i love the fam so much #all of them are so dumb #the twins become friends with Zeiten and yknow thats the real reason Kyorinrin gets convinced to stay and teach Nishi medical ninjutsu #naruto ocs #naruto oc

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hereticpriest · 5 years

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Reap your Rewards

Warnings: Dubcon, brutal NSFW

@lvngdvns

Mischa Tarasov, the eldest of the Tarasov children, had always been everything her father wished. She was brilliant, with a keen mind for business, strategy and tactical defense. She was charming, a brilliant liar, and able to think on her feet. She spoke multiple languages, had been tutored in tactics since she was a child, and had been taught varying forms of self-defence since she was a toddler. Ballet, gymnastics and acrobatics had rounded out her training, giving her versatility and instilling an almost unhealthy work ethic in her. She was everything her brother wasn’t; driven, focused, able to lead or follow in any given situation. Mischa could take a punch, could endure torture, and could inflict it effectively. She was everything that Viggo wanted. Which was also likely why he lost her.

John remembers the day he met her. Viggo was having her perform for him when he called John in for a task. Ever the proud father, Viggo had gestured to his pride and joy and told John to stay and watch. She was skilled, John had to acknowledge it. Even The Director would have approved of her skill, though she likely wouldn’t have shown it.

“John, this is my daughter, Mischa. Mischa, dorogaya, this is Mr. Wick. He works with us.” Viggo introduced them.

“I know who he is, papochka. He killed my boyfriend for you.” The eighteen-year-old hummed, locking eyes with John and blowing him a kiss. Viggo laughed, clapping John on the back and getting him to sit so they could talk while Mischa danced.

Later that same day, John had laid Mischa across her lavish four-poster bed and eaten her out. He had the pleasure of being the first man to make her squirt, the first man to fuck her mouth, and the first man to make her cum without touching her clit. He still remembers the day that, after completing a job, Mischa had crawled into his lap with a stiletto and told him to carve his initials into her thigh. That was also the second-last time he saw Mischa. By then she was twenty-one, in university, and she was leaving in a month to visit her family in Russia.

He remembers her golden blonde hair that always smelt like violets. He remembers her peridot eyes, truly the window to her soul. He could always read her by her eyes, though he was aware that was a talent all for him. He remembers the way he fucked her in the ass, just to say he was the man who had so many firsts with her. She’d bit down on his belt, screaming bloody murder at him despite the fact that he was well aware he’d prepared her enough to take it. Maybe he hadn’t asked for permission, but he rarely did with her. They were toxic that way. Always fighting for the next scrap of eachother. He had scars on his back from her nails ripping into him, and another on his shoulder from her biting into him while he took her on her father’s desk. Perhaps that’s part of why they never worked out.

She left for Russia, left him, and the next and final time he saw her was an accident four years later. He came in to get the details for a job, and she was visiting her father and brother. He knew she had left the mob a couple of years back and had been working for the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow, but he didn’t know she would be back. He fucked her again in her hotel room, forcing her up into an arabesque and making her scream so loud they got a noise complaint. He took a necklace with him, one that her father had given her when she was little. Maybe part of him knew he wouldn’t see her again.

Which brought him to his current situation. Iosef was dead, Viggo was dead, and he was still angry. Without Helen, his impulse control was shot, and he did the only thing he could think to do. Finding her took the longest. She was back in America, living and working in New York City at the American Ballet Theatre School. Aurelio ended up being the one to give him an address, as he had worked on her bike only a couple of months ago. According to Aurelio, she was assisting a sommelier on the side, designing custom weaponry and modifications. Otherwise, she didn’t have her hands in any business anymore.

Despite the fact that she hadn’t been in the game in at least ten years, he packed enough heat to handle anything. She hadn’t changed her name for some reason, so she clearly could protect herself still; if she couldn’t she would be dead.

Mischa has a pretty regular routine. Up at four AM to be at practice and geared up before six, lunch at eleven, teach classes from noon to four, practice from four to five-thirty with a half hour cooldown, dinner, and then custom work for Hephaestion’s clients until bed at nine or ten. She rarely deviated from her schedule, and only when she didn’t have design work to do. She didn’t have a boyfriend, and only had a couple of friends, one of which was her roommate, Mallory. Mal rarely was home, spending most of her time with her lover, an older man who retired from the life before Mischa and Mallory met. Duncan was one of the few people who knew who Mischa was, but he didn’t bring it up beyond a quick conversation when they met that ended in Mischa reminding him that she knew how to kill him if he crossed her friend.

Mallory and her boyfriend were an odd pair, but they fit, and they left Mischa with the apartment to herself most of the time, so she wasn’t complaining. It was nice having company when she needed it after living a lonely life for so long. It was also nice having someone who understood Mischa, who shared her life and herself and her boyfriend with Mischa. It had been a bit of an accident the first time. Mal was teasing Mischa about never going out and getting laid, legs draped over Duncan’s lap while they shared a bottle of bourbon and a pizza. Mischa was sitting on the floor, her head leaned back against Mallory’s stomach while Mal played with her hair. Duncan had told Mal not to tease her, that Mischa was clearly not someone who could give herself to people she didn’t trust, but also didn’t want any attachments.

“You trust us.” Mal argued when Mischa agreed with him. She agreed again, and Mal thought about it for a moment before giving Mischa’s hair a gentle tug. “You need to get off, Mischa. All you do is work. You’re so tense you make my shoulders hurt just looking at you.”

“Find someone I trust, who also won’t get attached and just wants fun, and I’ll be all for it.” Mischa retorted, and Mal shut her up with a kiss. The trio ended up in Mischa’s bed, as it was the largest, and the next morning, everything was as normal as any other day. Duncan and Mallory continued their relationship without Mischa, without any pressures, and their relationship as a trio was reserved for days when Mischa needed them, or Mallory needed her, or Duncan felt like spicing things up. It was the most comfortable life she could have ever imagined for herself, and she wasn’t sure what she would do when Mallory moved in with Duncan and left her.

Mal and Duncan had been at his place for nearly a week straight, so Mischa took advantage of the massive bathtub that had sold her on the apartment, then walked around in her robe for the night. Standing in front of the window with the night sky behind her and the skyline of the city, she opened her robe enough to offer a tantalizing view of her body and took a picture, sending it to the couple with a text saying she missed them. She was feeling tense again, and she missed Mallory’s voice echoing through the apartment.

She had the weekend off of work, and only had to do her stretches to keep herself limber, so she popped a bottle of red and took two large gulps. She draped herself over the couch, kicking her feet up and closing her eyes. The bottle went to her lips again, and she chugged down a fair amount, but a crunch from the other room alerted her and she threw the bottle in that direction before flipping over the back of the couch. Grasping a knife from its hiding space under the couch, she eyed her exit points and crawled along to the side table to fetch her bronze knuckles.

“Mischa.” His voice sounded from the kitchen, and she swore, peaking out to catch a view of him then throwing the couch in his direction. It knocked him, and she took the chance to bolt into her bedroom and slam the door behind her. The lock wouldn’t hold him off for long, but it gave her the chance to arm herself with the TTI TR-1 Ultralight that she had hidden under her bed. The door comes off of its hinges easily, and Mischa catches her first sight of him in years. He’s still beautiful and it infuriates her that he still sends a pulse of heat straight to her core at the mere sight of him.

“Mischa, stop.”

“I know why you’re here, John. Finish off the family, huh? Doesn’t matter that I had nothing to do with my brother or father’s actions, and it doesn’t matter that I haven’t come after you despite you taking out my only family. I’m not stupid, lyubimiy.” Mischa throws the knife at him and smirks when it buries itself in his shoulder. From his shout, it went deep. However, he knows where she is now, so she begins to crawl under the bed to get to the other side, only to be grabbed by the hips before she gets more than her shoulders under. John wrenches her out, slamming her head against the frame and stepping on her hand to get her to release the SMG she’s clutching.

“Mischa, stop fucking struggling.” John curses, hand wrapping around her throat and yanking her across the floor.

“Let go of me, John.” Mischa claws at his hand, then rotates and hooks her legs around his body. One around his neck pulls him off-centre, while the other gives her leverage to knock him over and get herself up. She gets atop him, pinning him carefully and striking him in the face with her modified bronze knuckles, leaving the imprint of her name in his cheek.

“I won’t go down easy, John. I didn’t take revenge, but if you want to pull this shit with me, I’ll make sure you fucking work for it.” Mischa growls. She fights his attempts to get up, but he jabs his thumb into the spot where he had carved his initials all those years ago, and she goes off balance. He throws her down, straddling her, and she struggles harder, rolling onto her stomach and trying to pull herself from beneath him.

“I certainly want to kill you now, printcessa.” John hisses, slamming her face into the floor again to disorient her, then yanking her robe off. She fights, but he is stronger than her and she can’t see straight, so he is easily able to overpower her, yanking her legs apart to make room for him.

“John, you fucking piece of shit, don’t you dare!” Mischa shouts, and he slaps her, her ears ringing from the impact. He’s inside her before she can say another word, and the entry is made easy by how soaking wet she is.

“I’m not here to kill you, Mischa.” John growls in her ear, yanking her back into brutal thrusts that make her gasp for air. He wraps his hand around her throat, pulling her back so he can kiss and suck at the sensitive skin of her neck. When he sees a DV tattooed behind her ear under an MS, he feels a sick sort of rage build in his gut. He shoves her face down against the floor and fucks her brutally, pulling her back into his thrusts to make sure she will feel him for days.

“Scream for me, Mischa. No one is coming to save you. Not from me.” John groans as she clenches around him and bites back a cry, “You’ve been mine since I first saw you, printcessa. You’re still mine.”

Mischa gasps, clawing at the floor, hips pushing back into him like she isn’t sure if she wants to get away or not.

“Who are MS and DV?” John asks, nipping at her ear, fighting the sick desire to slice the foreign initials out of her. Mischa shakes her head, biting into her wrist to hold back an answer and her screams. He drops his hand to circle her clit in the pattern she used to like, rutting into her until she screams around her skin and shatters to pieces around him. He fills her moments later, her clenching cunt milking every drop from him.

Mischa twists her head to look at him, mouth red with her own blood and eyes hazy, and then her world is darkness.

#John wick #john wick/reader #john wick/oc #duncan vizla #polar #duncan vizla/oc

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trcshpark · 5 years

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introduction.

- ̗̀ –– ( tom holland, twenty one, cismale, he/him. ) hey, is that alan myers over there? rumor has it, they’re one of those townies. they’ve lived in erith springs for their whole life & are currently working as a bookshop clerk. i’ve heard they’re pretty wayward, it’s just too bad they’re also dull-witted. they remind me of worn down combat boots, the sun setting over a hushed trailer park, late night gas station food. ̖́ -

it’s fran here again! & this time i’m bringing you my much less than friendly, borderline recluse, idiot of a boy! i’ll leave some potential connections below for you to take a peek at & maybe spark some inspiration for plotting as well as go over the basics. i’m always available through ims or discord for those who ask for it! this is going to be significantly shorter than elijah’s.

so, alan is something else. a piece of work if you want to be nice about it. he’s not the best of people & he’s never claimed to be. he’s harsh, rude, very insensitive to how others are feeling ( often times the case is, he doesn’t know or he doesn’t care ) & can overall be somewhat of an asshole. but that’s mostly because he’s definitely not a people person. he enjoys his own space, the number of friends he has is slim to none, people generally know not to approach him.

& what’s the perfect job for someone who’s not a people person, you might ask? a book store clerk, duh. alan is definitely not thrilled about his job, but he’s been working there for so long that the job is the last thing he complains about.

he works for a family owned book store that’s renown for it’s collection of comic books & graphic novels. it’s about the only book store in erith springs you can find such an impressive collection. so, naturally he has to deal with ‘nerds’ all day long. he doesn’t see what the big deal is-- he doesn’t like comics himself. or so he claims. it’s not like he’s been reading them since he was a kid ( not that anyone knows of ). he doesn’t like to be associated with something so childish & ‘stupid’ as he likes to put it.

if it wasn’t obvious already, alan was definitely the type to bully kids & take their lunch money in high school. he didn’t have many friends by choice, but it never helped that people were either afraid of him or just didn’t like him as a person. he got into fights. a lot. the amount suspensions he had rivaled his actual attendance.

he has a temper on him-- he’s very easily irked, angered or annoyed. but that can often be surprising for those who don’t know him by reputation. at work he holds a generally stoic expression, monotone voice & nonchalant disposition. but of course, if he does appear otherwise-- it’s usually a look of annoyance, or a simple warning for someone to back off & leave him be. either way, he never looks like someone you want to be friends with.

he’s not all bad. he’s just someone who holds a lot of anger in him & isn’t always sure how to express himself. on that note, though... his one outlet is & always has been working out. he spends a lot of time jogging around town or working out on the beach. or hogging the arcade punching bag at the amusement park. he’s just a big idiot.

his life is all work, fighting & hookups. honestly. he doesn’t sleep around half as much as people claim he does, his reputation definitely argues otherwise, but he’s at least somewhat selective. depending on the day. he can be charming when he wants to be.

alan lives with his parents in a trailer park across town. it’s a good while away from the center of the town & the beach, but he walks to work every day. he doesn’t bring people home with him. partly because he’s never had anyone to really bring home-- & partly because he’s embarrassed of where he comes from, even though it’s common knowledge where he lives. it’s been the topic of many fights over the years.

when it comes to his looks, he’s a very ‘baggy ripped jeans, worn down combat boots, low side tank tops’ kind of person. his hair is messy, he’s almost always got a bruise or cut lip & does give the overall vibe of someone you don’t want to piss off. he’s got a few tattoos here & there too!

basically, he’s a punk idiot whose self worth fluctuates more than the weather. he’s also not the biggest fan of the amount of attraction the town gets, especially around summer, so that never helps anything. fun fact: he also goes by junior. mostly.

CHARACTER ARCHETYPES.

50% the rebel –– the rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind, & bucking the system, if that means getting their point across.

the warrior. warriors are brave & attractive people who are willing to put themselves on the line regardless of consequences.

the wild man. wild men & wild women are the most outrageous of rebels. these are the people who are in touch with the side of themselves that doesn’t want to settle or be forced into any box.

the criminal. because rebels by their nature push at boundaries, they can easily go too far & break the law.

the fighter. sometimes a rebel becomes too aggressive in their various pursuits, & turns into a fighter who won’t back down & won’t stop arguing.

the don juan. charming, fun, well-mannered, & sexually attentive, don juans make the game of seduction fun for women who have their own rich & romantic fantasy lives as well as self-confidence.

32% the royal –– when the royal walks into a room, they command attention. they are the one in charge, & they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

the brat. because they are used to pampering & don’t know how to do things for themselves, royals can exhibit childish behavior in the form of tantrums & unreasonable demands.

the vampire. like bram stoker’s count dracula, who fed on the lifeblood of others while living in a regal manner, royals can be a drain on those around them.

the bully. when it becomes so easy to take advantage of one’s position, it takes a certain amount of discipline to fight the urge to debase the reputation of self & family.

the destroyer. the destroyer manifests in vindictiveness & an unchecked fascination with wreaking enormous destruction on enemies.

18% the athlete –– the athlete's focus & drive are unparalleled. staying healthy & being fit are paramount to them ( as for winning, that doesn't hurt, either ).

the outdoorsman. outdoorsmen ( & women ) are physically fit, environmentally conscious & adventurous. they are resourceful, unmaterialistic, & appreciative of nature’s quiet beauty.

the bully. the danger with living too much in your body is that you can end up using it to bad ends as well as good.

the tomboy. tomboys don’t play games. they are straightforward, honest & concerned with getting things done in the most direct way possible. they are also refreshingly lacking in vanity, & bring a freshness & vigor to socially formal situations.

CONNECTIONS.

friends. i know, i know. he doesn’t have many, but he does love the ones he has!

ex - almost. someone junior got close enough to ( somehow or another, whether that was because they quickly became friends or it was a ‘no strings’ hookup that quickly got tangled ) that they almost began dating, only for junior to get scared & completely drop them without warning.

childhood friends. someone who junior was best friends with as a kid & drifted apart from over the years. not for any particular reason other than growing up-- or maybe not.

hookups. pretty self explanatory! they can be current, old or in the making.

crushes. unrequited from either side or completely mutual! getting junior to admit he has feelings for someone is a long road, but it’s not without a few pit stops along the way. there’d be banter between the two as a result of it! especially if someone has a crush on him & are infuriated because-- him, really? of all people? i have to like him?

#*introduction #erithsprings.intro

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snootysith · 5 years

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Summary: Ru’s first encounter with the Voices of Nerat and Graven Ashe comes long before the events at Vendrien’s Well.

Fine etiquette was expected for all vassals under the Adjudicator’s banner. Even court pages like Ru. Scratch that, especially court pages like Ru. He'd been left to his own devices before he could count his age on one hand, making a living stealing anything that wasn't nailed to the ground. He still wasn’t sure what stayed Tunon’s hand after The Incident but there must have been something worth keeping if he had him learning letters and numbers and parading him around in trappings fit for a noble's son, not a street rat.

Rhogalus told him this was what it meant to be part of Kyros’ Empire. Nunoval told him to make the most of the cards he’d been dealt. Calio told him Tunon must be challenging himself.

(Ru liked Calio best. Not that he'd ever give her the satisfaction of knowing that.)

Court life ran like clockwork but today was different.

Today marked the Overlord’s victory over the Northern Kingdom, and petty strife in the Capital let up to make way for celebration.

From up a high window, Ru watched revelers stream past, laughing and chittering among lantern lights and music as Kyros’ emblem fluttered overhead. Vendors lined the street peddling their wares to everyone, sometimes a dazzled visitor from a far-flung corner of Terratus, sometimes a curious Archon surrounded by their retinue. Tunon was, officially speaking, obligated to attend certain social functions to exert his authority and maintain relations with other Archons. It was strictly political, and Ru suspected it greatly annoyed him to be dragged out his courtroom. He went and sent nearly every able-bodied Fatebinder out to keep the peace and the dormitory was notably quieter for it.

Court pages were excused from their daily lessons but that was all Tunon was willing to permit, expressly forbidding them from leaving palace grounds and partaking in festivities. Naturally, a few brave souls snuck out when the guard rotation changed. They invited Ru along but the lingering ache in his palms from a few hard swats of a ruler was a keen reminder of the price for playing hooky again. It wouldn’t be long until a Fatebinder caught them, rendered due punishment, and dumped them back here anyway. They'd content themselves with a board game or something until a more sympathetic Fatebinder smuggled in toys and treats and that was that. The holiday would come and go, and court would resume as usual.

Life was hard being ten-years-old.

Something soft and heavy dropped on top of Ru’s head. He pulled it off with a frown and stared at the rich, pinstripe red tunic in his hands for a moment before he looked over his shoulder. Calio leaned against the bedpost of his bunk bed wearing her best uniform and a wry smile.

“Spruce up,” she said. “We're putting those court manners to the test.”

Calio was on track to succeeding the Fatebinder of Balance and Ru looked forward to seeing her every day when she became a fixture under Tunon’s dais. For now, she navigated the ballroom with the ease and grace of a Fatebinder twice her age, engaging all manner of conversation with a clever quip and pacifying any argument before it escalated. She and Ru were only a decade apart but the disparity was enough to make him feel hopelessly out of depth.

That Tunon let him roam outside the Palace of Justice should be exciting but this place, with its shameless opulence and its dignitaries who, like Tunon, were Not-Quite-Right, made Ru’s stomach squirm anxiously. He hovered by Calio’s elbow for a time, scraping and bowing, suffering pats on the head and pinched cheeks, but it soon became clear that he was the only non-adult in attendance. The shadows were welcome reprieve and, hoping against hope, Ru waited for them to contort into Mark's familiar shape, but they never stirred. Disappointed, he latched to the banquet table, content to stuff his face with candied nuts and fruit until he got sick.

Then something caught his eye.

A handkerchief poking out from a woman's purse, shimmering silk, the color of the deepest sea, ripe for the taking.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

Ru popped one last candied nut in his mouth, sharp spice bursting on his palate, and chewed slowly, letting the idea steep in his mind while the sensible part of him (that curiously possessed Tunon’s voice) railed desperately against it. Tunon floated slightly above the crowd but that could work to his disadvantage with Ru’s short stature. Even if Tunon wasn’t preoccupied with a gaggle of courtiers, it would be easy enough to slip behind a pillar or duck under a table if he altered his line of sight. If Ru tackled each area cross-wise from Tunon’s position at all times, then surely he'd reap the most rewards with minimal danger. Calio wouldn’t mind— unless he got caught. She liked him but not that much.

Ru swallowed and smirked.

The evening passed without a cry of alarm, just a few mutters of clumsiness and forgetfulness so far. Good. There was always a small thrill in giving people the slip, like he'd won a game. The opponents used to be district guards and, admittedly, he'd lost a few rounds to them but he always wriggled free one way or another, so it never counted. But as he targeted his next mark, he felt a prickle down the nape of his neck, a pin of a stare almost identical to Tunon’s, and he whirled around to find its source, noticing a strange... something lurking just beyond the crowd.

Never once did it occur to him that this thing, green incandescence wrapped in tattered red rags, was anything more than another eccentric Northern decoration. Some cantrip given human form. Maybe a novelty lamp. It stood in the shadow of a crumbling statue completely motionless save for the bronze helm that swiveled lazily above the flaming cavity of its neck. Hanging from its threadbare belt was a small pouch of curious marble balls that glittered like stars.

No would notice if one disappeared.

Ru approached the strange apparatus, curiosity compounding his intent as he looked it up and down, puzzling over how the inferno did not consume the very fabric that contained it. It was a passing fancy, however, and he made a swift grab towards the pouch.

Only for a hand to clamp on his wrist, flames biting at his tender skin.

Recoiling with a yelp, Ru clutched his arm to his chest and stared up at this thing— this person incredulously.

“A bold stroke! How charming. How terribly stupid.” Its helm snapped in place on the smiling visage and it bent low until they were face-to-face. A chuckle echoed in the chamber of its head when Ru scrambled backwards into a pillar. “You would have fared better pilfering another Archon. One with less eyes. Might we recommend Graven Ashe? We hear whispers he hides a treasure trove in that beard.”

“A-Archon?” This was it. This was how Ru died. A wet smear across the face of Terratus with pulpy bits of him still clinging to Tunon’s gavel. His eyes darted to the dark shape of the Adjudicator hovering across the room. Mercifully his back was turned to him but it wouldn’t be long until he sniffed out guilt like blood in the water. Getting caught robbing an Archon a second time wasn’t going to end with him pledging fealty again.

“You’re one of Tunon’s!” It emitted an odd, reedy laugh as it took notice of the object of Ru’s attention. “Surely not! You actually have character. Does he know how naughty you are?”

Ru played along. He must. Even if this Archon made his skin crawl it had yet to drag him before Tunon so he'd take what small mercies he could. “He does,” Ru admitted. “I’m... a work in progress.”

“Ah... he seeks to fix you. Such a waste. Were you under our care, you would have been allowed to embrace your talents. As it is, they need refinement. Don’t think your misadventure around the ballroom escaped our notice. Your pockets must be bursting at the seams! You even managed to lift a vial of Bane essence from the Archon of Entropy! Not that you really knew what it was, of course. You wanted it only because you liked how the cut of the bottle sparkled in the light.”

How did—

“We collect voices.” It flicked a finger against Ru’s forehead almost playfully. His skin stung. “Especially those unheard. Your mind is still young and untrained. We will forgive your ignorance just this once but you ought to know your betters. The Voices of Nerat do not answer to ‘it’.”

Ru’s face warmed. "Forgive me, my lord. Please don't tell Tunon about all this. I'll stop. I'll put it all back, I swear.”

“Oh? But he’s just over there...” Nerat took a step in Tunon’s direction and Ru’s heart leapt to his throat.

“Please! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Nerat’s voice positively oozed with vicious glee. “Have a care with your promises, court page. Were you any older, we’d have asked for something far beyond the pale. However, our recommendation still stands.”

"What?"

“Ashe’s beard! We want you to plunder its mysteries!”

“What?”

Ru found himself drifting towards the Archon of War as if in a daze. He was in over his head. It would have been easier to fall on his own sword than doing this. Faster even. There couldn’t possibly be anything in Ashe’s beard but beard and more beard but what was a court page to do? Confess his crime to the Adjudicator and hope for the best? There was a limit to Tunon’s mercy and Ru had no intention of overstepping it.

How was he going to do this? Good evening, my lord, might I search your person? Purely professional, I swear. You see, section twenty-three of article one of the fourth chapter of Kyros' Law mandates all beards must be inspected for contraband. We understand each other, right? Ru wouldn't be surprised if he met the business end of the Archon’s mace for that.

Ru glanced over his shoulder and flinched away from Nerat’s leer. Had to be quick. Had to look like an accident. He bent and surreptitiously plucked loose one of his bootlaces, keeping an eye trained ahead on Ashe's position in the center of the room. He needed to face him directly and find some way to bypass the ring of Iron Guards surrounding their great general. Figured that they'd selfishly hoard his attention even here, but they were still only human under all the glossy purple armor and it wasn’t long until a platter of finger food compelled them to break formation. That was all he needed.

“Whoops!” Ru stepped hard on his shoelace and propelled himself forward, reaching for that mighty beard with both hands. Time seemed to slow on the descent. Ashe turned slightly at the sound of his voice, his brow furrowed. An Iron Guard shifted in front of Ashe to shield him, but Ru grit his teeth and awkwardly angled his body to the side, dodging them. He was so close he could practically—

Without warning, Ru’s momentum stopped dead and he hung in the air like a puppet with tightly wound strings. Heat crept up his neck as Ashe and his Iron Guard stared at him but the humiliation was short-lived. There was a sound of approaching footsteps behind Ru, and Ashe’s expression darkened.

“Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy!” A familiar voice rang out. “How fortunate that we caught you when we did. Wouldn’t that have been terribly embarrassing!”

Ashe scowled. “What are you doing here? Come to slander my name again?”

“You do that well enough yourself,” Nerat drawled, coming up beside Ru’s stock-still body. “Such cheek! One would think you’ve no arrogance left to spare after the Overlord put you in your place. You see, court page? Look at what a bit of poking will get you.” The power gripping Ru’s body abruptly relented, and he well and truly fell over, sprawling on cold marble with a grunt of pain. The Iron Guard eyed him as if he'd gone and pissed on their boots on the way down. Ru blew a lock of hair out of his face and favored them with a glare as he pushed himself off the floor.

“Leave it up to you to poach a child from the Adjudicator.” Ashe hardly so much as glanced in Ru’s direction.

Nerat crossed his arms. “Please. The two of us are bosom friends! Isn't that right, boy?” Uh. “What’s wrong with a perfectly innocent game between us?”

Ru wasn’t entirely convinced at this point and apparently neither was Ashe. No sooner did Ru find his footing when he found himself directly in the warpath of Ashe’s advance, bouncing off his gleaming armor and narrowly avoiding the scalding blaze of Nerat’s form as the distance closed between both Archons.

“Whatever scheme you’ve concocted to ruin me, to involve this foolish child—” Ashe growled.

“Oh, it’s always about you, isn’t it?”

“— remember just how I came to earn my place. Were it not for Kyros, I would have put you in the ground right next to that savage beast, Blood Echo.”

“At least your predecessor had a sense of humor. You’d think we’d gone and gobbled up your children the day we met.” Nerat’s helm wiggled in amusement. “Hm... did we? So difficult to keep track of all these voices from time to time...”

Ashe’s face turned a brilliant shade of red.

Their heated argument stirred to a frenzy, Ashe practically roaring over Nerat’s collective voices and shrieks of laughter, and Ru found himself in the unfortunate position of being wedged directly between them. Neither Archon paid him any heed as he squirmed to avoid flames and callous iron alike. He attempted to speak, to beg their leave or even one iota of their attention, but he would have been better served screaming into a hurricane.

It was a cold comfort when the commotion finally attracted the whole ballroom’s attention. Everyone gave them a wide berth but circled around them as if they were nothing more than a sideshow spectacle and it was starting to feel that way. Ru spotted Calio at the edge of the crowd, her expression alight with surprise, but she vanished before he could call out to her.

Then she returned with Tunon.

A hush fell over the crowd and they parted before Tunon as he glided towards the center, black smoke billowing in his wake, Calio flanked at his side.

“Archon of War. Archon of Secrets. Have the terms of Kyros’ directive been made unclear to you? All hostilities must be suspended until morning’s light. You would subvert her will so brazenly?” Tunon’s voice remained perfectly level but it reverberated in the room and down to Ru’s very bones. Power crackled in the air, setting his teeth on edge. Ashe and Nerat haven't failed to notice either. They stared up at the Adjudicator in the stretch of silence that followed and Ru seized the opportunity to break free, nearly stumbling into Tunon as he did but Calio was there to snatch him back, keeping an almost painful grip on his shoulders.

“Hostile is such a strong word, Adjudicator!” Nerat’s voice dropped to a cajoling simper. “We were having a spirited conversation! We do so love children and may have gotten rather excitable about the prospect of meeting one of your own. Isn’t that right, Ashe old chum?”

Ashe’s jaw clenched but he nodded.

“Have you anything to add to these claims?” Tunon asked, turning slightly to face Ru.

Ru awkwardly stood at attention under the room’s scrutiny. “I... um...” His gaze slid away from Tunon to the other Archons behind him. Ashe’s fingers subtly tightened around his mace but his face was otherwise impassive. Nerat’s spinning helm came to a stop on a scowling visage only briefly but his warning was clear as day. Whatever the outcome, neither Archon would forget this.

“I am addressing you, Xiaoru.” Darkness rose from behind the Adjudicator, a silent warning.

“I...” Ru wavered, uncertain and fearful. His education didn’t prepare him for this yet.

“Your Honor, perhaps it would be appropriate to move this discussion to a private venue,” Calio interjected.

“Your objection is noted,” Tunon said coldly. “However, I would collect his testimony without granting him time to embellish it.” Damn. The Adjudicator clung to a grudge tighter than a miser with rings. “Speak plainly, court page.”

The combined weight of Ashe and Nerat’s stares pressed even harder on Ru’s consciousness.

Ru took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd do what he did best: skulk around. “The Voices of Nerat introduced me to Graven Ashe after I fell down. Both were worried I would be taken advantage of, which led to a... passionate discussion in defense of children like me. I didn’t mean to start trouble but if I have then I humbly apologize.” Calio squeezed his shoulders only once and he remembered himself, pulling free to bow deeply at the waist like a Good and Proper Court Page, hoping Tunon didn’t notice how he trembled or how his pockets jingled. "I submit myself to your mercy, Your Honor." Again.

Tunon contemplated the matter in total silence and the ballroom seemed to hold its breath. “Do you both accept Xiaoru's apology?” he asked at length.

Ashe opened his mouth to speak but Nerat beat him to the punch. “But of course! Let bygones be bygones.”

“And you, Graven Ashe?”

The Archon of War gave Ru a long look with that impenetrable scowl on his face. “I am satisfied, Adjudicator.”

“Very well.” Tunon lifted his gavel and Ru braced for it to strike down upon him but a singular note resonated in the room as he merely tapped the floor. “I will deal with my page accordingly but do not forget: Kyros does not suffer dissidence in any way, shape, or form. Be mindful of your place. All of you.” His gaze swept across the crowd and it dispersed in a flurry of nervous mutters. Somewhere, a lute tentatively picked up the dance number again and other instruments gradually followed but for all the gaiety in the bouncing notes, there was a heaviness in the air that refused to budge.

Ashe retreated to a balcony outside with his Iron Guard in tow but Nerat lingered. He considered Ru with a curious tilt of his helm and dared to draw near. “Children can be terribly fickle but truth will out, yes? It'd be such a shame if something were to happen to this one. He made for a splendid diversion.” He aimed his words at Tunon, but Ru felt heat lick the inside of his skull and it made the hair on his neck stand on end. A voice not his own insinuated itself into his thoughts. Now wasn't that exciting?

“I did not expect to find you on familiar terms with my page,” Tunon said slowly. Ru swallowed nervously around the lump in his throat and kept his eyes trained somewhere above Tunon’s mask, silently pleading for a miracle as he felt the intensity of Tunon’s gaze boring into his skull.

“The holidays are a time for camaraderie,” Nerat crooned. “Don't you agree? We wished to bestow a token of our appreciation before we depart.” He plucked a marble ball from his pouch with two fingers and pressed it into Ru’s cupped hands, lingering there perhaps a few seconds longer than necessary. “Keep us in your thoughts, court page. We will most certainly keep you in ours.”

On the ride back to the Palace of Justice, Tunon prodded Ru for a more thorough account of what exchanged between him and the other Archons, but words failed Ru. He rolled the marble between his fingers, finding calm in the simple, repetitive motion and the rumble of Tunon’s voice. Calio said something in response to Tunon’s question but Ru had long shut away complex thought for the evening. The caravan bumped and rattled along the road, but he rested his head against Calio’s shoulder all the same and stared listlessly at the floor where air dragged the tail-end of Tunon's smoke out past the floorboards.

It was only once they finally arrive home that Ru realized the marble ball in his hands looked back at him.

#tyranny game #tunon the adjudicator #voices of nerat #graven ashe #obsidian entertainment #fatebinder #my fic #fic: archon's favorite #oc: xiaoru #hint hint for those who read my tags: ru almost got away with stealing evidence from tunon #but his escape plan went awry #and by awry i mean mark startled him as he was climbing down a rope and ru fell and broke his leg #mark never lets him forget this

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otterlydeerlightful · 5 years

Text

LazyTown Ship Week #1

Oops I’m late! Oh well. Here’s Day #1: Plants/Gardening. Alternate prompt: The start of something wonderful :P

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The soon-to-be class garden was coming along well. Though not yet in the designated garden space waiting outside, the children had been caring for their little seedlings dutifully every day. They checked on them in the morning when they arrived to school and once again before heading home at the end of the day. One little boy, Íþrótta, was particularly excited about the project. He doted on his sprouts as though they were his children, and he took incredible joy in seeing their slow but sure progress every day.

“It’s like he uses magic on ‘em or somethin’,” one of the other children grumbled under his breath as he gathered up his things to go home.

The boy, Glanni, was probably the only student in the class who did not care for their gardening project. The entire thing felt like just too much work for, in his mind, a worthless payoff. Glanni had only been doing the bare minimum to try and keep his plants alive just so the teacher wouldn’t scold him. Which was why, watching the other boy tend to his seedlings day after day, Glanni just couldn’t understand why Íþrótta was so engaged in taking care of the stupid things. They were just dumb plants.

Even so, Glanni couldn’t deny the attention that Íþrótta’s sprouts seemed to generate. Their classmates marveled at his work and asked for tips, and the teacher praised the child’s green thumb. No one ever complimented anything Glanni did. Usually he just got in trouble or, worse, was left forgotten and ignored altogether. It wasn’t fair. Just because Íþrótta was a plant-obsessed weirdo didn’t mean he deserved all the attention.

He watched as his classmate finally turned away from his precious little seedlings to grab his backpack to head home. Glanni glared a hole into the back of the blond’s head as Íþrótta skipped out the door to greet whatever parental figure was probably waiting for him.

Glanni stuck his tongue out after his classmate before taking a quick glance around the room to make sure the teacher was busy helping someone else get ready to leave. He reached into his backpack, fishing around for a moment before slyly pulling out the small bottle of contraband soda. Careful to keep it out of view, Glanni crept over to the row of little boxes basking in the sunlight by the window.

“See if stupid Íþrótta has such a green thumb if his plants drink this,” he hissed quietly, tipping the bottle and letting the sugary drink sink into the soil.

The sound of his teacher’s voice out in the hallway made him pull back quickly, a few drops of soda sprinkling over the shelf before he quickly recapped the bottle and stowed it away and out of sight. With a confident smirk. Glanni slung his bag over his shoulder and scampered out of the room.

*****

The next morning, Glanni walked in to find a small cluster of his classmates huddled by the temporary garden. He smiled to himself, strolling over to reap the rewards of yesterday’s mischief. He gleefully imagined what Íþrótta’s face would look like upon seeing his sprouts…shock, awe, anger, disbelief. Any of them would have been hilarious to see. What he had not expected to find, though, was Íþrótta’s look of utter devastation.

The little blond boy stared at the shriveled, wilted plants with wet eyes, his chin quivering as he held out his hands toward the discolored seedlings as though he was trying to figure out some way to help them. A soft whimper escaped the child’s throat as he stood there, oblivious to the small crowd that had grown around him.

Glanni scratched the back of his neck, suddenly not feeling near as excited as he had moments ago. He heard the teacher approach and offer soft words of condolences, but they just seemed to make things worse. The dark-haired back cringed as Íþrótta began to sniffle, new tears sliding down the already-present tracks on his cheeks. Glanni chewed the inside of his cheek and sluggishly obeyed their teacher’s instruction for everyone to return to their seats. Íþrótta didn’t, and Glanni couldn’t help but stare as the teacher ushered him toward the classroom door and out into the hallway.

He spared the dead seedlings another glance, the tiny things no longer green and vibrant, but mere darkened husks sticking out of the dirt. He had done that. Glanni had hoped to teach Íþrótta a lesson, but for what? He had only wanted to knock down the boy’s pride down a bit, right? He hadn’t meant to…to destroy him. Just because he wanted to cause a little bit of mischief didn’t mean he had wanted to hurt anyone, even a goodie two-shoes like Íþrótta.

Glanni looked up when the other boy came back into the room. Íþrótta’s eyes were red and puffy, and the usual pep in his step—usually his most defining trait—was completely gone. Glanni watched him slide into his seat and stare at his desk as their teacher began her lessons for the day, but he didn’t hear a word. He was pretty sure Íþrótta wasn’t listening either.

Although Glanni rarely paid much attention in class, today was different. He had really screwed up and needed to fix it. With another glance over at the seedlings by the window, he started to come up with a plan to do just that. It wasn’t a very good one, but he felt so rotten after seeing how much he had hurt the other boy, Glanni knew that he had to try.

Recess somehow managed to take even longer than usual to arrive that day, which was definitely saying something as far as Glanni was concerned. He normally stayed behind, never one to be too keen on running around the playground to get messy and made fun of for being bad at sports, so when Glanni hung back while all the other children made a mad dash for the door, his teacher thought nothing of it.

He grabbed Íþrótta’s box of sad, wilted plants, tucked it under his arm, and hurried toward the back of the room, swiping a second box from the sill along the way. He set up shop out of sight in the corner, determined to make this work whether or not his teacher decided to come back inside before recess was finished or not. Glanni dug out the seedlings he had destroyed, tossing them and much of the contaminated soil in the nearby garbage can. He then, carefully, selected and transplanted the best-looking plants from the second box into the first. In direct competition of how he had always treated his project plants before today, Glanni picked up each of the little sprouts with the utmost care, determined not to damage a single root or leaf at any time during the process.

He worked quickly, and the scruffy-haired child finished just in time. No sooner had he set the boxes back in their places and tucked a slip of paper next to Íþrótta’s partially restored crop than the first of the children began to file back into the room. He hurried to his chair and sprawled across his desk in an attempt to look like he may have been taking a nap in lieu of going out to play with everyone else. Íþrótta soon followed the rest of their classmates, looking as dejected as he had that morning. Glanni held his breath as he watched the other boy’s movements, biting his lip when Íþrótta came to a stand-still upon seeing the line of plants by the window. Glanni buried his face into his arms to hide his smile as he watched an amazed, toothy grin spread over the other little boy’s face. He looked away, forcing himself to ignore Íþrótta from that point on. He didn’t dare give himself away.

The rest of the day was a bore, and Glanni spent most of the time doodling in his notebook instead of paying attention to their lessons. The end of the day eventually came and, like clockwork, Íþrótta went over to tend to his plants. His new plants. Glanni tried to ignore the boy as best he could, though he did end up sneaking a few quick glances out of the corner of his eye as he gathered up his things.

“Glanni?”

The child jumped, yelping at the sound of a suddenly too-close Íþrótta who had walked up behind him. He spun around with wide eyes.

“What?” he demanded a bit sharply, if only from momentary panic.

Íþrótta took a step back to give his classmate some space. He swallowed, wringing something in his hands a moment before speaking up again. “I…wanted to say thank you.”

The mischief-maker frowned. “F-for what?”

The blond boy offered a soft smile and held out the small note to his peer. Glanni didn’t need to look at it to know what it said, written in messy, angular handwriting. Sorry I killed your plants.

“For giving me some of your plants.”

Glanni’s heart dropped into his stomach, and his face paled to reflect it. Íþrótta just stood there with that same, warm expression.

“I didn’t—I mean! Uh…” The child’s mind scrambled to try and come up with a believable deflection. “What are you talking about?”

Íþrótta gave a brief look back toward all of the little boxes at the window. “Yours is the only box that’s missing anything.”

Glanni let out a small squeak, eyes immediately widening at his obvious oversight.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Íþrótta continued. “I…don’t know why you did it in the first place, but…thanks for sharing your plants with me.”

The trouble-maker shrugged and looked away, unsure how to react to his classmate’s attitude. This was supposed to be where Glanni got yelled out, ratted out, maybe even hit. Instead, Íþrótta just seemed…happy.

“You…wanna be friends?”

Frowning again, Glanni looked back to Íþrótta, completely puzzled. “What?”

“Do you want to be friends?” Íþrótta repeated. “I know you get in trouble a lot, but…that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends together. Right?”

Glanni stared at the strange, blond boy. Friends? Glanni had never had a friend before. A friend might be…nice. Though he knew he shouldn’t, the little boy found himself nodding. The smile that spread across Íþrótta’s face made a strange warmth bloom in his chest and, despite himself, Glanni couldn’t help but find himself also smiling at the prospect.

“…Okay.”

Íþrótta laughed, jumping and happily spinning at the news, his usual energy back to normal. “Great! Friends, then!”

Íþrótta held out his hand and Glanni found himself taking it, getting up from his desk.

“S-sorry my plants are kind of stinky…I didn’t take very good care of them.”

“That’s okay!” his new friend assured him. “We can take care of them together so they can grow and they’ll get better in no time!”

Glanni smiled. Yeah…better in no time. Maybe gardening was worth something after all.

#LazyTownShipWeek #LazyTown #Fanfiction #Glannithro

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lovecomesinattheeyes · 6 years

Text

Wrote this Modern AU a while back. Not sure if it's going to develop into anything, but for now it's a smutty one shot. It'll be on ao3 soon. Enjoy!

His dark, curly hair pools against her naked belly. His eyes are glued to the dimly lit screen emitting sounds of swords clashing. The quiet clicking of the buttons on his controller the only clue that he's moving. Her silver blonde hair is tucked behind her ears as her violet blue eyes skim the words of the book held with one hand, her other hand lightly scratching his scalp, mindlessly playing with his hair until she needs to turn a page.

Their bodies are splayed across their bed and the heavy form of Ghost is nestled against Jon's back, his cold nose pressed up to Dany's shoulder.

It was rare for them to be home the same night. Most of the time one or the other would be working late. Her shifts at the hospital were demanding and the time between the O.R. was spent checking up on patients or trying to sleep. Jon's nights at the lab were just as late. He knew they were on the verge of a breakthrough and had been pushing himself harder than ever to isolate the gene that could lead to a cure.

Tonight though they had both managed to get a night off, able to be together, even if just to be near one another as they turned their brains off and imbibed in a mindless hobby.

"Fuck!" He mutters as his screen turns red. His failure at playing the fantasy game breaks her concentration from the sentence in the suspenseful mystery novel. He hastily turns the console off, letting the screen go dark before sighing heavily. He shifts his head to look at her over his shoulder, observing her continued reading.

"Ghost, down." He says, nudging the ball of white fur until the four legged companion slinks off the mattress and into his bed on the floor next to the window. Jon shifts his body so that he can gently kiss the soft skin along her ribs.

"What are you doing?" She eyes him as he tugs at the delicate lace of her underwear.

"Nothing..." He smiles against her hip.

"Doesn't look like nothing." She narrows her eyes at him as a shiver goes up her spine.

"An experiment..." He smirks as he manages to finagle the material lower, the platinum gold smattering of hair between her legs peeking out.

"For science?" She lifts her hips just slightly, allowing him to rid her of the panties.

"Exactly..." He muses as he huffs and rolls them past the dragon tattoo on her thigh. She lets the book drop from her hand and bites her lip as she looks down at him. A warmth pools between her legs as he kisses his way back up to her core.

"Mmm, I think this is a good start, what's your hypothesis?" Her hands reach for his chin, pulling him up.

"That you're capable of having at least three orgasms in under ten minutes." Kissing her palm he bends back down and drags his nose along her slit. She moans and arches her back.

"That's a compelling theory." She gasps as he readjusts himself between her legs, hitching one over his shoulder, resting it on his back as he pushes the other off the edge of the mattress so it dangles over the side of the bed. "What are your variables?"

He hums against her and she feels the reverberations through her entire body. "I don't think I should share those with the subject." He growls as he lets his fingers slowly slide between her folds. "For it to be a controlled experiment you'll need to experience the tests first hand."

"Ooo Jon, no one talks nerdy to me like you do." He chuckles softly before focusing back on the task at hand. He spreads her slick sex as his fingers begin circling her entrance. She grips the sheets and tilts her head back into the pillow, biting her lip. Jon's tongue takes one long slow drag from his fingers up, causing her to gasp and her body to arch again.

No matter how many times he'd done this, it never got old. The first time he had they were both half drunk, having stumbled back to his dorm room after a Halloween party. She'd never known sex could be that good. Dany primarily dated selfish jocks or shy nerds. Jon was a revelation to her. He told he had only been with one girl, but between his innate curiosity, physical instincts and plenty of research on the topic of how to pleasure a woman, he had developed quite the talent for sex; one that Dany appreciated reaping the rewards of.

Currently his tongue drives all thoughts from her head though as he continues to lave and suck at the bundle of nerves. Her legs begin to shake and her gasps and moans interrupt her ragged breaths. Dany breathes his name as the first orgasm takes her, spreading through her like a wild fire, forcing her to grip his hair and roll her hips into his face.

"There's one." He smirks proudly before dipping his head back down and continuing to lick as his fingers slowly work within her.

"Mmm, fuck Jon..." She sighs as she buries her fingers in his hair and runs the heel of her foot up his back. His other hand pushes on her thigh, opening her up to him further.

Her mind wanders to the first time they met. Those stormy eyes challenging just as strongly as his sharp mind argued. Jon Snow had infuriated her with his unwillingness to concede that she was right. They had been partnered together on a project in their cellular biology class. The only problem being they both had passion for the subject and an unwavering opinion about it. Eventually they compromised and she had seen that he was right, admitting to him as much. His humble demeanor allowed her to keep her pride intact however and from that point their feelings toward each other developed.

Dany pulls at his hair sharply as his talent for feasting on her makes her lose her senses. He hisses as he looks up at her. "Woman, you're going to rip my scalp off if you keep up with that."

"Sorry," she acquiesces, loosening her grip and moving her hands back to rest on her stomach. Seemingly satisfied he dips his mouth to her once more and sucks hard on the swollen bud. It causes her body to double and she props herself up on an elbow, watching as he continues to devour her with intent. "Fuuuuck." She breathes as her body climbs higher toward release. "Don't stop..." She begs as her head rolls back and her toes curl in anticipation. Hiss muffled agreeance only exacerbates her need to release. He glances up at the goddess that has somehow chosen to be his wife writhes in pleasure.

They were 22 when they met, over halfway through their doctorate program as both had started college programs when they were 16. He'd fallen for her hard and fast, but knew that he had a responsibility to finish college, that he couldn't let this distract him from his true purpose. He was lucky then that when he breached the topic, she was in total agreement. She had an overwhelming need to prove herself.

Her background was somewhat tragic. The story of a family who had the world at their fingertips. Doctor Aerys Targaryen was one of the most sought after brain surgeons in the world until the grief took him. The death of his wife during Danaerys' birth had broken him. Followed shortly by having watched his sons die from a genetic disease that he could not fix. Rae was the oldest, strong until it hit him when he was 20. He killed himself after he was diagnosed. Vic, on the other hand didn't care that he had the gene. He lived a dangerous life. He took too many risks, and the one that got him killed was beyond stupid.

Dany fortunately did not have the green but was left motherless and with a father who was a genius, but stunted emotionally and crippled by grief. He eventually went so insane he was put in a home and Dany was shipped off to live with a man who was close to her family, a colleague of her father. He cared for Dany, harbored her and sculpted her mind. Dany had inherited her father's brilliance and, from what others said, her mother's grace. However it hadn't been the only thing she inherited. Her wealth was unimaginable, but also untouchable until the age of 28, as per the trust agreement.

She was raised with nothing but the kindness of strangers. The small amount of money received by her guardians covered the necessities. She had clawed her way out of her circumstances, applying for grants, taking out loans and working part time jobs in order to afford rent with a bunch of misfits.

Tyrion was a dwarf, incredibly smart and studying to be a lawyer. He had a quick wit and a sharp tongue, it was a good thing he chose to like Jon, because he could be a formidable person to have as against you. Missandei was incredible at languages. She was fluent in at least twelve that Jon was aware of and was currently one of the best interpreters at the U.N. Greyson or "Grey Worm" as everyone called him, was on the football team, one of the strongest and most gifted, but he was painfully shy and preferred the company of Missandei. Today they remain together, he works as head of security at the U.N.

Jon looks at the bedside clock, he's been between her legs for all of 7 minutes and she's edging toward her third climax now. Her hands are clawing at his shoulders as she's propped above him. "Don't fight it." He warns her. "I'll do the thing if I have to..." She grins wickedly at him and pushes his hair out of his eyes.

"Your experiment is going to fail, you might have to retest it all night. Bring on your variables, Jon Snow." Her voice is thick with desire and he groans against her at the sound of his name, laced with a sultry challenge. He nips at her folds causing a surprised gasp and a retraction of her hips. His digits curl into her and he strokes smoothly and circles his fingertips. A gasping breath is his reward and she grits her teeth against the wave of pleasure that threatens to take over her senses.

A nervous laugh bubbles out of her and he tears his mouth from her, lifting her leg to keep it hooked on his shoulder as he brings his hips flush to hers. He reaches down and hooks her other leg around his thigh before guiding himself to her entrance. "I'm nothing if not determined." He warns her as he inches into her warm depths. She grasps her own breast, trying desperately to find an outlet for the feel of the delicious pressure he fills her with. His fingers replace where his lips had just been and he begins to grind into her steadily.

She locks eyes with him and then glances back at the clock. "I only need to withstand for two more minutes." His eyes spark with mischief and he picks up speed.

"There is one thing working against you. I'm an expert in the field of your anatomy." His hand pins her hip where the second dragon tattoo curls around and he picks up the pace, his fingers circling her clit with more fervor. She moans loudly and her hand slams onto the mattress, her face buries into the pillow as she bites down, trying desperately and most likely in vain to fight the sensations he's driving through her.

"Fucking mother of...ah... Dany...shit!" He swears as he begins to feel the effects of their joined bodies on him as well. It drives her further toward the brink of ecstasy. She is always driven out of her mind when he loses himself like that. "Look at me." His breathy request causes her to peek up at him. The intensity of his gaze, the amount of wonder and devotion he looks at her with almost brings tears to her eyes. "I love you Daenerys Targaryen." He hardly ever uses her full name, she reserves it only for her professional life and insists everyone close to her call her the preferred "Dany". She gasps and her legs push against him, she's done preventing the orgasm from taking her, and she reaches for his hand that his wedding band rests upon, gripping him hard as she rides out her climax.

He grins down at her before he lets her leg drop back to the bed. He twists their hands together and smothers her body with his, kissing her hard as the last of her pleasure leaves her panting. "I win." He smriks before nipping at her lip.

"Really? Cause it feels a bit like I won..." She answers as she wraps her legs around his waist and pushes her hips up bringing her mouth to his ear. "I mean, who's had more orgasms?" She teases as she bites his lobe. He shivers and bucks hard into her, a grunting huff blows warm breath across her clavicle.

"Don't test me wife. I'll fuck you until you can't walk tomorrow." She moans at the thought. He'd only done that once to her before, in a fit of jealousy at having met her former boyfriend, Cal Drogo, at their ten year reunion. He was a burly guy, tall and handsome, a six pack that didn't quit and he clearly still had a thing for his old high school flame. Jon remained glued to her hip that night and when they got home, he showed her that he had Stallion pride, even if he didn't attend the same school or even cared an ounce for the mascot of her alma mater.

"Mmm, is that a promise?" She gasps as her heels dig into the hard muscles of his ass. She presses her breasts to his chest and sucks hard on the column of his throat. His chuckle devolves to a groan as he continues to roughly work his hips against hers.

“You tell me, do you have surgery tomorrow?” His purr sends a shiver up her spine and she tries her best to recall her schedule the next day.

“Mmm, I don’t believe I do.” She nips at his ear lobe and pushes her hips up to meet his thrusts.

“Well in that case...” He retracts his hips until he almost slips from her before lunging into her hard and stopping. “Turn over...” He slips from her quickly and pushes himself to his knees. He grasps his swollen and cock, covered in the slick honey and slowly works himself, coating himself. Her eyes darken as she watches but she does what he asks, biting her lip as she flips over, sticking her ass in the air and rubbing it along the knuckles of his fist as they move up and down.

“You want to fuck me like this?” She looks over her shoulder at him, pulling her hair to the side, displaying the third and final dragon tattoo that has its wings spread across the expanse of her back. She wiggles her ass tauntingly.

“I want to fuck you until you’re begging me to stop.” His cool tone sends another set of chills up her spine as he positions himself behind her, Jon pushes her knees further apart with his before he lets his fingers explore her sex. She stifles a moan as he slides his thumb into her, pinching her clit between his pointer and middle finger. His other hand continues to pump himself as he slowly circles his digits. Her muffled mewls growing in volume as she feels a familiar tension building again. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much won’t you?” He asks before he inches forward, sliding his cock between the cleft of her ass.

“Mmmm, mhmm.” She moans and pushes back against him.

“Good girl...now...” He pulls his fingers out of her trembling cunt before he offers them to her other pair of lips. “Suck.” She opens her mouth and licks up his fingers before sheathing them in her mouth, as she does he drives himself into her hard and hisses at the depths he reaches in her body as well as the sharp sting of the teeth that dig into the flesh of his knuckles. He knows hes in for a long night with his Dragon Queen.

#jonerys #jon x dany #fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #my fic #fanfic #jonerys fanfic #jonerys smut fest #smut fic

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racingtoaredlight · 3 years

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THE DEGENERATE’S GUIDE TO COLLEGE FOOTBALL TV WATCH ‘EM UPS 2021: WEEK THREE: THE END OF THE BEGINNING OF THE END

We’re still really in the early middle of the year. Sure, Oregon looked powerful against Ohio State but it’s possible Ohio State just hasn’t found it’s footing yet and the Ducks just peaked. Shit happens like that every year, more or less. You can pretty much count on Bama to win 10 and not much else. That only applies to football. The continued stratification of social classes, the accelerating collapse of natural systems that support human life, the complete lack of representation the average American in our freedom loving democracy- you can count on those things. Football is different, though: wilder but more ordered while somehow being better and stupider than real life all at the same time. It’ll be fun to all more or less die together, I think. So let’s get to the games!

I forget the business reason for having more major OOC games that actually stay on the schedule but we’re reaping the rewards for now. You know the rules: eastern times, average vegas odds at the time of writing, prediction abilities are bad on a good day, there’s supposed to be a weekly RTARLsman post but I haven’t done a real one in about 21 months, formatting errors up to and including listing the teams incorrectly aren’t worth pointing out because nobody’s coming to fix them anyway. I don’t expect professionalism out of you so don’t ask it out of me.

Saturday, September 18

Matchup Time (ET) TV/Mobile

NIU at 25 Michigan 12:00pm BTN

It’s easy to say Michigan is due for a self-inflicted dick kick the trick is to predict ahead of time when exactly the embarrassing, season-unraveling loss will come. I don’t think it’s today but I also don’t have a lot of faith in Michigan to cover a 27-point spread.

UAlbany at Syracuse 12:00pm ACCN

I find it hard to believe Albany’s football program is in such disrepair that they don’t even warrant a line against Syracuse. I think we’ve had five 1AA-over 1A upsets so far this season. I couldn’t possibly watch this game but I’ll keep an eye out for it on the ticker. Syracuse is bad enough to lose anywhere to anybody.

Tennessee Tech at Tennessee 12:00pm ESPN+/SECN+

I should probably find a site that lists the good games at the top of each time slot instead of this free for all.

Western Michigan at Pitt 12:00pm RSN/ESPN3

Pitt has actually looked pretty good so far but they don’t have an AP ranking yet. I can’t say much for this matchup so I just assume the Panthers cover the -14.5 and get a little number next to their name next week.

15 Virginia Tech at West Virginia 12:00pm FS1

This is actually of some interest to me. Virginia Tech is ranked 15 on account of beating UNC but it’s not hard to imagine that neither the Hokies nor the Heels are actually worthy of a ranking. WFV is favored at home but still might trigger some couch burning and “upset” talk with a win. The Mountaineers are this week’s new collection from Homefield Apparel so expect some magic!

Boston College at Temple 12:00pm ESPNU

Old Big East rivalry game. Nobody can look away.

Chattanooga at Kentucky 12:00pm ESPN+/SECN+

I thought Chattanooga had moved up to 1A but there’s no line listed for this game so I guess not.

8 Cincinnati at Indiana 12:00pm ESPN

Indiana was good last year and maybe that was just a once-in-a-generation fluke but I’ve still got visions of the Hoosiers toppling Cincy and ruining their theoretically possible playoff run. I’m assuming the Bearcats won’t play anybody else better than IU this year but that’s just a guess backed by historical precedent which isn’t a thing you should really use to gamble on college football.

16 Coastal Carolina at Buffalo 12:00pm ESPN2

Chanticleers vs. Bulls, the eternal struggle writ in football. I don’t think the CSUNY school is particularly good this year but Coastal being favorited by 14 points in an early kickoff road games still feels like a trap to this sharp.

Michigan State at 24 Miami (FL) 12:00pm ABC

Surprisingly to me, this is the fifth all-time meeting of these two schools. Just as surprising to me, Miami has never before lost to Michigan State. Weird but makes sense if you think about it, this will be the fourth out of five matchups played in Miami. As near as I can tell, Sparty tried to use the Canes the same way Notre Dame used to as an in-season bowl game but bailed on the idea when they kept losing. To be fair, Sparty’s record in bowl games isn’t that much better than their 0-4 against Miami. The last time these two met was 1989 when Percy Snow was on his way to the Butkus Award and Miami was on their way to a third National Championship. The Hurricanes team was pretty well-stacked but is probably the least remembered of their title teams. It did feature future Hall of Famer Cortez Kennedy and a freshman OL that would go on to be September 2021′s hottest head coach in cfb, Mario Cristobal. This year’s Miami roster might look good in 30 years but right now they’re a little messy. D’Eriq King is only 8 months removed from ACL surgery (if you watch the game you will hear about this several hundred time) and has so far looked bad on his throws and a touch slower than he has in the past. Which makes sense given the timeframe but does not generally bode well for Miami’s prospects for this season.

Nebraska at 3 Oklahoma 12:00pm FOX

If Oklahoma is a real title contender they are gonna lay Nebraska the fuck out. I’m scared of the 22.5-point line just because I don’t think the Sooners defense could stop Bishop Sycamore but it’s not crazy to think Nebraska can saw their own dicks off to the tune of a four-score loss.

New Mexico at 7 Texas A&M 12:00pm SECN

Fuck. Jimbo must be stopped. I hate this Aggies team. UNM isn’t the team to do it but somebody along the way has to throttle aTm or this season is going to become a plague the likes of which we haven’t seen since... well, now, I guess.

UConn at Army 12:00pm CBSSN

Reading this matchup aloud five times in a mirror will kill college football.

Southeast Missouri at Missouri 12:00pm ESPN+/SECN+

The southeastern part of the state will travel to within the bounds of the state for a classic football game somewhere within the borders of the state.

Minnesota at Colorado 1:00pm P12N

I’m not completely disinterested. It’s weird and doesn’t have any national impact. Not much more you can ask for in a game you probably can’t find on your TV.

Nevada at Kansas State 2:05pm ESPN+

Hell yeah, this is trash. Nevada is a road favorite! Take KState all the way.

Purdue at 12 Notre Dame 2:30pm NBC

Notre Dame has looked a little bit of a mess so far but they’ve won both of their games. Not the worst position to be in. Purdue has also won both of their games. I don’t want to get my hopes up just yet but it seems like the Irish are riding the razor’s edge just asking to be pushed off. Keep an eye on this score, maybe the good people of the world will have something to celebrate in the late afternoon/early evening.

Kent State at 5 Iowa 3:30pm BTN

Iowa’s fifth? It’s too fucking early for this shit.

Florida State at Wake Forest 3:30pm ESPN

0-2 Florida State goes on the road as a 4-point underdog to face 2-0 Wake Forest. Mike Norvell is really out on a plank right now and I am not sure he can safely find his way back to the deck.

Georgia Tech at 6 Clemson 3:30pm ABC

Clemson’s got talent all over and Georgia Tech sucks but I’m still not sold on DJ Uigalelei as an NFL savior type of player. Or a national championship winner for that matter. He reminds me of EJ Manuel.

Baylor at Kansas 3:30pm ESPN+

Baylor is not good but the betting public is getting hip to the “bet against Kansas every chance you get” strategy so the line has jumped four points already this week and I wouldn’t be surprised if it makes it another couple before kickoff to get to 20+. Which is still probably too kind to the Jayhawks.

1 Alabama at 11 Florida 3:30pm CBS

Bama has only had a couple of practice games against lower division opponents but they look as complete as any team I can remember from a talent/scheme perspective. This is a pretty good test and the 15-point line seems a little over-confident on the road in the Swamp. If the Bammers really do overwhelm the Gators then you can pretty much start planning on their return to the CFB Playoffs.

Tulsa at 9 Ohio State 3:30pm FS1

Every week of every year I struggle to keep Tulsa and Toledo straight. Toledo is the one that almost beat Notre Dame last week. Tulsa is the one that lost to UC-Davis in week 1. Ohio State may be troubled on defense but that only matters against other top-tier teams. Having the line moving in Tulsa’s direction is absolute lunacy. If the Buckeyes can’t cover 25 points then they’re in real trouble. For now my guess is that Oregon is just better than we realized and OSU is going to be fine.

SMU at Louisiana Tech 3:30pm CBSSN

This is my kind of counter-programming if nothing else is close. Not sure if there are some ponies down to have points shifting towards the Karl Malones but I think SMU is up to a two-score win.

LIU at Miami (Ohio) 3:30pm ESPN+

Sure, whatever you say.

USC at Washington State 3:30pm FOX

At first I thought this was USC-UW and I was ready to emotionally invest in the drama but it’s just Wazzou. USC giving up on a playoff spot in week two to sit around and wait for Urban Meyer is going to be fucking hilarious when the Trojans end up getting jilted at the altar.

Idaho at Oregon State 3:30pm P12N Oregon

Pac-12 Network Oregon. This implies the existence of a P12N Washington. I’ve seen the main network on TV before. It was fine if a little bit too “featuring Matt Leinart” for my tastes but seeing the weird way they’ve splintered their content is giving me a deeper understanding of west coast football fans that absolutely hate the Pac-12 Network.

Bryant at Akron 3:30pm ESPN3

Tune in to see some guy named Bryant touring around Akron.

Elon at Appalachian State 3:30pm ESPN+

I hope App State runs this grifter out of their campus on a rail. The more bad stuff happens to Elon Musk the better off all of humanity will be.

Delaware at Rutgers 3:30pm BTN

Fuck me, this is just all the pain in the world masquerading as a sporting event.

Eastern Michigan at UMass 3:30pm FloFootball/NESN+

I don’t have much interest in this game but seeing that it’s available on the Nintendo Entertainment System Network is intriguing.

Colorado State at Toledo 4:00pm ESPNU

Toledo blew a huge opportunity last week so they’re ripe for a letdown but all signs point to Colorado State being incredibly bad at football this year.

Sacramento State at California 4:00pm P12N Bay Area

P12N Bay Area probably reaches cable subscribers in like Vallejo and nowhere else in the entire world. When I put it that way it seems like exactly where this game belongs but it’s still not a thing that should exist. I mean the network but it’s true for the game also.

Northwestern at Duke 4:00pm ACCN

Disgusting.

Mississippi State at Memphis 4:00pm ESPN2

I think Memphis can knock down the SEC’s middle tier but I haven’t gotten a clear idea of either of these teams yet.

Georgia Southern at 20 Arkansas 4:00pm SECN

Arkansas rose up last week because of the weird insistence by Lice Dad that playing a middling Texas team was the biggest game in school history. Arkansas has played in the SEC CG more than once. They’ve won a national championship. How does a guy that’s paid to be an SEC homer even make such a dumb statement and keep his job?

Ball State at Wyoming 4:00pm Stadium

I watched the CFB 150 episode about the Black 14 this week so now it’s all I can think about for Wyoming football.

Arkansas State at Washington 4:15pm P12N

What the hell happened to UDub to fall back to this lowly spot? Did Chris Peterson just fall on his ass in recruiting?

Murray State at Bowling Green 5:00pm ESPN3

This sounds like a sixties movie title for a spy agency thriller that could be mistaken for a comedy when not viewed through a then-contemporary lens.

East Carolina at Marshall 6:00pm Facebook

ECU is looking like a doormat and Marshall might be really good again but I would never in good conscience ever contribute to facebook’s good fortunes wittingly.

Fordham at Florida Atlantic 6:00pm ESPN3

I want to love this game but I actually hate it.

Old Dominion at Liberty 6:00pm ESPN3

There is going to be so much COVID passed around this stadium.

Middle Tennessee at UTSA 6:00pm ESPN+

Beautiful, horrible, unwatchable mess. This is where you go to feel like you are alone in the universe.

Troy at Southern Miss 7:00pm ESPN+

There’s also this.

Grambling State at Houston 7:00pm ESPN+

And this one.

Utah at San Diego State 7:00pm CBSSN

This is real entertainment. Twitter will be all over the next listing so I’ll be FOMO’d into watching that for a while but SDSU-Utah on CBS SN might be where I first dreamt up the concept of degenerate football. It was either that or a UFL game featuring a QB duel between Daunte Culpepper and Jeff Garcia.

South Carolina at 2 Georgia 7:00pm ESPN

I’m waiting for Georgia to bumble. I’m counting on it. Georgia-Clemson was a classic early season game that somehow helps both teams in the rankings all year but ends up actually being a showcase of how shitty their offense are rather than a referendum on great defense.

UIW at Texas State 7:00pm ESPN3

I think UIW is a union trade school or something. So I guess I’m rooting for them.

Charlotte at Georgia State 7:00pm ESPN+

Charlotte’s semester in Atlanta would shape her life in ways that nobody could have envisioned when she left her family’s home in the late summer following her failed attempt to run a bakeshop.

FIU at Texas Tech 7:00pm ESPN+

Maybe I actually hate college football.

Florida A&M at USF 7:00pm ESPN+

USF could lose this. Worth checking on if you see an upset alert.

Furman at NC State 7:30pm RSN/ESPN3

Body bag game.

Utah State at Air Force 7:30pm FS2

Kind of neat degenerate game but, depending on the uniform choices, could be a bit monotone and tough to follow.

Virginia at 21 North Carolina 7:30pm ACCN

The South’s Oldest Rivalry! Like most of the previous 125 meetings of these two school’s, this year’s game will mainly decide who sucks worse. Of course in the ACC Coastal being slightly less bad than your opponents is the winningest strategy of all. Go Hoos!

Stony Brook at 4 Oregon 7:30pm P12N

Great scheduling to follow up an emotional game with a body bag. I’m not being facetious, this is right where you need these games.

UAB at North Texas 7:30pm Stadium

Not gonna open an app or whatever to watch this but I bet it’s fun for off-brand college football.

Central Michigan at LSU 7:30pm SECN

LSU at home at night is supposed to be the best atmosphere in college football. Way better than a 19.5-point line against Central Michigan. What stage of LSU’s life cycle are we in right now?

22 Auburn at 10 Penn State 7:30pm ABC

War goddamn Eagle, baby. Penn State is doing that stupid white out thing which, correct if I’m wrong again, only goes for the people in the stands. So they’ll all be dressed up in pretty much Auburn’s road colors to watch Auburn. I hate Auburn but I really hate Penn State.

Alcorn State at South Alabama 8:00pm ESPN3

Things are looking rough for the rest of the docket.

Rice at Texas 8:00pm LHN

A battle of equals.

Stanford at Vanderbilt 8:00pm ESPNU

Look at this American aristocracy horse shit. Fuck these schools and the teams of horses that carried them in.

Tulane at 17 Mississippi 8:00pm ESPN2

The racist south may just have the nation’s best QB. It’s a good year for Matt Corral to show off his arm strength because 2022 is not looking like a bumper crop of QB draftees at this far off date. He’s small for the position but Kyler Murray, Baker Mayfield and Russell Wilson are all smaller. If the arm talent is real he could go #1 overall.

Jackson State at ULM 8:00pm ESPN3

Nope.

SC State at New Mexico State 8:00pm FloFootball / CW El Paso

Sorry.

Oklahoma State at Boise State 9:00pm FS1

Whoa whoa whoa. This is uniform heaven. And on the blue turf? Your eyes will burn. Embrace that feeling.

Northern Arizona at Arizona 10:00pm P12N AZ

P12N AZ. Holy shit. What the hell were these people thinking? This has to be the smallest demo ever targeted by a network.

19 Arizona State at 23 BYU 10:15pm ESPN

Seeing these teams face off as ranked opponents is very weird. Real late 80s vibe here. It’s titillating in its way. Might not even be the most fun game in the late night region.

14 Iowa State at UNLV 10:30pm CBSSN

UNLV is an absolute wasteland of a program. It’s kind of stupid, really. They aren’t in an unsellable spot and they don’t play the most rugged schedule but year after year after year they lose 9 or more games. Makes more sense than not having a good baseball program but there should be some G5 magic in Vegas. Iowa State is going to roll.

Fresno State at 13 UCLA 10:45pm P12N

Chip Kelly having UCLA as the premier program in L.A. is something I couldn’t have seen coming just last week but we’re there now. And Fresno State plays some wild offense that could/should make this the late night hangout spot. If you can find it. If you have this channel. That shouldn’t be a question! Fuckin’ a, Pac-12, what are you doing?

San Jose State at Hawaii 12:30am FS1

Technically a Sunday game but I cut the header because if you’re watching this there is an implicit understanding that it’s still Saturday. Not sure what’s going on with the kick time, though. I was under the impression that Hawaii games had to kick off by 11:59pm Eastern to count with the rest of the week’s games. Very odd. That’s really all I have to say about this game.

#college football #football #gambling #Tv watch em ups #rtarl watches tv

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hihiyas · 7 years

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Little of Your Love (Enjonine Fake Relationship AU)

Alternate Title: 5 Times Enjolras and Éponine pretended to be a couple (+1 time they did not have to)

For @textsfromumbridge on the occasion of her birthday last month. (I’m so late, sorry babe!)

Thanks to @lilyismilesaway, @astoryinred, and @kylorenvevo for letting me pick their brains while I wrote this!

Also posted in: AO3 & FF.NET

1. Enjolras

He blamed rom-coms and heteronormativity, to be honest. Why couldn’t two people of different genders hang out without people just assuming something was going on? So what if they were usually seen together? They were friends, of a sort. It just so happened that they inhabited intersecting friend groups, had some similar interests, and therefore spent a lot of time together.

And besides, he had Patria to pour his passions into, and she, well. Isn’t she still crushing on Pontmercy?

Seriously, he wouldn’t even be thinking about relationships if not for the incident with that chit who tried to flirt with him the other day.

He had been sitting alone at a jam-packed Cafe Musain, typing up a scathing response to an inane article about Syrian refugees. He was on a roll too, when someone sits on the opposite side of his table.

“Hi, Gab-”

“Enjolras. I go by Enjolras,” he interrupted.

“Oh! Sorry, Enjolras then. What are you working on?”

“It’s a rebuttal on this stupid op-ed about the Syrian refugee crisis,” he began to type again, missing the glazed look on the girl’s face.

“That’s, er, interesting?”

“Would you like to know more about the subject? We’re having a talk tomorrow at the student council lounge on how we can mobilize the student body to help the refugees. We even invited a resource person coming from Médecins Sans Frontières,” he says, finally tearing his eyes from his laptop to look her in the face.

“Oh, that’s nice. Are you also working on our class assignment in Contemporary History? Do you want to maybe work together?” she asked. She shyly tucked her hair behind an ear and leaned towards him.

He pulled back immediately. “Sorry, uh, I’m waiting for someone right now, uh, pardon, what was your name again?”

“Oh, it’s Marg-”

“Éponine! Here!” he loudly waved over the olive-skinned girl, who was holding a tray and an amused look.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“This is a classmate of mine, Margaux,” he said, nodding to the smitten girl who was occupying his table and pleading with his eyes for Éponine to intercede.

So she did. By sitting on his lap.

That was not what Enjolras had in mind. At all.

(But then again, her lithe figure on his lap wasn’t that bad? He found the sensation more pleasant than disconcerting. Which was something to consult with Combeferre once he got here.)

“Actually, it’s Margaret,” his classmate corrected. She looked sheepish at the casual way Éponine lounged and his reddening cheeks. “I didn’t know you were with Éponine. I’m sorry for bothering you,” the girl squeaked and bade them a hasty goodbye.

The two observed the girl as she all but ran away from the Musain. A beat later, Éponine slid off his lap and sat on the vacated chair.

“…Did you just use me to scare off your fangirl?”

“I’ll buy you lunch everyday for a week if you promise not to tell the guys.”

“Deal.”

2. Éponine

“Did he break into hives?” Cosette wondered after Éponine finished talking. They had been spending Tuesday afternoon working on their respective homework when she had innocuously inquired, “So, what’s new with you?”

Obviously, Éponine’s “I sat on Enjolras’ lap and survived” quip warranted a longer explanation. Bored with school work, she complied and launched a retelling of her weirdest interaction yet with the so-called Marble Man. It was a welcome respite from math equations.

“He’s not exactly allergic to other humans, ya know.”

“True, he did shake my hands the day Marius introduced him to me.” A beat later, Cosette had a different question. “Did he, you know…” she trailed off and made a vaguely vulgar hand gesture.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! WHAT?? NO!” Éponine couldn’t help yelp out loud at the suggestion.

“So why is he bribing you with food?”

“Because he’s embarrassed about needing help with his admirers? I dunno. I’m just happy to get free food,” she shrugged.

Cosette tilted her head, considering her friend’s reasoning. It was a fact that Enjolras was one of the more popular students in their university. He was handsome, smart, and charming. Usually unflappable too, except when flirted at, apparently.

The subject dropped, the two roommates continued working on their school work. They read and wrote in silence, only to be interrupted again when Marius Pontmercy came knocking on their door.

“Oh, hi Babe!” greeted Cosette as she let him in.

He smiled and chastely kissed his girlfriend on the cheek. “Hey, Babe. Missed you today. Done with your paper?”

Cosette’s dark blonde ponytail swished as she shook her hair. “Not yet,” she replied as she walked back to their dining area.

“Hey, ‘Ponine!” Marius nodded to the girl frowning at her book.

She barely waved in reply, engrossed with her homework but failing to figure it out. Math really wasn’t her forte.

He approached the dining table where the two had camped out with their books and laptops. “Anyway, I dropped by to ask you for a huge favor. Are you doing anything on Friday?”

“What’s happening on Friday? Are you bailing out on our date?” Cosette frowned.

“No! But, see, my cousin Theodule is coming to town for a few days. I kind of promised Grandfather I’d take care of him.”

“So you’re dumping your cousin on me,” Éponine guessed as she balled up another scratch paper.

“Not exactly? He kind of invited himself to our dinner. I was thinking maybe you could come with us so he’s not a third wheel? And maybe talk to him a little?”

Éponine didn’t even look up to shoot him down.“Sorry, busy that night.”

“I’m buying!” bargained Marius. “Just spend two hours with us. And I know you don’t have a shift on Friday at the Corinthe. I asked ‘Chetta.”

“Still busy.”

“Come on, ‘Ponine! Pleeease?”

“Can’t. Have prior plans before you arrived.”

“With??”

“I already have a date, okay!” she blurted the first excuse she could think of.

“With whom?” Marius asked, his tone a little too incredulous that Éponine was a bit offended. She’s not completely undateable, is she?

“She’s going out with Enjolras!” Cosette answered, saving Éponine the trouble of conjuring an imaginary boyfriend. At least, Enjolras was a live, human boy and was an actual friend (!) of Éponine. It’s just that the boyfriend part that was laughably untrue.

At least it wasn’t Montparnasse, right?

Marius, mind blown by Cosette’s declaration, just went, “Whaaaa?”

Éponine thought fast, “It’s new, okay? Barely started. So shut up about it.”

“Huh, and I thought it was just rumors about you guys.”

Rumors? Already? Éponine internally groaned. You sit on a guys lap once…

Marius continued, “I guess you really like him then, huh? Well, I’m happy for you guys! Do I get to do the shovel talk?”

“Babe, that’s so sexist and demeaning. And also: no,” Cosette interjected.

“Sorry. I’m just so excited for Éponine and Enjolras! It’s not an obvious pairing but I think you two would be good together.”

Éponine knitted her brows. “Really?”

“Well, you’re both passionate and outspoken, and when you care about something, you both show it. I guess all that tension when you two argue at the Amis’ meetings is actually attraction, huh?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” she said before suggesting that maybe he could introduce Theodule to some of the more sociable Amis and ask them to distract his cousin on Friday instead.

Placated and distracted by a new idea with what to do with his cousin, Marius finally left her alone so she could continue with Trigonometry.

(Not that she could get his words out of her head long enough to concentrate.

Argh. Stupid Marius!)

3. Enjolras

By the end of the second week after the lap-sitting incident, the entire campus knew about it. Barely a month after that day, everyone knew that Enjolras was off-limits. What people took as fact and what was true, however, were two different things.

Not that Enjolras was about to clarify the nature of his relationship with one Éponine Thenardier. To his credit, he did attempt to, when Bossuet teased him about it. His friend just smirked and said, “Good friends? Uh huh, is that what you’re calling it now?”

Nevertheless, he figured it was better not to comment about it anymore. For one, it was embarrassing to even have to publicly dispel rumors about his personal life. Why did people care so much about who he dated? He didn’t understand it.

Secondly, he also thought that people might think badly about Éponine if he said it anything at this point. People might think she was a liar or a wanton slut who was trying to ensnare him or something. Like she wasn’t a smart, beautiful, independent woman who could date whoever she cared to.

Thirdly, it didn’t hurt that people had started to back off from flirting with him. He had never felt comfortable with it (and the accompanying fuss of turning down dates and dashing hopes) so it was such a relief not to have that kind of attention on him. He even got more things done now that people thought he’s dating Éponine.Prospective admirers apparently didn’t want to face his pseudo girlfriend’s infamous temper if they tried to catch his eye.

Speaking of her temper, he wondered why she hadn’t dispelled the rumors herself. What could she possibly benefit from effectively letting him using her as a ruse? Did she not care that people had assumed wrong about their friendship? In any case, he felt gratitude for her playing along and some guilt for reaping all the rewards of their fake relationship that he ended up treating her with food whenever they were together.

Like now.

They sat together in the usual Amis table at the cafe on a quiet Friday afternoon. He is reviewing his notes as he waited for Feuilly with their newly printed protest flyers while Éponine was working on equations Combeferre had left her as tutorial material. They shared a plateful of cookies as they worked silently on their separate projects. It was nice to just sit with someone and not talk, once in awhile. It’s peaceful.

Of course, that’s when Courfeyrac decided to disrupt the quiet.

“HELLO, LOVEBIRDS!”

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the epithet while Éponine, startled from her work, made a disgruntled face. “Seriously, Courfeyrac?”

“Please, you guys love me. Well, not in the way you two looooove each other, but you do,” he winked.

“No we don’t,” the couple in question declared in unison.

“Too soon?”

Enjolras, who had flushed red at the teasing, flatly said, “You’re hopeless.”

His friend childishly stuck his tongue out in reply. “Anyway, I’m here because you two suck at answering your phones. Are you going tomorrow night or what?”

“To what again?” Éponine asked.

“The fundraiser dinner with my fraternity? Everybody else is busy but I need at least two other people to go with me. There’s a buffet and an open bar,” enticed Courfeyrac.

The two glanced at each other with identical expressions of distaste. A beat later, they replied, “Sorry, date night.”

“Come on, there will be lots of alumni coming and you can start building connections for law school, Enjolras!”

He considered this until he remembered something. “Does this mean Felix Tholomyes is going to be there? Isn’t that scumbag your fraternity’s alumni president?”

“Yes, but-”

He shook his head. “Then, no. I might just start a fight and ruin my good suit.”

“And besides, I can’t afford your fancy fundraiser tickets, Courfeyrac,” added Éponine.

“Enjolras can spring for you! Come on, guys, you’re my only hope. Everybody else won’t go with me! Cosette said she’s protesting her bio-dad’s presence, so of course, Marius won’t go too. Bossuet is leaving for a weekend trip with Joly and ‘Chetta tonight. Bahorel just laughed at my face,” their friend pleaded and pouted.

“Sorry, you’re on your own,” Éponine shrugged.

“Hmp, I need better friends,” Courfeyrac groused. He tried again to appeal to Enjolras but the other man shot him down. Desperate for someone, anyone really, to come with him to the fundraiser, he left the two to pester classmates and friends from his other school organizations.

Enjolras sighed and massaged his temples as Courfeyrac walked out while rapidly firing text messages. Sometimes, his friend’s exuberance gave him headaches. “Argh, sorry about that.”

Éponine merely rolled her eyes. “We both wanted an excuse. It’ll be alright. Courf’s just a drama queen.”

“Did you have plans tomorrow?”

“Catching up on Game of Thrones.”

“But it’s such a problematic series!”

They ended up good-naturedly arguing all afternoon until Feuilly showed up.

4. Éponine

It was a slow night at the Corinthe, a fact that Éponine was grateful for. Sure, there were fewer tips, but a smaller crowd meant she won’t be dead tired for her 9 AM class the next day. She wiped down the bar for the nth time and glanced at the clock. Only 30 minutes left before she could go home and collapse on her bed.

The downside to a relatively quiet shift, however, was that it left Éponine alone enough for her mind to wander. And there was one blond pre-law student that seemed to occupy her thoughts more and more these days.

Enjolras. It was funny how their friendship had steadily become closer due to the misconception that they were together romantically. At first, it had been a quick excuse to get away from undesirable social engagements. By unspoken agreement, they had maintained the ruse in public: sitting next to each other all the time, eating meals together at least twice a week, and even texting each other their daily schedules just in case one of them needed to cover for the other. At this point, Éponine figured that if not for the lack of the more physical aspects of a romantic relationship, they were practically dating for real.

“Except, not really, Éponine. Don’t forget,” she muttered.

But sometimes, Enjolras made it hard to remember how this was all pretend. Once in awhile, he would say or do something really sweet, like casually draping his coat over her shoulders just because she felt a little chilly or walking her back to her apartment after a shift. Or he’d gaze at her with such an intensity that it took her breath away. Sometimes, Éponine could swear he really did like her. Maybe.

This whole situation was becoming even more confusing than trigonometric identities.

“So, you've moved on to the next one, huh?” a bitter voice derailed her train of thought.

“‘Parnasse.”

The dark-haired man nodded and ordered his usual, a rum and coke. “Heard you have a new boy, Enjolras, was it? Didn’t think you liked blonds.”

She turned her back on him as she fixed his drink. “What’s it to you?”

Montparnasse snorted inelegantly. “Come on, ‘Ponine. You used to make fun of him and his friends. Called them idealistic idiots, remember? And now you’re all over their leader? Why, is it because he’s fucking rich, is that it? You’re not so different from your old man.”

Éponine ignored the jab at her. “He might be an idealistic idiot but at least he actually tries to affect change. At least they’re all doing some good.”

“Wow, look at you defending his honor! You really like that Enjolras, huh? Wonder how you’d still like him if I cut Blondie’s pretty face.”

She glared and practically growled, “You even breathe wrong in his direction, I swear, ‘Parnasse, I’ll make you regret it.”

He stated, before laughing out loud. “Oh, you sweet little girl. I can’t believe I’ve seen the day.”

“What?” she demanded.

“You’re in love! Ha, you’re actually in love with this guy! That’s so funny.”

Montparnasse downed his drink and left a twenty to a stunned Éponine.

5. Enjolras

If the story of Enjolras and Éponine being a couple had spread like wildfire on campus, the rumor that they had broken up could be described as a flash flood. Devastating and utterly unexpected.

Hell, even Enjolras was caught unawares.

He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly happened but Éponine started to avoid him. Oh, she was still quick to laugh and talk to him when their friends are around, but the moment they were gone, she would make excuses and leave him as soon as humanly possible. She’d claim school work, or her job at the Corinthe for her suddenly very busy schedule.

Gone too were the emoji-filled text messages from her. It used to annoy him, the way she’d use emojis as punctuation. But now that all he got were late, sporadic and terse responses, he missed them.

He missed her.

Confused and upset, he showed up at Combeferre’s apartment.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?”

“I think my fake girlfriend is ghosting me and I have no idea why.”

His best friend blinked slowly, before opening his door wide open. “I understood all those words individually, but you made no sense. At all.”

He lied down on Combeferre’s couch, clutching a throw pillow, and rambled for an hour. How Éponine had rescued him from a classmate’s flirtation and how that had somehow snowballed into a rumor that they were actually dating. How they both had taken advantage of the rumor to get out of social engagements, and how that joke turned their friendship deeper. Until two weeks ago.

“I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding to be alone with me like she can’t stand to be near me. I don’t understand at all! Did I do anything wrong? I cannot figure it out,” Enjolras said.

Combeferre rubbed his temple, and replied,“Seems to me that you two need to talk.”

“How does one talk to somebody who’s running away from you the moment she sees you though?”

“You got me there. I do have one question though.”

“What is it?”

“Is she really your fake girlfriend though? Because you two looked like the real thing to me.”

Enjolras distracted himself from the Éponine Situation. There was too much to do, after all than to pine for someone who hated him. Or something. Did she really hate him? Was he just overreacting because of his apparent feelings? He still didn’t know what to think about Éponine’s strange disappearing act.

In any case, there was the refugee fundraising to do. All the Amis were participating: Bahorel had his bake sale, Feuilly and Grantaire had a temporary tattoo and face paint booth, Joly and Bossuet manned a juice bar, and Jehan had his palm reading sessions. And the Amis’ triumvirate of leaders?

A stupid kissing booth.

It was, of course, Courfeyrac’s idea, but all three of them were to take 2-hour shifts at the booth. As head of the club (and mostly to get it over with), Enjolras went first. He was at the one hour mark of his shift and already the line of giggling girls and boys were snaking around the quad.

He sighed and thought about the 100 plus dollars he had already made kissing random strangers on the cheek. Even the other Amis joined in and fell in line to get a kiss from their Chief for a laugh. At least this endeavor was going to raise them a tidy sum.

“A dollar for a kiss?” A raspy voice interrupted his thoughts.

He blinked. Éponine Thenardier appeared before him like a vision in a black tee and ripped jeans. He cleared his throat. “Yes, it’s for a good cause.”

“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” she observed.

“But of course, I’m exactly the type who would enjoy this,” he deadpanned.

“Close your eyes and think of the refugees, I guess,” she quipped.

"Glad you’re laughing it all up at my expense.”

“It’s been fun,” she shrugged before plopping a crumpled fiver on the booth table and grabbing Enjolras by the hair.

He gasped and closed his eyes, all senses tingling at the pressure of Éponine’s mouth on his. She started to pull back but he chased her lips with a kiss of his own and held her close. He dimly heard a thrilled “aww!” and a chorus of disappointed noises in the background, but he couldn’t care less. The world has shrunk into this moment, into this kiss.

If not for the need for air, Enjolras thought he could stay there kissing Éponine forever. Alas, reality intruded and left them both breathing quite heavily.

“Um, hello,” he shyly greeted, cheeks pink and a smile blossoming on his lips.

“Damn, where did you learn to kiss like that?” the girl on his arms blurted out.

“I– That’s the first time I really kissed anyone?”

Éponine shot him an incredulous look, then flipped the On-Duty sign behind him.

“Sorry, guys, my boyfriend and I have to discuss something,” she announced to the line of gawking students, before motioning for Enjolras to follow her.

(+1. Éponine)

Éponine’s words rang inside her head as she and Enjolras walked away from the quadrangle to the Amis’ club room. Her boyfriend, she had called him. Not quite true, was It?

Except, it wasn’t exactly a lie either.

“Are you okay? You got me worried for the past few days,” he said the moment they reached the empty club room.

“Yes- Well, no. Not exactly,” she hesitated. See, I think I’m in love with you, she did not say.

“Anything I can do to help?”

This was the problem with falling in love with this man, wasn’t it? Here she was, ignoring and probably confusing the hell out of him, and still, he wanted to help her. “You’re entirely too good to be true,” she whispered.

“I’m not,” he protested. “If I was, you wouldn’t have spent two weeks avoiding me whenever possible. Which, by the way, did I do anything wrong?” he asked, earnest concern written plainly on his handsome face.

She looked down at her hands and shook her head. “No, no. It’s all me. I’m sorry I made you think you did something wrong. I had something I needed to figure out. You, you were perfect. Too perfect, even.”

“Oh.” He was silent for a while, obviously repeating her words in his head and trying to parse her meaning. “What do you mean, ‘too perfect?’” He sighed, “I swear if you’re gonna compare me to some Greek god–”

“No, no!” she interrupted. Éponine knew how much he hated those allusions about being cut from marble or being called ‘Apollo’ by Grantaire. “It’s just that you played your part so perfectly, I had to get away before I thought this was all real.”

Enjolras looked stunned at her admission. Oh, she knew this was a bad idea. That kiss, though. It made her hope. It made her think she wasn’t the only one in this, but, oh, she was reading into the situation again, wasn’t she?

“Shit, um, forget I said anything. I don’t want to lose our friendship, okay? We can, I dunno, stage a breakup and we’ll tell people we decided to just be friends. And we’ll never ever talk about this, okay?”

Enjolras blinked, and she sighed, heart breaking neatly in half. Great, she broke his brain.

“Okay, I’ll go now. Tomorrow, we can pretend this never happened, okay? Okay,” Éponine said. She turned around, willing her shoulders not to shake as she tried and failed to contain her tears. Damn, her rep’s all ruined now if someone saw her cry.

“W-wait,” he stammered, catching her arm and neatly spinning her into his embrace. “Please, don’t go again. You drove me crazy the last time you ran away.”

It was Éponine’s turn to be stunned silent by Enjolras’ admission. She hid her face, sobbing into her hands, while he spoke, running his hand over her tumbled hair.

“In all honesty, I don’t even know when it stopped feeling like we were just pretending. And then you started to pull away, and I didn’t know what I did wrong. I thought, did I go too far? Did this pretend relationship had gone too far?And I thought, why didn’t you tell me? And I felt so guilty that I’ve driven one of my best friends away. And then you just appeared and you kissed me and, God, Éponine, I don’t want to be just friends. And I’m so sick of playing pretend.” All his jumbled thoughts came tumbling down from his lips, and he could only hope she would understand what he was trying to say. He gently pulled her hands away from her face and dabbed her tears away with his handkerchief. “Please don’t cry, Éponine. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, please stop crying.”

The declaration just made her cry louder as she embraced him. After a few minutes, her tears stopped and she hiccuped into his shoulder. “We’re a couple of morons, aren’t we?”

“But a couple, right?” he asked, half in hope, and half-jokingly as he continued to stroke her hair.

“Yeah, okay,” she agreed.

They remained embracing for a long time.

#enjonine #you are my revolution #enjolras x eponine #hiyas tries to write #textsfromumbridge #eponine x enjolras #mine

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