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munson-blurbs · 3 months

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie's rejection made you question your own hopes and dreams, but the consequences were even more dire for him. (3.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, homelessness, depiction of alcoholism, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter three: turn the lights back on

Eddie left during Dad’s shift on Friday. Over the years, there were more than a handful of guests who’d put up a fight when check out day arrived, but he wasn’t one of them.

When you’d inquired about his departure, as nonchalantly as you could, Dad only said that Eddie had signed the log and walked off without any formal goodbye.

“What time?”

“Six-thirty, or thereabouts. No later than seven.”

Almost as if he’d waited for you to clock out. Purposely avoiding you.

You shrugged off the thought, chastising yourself for taking a harmless coincidence so personally. Maybe he had to be somewhere early or wanted to beat the rush hour traffic. Maybe he didn’t even take your presence—or lack thereof—into consideration.

He did, however, swipe the blanket from his bed, leaving behind just the pillow and a rumpled sheet. Disappointment wove its way through your veins at its finality. He was simply another guest, another face stored in the depths of your memory with some many other one-timers.

Making a mental note to replace the blanket before the summer crowd arrived, you stripped the remaining sheet and pillowcase and made the bed with clean ones. The fabric was so worn that it was nearly transparent, barely concealing the litany of stains that decorated the old mattress.

Eddie didn’t appear to have added any to the collection. That was something, you supposed.

Your Friday and Saturday evenings were always spent the same way: watching groups of friends traipse up and down the boulevard, laughing at jokes that were only funny because everyone was on the right side of tipsy. Rain or shine, teenagers could always be counted on to frequent the local bars and liquor stores that didn't bother to check for identification.

Sundays brought the usual sense of existential dread; the week ahead was daunting and the week prior was a blur of exhaustion. A new guest checked in, an older woman who’d missed her flight out of LaGuardia and needed a place to stay until the next plane took off in the morning. You almost put her in room four, the key temptingly dangling from its hook, but you plucked the one for room three instead.

And then Monday arrived, baring its ugly teeth in a menacing grimace. It exhaled a rancid puff of morning breath, the same smell that belched from the bus’s tailpipe.

Backpack sagging low with the weight of overpriced textbooks, you dragged yourself towards the bus stop. Your only reprieve is that today marked the last week of classes. All that remained after that was finals week, and then you were done.

The typical small collection of commuters greeted you in traditional New York City fashion: tired half-smiles with a respectful lack of eye contact that you reflexively reciprocated. One of the older men sat on the bench, but the normally empty spot next to him was occupied by none other than Eddie Munson. He kept his guitar case safely clenched between his thighs, his garbage bag suitcase leaning against his left leg.

Curiosity nudged you and wormed its way into your thoughts. Where was he going? Was he staying at a different motel, one that had cable so he could watch MTV whenever he needed?

Or maybe he was en route to Port Authority so he could high-tail it back to not-New York, to his hometown where people considered it polite to strike up conversations with strangers.

Wherever his destination was, it was no longer your problem.

If he noticed you, he gave no indication. His vacant stare never left the ground, vaguely looking up one time to light a cigarette. He cupped a hand around the flame, blocking his view of you.

It was probably better that way.

The bus hissed as it pulled up to the stop and the doors hinged open to let passengers board. Would he sit next to you? Would he position himself as far away as possible? Or was he wholly indifferent, regarding the exchange as out of sight and out of mind?

Taking a seat towards the back, you searched for him in the sea of faces. You could apologize, explain you were only trying to help and never meant to embarrass him, and the two of you could part ways knowing that you didn’t look down on him.

But there was no sign of the frizzy curls that he wore like a crown, no guitar case inching into the aisle. For all intents and purposes, this bus was an Eddie Munson-free zone.

A disappointed ache settled in your chest and you massaged your sternum in hopes of alleviating it. When the driver turned the wheel away from the curb, you caught a glimpse of Eddie through the fingerprint-smudged window, sitting on the bench just as he had since you’d arrived.

Except this time, he was looking directly at you. It was intentional; he’d seen you waiting at the stop and waited until conversation was an impossibility before daring to glance your way.

He averted his gaze the moment your eyes locked onto his. It was so fast that you worried that you’d imagined it. A sleep-deprived hallucination, even.

You didn’t stop looking even as the bus left the stop. You watched him toss his cigarette butt to the ground and crush it with the sole of his sneaker. You watched him take another one and place it between his lips. You watched trembling fingers dig into his jacket pocket and take out the lighter once again.

He was out of sight before you could see a spark.

Excitement hummed through campus, a live wire that electrified even you. It was hard to ignore the end-of-semester buzz, especially with the sun warming the air in a soft spotlight.

Other students sat on the quad, blankets tucked underneath them as they ate lunch with friends. Their mouths moved in conversations about exam cramming and upcoming parties and post-graduation plans. You wanted to bottle their lightheartedness and carry it around with you, dipping into it when life got too serious and dabbing it on your pulse points like perfume.

Fluorescent bulbs replaced the natural light as you walked the hall towards the classroom. You slid into your usual spot and placed your bag on the adjacent chair to reserve it for Nora. Until she arrived, you’d be left alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.

Great.

The memory of the other night, of Eddie’s sullen expression and the way his lips hardened into a frown, was a stone in your stomach.

How could he think that you pitied him, looked down on him for his circumstances? Wasn’t it obvious from the motel’s disrepair that you weren’t exactly living in the lap of luxury either? And yet, he’d perceived your attempt at an alliance as some sort of enemy threat. You wanted to shake his shoulders and yell, “we’re on the same team!” but it would probably just bounce off of his MTV-obsessed brain without him ever processing it.

Eddie’s reaction wasn’t the only part of the confrontation that bothered you. No, what really drove you to the brink of insanity was that the confrontation bothered you at all.

How many guests were snippy or even downright mean to you over the years? How many had raised their voice over the most trivial matter? You had lost count of the number of times someone had spat the word ‘bitch’ in your direction because of low water pressure or a lightbulb that needed replacing.

And yet, this is the instance that grated at you, had you wondering if he’d looked away from you this afternoon out of disdain, guilt, embarrassment, or some combination of the three.

It shouldn’t have even mattered. So what if he hated you? He was out of the motel, which meant that his problems were no longer your concern.

The click of the door being wrenched open forced you out of your thoughts and back to reality.

“Last week of classes!” Nora trilled with a wide grin. She practically skipped to your side, slinging her backpack over the wooden chair back. “Then we have finals,” she contorted her face in disgust before resuming her excited disposition, “and then we graduate!”

She plopped down in her seat, adjusting her body to face you. “That reminds me; we should probably figure out where we’re going to meet before the ceremony, because I am not sitting through that alo—what?” She frowned when you flinched, the realization setting in. “Nonono, don’t tell me you’re not going.”

“Sorry,” you offered half-heartedly. The pen markings on your desk suddenly became incredibly interesting, and you rubbed your forefinger over them in a feeble attempt to end the conversation.

As usual, Nora refused to accept defeat. “Still haven’t told your parents?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, you’ve got two weeks.” She clapped you on the back a bit too harshly, her lips pinched with an edge of impatience. “Time to put on those big-girl panties.”

She meant well–she always did, doing everything in her power to encourage you to pursue the career you wanted. But she just didn’t understand the mounting pressure to be what your family needed, or how you were constantly towing the line between selfishness and dignity. One step in the wrong direction and you would either crush your parents’ dreams or your own. And while there had to be some gray area there, it was overshadowed by the polarizing categories.

“I’ll try.”

You won’t.

You spent the class forcing yourself to listen to the professor, jotting down notes every so often when you could remember to do so.

Paying attention to lectures, final papers and exams, the graduation ceremony–it all seemed asinine when you considered your failure to help people on the most basic level. Like with Eddie: as hard as you tried to emphasize the mutual benefits of him working at the motel, you’d still inadvertently offended him.

When were you going to learn to stop extending help to people who weren’t asking for any? In these situations, you tossed logic aside to make room for emotion. It had been that way since you first began to understand that answers to life’s problems were seldom clear-cut.

There was one day in particular, where rain fell in sheets and your only option was to play indoors. You were jumping rope in the lobby, excitedly counting along with each skip.

“Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty—”

The rope smacked against your ankles, but you were too distracted to feel the sting. Your eyes were glued to a man who was stumbling towards the front desk. He wobbled in his whiskey-drenched cloud, mumbling something incoherent under his breath before collapsing to the ground in sudden hysterical sobs.

“Everything okay, sir?” Dad asked. His inconspicuous hand motioned you towards your room, but you froze in place. It wasn’t fear so much as shock that a grown-up was having a temper tantrum.

The man didn’t answer; instead, he took a swig from the brown paper bag clutched in his hand. Amber liquid trickled out from between his lips as he cried, and he slowly pushed himself up and out the front door without acknowledging anyone else’s presence. Raindrops pelted down on his head and matted whatever hair was left on his head

“Why was he crying?” You’d asked Dad, the jump rope now all but forgotten. “And what was in the bag?”

Dad gave you a small smile and did his best to explain the adult situation to a child. Even now, you remembered him talking about how drinking alcohol can make people feel happy, sad, or angry. He omitted the fact that all three emotions could occur in the same person, in the same moment, but your eight-year-old mind wouldn’t have comprehended that anyway.

Ever inquisitive, you continued asking questions. “But if it makes him sad, why doesn’t he just stop?”

“It’s not that easy,” Dad said with a tight grimace.

You’d considered his response for a moment, eyes lighting up when you conjured up a brilliant idea. “What if we go in his room and throw out all of his alcohol!” You tugged on Dad’s hand, expecting him to reciprocate your enthusiasm, but he’d stayed where he was and shook his head.

“Afraid it doesn’t work that way, kiddo. He’s gotta want to stop drinking first.”

It hadn’t made sense to you then, and though you’d learned about the nuances of addiction as the years crept by, it didn’t do much to quell your frustration. Any solution being beyond your control was a piranha ripping into your ambitions with its razor-sharp teeth.

The Eddie situation gave you that same helpless feeling. If you could turn back the clock, you would have done something different. You weren’t sure exactly what would be different, but it would almost certainly be better than your spur-of-the-moment offer last Wednesday.

But since time travel was out of the question and Eddie was no longer one of your guests, both he and his problems were out of your hands.

If only your heart could accept that.

A reel of your shortcomings played in your mind on a continuous loop; it still gnawed at you as class was dismissed, the professor calling out a reminder about final paper submission while you and Nora walked out the door.

“Are you okay?” She frowned and put out a gentle hand to bring you to a stop.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

She wasn’t falling for that lame excuse, not when something heavier than sleep marred your face. “Seriously. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Do you ever feel like you’ll never actually help anyone?”

The words came out in a rush before you could curtail them. Wincing, you allowed yourself a peek at your friend’s expression. Confusion knitted her brows together, but her arms stayed at her sides.

“What do you mean?” Her words were soft and careful, distinctly absent of judgment or condescension.

A monologue of response was lodged in your throat. It was a thought you held inside, silently rehearsed but never dared to speak aloud:

Are we really going to make a difference? Or enough of a difference that it even matters? Like when you see a homeless person and you give them some money, or buy them something to eat. And you feel good for a split second, because now that person isn’t going to be hungry for a little while, right? But then you pass by another homeless person. And another. And you realize that, to them, it doesn’t matter that you helped someone else. Because those other people are still hungry.

You said none of it, swallowing the words and replacing them with a, “never mind, I’m too in my own head today.”

Nora nodded, not wanting to push too hard, but you knew she was teeming with questions. She offered a small smile that told you the conversation wasn’t over, just paused temporarily.

A nod of your own sealed the compromise.

The rest of the afternoon played out without a hiccup. Lunch was your usual greasy sandwich from Niko with a side of his irritated banter, this time about the price of gas.

“You girls think it won’t affect you because you take the bus,” he warned, finger wagging between you and Nora, “but just watch them hike up the fare. It’s only a matter of time. Especially with those new card things you gotta use.”

His fears were unfounded, at least for the moment, and you and Nora each dropped $1.25 into the coin slot.

“About what you said earlier,” she started, finding space to wrap her hands on the pole, “we don’t have to talk about it—”

“Please.”

“–but I need to tell you one thing.” Her eyes held firmly onto yours. “If anyone’s gonna make a difference in this shitty world, it’s you.”

The compliment should have illuminated you from the inside out; instead, it was a firefly’s light, barely bright enough to cast a shadow with its pathetic flickering. You ached to believe her, but it was impossible to imagine that the same person who wouldn’t tell her parents a simple truth could also change the world.

“Thanks.” One word compounded with a forced smile, and the truce snapped back in place. Weighing potential conversation topics, you settled on the most neutral–the final paper for your class–and launched yourself into it with as much enthusiasm as you could summon for the remainder of the ride home.

There was no overt sign of Eddie when your bus pulled up to the stop. Not at first. The only indication of him was a familiar mint-colored blanket tightly wrapped around a lump laying across the bench.

It wasn’t until you stepped off of the bus and got closer that you could make out the curly brunette tendrils peeking out from the top, the blanket rising and falling with each breath he took. His face was hidden and his eyelids were screwed shut in fitful sleep, allowing you to hold onto the false hope that it wasn’t him, just someone with a similar build and hair texture. Even the frayed hems of his jeans and his scuffed sneakers sticking out from the other end of the blanket could have been a coincidence.

But there was no denying the truth once you caught a glimpse of the guitar case being hugged to his chest.

Just keep walking. Stop trying to fix things that you didn’t break. Things that didn’t ask to be fixed.

Your conscience trumped logic once again as two fingertips gently pressed against his blanket-wrapped shoulder.

“Eddie?”

His eyes flew open in an instant, revealing the delicate red lines that scarred the whites and meandered towards his brown irises. He clenched the guitar case even tighter as he jolted upright, protecting it like it was his child, and the sudden movement sent a handful of empty beef jerky wrappers floating to the ground.

Sunlight streamed through the glass panes, fragmented where it had been shattered by a rogue baseball or perhaps the crown of someone’s head, though you would have heard about it if it was the latter. It backlit him in an angelic glow, a halo comically contradicting his bitter expression.

“Fuckin’ shit–don’t scare me like that!”

The gentle, rhythmic inhales and exhales were long gone, replaced by a frantic fight-or-flight panting that flared out his nostrils. His hardened jawline softened a bit once he’d fully clawed himself out of his sleepy haze and realized that the person in front of him wasn’t a threat, just a nuisance.

“I told you; I don’t need your charity.” His lips set into a scowl and he laid back down on the bench, tugging the blanket back up to his chin.

That’s it. Conversation over. Go home.

“You certainly need my blanket, though.” Raising one eyebrow, you thumbed at the thin material to make your point.

Eddie only doubled down, sitting up once more to ball up the blanket and toss it in your direction. “Here ya go. It’s all yours.”

You caught it with one hand, the loose threads tickling your forearm.

“That’s not what I meant.” A hiss of air passed through your teeth. This was the perfect opportunity to leave him behind, to go somewhere you were needed and wanted. He had been making it abundantly clear that he’d rather live outside than spend another second with you.

And yet.

“I’m not just gonna let you sleep out here.” Tone thick with insistence, you mustered up all of your determination. The blanket was now tucked beneath your underarm and sopping up the pooling perspiration. “And it’s only a matter of time before you get mugged. With that thing,” you gesture to the instrument still in his grasp, “I’m surprised it hasn’t already happened. So you can either stay at the motel and re-wallpaper the lobby or you can kiss your precious guitar goodbye.”

Fire burned behind your eyes as you spoke, each word adding kindling. You couldn’t tell if you were doing this for his safety or your own pride, but both led to the same outcome.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just scraped his top teeth over the dead skin on his lower lip, drawing a speck of blood that went unnoticed. You stayed silent, too, the weight of his impending decision anchoring your tongue.

Finally he nodded, slowly at first, then faster as desperation seeped in, but he remained steadfast in his refusal to meet your eyes.

“Fine.” Eddie’s breath was shaky, teetering on the brink of tears, but none fell. “Just until I find a paying gig.”

He grabbed the neck of his guitar with one hand and pressed on his knee with the other. Fixing his posture, he stood tall in hopes that no one walking by would equate him with the pitiful mess who had been sleeping at a bus stop in a stolen blanket.

“Okay,” you agreed with a quiet breath, a cautious smile playing on your lips as the two of you walked back to the motel. You stayed two steps in front of him, leading the way.

He could turn heel and run. He could back out at any moment and you’d never see him again. But when you unlocked the door to room four–Eddie’s room–he was still behind you.

“I can take the blanket back,” he said, motioning to the bundle under your arm as he stepped over the threshold and into the room.

Like a phantom appendage, you’d forgotten it was there. “No. I’ll get you a fresh one.” You shook your head, finalizing the matter.

“Okay.”

No hesitation. No argument.

Maybe there was a chance you could actually help him. Maybe you didn’t ruin everything you touched.

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verdemoun · 2 months

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modern au but the gang waking up in modern day in the order they died with memories of their lives as outlaws:

bessie motherfucking matthews being the one that rounds them up. she's a professor at a university teaching women's history and owns a little cottage on the outskirts of town, and uses newspaper articles to try and plot out who/where someone will 'wake up'

sean was the first VDL she successfully found. davey and mac somehow found each other and got themselves incarcerated for armed robbery before she got them.

sean adapts almost instantly and loves the chaos of modern day cities: car horns, fluorescent lights, night clubs, television (fuck you lenny reading is for nerds!!). he steals a bike he calls ennis II and gets a job delivering pizzas

she finds hosea and lenny next. it's a very emotional reunion. she starts calling lenny her son. hosea spends at least a week refusing to let his wife out of his sight because he has to be dreaming, kisses and adores her at every opportunity. their dates are her teaching him to drive a car

lenny takes less than a day to figure out computers and takes over the locate the VDLs project. he has what is effectively a murder wall of colored yarn and push pins trying to figure out when and where the next person will appear. manages to cyber-stalk down jenny, who being as breathtakingly clever as she is figured out the present all by herself and works in a diner. she comes over for dinner twice a week

retracing the gang's steps they find kieran, who is doing fabulously not well. he's been homeless for a month, got hit by a car and is very, very distraught by not only the memories of his torture after being taken by o'driscolls but the fact he betrayed the gang by talking. bessie matthews, mother to all, introduces him to noise cancelling headphones, gardening, and horse girl movies.

lenny: hey i've been doing some research and i think most of us have this thing called ptsd????

when hosea and bessie want to have a nice, quiet romantic dinner by themselves they put sensory videos on the tv and all the boys just sit there silently

#rdr2 modern au #bessie matthews #hosea matthews #sean macguire #lenny summers #kieran duffy #rdr2 timewarp au

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berryhobii · 4 months

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HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! 🖤🖤🖤In honor of this wonderful month and the history of our people, I want to provide information on pieces of black history that is often overlooked due to the whitewashing of education.

First up, the race riots and black massacres that occurred. Many people do not know but before, during, and after segregation and Jim Crow laws, black people had built wealthy black communities and were striving despite racial discrimination.

A black community in Tulsa, Oklahoma was known as Black Wall Street. Black owned businesses thrived and we were reaching the same levels as our white counterparts. The masacre started on Memorial Day weekend when a young black man by the name of Dick Rowland was accused of assaulting a young white woman. After this hearsay reached the white community, they gathered their arms, Rowland was arrested and set to be lynched with no trial. Due to a white man being lynched the year before, white people took this as an opportunity to get revenge. After a report that hundreds of white men had gathered to hurt Rowland in prison, a group of 75 black men also gathered to protect him. However, a white officer convinced them to leave. It was later found that Rowland was beaten by this officer already but didn’t want anyone else to find out.

Referring to as a “rolling gunfight”, more instances of white people provoking black people led to a shootout between both communities. When outnumbered, the black people were forced to retreat.

As news of his gun violence spread, mob violence reached its peak. For an entire day and night, white rioters looted stores, burned down buildings, destroyed homes, and unalived many black people. It’s also believed that white rioters started this massacre as a way to knock black wealth down out of jealousy and white supremacy.

A little over 10,000 black people were left homeless and the property damage to the community was set close to $1.5Million and personal property at $750,000(equal to about $36.92 Million today). Due to racial discrimination and redlining, the city and banks refused to compensate black people while simultaneously handing out loans to white businesses that were not affected during the riots. This caused many black families to leave Tulsa in search of a new place to settle. Due to white people’s power over media, the Tulsa Riots remained omitted from national histories. It didn’t even get published into history books until the 1960s.

While Tulsa is the most common masacre we hear about, it’s not the only one. The destruction of black communities have led to the property value in those areas steadily decreasing. Redlining made it so that black people could not rebuild and the majority of money was funneled into white communities. Today, it’s why POC communities are more likely to be dilapidated and poverty stricken while white communities are maintained and clean.

I will provide a list of other race riots and black massacres here.

Educate yourself. Teach the children. Don’t let them gaslight you. Our history is long and harsh and it deserves to be spoken about.

#black history #black history month #black lives matter #history #black people

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insuke69 · 5 months

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What's in a name? P2

Part I

2/3

☆ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

★ Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩ Warnings: cussing, Some more angst, 'crybaby’ reader, misunderstanding, SMUT

★ smut: P in V, unprotected, pull-out-method, oral (F!receiving), pierced pp.

Rating—M

✩ 7,1k words

______

If one word could describe how the next few days of your life was, It’d be bittersweet.

Bittersweet Because of how sweet Spiderpunk was to you. Or rather, how sweet he was to who he thought was Emily.

So sweet while you couldn’t describe how you felt with him, with your own behavior more open and carefree with that dark mask you bare almost every night when you sneak out and ‘accidentally’ run into him. It makes you grin like an idiot when he stands close or when you see him webbing over to you as you chill around the bench.

That bench where you two met, where you always helplessly cried as a little girl now being a place you look forward to going every day. The second the sun sets you tell Roxy you’re going out and you stay out until any hour of the night with not even Roxy knowing about the special punk that makes your heart pound and your body ease with some kind of feeling that makes you want to be close to him physically and emotionally.

Something about how exhilarating and free you felt around him, his arm around you while you held onto him. You two often webbed some nights, to buildings you know inside out since you helped your dad design some, or some simple spray painting in canals, and if you were lucky: You two would end up on some rooftop talking while looking into the night sky with few stars because of light pollution.

One night you’re bent beside your bed with the collection of pictures with you and Spiderpunk, you’re wondering if you should show him who you are: But that's the bitter part.

Spiderpunk loves and is close to the masked street artist he simply knows by her fake name, Emily.

Bitter because he doesn’t care for the actual woman below the mask, yet he enjoys the mask and the personality below. Spiderpunk seems to despise y/n Osborn. He doesn’t make his rebellious habits too known since he didn’t do that for attention and was always his own unfiltered and blunt self. How the hell will you two ever know each other when he wears his mask for anonymity and you wear yours to not end up getting stabbed at every turn.

“I just.. I feel like she's always trying to act as if she’s so much better than her dad, when she doesn’t even leave her house to avoid the people who see her as she is.” you remember Spiderpunk shrugging since the topic had moved to ‘you’.

“Yeah? What a hot take.” You comment sarcastically with a chuckle. You couldn’t defend yourself/who is the true woman behind the mask since he would likely be offended that you would defend the daughter of such a monster.

Your small memory moment cuts short as you hear your door knock in the way you know exactly who is the one behind the door and quickly shove the shoebox full of pictures of Spiderpunk and you with the art you’ve been putting up on most osborn buildings under your bed and sit on the edge of it while the door opens and Roxy walks in.

“Hey, remember to get ready for the event.” She said as she looks away from you and goes straight to your closet. “This is important to your father, he needs his daughter there and he needs you to behave for it.” Roxy continued as she began picking out an outfit for you.

This was a christmas event where your dad made a whole thing just to show off he donated some money to a cause about homeless and unfed people around in Brazil, meanwhile he hates the needy people down in the city less than a ten minute drive away–and actively keeping them ignored.

“What's the.. Uhm..” You begin before pausing to think of the word,

“Schedule? It's from five to twelve.” Roxy chimed.

“What? Dude! I won’t be able to go out w-” You cut yourself off before rewording your words, “I don’t want to go.” you say as you lean back on your hands before adding with a scoff. “It’s a waste of time and we both know I just have to smile for a camera and look pretty like some display model.”

Roxy didn’t know about Spiderpunk, nobody did. You couldn’t let her know about Spiderpunk, it's one thing to sneak out and arrive home late with spray paint stains and smelling like an unfamiliar cologne and musky scent faintly drafting through the air you walk through–mostly because you have to hold onto Spiderpunk as you two swing through the musty camden air.

“Yes, but you also have to understand how important this is to your father, and I’ve been trying my very best to make sure your Mr. Osborn h-”

“My dad, Norman, I couldn’t care less.” you interrupt with a slight grimace, “You don’t have to ‘Mr. Osborn’ him to me.”

Roxy nods and clears her throat, “Norman,” She corrected, “In shorter words, I’ve trying so damn hard to make sure he doesn’t find anything out about whatever the hell you do when you go out, The least you can do is listen to me and miss what you do just this once.”

Her tone is a bit exasperated while still calm as if it were nothing while she rummaged through your closet and took out a sparkly low cut red dress with black edges along with lace over where cleavage would’ve been visible, along with black stilettos. She places the dress and pair of shoes onto your bed beside where you sat and moved over to your vanity for the jewelry to wear with everything, settling on a pearl necklace and a pair of white gold earrings and placing them in the middle of your vanity for you to put them on before makeup.

“I still don’t get why you have to pick out my outfits, still.” You murmur under your breath with snark as you look over what Roxy had set up for you.

“You are still dependent.” She answered bluntly while grabbing tights for you, fishnets to have below the skirt of the dress.

Still dependent.

You go quiet for a moment. So even Roxy thinks you’re a daddy's girl who can’t think for herself. She’s always picked your outfits for you for events, it always pissed you off how she never wanted to teach you about what colors clash or what is too tacky. How are you supposed to know if nobody has taught you anything?

“Your hair will be half up-half down.” Roxy adds as she gestures to what she had set up for you.

At least you had your own abilities to do your own damn hair, how generous. And with that, Roxy had walked out of your room to leave you get changed and ready for the event.

You roll your eyes and start getting changed, you look at yourself in the mirror and take a breath before testing your fake smile while looking at yourself, partially not really recognizing the reflection behind it.

Some dolled up girl wearing things that cost more than most people can wish for, your money that you don’t earn, you can't earn anything. You’re like some little girl who has to rely on the people who refuse to even teach you anything. Your face just feels as if you’re being forced to enjoy and display everything that holds blood and dirt, almost muddily dragged on your skin and collar bone.

You huff and rip your gaze from the mirror and move back to your bed to take out the balaclava and gloves hastily and shove the shoebox back under your bed and hidden away then moving over to your closet and grabbing a black and white purse–shoving in the gloves and mask before spraying on your usual perfume and leaving your room to start being on your way to the event.

_____

In summary:

The event is shit, the event has loud music, loud overwhelming music, the whole time you have to be stood with a smile that barely reaches your eyes and having to awkwardly hug or shake hands with the most random strangers you have to interact with.

There's good food and catering–but you for whatever reason was told to stay by the big decorative tree and some security guards around you since it's the usual thing at events, your father isn’t really loved by all so it's for your safety to have some random big dude hovering your every move and interaction.

“Hey, what time is it?” You ask the taller man who wore dark sunglasses and a serious look on his face that barely glance at you, almost protecting you like you were some safe that has to be observed because of secrets and riches it held.

“It’s..” He changed his statue-like position and checked his watch, “Seven o’four.” He answered while moving back to his earlier position and staring dead ahead as if you were medusa, he was still and cold as stone anyway.

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest at the time. Five more hours of standing beside some man who doesn’t care to at all speak or interact with ‘the goods’ or the product he's protecting? No. You glance around and see some double doors that are labeled with two signs which indicate a woman's bathroom and the dude bathroom with a smaller sign with some writing that you can’t read all that well.

You take a step to walk in that direction before feeling a hand on your shoulder like a chain around your ankle holding you back.

Oh right, the statue-bodyguard

“Where do you th-” The guy began before you shake his hand off of your shoulder and keep walking in that direction.

“Bathroom! Little lady Osborn has to go to the ladies room.” You say sarcastically while walking over to the doors you saw, the bodyguard letting you go after saying something about not wasting time and five minutes–you tuned him out because you already felt so free without him hovering.

You walk towards the doors and read small instructions that pretty much tell you/the one reading that where the bathrooms are.

Turn left to the second hall and third door to the right, follow the hall where the restroom signs are.

-Oscorp

You push the door and walk through to see some big hall where there are other rooms, an untouched area of the venue that seemed to be rooms to take care of kids, like some daycare or classrooms. The hall has a barely yellowish tint and has a hall that goes to the bathrooms. You explore a bit more to find an exit with a bright green sign to indicate exactly what it is.

You grin and clutch your purse as you head to the emergency exit and push it open–the cold air of the night hitting you immediately and you curse at yourself for leaving your sweater to the guard.

You take a deep breath and let the cool air flood your lungs before taking a few steps away from the building to find what part of the city you’re in and start walking more while taking out your balaclava and gloves then putting them on.

You zone out while taking the refreshing walk away from the loud party your dad- well, ‘oscorp’ has thrown, a wasteful event full of music and food to distract people from the ruined lives caused by this large and overrated company.

You then hear a familiar THWAP appear from behind you.

Oh god.

Not now-

Your mask is over your face along with your gloves but that doesn’t hide your expensive jewelry or dress, or heels or anything of the sort that shows you aren’t the lower middle class woman Spiderpunk should think you are.

“Emi’?”

A voice you always want to hear, whether it's asking or telling you something, whether it's called out or whispered in your ear, you love whenever his deep cockney words are directed at you. The nickname he gave you since he often joked about Emily being too much of a hassle to pronounce.

But right now it feels horrifying, heart full of dread at the possibility of him figuring out you aren’t who you’ve been saying you are- hell- your name isn’t even Emily, you just named yourself after your dead mother.

“Emily.” Spiderpunk said more firmly once he recognised that mask, the same mask he sees most nights–and to little of your knowledge..

Really want to see what's below it.

Really wants to see the face of the woman he's growing to love.

You swallow your pride and turn to face him as if you were a kid whose hand was caught in the cookie jar.

The lenses to spiderpunks masks widen a little as if to represent a bit of surprise once he sees the figure below what he usually sees, a worn out hoodie or random tee and some jeans. But now he's seeing a curvaceous colored figure in a dress that's glamorized with jewelry made of pearls and white gold, shining in the streetlight and faded moonlight.

You expect his expression shift of disgust or something at how you’re dressed, rich girl, looking like a classy brat whether there's a mask and gloves to seal something that's already leaking through your image. You’re ready to blink away tears at the feeling of your sinking heart, hands tensing and feeling like you’re holding the world's problems along with your own chained to your palms.

But to your surprise, he starts to shrug off his iconic leather jacket, before you can get a word in he passes it to you and puts it over your shoulders. “Its cold as hell tonigh’, what the hell are you wearing out here.” He says playfully with a chuckle as he looked over at you so the rhetorical question sinks in.

How the hell are you supposed to answer that?

“Uhhhhhhh..” You try to register the warm jacket now over you that had that lingering punk scent that a part of you wanted to steal genuine sniffs but you knew you couldn’t really other than subtle inhales, that scent so comforting for no reason beside the one who radiates it.

“I was at an.. ‘Important’ event but snuck out like usual.” You summarize as you adjust the jacket so you can put on the sleeves and snuggle into its warmth and scent.

His warmth and scent.

“So d’you wan’ to do the usual bullshi’ on rooftops or do you wan’ to jus’ want to fuck around Osborns buildings some more?” He asks with a grin in his voice as he lazily puts his long lanky arm around your waist like he did every night ‘platonically’, ready to tighten his hold the second you say yes for you two to swing wherever.

You smile and nod “Yeah no, I’m fine with whatever as long as it’s with you.” to which he happily shoots a web and you both begin swinging through the well lit streets of Camden, at least the part of town you both were in. The cold air soon felt a bit heavier, indicating the part of town less taken care of and more polluted. You two glide over several streets but Spiderpunk lowers and slows down around an alleyway, a familiar alleyway..

The Alleyway that started it all.

You could see the same gas station a bit down the street, bright and open. The same station where you had bought food for..

“Squaishy!” Spiderpunk greeted that same person as he let go of your waist and left you to come closer on your own accord instead of dragging you into the space, not knowing at all what has happened here for you. Little did Spiderpunk know that ‘Squaishy’ was the one who caused your tears that night. Squaishy seemed to be doing better but still with the worn out jacket but they were happy and glad to see Spiderpunk as they greeted each other with a handshake and small hug, A smile in Spiderpunk’s lenses. But Squaishy’s eyes darken as he looks over at you and recognizes your mask.

But Spiderpunk follows his gaze, not realizing the tension. “Squiashy! This is my friend, Emily.” he introduced as he put his hands on your shoulders and almost pushing you into the conversation.

A knowing amused smirk falls onto Squaishy’s lips as they raise their eyebrows, “Emily?” He echoed.

Fuck.

“I have to go.” You say abruptly before Squaishy can have a quip or comment about your name..

Or mentions that it isn’t your actual name.

Words couldn’t explain how Spider-punk looked as his head whipped to look in your direction as if you said something so appalling that it insulted his whole bloodline, “Wha’?” He asked as the lenses of his mask widened, looking almost like round ovals–but the important thing is that you suddenly feel his eyes burning into yours, as if he was shifting his attention onto you to not leave so soon. Squiashy’s smug expression shifts slightly when he notices how Spiderpunk when from seeming happy and in a good mood, to worried and uncertain.

“I was out on a walk.. You know, from where I escaped-slash-snuck out from, and I don’t want them noticing I’m gone or anything since I’m an ‘important factor’.” you say awkwardly, trying your best to say everything but nothing at the same time.

Hobie isn’t stupid though, he can always tell when there’s more to the story, especially now since your excuses are getting more vague and sloppy.

“I can take you back?” He offers, either wanting to spend more time with you or curious as to what you do or who you actually are. These half truths are starting to make Hobie more curious of the woman behind the balaclava every night. At his offer, trying to know more about you, not knowing that you aren’t the Emily you’re displaying yourself to be.

Emily is bold, playful, sarcastic, sweet, thoughtful and fun. She's the woman spiderpunk wants to hold close at night and would do anything to see her eyes below the mask smile.

But he didn't know the person who you have to keep hidden from him like how you keep ‘Emily’ from your father.

Y/n is quiet, keeps to herself, diffident, rich and spoiled. The woman who spiderpunk feels indifferent about beyond disdain and a grimace when he hears her, or the Osborn name in general.

“No, no. or.. Can you take me where you found me?” You request awkwardly with a small smile, hoping he’ll say yes, half knowing he will but won’t stop asking things. He’s as curious as a cat.. An adorable, tall, lanky punk-cat.

He nods and says a quick bye handshake with Squaishy and turns back to you, putting his arm around your waist firmly and holding your body against his then shoots a web, soon launching into the air and swinging, your arms and around his neck. Palpable tension beyond your face in the crook of his neck to shield your face from the cold air hitting you both. Tension now because of what even started this relationship..

His unanswered questions, and your half answers.

Once you arrive where Spiderpunk found you, when he sets you down he keeps a hand on your shoulder as if to keep you from leaving/running off. “So, would you mind telling me at least wha’ even’ you’re talking ‘bout?” He prompted as he looked into your visible eyes through the balaclava. It felt like he was looking into your soul, making your mouth go dry.

“..I mind? I’m- I’m sorry but I really do have to g-”

“Don’ start with that!” He cut you off with a scoff as he moves his hand off of your shoulder, letting you be able to go if you really wanted to, “You always have to end up disappearing, I understand your need to have your identity secre’, but at this point it's like you don’ trust me.”

He isn’t wrong but he isn’t right either. You do trust him, there's so much you know you have freedom of doubt in him but.. It's the one thing you can’t tell him about, the one thing that you can’t control and that you doubt he’d understand. The filthy name that comes after your first.

Osborn.

Tears make a glossy layer on your eyes, You’re stuck. On one hand, if you tell the truth, he won’t ever see you the same. On the other hand, If you still avoid it, you may slip up and he’ll find out the hard way.

“Not- not yet.” You whisper, “I’ll tell everything you want to hear, but I just can’t right now.” you murmur as you took off his jacket he lent you and passed it back to him before taking some steps back, as much as you didn’t want this argument to end on this sour note, you couldn’t risk anything going wrong with your father.

Spiderpunk watched with furrowed eyebrows under his mask as you went away, disappearing as you turned a corner. He cursed at himself under his breath as he put the leather jacket back on, a faint lingering fragrance of your perfume, conflicted thoughts and emotions circling his mind like a toy train. On one hand, he knows your boundaries and wants you to be comfortable and able to cry on his shoulder, on the other hand: He won’t let himself be manipulated and lied to, whether he's infatuated or not.

He shook his head and clasped his hands over his face.

“This is a breach of her privacy. This is a breach of her privacy, this is a breach of her-” He repeats in his mind as he shoots a web and runs up a building to arrive at its rooftop. He takes off his mask and stands by the edge as he looks out at the street you went down, his mind screaming at him and his heart telling him it's a bad idea.

“She won’t like that you followed her. She won’t trust you, you can just wait..” “But wait how long? What is so bad that she has to keep it from me? How long can she play me as the fuckin’ fool..” His mind debating against himself, but still looking out for you.

He spots you and jumps over buildings while running, his eyes on you to see where you’re going. What you’re doing. Why you are in such a hurry. Watching as you approach the venue, going towards the door you went out from. Osborn’s charity event.

It was dark but he saw your figure, the way your hands moved to first take off your gloves and shove them into your bag but something fell without you noticing, then your mask. It’s like Hobie was watching it in slow motion, your hands raising to the end of your mask and starting to raise it.

In a flash of awareness, he turned around completely before he saw your face. This wasn’t how he wanted it to happen, this isn't how he wanted to see the woman hidden behind that fabric, but the need to know was almost hurting his mind, but he remembered you dropped something so he put on his mask then jumped and webbed closer to where you were and strained his eyes looking at the ground to see what you dropped.

A gold bracelet with the names “Anne-Marie, Emily, Y/n.”

Spiderpunk read the names and recognized Emily of course, so it was clearly yours, he thought. But he also recognized the name of the offspring of the man he despised. He webbed back up to the building he was on earlier and took off his mask to inspect the bracelet a bit more.

Hobies gaze softened as he gently held the delicate gold bracelet in his hand, for as small and thin it was, it was heavy. It really was gold. Hobie didn’t know what to think. Who are you?

The Event ended eventually and he just watched everyone leave, blankly staring at Osborn and his daughter-

His daughter wearing the same thing you were. The same purse hung on your arm.

Hobie felt his heart almost drop.. The woman he wanted to keep safe and protect was the daughter of the man he wanted to protect everyone around them from. He clenched the bracelet in his hand so hard that he bent the gold ever so slightly with his mutated strength. He wanted to laugh at how badly you didn’t want him to figure anything out yet, scream into the sky until it shattered because of the betrayal, the anger, the hatred brewing, the hatred for the Osborn’s moving to ‘Emily’, a girl who he thought was someone humble, who he wanted to have by his side, in his arms, and in his bed. It hurt. The avoidant truths. The way that he couldn’t think straight anymore as his mind and hands were tense.

The car drove off from the venue where the Osborn’s were going home. Hobie was going to confront “Emily”, He couldn’t recognize them anymore. As if he was going to confront a stranger he used to know. He followed the car from afar until it parked, he waited by the forest beside your house, he was about to climb a random tree to get a better view without being seen, but his hand was met with some rough fabric, his first reaction was to clench and pull it down.

He sees that in his hand, is her backpack. The one he looked through naively having little to no idea that she wouldn’t have to be a drug dealer when she can easily buy whatever she wants whenever she wants.

A bedroom window lights up and it catches his attention, he thwips a web to the outside wall and quietly walks on the wall and peeks into the window to see you kneeling down beside your bed in front of a shoebox.

“How was the event, Emi’?” Spiderpunk asked sarcastically as he let himself in through the window, you flinched and eyes shot immediately towards him with your usually smiley and once gorgeous to him eyes as wide as glass dinner plates.

“What- what do.. Shit- I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you bu-” You began as you stood and began walking closer before he cut you off with his voice raised and clear distaste as he spoke to you. You’ve never heard genuine venom in his tone, he always spoke happily with the lenses of his mask beaming.. That was gone, all gone from his hateful gaze.

“Tell me what? That you’re part of a corporation thats forcing Millions of people in poverty? That you-”

“That I have nothing to do with!” You snap, years of verbal abuse from people who have always assumed the worst from you, and now it was even worse since he supposedly knew you internally. “Aren’t you someone who fights against stereotypes? Who fights against things that are unfair?”

“Don’ you dare. Thats differen’, you were actively Lying- Hiding the damn truth from me, Hearing me say all these things about Osborn- Your dad- Ugh.” He groaned while clasping his hand over his face, trying not to yell since he knew about your sensitivity towards being yelled at. “I have been nothing but caring towards you and it feels like you’ve stabbed me in the back.” he summarized, slowly taking off his mask to show his seriousness.. And to show that he still seems to trust you.

He felt betrayed, lied to, his trust was broken–yet.. He would tell you his plans, he would tell you which ones of Osborns buildings he was going to vandalize and on what days he planned to do it, but he’s never been caught.

He’s never been caught, you’ve never snitched.

You were there most of the time, you’ve had every chance to get him in trouble and caught, that means something.

Your expression softens, now wasn’t the time but he was handsome.. Stunning. His eyes shut and his eyebrows furrowed while pinching the bridge of his nose, the scowl showed that he genuinely felt conflicted and you had to know the actual reason why. It almost hurts that you are being the cause of his frown instead of the reason of his smile.

You shake off the pained thoughts and continue as you step closer so he could look at you, “Can’t you see why I never told you? Look at how you’re reacting. You know me, or you at least know ‘Emily’, so what makes (y/n) any different?” you ask with a gesture of your hand, “I’m still the same girl who would spray paint with you, who’d come with you to put up art over my father’s buildings, the same girl you laughed with and the girl you held as she cried.” You tell him as your voice trembles with tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, vision already blurred from them pooling in your eyes, looking away before he could see the effect all of this is taking on you.

He's silent for a second, he wants to yell, he wants to talk, he wants to sob, he doesn’t know exactly what to do for a moment so he swallows his pride and interrupts you right before you were about to break the silence yourself.

“Because I loved you!” He spat as if he never wanted to admit it himself, “I loved the girl who’d spray paint with me,” Hobie takes a step closer to you this, “I loved the girl whose art I’d put up on Osborn’s buildings, and I loved..” He trailed off for a moment as he put his hand on your chin to force you to look at him gently, “..The same girl who laughed with me and who I held as she cried.”

Loved.

“Loved”..

“So what? Not anymore? Because of an ‘asshole’ who happens to be my father?” You ask as you pull back from his touch, upset at the fact that Hobie was blaming you for your dad’s actions, “it’s fucking unfair.” You added under your breath as the crybaby in you was coming back stronger for ever, now the frustration from that night and every hateful interaction you’ve had coming back full force.

“I.. don’t know.” He answered honestly with an empty chuckle as if his own internal turmoil was funny as he looked into your watering eyes, knowing full well he was causing them, and that knowledge felt like a drill to his heart.

The water in your eyes thickens as you feel like he’s slipping from your hands, the one person who saw you as a person at one point now seeing you like a monster like everyone else did, always compared to your dad by everyone else, it wasn’t new.. But this just hurt so much more. So much more.

And Hobie’s heart is torn, this wasn’t how he wanted to find anything out, this isn’t how anything was supposed to go, he never wanted to make you cry. He closes his eyes and takes a small breath once your face scrunches up while choking back a sob, remembering how affected you probably are in this moment, recognizing your own heartbreak as he thought of your words.

Unfair.

It was unfair what your father was doing, unfair how many innocent people like Squaishy now sleep in cold tents in abandoned areas just to not be killed due to the cold or by other not as nice vagabonds. Nothing was fair in this moment, no stars were aligned, no god that smiled upon them, no luck in a single charm..

At this point you were on the verge of fully breaking down at this, everything just went downhill in a matter of moments. But the second you let out a choke sob, Hobie knew what to do. You suddenly felt his hand on your jaw and he pulled you into a kiss, a passionate yet soft one. His plump lips and warm piercing against your surprised ones, you fully thought everything was over and here he was: Spiderpunk/Hobie brown, kissing you with his neck craned to accommodate your height and his other hand moving to your waist to hold your body flushed against his.

He was beginning to regret having kissed you at all since you weren’t reciprocating but those thoughts were wiped once he felt your hand move to the side of his neck and an eager response from your mouth. This felt right. Whether you were some masked street artist, The daughter of a sadistic sociopath, or simply (y/n) Osborn, and if Spiderpunk was some masked Vigilante, a punk squatter, or simply Hobie Brown, this was right.

Hobie was clearly more experienced with his kissing skills, considering the fact he probably had more than quadruple the social life you did: He at least probably had much more than double the sex life too. And it doesn’t take long for the repressed emotions, repressed love and the electric tension when you two swung through the city catches up to you two. Hobie’s tongue mixing into the kiss tentatively and his hand that was on your jaw snaking into your hair and keeping you close in an intimate yet not-forced way.

This feeling was intoxicating, finally having him close and his lips slotted in yours, fitting together like some kind of perfect pieces from different puzzles. Hobie advanced ever so slightly which made you take some steps back until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, he then gently pushed you back and climbed on top of you before pulling you into another deep kiss, but more greedy and ever so slightly wanton, and this change of pace made your heart begin to beat a bit more quickly with your lips hardly keeping up with his, his tongue dancing an expert tango and yours swayed a newbie ballet. He probably thought you had some kind of experience but you really didn’t, nobody dared get close to you emotionally and much less physically.

And its like alarms went off the second his hands lowered to your hips and thighs, close to the edge of the dress you had been wearing earlier at the stupid event earlier. You pulled out of the kiss and your hands almost slapped onto his in a haste to stop him, quickly muttering a quiet “Oh shit, sorry.” Under your breath as you rubbed his hands where your hand had landed on.

“You alrigh’?” He asked as his eyes looked into yours, ignoring your apology and focusing on why you had moved your hands to stop him so quickly, not wanting to move past your boundaries–he's not that kind of man, no matter how upset he was at you moments or however badly he wanted you in that moment. He was ready to put you first, you and your comfort first.[a]

“I.. I haven’t really done anything like this before.” You tell him bluntly yet a bit quietly as you averted your gaze in slight embarrassment, he was obviously a pro and an expert and here you were: Hardly able to know what to do with your tongue while making out with someone. This information clicked into Hobie’s mind and he nodded, “You don’ have to do anything you don’ wanna.” Hobie assured you as he gently put a hand to your cheek and made you look at him, his eyes boring into yours with raw concern and care.

“No no- it isn’t that I don’t want to..” Its that you don’t want to disappoint him or underwhelm him, but how the fuck do you tell him that after crying in front of him and literally disappointed him earlier when he learnt who you really were. “..I do want to, but.. I’m no model either.” You say half-jokingly to try to lighten the intense mood.

Hobie nodded again before leaning in and kissing you again, he didn’t really mind as long as you could express your limit, “Alrigh’, but if you need me t’stop, just say the word.” He reassured you while practically looking in your soul through your eyes.

He then leaned in and began kissing your neck, his hand moving to your waist while the other moved to your back and slowly began pulling down the zipper of your dress, the feeling of his touch and his lips on your neck like a kind of blue electricity that went all through you. The dress soon lowered to your waist, exposing your breasts that simply had nipple pads due to the dress having been one of cleavage, Hobie carefully peeled them off and set them aside onto your nightstand and began kissing down your collarbone with one hand already massaging your tit and pinching your nipple, his other hand working to lower the dress more. Over your abdomen, past your hips, down your thighs, and off your legs and body.

He carefully let his hands lower and gently hold the band of your fishnets and panties, but he paused as he awaited a yes or no from you, everything was going to be on your terms.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, breath slightly shaking and his hands were calloused yet soothing on your soft skin, but you wanted more and so you nodded in approval and soon enough–Your panties were gone too, your cunt fluttering once exposed to the cold air and Hobie’s hungry gaze. In a moment of self-consciousness your thighs press together, or at least you try to before Hobie stops you with his hands on your knees and easing them apart, not at all forcefully but just enough to show what he wanted.

“Do ya trus’ me?” He asked softly, the exact same way that spiderpunk did all those nights ago, his hand once that lingered too long on your hip now on your knees, showing yourself and your vulnerability.

“Never stopped trusting you.” You answered with a small approving nod.

And with that, Hobie began to pepper small kisses into the plushy flesh of your thighs and slowly inching closer to where you felt you needed him most. After what felt like hours, he finally reached the lips of your glistening pussy and his warm breath touching your puffy clit. He kissed it once before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit then latching his mouth suddenly to your bud, blissfully making out with your lips expertly like he was with your upper ones earlier.

“Oh.. shit..” You moan breathlessly with your hand knotting into his hair. His hand moves from holding you by the knee to keep your legs spread towards the hole of your pussy, easing in a finger that entered with not too much effort due to his spit and your wet arousal welcoming him. Yet your hips squirming due to the intrusion, making Hobie slow down his finger and focus on your cunt.

He slowly pumps a single finger in your pussy while licking his name letter by letter on your sensitive bundle of nerves.. H-O-B-I-E B-R-O-W-N. You quickly feel yourself get more sensitive and your hips squirm, unsure of how to react to this new sensation, his fingers reaching places you never could and much less stimulation at the same time in your hole as it is in your bundle of nerves.

You quickly come undone and your thighs almost press Hobie’s head between them, but his hand remains on your inner thigh to keep it open, lapping up your juices with his tongue flat on your cunt and his finger pumping in and out a little more before pulling it out of you and licking it clean. Something about this lewd display makes you clench around nothing, maybe it was the fact that he hardly took his eyes off of you once, studying your expression for any hesitance or regret.

He pulled up to show his raging hard-on, straining his jeans and creating a beautiful bulge. You watch as he fumbles with his belt and lowers his pants and boxers, his cock springing free and leaking beads of pre-cum, proudly standing eight inches at least, a silver Alberts piercing. He lazily strokes it a few times and aligns it lower to your sensitive virgin hole.

“Please.. Be gentle?” You request softly as you put your hand on his abdomen as if to make sure he had stopped and listened. He nodded before leaning down and kissing your lips slowly and passionately as he slowly eased himself into you with his hands moving to your hips. You felt a slight sting or burn while he pushed himself inside, yet his lips stayed on yours for you to be able to keep your focus and sounds averted while tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips come to halt once he’s fully inside, giving you time to adjust as he separated his lips from yours and waited for your green light patiently.

At the second nod of your head, he slowly pulled out and went in once again, creating a steady rhythm with his hips with pretty groans and praises falling from his lips.

“Fuck.. pretty cun’ sucking me in- tigh’ as hell.. Shi’.” He mumbled beautifully into the crook of your neck while his hips began rutting more into you, as if desperately chasing for more with his piercing stroking your spongey G-spot and his high.

You feel yourself clench around him as your orgasm washes over you once again, Hobie quickly following suit, Pulling out and stroking himself a bit more before finishing and cumming on your abdomen, his hands quickly moving to the sides of your head to stop himself from falling onto you and instead falling onto the space on the bed beside you. He laid on his side with a protective arm around your waist and held you close.

“Emily fuckin’ Osborn.” He mumbled almost to himself as he looked up at your fucked out expression, a small layer of sweat on your pretty face, normally he had fantasized of whoever you were under the mask being an expert at everything including dick and cunt, meanwhile here he was laying beside the daughter of the man he always swore to destroy.

“...Is now a good time to tell you that Emily is my moms name?”

“..wha’?”

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@eyesxxyou

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I’m really sorry if this is bad/underwhelming/not as good as the last one, I was really rushed and I felt bad for not getting this out sooner :(((

I love y’all so much <3

#across the spiderverse #spiderman #hobie brown #fanfic #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #insuke #whats in a name #part 2 #part 2/3 #im finally done

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allthecanadianpolitics · 5 months

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An untouched bowl of food is the only sign left under the stairs of Kelly Lane’s northwest Calgary apartment complex, and it marks a very desperate situation. On Wednesday, Lane found a woman in her 30s seeking refuge under the stairs of the Huntington Hills complex, with a shopping cart full of her personal belongings nearby. “I left (the food) by there hoping she would wake soon and notice it and grab it,” Lane said. Throughout the day, Lane checked on the stranger sleeping under her stairs. At the last check around sundown, she discovered the woman had stopped breathing.

Tagging @politicsofcanada @abpoli

#cdnpoli #canada #canadian politics #canadian news #homelessness #death #unhoused #poverty #alberta

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4ce-of-2pades · 2 months

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Imagine a Heroes of Olympus AU where, due to the empathy link, Hera can’t snatch Percy and wipe his memories without also messing with Grover’s mind. (That or she’s just worried Grover would use the link to find Percy before the time is right, so she gets him out of the picture too.) Maybe she sends both of them to the Wolf House together, but more likely she doesn’t think Grover is very important and just drops him in the wilderness somewhere.

So Percy’s following Lupa’s instructions and heading to Camp Jupiter, fighting every single monster within a five mile radius along the way, and the whole time he’s got this feeling like he’s getting close to something. He assumes it means he’s getting close to camp, but meanwhile Grover has been traveling towards him, following that same unidentified feeling like a compass, as the only lead he has to go on with no memory. After like a full week(?) of fighting weird monsters that want to kill him, Percy encounters some guy with horns and goat legs and probably attempts to slay him on sight to get things over with. Grover of course yells “I surrender! Don’t kill me!” and they get to talking. Percy is mildly suspicious, but takes Grover’s word that not all animal hybrid creatures are out for his blood. So they set off for Camp Jupiter together.

When they get there, none of the Romans are too happy to welcome another “good for nothing” faun onto their territory, but Juno gave Percy her endorsement, and Percy gave Grover his endorsement, so if the Romans want to follow Juno’s instructions and make sure the son of Neptune sticks around, they’ve got to let the faun tag along. Grover is uncomfortable with being so utterly disliked on first sight by so many people—and he can read emotions, so the message is coming through loud and clear. Before he encounters the fauns of Camp Jupiter, he probably just assumes he’s a random monster on par with the gorgons, and that’s why he’s so hated. Monster or no, though, Percy is already unwaveringly loyal towards his new friend. Grover is the first person he’s met who hasn’t wanted anything from him but his companionship. No harsh training to survive, no fighting to the death. Just traveling and talking and making stupid jokes together to make everything seem less scary. The way they clicked, it was as if they had been friends for far longer than a few days. In fact, Percy can practically feel Grover’s fear and shame at the Romans’ reactions as if they were his own emotions, and it only makes him more defensive of his friend.

Eventually Grover and Percy encounter Don the Faun, prompting Hazel to explain that fauns, collectively, aren’t much more than beggars, thieves, and freeloaders. Of course, she probably phrases it just a smidge more tactfully, given that Grover is, y’know, standing right there. He now understands the dismissive way he’s been treated. A faun welcomed right into camp and given the “New Legionnaire” tour alongside Juno’s chosen hero. What a joke. He almost wishes he really was a monster instead. Evil or no, at least monsters are powerful and impressive, not… useless. He sees what Don is like, what all fauns are like, apparently, and he feels ashamed of himself. Percy tries to cheer him up, tries to remind him that the Lares keep calling him a Greek. An enemy. Nevermind how Neptune and his children are apparently barely respected here. If Percy and Grover are outcasts at Camp Jupiter, then they’ll be outcasts together.

That makes Grover feel a little bit better. But not much.

Grover certainly doesn’t want to seek out the other fauns. Even if it is off-putting that no one cares they’re all basically homeless, Grover still finds those that he’s met to be unfocused and irritating. He feels different from them. Grover sticks close to Percy, because Percy is pretty much the only person in the Legion who acknowledges his existence. Grover is not invited to join the Legion with Percy. Not that he particularly wants to sign up for ten years of army, but at least it would have given him a place to belong. Grover also isn’t invited to join the War Games, but no one stops him from coming either. They don’t seem to think he’d make a difference one way or the other, so if he wants to go charging in to his death, why stop him? Hazel and Frank have interacted with Grover enough, by way of interacting with Percy, to know that he’s at least a little different from other fauns, so they don’t mind having his help. And besides, the Fifth Cohort knows what it’s like to be the underdogs. How much worse could one faun make things?

When the Fifth Cohort takes the War Games by storm, and Hazel, Frank, and Percy prove their abilities, Grover is right there alongside them, using nature magic as a crucial part of their plan. Through this shared victory, Hazel and Frank and the rest of the Fifth gain respect for Grover as an individual, and the rest of the Legion at least has to notice that he’s there.

When it comes time for the quest, of course Percy wants Grover to come with him and Frank and Hazel, even if three is the usual quest limit. (I don’t remember if it is with Romans.) Whether three is the limit or not, though, the Romans aren’t too keen on letting a faun join a quest. Best case scenario, they think, Grover wouldn’t take it seriously, and would run away at the nearest sign of trouble. A waste of a choice for a companion. Fauns aren’t heroes. They’re just nuisances. Percy is clearly angry and about to argue, but Grover stops him, instead speaking calmly for himself, and putting to use his skill for convincing people of things. (You’d think he could charmspeak, honestly.) Grover swallows his pride and recommends himself as more of an assistant than an actual member of the quest. Someone to carry the equipment, set up camp, get groceries now and then, etc. A servant, practically, for the real heroes.

“You know you’re not getting paid for this,” Reyna points out.

Grover has to bite his tongue to keep his temper. “Yes. I know.”

In the end, Grover is allowed to join Percy and the others on the principle that, again, his presence shouldn’t make that much of a difference one way or the other. And besides, if he’s not technically part of the quest or the Legion, they can’t stop him from happening to travel to the exact same places at the exact same time, can they? If the questers don’t have an issue with it, then sure. Let the faun go on a quest.

Grover is laughed out of the Senate House. He tries not to get too upset. He got what he wanted, after all. But at the cost of humiliation.

Percy asks Grover why he would even want to come on a dangerous quest when he doesn’t have to, especially when the Romans made it as hard as they did for him to be allowed. Grover says he wanted to help Percy because they’re friends, and because Percy is the only person who’s ever stuck up for him.

Percy says, “I appreciate that, but we’ve only been friends for the better part of a week. Is this really worth the risk, for someone you barely know?”

“Even if it wasn’t,” Grover replies, “I can’t stay here. I won’t stay somewhere I’m hated. I’d rather be out there with you, doing something useful, than get treated like I’m worthless.

“Besides,” he says, “I’m sick of people telling me what I can’t do.”

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #the son of neptune #pjo grover #grover underwood #pjo au

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l0vegl0wsinthedark · 11 months

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Yours, Always and With Love

Warnings: (implied) MCD, angst

For @longdaytogo 🫡🥲

Dear "Mycroft",

I think I've finally figured out who you are. And I think it is bloody bollocking funny that I ended up with you as my pen pal. Are you really in the States? Merlin, I want to know what they think of you over there.

And you're wrong. There are people who miss you where you used to live.

You fucked up my nose,

I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not that person. You're not always right. You're can't be all good. People like you don't survive for long. I'm nothing like you and even I barely made it. You think you're special but you're just another fool like me. Find a new life like I did. Your government does not deserve your loyalty.

You deserved it for spying on me,

D. Mycroft

Malfoy.

I don't do what I do out of a sense of loyalty. I do it because I want to be of some use. I'm definitely not all good and am most certainly a fool, you're right.

People keep writing about my bravery. They don't know I fake it. They don't know how afraid I am all the time. If I were less afraid, I'd find that new life.

Dear Potter,

I think I might enjoy tales of your masked cowardice. Write some down and send them along with your next letter.

You do what you do because you were brainwashed into thinking that it is your purpose in life. It is decidedly not, I assure you.

Fake it one more time and find that new life. You'll thank me for it. And maybe you'll stop whinging about your crooked nose.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy.

Dear Malfoy,

Is my nose actually crooked because Hermione insists it's not, and Ron always starts talking about Ludo Bagman's nose? Needless to say, they're not very convincing. I now know why my dates never owl me back.

Speaking of which, I've had help throughout all of my many celebrated adventures. Perhaps if I had help (read: company) I might actually go start that new life. Find a new name too, maybe, while retaining my real initials of course. I'd hate to have to change my signature.

What do you think fits well with "HP"?

Best,

Harry

Dear Hideous Pumpkin,

I think your dates might owl you back if you shaved that scraggly beard off and found new glasses. You look like an expensively dressed homeless person in all your press photos.

We have a way of finding what we seek, I think. Three weeks ago, all I really wanted was to make a connection. Now I'm writing this one prat every other day and it feels quite fulfilling, rather.

You do have company. Look closer.

Best,

Draco M

Malfoy,

Sorry about the late reply. Work-related rubbish that you're probably not interested in.

I actually have been considering new frames. Do you think I should get bedazzled ones? I think they're in vogue now. They might help bring out my eyes or something.

It's a funny thing: connection. Kind of unpredictable where one might find 'em, right? I think I'm glad the pen pal agency connected me to you. It's definitely a fulfilling connection.

I'm writing this at 3am right before I run into work and get assigned a new mission. I'll be undercover and incognito so receiving/sending mail won't be possible, so I'll respond next when I'm back home. To make up for it, I've written down some of my earliest memories of my life in the cupboard and how I once locked my cousin in there. Go nuts and I hope you pull something as you laugh at me, you prat.

I'll be thinking of you.

Harry

Dear Potter,

I enjoyed your little collection of memories. You really were always an idiot, I've learnt. I don't know what on earth possessed you to believe that any of it would make me laugh, though. You rightfully blame me for a crooked nose but you don't think to unapologetically ruin the people who stomped on you like a bug when you were a baby and then proceeded to keep you under their boot until you were eleven?

I'm flying to England on the 24th. I'll be staying at the Ritz, London. If you're back from your mission and you're well, ring me at the hotel and ask for D. Mycroft. We'll have dinner or something. My treat.

I truly despise your job. I don't like the idea of you cut off from me the world like that.

I hope to see you soon.

Draco

Potter, I'm writing only because it would be incredibly rude of me to leave without telling you. I don't know what you think of me after last night. I might have asked you, if you'd been here when I woke up.

I'm sorry.

Malfoy

Draco, you absolute fucking idiot.

You write to me instead of ringing me on the number I gave you? And then I stroll into the fucking Ritz clutching sausage rolls and shitty coffee and the receptionist has to politely insist that I bugger off because "Mr. Mycroft has checked out already"?!

TEXT ME with your phone number and address. I'll book the next available flight to you.

You fucking idiot oh my god.

Harry

Dear Hideous Pumpkin Head,

You left three of your socks here and none match. Also, I know we only just hung up but I still wanted to write because somehow it's harder to insult you when I'm in front of you or listening to your voice.

My sheets stink of you. I'm never leaving this bed, I think.

Draco

Draco. Can't call. Destroy your phone and SIM. Stay within wards. Don't lose sight of your wand.

I will contact you as soon as possible. I am so fucking sorry. My god please be safe I am so sorry.

I love you.

Harry

Harry,

Did I really need to get a new owl? I'm perfectly safe and I am not afraid. Not anymore. Not when I have you.

I'm hoping that when you write me back, it will be to tell me that you've handed in your notice. The new flat here is enormous and it feels empty without you. Tell me when you'll be shipping your stuff and I'll make arrangements to have them brought here.

I can't wait.

Love,

Draco

Harry, why won't you answer your stupid phone? Honestly, I'm tempted to write to the Ministry right now, if only I hadn't spent the last fifteen years wiping away all traces of my existence. How's the notice period going? Have you started packing yet? It's very, very quiet here and it's unsettling. I may end up getting a talking bird and it'll be your fault.

Please call me.

Love,

Draco

Harry your phone is turned off and I can't think why and I am writing separately to Granger as well. If I don't hear from either of you in three days, I'm coming back there and I don't care about fucking dark wizards. I'M a dark wizard, as I was reminded often. We'll fight them off together.

Please I can't bear this respond.

Draco

Granger says you went missing eleven days ago. I don't care if you're undercover. My owl won't come back without finding you first.

Dear Harry,

Today I woke up and looked out the window and it was snowing. Almost Christmas already! That night at the Ritz you talked about your horrifying Christmas experiences as a child and I vowed to rectify that as soon as I'm able.

I've hung up twenty-two stockings, my darling, and they all have your name on it. I have a list of things I think you'd have loved and I'm going to find them all and stuff those stockings until they're bursting.

I'm getting our tree today. You said you'd always wanted a real one. I wish you were here so we could decorate it together. I hate ladders.

I keep thinking about I can't believe it's been six months alre I want you here I can't pretend anymore Please come take me away with you

I miss you. Every second of every minute, I miss you. I love you more with each passing day. I want you to come back Harry plea

Yours, always and with love,

Draco

#i did it i lost my mcd virginity #I feel so exposed don't look at me #longy made me do it #everyone blame longy #my writing #drarry microfic #cw: mcd

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matan4il · 4 months

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My daily update post is a personal one today. Following International Holocaust Memorial Day, that's observed every year on Jan 27 globally thanks to Israel's initiative, today I got to guide a very special tour, with a bar mitzvah ceremony at the end, for kids evacuated from the south.

They're from a community that's the second most western one in Israel. They only have one western neighbor, Kerem Shalom, which is right on the border with Gaza. Their community is incredibly small, and was only established 12 years ago. On Oct 7, as thousands of rockets were rained down on Israel, some hit inside their tiny hometown. When terrorists were invading civilian communities and attacking people there, and burning everything, they described the sky as being black due to the smoke, and they said that breathing the air was like inhaling gun powder. When a neighboring community was attacked, some of their emergency squad went over to help, and prevented a massacre from taking place there, too. They lost 4 members of the squad, which may not sound like a lot to some, but on top of each person being an entire world, in such a small community, that carries an impact. The way they put it, there are 15 orphans in their community, all from the same street.

They were evacuated from their home on Oct 7, which means they are all internal refugees. They've been homeless since the massacre. Someone donated the money, so the community's kids who are of bar and bat mitzvah age could get this special tour and ceremony, where they each adopted the memory of one child of roughly the same age, who was murdered in the Holocaust. And we talked about the meaning of remembrance, and how do we move on, and how our Holocaust museum is a testament to the destruction brought upon the Jewish people, but also to the strength of our spirit, and how we survived, how we took care of each other even in the worst of times, how we overcame and re-built, it is a testament to the resilience of the Jewish people.

Am Yisrael Chai. That's not just a slogan. Today I felt like I had the honor to be a small part of another chapter in the story of our resilience and strength, and I wanted to share it with all of you.

Sending you much love, wherever you are! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish

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sh1-n0bu · 2 months

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Dear Judal/Judar, (From Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic),

Hello! How are you doing these days? I've heard from a source that you've been busy with your duties lately. It's not easy being a Magi, from what a little boy with blue hair told me.

Do you still take time to care for yourself, such as doing your makeup and hair? I remember it being really pretty the last time I saw it, though, my memory might not be the best. Years of working yourself as a slave in the slave trade does that for you, I suppose.

Right, the reason I'm writing this letter. Today is actually my last day of being a slave. I wish I could say that I'm finally being freed from my shackles from all these years, but that isn't the case.

Unfortunately, I will be killed tomorrow for the death of my master.

I'm writing this letter from my cell while waiting for the executioners to take me away, to the person I value the most. I still can't think of a reason why you helped me that day when I was attacked by those bandits. Perhaps it was for your own benefit, or you simply did it out of boredom. That seems like something you would do.

Or the occasional nights where you visited my barren room to accompany me. Those visits might've been small to you, but to me, they were more precious than any gold or gems I've seen. You made life feel like it was worth living a little longer in.

I may have only met you sparingly, but you've given me advice and wisdom that helped push me forward, to keep striving for what I wanted. Even if it was selfish.

In the end, all I truly wanted was you.

Sincerely, a friend.

I hope this letter finds its way to you, even after I pass.

𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜! 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙪’𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙚!

to: judar from magi

being a magi was, in all honesty, fucking boring. at least, to someone like judar.

he hated the constant bows and kneeling, the constant titles, names that are bestowed upon him. the duties of a magi, of having to choose a king so that one day, his chosen king would actually become a successful one rather than some pathetic excuse of a ruler. don’t even get him started on the annoying meetings, rituals, magoi training, diplomatic reasonings and travelings. ugh. at least he can run away from those boring, long, arduous meeting to have some fun in the gardens.

by fun, the arrogant magi meant slacking off as he bites into another random peach he stole from the kitchen on the way there. or even by running away from the castle’s depressing walls to see what was different on the outside world since the last time he visited. he could also hear some of those pathetic elder magicians cry out as they chase after him in a measly attempt to bring him back to his "duties" as they call it. duties, his ass. all the magi saw were bunch of papers, scrolls and more boring meetings with diplomats. he wanted to have some fun, y'know?!

it was during one of those usual running away from duty moment when he saw something that barely managed to pique his interest. a slave, judging by the chains keeping their feet together to not let them run away, but somehow protecting a kid as they face off against a bunch of hooligans looking to make names for themselves. judging by the lack of magoi fluttering around the adult slave, they weren't a magician, a dungeon capturer, a household vessel user nor even a fanalis. the slave was just some random human who was acting as a hero to protect the kid covering behind them.

judar should have left when the first punch landed and yet something compelled him to stay. to watch how the common, unlucky folk suffer while he goes on about his day and night like nothing is out of place within the safety and comfort of the palace walls. watch as how even when threatened with the most vile and terrifying actions imaginable against them, the human persists to keep a random child safe.

to intervene when the third punch landed.

the dark magi doesn’t know what compelled him to act out or to protect this random slave and a homeless child. they meant nothing to him, just some random poor folk that he saw. yet something felt weird. seeing how the unlucky get treated simply for being born unlucky caused him to stay and to protect them when they could provide him absolutely nothing. not even a fickle of entertainment. magis are the ones who have stayed at the top of the food chain since the beginning of time and will continue to do so. the magois and rukh of the world and people are at their disposal, ready to carry out their command at any given moment.

yet here judar was, protecting some two strangers whose rukhs barely flickered enough to cause some color. such fickle beings, such unlucky creatures and yet here he was… here he was reaching a hand out to help them on their feet, accompanied with a “are you two alright?”. what has gotten into him all of a sudden? whatever it was, it didn’t go away after saving their lives. no, it stayed and lingered on forcing him to do the same.

since there was nothing else to give the twisted magi some sort of entertainment at the time, he decided to continue to stay with the pair. and he continued to do so even at the following days when he no longer needed to save them. just his presence hovering around the pair was enough to shoo away any other assholes that wanted to cause them harm. and in a way, judar felt happy that no one was hurting them, at being their protecter in a sense.

everyday, judar would find himself running away from his duties at the kou castle to pay a visit to the slave he helped. the child had disappeared one day he returned and all the explanation he got was that the child had escaped. how? no one knows. but the adult who was left behind had an odd sense around them. their rukh was starting to dim and become more slower. were they sick? they didn’t look like it. but just in case they were indeed getting sick, he whispered a few health spells on them alongside a protection one before leaving.

each day judar comes to spend some time with the slave — while also using it as an excuse to run away from his magi work — he started to look forward to these little moments in his life. a peach from the castle one day, a fruit on the market square he saw on another day, a beautiful yet a simple looking ring one of the merchants were selling. each time he brings a little gift, the slave always bashfully denies it at first, saying that they were a slave and not a worker. each time judar made them accept his gifts.

judar will never confirm it out loud but he loved the little meetings he had with them. they were… nice. kind to him. not the bootlicking type of kind that he runs into everyday but the kind that is genuinely coming from the bottom of the heart and he felt that. judar enjoyed the little laughs the slave would make whenever he tells a joke or a funny story from the castle. the little dimple in their cheeks and the bright smiles. judar liked the look of awe on their face whenever he showed them a small trick — a little show of rukhs swarming at the tip of his wand or the icy flower he creates at random before tucking it behind their ear.

the prideful magi would never say it, but… he loved this person. this kind person who just gotten unlucky.

“i’ll get you out of here, alright? wait for me. i’ll come back tomorrow to set you free”

yet where were you? the rooms that you usually clean were being cleaned by another servant. when the servant in the room saw him, they dropped their towel to the floor in shock. but judar didn’t care if the servant was about to drop to their knees to honor his title or anything. he had no time for it.

“you didn’t knew, high magi? their master was killed and so, all the master’s slaves must be killed as well” the poor shaken up servant explains, handing him a letter as well. taking the letter, the magi wasted no time in ripping open the letter to read its content. judar was seeing red. he always had a certain amount of hate towards those who worked in the slave trades. he may be egotistical at times but judar still had feelings and emotions.

and right now, he was enraged.

“where? where did the executioners took them?” he asked frantically, almost sounding like a madman as he forces the poor servant to answer him. if his past self had looked at himself now, he would have laughed at the look on his face. maybe even mock himself for even daring to become this soft. but he didn’t care for that or how soft he had grown since meeting them. right now, he was just focused on finding them. and this time, he will hold his promise and set them free.

#nobu.writes #magi the labyrinth of magic x reader #magi x reader #judar #judar magi #judar x reader #judal x reader #magi the kingdom of magic #magi the labyrinth of magic #5k followers

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v-era-18 · 9 months

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Earth's Armor

{Meliodas x Black! Reader}

Prologue: Fabric and Ale

‘Lady Earth is rumored to be very selfless with beauty beyond imagination! Plus, I heard she can kick ass!’- Princess Veronica Lioness

youtube

The winter was harsh and unforgiving this year in the kingdom of Lioness. Crops and stock were not scarce due to the prosperous spring they had earlier that year, yet many mouths were unfeed. There truly wasn’t much that could be done with the poor, as the many arguments nobles pointed out. However a certain maiden did the impossible, each night a new form of shelter would be built outside of town. In payment for the homeless silence of the maidens' identity, they provided them food to last for two months if rationed properly.

‘No one is going to starve this winter.’ was the promise of the savior many wanted to give their lives to. Word quickly reached the castle, from the mouths of knights to the ear of servants; The king wanted to thank the maiden personally for their assistance, it wasn’t everyday a heroine would emerge giving hope to the people. King Bartra didn't send out a search however, due to the fact he already knew who the maiden was rescinding inside the castle walls. The young woman pushes herself too much really, if the Sins were to find out-the leader would be very displeased.

Laughter emerged within the left wing of the castle, the girl's giggles could be heard outside the room as two guards stood beyond the door. The three princess teased and chatted, Veronica was currently having her hair brushed as she sat in the maidens lap.

Elizabeth sat patiently waiting her turn, it was no secret that the young girl felt drawn to the woman. Each night the lady would tell her stories, in the morning help her get dressed, and even played outside with her when she had time. Her sisters sometimes joined in of course, but when it was just them she felt as though it was meant to be.

“Lady (Y/n),” Veronica spoke getting the lady’s attention. The woman hummed telling her to continue, “There’s been a story circling around the castle, about a woman that resembles Lady Earth.”

“Lady Earth?” Elizabeth questioned.

“Yes, there’s a story centuries old about a young woman that one day emerged from the earth as a peace offering to restore balance among all races,” Margaret informed, as she placed the book she’d been holding down. Her eyes sparkled in memory of the old tale her father told her so many times before, “Skin brown and soft as soil, her heart was clear and still as a pond, pure as her voice of wind.”

Elizabeth turned to lady (Y/n) with a smile, “Like you lady (Y/n)? Are you too sisters?!”

The lady broke out into a bubbly laugh, “Who knows,” She finished the last section of Veronica's hair drawing it up into a nice bun, “Maybe we are, simply separated at birth.”

Veronica felt the bun, pleased with the hair out of the way. The young girl switched positions with Elizabeth, much to the girl's pleasure. (Y/n) soon went to work on Elizabeth's hair, brushing through the silver tangles from a long day of adventure outside. She made sure to dip the brush into warm water before adding attention to each section needing to be groomed. Margrete and Veronica watched patiently, awaiting the moment the maiden would be done with their sister's hair.

“Do you think we'll get to meet Lady Earth?” Margaret questioned, she played with the spin of the story (Y/n) would read to them in a few moments for bedtime, “I want to see her. I've heard so many stories from Father about her kindness and beauty.”

The lady hummed for a moment, poking Elizabeth's cheek a bit in a teasing manner; an instruction for her to stay still. The young girl got a bit too excited sometimes with stories, hence why she waited till they were in bed before reading.

“I believe you can when all three of you are older, but I must ask-why do you wish so much to see her?” (Y/n) questioned, she found the conversation amusing from the three girls she practically raised from time to time. She had grown close to all of them, making sure they studied, properly dressed, and took aim to be the best queens Lioness had ever seen.

There were moments where they called her ‘mom’ by mistake and they all had to apologize afterwards. They honestly couldn’t help it, she mothered all of them. One time she went as far to scold three knights for not watching Elizabeth and Veronica properly when they both fell off the bridge. It took a certain captain to get the lady to show mercy unto them, Barta was actually going to allow the punishment-but thought better of it when all three men were hung upside down by vins for ten hours.

An excited giggle erupted from Veronica, “Lady Earth is rumored to be very selfless with beauty beyond imagination! Plus I heard she can kick ass!”. A scolding frown made its way on the maidens face, letting the princess know she didn't approve of the language used. However there was a twinkle of amusement within her brown eyes.

“That language is not becoming of a lady, little knight. Though I must say I'm amused you brought looks into your reason, fighting is more up your alley.” The maiden laughed lightly, Veronica puffed out her cheeks in pout. Her tomboyish nature was an enigma to many formal women, however to (Y/n) she encouraged the behavior. She even went as far to train her in the early hours of the morning with the basics of sword wielding.

“Fighting is exciting! It’s not my fault others can’t appreciate it!”

“I know little knight. Just remember patience is a virtue even among those who fight.” (Y/n) finished brushing Elizabeth’s hair with a smile.

The three princesses camored together in Margaret's bed for the night. It was a tradition for them to switch between rooms to fall asleep in, sometimes (Y/n) would join them in bed if she was tired enough. Although she did stress her dear friends when they had no notice of the occasion. They simply worry too much on her behalf.

“If I were to meet her, the first thing I would have her speak about would be her adventures she had,” Margaret's smile was more on the childish side this time to the lady’s pleasure. As the eldest it was rare she had these moments, but in (Y/n)s perception as a child she has as many of these moments as they can. “Or she can grow me my own GARden of roses!”

Veronica stuck out her tongue in dissatisfaction, “A rose garden? We already have tons of gardens in the kingdom!” The second eldest stood on the bed, piping her fist in the air. “What I think we can agree on is that she needs to be the captain over the holy knights!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Margaret snapped, “Gilthunders father is in charge! And is amazing at what he does!”

“The old man can drop dead-”

“Veronica.”

The girl was instantly silenced, her cheeks grew red in embarrassment from what she was about to say. She knew it wasn’t right to say those things, but she honestly wanted to see women in the field more than men. It was disappointing that she didn’t have that many figures to look up to.

“Apologize this instant.” (Y/n)'s tone was firm, showing she had no room for disagreements.

“Sorry…,” Veronica really did mean it. The princess settled back underneath the covers beside Elizabeth who was watching the whole ordeal silently. She seemed to be thinking hard either after she would need or want from lady earth.

“I think I’ve got it!” Elizabeth exclaimed. The girl's sisters glanced at her, both exchanging a look of wonder and excitement. Their sister after all was a simple girl, she didn't ask or require much from others, only attention and mutual affection.

“Oh,” (Y/n) tilted her head, “and what's that?”

“I would give her a hug!” The youngest princess smiled, “She’s done so much for others without asking for anything in return she deserves it!”

(Y/n) paused for a minute and let out a bright laugh, it was filled with warmth, causing the three girls to smile, “Oh but I know she would do that for you with pleasure Elizabeth! Are you sure there’s nothing else you would want from her?”

Elizabeth shook her head, “No! That is it! She does enough as is.”

“Really? Out of everything to ask for just a hug?” Veronica said, “Couldn't you just ask for something more useful-”

Margaret punched her sister in the arm silencing her sister, “That's a wonderful request Eli! I'm sure lady earth would appreciate it!”

“Really?” The smallest princes asked.

“Of course,” (Y/n) chimed in, “Everyone knows you give the best hugs my angle.” The lady wrapped her arms around the small girl in an embrace before giving her a soft kiss on the head. The girl giggled happily in response.

“Now,” The maiden clapped her hands softly, “Let's get started with that story shall we. Then it's off to bed.”

The castle halls were quiet as she made way back to the sins chambers. If she played her cards right she could sneak out again without the others knowing and build one more shelter to make sure everyone is okay. The last shelter was big enough for the rest of the homeless to reside in but it wouldn’t hurt to build one more just for future matters. Maybe she could add a section solely for the children to sleep separately from the adults, she already had women sleeping with the children but it wouldn't hurt for the mothers to sleep a night by themselves.

The door creaked and groaned as she entered the common room, and as expected no one was there. This time of night her friends were either out drinking or turning in for the night for their next assignment. She missed them greatly, but the princesses would distract her until their return. She allowed herself to relax, her shoulders slumping from keeping the posture of a proper maiden. She couldn’t wait to take off her corset-.

(Y/n) recoiled back in shock as she ran into the invisible field that surrounded her, it wasn’t till after she collided with the barrier was she able to sense her other comrades. She damned herself for not double checking like usual.

“Oh you’ve done it this time buttercup. Captain got real upset after we heard where you’ve been sneaking off to.” Ban emerged from the other side of the pillar, his words held no malice, only disappointment and concern.

“Oh? And where have I been sneaking off to exactly? Don’t tell me you found out about my secret lover?” The maiden feigned innocence.

“You have a lover (Y/n)?! And you didn’t tell me?!” Diane finally exposed herself, her lips pouting displaying her hurt expression, “I thought we tell eachother everything?”

“Not everything apparently,” King floated over in front of the barrier, he bore a serious expression, much like Ban his eyes spoke volumes, “She felt the need to sneak around without consulting us first.”

She bite her lip, “You all would’ve said no-“

“For good reason,” It was Merlin this time. The enchantress waltz over to the perfect cube casted around their fellow comrade, a frown lacing her lips. “You know you’re supposed to be resting your powers, any more strain on them and you’ll end up sick again.”

(Y/n) felt a frown make way upon her plump lips, her frustration was rising, “The kingdom's people were starving. Did you expect me to do nothing-?!”

“Enough (Y/n).”

The maidens mouth closed quickly at the words spoken from the corner of the room. She watched the feared captain-the sin of wrath make way down the stairs and towards her. Meliodas rarely got upset with her, he would sometimes talk her down from ‘spontaneous’ decisions or often decided to help when he saw she wasn't going to back down.

Emerald green eyes met Brown, a silent conversation had seemed to start between the two causing the other Sins to tense considerably. Gowther analyze the situation taking into account of the captain's feelings towards the woman and how he might go about her punishment, it wouldn’t be a harsh one-just one to get the message across.

“You told me you were staying with princesses late at night,” The sin of wrath started, the maiden decided the painting near Diane was more interesting to look at, “I had to find out from three other men on the street about what you had done. The symptoms of fatigue you seemed to have after producing so many crops from enriched soil that the winter can't produce-”

“In the beginning, yes I was fatigued,” She locked eyes with him once more, this time challenging, “but after three shelters were built my powers no longer struggled-they in fact improved.”

He simply shook his head, “And what if it hadn't improved? You're still at risk of pushing your magic to the max! You could've at least had Merlin go with you to watch, but instead-you decide to risk your life without even thinking about the consequences-”

“I was fine-!”

“This time! But what about the next?!” Meliodas questioned in a growl, “Are you going to push your powers till there's nothing left of you?!”

Ban exchanged a look with King, the two looked at their captain with worry. They both obviously knew of his feelings towards the woman, hence why they thought he should’ve stopped why he was ahead. At this rate the argument would escalate.

“If it means another person gets to live then so be it!”

The room grew deathly silent after the maidens' statement, the sins were ultimately shocked with her proclamation, Gowther especially didn't see it coming. Meliodas' form shook slightly, Ban almost felt compelled to say something on her behalf but didnt know what to say.

“(Y/n), do you understand what you just said?” Merlin questioned carefully, the lady strode forward and stepped between her and the captain, wanting eyes on her. “We all know things could’ve gone south for you with your magic being unbalanced, dire consequences would ensue. Even the possibility of your death.”

Diane gasped, “That-that’s not true is it? (Y/n)’s magic couldn’t possibly kill her could it?!”

Merlin didn’t answer, only staring down at the maiden; her dearest friend, “Be honest with us (Y/n).” She stepped closer, eyes staring hotly at the girl's smaller form, “Do you want to die?”

The girl paused for a moment before a sad smile graced her plump lips.

“Does one’s embers burn the entire night?”

~ ☀ ~

The village streets were busy with noise and laughter of its people. Stalls and stores were filled with each turn and glance of an eye. The afternoon was nice, the sun provided warmth from the breeze rustling the leaves, and the sweet waft of pastries filled the air.

Three men however stuck out like a sore thumb; A red jumper and red tight pants caught the attention of many ladies walking by, a boy floating on a green pillow had many children gasping in awe, and finally a short blonde haired man walked in the middle, he seemed to be focused with the task at hand.

Red eyes glanced to the right, spotting a shop with dresses and clothes adorned in front of the windows. The man scanned the clothes quickly, the stitching, all the way to how the fabric seemed to be made from love. He swiftly turned the other way, catching the attention of the other two who followed without question.

Pins were pressed between plump lips as (e/c) eyes focused on the hemmed cuffs of the boy's pants. Philip was a short boy, his brown locks framed his round face nicely, where his hazel eyes were easy against the autumn sunrise. He was growing a bit, hence why his father brought him in for new clothes.

(Y/n) loved it when the children were regulars, she always found it exciting to see them grow into young men and women that would one day contribute to many things in the world.

Dalton watched the woman with alluring eyes from where he sat, he had a good view of where she crouched before his boy leading his imagination to run wild. Like many men in the village the father was guilty for wanting the lady to himself. As a single father, it was important that Philip had a mother figure in his life. And a mother figure is what he was determined to provide.

“You’ve been growing a lot I see, soon you’ll be too big for me to help you anymore.” (Y/n) pouted, teasing the little boy.

Philip gasped, shaking his head, “N-no! I’ll always need lady (Y/n)’s help! Who's gonna help me tie my shoes so I won’t trip and fall?”

The lady giggled in response, “I’m sorry love, but I won’t always be here to tie your shoes. Plus I’ve taught you numerous times, have you already forgotten?”

A shake of a head was the response, “no, I just need you to here in case I make a mistake in towing them. It hurts when I fall down and scrape my knees, plus the other kids pick on me when I fall.”

A hum left her lips as she pinned the fabric in place, “And what have I told you to do about bullies?”

“To throw stones at their heads?!” The boy shouted in excitement.

“What?!” Dalton laughed in disbelief.

“N-no that’s for them hurting you! I mean when they say mean things.”

Philip hummed, seeming to think hard to remember what the lady told him to do. A gasp left his lips in remembrance, “To let them wallow in their self pity?”

(Y/n) smiled and pinched the boy's side, Philip giggled in retaliation, “exactly, they only want to steal your joy to make them feel better about themselves. So remember,” the woman places a chaste kiss against the boy's cheek, leading another giggle to leave the child’s lips, “your joy is yours, don't let anyone take it from you.”

Dalton's face turned determined, his eyes filling with adoration and lust for the woman treating his son as if he were her own child. Yes, she was the woman he needed within their home, he needs to ask her now.

“Speaking of joy-“ the man’s voice was cut out with the ring of the store bell drawing his attention from the sight before him. Dalton bristled a bit watching the three men enter the shop with ease, what threw him off was the intense waves of power that radiated off of them. It was intimidating and left his nerves on edge, any man who would’ve been in his shoes would’ve left immediately not wanting trouble. But he wouldn’t waver, his determination setting in.

“Welcome in!” The lady chimed without turning around, she pinned the last hem of the boys dress shirt and would soon get to hemming once they were gone. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

The man in the red get up smiled, it was wide with excitement, “We’re in no rush buttercup take your time.”

The woman froze for a moment at the familiar voice behind her. She could feel all of their magic combined, the feeling felt euphoric, she hadn’t seen or heard from them in so long. However, she felt at peace here, that was her only dilema.

“Miss (Y/n)? Am I able to look now?” Philip's voice cut through the tension in the room. The maiden looked back up at the little boy with a wide smile before nodding. With an excited smile the boy hopped down before rushing to the changing room.

Dalton chuckled at his son's antics before turning to the lady beside him, “They grow up fast huh? Soon he’ll be taller than me and an even better man”

(Y/n) nodded in agreement, “It feels like a pain knowing that I won't be able to see the children grow up as I want to,” The man in the red jacket turned to her back slightly before continuing through the shop pausing at another pair of pants snatching them off the hanger. They were exactly his size.

The man chuckled lightly, taking his chance slowly, “You know miss (L/n), I'm surprised you don't have any children of your own,” The other men came to a halt in the shop, hearing the tone of the man's words, The blonde peeked his head out from the isle of lady undergarments, one that the fairy had silently begged him not to go to. “Any man would be lucky to have a woman like you.”

(Y/n) felt her face flush slightly at Dalton's flirtation, she wouldn't lie the man was handsome. However, he had dark brown hair, clearly not the bright blonde she remembers from her repressed memories, meaning he wasn't her true mate. “O-oh, is that so Mr. Landar-”

“Dalton,” The male uttered, “I've never liked formalites between us, in fact it feels a bit foreign dont you think-”

A bell went off at the desk causing the two to turn their attention. In front was a blonde haired male, a foot taller than Phillip, with an area of nightgowns in his grasp. Dalton couldn't help but feel a tad bit irritated that a customer had interrupted his flirtation with the maiden, after all it was going so well.

“Mr-I mean Dalton if you would..,”

Snapping out of his daze the male gave a forced smile, “Y-yes of course, you do have a business to look after,” the man stepped aside as the woman made her way to the front desk, paying attention to her light steps of grace and posture. It was like watching a goddess in disguise, Miss (Y/n) never wore shoes-they were deemed constricting and hurtful upon her feet. So in her store she made sure to sweep the floors frequently throughout the day, to keep it clean.

The maiden stared down at the shorter male, his smile wide as he held the nightgowns up to the counter for her to take. She stared a bit at the area of them, the diversity of lace and trim on different shades of green. One of them was her favorite, a sage green nightie with white lace trimming for straps and along the bodice. “How can I help you sir? Did one of these catch your eye?”

The blonde nodded, “Yes! You see the maiden I'm getting these for loves the color green, I'm trying to see which one would be best for travel yet relaxation!”

(Y/n) hummed softly, playing along, “Well the dark green one would be a good choice in concerns of travel, but for comfortability I would go with the emerald. Silk is good for the skin and the doubled layered fabric is perfect for the cold nights,” Her words were indeed true for the nightgowns. The dark green was tripled layered with thin fabrics for the cold and heat, but it might be deemed slightly uncomfortable for bed due to stiffness. However, the male couldn't help but notice her eyes shifting back to the sage green, the one she could see herself twirling in the mirror to.

“What about this one?” The blond held up the sage green nightie, he felt the fabric before looking at its opened back portion, “Are you sure she wouldn't like this alot better? I bet it would look nice against her skin and its silk, yea?”

The maidens lips twitched a bit upwards, “Ah, yes, that one I spent three days on, handmade. It reminded me of lily pads from a certain forest. I'll be sad to see it go, but I know your maiden will be a lucky woman if you decide to buy that one.”

“I see…, well then! I'll get this one-”

“Ms (Y/n), I'm done!” Phillip rounded the corner, his clothes had suited him very well, from his brown slacks to the nice white shirt she sewed him. A wide smile emerged on the maidens face in response, coming from behind the desk to hoist him up on her hip, “Do I look nice?”

“Dear your gonna knock the other maidens dead when they see you,”

The boy cocked his head to the side, “Like my dad?”

The woman sputered in embarrassment, She could feel the men's eyes on her, “Y-yes, just like your father.”

“Then can we have you over for dinner this afternoon Ms. (Y/n)? My dad caught a deer yesterday, he heard it was your favorite!”

(Y/n) smiled widely turning to Dalton, the man was shuffling on his feet slightly-cheeks turning pink, “You hunt deer Dalton?”

“On occasions, my father was more skilled at it though,” He stepped forwards with a hopeful smile, “I'm glad I paid attention, hoping to win over a maiden such as yourself.”

The maiden hummed, slowly putting Phillip on the floor, “Is this your way of attempting to court me?”

“Is it working?”

“This man is bold,” The man in red whispered to his floating companion.

The male on the pillow scrunched up his nose watching the interaction, “I know, I'm surprised Captain hasn't kicked the man out of the store yet.”

“He's got a kid with him, you know buttercup loves them. Who knew a man would use his son to pull her heart strings.”

(Y/n) shared a long look with Dalton before finally answering, “You know what you have to do to truly win me over?” This caused the men to take a step back, evil smiles appearing on their faces as the blonde male went back to the women's aisle looking for a lingerie set for the maiden to wear.

“What is it? For you , I'm willing to do anything.”

‘Here we go’

“Fight me,” (Y/n) smiled.

Dalton's face scrunched up in surprise and mortification, “Excuse me? I think I heard you wrong. Did you just say-”

“I said if you want to win me over,” The maiden stepped forward, her voice becoming sultry, “You have to fight me.”

The man stared at her baffled, but she didn't laugh or falter on her words. The maiden was serious with her request, the other men in the shop were not surprised, simply waiting for the man's response so they could close the shop.

“Well, are you gonna do it or what?” The red eyed male cut into the awkward silence. Dalton turned to the man in shock , whereas (Y/n) since the first time arrived busted out in a fit of giggles. The male was confused at this point with how the maiden could want a man to do such a thing, sure he had heard of female holy knights but he was expecting the maiden to be a lot more soft and feminine than anything.

“Ban,” The fairy hissed.

“What?” Ban shrugged, “He said he was willing to do anything. Even though we know he won't win.”

“I'm not fighting her,” Dalton's words were firm, yet he shot a pleading look to the woman in front of him, “Please (Y/n), are you sure there's no other way.”

The woman shook her head giving a sad smile.

“I see,” The man's posture deflated, before digging in his pockets and pulling out a yellow envelope, “Here, I truly hope you do find a man worthy of you Ms. (Y/n). Just remember our door is always open if needed.”

“Of course,” The maiden took the envelope before crouching down to the young boy, she had expected him to be sad instead he was all smiles, “I hope to see you again soon Phillip-” The boy wrapped the maiden in a hug cutting her off.

“I hope to see you again too Ms. (Y/n)! Take care!” And with that the two males left hand in hand a bag filled with clothes for the young boy.

(Y/n) went to the shop door waving them off, before locking the bolt and turning the shop sign to ‘closed’. It was a bit early in the evening to do so but she knew better, that was the last item she would sell for a while. With her former captain merging in the shop it could only mean trouble was on the horizon.

“Baaan,” The maiden whined, “Did you see the look on his face? He was so handsome too!” All she got from the sin of greed was a boisterous laugh before she was pulled in a secure hug.

“Don't be so upset buttercup I'm sure there will be a man up to the challenge soon,” Ban looked back over to his best friend, who was hauling a suitcase behind him, “He’s a lot closer than you think,” He muttered to himself.

“I don't understand how he thought he had a chance anyway,” King floated over, his expression bored at the thought of the man, “He couldn't be able to give you the luxuries of what you want and need out of a proper husband.”

(Y/n) cocked her head to the side, “You guys didn't come here just to discuss my horrible dating life did you?”

“No, we didn't,” Meliodas came up behind the maiden, she stiffed for a moment feeling his hand on her rump, “But while we're at it, we could possibly discuss our date this weekend-” The blonde was smacked hard enough to be send flying in ara of an amount of coats. King and Ban cringed, the first day back after not seeing her for so long this was what their captain decided to do in greeting.

“That's not how you ask Meli,” (Y/n) crouched before him before a soft green glow limited from her hands healing him, “Although a nice purchase of that nightie might help.”

King blushed, feeling as though they were intruding, “Should we let them be?”

“Nah, you know she doesn't like public displays of affection too much, we're in the clear,” Ban responded.

“ Alright, what's the situation,” The men watched the woman lift her hands slightly, using her powers to clean the store, putting clothes in bags and arranging quilts in a pile. This was what she had built of herself while they were gone, a business. By the actions that she was doing with taking the many clothes of the hangers and placing them in boxes it was telling that she was coming with them willingly, but she had a bit of loose ties to finish here. “I felt a shift not too long ago , I figured it was the sins getting together, but I didn't know why.”

“Elizabeth has asked for our help,” Meliodas answered swiftly, he opened the trunk for her, allowing her magic to do the folding and placing, “The king of Lioness needs us as well as its people. There's something bigger going on, and it'll be so much more convent to have you come along.”

(Y/n) faked a pout, “And here I thought all of you came because you missed me,” Meliodas was quick to smile, taking the maidens hands gently before giving a soft squeeze. It was moments like this she missed with her friends besides the many missions they ensued for the kingdom's protection.

The image of the small princess she raised flashed in her mind, causing her smile to widen. It had been so long since she'd seen her last, since she had said goodbye in a haste before her memory of that day was wiped and she found herself here in a village. She left the princesses behind, it was her responsibility now to make up for it anyway she could.

“Well,” The maiden huffed, “Who’s gonna help me deliver all these quilts and clothes before we depart, hmm?”

#meliodas x reader #meliodas x black reader #seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #king seven deadly sins #seven deadly sins ban #seven deadly sins Elizabeth #Youtube

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bean-bean2000 · 3 months

Text

The Maid - Part 1

Pairing: Loki x reader (on going series)

Warnings: Angst, abuse, mental health (depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts). Eventual loki x reader pairing.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Part 2 Series masterlist Main Masterlist

🧹🧹🧹

You stare up at the ceiling as you lay in bed next to the man who calls himself 'your saviour'. Every time he stirs in his sleep, you gasp and wince in fear of waking him. He is far better asleep than he will ever be awake.

Three years ago, you fell into the arms of a man you thought would help you. You were alone, homeless and desperate. Your parents had died in a house fire, which left you with nothing and no one. Naive, you trusted the first person that showed you an ounce of kindness. You had fallen intro a trap, one you thought was love, but was in fact a cage. Your parents had left you with a significant debt to repay to the crown. He forced you to work for him, do whatever he wants, in exchange for money to help pay off the debt. You have been stuck in this horrific home since, unable to do anything without consequence.

You haven't had a proper night's sleep in years. Your eyes are sunken with deep dark circles beneath. You hardly eat anymore.

You stopped feeling anything at all, years ago. All you feel is numb, like a zombie, a shell of your former self. A life that is so far away, the memories have long faded.

You're so lost in thought, gazing into nothingness when you're suddenly yanked out of the bed.

"Get up. You're leaving. I finally found a use for you." he spits at you.

You don't have enough energy to question him as you get up sluggishly and head to the bathroom to change.

As soon as you exit the bathroom, he is dragging you outside where a a dozen soldiers await; people are lined up in front of them.

"Here. Take her." he says to the guard as he shoves you towards him.

The soldier looks you up and down and nods. You're swept away by other men and hoisted onto the back of a carriage. Other men and women peer up at you in fear.

It doesn't take long for you to realize what has happened. You've been sold to the crown to be a worker. You stare at the floor and zone out, wondering if you will forever be forced to be at the mercy of others that are powerful and wealthy. As the carriage takes off, you feel nothing, you hear nothing, all you see is your so-called 'home' slowly fade behind the trees.

The others have fallen asleep as you stare out the carriage. You have no idea how long it has been but the sun has long set and it is deep into the evening when you arrive at the castle. The guards shuffle you out, line you up and assign you your duties.

"You." The woman points at you. "She will do." she says as she hands you a pile of clothes. You stare up at her as she clarifies your new job: maid.

The guards lead each group of workers to their designated quarters.

"You are maids. You will follow the schedule, with no excuses. You have been sold to serve for the crown. You will receive no pay. Your pay is the right to live in the castle. You will be provided food and shelter. Any act of disobedience will be punishable by any means appropriate that is decided upon the guards or anyone of higher status. You are to speak to no one. Do your job and stay quiet." The guard finishes explaining your new life then turns around and shuts the doors closed behind him with a loud bang.

The silence is deafening. Everyone too scared to say a word. They all choose a makeshift bed on the floor and prepare to get some sleep before the new day.

You sit in your cot and stare at the floor. You don't realize how much time had passed until the sun shining on your face and the guards are yelling at you all to wake up and start the day.

Will I ever know freedom? Will I ever find happiness? Or am I forced to succumb to this measely life until I die?

The first two weeks seem to pass without problems, until the guards decide to take it upon themselves to 'discipline' as they deem fit.

Most guards resort to name-calling, degradation or sometimes physical punishment. Nothing, nobody was as terrible as one who we called "Snake". He would slither his way into the chambers and choose his prey for the week, sometimes longer. He did as he pleased, if met with opposition, he would often beat them into submission.

You managed to avoid him as long as possible until one night, his large finger points towards you.

You stare at him, expressionless. You refuse to give him the pleasure of seeing your pain, your fear or your desperation. His eyes turn cloudy with anger as he watches you approach him, emotionless.

The others look at you with fear and pity as he drags you out of the maid's quarters towards his room.

He throws you on the floor and closes the door behind him.

"You think I don't know your little game, you harlot?" he sneers at you as he picks you up and slaps you so hard you fall to the floor, your cheek pulsating in pain.

He grabs your cheeks tightly with one hand and squeezes "You will fear me. You will obey me." he threatens you.

Once again, you stare at him blankly. You feel nothing, you haven't for a long time now.

He growls in frustration and punches you again, searching for any reaction; tears, a grunt, a whimper, anything, and yet you show nothing.

"You witch. Impossible. Everybody fears me." he yells at you as he strikes you again. You lay on the floor motionless, your nose and mouth bleeding.

"You will answer me when I speak to you!" he growls in anger as he strikes you again.

You stare up at him and remain silent.

"Are you deaf? mute? Useless! Maybe, you will be useful for other things instead...." he sneers at you as he smirks disgustingly with a knowing look.

Again, you stare at him blankly again. As he begins unbuckling his belt he says "Submit to me. You will do as I say, maid."

You start laughing which makes him look up at you in rage.

"You dare laugh at me?! You filthy servant!" he grabs you by the neck and holds you down tightly, slightly cutting off your airways but enough for you to remain awake.

"Submit to me!" he yells at you.

"Never." you croak.

He screams in a fit of rage and strikes you again. You continue to laugh.

"Witchcraft! You're a disgusting witch! Submit to me or I will have you burned at the stake!" he spits at you.

"I promise you, I will bite your dick off if it comes near me. The human jaw can be so powerful, sometimes a crowbar isn't strong enough to pry it open and I promise you I will not let go until my jaw is pried open." you threaten him as you begin laughing hysterically.

He stares at you in confusion, disgust and fear.

"I knew it! You're a witch!" He screams.

"Are you sure you want to test that theory?" you laugh at him.

He yells in frustration as he strikes you again "I said submit to me!"

You stare him directly in the eyes "No matter how loud the wind howls, the mountain will not bow down to it."

His eyes turn red with rage, he picks you up and throws you across the room. He kicks you on your side.

He continues hitting you as he demands you submit to him. You repeat the same word, almost as a prayer "Never".

You didn't care if you died or how, but you promised yourself that no matter how desperate you would become, you would never submit yourself to another man again, no matter the cost.

Once he is finally done he spits on you, drags you back to the maid's chambers and throws on you the floor as he slams the door behind him.

A few women crowd you and help you to your cot. You're bleeding from your nose and mouth. Your eye is black and swollen shut, your lip is split, your ribs hurt when you breathe.

Even after all that, you realize you still feel nothing. You stare up at the ceiling as the other women surround you to help clean your wounds.

From that moment on, you have been the subject to the Snake's abuse. You have spoken no words, except for "Never" every time the Snake commands you to submit to him. You would rather take on every physical punishment, than let him touch an inch of you.

A few weeks pass with the same abuse, except now other guards have partaken in it as well. You are now referred to as "witch" by the guards. They sneer at you when you walk past them. You keep your head held high and walk straight forward, without giving them a glance.

I am my own person. I have my own thoughts. I am not a puppet.

You repeat these phrases everyday in your head, like a chant to keep you grounded. You've taught yourself to recite small facts about your life to yourself in your head, such as your birthday, your favourite colour, your favourite author and book. It reminds you of who you are, of who they can never take away from you.

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As the months go by, the abuse never ceases. It periodically skips you, allowing your body time to heal before being targeted again.

You have managed to be friendly with the other maids, but still keep to yourself and limit your words. You rarely speak and only do so when absolutely necessary. You decided it was safest for you this way.

You have been generally assigned menial maid tasks, such as cleaning the chambers of the guards or other members of higher status than you, until today. You’re assigned to clean King Loki's quarters. He owns an entire wing to himself, therefore you are to do it alone as he is very particular about his items. It was decided upon the head maid that you were the least likely to steal and most likely to complete the job to Loki's very high standards.

Without much of a choice, you accept the new assignment and make your way to his wing. As grateful as you are for this opportunity, to work alone and use the specialized cleaning supplies for the king, you were also in so much pain. The previous night was the harshest in a long time. The guards told you the king wanted to send you a personal message. By the end of it, you could hardly move and had to be dragged to your cot. Laying in bed, you wondered why the king would choose you for this punishment. You had done nothing wrong, what made you deserving of such poor treatment?

As you're walking to the kings wing, every step you take is followed by a limp and a wince. Nevertheless, the work had to be completed. The consequences were too severe if the work were not to be completed to his prestigious standards. If the king was willing to send you such a message the previous night as a warning for what was to come, the current pain was worth suffering through. From what you've heard the kings punishments never ended well. Nobody ever returned.

With that in mind, you headed to his wing with a slight limp and a wince under your breathe with every step.

Two week pass by and you've been permanently assigned to clean the kings wing, as per his request. You hope it is because he is satisfied with your work, rather than this be some cruel plan.

Once the guards heard of your new permanent position as the kings personal maid, their visits became daily. You were now the only maid being succumbed to their harsh treatment. You knew they were trying to sabotage you so the king would be displeased with your work and be rid of you.

Even so, everyday you wake up and perform your duties. You persevered and refused to let them think they won, no matter how painful, you always kept your head held high.

You're walking to the kings wing, products and cleaning items in hand when a guard approaches and swings his arm at you. You fall to the floor, Cleaning products go flying across the hall, splattering on the floor, against the wall and all over you.

"Tsk tsk tsk... what a shame... you better pray the king doesn't see this mess you caused...." he laughs as he walks over you.

You say nothing as you try getting up but slip on the soapy wet floor. You curse at the mess.

He can't see this. I have to clean this up. I can't be delayed, the king accepts no excuses for punctuality. He will kick me out on the streets... or worse... have me killed.

You get up shakily, holding on the wall for as much support as possible. Your body aches as you start mopping up the mess with speed that can only be explained by pure fear.

Once it's decently done you run to the next room and start cleaning as fast as possible. The pain from the abuse inflicted upon you daily is taking its toll. You decide you have to suck it up until you're done.

You're doing your final task: The king's bedroom. With one wrist against your chest, you clean the bedroom. You're trying to make the bed but can't do it with one hand. Shakily, you move your other wrist and try grabbing the sheets. You hiss in pain and pull back. You're slowing down, taking longer to do simple tasks. Your wrist is swollen wrist and throbbing in pain from the fall earlier. You can hardly move it.

You manage to finish making the bed and is finishing off by dusting the room, keeping your wrist to your chest to stabilize it as much as possible. As you were working through your pain, you didn't notice the time until you hear somebody clear their throat behind you.

You gasp in surprise and spin around.

"King Loki... your highness... I apologize for my tardiness... I-" you start rambling, your head looking down and your legs in a curtsy.

"The hall is a mess. You're late. Your work is very subpar today. I'm disappointed." he tells you coldly while staring you down.

You say nothing as to avoid accidentally insulting him or frustrating him further.

"Consider this your first and last warning. If this happens again, you will heed the consequences." He says to you, chin up, staring at you while you keep your eyes on your shoes.

You mumble another apology when he dismisses you.

You quickly run out of his bedroom. Your heart is racing, you're shaking.

You run to the maid's quarters and go to your cot, avoiding the others. You're staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you possibly escaped his wrath. Replaying the scene in your head, you realize you never looked at him. You've never seen the king in person, only in pictures.

Luckily, tomorrow is the weekend the guards go out to the neighbouring city as a security check-up. You stare at your wrist, which is now purple, blue and swollen. You go to the bathroom and lock the door so you're alone. You remove your clothes as take in a sharp breath as pain courses through your body. You use two wooden sticks you found outside earlier, to stabilize your wrist, hoping it will speed the healing process. When you look up at your reflection you notice the deep colouring littering your body. Purple, blue, yellow, green.... bruises in various levels of healing spread across your body.

You come to the conclusion that you need help... medical help. You slip on a night gown and make your way to the clinic where Dr. Banner resides. He is the only doctor the workers of lower status trust, as he is kind, caring and genuine.

He welcomes you in his room and questions why you came to him so late at night.

You say nothing. You lift your night gown and watch as his eyes widen in understanding. He turns around and files through his medical cabinet.

"Here. Take one pill a day for 3 days. It will completely numb your pain and significantly increase the healing process. Put this healing balm over your bruises and on your wrist, every night for a week." he says to you as he hands you the medicine.

You open your mouth to thank him when he lifts his hand up "No need... please stay safe... if ever you need anything, you know where to find me." his eyes filled with pain and compassion.

You nod and turn around to walk back to your cot.

You immediately spread the balm over your body once your in the bathroom and wrap what you can in bandages to keep it from absorbing into the clothes rather than your skin.

Laying down in bed, the adrenaline from the day wears off and fatigue takes over until you fall into a deep sleep.

Part 2

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I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Feedback is always welcome. Feel free to send me suggestions for scenes/drabbles that I could add into the stroy :)

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