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nastybuckybarnes · 3 years

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Deep End - Six

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 4.6K

A/n: Okie dokie! I’ve got an epilogue planned but I like this. The epilogue will explain shit better but I've known that this would be the end since pretty much the beginning LMAO

Deep End Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

When Steve hears you stop struggling, stop fighting and stop crying, he’s nervous.

It’s been a while since he locked you up there, and he really should check on you soon, if only to make sure the baby’s okay after that stunt you pulled.

He pushes the door to the bedroom open, eyeing your figure carefully.

You look like you’re asleep. If he wasn't so attuned to your body, your heart and your breathing, he wouldn’t have noticed something’s wrong.

Your heart is beating rapidly, far faster than normal. And it’s weaker than usual.

Your breathing is shallow and strained, and your face is lacking its usual healthy glow.

He rushes to your side, tearing the rope from your wrists and touching your face carefully.

Your skin is hot to the touch, and he feels fear settle in his gut.

He doesn’t know what to do, how to help. He’s never really had to help you like this, the doctor’s always been nearby.

He grabs his phone, calling the doctor and pacing nervously.

“Sh-she’s burning up and her breathing is shallow.”

Steve's stomach drops as he listens to the doctor’s instructions, answers his questions and comes to the realization of why you’re like this.

He rolls you onto your left side, tears welling up in his eyes at how unresponsive you are.

The doctor hangs up after telling the super soldier that he’ll be there soon.

His heart is in his throat as he tries to undo the damage of his punishment, putting the evidence back in the box and kicking the rope under the bed.

You’re still unresponsive, heart weak, but your breath sounds a little less strained.

Monster. That’s what you called him. What Natasha called him and what Bucky’s asset called him.

Maybe you’re right.

But he wants you. He needs you. Giving you up would be giving up a piece of his soul and he’s not ready to do that yet.

~*~

The doctor informs him that both you and the baby are okay, but being on your back for so long was compressing a major vein supplying your baby with oxygenated blood. If he’d gotten there any later it might’ve been too late.

With strict instructions to keep you on your left side and make sure you stay hydrated, the doctor takes his leave.

He stays by your side, holding your hand tightly in both of his as he really comes to terms with the fact that it was entirely his fault. He almost killed you and your baby to prove a stupid point. To discourage you from doing the very same thing.

His heart is heavy in his chest as he listens to your heartbeat get stronger, to the baby’s heartbeat continue fluttering like a hummingbird’s.

Those two sounds bring him peace, if only temporarily.

Shattering his peace is the sound of the front door opening, followed by tiny little footsteps clomping up the stairs.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

Sarah.

Steve shoves himself to his feet and quickly leaves the room just as his daughter tries to enter.

“Sarah, mommy’s sleeping.” She frowns up at him and shakes her little blonde head.

“I need to talk to mommy!”

She walks around his legs only for him to scoop her up in his arms.

“She’s sleeping right now, honey.”

Sarah shakes her head angrily, beating her tiny fists against his shoulders.

“Let me go! I want mommy! Mommy!! Put me down!” She starts shrieking. Full-on screaming bloody murder right in his ear, and he loses his grip on the wriggling child.

She slides out of his arms and runs into the bedroom, climbing onto the bed and shaking your shoulder.

“Mommy?” She’s got little tears on her face, and they don’t cease when you don’t wake up.

“Why won’t mommy wake up?!” She looks up at Steve with terror written on her face and it shatters his heart in his chest.

“Sarah, mommy’s sick, okay? I had the doctor come over and he said that she needs to rest and when she wakes up we’re gonna need to make sure she’s got plenty of water, okay?”

Sarah’s big blue eyes are filled with tears and she shakes her head.

“I want mommy!”

She clings to your torso, crying against your shoulder in fear.

“Sarah, honey, mommy’s gonna be okay. You just gotta give her some space, okay? How about I set up a movie for you?” Sarah sniffles and slowly pulls away from you, looking at her father and shaking her head again.

“I want mommy! I hate you!”

Steve then realizes just how crucial you are. How important you are, not only to him but to his daughter as well.

Losing you would hurt so many people.

“Honey, you gotta give mommy and I some space, okay?”

He picks up the five-year-old, despite her quite literally kicking and screaming, and sets her down outside the bedroom.

He shuts the door quickly and locks it even faster.

Sarah stands outside, wailing her head off and pounding on the door with her tiny little fists.

She cries for you, over and over again, and it breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s brought back to what you said about him. About how this isn’t love.

He sits down at your side again, trying desperately to drown out the sound of his daughter crying outside as his thoughts overwhelm him.

He hasn’t been the nicest to you, that he’ll openly admit, and he makes mistakes probably more often than he doesn’t. But he loves you. He needs you.

Tears well up in his eyes and he lets out a shuddering breath.

He’ll make this right. He has to. Sarah deserves a mother, so does your unborn baby. And -though he may not deserve you- he needs you. The monster will be hard to fight, but losing you will be harder.

The damage he’s done might be irreversible, but he’s gonna do what he can to make things right, to give you a better life.

You don’t wake up for a few hours, but when you do you’re confused.

Your back aches and you feel a little dizzy as you remember what happened, how you got here.

Steve watches as you regain consciousness, confusion pulling your brows together before you slowly open your eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles soothingly.

You look up at him then drop your gaze to your belly, bringing your free hand down to rub it gently.

“Am I... are we okay?” He nods gently, tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I was... I don’t know, trying to teach you a lesson. And all that did was hurt you. Hurt the baby. I wanted to show you that trying to hurt yourself and hurt the baby wouldn’t fly, but I ended up doing far more damage.”

You swallow hard and struggle to push yourself into a seated position, wincing at the throb in your head.

“The doctor said that you shouldn’t move too much, and try to stay on your left side when you sleep. I-I didn't know that sleeping on your back was bad.”

You take a deep breath and look up at him, waiting for the anger to take hold in his eyes but it never does.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. For scaring you and not trusting you. I... I lost you for so many years and now I have you back and... I don’t wanna lose you again. But everything I do to try and keep you close, make you mine... all it does is push you further away and I’m sorry.”

His apology takes you by surprise, and you eye him skeptically.

How are you supposed to know if he’s telling the truth?

He drags one of his hands down his face and for a moment you can truly see just how old Steve Rogers is.

The exhaustion of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders finally shows in the lines near his eyes, the bags beneath them. But what really displays his age is his eyes. They’re so full of trauma and pain and weariness.

For the first time since waking up from the ice, Steve Rogers looks his age.

“I-I’m sorry, too,” you whisper, surprising him.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t thinking. I just... I wanted to punish you for what happened to Natasha. What you did. I wanted you to hurt but I just ended up hurting myself in the process.” You look down at your hands, trying to figure out how you want to phrase what you have to say.

“People argue, Steve. But what you do... it’s beyond that. We’re not... there are so many things wrong with what’s happening between us, what’s happened already, but I can’t leave. Sarah’s too attached and all I want for my little girl is to have a happy life. To have the happiness that was torn from me.”

Guilt settles on his chest, but he lets you continue speaking.

“I want my daughter to have a good life. I don’t want her to be afraid of-of people. The way I am. She loves you, and I know... I think you love her. You haven’t hurt her yet, and I hope it stays that way because at the rate we’re going, I'm not sure how much longer I’ll be able to do this.”

The pure fatigue on your face is more than enough explanation, but the idea of losing you is too much for him to bear.

“No, don’t say that. I’m gonna get better, okay? We-we were happy once. And we can do it again. I’ll be gentle and patient. I just... I need you, (Y/n). I need you a lot and the fact that you have such a tight hold over my every thought makes me angry. But I’m not gonna take it out on you anymore, okay?”

You let out a deep breath and eye him carefully.

“You’ve said that before.”

He thinks back to the time you spent in that cabin in the woods, where you turned his friends against him.

He has said that before, and look at where he is now.

“This time it’ll be different.”

You don’t have the energy to fight him. So if he’s gonna try, fine.

“Where’s Sarah?” You ask, hoping she’s still safely out with Morgan.

Steve’s face falls again and he stands up and opens the door to your bedroom.

Sarah sits crumpled in a ball, her cheeks covered in tears.

“Mommy!” She all but screams the word, launching to her feet.

Steve tries to take her hand but she yanks it away from him, shooting him a glare then running to the bed and climbing up beside you.

Your heart breaks when you see how sad she looks, and you hug her to your chest.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.” She sniffles and climbs onto your lap, climbing to you like her life depends on it.

You wonder what happened while you were unconscious, what Steve did to upset her so much, and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

You look at the man, your thoughts written plainly across your face, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No. I just told her she couldn’t come in. Not ‘till you woke up. She uh... she stayed right outside the door.”

You soothe your daughter, rocking her as much as you can manage with the pain rolling down your spine.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay. Everything’s okay.” You hold her close to you, trying to calm her down while Steve looks on helplessly.

Although his daughter loves him, loves being here with him, nothing can compare to the bond that the two of you have.

The monster in him hates it. Hates that he’s not as close to his own daughter, blames you for it. But he pushes that part of himself down.

He made a promise. And this time he’s not gonna break it.

"Are you sure you’re okay with it?” He asks for the thousandth time.

You only shrug, fixing your hair in the mirror as the doorbell rings.

“It’s a little too late now, Steve. Besides, I don’t really care. Sarah’s gonna have fun and that’s all that matters.”

Your daughter took a few days to warm up to Steve again, but now that she has he’s not gonna risk anything changing that.

He takes one last look at you, at how pretty you look in your blue sundress, then leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“I love you, (Y/n). I can send them away.”

You take a deep breath and shake your head.

“Sarah’s excited. Besides, I wanna know what we’re having.”

You plaster on a forced smile and it breaks his heart, but he turns and heads downstairs to greet the guests.

Ever since you got hurt, he’s been nicer. Far gentler than he's ever been with you, and you’re not complaining.

Steve has the potential to be a good person, that much is obvious, but he chooses not to.

He hasn’t hurt you again, or even yelled at you. No, he’s been patient and understanding and it’s such a sharp contrast from who he was before.

You can hear him greeting the guests warmly, chatting on and on about this and that and whatever else.

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you leave the faux safety of the bedroom and head down the stairs, smiling at your guests.

People that you’ve never seen before are in your house. Well, that’s not true. You’ve seen them on TV.

The Avengers are in your living room and kitchen, talking softly amongst themselves.

In the presence of these superheroes, you feel small. Weak. And you can’t fight the urge to find Steve as anxiety crawls up your spine.

He’s in the kitchen, talking animatedly with Tony Stark and Sam Wilson. Iron Man and Falcon.

He looks so at ease, his face split open with a laidback grin.

Sam’s eyes find yours and he says something to Steve, making the blond turn to you with a soft smile.

He waves you over and you obey, one hand resting delicately on your bump.

“Sam, Tony, this is my (Y/n). (Y/n), Sam and Tony.” You nod politely at them, sliding your clammy hand into Steve's nervously.

You haven’t been around this many people in a very long time.

“It’s nice to finally meet the woman who’s got Captain America so hooked! All he does is talk about you,” Sam says, a grin on his face.

You smile at him, looking up at Steve.

He nods encouragingly, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles to try and ease your anxiety.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I, uh, I’ve heard a lot about you. About both of you.” Tony smiles looking down as someone tugs on his pant leg.

“Can I have a sleepover at Sarah’s house?!” Morgan asks excitedly, her little face full of glee.

“You’re gonna need to go ask your mother. You know she makes all the decisions.”

Tony’s gaze lifts to yours when his daughter runs to find her mom.

“Is it alright if she sleeps over tonight?”

Steve nods then looks at you.

“You alright with that?”

You’re not sure if it’s a real choice or a test, but you don’t want to find out.

“Of course. She’s always welcome here.”

Tony nods with a smile, then resumes whatever conversation they were having before you showed up.

You tune out what they’re saying, carefully rubbing over your stomach and poking at your baby whenever they decide to kick you.

“(Y/n)? Did you wanna help me set the food up outside?” Pepper’s voice breaks you from your trance, her hand coming to rest softly on your shoulder.

You look up at Steve, silently asking for permission, but he just leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips and lets go of your hand.

You follow Pepper, setting up the table in the backyard silently for a while before she clears her throat.

“How are you feeling, (Y/n)? Sarah told us you were sick.”

You swallow hard and give her a tight smile.

“I’m feeling better. Tired all the time but this little devil is to blame for that.” You poke your belly only to be met with another kick.

Pepper nods, smiling at you.

“Are you excited?”

That question throws you for a loop.

Are you? Are you excited to have another baby?

You’re excited for Sarah to have a sibling. Excited to get to hold your baby and love your baby. But the reason why you’re having the baby in the first place? The father of your baby? No.

“Yeah, I am. A little nervous, too.”

She sits down by your garden, patting the seat next to her.

“You look tired, (Y/n). More tired than a mother should be. You’re wearing yourself thin.” You keep your lips sealed, not wanting to say anything that might make Steve mad.

She sighs and sets a gentle hand on your knee.

“I don’t know what your... relationship is with Steve, but I know you’re unhappy. He’s a good guy, deep down. But you need to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t work yourself to the breaking point because it’ll be even harder to build yourself back up. Especially with a brand new baby.”

You let out a shuddering breath and nod.

“It’s just hard. I’m trying but... it’s hard.”

As you talk softly with Pepper, Steve observes the two of you.

You look so sad, so defeated. He hates that he made you look like that.

“She’s unhappy, Steve.”

He turns to the voice, eyebrows raising.

“Wanda. I didn’t know if you’d make it.” He pulls her into a hug. “I heard about what happened in Westview... Wanda, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She sighs, pulling away with a sad smile.

“No. But I will be.” Her eyes travel back over to you for a moment, feeling the pain and the sorrow in your soul.

“Do you think she’ll ever be happy here? With me?” Wanda sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her eyes, feeling your thoughts, your energy.

“It’s hard to tell. Right now she’s so... numb. Nothing but sadness and... hopelessness. Her spirit is crushed, Steve.” She reopens her eyes and turns to the blond.

“You can’t keep her here like this. It’s only a matter of time before she gets fed up and tries to do something drastic. Again.”

Steve knows. He fucking knows that. But he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do to lift your spirits.

He's given you more freedom, let you make more decisions for yourself. He’s been gentler with you, hasn't forced himself on you.

Not forcing himself on you isn’t something to gloat about, but given the history between the two of you, it’s something fairly major.

He just wants to keep you in his life. He needs to keep you in his life.

He turns to the young woman beside him, a thought bubbling into his mind.

“Could you... do something to make her happy? Make her enjoy her life here? Make her love me again?”

Wanda’s mouth curves down as she looks at you, watches you play with your daughter and Morgan.

“Steve, it’s not right.”

The blond lets out a pained breath, shaking his head desperately.

“I just want happiness, Wanda. Don’t I deserve it? Haven’t I suffered enough to deserve a happy ending?”

Wanda’s eyes glow red with sorrow as she’s reminded of her own happy ending that she had to give up.

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, dropping her gaze for a moment before looking over at his desperate blue eyes.

“We don’t always get what we deserve. It’s hard and it hurts, but we can't control everything. And at some point, we need to let go. No matter how hard it is or how much it hurts. We can’t hurt other people because of what we think we deserve.”

They both look back over to you, your own eyes already on the pair, but dropping as soon as you see them turn to you.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t do that.”

Tears stab at his eyes and he huffs out a breath through his nose, turning on his heel and walking away from the party, from his friends.

His abrupt departure catches the attention of a few people, yourself included. Before you can get up and see what’s going on, Bucky’s on his feet and heading into the house.

The woman Steve was talking to makes her way over to you, smiling gently.

“Hi (Y/n). I’m Wanda.” You smile at her, eyes darting towards where Steve disappeared from then back to her.

Bucky re-emerges only a few moments later, shaking his head at Natasha when she gives him a quizzical look.

You turn to Wanda with a strained smile.

“Could you just watch Sarah for a minute? And make sure she has something to eat? The foods ready.” She nods, watching with sad eyes as you walk back into the house to see what’s wrong with Steve.

“Steve?” You call softly, looking around for him only to find him sitting on the couch in the living room, his face in his hands.

“Why can’t I have what I want?” His question catches you off guard and you move to stand in front of him.

He shakes his head sadly, pulling his hands off of his face to grab yours, holding them tightly.

His lips brush over your knuckles gently, before he presses the back of your hands against his forehead, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“This isn’t right.”

Your heart races in your chest, stomach tying in knots as you try to figure out what he’s talking about.

“What are you talking about? Is everything okay? Did... did I do something wrong?” Maybe you shouldn’t have talked to Pepper earlier. Maybe you should’ve just stayed quiet and smiled.

“I can’t keep you here.”

One sentence. Five words. Sixteen letters.

That’s all it takes to have your heart stuttering.

“What... what do you mean you can’t keep me here?” You try your hardest not to let your hopes get too high. Maybe he’s going to kill you. Maybe that’s what it is. It’s certainly something more up his alley than... the alternative.

He slowly raises his head, teary red eyes staring up into yours.

“You know what I mean.”

You shake your head, needing to hear him say it himself.

“What are you saying, Steve?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and closes his eyes, the words hurting him but he needs to say them.

“You're free to go. You and Sarah.”

The breath gets knocked from your lungs, eyes wide as tears start to blossom. This is a trap. A test. It has to be. There’s no way...

“You’re letting us go?” You ask softly.

He sighs again, nodding as tears find their way down his cheeks.

“Yeah... I guess I am.”

You’re silent, staring at him and waiting for him to tell you it’s a joke, to punish you. But he doesn’t. No, instead he lets go of one of your hands and stands up, his chest almost brushing yours.

“You said I don’t love you... but I do. I love you. Or maybe I love the idea of you, I don’t know. But either way... I hate how sad you are. How sad and afraid I make you. You're free to go wherever you want.”

You’re practically hyperventilating.

After all this time, you never truly thought he’d ever let you go. That he’d have even a shred of decency left inside him.

He cups your hands together and carefully places something inside them, then turns and walks to the front door, grabbing his keys and leaving the house.

You stand silently, staring at the object in your hands until standing becomes too hard and you think you may throw up.

Then you sit down, silent tears trekking down your cheeks.

“(Y/n)?” You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, but Natasha’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“(Y/n), are you okay? Where’s Steve?”

You stare up at her then look back down at the tiny, life-changing object in your hands.

“He let us go,” you whisper, your glossy eyes raising to hers again.

She looks half as shocked as you feel.

“What?”

You sniffle then wipe the tears off of your cheeks.

“He’s letting us go,” you repeat, pushing yourself to your feet and holding your bump.

“Really?” You nod, eyes finding the backyard through the kitchen window.

Sarah and Morgan are playing outside with Sam and Wanda.

“What are you gonna do?”

Your heart is so full of confusion, full of pain and hurt.

“I’m gonna go cut the cake, then have a talk with Sarah.” She nods, a small smile on her face.

She heads back outside and you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down before you go out and face Steve’s friends.

You toy with the dainty thing he dropped in your hands before nodding to yourself.

This is what’s right. It’s the right choice for both of you.

You entertain his guests for a few more hours, not wanting to clue them into anything in case they disagree with your decision, with Steve’s.

Only after the presents are given and the cake is almost completely devoured do they finally start to leave.

Wanda helps you tidy up the backyard, writing her phone number down with a soft smile and a whispered ‘if you ever need a friend’.

Everyone bids you goodbye until only Bucky and Nat are left, the metal-armed soldier staring intently at your left hand before a smile spreads across his face.

He surprises you, pulling you into a gentle hug and nodding his head.

“Congratulations, (Y/n).” You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but for some reason, you don’t think it has anything to do with the baby shower.

They leave too, and then you’re virtually alone, Sarah and Morgan asleep upstairs.

After cleaning up every last inch of the house, you head upstairs to go to sleep.

Steve isn’t home until after midnight, long after he lets his tears run dry and his heart stop shattering. It just aches now. Hurts.

He let you go. He really did it.

Deep down he knew this would be the outcome. Either this or your death, but he never wanted to accept it. Refused to admit it to himself.

But seeing Wanda... after all that she’s been through... and she’s still standing strong.

He takes his shoes off and drops his keys on the kitchen counter, freezing in his tracks when he sees the covered plate of cake with his name written on it.

The batter is blue.

A boy.

He’s gonna have a son.

A son that he’ll never get to meet. He’s given you freedom, and he doubts you’ll let him be a part of your child’s life after all that he’s put you through.

He slowly makes his way upstairs, his heart hurting when he sees no sign of your things in the pristine house.

When he pushes open the bedroom door he freezes in his tracks.

There you are, sleeping in his bed. No bags are packed, nothing is out of place, and the dainty diamond ring sits on your finger.

You’ve made your choice, he realizes, his heart jumping for joy in his chest.

He sheds his clothes then climbs into bed with you, wrapping you up in his arms and sighing heavily.

Maybe Wanda was wrong.

Maybe he’ll get his happy ending after all.

#dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x you #steve x reader dark fic #stucky x reader dark fic #Steve rogers x reader dark fic #Steve Rogers x reader #dark!Steve Rogers x reader #Steve X reader dark fic #dark fic #dark au #Steve X reader dark au

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unrestedjade · 3 years

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More baseless Ferengi headcanons no one asked for: LATINUM EDITION~~~

- Almost every home is a rental, as almost all usable land is corporate-owned. Might as well daydream about owning a moon, it's no less realistic than owning the house you grew up in. (No I'm not frustrated with my $1500 rent at all, no I'm not miserable watching 40-year-old trailer homes selling for $250k to a property management firm that's going to rent it out. Surely a place like Ferenginar wouldn't be equally ridiculous, hahahahahahahahHAHAHAHA. Ahem.) - Latinum as religious fetish. We see Quark offering slips of latinum while he prays to the Blessed Exchequer before bed. He even has a little shrine. What's unclear is whether you're meant to reuse the same slips each day or if you have to actually "give up" the latinum over the longer term for the offering to count. You can break a piggy bank, but it's probably bad to break an image of the Exchequer, unless he's very chillaxed compared to the majority of gods. - Assuming really giving up the latinum is better, is destroying it extra good? Or are you sinning by removing it from the Continuum? Are there Ferengi extremist sects that sink latinum into bogs or launch it into a star?

- What do they think and feel about latinum with regards to the Exchequer? What does a god need with it? Is it meant to be his lifeblood, figuratively? Or literally, via transubstantiation? (Catholic Ferengi. Cathipitolists.)

- How was latinum treated in the days before they knew to process it with gold so it could be handled safely? It's very pretty and ethereal-looking in its raw form, and also very, very toxic. Depending on the symptoms of latinum poisoning, I wonder if it had anything to do with it gaining religious significance? Ancient Ferengi priests seeing visions and going a little funny in the head from handling raw latinum for years and years?

- The way Quark and Brunt talk about taxes in S7 suggests there's not a lot of taxation in Ferengi society (officially, anyway. idk what else you'd call their ubiquitous bribes/tips than unofficial taxation). In any case, since one of the major purposes of taxation in modern economies is to control inflation by removing money (governments create/destroy money; they don't really keep a little checkbook register of surplus/deficit the way a household does) offering latinum to the Exchequer as an act of worship could be a good way to take money out of circulation for a while. - Latinum vs fiat money? Latinum is canonically used as coinage by multiple species. (It would seem like Ferengi are putting themselves at a bit of a disadvantage by also attaching a spiritual importance to it, but who knows, and this is a tangent on a tangent.) Is all their money backed by latinum? It can't be, right? Just conceptually, their stock markets and banks can't possibly be tying every value in every account to a real, physical measure of latinum, that's horribly inefficient. Can "latinum" also mean any legitimate liquid asset? Or does the Exchequer insist on the real thing? Much to ponder. - Brunt implies in Family Business that Ferenginar has houseless people and beggars. There's no point in begging if no one ever gives you anything, so some people must give charity to beggars. What's that look like, is it something kind-hearted Ferengi do in spite of the RoA explicitly stating that charity is only acceptable when you come out richer than you started? What's their rationalization in that case? Are they left feeling shameful about it? (Obviously the people stuck begging feel shitty, by design. Ironically, they might feel less shitty than we would, since the Exchequer doesn't appear to care how you get money, only that you get it.) - If you're moved to give money/material aid to a needy person, you'd probably do it quietly. Here in the good ol' US of A a common view is that "hand-outs" hurt the needy person in the long run because you're removing their impetus to stop being lazy sponges. And that's from people who follow a religion that commands them to care for the needy! So it's gotta be even harsher under a religion that's completely mask-off in its worship of individual prosperity. - (You just know Keldar was one of those people tossing a few slips of latinum for someone sleeping under a shop awning each morning. His business sense sucked but Ishka made him sound like a warm person. Folks gotta eat.) - Reincarnation... Alright, so if you were a dude and you die broke it's implied you can't reincarnate/are damned to the Vault of Eternal Destitution. Cool and fair, nothing to unpack there. What about women? They're half the population but seem to have been overlooked on this point in this here 10k-year-old religion. Which is telling in itself, of course, but you'd think someone would have addressed this? Who reincarnates female? Is the accepted understanding that females reincarnate female and are totally removed from the requirement to bid on their life? But that still doesn't solve the problem, because even if reincarnation were assigned-sex-segregated (god what a shitty idea, compels me tho) you're still losing X number of men to the Vault each generation. - I want to see what Ferengi religious debates look like. Pel is shown to be a serious scholar of the RoA as they've dug into not only the text itself but all the commentaries and refutations and deep-dives others have published about it. That's gotta fuel some spicy convo around the tongo table once everyone's a few drinks in. - Are there multiple sects? People arguing whether this or that rule is meant to be taken literally vs as metaphor? Everyone can't be in lockstep on this stuff. Quark seems to have been raised within the currently-hegemonic sect, but surely there's others.

- There don't appear to be any clergy or equivalent persons, so I wonder if there's different sects how they organize themselves? Do they host different subs on Ferengi Reddit? (Ferengi Reddit...shudder) - Ferengi atheists slacking at work or living as drifters because there's no point saving money for a next life that's not real. Life must drive them to drink. That's when you go out into space to live with the sane people and never call home.

- Is the rest of the population chill with atheists, or is that a no-go? I guess it would depend on how loud the person is and whether they follow the Rules or not.

- You know who they're definitely not chill with: socialists. Do they have Satanic Panics about this or that media turning the youth into commies? If you're an outspoken socialist, are you looking at exile? Arrest? An unexpected date with an Eliminator? - Conspicuous consumption seems to be a thing, and it's interesting in light of the whole "needing a good high score for a good reincarnation" idea. It still boils down to showing off how much you can afford to waste, but the stakes are undoubtedly higher for the faithful. - If something happens and you're at risk if losing everything, is it safer to just off yourself while you still have money? What if you're going to lose more than you'd ever be able to make back? (In economics this is called a perverse incentive lulz)

- The Great Monetary Collapse must have suuuuucked. It's the Great Depression x100, and also your god is mad at you, maybe??? And your next life is totally screwed now, too. Fuckin' dire, man. When Quark mentioned it in the show, it was with this flippant air like he was waiting to see how Miles and Julian reacted. He might have elaborated more if they hadn't reacted...the way he probably assumed they would. (Partially a self-fulfilling prophecy given the way he primed them to treat it as a joke, but I digress.) - Suicide rates are measurably higher in societies that elevate achievement and work ethic (see the Protestant vs Catholic divide on this, it's interesting and very depressing as a lapsed protestant in a protestant-dominated country). Just saying. - On this same bummer track: hedonic depression could be very commonplace among Ferengi. Every minute not spent working is spent on distraction because life is just such an exhausting grind, and a lot of factors determining whether you're a good/successful person are out of your control. Booze, porn, and gambling are all very distracting, and thus very popular. If a lot of this just sounds like regular degular capitalism: yes. It's actually proving difficult to push the fictional society further out because we're already living beyond satire. Maybe that's why I like these awful little guys so much. (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

#star trek #ferengi #meta #meta being a generous term for me making shit up because that's just how i party #i got halfway through the virtue of selfishness for the first time since i was 14 just for this #couldn't make myself power all the way through but i think the depth of my ardor should be proven anyway #suicide mention #because their society is an ancap hellscape

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themilky-way · 4 years

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Connections {s.r}

gif credit: nobravery on tumblr!

pairing: spencer reid x female! reader

summary: you work at the BAU and are best friends with everybody, except spencer. you think he just doesn’t like you until one day, he proves you wrong.

warnings: just some minor hints of sadness, reader going through something, nothing major or specific.

author’s note: ah yes I did miss writing and spencer reid has my heart entirely. stay safe guys! ALSO I’M BARELY ON SEASON 3 SO YA’LL BETTER NOT SPOIL ANYTHING ISTG LMAO

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working in the BAU, your job was never boring. five months in had changed your outlook on almost anything and everything in your life, and had your mind now racing at what seemed like a million miles per minute. it was an exhilarating experience, regardless of how crude the crime scene could be, and it was about time you came to terms with that.

the BAU team was just as thrilled to have you with them as you were to join. nobody expected-or wanted- a new member, and were ready to reject your application when they finally met you for the interview. however, after you demonstrated to everyone that you could profile a serial killer based on only the amount of blood at the scene and position of the victim, everyone basically wanted to give you the “welcome tour” of the headquarters.

after you finally got an opportunity to get used to the layout of the job and your training ended, the team always looked forward to your “good morning” notes on their desk. being an early bird, you got there before everyone so you could get ahead on your reports, and always left small notes of encouragement on the person’s desk. it was a small and sweet gesture, and very much needed for the severity of the job.

“seriously, this girl must be doing some type of hypnosis or something to everybody here. why is it that every time I see her, I just wanna hug her, huh?”

“not hypnosis, morgan. just plain ol’ appreciation,” jj said. they were huddled around his desk as they all read a note that said: “always keep your head up, champ. we appreciate the work you do around here :)”

by then, he was the last of the bunch to read his card. however, he didn't have a gold star attached to it, which meant he wasn’t the “agent of the day” as you liked to phrase it. derek flipped the sticky note over and attempted to find it, but stopped when he realized he wasn’t it.

“wait, guys, so if I didn’t get a star, who did?” morgan asked, clearly puzzled. garcia shook her head and pouted, jj simply put a thumbs down, and prentiss muttered a “nope.” everyone knew hotch didn’t get it, because they figured he would call you in privately to thank you. everyone turned to look at you work in the conference room through the window. you were scribbling something on the whiteboard and had papers scattered everywhere on the table, unaware of the team’s puzzled expressions. at that moment, spencer walked through the double glass doors of the bureau and headed over to his desk as he normally would. as he did so, he found the team huddled together and looking at something, and when he followed their gaze he knew what this was about.

in truth, spencer never really cared for having a friendship with you. he looked at you as a coworker and just that, and developing a platonic relationship with you just wasn't anywhere in his mind. he did enjoy the words of encouragement and motivation every morning, though, and no matter how many phases of denial he went through, he looked for it as soon as he reached his desk.

“hey, guys, wanna hear something I discovered about dolphins last night?” spencer teased as he made his way over to morgan’s desk. nobody turned their heads from your direction, and it wasn't until reid mentioned your note that everyone stopped profiling you and turned their attention to him.

“you guys wanna hear-yeah that’s what I thought-wanna hear my note (y/n) left me?” he held up the sticky note and everyone nodded eagerly. he turned the note so he was able to read it, and began. “ ‘the world is smart, but you’re smarter. have a great day, reid!’ how cool is this!” he smiled and at that point so did everyone, when they realized that the note still had more to it.

“oh my god, reid! you got the gold star! congratulations sunshine,” garcia pointed out as she gave him a light punch on the shoulder. spencer’s mind started bouncing back and forth between thoughts when he looked at the tiny gold sticker below your comment. did this mean anything? should he mention it?

the answer to that was yes, he should, but was he going to? probably not. pats on the back were given as the team got up from morgan’s desk and headed to their own when hotch came out of his office and told everyone to meet in the conference room in five to look over a new case. reid, as he walked back to his pile of reports, looked at you working on your own. he never really thought of you as a friend, and didn't want to for that matter. but the longer he looked at you he started to realize that maybe befriending you wouldn't be so horrible. as everyone entered the room and gave you a hug or cheery greeting, spencer opted to sit at the other end of you. but one thing was for sure: his smile was the brightest one in the room.

the next few weeks went by quickly, and included a variety of new “agents’ of the day.” after reid, there was morgan, who practically wanted to kiss you after that. emily followed, who was beginning to turn into one of your closest friends. jj and garcia came next, and soon the four of you founded a girl’s night out every weekend.

however, them being the best profilers in the entire bureau, they noticed that the notes progressively stopped. the team realized something was off with you, and they noticed that your demeanor was different. you began to come later than you usually did, at one point even later than derek. your hairstyle changed to a messier bun, your desk was worse than reid’s, and no more cute notes were seen for almost two weeks.

“something’s wrong, you guys. she’s been here for months and she’s never once frowned or even forgot to put the cap back on her pen,” emily said, packing her files in her briefcase. jj nodded her head, “yeah I know, and I want to ask but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I mean, what if we’re reading too much into it?”

“reading into it? jj, we profile murderers who we’ve never even met, I’m pretty sure (y/n)’s going through something,” morgan stated, standing up from his chair and pushing it in adequately.

“we know one thing: when she’s ready to vent, we’ll be here. in the meantime, we should go home and get some rest. we fly out to oregon tomorrow,” hotch said. everyone agreed, and they stood up and gathered their belongings and headed for the exit door. they waved and said their goodbye’s to you, who was seated at the other end of the room.

you were the only one left at the bureau, and you were more tired than usual due to your lack of sleep recently. you closed your eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, and began to massage your temples with your pointer fingers. it’s been tough for you, taking care of your grandparents ever since they came to live with you. arguments with your mother always lead to the same thing: leaving. you loved them, and you adored having family with you, especially in a job like the one you had. but you had to sacrifice your sleep and wellbeing in order for them to be safe.

you were so concentrated in your thoughts that you didn’t hear footsteps coming down the stairs, moving towards your direction, and finally coming to a complete stop next to your desk. it wasn't until a soft voice broke you from your thoughts, or more so from your nap at that point.

“(y/n)?”

you lifted your head rapidly, and looked up to find the source of the voice, and when you did, you managed to slur, “reid, what the hell, I, uh, thought I was the only one left.

“no, I was just catching up on my reports and was about to go home. by the looks of it, you should too.”

“alright, catch you in the morning, spence. I still gotta finish this case file,” you were looking at him now, and as you spoke you gave a tiny nod to your opened manila folder. “wait you’re staying later? do you know how dangerous it is for girls of your type to be out at these hours of the night? I read a study once that determined women who wandered at night suffered the most danger between the hours of 1 a.m. to 4 a.m.. I mean you don't want to put yourself-”

“I'm not gonna be long, dr. reid, I think I’ll be fine,” you cut him off mid fact. you returned to your paperwork and picked up your pen to write some notes on the margin, and when you looked back up a couple minutes later, you found reid staring at you, confusion clearly manifesting over his features.

‘I suggest offering you a seat, sir. that way you can look at me in distress as long as you like,” you let yourself chuckle a little bit, and even though it made spencer want to laugh too, he restrained himself and asked you what had troubled him for weeks now.

“(y/n), what’s going on? you’re not the same since garcia got the last morning note from you. seriously, I-I’m here to help you.”

dropping your pen, you swiveled your chair so you were in his direction and looked up at him to answer him. “in all honesty, and by no means full offense, I don’t think you care what’s going on with me.”

in his mind, reid was going nuts, and his silence? not helping very much. all he could do was look down at you with a shocked expression and his mouth opened and closed before he finally rebutted your statement.

“(y/n), I’m sorry I made it seem that way. I really am and the truth is I didn’t really care for your notes at first until I stopped receiving them.” he crouched down now to level with your height on the chair, a hand laying on his knee and the other on the ground for balance.

“I didn’t really care for a friend, until I realized I wanted your friendship. I never even thanked you for giving me the privilege of being ‘agent of the day.’”

you realized he meant it, and it wasn’t some cheesy reponse you were so used to getting. he felt it, and you began to realize you could also trust him even a little.

“thanks, reid. sorry for lashing out too, it’s just things haven’t been so easy back home. do you mind?”

“of course not. I’m all ears, (y/n).” you nodded and thanked him, standing up from your chair and kneeling down to ultimately sit down criss cross on the ground. he did the same as you, and his attention was fully yours.

you told him everything that had happened; the fights with your mom, your grandparents moving in, your lack of sleep and how you felt. you vented to him about almost everything in your life and he listened like his life depended on it. at the end, you were crying a little no matter how hard you tried not to. amidst everything, he had pulled you into an awkward sort of hug, considering your position and the fact he doesn't give much physical affection to people. nonetheless, he gave you the comfort you needed and you valued it.

he pulled away suddenly, and lifted himself off the ground a little to get his phone from his pocket. he asked you to get yours, and you did so by reaching over to the top of your desk. the both of you exchanged phones and he wrote his rather rapidly, you still trying to think about your own area code by the time he was finished.

you exchanged phones again, and when you grabbed yours from his hand, he held on to it as well. before he let go, he looked down at the ground and then landed on your hand on the phone.

“you can call me whenever you want. even if you don’t have a reason too.”

his eyes flicked up to your semi-red eyes, and he smiled softly. you did as well, and he felt small butterflies forming in his tummy when you did. spencer reid didn’t care for affection, nor for personal connections with anyone. but perhaps you were beginning to turn into the only exception.

and he didn't really mind it at all.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #derek morgan #shemar moore #jennifer jareau #aj cook #penelope garcia #kirsten vangsness #emily prentiss #paget brewster #aaron hotchner #thomas gibson

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lost-in-purgaytory · 3 years

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Dean Winchester’s Lonely Ex-Boyfriend Club (AO3)

Description: Ficlet. Dean and Cas are getting married! Pretty much everyone they ever met is attending, and that includes exes - some react more maturely than others. Inspired by all the headcanons I have seen about Benny and Crowley at the wedding. Some background about Dean/Benny in Purgatory, bitter Crowley, implied wedding hookups, and of course some cute Dean/Cas fluff.

“So… finally settling down with that angel of yours now, are you?” Benny teased in his soft voice, leaning on the bar.

Dean took a swig of his perfectly ice-cold heaven beer and looked over his shoulder with a fond smile at Cas, who was dancing wildly with Charlie and Gabriel, margarita in hand and wearing approximately half a button up shirt.

“Looks like it,” Dean sighed proudly and shook his head at how unbelievably lucky he was (now that he thought about it, how unbelievably sappy he was too). He huffed a short laugh through his nose at his damn happy self and took another sip of his drink.

Benny appraised him thoughtfully. “Well, you sure look happy.”

Dean nodded and tucked his chin down sheepishly, eyes crinkling. “You know, I really am, man. I really am.”

It was surreal how happy he was, actually - totally foreign and amazing. It wasn’t like he never had a happy moment before in his life, he’d had several, but there was always this voice in the back of his head saying ‘this is only temporary’ and ‘you’ll lose this - probably sooner rather than later.’ But that little voice was gone now. For the first time, Dean was truly at peace. Like some kind of zen master, appreciating every god damn second of his hopeful eternity. There was some real hippie shit going on inside of him right now.

“It was a long freakin’ road getting here,” Dean continued, lost in his own amazement, completely starry-eyed. “I mean, you were there for part of it, so you have some idea. But I never thought… I mean, damn…"

Benny’s signature smirk didn’t waver, but there was a sadness in it too. “And here I thought you were lovesick before, mate,” he joked.

“Oh, shut up,” Dean smiled back, actually having to fight off a blush thinking back to all those times Benny teased him about his affections for Cas back in purgatory - affections which Dean vehemently denied at the time (kinda hard to do when you're crying out a dude's name in your sleep every damn night).

Dean took another large swig of beer, as Benny’s gaze intensified over him - humor and a hint of soulful longing. Exes at the wedding, man… awkward.

But Benny was family, who earned his spot in Dean’s life and his invite to the wedding… just as much as any other guest; more than some of the other guests actually. Like Crowley, for example who was nursing a tumbler of whisky a couple seats over.

If it wasn’t for Benny fighting by his side so loyally as a trusted friend, through the muck and the dark, Dean might never have found Cas in purgatory.

And if Dean was being completely honest with himself (which he was trying to make a habit of, nowadays), Benny helped him in more ways than one. Turns out Dean had needed a big strong vamp with an accent to lead him into some no-strings-attached temptation in purgatory. Under pretense, of course, to maintain plausible deniability.

'Come on boy, we've both got needs and we're not exactly flush with options in this wasteland.’

'We gotta let off some steam every now and again if we wanna stay sharp.’

'What happens in purgatory, stays in purgatory.'

‘Nothing to be ashamed of, love. And don't worry, I won't bite. Unless you ask nicely.’

Apparently, Dean needed that nudge to help him let go of some of that inner shame that kept him from truly accepting that he was attracted to men. And more importantly, Cas.

It probably wasn't normal to invite your ex-vampire fuck buddy to your heaven wedding to your angel best friend, but when had his life ever been normal?

Benny was a crucial player in putting Dean on the right path, into the arms of his angel. And that was all that mattered, so Dean was grateful.

Benny’s constant teasing about Dean being in love with his ‘mysterious angel boyfriend’ made him come to terms with the fact that he had real (scary) feelings for Cas that couldn’t be denied, and made him realize (too late) that he was in love with Cas, as the portal spat him out with Cas still trapped on the other side.

Not too late, he realized suddenly, looking back over his shoulder, floored by the easy smile on his Cas's face as he spun Claire in a circle, in a clumsy imitation of swing dancing. He would have to interrupt soon and teach Cas some real swing-dancing, get some more one-on-one time with his husband.

His goddamn husband.

“I must say…" Benny interrupted Dean's thoughts before they could drift into a domestic daydream, "there were plenty of times I thought, Dean buddy, Hot-Wings clearly aint worth all this trouble,” he shook his head affectionately. “But lookin’ at you now, I figure I was wrong. Happy looks good on you, my friend.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean beamed, holding up his beer for a toast. Benny clinked their glasses together amicably.

“Oh spare me,” Crowley grumbled next to them. “If I have to hear one more heartfelt expression of love and respect, I might just puke all over this cute little reception.”

They both collectively ignored him. Crowley took this as a signal to down the rest of his drink and order a refill with a demanding snap of his fingers.

"Your angel better treat you right," Benny said, politely flagging for a refill of his own.

"No doubts about that," Dean assured.

Suddenly, Cas was at his side, tugging at his sleeve. "Dean!" Cas enthused. Instinctively, Dean tucked him closer into his side and gazed lovingly down at Cas and his endearingly excited expression. "Claire is setting up something called 'limbo' - the dance, not the metaphysical plane. I'm not exactly sure what it entails but I am told it is a tradition."

"Damn right, it's a tradition!" Dean grinned. He couldn't wait to watch Cas do the limbo. Oh, and they had to do conga line at some point. There were still so many human things he wanted to show Cas. A lifetime of things. "Wish my knees weren't so fucked. The limbo's one of the rare things I completely suck at."

Cas cocked his head and squinted his eyes, in the most beautifully Cas way. "This is heaven, Dean. You no longer have any physical ailments or limitations."

Dean pondered that for half a second. "Well, in that case…" he pulled Cas in closer and placed a kiss beneath his ear. Cas melted into him and Dean couldn't wait to get him alone after the festivities, their honeymoon could last for eternity if they so desired. "Might as well take these bad boys for a test drive."

Dean, blissfully happy, dragged his equally blissful husband to the dancefloor, completely forgetting his manners and leaving Benny chuckling at the bar without so much as a 'see you around'.

"Typical, is it not?" Crowley drawled, swirling his drink. "Fool takes one look at that bloody angel and disappears."

"I hate to tell you this, pal," Benny said, sauntering into Crowley's space. "But the jealous ex at a wedding doesn't usually get much sympathy."

"I'm nobody's jealous ex!" the demon growled.

"My mistake," the vampire returned flirtatiously. "Six tequila shots for me and my new friend, please," he ordered casually, without taking his eyes off Crowley.

Crowley raised his eyebrows questioningly, looking Benny up and down with new intrigue.

Benny shrugged. "Open bar. No point sulkin' around all evening." He pushed a shot glass in front of Crowley with his knuckle. "Aren't demons supposed to be the life of the party?"

"You should know I take challenges very seriously..." Crowley threatened, a smile gracing the corner of his lips for the first time all day.

"Countin' on it."

"Well then. To being the life of the party," Crowley announced suavely, lifting the glass from the bar.

"Cheers," Benny agreed, and they downed the hatch.

If they snuck off together at any point during the evening, nobody noticed, too busy paying attention to the happy couple.

#destiel wedding #fanfiction #destiel #deancas wedding #destiel fanfiction #dean/crowley #drowley #dean/benny #bisexual dean winchester

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

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Happy Valentine’s, Raf

Summary: Just fluff of Rafael Barba, Rebecca, and their daughter on Valentine’s morning.

Pairings: Rafael Barba x OC

First Part - Second Part - Third Part

A/N: Added a Valentine’s installment.

“Mama’s coming,” Rebecca heard Catalina giggle, the sound of two pairs of bare feet now coming from the kitchen.

“Good! You can open your present when we’ve had breakfast. You’ve been patient, mija!” He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice, and she was certain that the little girl had been placed on her booster seat and was happily watching her father cook.

“Morning you two,” she beamed, pressing a kiss to the top of Catalina’s head as she was right where Rebecca expected.

“Happy Valentine’s mama!” Catalina cooed.

“Happy Valentines, angel,” she smiled.

Rebecca wrapped around Rafael’s waist, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. Whatever he was making smelled good, and she was content and grateful for the extra rest she’d been able to get. Their last, and only, Valentine’s day, he’d forgotten it, and it was nice to see him making it a special morning, in addition to the steaks they’d gotten to cook for dinner and the lingerie she’d be surprising him in when he came to bed.

“Happy Valentine’s, Becs,” he smiled, tugging her to his side so he could kiss her sweetly. He’d grown his beard back after the trial, and she was certainly glad.

“Happy Valentine’s, Raf. Are you making what I think you’re making?”

“Do you think I’m making mami’s pork and plantain hash? I seem to remember some gorgeous woman I know liking it…”

“The hottest thing I’ve ever woken up to? This, right here. Hot boyfriend letting me sleep in and making pork and plantain hash with our baby.”

“And to think, I got you a present too.”

“You’re really spoiling me.”

“Gotta spoil my girls.”

“I got you a present too. Actually two, but one’s for after bedtime.”

“Eres una chica sucia,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “Go, sit. I’ll bring plates.”

Rebecca spotted the oven clock, humming as she settled beside Catalina at the table. She was coloring happily, content to be in the room with Rafael. She’d become his shadow since Rebecca had started back to work as school started up. He’d figured out how to consolidate meetings with inmates to a day a week, so he was able to work from home with Catalina, picking up teaching an online class as he contemplated the career change. Rebecca would get a couple of pictures a day of Catalina having dragged her toys or easel beside his desk. Sometimes he worried she was getting attached in an unhealthy way, but he was able to leave her with a sitter or at Al and Rodney’s easily if need be. She just seemed to like pretending to work beside him, and each time his heart swelled.

They’d been a little family unit for a couple of months now, and they’d be introducing Catalina to his mother soon enough. He’d told her in January, but he’d also told her in no uncertain terms it would be slow. Now that they’d settled in a routine, they were ready to add grandma in. This morning was like so many others he’d come to treasure as he watched Catalina eat happily from her plate and tell them both stories, usually retellings of whatever her current movie or book was. This morning, however, he was proud to be able to let Rebecca sleep and fix something they normally didn’t have time for.

“I think it’s time for presents,” Rafael smiled, watching Catalina over the edge of his mug. “Mija has been so patient since she saw them.”

“Let me get yours.”

“You got me a daytime present?” he asked, and sometimes when Rafael seemed surprised at things like this, she remembered how much of his life had been spent without companionship. He’d get surprised when things were reciprocated.

“Duh.” She darted to a closet, getting a box all wrapped in pink, and she came back to a little bag at her seat and the bag they’d picked together for Catalina in front of her. She smiled, settling the box in front of him.

“Mija first, I think?”

“Definitely,” Rebecca agreed. Before she could, Rafael leaned to hold the bag for Catalina so she could tear tissue paper from it. There was a little stuffed bear and heart shaped crayons. Catalina squealed with delight, and both the girl’s parents hoped she’d always be so happy. If the bag had simply been tissue paper, the little girl would have been content.

“Thank you papi! Thank you mama!” They both helped settle her at the little easel in the living room, and Rafael brushed Rebecca’s hair back as they brought their gifts for each other to the couch. Catalina had the bear tucked beneath her arm as she drew experimentally with the shapes.

“Oh my god,” he’d laughed, opening the box eagerly. “It’s to make those smoky cocktails, isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen you playing mixologist lately,” she grinned. “Thought a it’d be fun to make the fancy smoked ones at home. There’s also a new bottle of your bourbon in the bar.”

“Thank you, Becs. You do know we’re having smoked old fashioneds tonight, right?”

“Perfect.” He nudged the little bag in her hands, and she could tell he was proud. She took out a little box, obviously a jewelry box, and for a moment she panicked he was proposing. He knew better; things were good but still healing. She opened it to see a ring, but this one held three dainty marquise cut stones in a row on a dainty band.

“It’s our birthstones,” he said, and she could see his cheeks were red with uncertainty. Sentimentality was coming easier now, but he always doubted himself. He pointed to each one as he named them, “Ruby for me, peridot for Catalina, and diamond for you.”

“Rafael, it’s beautiful. Thank you,” she whispered, slipping it onto the middle finger of her left hand and leaning in to kiss him. He seemed to relax when he realized he hadn’t done anything wrong. There had been a long internal battle. Promise rings seemed juvenile, but it wasn’t the time for an engagement. Rebecca already wore a delicate gold chain with a cross and didn’t like bracelets. That only left a ring.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I like you the most. And I like having sappy jewelry from my guy.”

“I like you the most too. I fully intend to give you an engagement ring one of the holidays. When we’re ready.”

“I can’t wait. I fully intend to have more of your babies.”

“I love you, Rebecca. And I’m so grateful for this life with you. Thank you for giving me this chance.”

“I love you too, Rafael. I’m thankful you came home.”

“I’ll get Cat dressed for Mass? Give you time to get dressed.”

“An angel, Rafael.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x oc #rafael Barba x reader #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #writing

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tainted-wine · 4 years

Text

Past Due

Reader X Giran, Dabi, and Mr. Compress (NSFW)

(OOF, This little bastard of a fic has been fighting me every step of the way. It took so long because I was second guessing every single sentence I wrote. Finally, here’s the darkest shit I’ve written so far.)

(This is pre-Overhaul arc, so the bois Giran and Compress are still whole)

Words: 7.8k

Heed These Warnings: Murder, Kidnapping, Noncon/Dubcon, Giran being a dangerous dude, Knives, Forced Oral and Anal, Voyeurism, Humiliation, and the Protagonist just being a total dumbass

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For as long as you have lived, luck has been by your side like a bipolar twin attached to your hip. It was thanks to luck that you were born into a quirkless family in the trashiest of neighborhoods, your penniless parents separating and leaving you to fend for yourself. The streets had no use for you; no quirk, no charisma, no money, you were just another parasite desperately clinging onto the city’s rotten underbelly.

But it was also thanks to luck that you survived this long. The average person can remember each and every brush with death in their life clearly, but you—you’ve lost count of how many times this cruel world has tried to pick you off. So far, you have dodged every bullet, knife, and blast of quirk-based power aimed in your direction. How do you keep slipping past all of these dangerous criminals? Your reckless ass has no idea. Luck was simply a sadistic douchebag that enjoyed dangling you over the jaws of death, only to yank you back up and repeat the process like a sad little yo-yo.

As you drove to your place in a panic, you wonder if luck has ever fucked you this hard before.

———

Things had gotten somewhat organized, and by that you mean that you finally had some sort of plan instead of gravitating toward the nearest opportunity that didn’t look ready to tear you apart and throw your remains in an alley. You’ve even made an accomplice, a woman not quite as powerless as you, but an unfortunate soul with less experience in this…line of work. To make things even better, you managed to strike a deal with a prominent broker. Giran was a name known all throughout Japan’s black market, and to think that he’d see potential in a quirkless broad whose notable trait was simply not dying—it was your lucky day. He supplied you with weapons that will make surviving in this hellhole much easier, telling you to pay him within the next five days.

Your partner in crime asked if this was a good idea, that you didn’t seem capable of gathering that amount of money in the span of time you were given. There was no reason for her to worry; with the heat the two of you were packing now, you now had the ability to rob more than distracted civilians wandering the streets.

But before you could even enjoy your brand new firepower, luck decided to be a total asshole again. It was only the second day when you both were ambushed by a group of ruffians. Their quirks were pretty damn impressive, honestly. One of them levitated your gun right out of your hands before you could even fire, instantly leaving you helpless so that the other dudes could close in and beat the snot out of you.

The two of you woke up, bruised, bloodied, and stripped of Giran’s weapons. Damn, you don’t remember a deal ever going south this quickly. Must be a new record.

Alright, so your weapons were gone and you only have a fraction of the money so far. You can figure this out. Your partner was fuckin’ hysterical and you have to smack her before she gives herself a heart attack. The money was barely coming in, and before you knew it, the fifth day had arrived.

Yeah, you weren’t ready to face him yet.

Look, you weren’t exactly running away from him, you were just making sure to give yourself some space while you got your shit back together. That’s why you immediately moved to another part of town and now made sure to never drive down the same route twice. No, you weren’t gathering money for yourself and completely brushing off Giran, like your partner was suspecting. She has no idea what she’s talking about so she needs to shut up already and help you sell this jewelry that you worked so hard in stealing.

Okay, maybe Giran has been trying to call you for the past couple of days and you were officially ghosting him, but she didn’t need that knowledge to add to her stress. You probably weren’t even in any danger. The deal didn’t cost that much, and he didn’t seem like the type of guy to get truly pissed over some petty crook like you, right?

It’s been a week since the due date, and you both were still safe and sound. It was time to get your paranoid little buddy and discuss your next course of action.

When you reached her shoddy rented room, the door was already cracked open. Strange, and very careless; she should know better. You pushed it the remainder of the way and strutted inside. “Don’t leave your door open, dumbass. Anyway, I gotta—”

Your partner was sprawled out on the bed, open eyes still showing hints of the terror that she most definitely felt before her body became riddled with bullets. The smell of smoke and blood finally reached your nose when the shock of the scene before you wore off. The poor gal probably didn’t deserve such a gruesome fate.

“Oh…nevermind.” You close the door and briskly walk through the hall and out of that dangerous building.

------

This all led up to you speeding to your own run-down apartment.

‘Don’t jump to conclusions, now. This might have nothing to do with Giran. Maybe she pissed off some guys behind my back, or maybe I pissed them off and they found her before they found me. I keep forgetting just how many shit-lists probably have my name on them.’

Whatever it was, that instinctive twist in your gut was telling you that it was no longer safe around these parts. You had overstayed your welcome, anyway.

You glanced in every direction as you entered the building. At what time was your partner killed? If they’re after you too, do they already know where you live? There was no time to waste.

Checking to see that you weren't being followed, you entered your room and went straight to packing. You were basically a drifter, so you had few long-term possessions, so few that they could all fit into one bag. You packed your clothes, essential groceries, and your knickknacks that were ripe for selling. You’re loaded up and ready to go, and you don’t even need to go through the trouble of contacting an accomplice anymore. It’s those paper-thin silver linings that keep you going through this endless shitstorm of a life. With a silent goodbye to your short-lived home, you made your way to the door…

And a series of knocks freezes you in your tracks.

The sudden quickening of your heartbeat was dizzying. Shit. Shit shit shit. Whoever is on the other side can’t be friendly, but you had checked! You made sure no one was tailing you!

You backed away while your eyes darted around, deciding if you should defend yourself or find an alternate route to escape. Your only line of defense was a switchblade, so fighting was probably as bad of an idea as it usually was. You looked back to the single window in the room. ‘The fire escape.’

Several harder knocks spurred you into action. You unlocked and pulled at the old window, the worn frame almost breaking off as it opened. The damn ladder and stairs were one room across, but you can jump across the sills if you were careful enough.

There were more knocks, this time followed by a male voice. “Why the hell are we knocking? She’s not gonna answer.”

Another man responded. Shit, there’s more than one? “True. I just like to give the peaceful route a try.”

Something happened to the door that your fear-addled mind couldn’t comprehend. In the span of a second, the wooden door’s shape was warped and shrunken down into a small sphere. You didn’t spend any time to observe the two men at the entrance—you were already scrambling out of the window. The small ledge was difficult to balance on. If you could just get enough leverage for a jump…

“Oi!”

Fuck, you had to take the leap now, but before you could, a pair of hands took hold of you. In a blind panic, you drew your small blade and swung wildly at your attacker, doing your best not to lose your footing. One hand drew back and you heard a hiss of something like “little bitch”, and you thought this was your chance to break free and get away, but the hand still gripping the waist band of your pants got hot, so hot that it reached your skin and had you yelling in pain from the intense heat. With a powerful yank, you were falling back into the room and being pinned to the floor.

‘No no come on, Lady Luck. You’re always here to save my ass, right? I could use your help right fucking now.”

You thrashed and screamed, but then you saw the face of your captor and ew, that shit made you scream even louder. At least make the last face you see more appealing and less…burnt.

The burned man just looked annoyed while holding you down. “Just compress her already.”

Compress? What? Were they about to crush you? That sounds like a really shitty way to go. A gloved hand was pressed to your head, and everything began to distort at a rate too fast for your mind.

It was dark…you felt like you were floating…are you dead? Did it happen that fast? At least it was painless. There was a voice echoing somewhere, but all you saw was blackness. It sounded like it was coming from above. “God?” He’s real, after all?

God sounded very similar to the burnt asshole that attacked you. “That was easy. Why did he need us for this?”

The other voice that you still couldn’t attach a face to answered. “Giran does a lot for the League. It’s only fair that we do him the occasional favor, isn’t it? Her partner has already been taken care of.”

Well shit. Not only were you still alive, but you had been captured in some way to be delivered to him. You wanted to believe that you were in no serious danger, but no one sends two guys to break into your place and abduct you unless they had something sadistic in mind. Maybe your late partner was onto something this whole time.

The talking continued, but the sound was so faint. It’s like you were wearing a thick pair of earmuffs. This entire void, or whatever it is, was uncomfortable—the darkness seemed vast, yet it felt claustrophobic and heavy, like a powerful gravity preventing you from moving. What kind of quirk was this?

The mystery man was talking again. “Your arm is bleeding.”

“Oh right, she caught me with that little blade.” The burnt one said calmly. “It’s not that bad. My arms can’t feel much.”

“It’s not the pain I’m worried about; find something to wrap it up!” There was a sound that was difficult to discern, possibly a long sigh. “She made quite a scene at the window. I hope she didn’t bring any attention to us.”

You heard a grunt from the burnt one and could picture him shrugging. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say that she was a jumper and we stopped her.”

“…Who in the world tries to jump from only three stories?”

“A dumbass, and I’m pretty sure that’s what she is.”

The burnt guy can kiss your ass.

Their conversations were the only indication of time passing. Maybe you heard a few noises from whatever area they were currently in, such as a car passing by or a dog barking, but it was all too muffled to know for sure.

You hope you won’t be stuck in this prison for too long. The emptiness of it all was going to drive you insane. The abyss apparently sensed your distressed, shaping lights and colors all around and lifting the phantom weight off of you so quickly that you had to hold down a rush of bile in your throat.

It’s still fairly dark…a dimly lit room, no furniture, your knees on a hardwood floor, a figure sitting in front of you…

“Good morning.”

A greeting has never filled you with so much dread, uttered by a voice you haven’t heard in nearly two weeks.

The big-time broker himself was seated before you in a simple metal chair. When you met him in the bar to do business together, he had such a nonchalant aura around him, friendly yet detached. The smirk on his face seemed permanent, wearing it even now as he stared down at you, the little rat that has been hiding in the cracks of the city to avoid his sight. You didn’t feel threatened at all when you spoke in the bar; part of you knew that this man was in no way harmless, but he didn’t go out of his way to intimidate.

But now, even with the same relaxed posture and the same informal tone, his presence was sending strong chills down your spine with your brain screaming DANGER.

Giran leaned in, elbows resting on his thighs and a lit cigarette tucked between his fingers. The hanging bulbs illuminated only parts of his face, leaving the rest in a menacing shadow. “How have you been?”

You had no idea how to answer that. “F-fine?”

He gave a satisfied hum, as if he cared about your wellbeing. “That’s good to know. You’ve been hard to contact lately, so I had no idea.”

You swallowed, or at least you tried, but your throat was forgetting how to work properly. “I…” A cough escaped you. “I’ve been busy.”

His gruff chuckle unsettled you. “Of course. We’re all so busy these days, aren’t we? I’m not the type to stick my nose in others’ business, but may I ask what you’ve been so busy with? Hopefully something that involved gathering my money?” There it was.

Creating some more distance between your potential killer might help you think a little more clearly through the loud beating in your head, so you crawl backwards on shaky limbs like a drunk crab. “Y-yes! I’ve been doing my best, it’s just that I ran into a little problem an—” You bumped into something, turning your head to see a man looming over you. His attire was sharp, like that of a showman—even had a damn top hat. However, the mask he wore was rather ominous, the strange pattern resembling an abstract face. He didn’t budge when you had backed into his leg, only looking down at you as if you were a scared kitten.

In the corner of your vision you noticed the burnt one leaning back against the wall, watching you with disinterest. If it weren’t for the cold stare and the peril that he’s already put you through, you’d dare to admit that the greenish-blue hue of his eyes were kind of pretty.

“Don’t mind them,” Giran said with a lazy wave. “Those two are being kind enough to stick around in case I need them again. So, you were saying?”

You tried to recall where you were in your improvised excuse, and decided that you couldn’t risk having such a lie backfire. “I-I’m working on it. I have most of it so far. I just need a little more time.”

Giran’s face didn’t change. “And how much do you have?”

“Um…I…” What the hell do you say? Are you just digging yourself deeper? Is it possible to go any deeper? “Maybe I don’t have most, but I will soon so—”

“How much do you have?” It was firmer this time, making you shrink back. Dancing around his question wasn’t a good idea.

With a shaky breath, you answered quietly, “A hundred thousand yen.”

Giran placed the cigarette between his lips and took a long drag before blowing out a small cloud of toxic fumes. “A hundred thousand…of my three hundred thousand yen.”

Fuck, when he says it like that, maybe that is a lot of money to be missing out on.

You honestly wished he would show some sort of anger; his unwavering calmness was making you more anxious than any kind of rage.

“Can you tell me what you didn’t understand?” He asked.

“Huh? What…do you mean?” You couldn’t hold back the tremble in your voice.

“When we talked, I thought I made my measures clear. I give you the weapons, you pay me within the next five days. For every late day, I add more to what you already owe me. And if you take way too long, I’ll have to personally show you why you shouldn’t make deals where you can’t hold up your end.” He took another drag. You’re getting a feeling that the shrinking roll of tobacco is playing a big role in maintaining his leveled head. “Well, that all sounds clear to me, but there must be something in that explanation that didn’t get through to you, because you just ignored all of it.” Those final words were topped with a humorless laugh.

Just like that, every foolish decision you’ve made during the past week slams down on you. You were like a child that was confident they could escape whatever punishments were planned for them, now that they were finally caught, they just wanted to blubber endless apologies in hopes of being forgiven, and that’s exactly what you do. “Please, please just give me more time. I’m sorry. I just need another chance.”

Giran simply rests his head in one of his hands while pondering. “You know, this normally wouldn’t bother me. I consider myself an even-tempered guy. But you just had to go and run, avoiding my calls and hiding away for an entire week. If there’s anything that steams me up,” his brows furrowed, the first physical sign of anger that he’s shown. “It’s when an uncooperative client runs from me. Sorry about your friend, but I had to make sure I got my point across. Now it’s your turn.”

He reached into his violet jacket and pulled out a knife. Most of it was a large bulky handle, topped with a short but efficiently thin and curved blade. A wood carving knife.

As he rose from his chair and approached, you were suppressing the urge to just laugh at your own distress, a habit of yours that has caused more than one misunderstanding in the past.

“Compress, if you will.” Giran’s hand beckoned you upwards.

The man still behind you, apparently named Compress, locked both of your wrists at your back before pulling you up on your feet. “Hey-I-Wha-Wait a minute! We can talk! I can fix this!” You stuttered in pure desperation. Giran was poking at the tip of the knife and testing its sharpness, paying no attention to your pleas.

“It’s a shame, really. I happen to have one major weakness,” he admitted while inspecting his pricked finger. “Women. I’m always going easy on them—giving them more chances than they deserve. I can’t help it.” He grips your cheeks roughly, making you squeak. “And it really breaks my heart that I have to ruin such a pretty lady.”

“You don’t have to.” Your squished puckered lips sputter out, making you look and sound ridiculous. “Maybe I cou—"

The knife hovering so close to your face silences you. “Where should I start?” He wondered. You hold as still as possible while the sharp metal lingers dangerously close to your eye. “Maybe I should take out an eye? Maybe both?” His grip on your face prevents you from turning away, so you shut your eyes instead, accidentally releasing the tears that have been gathering in the corners. You feel his hand lower to hold your chin so that he can press the blade against the side of your face, so close to breaking skin. “Or maybe I’ll carve out your cheeks?” A thumb brushes against your lips and pushes past them. “You are quite a talker. Maybe I ought to go in there and remove that tongue.”

Your eyes remain closed, trying to focus on something else. The full-body tremors that you couldn’t stop, the press of Compress’s body against your back as he held onto your wrists, anything but the deadly blade trailing across your flesh. Every time the cruel man applied pressure, you braced yourself for the pain of cold steel cutting into you like fresh produce, but he would always pull back. It was pure torture and he hasn’t even harmed you yet.

“Hmm, you really are a cute one,” you heard him murmur as the knife trailed down your neck and across your collar. “Do I really want to carve such pretty skin?”

There was a loud groan, prompting your eyes to open and look to the burnt one who left his post at the wall. “For fuck’s sake, old man. How about I handle this so you don’t have to play mental tug-o-war with yourself?”

Giran didn’t seem fazed by the crude way he was addressed. “Oh? What did you have in mind, Dabi?”

Dabi gave an evil smirk of his own as he walked over. “I wonder how badly I can burn a person without killing them.” A scarred hand was placed on your shoulder and you squirmed at the rising heat. “Maybe we can find out together. How about it, girlie?”

You felt the other man behind you shake with a soft laugh. “So cruel, Dabi. I’m a gentleman myself. I could help, but taking a limb or two from such a beauty would be an unforgivable crime.” The implication of what he could do with his quirk made you fear for your arms that were still in his grasp.

“Great. Chivalry isn’t dead in the world of villains.” Dabi rolled his eyes. “You’re not wrong, though. She doesn’t look bad.”

There were too many hands on you. A rough aged hand caressed your throat and jaw, a gloved hand was tenderly running through your hair, and burned ones were shamelessly groping your chest and squishing your breasts. “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut it.” Dabi snapped, not letting up his assault. “Burning you might be a waste. Maybe I should just fuck you instead.”

Your stomach twisted in disgust at the very thought. The other two men pulled back and stilled at the suggestion. This nasty motherfucker wishes he’d get some. At least there were more reasonable voices in the room to keep the sicko away.

“Well now, that’s not a bad idea.” Giran declared with a nod of approval.

‘Ex-fucking-scuse me?’

Compress gave your shoulder a suggestive squeeze. “A vulgar way of putting it, but it’s an idea I can get behind.”

“Then it looks like we’ve all come to a new agreement.” The sleazebag exhaled smoke right into your face, stinging your already watery eyes and forcing several coughs out of you. “I hope you’re alright with that, darling.”

You shook your head fast enough to disorient yourself. “No! This is sick! Get your hands off me!”

“No good, huh? You think I should stick to the original plan?” Dabi dared you with a dazzling blue flame appearing in his palm. The memory of his scorching touch had you freezing up. “I’m just kidding, I don’t give a shit if you want this or not. This ain’t a friendly hookup.”

Compress leaned into your ear, voice sounding horribly close even with the mask protecting you from his lips. “I’m going to let you go now, and you’re going to cooperate with us, right? Surely you know how outmatched you are.”

Yes, you knew, yet there’s a little voice strongly urging you to fight and attempt an escape anyway. But you knew that will only end in pain and possibly death, and even though you were dreading what they had planned for you, the pitiful survivor in you is willing to sacrifice your dignity to stay alive. And so, you nodded.

“Very good,” you heard the smile in his praise. Your tender wrists were released so that he could take the hem of your shirt and slowly begin to pull it up. Your arms remained stiffly at your sides, the oppressive air around the three dangerous villains suffocating and leaving you light-headed.

“Cooperation, remember?” Compress reminded you.

With a hitched breath, you raised your arms, allowing him to peel the shirt off and throw it aside. Dabi wasted no time in exploring your newly revealed skin, while the gloved hands moved on to work at your bra and Giran undid your pants. You try to keep your breathing steady as you’re stripped, even when your pants fall down to your ankles. The second your bra is unclasped, you move to cover your freed breasts, only for the scarred bastard to slap your arms away.

“Quit it, I’m trying to feel you up,” He wasn’t very gentle in handling you, and his texture was so strange, wrinkled skin and the staples keeping him together scraping across your mounds. While he ventured lower, the other two men took their turn with your feminine assets.

Giran was fondling you slowly, but he seemed to be paying much more attention to your face, the face that you were having a very hard time keeping blank while Compress was massaging your other breast way too tenderly. It would help to shut your eyes once again, but that only enhances their touches, sparking goosebumps all over and threatening to pull a moan from your throat. You chose to look to the side and hide away from the broker’s dull gaze, but there was no avoiding Dabi’s hand palming your clothed sex, making you yelp. “AH! Don’t! You can’t just—”

He squeezed you down there, sending a foreign buzz through your abdomen. “What the hell did I just say?” He scolded. “I think I know how to shut you up.”

Giran made an amused hum. “Well Dabi, given you were the one who suggested this, I’ll grant you the honor of teaching her a lesson first.”

Your stomach dropped at the rough lips parting into a toothy grin. “You’re too kind.”

“Just don’t ruin her too quickly, alright?” Compress urged him before patting your back and stepping away. Giran also turned away and returned to his chair, leaning back with one leg crossing over the other.

The only one holding you now was the fiery villain; it had you sweating profusely even without the use of his quirk.

“Now, on your knees,” he ordered and pushed down onto your shoulders, forcing you to kneel. Your chest was tightening painfully when he unbuckled his belt to draw his half-hard cock. It wasn’t exactly any comfort, but it was wholly intact unlike the rest of him. “Start sucking.”

You kept your lips sealed and shook your head, only to have your hair grabbed and yanked back. Your pained cry was all he needed to shove his meat into your mouth. Your shout changed into a gag from the fleshy intrusion.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name was uttered with a mocking venom. “I’m trying to give you the benefit of a doubt and believe that you don’t have the memory of a dead goldfish, but in case you do, let me remind you that we brought you here to hurt you.” That dreaded heat was back, his hand threatening to call those blue flames and set your hair ablaze. “So which would you rather deal with: being carved and burned into a bloody mess, or having to please a couple of dicks? Doesn’t the latter sound more bearable?”

You couldn’t pull back to answer, his hold on your head tight and unyielding, so you nodded.

But for some reason, that didn’t satisfy him. “I need you say it. Come on, you can do it.”

‘No I can’t, you overcooked motherfucker! What do you want from me?’ Having no idea what to do but also not wanting to try his patience any further, you worked your voice around the thick rod and managed a choked and barely comprehensible “mmyeff.”

The sloshed word made Dabi laugh and you felt him twitch on your tongue. “Cute. That’s good enough. Now put that mouth to work so I won’t have to turn your head into a torch.”

Admitting defeat, you moved your head to take in more of his growing erection, wriggling your tongue in a poor attempt to get away from his salty taste, only to stimulate him in the process. You feel him respond with shaky breaths, but the fact that you’re servicing this terrible man doesn’t make you want to try any harder.

Dabi realizes your slow pace isn’t changing and his grumpiness quickly returns. “Oh come on, put a little more energy into it. A quirkless bitch living in the worst part of town, this can’t be the first time you’ve had to suck dick to save your life.” You look up and glare at him, which didn’t do much to intimidate when you were blowing him at the same time. He only smirked. “If you don’t pick up the pace, then I’ll have to take charge, and I don’t think you’d want that.”

You push yourself to put in more effort, taking in more of his now fully swollen cock and gagging pathetically. Despite what the singed shithead had guessed, you weren’t experienced with this. Your sex life boils down to a couple of hookups. This hectic existence with its cast of untrustworty characters wasn’t suitable for any kind of serious relationship, and sexual favors were something you tried to avoid as much as possible. Those rare nights with a partner were nothing like this, and you sure as hell would never ask for a fucking audience. A wisp of smoke nearby reminded you of Giran’s presence.

The sick broker was just sitting and watching with interest, his smirk still present. He seemed satisfied with just watching you in this humiliating state. Compress stood out of sight, but he was most likely doing the same. It made you just want to curl up and hide from these hungry eyes.

You heard a tired sigh over you as Dabi adjusted his grip and was now holding both sides of your face.There was no warning when he thrusted forward to jam himself into the back of your throat, the sting making your eyes well up.

“Sorry, but I think I’ve given you enough chances,” Dabi panted while reveling in the feel of your mouth all around him. His cock slid back and allowed you to breathe for just a second or two before plunging back in.

Breathing through your nose was the only option as he pumped in and out of your throat with little restraint. You gurgled helplessly and tried to push at his thighs to keep him from going so deep, but that only made him chuckle and fuck your mouth more roughly. He was in complete control now, so all you could do was take it as best as you could. Saliva gathered as your throat was violated, some of it oozing past your lips and running down your chin.

“Look at you, turning into a drooling mess for my cock. You like having your mouth fucked just like a pussy?” Demeaning words were spoken between his grunts, commenting on the depraved state of your face—you could only imagine how you looked at the moment with your extra lubricated mouth allowing him to move in and out more easily.

The erratic slams of his hips against your face signaled that this torture will be ending soon, as long as you could endure the assault on your windpipe that was making you dizzy. Any cry of distress or plea to slow down was reduced to wet gurgles and more spit bubbling from your mouth. With a teeth-clenched growl, Dabi presses your face flush against his pelvis, engulfed by his musky scent as cum shoots straight down your throat. Black spots were appearing in your vision with both your nose and throat blocked. ‘Can’t breathe…can’t…’

“Hang in there, just need to make sure you swallow every last drop.” He keeps your head locked in place so that you could feel every spasm as he feeds you his seed. Finally, he releases you and steps back, allowing oxygen to rush into your lungs as you coughed and wheezed.

“Whoops, maybe I went a little overboard,” Dabi joked at your shaking form that was hunched over hacking up a mixture of saliva and semen. That fucking bastard…

“You think?” A sarcastic remark sounded from an approaching presence behind you. Compress kneels beside you, placing a hand on your back as your coughing fit slowly died down. “That’s not my ideal way of punishing a lady. Wouldn’t you agree, Giran?”

You didn’t have the strength to look at said man and the amused expression that he was undoubtedly wearing. “I’m not picky myself. It was a good show,” you heard him say. You can physically feel your dignity leaving you.

“Well, I can give you a better one.” The phony gentleman grabbed and straightened you up. You noticed that he had removed his hat, his head concealed by what may be a ski mask. It was strangely symbolic—beneath all of that pizzazz was just another unforgiving criminal. “Dabi certainly did a number on you, didn’t he?” He observed, fingers tracing over your chest and the drying drool that had trailed down. You heard a “damn right” from Dabi who had returned to his spot at the wall. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t leave you so roughed up.”

His words did nothing to alleviate the growing fear as his hand wandered down to your panties, fingers pressing against the damp cloth. “Oh my…and here I was thinking he was being too hard on you. Looks like you didn’t hate it as much as I thought.”

You shuddered at the small chorus of laughter from all three men. Dabi took the opportunity to taunt you again. “I had a feeling she was the type that loves being treated like a hole. The bitch probably would have gotten off if I went a little longer, not that she deserves to.”

“Ah, but I think she does. In fact,” Compress pulled the underwear to the side and touched your slick directly, making you gasp. “I’d say she deserves more than she can handle.”

“N…St…op…” Your voice was hoarse from the abuse your throat had gone through. His fingers began soft strokes against your glistening folds, a feeling that wasn’t unpleasant, but you held back your whimpers to avoid both the vocal strain and giving him any gratification.

The gloved digits moved skillfully across your sensitive lips, kindling a hot desire deep inside of you. No, you really didn’t want to be feeling that from him. Your own hands curl into fists when you feel him prod at your opening, just barely penetrating you and making you bite your lip in a painful effort to suppress a moan.

He looks right at you; you can only guess what face he was making. “Trying not to make any noise, are you?” His free hand removed the patterned mask, revealing chocolate eyes and a smile that wasn’t at all sweet. “I sure do love a challenge. Then again, I already know that I’ll win.”

Any retort you had prepared died on your lips when two fingers slipped into your heat, unable to hold back your whimper even with your mouth closed. “There it is,” he purred close to your face. “But I think we can do better.”

Your cunt throbbed with each brush against your walls. He couldn’t go too deep in your current position, but that didn’t deter him as he pistoned in and out, flexing his fingers every which way until he found that forbidden spot that made you wail. The white hot heat was threatening to smother you completely. You found yourself grasping his arm and weakly pushing at it, silently begging to make it stop before you burst.

‘Don’t look ahead…Giran is watching…don’t look ahead…’ The mantra repeated in your head, echoing loudly to distract you from the unstable knot in your core. The inner chant was to no avail—several hard presses against your nerves had you crumbling beneath the searing heat of your climax. With no restraint remaining, your broken whines rushed out of your convulsing body and echoed through the room. A thumb circles your clit and prolongs the all-powerful sensation.

“Try to bear it, darling.” Compress says to you, but his voice sounds so far away, drowned out by the vibrations starting from your pussy and spreading all over, engulfing you. Even after your orgasm passes, the assault on your sensitive womanhood doesn’t stop, the sensations becoming painful. You would have fallen over if Compress wasn’t holding you, his arm wrapped around you in an insultingly affectionate embrace as he continued to overstimulate you. The words falling from your lips were weak and incoherent, the occasional ‘no’ and ‘too much’ being heard.

Sobbing in the villain’s shoulders, you can make out the blurred violet figure in your foggy vision, still lounging and taking silent delight in your struggles. You just barely noticed the slight curve of his lips as Compress forced you to cum again, pitting your muscles against another wave of excruciating spasms. This time he did let you collapse, your body sprawled out on the floor as your walls continued to clench.

“Hmmph, not bad.” Dabi can be heard, and his voice alone makes your throat burn again.

Compress was still close, curiously squishing your juices between his fingers. “I could have gone for longer, but she still needs energy for the main act.”

You hear a dark laugh from Giran. “So generous of you Compress. What would I do without you gentlemen? Just do me one more favor and remove the rest of your clothes.”

“Of course,” the showman moved over to fully strip you. You stayed limp as he pulled your drenched panties down along with your pants that were still hanging at your feet, then moving on to remove your shoes. You were now completely bare, body shivering despite the warm still air of the room.

“Alright, miss. That’s enough rest. Time to get up and come over here.” Giran orders coolly. There was no urgency in his voice, but you knew you shouldn’t keep him waiting. If only your entire lower body wasn’t screaming. Compress sensed your plight and took hold of your waist, prepared to pull you up.

“No no,” Giran held up a hand while stomping out his cigarette. “She’s a big girl and can stand on her own.”

Compress simply shrugged and retreated, leaving you to force your aching arms and legs to move and lift you up.

Even after being violated, you still couldn’t resist covering your chest and mound as you slowly approached the man that you deeply regret ever getting involved with. You tried to ignore how gross your body felt—the salty fleshy taste lingering on your tongue, the wetness that continued to run down your legs, your bare feet shuffling across the old dusty floor. There was a prominent bulge in his pants, revealing just how much this was all exciting him.

“Sit down and have a ride on me.” It was said so casually that you needed a moment to comprehend.

Dabi barked impatiently. “Hey, don’t just stand there like a modest statue.”

Realizing that Giran isn’t going to take out his erection himself, you lean in to open up his pants, fighting every urge to pull your hands away as they work at the buttons and zipper, pulling down his underwear to watch his cock spring out. He didn’t seem to react, only watching your face like he has been since you’ve been tossed into this damned place. You stare at his waiting dick until you accept that you have to get closer, standing over his legs before lowering yourself down onto his lap. You have to grab the soft yet firm organ to keep it in place as it touches your opening.

He was so close, smoke-scented breath hitting your skin. There was no way to avoid his gaze at this proximity. He was free to see all of the shameful details on your tear-stained face.

It pains you to admit that Compress’s fingers made the stretch more bearable as Giran’s head pushes into your cavern that was still sensitive from the previous man’s onslaught. You had to place your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself as your hips sunk down on him, breaths shallow throughout your poor attempt to stay relaxed and not tighten up. Several inches later, you had him fully sheathed inside you.

“Good. Very good.” His voice was low and rugged, eyes closing briefly so that he can take in your surrounding heat. “Now start moving. I didn’t bring you over just to keep me warm.”

You didn’t have enough pride left to protest, so you did as instructed, slowly lifting your hips before bringing them back down, ignoring the strain put on your thighs. Giran placed a hand on your ass, the contact making your pace falter for just a second. He looked so at ease as you bounced on him that you wondered, if it was just the two of you, perhaps you could have taken this as an opportunity to attack. But in the current situation, it would only lead to certain death. The thought leaves your mind as quickly as it came.

“Three days.” The two words cut through your weary breaths and the squelch of your pussy. You give Giran a look of confusion before he specifies. “I’m giving you three more days to collect the money.”

The news surprises you enough to halt your hips, an action he doesn’t approve of.

“I didn’t say stop.” The warning in his tone had you instantly moving again. He lightened at your compliance; he sure knew how to flip his friendly mode on and off like a damn light switch. “Very good. I’m trying to show you some more mercy here. Don’t ruin it for yourself. Anyway, you need to hurry and do whatever you can to get that money. Steal, call some old friends, maybe sell your body? I don’t think you’d be half-bad at that.” He gave your rear a light smack, making your walls squeeze him in shock. “If you don’t have enough by the time we meet again, your lovely body won’t stop me from peeling your skin off a second time. Are we clear, sweetheart?”

The fear from his threat grips your chest as you keep trying to please him, moving in a way that keeps his dick away from your g-spot. “Yes,” you whimper through your pants.

Giran caught on to what you were doing. “I’m not convinced.” Both of his hands take hold of your hips and push you down, forcing stimulation on your hypersensitive bundle of nerves. A scream rips through your burning throat. “I’ll say it again: Are we clear?”

“Yes!” Your voice cracks and tears are flowing down your face once again.

“You won’t run from me again?”

“No! I swear I won’t!”

“Good girl.” He was the one setting the pace at this point, forcing you up and down in pursuit of his release. There was another agonizing orgasm growing in your abdomen, but the hands controlling your movements weren’t giving you a chance to escape the inevitable storm.

The final slam collides his throbbing cock with your cervix, and the pained pleasure has you quivering in his hold, crinkling his shirt with your white-knuckled grip as you cried out from every foul spurt into your womb. His soft groans were heated against your neck.

His pats of approval on your back are enough to push your worn figure into his chest. He chuckles and rubs you like a lover that didn’t just force you into the most disgraceful moment of your life. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

Despite your limbs feeling like pure lead, you wanted to get off this man as soon as possible. “Please just let me go.”

His smile filled you with a fresh wave of dread. “Soon, darling. But I need to make sure I’ve made my point. I think the other two gentlemen would appreciate a turn.”

You heard the quick footsteps before he even finished, scarred hands grabbing and pulling you off of Giran’s softening cock. Fuck, the two had been so quiet for the past moment that you forgot about their presence.

You jolt at the feel of Dabi’s revived hard-on pressing against your back while Compress stops right in front of you, his own length bobbing freely. You flinched at the damp gloves caressing your chin and lips. “Are you ready to return the favor? Don’t worry, I won’t treat your mouth as badly as Dabi did.”

“Sadly,” The crueler man behind you added before pressing down and bending you forward, your head now leveled with Compress’s waiting dick.

“Open up for me,” he orders with a hand resting in your hair. Your jaw still ached from the last cock in your mouth; you hoped that he truly was going to at least be more gentle as you parted your lips and took him in.

Dabi rubbed up and down your spine as he watched. “Well look at you, such an obedient little bitch now.” He began to knead your ass cheeks before spreading them, your body tensing in fear as a finger toyed with your back entrance.

“I’m not a fan of sloppy seconds, guess I’ll have to take another hole.” It was the only warning he gave before his thickness was pushing forcefully into your unprepared ass. The searing pain was as intense as his quirk, your muffled shrieks vibrating against Compress and making him moan. Dabi smiled at your suffering. “Can’t complain, ‘cause this sounds a lot better. Hope I don’t do too much damage in there.”

He fucked you as hard and fast as your tight passage would allow, pushing the other villain’s dick further into your throat with each thrust.

Soon, they will switch places. And then they will take you separately. And Giran will stay seated, taking pleasure in watching you break.

Your mind eventually wanders to what will happen afterwards, if there is any possible way to right the biggest wrong you’ve ever committed…or if you simply had three days left to live.

It feels like luck is done saving you.

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

tagging @mothwithteeth because their thirst for Giran inspired me. Go check them and their awesome work out!

#bnha #smut #dabi #giran #mr. compress #dabi x reader #giran x reader #mr. compress x reader #tw noncon #tw death

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bellesque · 4 years

Text

Sweet Dreams (Loki x Reader)

Part 7: Sight

Read on AO3.

Spotify playlist here.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings/Tags: Mirror Sex, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Bondage, Masturbation, basic filth y’all know, and some Angst gasp

A/N: This was a beast to write. Can’t believe there’s only one chapter left after this. Thanks for being along this filthy ride.

* * *

“HEY. SEX EYES.”

Your attention snaps up immediately. “Hm?”

She gives you a look. Shit. Busted. You plaster on a look of feigned obliviousness.

Isla sips her margarita, eyebrows lifted, and then takes extra interest in setting it down. Guilt gnaws at you. Did you pay attention to anything she just said? No. Are you going to let her know? Not if you can get away with it.

You don’t, though. Barely anything slips past Isla, from information to a change in energy. The prolonged pause makes you nervous, but you do your best not to show it.

“Sex eyes,” she says simply, examining her nails. Her gray irises flit to you, and she cocks her head to the side. “You’ve got the sex eyes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’re thinking about a good lay. Or getting laid. You literally just zoned out because you were thinking about sex!”

“Isla!” you shush her quickly, before the elderly couple a few tables down has a chance to throw you a dirty look. Your cheeks burn, and Isla’s eyes widen as she realizes she wasn’t off the mark.

“Oh my gosh. Wait, I was like, half-kidding.” Her face splits into a grin and she slaps your leg under the table. “I knew it!” she hisses.

“Isla!”

“So who is he?”

It’s a little amusing to see her cool, calculated façade crumble as soon as she discovers you’ve been seeing someone—well, you’re using the term loosely here. But. Still.

She doesn’t even let you speak before she barrels on. “He’s gotta be like. A total hunk since you turned down Jake for him, right? Right? Holy shit, woman, tell me!”

Tell her what, exactly? That you’re “seeing” someone who only comes at midnight, specifically when you’re asleep?

“It… he’s a… secret,” you mumble.

“Secret?” Isla lets out an exaggerated gasp. “No way. Nuh uh. No secrets between us.”

“He’s a little… bashful,” you try, shrugging your shoulders. Is it hot out here? You specifically picked a table with good shade, but you’re heating up. You grab your drink in the hopes of cooling off a bit.

“Doesn’t mean you have to be,” she pouts childishly, crossing her arms as she leans back against the wicker lawn chair. “Fine.”

A pause.

“Is the sex good?”

“Isla!”

“What? Can’t blame me for trying. For all I know you’re a kinky bitch under all that office wear.” She wags her eyebrows at you suggestively. You roll your eyes in response. Another sip. Another hope that she won’t notice that she, once again, has hit the nail right on the head.

“He is real, right? You’re not just messing with me?”

“Of course,” you reply instantly, a thin wall of defensiveness going up. “What makes you think he isn’t?”

“You’re literally telling me nothing.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Yeah, but I tell you everything!”

“Even the things I don’t want to know,” you mutter. Isla pouts again.

“Fine. It’s fine. My best friend knows that she can tell me when she feels ready. And I, as her best friend, will be just as welcoming and accepting as I always am. Unless of course. He’s a troll or something. Then we can hide his body together. But one day, my best friend will tell me. Every little kinky, pornstar-worthy detail.” She wrinkles her nose in afterthought. “Ew. Okay maybe not every kinky, porny detail. But you get it!”

You manage a weak beam, but your lunch date with Isla goes on with a rock in the pit of your stomach. It’s only on your way back to work that you acknowledge and confront the feelings you’ve been suppressing for the longest time. Not the ones that surfaced because of Isla’s prying—but the ones that have been swimming just beneath the surface, opening up into a vortex of heavy thoughts.

It’s like you’ve grown… attached. There’s an emotion somewhere, one whose name comes closest to yearning, and it’s tearing you apart. On the one hand: he’s an incubus. He’s somewhere between fact and fiction, and obviously having the hots for a something rather than a someone proves to have its issues… but what if?

What if he were real, more than just a sex demon? More human, more capable of emotions other than lust and desire?

Damn. Get it together. No need to get all soft. It’s just sex.

(But it lingers: what if it could be more than that?)

The silk ties are gone.

The corner where they usually sit is bare. You don’t consider yourself an overly observant person by any means, but you’ve gotten so used to seeing the smooth shine out of the corner of your eye that it feels just the slightest bit off when it’s not calling out to your subconscious.

Where… where did they go?

A sharp shiver runs down your shoulders when you realize it could be because you won’t be needing them tonight. You’ll be seeing him.

How is he going to go about it? Surely as teasing and drawn out as he always is, but where would he even begin? Would he ask you to undress for him, peel off each garment layer by layer? Would he be the one to do so?

Tonight feels like such an occasion that part of you wants to prepare somehow. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten excited to get ready for something.

Ah, fuck, if you’re too excited again, does that mean you’re not going to sleep?

It’s whatever. You’ll deal with it later.

Along with the possible emotional repercussions you dread will arise.

-- -- --

Surprisingly, you’re out like a light. The lightest shifting of your duvet is what wakes you.

“Just as I suspected.” Loki’s silky voice is right by your ear. “You really are a vixen, sleeping naked like this.”

Your eyelids flutter open to see Loki kneeling over you, a seductive smirk on his face. His green eyes rake over your figure hungrily, flitting from the duvet that covers your lower half to the halo of hair around your head. He trails his fingers along the curve of your jaw. “What were you planning to do, pet?” he murmurs. “Seduce me into your bed before I’d had my fun?”

You give him a sleepy smile, sleep-hooded eyes fixated on his mouth. “I’m the fun,” you counter boldly, slowly pushing your bare breasts towards him.

“That you are.” He trails his hand down to your breast now, giving it a gentle squeeze and a tug. “But. It’s so much fun to play with you, sweet.”

Your breathing shallows, eyelids dipping to where his fingertip lingers on your peaked nipple. It’s so easy. So natural for you to slip into this hypnotized, seduced state, willing and wanting for lack of a better description.

His touch ghosts back up over your neck, skimming lightly over your jaw as he leans towards you. “Are you ready?” he asks, his head tipping to one side. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his nose against the hollow of your cheekbone. “At long last.”

You crane your neck to the side, back arching, rising up to feel the length of his body closer to you. You will have him skin-to-skin tonight, eyes open through all of it, and a fiery bolt of excitement floods your core.

His silk suit has never felt more irksome than it does now. A barrier between you that you wish you could just rip away and have him then and there. He’s made you wait long enough, damn it. You need his cock, now.

But Loki loves to leave you in that state of anticipation, it seems. His fingers dip beneath the duvet and trail all over your naked flesh, purposefully avoiding your sopping cunt, but stimulating you just enough to make your chest rise and fall faster.

And fuck, if his expression isn’t intoxicating as it is. The way he studies you so intently—the darkness in his eyes, the way his tongue darts out when he sees how hard your nipples are. He’s barely even begun, and he’s already ruining you.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” he says lowly, darkened eyes flicking up to meet your own. “May I?”

Your answer is an urgent pressing of your mouth against his, warm and desperate and longing.

And Loki doesn’t kiss you—whatever he’s doing now, calling it mere kissing would be a disservice. It’s dizzying, consuming, possessive, every bite on your lip and suck on your tongue. There’s no way you can hold it in when you moan into his mouth.

Loki pulls away, his grip tightening around the base of your neck—fuck, when did his hand end up there?—and breathlessly he mutters into you, “Do that again. Moan for me.”

His mouth captures yours in another earth-stopping kiss, and you oblige him.

And he moans too.

By the time he pulls away, finishing with open-mouthed pecks and his tongue swiping against your mouth, you’re positive your lips are swollen and flushed the deepest shade of red. The look in his eyes tells you plainly tonight has just begun.

You reach out for him, eager for another kiss, maybe two—

The bloody fucker has restrained you. Both hands, tied to the headboard.

You say his name in what is supposed to be mild confusion, but it comes out more breathy and wanton. Damn him.

“I want you to watch me.”

Oh, fuck.

Loki gets off the bed, transfixed on your naked form all the while, and… and, well, begins stripping.

“Watch me,” Loki says sharply when he sees your eyes nearly roll back when you shudder.

And so you do. Maybe it’s because your breasts rise and fall in your periphery while you’re fucking tied up—which is somehow super fucking erotic—or because he’s watching you watch him with such a burning intensity, but even without showing an inch of skin, Loki has you, a whimpering mess, in the palm of his hand.

And then finally—fucking finally—you see him in all his bare glory.

Your jaw drops when you see his cock: swollen with blood, erect and leaking copious amounts of precum it’s obscene.

“I want you… to watch…”

His fingers clasp around his shaft, stroking himself in long, languid pumps. Your mouth waters, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Wet. It’s what you are, it’s what Loki’s dick is. Somehow you don’t know where to look—into his eyes that seem to fuck you, or at his mouth that’s slowly parting and moving soundlessly from his restrained groans, or at his flushed and leaking cock that hangs heavy in his hand. You squirm, your cunt fluttering in need.

Your attention eventually focuses on his ministrations, the mesmerizing way he touches and strokes himself. Loki drags his hand over his shaft at an excruciatingly slow pace and keeps it up for a good while before he starts speeding up, his quiet breaths growing more labored and his abdomen visibly tensing as he ruts more firmly into his fist.

“Fuck,” you say softly, your core muscles rhythmically clenching now as you imagine it’s your cunt. Have you been clenching all the while Loki pleasures himself in front of you—for you?

“I would love to,” he husks. Loki advances, radiating pure sex.

And then he cums—hard. Spurt after spurt of white rope splattering warmth over your bare stomach, and it’s only when he rubs over the head of his cock do you realize your breathing through an open mouth.

“Did you want it in your mouth, sweet?” Loki smirks, caressing your cum-smattered stomach, drawing a line between the valley of your breasts. He holds out his finger in front of you, and suddenly it’s like his cum and your mouth are the only thing in existence. “Do you want it?”

Words don’t come easily to you; instead you battle the restraints, uncaring of the wanton way your tongue stretches out of your mouth, desperate to taste him. Loki pulls his finger away for you to huff in need, until he’s decided he’s had enough torturing you and shoves his thumb into your mouth.

You suck on it greedily, tongue swirling around him, keeping your eyes locked on his. Eye contact. You want him to want you. You want him to see how much you want him.

Almost reluctantly, his finger leaves the warmth of your mouth, dragging your lower lip down subtly before he brings the pad of his thumb back over his slit. Loki hisses, eyes snapping shut as he thumbs his hard cockhead.

Fuck.

“I cannot wait,” he says hoarsely, fingers rubbing his head, “I must have you now.”

The anticipation within you is almost like an out of body experience. Your limbs move of their own accord as soon as they’re let out of their restraints, and fuck when your bare bodies touch, it’s fucking fire. Your blood is fire, your skin is fire.

And the best part is, you can see him. Through the haze of your eyelashes as you kiss his mouth fiercely, it’s evident he’s enjoying this just as much—if not more—as you are. Eyes shut, cock hard, hands needy. So fucking needy.

Loki starts necking you, bringing you flush against his (completely and deliciously naked) skin with a hand kneading your ass. And there it is, that stimulation—the way he palms the flesh and smacks it to deliver the most sensual and near illicit shockwaves to your clit.

You’re panting pretty heavily now, hands fisted tight in Loki’s dark waves. The moment you tug on it unconsciously is when he seems to break from whatever spell he’s under. He kisses the bruise that’s now forming on your neck, thumbing your nipples as he smolders up at you.

“Turn around,” he rasps, and the breathiness in his voice makes you a little proud.

Being on your knees, it doesn’t take very long for you to do a 180. At least, it shouldn’t. But the sex-crazed part of you puts on a show for him: a subtle jut of your ass, an arch of your back to let your breasts bounce enticingly for him. And it works, sort of—the corner of Loki’s mouth lifts up in a challenged smirk and he pulls your hips, your back colliding with his chest.

“Look at you,” he says, nose brushing the helix of your ear. “At us.”

At first, you aren’t sure what he means… until you see the mirror on the side of the room, reflecting your flushed and naked body pulled against his. It stretches from the ceiling all the way to the floor, displaying in crystal clear quality, you and Loki entwined in a tangle of sweat-sheened limbs.

Loki straddles you from behind, his head angled intently towards you as he strokes the sides of your breasts. “Open those legs, sweet, and eyes on that delicious cunt.”

You spread your knees wider, half-kneeling, half-saddled against Loki’s lap, inching apart until the flushed rosy pink of your cunt peeks between your legs. Instead of embarrassment flooding you as you thought it would, you’re simply turned on.

“Would you like to touch yourself?” Loki nips at your neck in the reflection, eyes shut as his lips brush against you, barely pulling away when he speaks. His voice is nothing more than a deep resonance in your chest. “Or shall I?”

“Please,” you whisper, entranced at the vision of Loki sucking another bruise into your neck, that sweet spot that makes your legs turn to jelly.

His hands begin to toy with your breasts, and you shudder, folding into his touch. “Please what?”

“Touch me.”

Loki says nothing. At this point, you just want to cum. From his cock or his fingers, right now it doesn’t matter—all you crave is release that comes from his doing. After being blindfolded for so long, you finally get the chance to memorize this moment, imprint it into your consciousness forever.

His hands roll and tease your nipples until you let out an impatient whine, to which Loki punishes (or rewards?) you with a sharp squeeze at your breast. And then his palm slides down, down, centimeter by centimeter, your knees fruitlessly trying to get even further apart.

You’re on the verge of babbling sexual pleas, you’re sure of it. Close to begging for his fingers, his touch; his tongue, his cock. Loki chuckles—shit, did you say all that out loud?

Without so much as a warning, Loki slips a finger inside you. Entirely finesse, like it’s the most natural response to babble in the world. Like it’s the only way to shut you up—which, probably, if your moan is any indication, it is.

It becomes increasingly difficult for you to keep your eyes open; they insist on rolling back whenever his fingers brush against your clit. But it’s so hot, so fucking hot, to be riding—when did your hips start moving?—his fingers, watching how they disappear into your cunt with a soft squelch.

And then his fingers curl into your G-spot, and you convulse involuntarily.

“Stay,” Loki orders roughly, mouth closing around the index finger of his free hand. He stimulates your clit further with the heel of the hand that fingers you, and rolls your nipple in his spit-covered fingers.

The crescendo of pleasure in your body is barely containable; your moan is throaty as you buck onto his hand, and Loki rewards you with another pleasurable squeeze. So hot. Your body is consumed by the wildfire of pleasure, chasing the white hot flame of release.

“Loki—” you can’t help it, you tilt your head and give him a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, “—Loki, fuck, I’m gonna cum like this—”

“Then cum, sweet.” Loki’s fingers pump you deeper, curling inside you. His breath is so warm, so hot against your neck. “Cum for me.”

And you do. Shockingly fast, and strong, your body spasming so much that Loki has to hold you close. You watch, dissociated from yourself, as your body jolts with the aftershocks of pleasure. Like the image that’s in front of you isn’t actually you—spent and panting and wanton, pussy dark red and fluttering and proud.

Loki kisses you as you ride out your high, just barely moving his fingers inside you. It’s never been like this. Multiple orgasms are achievable, but with Loki… oh, mercy. How is he able to keep you in such a constant state of arousal, hungry even when you should be sated?

And then… then you register it. You don’t, not at first, too blissfully unaware of whatever else is happening outside your mouth slotting against his, his lips suctioning around the tip of your tongue—but when it happens, you freeze. You can’t believe—is it happening, you really ask yourself, as Loki shifts behind you and positions the head of his cock at your sopping entrance.

Fuck, his precum mingles with your cum, and it’s the fucking hottest thing you’ve ever felt, your body buzzing in preparation for what you’ve been daydreaming about for the longest time.

Your eyes are hyperfocused on the shadow of where your sexes meet, mouth hanging open as you watch in rapture the way he disappears into your folds.

It’s only when he bottoms out, does the way he stretches and fills you so perfectly actually register in your mind and body.

Fucking full is what you are.

Loki’s face is buried in the crook of your neck, breathing heavy as his cock fucking twitches inside you. You stay that way, both of you still as a statue, until Loki commands in a hungry whisper, “Ride me.”

And you do, all the while watching your body and the way it molds against his. His cock disappearing inside you, your walls fitting and dragging against the contour and ridges of every part of him. It’s fucking hypnotizing. Up. His cock glistens with your mingled juices. Down. Your pussy swallows him inch by inch. Up. You clench as you rise, particularly unforgiving when you’re around just his cockhead. Down. You add a little swivel to your hips as Loki bottoms out.

He growls a curse underneath his breath.

I want to make you cum. You gyrate more forcefully now, movements losing whatever elegance they held before. I want you to cum inside me.

“Keep thinking that, and I just might,” Loki groans, fingers rubbing tight, short circles your clit.

“Then do it,” you whisper, clenching as you caress the side of his face. Loki lets out a guttural noise, and then he does something you don’t expect—he shoves you.

Not off of him. Thank fuck he doesn’t. But he forces you forward, firm and dominant, and you fall on your chest with a soft oomph.

“On your hands and knees, pet.” Loki's ceased all movements inside you, save for the brush of his fingers at your hips. But for some reason, you’re sure you can cum like this. Simply wrapped around him, snug and warm, tightening your muscles as the way to release.

As if he’s read your thoughts, Loki pulls out of you and then buries himself to the hilt. You cry out, Loki’s pace now a battering, brutally delicious fucking from behind.

You could stay like this. Face down on your bed that smells like sex, mouth hanging open, being fucked so good you’re fucking drooling. You close your eyes, focused on the sensation of his cock gliding, massaging, pounding into your walls at a speed you can only describe as ungodly.

Your hair is yanked up, not too hard to be considered anything more than pleasurable pain.

“Look at yourself,” Loki spits out, a restrained grunt following after. Your eyes flutter open, and you’re thoroughly turned on by the sight that greets you. Loki’s beautiful face contorted in a sex-crazed snarl, hips slamming into yours. Your ass jiggles with every thrust, and your breasts sway back and forth while you’re barely propped up on your elbows. Your mouth still hangs open, as if awaiting Loki’s next load. Shit. You want that. His cum down your throat.

Loki gives another tug at your hair. “Look at you, my little cock slut. All your dirty desires, all your fantasies and sex—brought to the surface. Here, with me.” Loki groans again, speeding up his thrusts. Slap. Slap. Slap. “Do you like how I fuck you? Hmm? Answer me.”

Loki spanks you. A short, pleasurable sting that pushes you closer to release. Your eyebrows crease together—fuck, you won’t last long, not with the way his hand rubs soothing circles over where he slaps you. “Yes,” is your breathy answer.

Another slap. Another caress. “Louder, pet. Do you like—” he rolls his hips deeper into you, his cock riding just right along your G-spot, shit, “—how I fuck you?”

Fuuuuuck. The pleasure builds, and builds, and you buck against him as you moan another yes.

“Then cum,” he orders. Slapslapslapslap—Loki grunts, plowing into you at a such a precise speed, you can barely keep up. “Cum now, for me. Only for me.”

With a wail of his name and your head falling forward against the mattress, you cum, whole body convulsing as you pant loudly through an open mouth. So good. You clench around him as you come down from your high, and his cock sliding in and out of you in a deliciously lazy rhythm sends you into the precipice of release once more.

“Loki—” you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, but you grind against his hardening length, “—I’m gonna cum again.”

“Wait for me.” He grunts, his chest falling on your back as his hands find and knead your breasts. “I’m close.”

Somehow. Something in those two words—or maybe in the way that he says it—makes you pause in your movements. He doesn’t stop, not in the slightest, chasing his own release while you stave off yours. But… there’s something that strikes a chord in you. One that unravels a thread of thoughts and emotions wound tight, tucked away in some deep corner of your mind in favor of enjoyable, no-strings-attached sex.

But you want strings.

You want him to be more than just a sex machine. More than just a dream. Someone who actually fucking exists and hopefully, has a heart that loves as well as he fucks. But the reality is—this isn’t. This isn’t your reality, just some dream-sexcapade for a week.

You’re not gonna cry. Fuck it, you’re not going to. You’re going to enjoy every bit of tonight, damn it, have as many orgasms as you can, and you’re going to feel nothing but lust and pleasure and wake up with the glow of sex.

Loki slaps your ass again, jolting you back to his steady fucking behind you. Your hands gripping sheets, knuckles white, you say in a surprisingly steady voice, “Fuck me harder.”

His breathing hitches, and he spreads your legs further apart, bending you so it’s just your ass in the air meeting him thrust for thrust.

And fuck, does he thrust.

He’s muttering, quiet affirmations, dirty nothings, hands traveling up and down your spine—and when you clench, the first ropes of his seed sear a blaze of fire within your walls, making it easy for you to follow in release.

Before he can pull out completely, though, you summon your strength, and push Loki on his back while you swivel on his cock—earning another groan from his end—plant your hands on his chest, and look at him.

Memorizing.

Burning it into memory.

You bend forward to kiss him, hips circling over his still-hard cock.

One more night.

Just tonight.

Tonight, you’ll have the sweetest fucking dream you’ve ever had.

* * *

Masterlist

Consider buying me a coffee?

Sweet Dreams Tag List (OPEN): @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @cheriesugarr @toozmanykids @rorybutnotgilmore @myraiswack @green-valkyrie @hiddlesgoddess

#sweet dreams #loki x you #loki x reader #loki smut #loki fic #loki fanfiction #reader insert #by belle #i can't believe it we're almost done

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sorcererinthestars · 4 years

Text

Let’s Go Steal a Yacht

[UPDATED 2021.] Written for the 2020 @rtwritingcommunity‘s Secret Sunshine event for @leftsmitteninbritain! Just edited for 2021. Safe now! Please enjoy some unrestrained summer fun on this lovely August eve!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569448

-- The sun over the Los Santos skyline was relentless. The heat this week hadn’t been less than 90 degrees and it scorched every citizen that walked down the roads, turning skin red and blistering and making everyone sweat. Like every smart citizen of Los Santos, the Fake AH Crew had been mainly squirreled away inside their frozen fridge of a penthouse apartment, air conditioning blasting.

But Geoff’s birthday was coming up and that required a big bash. Michael bent over the proposed plans, scrunching his nose up as he pointed at the phone where they had all scribbled down ideas.

So far, the list was pitiful. “We can’t go out to bevs, J,” Michael sighs. “He doesn’t drink anymore. That’d be weird, right?”

“Only as weird as you make it,” he shrugs, glancing to Gavin, Jack, Trevor, and Alfredo who were sitting lazily on the various penthouse couches, watching with various degrees of boredom. Geoff was out on an errand — they should have at least half an hour of uninterrupted time to discuss.

“What if we did like — a heist?” Jack asks, snatching the phone from Michael. Gavin just grins at his immediate pout, but Michael hands the phone over anyways. “Like, combine something fun with a little mayhem.”

“Geoff does love his mayhem,” Gavin nods. “What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a bunch of rich kids who are running a coke scam across the border out of their yacht,” Jack explains, gesturing to the map of the city and pointing at a spot on the Los Santos waterfront. “It’s a pretty low-bit operation. Not much drugs, but it’s sort of just an excuse for the Harvard whiz-kids to blow off some steam. But they do it off of a massive yacht. I’m talking three-floors, two hot tubs, helipad sort of shit. Mommy and Daddy must own it, but the kids run it.” She grins up at them. “Seems like the sort of thing Geoff’ll like, right?”

“So… you’re thinking that we make a run for the yacht, take it and the drugs, and then have a full-out bev party with their built in pool?” Gavin’s all smirks, sitting back and putting his feet up on the table.

“Not to be a downer or anything,” Trevor says smoothly, “but won’t killing the sons and daughters of some filthy rich people like — cause more problems than a few pounds of coke and a boat we could buy is worth?”

Jack shakes her head. “I know these types of kids. I’ve been scouting out the yacht on my morning flights. It’s not stocked for a fight. I think the kids know it’s a matter of time before one drug lord or another rolls them over for their stock. It’s not meant to be a long-term operation. It’s not like they need the money. I figure, load up on some guns, be intimidating, blare a megaphone from my attack chopper, and they’ll roll right over.”

“Give Geoff a fun day out without any actual violence,” Jeremy hums. “I’d like to actually shoot at someone, but it’d be fun to pretend, anyways.”

Jack chuckles a bit. “Can you live without blood and guts for one day, Rimmy?”

He huffs out an overexaggerated sigh, but then laughs. “Yeah. For Geoff.”

“For Geoff,” they agree. And the plan is set.

—

A few days later, on the day of the fight, Michael meets Gavin in the door of their shared bedroom. He leans against the doorframe, watching as the other gathers some of his camera equipment and places it in a waterproof bag. “So,” he purrs, announcing his presence. “Does that mean I get to see you in a skimpy bathing suit?”

Gavin doesn’t even have the decency to jump. But he does smile, moving over to the man as Michael shuts the door soundlessly behind him. “Guess it does. I’m sure you’ll like the view,” he grins back mercilessly.

“Don’t be an ass,” Michael teases, grinning with sharp teeth as he runs a finger down Gavin’s skin. Already tanned and lovely, Gavin really didn’t need much more sun. But his lips were still warm as he leans over to brush a kiss against Michael’s.

That wasn’t going to fly, and Michael shamelessly yanks him forward for a breathless kiss that leaves them both chuckling as they break apart. “And there’s more where that comes from later,” Michael demands as they step back. “I want no less than half an hour of uninterrupted Gavin time on a beach chair.”

Gavin laughs, eyes bright. “Is that so?”

“I want a frozen drink in one hand and my boyfriend’s hair in the other,” he says brazenly, laughing openly. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Sounds great,” Gavin smirks, eyes dancing, giving him one more kiss on the cheek. “Now get out. I’m sure more things need to happen and Alfredo’s going to need three people to tell him he shouldn’t bring a sniper rifle to a yacht.”

“Bet you fifteen bucks Jeremy is going to throw him into the pool and by the end of the night, neither of them are going to be able to stand.”

“Fifteen bucks. Jeremy can stand. We’ll have to fish a passed out Fredo from the pool.”

“You’re on.”

—

The best thing is that Geoff has absolutely no idea that half their heist prep bags are filled with birthday decorations, swim trunks, food and drink mixes, and all sorts of other goodies. He’s all gung-ho with the idea of shaking another drug gang from their territory and as far as the birthday boy is concerned, they’re going in loud and will return home for dinner and a movie.

They take a speedboat and a few jet skis out to the yacht, moored about a mile off shore in the deeper waters. As soon as they get close, they can hear shouting echoing over the waves. Probably emphasized by the whop-whopping sound of Jack’s blades overhead as she hovers in her copter.

“You have ten minutes to fully vacate this vessel!” Jack shouts. Only her boys can hear the glee in her voice as it echos, amplified by the speakers she has attached to the helicopter. The yacht erupts in chaos, scantily clad men and women racing around. Through the scope of his sniper, Alfredo can see drinks and things being tossed overboard.

“Leave the drugs and we’ll let you go,” Jack continues to order as people continue to scream and race around. Jeremy and Michael drive their jet skis in circles around the yacht, their screams of laughter erupting as shots pock the water around them. They’re going much too fast to be hit by an untrained hand.

“Should I take the shot?” Fredo asks lazily, gun in his hand. He doesn’t expect to receive a yes, and he’s right, Geoff waves his hand, just chuckling. It’s cooler out on the water, and if he spends his birthday just chilling and watching a bunch of rich bitches freak out, that’s fine with him. “Let ‘em squirm.”

After five or so minutes, they start to board the yacht. Any stragglers who try to fight them are immediately knocked out. There’s no need to kill, not in this adventure — that would bring down more trouble than it was worth. With any luck, the kids will tell this story to their friends back at their hoitey-toitey universities and no one will have to die.

Michael joins up with Jeremy as they’re wandering around the main deck. Jeremy has his obnoxious yellow ‘Bigness’ mask over the second part of his face and Michael has paint drawn like war lines across his face in a pattern he’s affectionately named ‘Mogar’. Lingering twenty-something’s spook as they see them, racing away.

At the end of the day, Jeremy only has to throw one sod overboard. He screams as he falls the six-something feet over the back deck, hitting the water with a thwap that seems painful. Michael screams jeers after him, Jeremy laughing warmly with pleasure.

They watch as the guy swims frantically towards the circling speedboat of rich kids, who pull him on board and race away.

“Did you see that idiot?” Michael laughs, spinning Jeremy around and removing that god awful cowboy hat. “He almost pissed himself when you grabbed him.”

“Rumors of the Rimmy Tim go a long way,” Jeremy cackles. “I wasn’t even carrying my gun.”

“You’re a god awful eyesore, J,” Gavin’s voice filters through their coms. “I’ve disabled any tracking they have in the helm, plus gps positioning. Stand by, gents — this party is just getting started!”

Geoff, standing at the bow on the top deck, lazily wraps his arm around Jack and grins. “A very merry birthday to me,” he hums. “How much coke did we salvage?”

“About $50 grand worth, I’d say,” Jeremy says from the lower decks. “Not bad for an hour and no bullets.”

“Damn,” Geoff smirks. “I love to be King.” He runs his hand over the rail of the yacht. “Alright boys, let’s scuttle this thing and head home.”

“Scuttle?” Alfredo bursts, incredulous. “No, no. Everyone gather at the hot tub in the rear of the boat — ”

“Aft, Fredy!” Gavin protests. “Gotta be sea-worthy!”

Alfredo sighs and Trevor just kisses him on the cheek with a smirk. “I’ll throw him into the sea myself,” he whispers in his ear.

“....aft, then. Jack wants to say something.”

“Something you can’t say over coms?” Geoff asks with a raised eyebrow, but at Jack’s bright grin of insistence as she pulls on his arm, he laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming. But you better get this out past the twelve-mile marker soon or we’re going to have the LSPD on our asses.”

“Pulling out,” Gavin hums. “This thing is run entirely on auto-pilot. Auto-ship? What’s the correct word? Anyways, I’m steering it out now.”

Even as he says it, the ship starts turning and heading out towards the open waters. They all rock a bit, but quickly find their sea legs as they head towards the aft, where Jeremy is already pulling off his heist clothes to reveal yet another glaringly purple-and-orange outfit — this time a pair of swim trunks — and falling into the hot tub.

It’s sickeningly hot, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to take advantage of the bubbles.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive, Gavin poking at his phone to make sure they’re not going to crash into, like, an underwater bomb or something. Geoff glances around at all of them, specifically at Jeremy with swim trunks, and lets out a bit of a sigh. He can’t help but grin. “Guys…”

“Happy birthday, Geoff,” Jack smirks from off to his left, pulling out something from her bag. It’s a firecracker, and with a tug, confetti and sparks fly out over the deck. “We’ve got snacks! Diet Coke! Party favors! And best of all…”

Michael moves over and, waving his arms in an elaborate parody, tries to encompass the entirety of the yacht they just stole. “A yacht, just for you!”

The others erupt into cheers as Geoff turns a bright red. Redder even than the sunburn that already marked his cheeks, anyways. “Boys, you didn’t have —”

“Stop,” Jack teases, shaking her head. “You know we did.” She squeezes his arm and pushes him towards the hot tub. “Now, relax.”

—

Two hours later, Geoff had discovered the massive built-in grill and was working on preparing his own birthday feast. They had protested, telling him this was his day, but he was having a blast. Gavin had hacked into the speakers and music was pumping. Currently, Jeremy and Jack were racing each other on jet skis around the yacht, screaming and yelling at one another as they zipped past with incredible speed.

Michael was focused on a different sight — namely, Gavin’s face as he leaned over him as they both sipped on fruity, icy drinks. The booze was sliding through their veins, making the world a looser, happier place, even if Trevor kept prompting him to drink water to keep him from burning in the sun. Their hair was both wet from their journey into the water, but now they were just relaxing in the warmth.

“You’re tanning,” Gavin teases, nosing into the side of his face and kissing his ear just a bit. Michael just laughs. “I’m fuckin’ from Jersey, man, what do you expect.” Gavin’s resulting musical chuckle makes him blush a bit.

“Whores,” Alfredo comments dryly as he strolls past, but his grin shows he’s only teasing. He’s got some fruit concoction in one hand and was making beeline towards where Trevor was waiting for him on another deck chair. Everyone knew he couldn’t resist making a playful comment, but it doesn’t matter. Michael was feeling real good, and teasing wasn’t going to stand.

He lurches up, dumping Gavin unceremoniously from his lap. “What did you say, you ass?” he calls, stumbling after Alfredo, who bursts out into laughter and flees to the dock. Gavin sits up and throws something at Geoff, who turns from the grill with amusement.

“Catch me if you can, bastard!” Alfredo laughs, dodging his attempts at capture with dexterity that no one should be capable of with so much booze inside him. But Michael has the dogged persistence of a man who loved to cause chaos, and it’s not long before he’s captured Alfredo in a tackle hold that sends the other squirming.

“God!” Michael grumbles, “You’re disgusting, you ass, so fucking sweaty! Have you gone swimming yet?”

“No!” Alfredo shouts, struggling, and they grapple for a few moments, laughing, before they lurch towards the edge of the dock.

No amount of struggling and playful yelling could stop this — Michael chunks Alfredo unceremoniously over the side of the dock. He spirals, arms and legs akimbo, until he splashes into the warm water of the Pacific with a yelp.

Everyone on board erupts into laughter as he surfaces, sputtering out insults and making sure he didn’t get water up his nose.

“Dick,” Alfredo mutters as he climbs back on deck, sprawling into the sun as soon as he lands there, spitting out water. Michael leans over him with a playful grin. “Don’t call me a whore again,” he says with his roguish grin and returns to Gavin’s waiting arms, who was giggling the whole time.

—

It’s truly insane just how much booze they get through, even if Geoff isn’t imbibing. The day trails on with a mixture of swimming adventures — Jack finds a few sets of snorkels in one of the unfortunate college student’s stuff — and launches into teaching a few very drunk boys the wonders of fish and coral. They are pretty decent swimmers even with a few bottles of booze inside them and only once does a rescue need to be made for Gavin, who is rapidly losing his ability to stand.

Geoff serves them an elaborate feast of steak, burgers, and dogs, supplemented with potato chips, potato salad, and regular salad. A true barbeque, and they eat like animals, ripping into it all.

Jeremy finds himself leaning against Jack at one point in the meal, and she gently puts more water in front of him and kisses him on the top of the head. She’s feeling good herself, nowhere near losing control but enough to be a bit more free with her affection.

She loves these idiots from the bottom of her heart. It warms her even more than the sun to see Geoff smiling so brightly, Gavin and him laughing about something foolish, Jeremy and Michael holding hands even as Michael tosses bits of bun at Alfredo to catch in his mouth, Trevor kissing him on the cheek every time he manages to catch one. Even if Trevor and Alfredo were their own little couple, they were family. They were her family.

Michael catches her smile and returns it. He looks tanner now, sunburn catching the tip of his ears and the curve of his shoulders, but it’s just great to see him so relaxed and happy.

They needed this. Summer just meant shorter nights which pushed for more intense heists with a shorter getaway period. She knew more than anyone the lengths to which they were working to be better, better, better. Geoff had said it themselves — they were Kings of Los Santos, but at what cost?

But today, it was a break from that. It was time for sun and surf, for snorkeling and barbeque dinners, for unrestrained booze (within reason, of course) and even less restrained smiles.

Her family. Criminals all, but criminals who lived and loved same as anyone.

—

As the sun sent cascading beams of color across the sky, Geoff rolls his shoulders and grins from where he was enjoying reading his book without assholes interrupting him every ten minutes. “This yacht is the best fuckin’ birthday present a guy could ask for. Better than dicks.”

“What could be better than dicks?” Michael teases from where he was trying to see if he could balance on a surfboard in a handstand. Gavin’s request. Sometimes he wonders why he gets himself into this mess.

He drops into the water with a crash when a very sunburned Gavin turns to him. “Geoffrey, you’re going to miss the best part!”

“Best part?” He blinks, putting his book down a bit. “What do you mean? There’s more?”

Jeremy’s all grins. “Yeah. Fireworks.”

Of course there are fireworks. And not just any fireworks. Big ones, ones that are illegal all across the county and into California and beyond. Ones that could set forest fires. But for guys who play with real explosives, these are nothing.

He’s just about to ask where they are when Jack comes strolling back over to them, her Hawaiian shirt tied across her bikini top. He has to practically force himself to listen to her instead of losing himself in how pretty she is.

“I’ve rigged them,” she grins, shooting the Lads two enthusiastic thumbs up. “Alfredo helped.” His diabolical laugh when he comes out from behind them and how bright Alfredo’s eyes are is never a good sign for anyone’s safety.

“If anyone knows anything about rigging about thirty wires together in one long fuse, it’s Fredo,” Trevor teases from his place on the deck. Alfredo refuses to look ashamed, just grins like a loon. “Gonna be a hell of a show. Short, though.”

Geoff rolls his eyes, but they can see the smirk he tries to hide. “Okay, assholes, get going then. I’m not going to miss the giant fireworks show on my birthday.” The other Lads race over, following the Gents as best they can when they’re all pretty shit-faced. Michael and Jeremy need to hold onto each other, giggling as they try not to fall down, but with the help of one another they climb the stairs to the top deck and look across the way. There’s a bunch of rockets — nearly literal rockets, not fireworks — strapped to the roof of the rooftop deck across the ship, a good 100 meters away.

“Here goes nothing,” Alfredo says once everyone is assembled and looking up into the beautiful night sky. He slams his hand down on the button and watches as the fireworks erupt up into the sky, exploding in a burst of color and sound.

It’s not the most professional fireworks show. It’s loud and hot and they have to dodge a bit of flaming debris. Michael is literally whooping, jumping up and down, grabbing Jeremy’s arm. Gavin squawks, diving behind Geoff and watching with wide eyes as the leader of the Fake AH Crew watches the sheer destructive force his boys put together, just for him.

“That was awesome, boys,” he grins as it finally settles down. “Good as dicks.” The night air grows quiet and they’re left, just them, the ocean, and the sizzling debris in the water. Smiling at one another, sunburnt and heat exhausted and drunk and looking towards bed, they start turning as one towards the stairs.

#edited 2021 #mavin #ragehappy #fahc #fake ah crew #unrestrained summer fun!

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corpse--diem · 3 years

Text

Snick Snack Paddy Whack | Ben & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professorbcampbell & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Erin pays a visit to an old high school acquaintance. Some crushes die hard. So do snicker-snackers. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

Morgan’s classroom was empty when she arrived, save for the few students that lingered after her afternoon lecture. Her things were still at the desk, meaning her undead friend was here somewhere, likely having stepped out for a few minutes. “You don’t know where Professor Beck went, by any chance?” Erin asked one of the girls who was leaving as she lingered in the doorway.

“I think she mentioned something about grabbing some materials from the library?” The student shrugged, nothing but nonplussed in her demeanor.

Perfect. Not that she didn’t want to see her friend but it was just enough time to slip out unnoticed. Erin nodded her thanks and set the tupperware container and note on her desk. She hadn’t planned on staying long regardless but she wasn’t about to use Morgan without at least leaving a brainy treat behind as quiet thanks (even if she didn’t know it). “Can you tell me where Professor Campbell’s classroom is?”

The young woman’s directions led her down a short walk through the campus. It was hard to tell if class was clearing out or just starting by the thin trickle of students moving in and out of the room but Erin’s eyes could only focus on one thing. Ben Campbell. Suddenly, she was fifteen again, knees weak and tongue heavy in her mouth while her brain struggled to catch up around her. This was dumb. Without much more than her job to occupy her these days, her free time was abundant and curiosity (and other things) had led her to this doorway. This was about as far as her planning had gotten her. When she realized she’d been standing in the doorway far too long, watching some of the last few students reluctantly leave themselves, she cleared her throat and slapped on what she prayed was a less awkward smile. “Ben? Ben Campbell? Is that you?”

“Alright, that about wraps it up for today. Excellent discussion, I highly recommend bringing some of the topics we discussed into your essays. Remember, drafts are due in a week and a half. Have a good one.” Ben said with a nod and a smile. A few of his more studious pupils remained and he answered their questions patiently, but as he glanced around the lecture hall, he realized there was an unexpected guest in the back of the room. A woman, somewhat familiar-- he couldn’t quite place her. As he dismissed the last few curious students, he slid his hands into the pockets of his pressed dress pants and smiled, “That I am. And,” As he neared her, Ben realized just why she looked familiar. Erin. Nichols. Of the failed funeral home. They’d been talking recently, after he’d returned from his brief break off social media. “Erin! It’s good to see you. What brings you to campus?” He asked, intrigued.

He remembered her? Erin’s expression perked up, even if she hated that she realized Ben Campbell simply acknowledging her had that effect on her. “It’s good to see you too,” she grinned, taking a few bold steps into the room. When was the last time she’d seen him properly? It was a small town, and on the occasion they inevitably bumped into one another or cast a glance at community gatherings. She became painfully aware she’d never been alone in a room with him until just now. “I was just visiting Morgan--Morgan Beck. She’s a good friend of mine. I was on my way back to work before I remembered you guys taught in the same department.” She cringed internally at herself for the thousandth time. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to pop by and say hi, if you weren’t busy.” She stiffened and glanced around at the emptying lecture hall. “You’re not busy, I hope?”

Pulling his glasses free, Ben listened to her as he tucked them back into the soft case and blinked as though the transition was a bit of a strain on his eyes. But, it was a gesture, just as most of what he did was. He didn’t need glasses, there wasn’t even a prescription on the lenses. It just helped him look the part. And that was what he was doing, after all. Playing the part. At the mention of Morgan Beck, Ben kept his expression neutral, though inside a hint of irritation boiled up. Bitchy fucking Beck. That woman was such a pain. “Ah, yes! Yes, she’s an adjunct with the department, but we’ve interacted at meetings and such. Wonderful woman, excellent teacher from what I’ve heard.” Well suited for all of those budding future writers/baristas, he thought privately. “How did you know I taught for the department, though? I don’t remember mentioning what courses I taught.” He asked, though as he watched the way she seemed to brighten up and look at him, he had a feeling he knew the answer. “Oh no, not at all. This was my last class of the day.”

Erin stared longer than what was probably socially acceptable as Ben made a small show of removing his glasses. Part of her wondered if it was intentional, and another part of her would normally be rolling her eyes, but the part of her brain that had reverted back to 2003 really didn’t care. “Oh yeah, she’s brilliant. Just don’t ask too many questions if you don’t have an hour to spare,” Erin teased lightly, crossing her arms over her chest, eyes flitting anxiously from Ben to different areas of the room. Fuck. She really should have thought this through a little more. She could plot the demise of an evil crime lord but she couldn’t fucking figure out how to talk to Benjamin Campbell. It was quiet for a moment, and she wasn’t sure if it was her anxiety clawing at the walls of her mind or actually scratching, but she moved on without much though. “I just… guessed,” she fumbled for a moment, shrugging nonchalantly. “Morgan said you worked with her so I figured you were all somewhere in the same realm.” She took a long breath and found her feet moving more confidently towards Ben. “Oh, good,” she smiled again, tilting her head. “So that means I can bother you for as long as I’d like now, right?”

Watching the way she looked from him to the room and back to him, Ben couldn’t help but smile. Oh, she must have been one of those girls in high school. He didn’t remember her much, but through a little bit of browsing on Facebook and the town’s messageboard system, he’d been able to pick up on some things. He hadn’t been lying when he mentioned that he had gone to basketball games-- he had, mostly because it had been a good place to build a good rapport with some of his classmates, get them to trust him, that sort of thing. But, he hadn’t remembered her much. She was just another face in the crowd. But, it seemed she had been one of the girls who’d been rather smitten by him and had managed to escape him before graduation. With a laugh, he nodded, “I can understand that. Get me started on Roman architecture and I can do the exact same thing.” He replied, though it pained him to even draw the most minute comparison between himself and Beck. “Well, what a lucky guess for me.” Ben said with a grin as she approached him. “By all means, bother away.” He said as he retrieved his attache case from where it sat by the lectern.

Just as he was about to turn his attention back to Erin, a flicker of motion flashed in the corner of his eye. Ben frowned, his forehead creasing as he stared at a spot in the wall of the lecture hall. He could have sworn that-- “Did you happen to see something over there?” Ben asked, pointing to the spot where he could see something moving inside the wall.

God, with everything in her, Erin prayed she didn’t look nearly as aloof as she felt right now. This trip had probably been a mistake. She should’ve waited around for Morgan to return, chat with her friend over the deviled cow brain eggs she’d made her, and went on her way rather than feed the flame to some schoolgirl crush she had over twenty years ago. She had way too much time on her hands lately, and the shy, excited grin that followed his words did nothing but prove any of that right. “Lucky for the both of us, honestly,” she agreed with a tilt of her head. She’d just rested against the side of a nearby table when his attention perked forward. God damn it. Her eyes eventually moved from the concentrated look on his face to the source of the scratching. She heard it. Saw it too, when the paint cracked along the spot of the wall. “What the--” she started, standing at alert now. “I see that, yeah,” she answered, wondering if this was a sign she should’ve just. Stayed. Home. Despite her better instincts, she was moving towards it, curiosity peaked. The scratching and rustling grew louder and louder. Something--many somethings--were rushing through the wall. The wall groaned and creaked as she timidly approached it, gesturing with a hand for him to follow. “Shit, it sounds like you have a whole herd living here. You might want to call some--” A furry brown spot whizzed by her feet and she yelped, startling backwards with little grace. “Oh fuck no. Nope. This was--I gotta go.”

As Ben continued to stare at the wall with confusion, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was going on here. He prided himself in knowing this university-- this town even-- like the back of his hand. It was his domain, how dare something infringe upon his space. “A herd?” He asked. For a moment, he opened his mouth to correct her. A herd was a term typically used for large, four legged creatures; this was more like a pack or perhaps a mischief. But, before he could, the aforementioned mischief made itself known by hurtling out of a crack in the wall. First one, then another, and another. Until there was suddenly a crumbling, gaping hole in the plaster. “What in the--” Ben said, jumping back with a start. He held his case tightly in his hand and smacked at one of the furry brown animals that skittered towards him. The tiny ratlike thing bounced off the side of his leather bag and hit the wall, though at least a dozen more poured out of the ever-widening gap. “Oh my Lord.” He muttered as he watched his lecture hall begin to fill with a mass of furry, squeaking rodents. “Yes, running-- running seems wise.” He said before stumbling backwards. As he moved, one of the panels in the floor gave way underneath his shoe and Ben let out a loud curse. “What are these things?”

The thunderous sound of what looked like hundreds of tiny, skittering creatures pouring into the lecture hall overwhelmed the room. Erin wanted to say rats but they didn’t fit the typical description. Rats didn’t have horns. They swarmed by her feet, despite how quickly she was trying to get away, and she found out after her high heels cracked underneath her, these things also had strong, quick teeth. Her heels were gnawed to ribbons and she abandoned the shoes completely, grumbling curses in her panic. “Are you okay?” she shouted above the noise, watching him struggle on her way towards the door. The impact of whatever the hell these things were was clear as every wooden thing they touched started to give way. The door to the lecture hall opened. The early, unsuspecting student’s eyes were glued to his phone until one of the rodents dropped from the ceiling, sending him flying back out of the room. Her jaw set tightly as they rushed by her feet, the little pricks of sharp teeth nipping at her ankles. She jumped up onto one of the metal legged tables circling the room, using what was left of her shoe to push the creatures back. It took about one swift, hard smack but they met bloody ends as easily as they came. She looked back at the stairs, the floors completely covered in a mass of moving fur, then at the desks leading back up towards the door. “Looks like we’re climbing,” she glanced back at him, squashing another one as it came towards her, blood squirting out from under her shoe from all sides.

Waving his case back and forth around him, Ben grimaced as blood splattered across the polished leather. He could handle blood on his suit, that wasn’t a problem. But this was Italian leather. Glancing up at Erin, he saw that she was handling herself just as well as he was. Other than the fact she didn’t have her foot stuck halfway through the floor. With a grunt, Ben lashed out with his case, clearing a small patch of floor for him to pull himself up. As he did so, he could feel teeth latching onto his legs, his hands, his arms. “Vermin!” He spat, shaking them off as he hurried towards the door. “Oh, I’m doing just fine.” He said over the chittering, squeaking sounds around them. When his Lord Hrvsht’ooooor rose to the earth, Ben would have to make a note of these particular nuisances. At Erin’s words, he caught her meaning. “So it would seem.” He said before jumping up on top of the desk. Blood and matted fur covered the soles of his shoes as he did his best to climb after her, his arms and legs stinging from the bite marks. “Awful, vile little cretins.” He muttered as they hurried up towards the exit. So close, but so, so far.

Erin probably should have helped him out of the hole but with no shoes and nothing really to protect herself, handsome or not, the guy was one his own. Thankfully he took her cue and followed behind her, and as she used his to steady herself, she internally grumbled about dressing up as she hiked her dress up and leapt from one row of desks to another. Whatever these things were, they weren’t rats. They weren’t anything anyone was going to find in a textbook somewhere in this university. Just another White Crest brand of things that shouldn’t exist but do, huh? As far as she could tell, these things weren’t trying to kill them. Nibbling nuisances for sure but by the sheer amount of them, they’d have been gnawed down to the bone by now if that was the case. She hoped, anyway. But there it was--the exit. The door was cracked open, enough to allow a small trickle of them to slip out and into the hallways, but it had kept them mostly inside. A river of rodents flowed through the aisle between them. The final barrier between them and their way out. She groaned loudly. “Of fucking course.” She glanced down at Ben’s shoes, tattered and bloodstained, grabbing onto his very muscular arm and pulled what was left of her heels back onto her feet. “I’m going to be sending the university a strongly worded letter after this, I hope you know,” she tried to joke but much of the humor in her laugh was pure annoyance. She raised a brow. “We’ll jump on 3?”

Jumping from desk to desk, Ben left a trail of blood and fur behind him as he continued to stomp and smack at the vicious little creatures that seemed to be hell-bent on eating their way through the room. Kicking another out of the way, he watched as the horned rat creature careened through the air and back into the writhing swarm. As he and Erin converged on the last desk, he held still for her to catch hold of his arm. Irritating, honestly, the way she was clinging to him, but he didn’t think there was anything for it. “You know, I’d be happy to sign off on that. Give some credence,” He paused, smacking another rat creature away, “what with being faculty and all.” With a nod, Ben counted, “One, two, three.” With that, he leaped forward and made a mad dash towards the door, pulling Erin along with him.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Erin nodded with a huff. Most of her attention was fixed on what path to take when they hit 3. There wasn’t a good answer there. She’d never seen an infestation like this--there was more horned rodents than carpet visible, and when they leapt, floor and bone alike crunched beneath their feet, blood splashing up at their ankles. But they’d done it--they were spilling out into the hallway and Erin slammed her shoulder up against the door with some effort, the final shrieks of those rat-like creatures meeting their end as the door shut on them. Futile, probably. They had burrowed through walls and floors alike. A door wouldn’t stop them, but it kept some distance between her and them temporarily. She didn’t stop moving, even as her lungs heaved for breath, broken shoes clacking down the empty hallway. A few still scurried by their feet, scaring off unsuspecting students and faculty. Glancing back only to see if Ben was following her, swiping at her arms and legs as if they were still crawling along her skin. “Still in one piece?” she asked, noticing his once polished demeanor was a little more moth-bitten bargain bin chic than before. Not that she had much room to talk. She shook her head, stopping only when they’d put some distance between them and the lecture hall. “What the fuck were those things?”

As soon as they were in the hallway, Ben fumbled with his key and locked the door in a futile effort to keep those things at bay. He knew it wouldn’t help, they’d emerged from the walls, for goodness sake. But it was better than having the plague of furry, ravenous beasts coming after them. Erin was already running down the hallway and he ran to catch up with her, blood squelching under his shoes and his curly hair falling in his face. Tilting his head down a corridor, he replied, “I think so. I wish I could say the same for my case.” He said, looking down at the raggedly bitten corner of his bag. “Are you alright?” He asked, remembering that he should probably pretend to care about her well being. He gave her a once over-- she seemed to be in better shape than him, less bitten if only because she hadn’t gotten stuck in the floor. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He said with a baffled expression on his face. “Have you?” He asked, curious. She’d reacted… rather well, all things considered.

Erin had never seen anything like that exactly, though comparatively, they were practically harmless to the more gruesome things she had gone up against. She probably should have looked more upset or bewildered than what Ben was surely expecting but she was just--pissed. It was no secret that this town or the mysteries of it were getting to her. Not that Ben was privy to any of that information, or deserved any of the anger it brought up. “No,” she shook her head, resting her back against a wall, letting the coolness of the brick calm her frustrations. Deep breaths helped too. “I mean, I’m fine. My shoes? Not so much, but otherwise--no, I’ve never seen a rat look like that before,” she answered and shook her head, shook her head, reaching down to inspect the damage. The heels had been chewed down to nubs. Great. She tossed them into the trash bin beside her once she decided they’d be more of a hindrance on her way to the car than a help. “If you’re good, I’m gonna go shower for about a thousand hours now and pray I didn’t just catch twenty new variations of rabies.” She ran a hand through her hair, pushing off the wall, debating on whether or not to stop by Morgan’s classroom again or just tuck her tail between her legs and run home. She paused for a moment in the hall, that last trickle of hope layered in with maybe a trace of teenage desperation still coursing alongside the adrenaline in her veins. “Raincheck on the whole me bothering you thing? Maybe?” She raised an eyebrow, cringing slightly even as she said it.

There was a strange expression on Erin’s face, one Ben was annoyed that he couldn’t quite read. She hadn’t reacted as poorly as some of the students he’d introduced to the darker side of this world had, and he’d always started off small. No sense in putting their fragile minds before the full might of his Lord when they could barely handle a caged brownie. Erin had reacted in a similar way to him-- attack and then flee when it became clear it was a losing battle. Wiping at a streak of blood that ran down his chin, Ben nodded and watched her toss her shoes away. “Pity about the outfit, it suited you. Before, well,” He gestured to his own ragged suit, the hem of his pants in tatters. “All of that.” With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to set it back in place, but brown locks hung limply against his forehead. “That sounds like an excellent idea, I’d best do the same.” Ben said. At her last words, though, he couldn’t help but smile. So she was still interested in him, hm? Intriguing. He’d love to pick her brain, see just how much she really knew. Pulling out a pen from his pocket, Ben reached for her hand gently and wrote his number on her palm. “Call me sometime. Perhaps over coffee, next time.” He said with a chuckle.

Erin froze in her spot when he came closer. Why was he coming closer? Her face flushed red when he took her hand and for a moment she completely forgot where she was--forgot they’d just run from a stampede of supernatural looking rats, or that she wasn’t even wearing shoes or that her feet and ankles were bleeding all over the university hallways. Something hideously close to a giggle erupted from her as he etched the numbers into her skin. Oh, he was definitely smooth. Her? Not so much. “Coffee, yeah.” She cleared her throat, trying to stop the frantic static waves in her brain from cutting off her ability to speak. “I’ll do that.” She managed those three words with more of a struggle than she’d ever admit. Another giggle-like laugh slipped from her throat and she wanted to stab herself in the eye with that very pen. Damn it. He knew. There was no way he didn’t. She didn’t trust herself with words anymore at this point, instead opting to give a small wave as she backtracked out of the hallway. Gave a quiet yelp and hurried apology as she nearly smacked right into a student on their way to class, before booking it the hell out of there.

#chatzy #chatzy: ben #snick snack paddy whack #wickedswriting

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youngbugandtonystank · 4 years

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I was wondering if I'm the only one who gets irritated when certain articles or movie reviewers on YT refer to Tony and Peter's relationship as one of "mentor and mentee"? While this is true, I feel like addressing them as mentor & mentee makes their relationship solely professional. Like, all Tony cares about is Spiderman and training him to be a better superhero. I get really angry when people interpret things like that and eliminate the personal connection between them. (1)

(2) Some also interpret Happy's words in FFH "Tony wouldn't have done what he did if he didn't know that you're going to be here after he was gone" as if Tony wanted to make sure that Spiderman was alive, so there will be someone to keep the world safe and continue his legacy as a superhero. Again, there is truth in this but I doubt Tony cared about Spiderman when he invented time travel. To me, he wanted to bring back Peter and for no other reason but because he loved him as a son.

(3) Could you please elaborate on this and point out why Tony and Peter shared more of a father/son relationship rather than purely teacher/student one. I love that in a recent post you talked about how Peter's goodbye to Tony was not the typical mentee goodbye. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on this because to me, Peter was clearly saying goodbye to a father figure. He was almost begging him to hold on, to not leave them, etc. Thank you in advance!

Hi!

I know what you mean, I hate it when they do that too.

Before this, we need to see the difference between the three concepts Peter means to Tony:

1. Mentee: is a person who is being mentored.

(’What we discussed. Keep your distance. Web 'em up.’)

(’Stay close to the ground. Build up your game helping little people, like that lady that bought you the churro.’)

(’Don’t do anything I would do, and definitely don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s a... There’s a little grey area in there, and that’s where you operate.’)

Haha, even at this stage Tony congratulated Peter like three times the same day lmao

Peter Parker: Hey, everyone.Tony Stark: . . . Good job.

Tony Stark: Nice job, kid.Peter Parker: Thanks.

Peter Parker: What?Tony Stark: You did a good job. Stay down.

Tony Stark: I wanted to tell you what an incredible job your nephew did this weekend at the Stark internship retreat. Everyone was impressed.

The pattern of telling Peter that he did a great job constantly is something Tony wanted from his father and from there, you can tell he’s already entering the parental territory even if he was just the mentor at that time.

Protegé: is a person guided and protected by a more prominent person, their relationship is mutual.

(’I did listen, kid. Who do you think called the FBI, huh? Do you know that I was the only one who believed in you?’)

(’it’s never too early to start thinking about college. I got some pull at MIT.’)

(’You know what? He actually made a really mature choice. It just surprised the heck out of us.’)

Son-figure/Pseudo-son: one who can identify on a deeply psychological level and who generates emotions generally felt towards one's father. A person who looks up to someone older and treats them like a father.

(’What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? ‘Cause that’s on you. And if you died, I feel like that’s on me.’)

(’I wanted you to be better.’ ‘Pete, you gotta let go. I'm gonna catch you.’)

(’My dad never really gave me a lot of support... And I’m just trying to break the cycle of shame.’)

(’But it was such a long way down and I just thought about you on the way...’)

Peter Parker: Hey, man. What's up, Mr. Stark?Tony Stark: Kid, where'd you come from?Peter Parker: Field trip to MoMA.

Peter is all of the above. He went through those with Tony and their relationship developed into father-son territory.

For me, it’s easy to tell that they have a father-son relationship by just looking at the same scene you mentioned; Tony’s death.

Think about it, Pepper has been in Tony’s life for around 10 years and Rhodey has been in his life since he was 15 and the fact that Peter is within the circle of people to say goodbye to him personally means a lot. The directors picked Peter, Pepper, and Rhodey to create an emotional goodbye to Tony, with the people who are closest to him. Peter is one of them, I don’t think a simple mentee would get that privilege. If Peter was just the mentee in Tony’s life he would’ve gotten this type of goodbye:

Far away and keeping distance. But Peter got the close contact, Rhodey even gave Peter time with Tony and Pepper even helped Peter up. That looks like a family dynamic.

I don’t if you read my comparison between Harley and Peter but if Peter was playing only the mentee part he would’ve been in Harley’s position. Tony and Harley probably kept contact through text messages and emails. He was invited to the funeral and stood very far away from Tony’s inner circle. Harley could’ve easily gotten an internship just like Peter since the kid is also smart and Tony could’ve said something about him in the movies but not once was this kid mentioned. This is because Harley is more like a ‘part-of-the-legacy’ kid of the generation that Tony appreciates than a pseudo-son.

A simple mentee wouldn’t get the treatment Peter got:

I think some people really think EDITH is just a normal A.I. or some pair of technological glasses lol no. EDITH can and is:

Tony’s security and defense system.

Tony’s most powerful artificial tactical intelligence.

Gives access to Stark Industries' global satellite network. The entire Stark global security network.

Stark Industries’ arsenal of missiles and drones.

Back door to all major telecommunication networks.

Capable of hacking into nearly any computerized device.

Is programmed to have Peter Parker as the only authorized user.

Stark Industries' weaponry.

Is the user interface to the entire Stark Industries network.

Tony basically gave him his legacy and his company there. A mentee wouldn’t get that responsibility. Why not give the glasses to Rhodey; an officer with the United States Air Force and liaison between the military in the Department of Acquisitions and Stark Industries; an actual aerospace engineer and Tony’s best friend? Why not leave that to Pepper; the CEO of his company and wife? Or Happy, his head of security and one of his best friends? In terms of the company, Peter now has almost the same power as Pepper. Almost.

He gave that to Peter because he trusted him and loved him as a son, someone worthy of carrying his legacy.

Many wanted Tony to leave Peter money or something fancy, but the truth is, what’s really more important and personal than a man’s entire legacy and trust? Nothing. Not even money. Also, who’s to say he didn’t leave money too? We’ll find out in the next movie, who knows, maybe he left something else too.

Let’s also remember EDITH wasn’t just a pair of glasses before, she was just like JARVIS or FRIDAY but Tony decided to upload her system in the glasses.

More proof of this is Peter being able to call Happy and ask him to go to an entirely different continent to pick him up in a private jet where Happy not only helps Peter with his injuries and lets Peter use Tony’s technology like nobody’s business but also assures him that Tony did everything he did in Endgame for him. This is not the treatment a mentee gets.

Even in Ant-Man, Hank Pym gave his protegé Darren great power in their relationship because and I quote: ‘I thought I saw something in him, a son I never had perhaps.’

Even if their stories are different, Pym mentions he saw a lot of himself

Darren Cross:All those years ago, you picked me. What did you see in me?

Hank Pym:I saw myself.

Darren Cross:Then why did you push me away?

Hank Pym:Because I saw too much of myself.

Some mentees and protegés are meant to evolve into something more and this is what happened with Tony and Peter. I don’t think they thought their relationship would get to the point it got but it did.

Directors, producers, actors, and actresses have said it before and the only ones who can’t accept the fact are either tony antis, comic book super fans or fans of the first spiderman movies. Other people can clearly see their relationship for what it is.

There’s one thing I really hated before FFH came out, actually even before Endgame came out; many were already replacing Tony as Peter’s father figure and were guessing who was going to be the next one in line. They were nominating Doctor Strange, Happy or Fury as if being a father figure is something superficial and exchangeable. And you want to know why they were already replacing him? Nope, it’s not because Tony was going to die, at that time nobody knew that, it’s because it was stated before that RDJ was not going to participate in FFH. That’s the only reason. I get it, Peter had two father figures and he lost his biological dad but that doesn’t mean Peter sees every single male out there as a father figure, sure he can get attached because he’s a kid but he doesn’t love them the way he loved/loves Ben and Tony.

Thnx!♥

I also know I have other asks in my inbox and I promise I’ll get to them as soon as possible.

#tony stark #peter parker #irondad #spiderson #endgame #far from home #tom holland #robert downey jr #marvel #mcu

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froggycatvest · 3 years

Text

Title: It’s Shower Time Words: 1000 Part 1 of ? Characters: Gordon, Benrey, Dr. Coomer, Bubby, Tommy

This is mostly interaction between Gordon and Benrey, really. There’s gotta be showers here. The place is huge. And they’ve been there a couple days. Let them freshen up.

-----

Gordon blinked in surprise when he saw there was a showering area attached to the bathroom they stumbled into. “Hey, all we need is some beds and we can live here,” he joked. Dr. Coomer looked around the corner into the room with him.

“Some people already do,” he reminded, and Gordon glanced at Bubby, who was standing on one of the benches pressed up against the wall.

“Oh, right. Sorry, Bubby.”

“I didn’t think you’d forget me that easily.” The older man raised an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head one too many times?”

Gordon didn’t take offense. “Yeah, kinda.” He shrugged, before gesturing around him. “But I mean this place isn’t exactly a hotel, yeah? It doesn’t seem that liveable. This isn’t even a good shower. There’s no privacy.” It was like those kinds in the gym, showerheads sticking out of the walls lined up in a tiled room. “It’s all out in the open.”

Bubby hopped down from the bench. “Oh, I don’t use those,” he said matter-of-fact. “They just spray me down with disinfectant at the end of each day.”

“Disinfectant? Isn’t that…?” Gordon frowned in confusion. “Isn’t that bad? For your skin?”

Bubby looked him straight in the eyes. “This isn’t skin, Gordon.”

“Y--That…” Gordon snapped his mouth shut. How was that a thing? Why did everyone have parts replaced and altered and grown and added?

When he spoke, it was hesitant, because he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to know the answer. “What...what is it then?”

Bubby grinned. “Ha. Just fucking with you.”

“God,” Gordon groaned out, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I really believed you for a moment. I really did.”

“Just a little scientist humor.” Bubby sounded pretty pleased with himself, and Dr. Coomer chimed in.

“If you want human skin, Gordon, our research department has been very successful lately in growing it fresh in the lab.”

Gordon made a face. “I… don’t think I need that. That actually sounded really weird to hear. Like, I know it’s good for like, medical reasons, but I doubt Black Mesa is doing anything ethical with...fresh human skin.”

“It’s been used for my extendo arms.” Dr. Coomer flexed. “They made it so the skin can stretch without tearing and to return back to its original elasticity after every use.”

“Oh,” Gordon stared at the other man’s arms. “That’s actually pretty cool.”

It was neat, but also still something that was hard to get used to, that everyone in this group could do inhuman things. That Bubby was grown in a tube. That Dr. Coomer had parts replaced with robotics. That Benrey was...who knew.

He turned to Tommy for support, because the other man was seriously a lifeline in these trying times. “Tommy. Tommy,” he whispered, “please tell me everything is okay with you. No secret powers or hidden experimental past, right?.”

Tommy looked up from where he had been reading the instructions on the fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

Gordon was about to explain when Benrey interrupted from where he sat nearby on a sink.

“You’ve got a gun for a hand.”

He said it so casually that it made Gordon pause. This was true, wasn't it? He had fancy gun technology medical stuff now, didn't he? He was more like Bubby and Dr. Coomer than he really thought about before. All right, that was fine. He could come to terms with that. As long as Tommy wasn't like Benrey, all defying physics and being seemingly immortal. Maybe Gordon just wanted one last anchor of normalcy during this ordeal. He couldn't be blamed for that.

Gordon waved Benrey off dismissively. “I was talking to Tommy. Don’t cut in.”

“Um.” Benrey clicked his tongue, sounding displeased. “Not allowed.”

“Yeah?” Gordon said, giving him his full attention now. How could he not want to hear his reasoning for this? “Says who?”

“It’s in the rulebook.”

“What rulebook?”

“No fraternizing on company time.” Benrey sounded like he was simply reciting the words. “Gonna have to write you up.”

Gordon was not surprised that the other man was still insistent on keeping up his role of Authority Figure Who Takes Their Job Very Seriously Even Though The World Is Falling Apart.

“I don’t think it’s your job to write people up. I think your job is harassing people who are trying to do their job.”

Benrey continued on as if Gordon hadn’t said anything. “Destroying company property, trespassing, theft. All grounds for termination.”

“Uh huh,” Gordon replied easily. Benrey was always trying to rile him up. Because Gordon followed rules, but Benrey made up rules and expected him to know it somehow. Well, Gordon was better at keeping his cool about that now.

“Is murder on that list? That seems to be a little more important than the other things.”

“What?” Benrey seemed to really look at him then, no longer on autopilot. “No that’s fine.”

Gordon of course thought that was funny. “Only if it’s the military boys, right?” He grinned. “They don’t count.” It had honestly been fun taking them out, cathartic even. “At least that’s one thing we agree on.”

“Wow,” Benrey deadpanned. “Besties.”

Here Gordon was being kind and making a connection, and the other man had to go and be a jerk. He stalked on over to him. “Look,” he began, but then he paused.

His eyes swept over the front of Benrey’s vest. It was stained with blood and splattered in a yellowish green slime. There was definitely a sewage smell emanating from it. It was crusty and nasty, and Gordon felt himself making a face at it.

Benrey ran a hand through his helmet, posing a bit. “Are you liking the view?

“I wish there was something to like.” Gordon meant that in the nicest possible way. He looked him in the eye. “You're really gross, you know that?”

Benrey stared at him, frowning. “Kinda ruining the mood bro.”

#hlvrai #dont worry they're not really going to be bathing

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burningthemidnightcityoil · 3 years

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STRANGE TAKE AWAYS FROM HS^2

I know, I know. This is one troll bug attracted to a plush plump ass that has gotten many a homestucker up in a tizzy.

But I am gonna dive head first into it, and brave the many many plump plush rumps.

Inception Mirroring. There is a strange amount of HS and HS^2 Mirroring going on, and the absolute biggest is with Jade. Lemme explain. A Witch’s Journey is about their Familiars, and taking power for or back from them. As a Witch of Space, Jade’s original “Familiar” was Becquerel, and she did take his power and even part of his looks. What started in the Epilogues and has continued further, is that a new (and very much unwanted) familiar has popped up: Calliope. And worse, this relationship between Alt Calliope and Jade mirrors the terrifying relationship of Doc Scratch / Lord English with Witch of Time, Damara / The Handmaid. Even right down to the Suicide Threat... Further Mirror occurs with my so far favorite new character: Yiffy. Or Ruby, if you don’t like the first name. ... Because Ruby and Jane mimics Jack and The Black Queen. And there’s already an Us vs Them war on...

Our new Players How much you wanna bet that Harry, Tavros, Vrissy and Ruby are our missing Human classpects? Thief, Mage, Sylph, Bard and Doom, Rage, Mind, Blood. (Though on the ropes about Vrissy) And I bet you, because of the controversy and contrivance of Ruby (Which is done on purpose), they’re the Rage Player. Harry’s association with creation marks him a Sylph. Vrissy as a Troll already holds the idea of Blood, and she’s already inherited quite a bit from our Vriska. And Tavros; poor sweet Precious Tavros... Holding the Moniker of Doom.

Event Horizons Where Homestuck proper had Doomed Timelines, we here now have “Doomed Spaces”. Which I have dubbed so far as Event Horizons, as these Doomed Spaces get sucked into the Black / White Hole when they “Stop being Canon”. We’re now exploring the opposite side of the Doomed Timeline, and its probably got something to do with Hope (the idea of Narrative Causality and Belief; and what Canon means here)

Messiahs and Wizards Karkat and his entire bloodline is associated with Messiah figures. As Trolls are foundationally Blood Aspected, it would make sense that the prime time chosen one is a Blood Player. This makes John Humanity’s prime time chosen one, as Humans are foundationally Breath Aspected; and better yet, we even have “sacred” Icons in the form of Wizard Statues anyway and everywhere. An Idea spread across the Human Unconscious, as opposed to the very real and legendary figures of Trolls. Mind, that lot of John’s Wizardly associations also bring him into contact with the one major wizardly figure in real world mythology and religion: Odin. (Via the Harlequinn). And our John is dead. Funny thing is... So was Odin, once. Me thinks it won’t stick.

Ultima Dirk Dude, this guy basically ate a lot of his alternative selves. One of which was Bro, one of which was the amalgamation that is Doc Scratch, and that means he definitely had a chunk of Cherub ass that is Lord English. But as Brain Ghost Dirk shows, not all Dirks are about that shit. We still got a chance to knock this doofus out of his dower power trip. If only we knew what the fine fillery fuckery he’s gonna do... Anyway. The Thing and Think about Ultimate selves... is that you gotta take a step back and see this in terms of Video Game Logic. This is what happens when Player Characters become actual Players themselves. Imagine if the dude you’ve RP’d as in Elder Scrolls decided to take a step up and control the narrative himself; and this comes with the caviate of remembering all the times you’ve fucked up and gotten him killed, all the times you’ve decided to just “see what happens”, or even broke character. And that also starts including every Fanfic you’ve written him in, every AU, that one time you put him in Fallout, that other time you threw him in Minecraft. Basically, the very Idea of the Character becomes your Equal. As the SCP foundation would put it... Dirk has started to rise to our Narrative Level, but is just not quite there yet.

Droog and Dad Oh come on, you knew this was gonna show up. We already know this is an alternate universe, and definitely not the intermission one (Especially with Slick’s death), and we now have confirmation that part of Snowman’s powers is to basically teleport across the Multiverse and change things with wild abandon. This... - Gives an explanation as to how and why the Felt can teleport Timelines without accidentally dooming themselves like our God Heroes can and do. - Means that Snowman can outright manipulate full timelines without having to touch the Alpha, and do so for as long as she possibly wants. - Further proves Snowman is a Sylph of Mind (Because only Mind Players go that deep into shit and have Multiverse powers) As for what’s going on in the background... - Droog left the Midnight Crew, because apparently Slick started to get majorly involved with Snowman (Possibly even romantically rather than hatredly). As there are plenty of Literary parallels between Snowman and Droog (For one thing, they both say “Hey Assholes”), this is almost like choosing your lover over your best friend. - Droog is a manifestation of Moiraillegence, which Alternia Trolls associate with Pity (Rather than, y’know, real empathy and support); Of Course the asshole is gonna be Self Pitying. - This story displays a reality of what would happen if Droog had left. As the HC’d Mage of Blood, and Blood being about Bonds, Attachments, and Promises: This would seriously fuck Droog up (Because he is all about that shit; and here his closest allies dumped on him hard). [ This is all likely purposely set up by Snowman; she put him in a position to leave; something we know that not even a genocide of Carapacians can force DD to do ]

Roxy I’ve been nicknaming him Roxas

The Fear of Two Calliopes The reason Meat side Calliope is probably freaking out bad, is because the appearance of Alt Calliope in the same space is real bad news. Paradox Space doesn’t like Doubles, Triples, Quadrupals of anything; (See the major battle of Jack Noirs that ended in all but one Dead) Our Calliope runs a very real risk of dying horribly, because Alt Calliope as a fully realized Muse of Space is uber powerful and will absolutely trump her in the balance of Paradox Space “No two of the same thing will inhabit the same space”.

Fear of the Prince Ever wonder why Dirk is terrified of his quasi-Grandchild? Ruby is a Rage Player, and depending on her Class (probably a Thief?), she’s gonna be a major problem. After all, Dirk’s created Narrative is full of bullshit; and there’s no player better to handle narrative bullshit than a Rage Player (What is a God to a Nonbeliever?) Rage is perfect when you’re going up against hostile or bullshit narratives and their equally assholish narrators. Blood may be Reality, Doom maybe the Ultimate Reality, Void is the Physical Reality, Heart is the Emotional Reality... but Rage is Reality as it actually is-- random, not always having an explaination, and its never a straightforward story narrative; Rage is Real in the sense that we, the audience, naturally experience it and hate to see it written down (because natural experience as it is, never makes sense written down unless it plays out like a Story or Narrative) Life is confusing, its not fair, it doesn’t make sense. That is Rage (and is also the reason why Life is Rage’s reflection and vice versa). And Rage will pull that reality to the forefront.

#homestuck #homestuck^2

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sombreboy · 4 years

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Love Maze »7

Previous » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 5k ▎ ch.warnings: cursing, second hand embarassment because it’s so damn cheesy & fluffy, discussions of sexuality, violence(Tae’s abusive father).

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang ♡♡♡ Banner made by my lovely @ppersonna ily ily ily

Namjoon was standing idly, leaned against the wall in the midst of people with a drink in his hand, eyes immediately widening when he spots the two boys approaching him.

Jungkook already felt embarrassed, the entire situation hadn’t quite hit him until now that their captain had caught them completely naked.

Along with Namjoon knowing, maybe he might’ve told Jin..

Also Jimin— Hoseok, too.

And Yoongi eavesdropped.

So far, everyone was aware of the pair’s earlier whereabouts..

Mark’s guest room.

“Hey, guys! Uhm, how are you?” Yoongi said chirpier than usual, and Taehyung already knew they were fucked. The mint haired boy barely smiled, at least not to the extent where his gums could be seen.

Tae’s body gravitated to Jungkook’s side, his stance still unsteady whilst his narrowed eyes suspiciously raked over the familiar faces of his hyungs.

Fuck, why did this have to happen to him?

Could he even talk to them again? Even less be in the same room?

“What.” Taehyung broke the silence with a straight-face, crossing his arms over his chest.

Namjoon wearily glanced at their surroundings, “Well.. we were going to leave the party and eat out at some fast food place. If you’re not too tired— Which, why would you be? Shit..”

He rubbed at his nape before continuing, “What I’m trying to say is.. want to come along? We want you both there..”

The Captain mumbled, as if saying that no matter the trauma his eyes went through, Kook and Tae were still loved.

Maybe Jungkook already knew that, but something told Namjoon that Tae wasn’t as comfortable.

Taehyung seemed to think about it for a long moment, gaze worried. He’d just told Jungkook how he felt, plus now all of their friends knew they were having sex..

He still needed to figure out where to go from here, in terms of Kook and him..

Hell, he didn’t even know what he wanted. Tae liked Jungkook just.. in secrecy.

“I dunno.” Taehyung shrugged, “Kook, do you wanna go?”

Now they really seemed like a couple; he asked the younger what he thought, as if he wasn’t interested in going if Jungkook wasn’t going to be there. As if they came in a pair..

He really wanted to bang his head against the nearest wall, badly.

Jungkook seemed a bit less troubled by the fact that all of his hyungs seemed aware of what was going on between the two boys. He was open about his own sexuality after all.

However, that doesn't mean he wasn't flustered everytime Namjoon made eye contact with him.

Kook stood close to the elder, serving as a physical support in case his sore body decided not to obey his movements.

His head quickly jerked in Tae’s direction of the sound of his nickname, considering his question before responding,

"I'm starved, I could go for some food."

He wasn't lying, he had barely eaten before the party and now all his energy was spent fucking-- he needed food.

He just wasn't sure if he wanted to spend some more time alone with taehyung...was his body even okay? He went really hard on him..

In the end, Jungkook decides, a weird feeling filling his senses when it seems like Taehyung would want to do whatever he chooses. He nods at his hyungs, Namjoon mimicking the nod,

"Cool, yeah you need to eat especially after-- ah let's just go!" Namjoon stuttered out, internally cursing his big mouth.

As Taehyung limped behind the rest of the boys, making sure to stay close to Jungkook, Mila approached him.

“Taehyung!” Her icy eyes glared into his chocolate-colored ones, coming over with the intention of interrogating the shit out of him, but that was put on the back burner soon enough.

“What.. what happened to you?”

She questioned, seeing that Tae looked weaker than usual, legs wobbly as he walked.

“Did— Did he beat you up?” Mila pointed over at Jungkook, remembering Namjoon’s words from a few minutes ago. She guessed they must’ve had a feud, which ended in a physical fight.

“Taehyung, baby..” The woman cupped the boy’s sullen face, brushing his fringe away from his eyes to look at him more clearly.

“Mila—“ He tried to speak but she wouldn’t let him, shushing him gently.

Was she that desperate?

“Taehyung, Jungkook!” Jin whistled at them, trying to give them an excuse to get the hell out of there. “I’m starving, you know I get moody when I’m hungry!”

“I gotta go..” Taehyung shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

Mila stared at him dumbfounded, watching as Tae left her behind with a blurry vision.

It didn’t make any sense..

“Fuck, that was close.” Taehyung mumbled to the younger as they made their way to his car, bidding goodbye to the rest of the boys for now.

Shit. He regretted parking a few streets down..

In the midst of their calming walk, Taehyung snuck a few glances at Jungkook, trying to be subtle despite him never being good at that..

“I had fun.” The elder shrugged his shoulders, not trying to sound cheesy or anything of that sort.

“..Did you?”

As he was mildly annoyed yet amused by the entire Mila scene, he was relieved that they finally made it out of the suffocating building to head back towards the car. He kept his pace a little slower than usual, meaning sure he kept his form next to Taehyung.

Speaking of Taehyung, who suddenly seems full of surprises today. Since when would he ask Jungkook what he thought? Twice.

And not to forget the fact that Taehyung, for the first time, had mentioned that he's got feelings for the younger male.

Jungkook gazed over at Tae, a small smile on his lips forming due to the sweetness of that question. It was silly-- but he enjoyed that if he felt like his opinion mattered. And, after the confession, some of the elders actions automatically seemed to be of different meaning than when he didn't know.

"One of the best nights of my life."

Kook felt a little brave, blaming it on the alcohol, letting his hand chase for the elders to delicately grab it in his. It was dark out, barely anybody around... why not hold his hand? He craved it, almost as much as craving his body. It was much deeper than that.

The elder shook his head, stifling a chuckle of his own.

“That’s a little bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

Nevertheless, Taehyung secretly agreed with Jungkook. Aside from the random boy puking buckets in the restroom, it was a pretty awesome night. Scratch that, the best night.

Expecting the surprisingly comfortable silence to linger for a little longer, Tae yelped when he felt something brush against his hand, only to relax when seeing that the ‘something’ was attached to Jungkook’s body.

The elder looked at their surroundings, making sure that no one was close. He was glad that it was dark out; Taehyung’s face was a hue of red.

But then again, if Jungkook caught him, he’d just blame it on the cold.

“Come on, let’s hurry..” Tae bit down on his lip, squeezing onto the younger’s hand before pulling him along to his car.

They’d settled for McDonald’s, where they met Namjoon and the rest of the boys at one of the enclosed booths in the corner.

It seemed big enough for all of them, and even if it wasn’t, they were going to have to make it work.

Taehyung slid into the middle, holding back a groan when he’d been so careless to his butt’s feelings. And it was feeling pretty fuckin’ hurt.

“That lady keeps glaring at us..” Hoseok pouted, eyeing the older woman behind the counter who looked like she would rather be in hell.

“Of course she is, Hoseok. We literally came in thirty minutes before they closed.” Jimin sighed, taking a seat.

“Well, we better make those thirty minutes count, huh?” Namjoon smiled, glancing over at Jungkook and Taehyung. “It gives us enough time to talk..”

God, the elder was /horrible/ at being subtle, even worse than Taehyung.

Jungkook loudly slipped through the straw of his soda, preferably he’d just not have this conversation at all. He feels like he's had so many revealing moments in the past few weeks that he swears at this point confrontations were just a part of his daily life.

He glances at Taehyung, knowing that even if they know-- even if /he/ knows how tae feels, he is absolutely useless at communicating himself. So, in a sense, he needed this 'group meeting'.. whether he wanted it or not.

"Was it good?" Yoongi blurts out noncommittally, however a small spark of interest lingered in his eyes when he looked at the boys. It didn't last long though, both Jimin & Jin kicking at his leg below the table.

Kook leaned forward a little bit, his doe eyes moving across the table until they land on namjoon. Of course he looked like he was about to explode from word vomit.

"Just ask, hyung, you look like you're about to burst."

Drawing small chuckles from the group, Namjoon takes a quiet deep breath before he throws out his first question. It might be terribly inappropriate, but not knowing for certain was gnawing at his senses.

Of course, before he managed to open his mouth, Yoongi's voice once more asked out loud what everyone was initially thinking, no beating around the bush,

"So, you're both gay?" All eyes flickered between the two boys, slightly more focused on Taehyung. They already know kook is gay-- but Kim Taehyung?!

Taehyung nearly choked on his chicken nuggets.

“No.” He was quick to shoot everyone’s suspicions down, “I mean.. I’m not gay.”

A few seconds later, and the elder didn’t seem so sure.

“Fuck, I-I don’t know.”

Taehyung stuffed his face with some more food, too embarrassed to meet anyone’s eye. He didn’t know who he was, all he knew was that he kinda, sorta really liked Jeon Jungkook.

Maybe he was Kook-sexual. Surprisingly, that made the most sense to him..

“Well, you know. You can be bi, pansexual..” Jin encouraged, stealing one of Tae’s nuggets.

“I don’t know, alright?” Taehyung playfully slapped his hyung’s hand away, guarding his food.

Can these thirty minutes go by even slower?

The elder felt like he was in the middle of an interrogation, and in some way, he was.

Why was his sexuality that big of a deal? It’s not like Tae’s one to flaunt it wherever he went.

The boy just wanted to eat his chicken nuggets in peace.

Jungkook quietly listened in on the conversation, chewing his double burger with a content hum, until, finally, it was his turn to have the attention turned to him,

''Kook,'' Jimin was curious, ''What happened to Ash? I thought you two were a thing--'' He got interrupted by Namjoon, ''Yeah, I thought so too?''

Now everyone stared at the youngest, his eyes widening as he could literally feel his body freeze at the mention of his name. The memories were still fresh, the fear ingrained in his chest in the form of anxiety. He takes a deep breath,

''Not a thing. He's a psycho.''

Jungkook was straight to the point, cold and it was obvious he didn't want to speak further on the topic, the message duly noted by the group. Namjoon cleared his throat after a few seconds of worry, they surely didn't know what had happened. Only the two boys knew.

''Well... What about you two?'' His eyes flickered between Tae & Kook

“What about us?” Taehyung relaxed after having brushed off Ash’s name, his shoulders no longer tense, and his face no longer morphed into a scowl.

“He meant if you guys are together.” Yoongi nonchalantly clarified, “Since, you know, you were fucking.”

Everyone went silent. Partly because of shock, and the other from anticipation.

“Uh..” Taehyung glanced at Jungkook, not knowing the answer to that question himself.

“It’s none of your business, hyungs.” He sipped on his strawberry milkshake, mind still clouded with confusion.

Were they together..?

No, Kook didn’t say anything.

But he did confess..

Jungkook was probably over him.

“Well, let’s start off here.. When you think of Jungkook, what comes to mind?”

Jimin suddenly turned into the love expert, crossing his legs before leaning further on the table.

Taehyung raised a brow, amused by Jimin’s facade. He hesitated whether or not to answer, but Tae guessed there was no harm in doing so..

“Fine.” He sighed, feeling defeated. Tae’s back sank back into the booth, gaze glued to his thighs to make everything a little more bearable.

“When I think of Jungkook.. I think of asshole.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“An asshole that I’d purposely picked on since third grade.. because I wanted to talk to him. I didn’t know how else to get his attention.”

He fidgeted with his fingers. “I really liked his eyes. Still do. I think that’s the first thing that drew me towards him, physically. But.. the more I talked to him— or picked on him, I learned that he was witty.. and still, such an asshole.” Taehyung chuckled, taking a small pause. “I like assholes, though—“

“Figuratively and literally, huh?” Hoseok wiggled his brows.

“Hyung, please shut up.” Tae glared at him, shaking his head before continuing. “Anyways. I guess Jungkook can be kind. He’s dorky. He’s pretty..”

When he felt himself begin to blush, that’s when Taehyung stopped. Truth is he had a lot more to say, but it’d probably take the whole night.

Tae continued to drink his milkshake, looking at the table instead of at his smiling hyungs.

“Okay..” Jimin tried hard not to giggle. “What about you, Jungkookie? What do you think of Tae?”

Jungkook was already a flustered mess at the way Taehyung had suddenly opened up and verbalize his feelings in a manner that the younger has never heard. ever. Even if it included the word asshole at least four times.

Nobody has ever said such things about him, and for that person to be Kim Taehyung.... Was this real life? Jungkook had to squeeze his thigh to make sure it was.

''What about you, Jungkookie? What do you think of Tae?'' Jimin suddenly caught the youngest's attention with his singsong voice.

''I hated him, and lo-... liked him at the same time,'' Jungkook pauses, his hands holding on to his own thighs to keep himself grounded. He really was such a mess of emotions, even though he rarely wanted to speak out about them,

''He's blunt... honest, and even if he was an asshole to me this entire time, he never pitied me...'' It was an important fact, that he wasnt treated like a fragile butterfly by everyone simply because of everything hes been through. And the fact that Tae wasnt aware of his struggles, was only a good thing.

''Just... I feel safe with him.'' Jungkook nods to confirm his own words, a soft smile pulling on his lips at the memory of Taehyung literally running, dropping everything to come get him when he needed it.

''And... I let him pick on me all this time, because I enjoyed it..'' Kook made a face, it probably sounded weird to say, ''I didn't think he'd give me any other kind of attention, and since I liked him, it was good enough.''

Another pause, the boys' mouths hanging open as they are completely focused on what the youngest was saying, Hoseok clutching his chest at the moment,

''He just makes me feel safe, and that he cares.. in his own way...And he's always been really easy on the eyes.''

If he was still munching on his greasy nuggets, Taehyung was sure that he would’ve actually choked on them.

At the moment, he settled for biting on his straw. Anything to not unglue his eyes from the table. He felt the tip of his ears turn red, as well as the apples of his cheeks.

Why did this have to uncover with their hyungs present..? But then again, Tae thanked the lords that Jimin opened up his mouth.

If it wasn’t for the smaller boy, he would’ve never been able to fawn over Jungkook’s words. Even if he didn’t show it.

“It’s getting kinda late..” Taehyung looked at his invisible watch, glancing up at Kook for the second time.

Tae was still shy, but he didn’t like to admit it.

“You ready to go?” The elder tried to not let his voice waver, still sipping on his milkshake as a distraction.

Jungkook quickly nodded, his cheeks feeling just as hot from this entire situation of exposure,

''Yeah.''

He wobbled up on his legs, bowing to his hyungs as he waited for Taehyung to follow suit, ''Uh, see you guys tomorrow.'' Kook murmured, his eyes not failing to notice the group of boys wearing various versions of a smile on their lips, others more surprised still by this entire thing.

As Taehyung got up with him, they walked side by side to exit the McDonalds, heading towards the car. As soon as Kook was able to sit down inside of the vehicle, isolated from the outside world together with Tae, he let out a deep, relieved sigh, that contained all of his anxiety that he'd held in the entire dinner. All of this information is still a lot to process, yet not that hard to digest.

Taehyung did like him.

He glanced over at the elder as he sat down carefully, kook internally blaming himself for the soreness in tae's body.

''I don't think I've ever seen you so flustered.''

“Shut up..” The elder timidly grinned, “Kim Taehyung doesn’t get flustered.”

He carefully sat his treasured strawberry shake in the cup holder, moving around in his seat until he found a position that his butt was happy with.

Tae’s body was still so sore..

“So I’m easy on the eyes, hm?” The boy decided it was his turn to tease Kook, resting his head back against the headrest whilst he stared out of the window.

He didn’t feel like driving right now; the sky looked too beautiful to ignore.

All of the stars had seemed to come out from their hiding spots and shine down on them.

Namjoon and the rest of the group had already left, which left the pair alone in the McDonald’s parking lot.

Jungkook breathed out a chuckle through his nose, leaning towards the window to enjoy the view. The stars surely were bright tonight, and it was beautiful.

Something about seeing all those stars made Jungkook feel so small, and it calmed him down.

''Yeah, you are.'' He murmured, his big doe eyes in awe at the bright night sky, the glimmer in the distanced orbs of fire reflecting into his dark eyes,

He could feel words stuck on his tongue, he wanted to ask... Indulging in the small silence for another moment, he decides to just... say it,

''I really... really like you.''

Instead of looking at the stars in the sky, Taehyung stared at the star next to him, his twinkling eyes slightly enlarging from Kook’s abrupt confession.

“Jungkook..” The elder gulped, overthrown by different emotions all at once.

Happiness, scared, fear, embarrassment...pride. It was overwhelming, but just enough for Taehyung to still endure it.

“I really.. really, really fucking like you too.” He admitted for the second time that night, feeling a clench in his chest.

Leaning over from his seat, Tae rested a hand on Jungkook’s thigh to balance himself before kissing the faint scar on the boy’s cheek, pulling away to gaze into his eyes.

Fuck, this was so cheesy. But maybe cheesy wasn’t all that bad..

Jungkook turned to face Taehyung the second after he felt the soft warmth of his lips against his cheek, his big doe eyes staring into the eyes of the very man that's been the culprit of stealing his heart.

A wave of every single emotion he was capable of feeling swirled in his chest, washed away from the small, simple touch of Taehyung's lips on his cheek-- leaving nothing but affection left to stay.

''Do you...'' he pauses, his hand settling on top of Taehyung's hand settled on his thigh, nervously smoothing his thumb over the elders knuckles, his eyes flickering between Tae's,

''Want to date me? Like... be my..'' He couldn't finish his sentence, it felt like his heart was about to burst through his ribcage. He's never felt so nervous about asking someone out before. Honestly, he's never asked somebody out before. How the fuck to people do this frequently?

“Be your..?” For the first time in a while, Taehyung giggled from the butterflies roaming freely in his stomach.

Who would’ve thought that Jeon Jungkook would be asking him out in the McDonald’s parking lot?

Tae wouldn’t have it any other way. The setting was perfect, even if Jungkook hadn’t gone all out. After all, everything was so sudden.

The elder preferred this much more, just the two of them..

“Your boyfriend? Your friend? Your fuck buddy?”

At this moment, Taehyung indulged himself in the present. Their problematic past didn’t matter, and he was sure that their future would be fine.

Even though the whole dating scheme was new to him, Tae was willing to give it his all.

The latter still couldn’t believe it.. How did a rough, lust-filled night turn into something so sweet?

Taehyung would never forget this moment; he wouldn’t allow it.

Jungkook couldn't help but let out a snort at Taehyung's words, scrunching his nose as a toothy grin adorned his lips,

''All of the above. Do you want to be my boyfriend?'' He finally had the courage to say it, finally, officially ask him the big question. To clarify whatever this was once and for all.

With a restrained nod of his head, Taehyung broke the unwanted distance between their lips.

He kissed Jungkook sweetly, only focusing on how soft he felt against his mouth.

The other hand that wasn’t placed on the boy’s thigh was cupping his face, drawing Kook deeper into the kiss.

When Taehyung finally pulled away, a string of saliva still connected the two of them together, that’s when Tae voiced out his answer.

“Yeah, I do. ‘M not too sure about the fuck buddy part though..” The elder hummed playfully, stealing another peck before situating himself back on his seat.

McDonald’s suddenly had a /whole/ different meaning..

He was indeed ‘Lovin’ It.’

“Okay, we should go now.” As if he was still in a trance, Taehyung started his car.

The boy took one last look at the stars, and then at Jungkook, wanting to engrave this corny moment in his head.

When he felt like he’d saved the mental image, Tae happily drove off towards Kook’s apartment.

Jungkook nods, unable to wipe the dumb smile off his face, feeling like a giddy child on christmas.

During the somewhat silent drive, all he heard was the rumbling of the car engine, and Kook took every chance he got to glance over at Taehyung in between watching the streetlights flash by.

He felt good, free.. Happy...For the first time in who knows how long.

Jungkook had a boyfriend.

A real boyfriend.

He almost vibrated in his seat at the thought.

“Okay, get out of my car, Kook.” Taehyung joked once he’d parked in front of Jungkook’s apartment, part of him not wanting to say goodbye quite yet.

But, he should. His father was probably home, ‘worrying’ to death about his son’s whereabouts this late into the night.

Yeah, that was funny.

No, Tae just needed to get home to save himself from a beating. It was weird, really..

His father gave zero shits about him, yet he still demanded he was home by a specific time.

Taehyung just hoped that he was passed out drunk. He wanted to sneak up to his room and replay the day’s events all over again.

“Hey..” He hesitantly wrapped his fingers around Jungkook’s wrist, tugging at his arm.

With a quick look at their surroundings, making sure that no one else was around, Taehyung finally looked back at the younger once again.

“Are you really going to leave me without a kiss?”

Tae was serious, he wanted a good night’s smooch from, well.. his boyfriend.

It still felt weird to say that, or even think it..

But, something told him he’d get used to it pretty quick.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows when Taehyung said those words. It really was so new to head and see him act this way... but kook liked it. His heart felt so light when he leaned back in to place a soft kiss on Taehyung's lips, letting it linger for a little longer. He wishes he could just bring the elder in with him, but... his parents must worry about him.

Now that kook thinks about it, he doesn’t really know much about Taehyung's personal life— except for, well, being a part of it himself now.

Either way, the night had to come to an end.

“Goodnight, Taehyungie..” Jungkook brushed Tae’s fringe away from his eyes before placing one last, chaste kiss on his lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow~”

Kook opened the door, stepping out of the car and walking up to his front door, all while glancing back at his boyfriend over his shoulder before shooting a wide smile, followed with a small wave.

He really could get used to this.

One last look at the car, and kook decided it was time to head inside, it was way too cold to stand and say goodbye for too long, he just wanted to go sleep, so that he’d be able to see taehyung tomorrow again.

After waving back at Jungkook, Tae drove off to his house with a smile temporarily sketched on his face, still feeling the soft touch of Kook’s lips on his. Still replaying the boy’s nervous confession in his head.

He was so happy..

The happiest he’s been in months, really.

And all because of the male he’d once despised, or pretended to.

Could the night get any better? Taehyung doubted it, Jungkook wasn’t by his side.

“Ah shit,” He disappointedly sighed to himself, scolding his cheesy thoughts.

“Is this what a relationship does to you..”

Grabbing the half-empty milkshake, Tae brought the chewed-up straw up to his lips before carefully opening the front door.

He peeked his head inside, quietly stepping in when he realized that his father was passed out on the couch, some show playing on the TV.

After taking off his shoes, Taehyung was about to tiptoe his way up the stairs when the snoring had come to a sudden stop. Confused, he looked back into the living room.

His father had woken up from his slumber, drowsily surveying around the room when his piercing eyes landed on Taehyung.

“Son..” The older man slurred, still dressed in his work suit as he approached Tae on unsteady feet.

He was drunk.

“How was school?”

He was very drunk.

Taehyung clenched his jaw, “It’s 11:23 at night, dad.”

Thankfully, the man didn’t seem to be in one of his moods. He was out of it.

Tae hated himself for worrying.

“Ah.. well, it was a very long school day.” With a soft chuckle, he stumbled back into the kitchen, aiming for the fridge.

Taehyung saw this and he quickly followed after him, knowing what he was searching for.

The man tried taking a hold of another beer when Tae stopped him, softly taking a hold of his wrist so as to not anger him.

“Dad.. I think you’ve had enough, okay? Uh, maybe tomorrow.”

The older man scoffed, pulling himself away from Taehyung’s hold.

“I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want.”

His fingers itched to touch the cold bottle, but Taehyung was there to stop him. Again.

“What’s your problem?!” He grew annoyed, angry with Taehyung for trying to control him.

Just like him, Tae grew annoyed as well.

“What’s my problem?” He repeated, as if it wasn’t already obvious enough.

“My problem is that you can’t see you’re a fucking alcoholic! That’s my problem.” Taehyung’s chest heaved, already over the edge.

“Why— Just why can’t you see that shit is killing you? You’re obli-“ Before he knew it, his body fell to the floor.

His father had thrown a punch to his jaw, causing Tae to lose his balance.

He’d banged his head pretty hard, and when Taehyung finally took complete notice of what was happening, it was already too late.

The older man sat on top of him, repeatedly pounding his fist into his face, eyes dark like the devil’s.

Taehyung groaned in pain, taking the hits. He was too frail to try and defend himself, so he didn’t.

“P-Please..” The boy weakly begged, fresh blood oozing down his face.

He wanted to cry, but he didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction.

“Next time you think about telling me what to do, don’t.” With one last harsh kick to his stomach, his father left him alone on the kitchen floor, bleeding and shaking.

Taehyung’s gaze was empty, dull.. lifeless. Every emotion was drained.

A tear rolled down the side of his eye, and he didn’t bother wiping it away.

His father was gone, he could cry. It was okay.

Minutes later, Taehyung dozed off to sleep, too weak to bandage his wounds.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Jungkook had a completely different night compared to Taehyung, spending it giddy, replaying the events of their entire day at least a thousand times before he managed to actually fall asleep.

He really wished that he could have fallen asleep with Taehyung, and this time wake up next to him as well. Hopefully that would be a reality soon enough.

#Fic: Love maze #Taekook fic #Taekook series #Taekook school au #Taehyung x Jungkook #Taekook fluff #sombreboy

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pinksra · 3 years

Text

Capture

Summary: Jaina, a fugitive, is finally caught after years of being on the run.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.6K

It was hard for Jaina to come to terms with the man standing in front of her. He was obviously a mandalorian, though she had never seen one before then. She had only ever heard rumors about the elite group of warriors. She had heard they were all religious prudes. She had heard they never removed the very armor they were known by. She had heard they never let anyone leave their grasp alive.

She hoped that last rumor was just that: a rumor. Especially considering she was about to be on the wrong side of this mandalorian’s blaster.

He had to have been a bounty hunter. There was no other explanation as to why he was even here. Jaina knew she had a bounty on her head. She’s known that for over a decade now. She admitted to herself that he might not be there for her, but it seemed unlikely.

She watched him from behind the bar as he scanned the room. He had the tracking fob in his gloved hand, the other resting on the holstered gun attached to his hip. She looked over his beat up armor and frowned. It looked as if he had gone through hell and back, but she knew better than to doubt his skills. Jaina had spent this long without being caught because she was smart.

She finished the drink she was making, slid it down to the waiting customer, and then turned to walk casually into the back. She pulled her apron over her head and tossed it in the corner, picking up speed as the door to the bar closed behind her. By the time she reached the back entrance, she was running.

The streets of Aldera were brimming with people either coming home after work or going out for a night on the city. Jaina used this to her advantage and immediately melted in with the crowd. She knew there was a very good chance the mandalorian might not be hunting her, let alone chasing her through the streets, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

She finally broke off from the crowd to make her way down a familiar alley. She continuously checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. Her hand kept returning to the hanging pendant around her neck, clutching it as if she were afraid to lose it. At the sound of footsteps, she flung herself in a dark corner, but was relieved when she only saw a pair of drunkards stumbling home.

I have to get home. She thought, her heart racing as she calmed herself. She sincerely hoped this was nothing but an overreaction, but the feeling of fear and trepidation pooling in her chest told her she should hurry. And she had always been taught to trust her gut feelings.

She waited until the footsteps faded away before hurrying out of the corner. The blaster in her holster slapped against her thigh as she raced down the alley. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Finally, she reached the familiar stack of boxes piled against the wall to her right. She took one last look around and, once she was satisfied no one was around, ducked around them, disappearing into the hidden door in the wall.

“Zee!” She hissed, moving further into the darkness before even letting her eyes adjust. There was no reason to, as she knew the layout of the room better than she knew the back of her own hand. “Zee!”

A whirring sound started up from her left and she turned to face the lights flashing out of the darkness. Her shoulders sagged in relief.

“Come on, Zee, we gotta get out of here!”

The tiny security droid lifted up off the box he had been resting on and flew over to her side, shining a light so she could see what she was doing. She mumbled her thanks before returning to the matter at hand. After lighting a small lanturn, she grabbed her knapsack off the tiny desk in the corner and started filling it with essentials: a change or two of clothes, a couple ration packs, her saber…

She paused to look at the saber for a second. She could not remember the last time she had used it, but she knew it was at least a decade ago. As screams and blaster shots filled her head, she reached up to once again clutch the pendant hanging around her neck. Though simple in its looks, only two people in the entire galaxy knew the importance of it.

Jaina shook her head again and tossed the saber in the bag. Zee beeped behind her and she turned to look at it. Even after being her companion for a decade, she still had trouble understanding it. It wasn’t until she saw the figure in the doorway behind it that she got its message.

Without another thought, she grabbed her blaster and aimed it at the man. Zee’s blasters whirred to life, but the droid was shot out of the air before she had time to even blink. She felt a pain of sadness as it fell to the floor, lifeless, but her blaster didn’t lower.

The man stepped closer, into the light of the lanturn and she tensed up, immediately recognizing the armor. It was the mandalorian from the bar.

“How much is my head worth now, huh?” She asked, her voice hard. “It was 100,000 credits, according to the last hunter that tried to bring me in.” She paused, her hand tightening on her blaster, “He wasn’t very successful.”

The mandalorian didn’t say anything. He just … stood there. For some reason, that made Jaina more nervous than if he had run his mouth like the previous bounty hunters she had dealt with. She needed to be careful; one wrong move and she would be done for.

There was a pull in her gut and Jaina reacted before she even knew what she was doing. By the time the bounty hunter had lunged for her, she was already kicking out. Her foot connected directly with his stomach, causing him to double over. By the time he had straightened, she had already darted around him, racing for the door.

It was raining outside. The icy cold water drops hit her like a slap in the face, stunning her for a second. She started running as fast as she could. Her only hope was to lose him in the allies that created a labyrinth throughout the city. He had to be stronger and faster, if the rumors about the mandalorians were anything to go by. Her last resort was outsmarting him. Afterall, no one knew the city like she did.

The rain soaked her through, a chill spreading over her skin. She turned down alley after alley, not pausing to take a break or catch her breath. Her knapsack pounded against her back, seeming to push her forward even faster.

Jaina knew there was no hope, though. As soon as she saw the flash of golden fire out of the corner of her eye, she knew there was no way she would escape this bounty hunter like she did the others. She stumbled to a halt, watching as the mandalorian descended from the sky on his jetpack.

When his feet touched the ground, Jaina whipped out her blaster and fired. He easily dodged the shot, as if he had been prepared for it.

“Stars, you are fast.” She muttered to herself, the last of her hope draining out of her.

He slowly approached her, watching carefully to make sure she wouldn’t fire a shot again. Jaina kept the blaster in her hand, but reached her other one around her back, trying to subtly dig into her knapsack. When her hand grasped the cold metal of the saber, she shot another blast. The mandalorian dodged that one too, but it gave her enough time to pull out the saber and swing it out to her side. The saber buzzed to life and the sight of the glowing, golden blade at her side finally made the mandalorian pause.

“You’re a jedi.” It was the first words the man had spoken to her.

“No, I’m not.”

They both watched each other carefully. The tug in her gut had her pulling the blade up to block the shot from his blaster before she was even aware he had fired it. He seemed to tense up, realizing for the first time that there might be a reason she had a price on her head other than simply having run away from home.

This time, Jaina was the one to lunge first. She swung the blade in an ark over her head and the mandalorian barely had time to jump backwards, his beskar chest plate taking the brunt of the swing. The force of the attack seemed to take his breath away, but Jaina knew better than to assume she had done any real damage. She swung her blade again, this time hitting his shoulder plate, knocking him to the ground. Without another word, she hopped over his fallen body and began racing down the alley, her hair plastered to her forehead from the rain.

Later, she realized she should’ve killed him; knocked him unconscious at the very least. It wasn’t until she was falling face forward, landing on the icy stone ground, with a blaster shot in her shoulder, that she even thought about seriously hurting him. But by then, it was too late.

Jaina groaned with pain, curling onto her side and facing the sky. In all her years of being on the run, she had never once been shot. The blaster had obviously been set to stun, but son of a bantha did it hurt. The mandalorian appeared in her line of vision, kneeling over her body. She looked up helplessly at him, tears finally pooling in her eyes as fear and adrenaline hit a peak in her body.

As she lost consciousness, she felt him tie her hands behind her body. For the first time since she left Coruscant over a decade ago, she had been caught.

Everything went black.

Jaina wasn’t sure what had finally brought her back to the living world. Maybe it was the rumble of an engine starting up underneath her cheek, or the slight ache in her shoulder, or maybe even the uncomfortable tug in her gut telling her she was in the most trouble she had ever been in in her short life. Either way, she was awake.

Jaina opened her eyes without moving her body. She didn’t want to alert anyone she was awake until she knew what was going on. The first thing she noticed was the energy shield surrounding her body.

The thought came to her slowly. I’m in a kriffing force cage!

She knew force cages were common for the elite bounty hunters, but she had never seen one in person. The cage was created from energy shields and those who could use the force were completely helpless in them. She hadn’t ever been able to use the force that controlled the very same tugs in her gut that alerted her to trouble, but the fact that the mandalorian threw her in the cage made her realize he thought she could. Maybe she could use that to her advantage later on.

Across from her cage were stacked bunks, each encased in some sort of glass. She assumed this is where the mandalorian could hold prisoners who weren’t force sensitive. Jaina realised for the first time just how dangerous of a bounty hunter she was dealing with.

She sat up, her shoulder making her wince in pain. Before she examined it, though, she reached up to grasp the pendant at her throat, making her breath a sigh of relief when she realized it was there. The rest of her stuff was missing, but none of her belongings were as important as the tiny gem resting in the hollow of her throat. Reassured of its safety, her hand left the pendant to reach around and probe her wound. It ached, but she could feel that there was no real damage done.

A loud screech echoed throughout the room and Jaina looked up just in time to see the hatch open. The mandalorian quickly dropped down into the room, a tray carefully balanced in his hands. She glared up at him, her eyes boldly meeting his visor.

He paused for a second. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking; he was impassive behind the helmet. At some point, he must have made a decision because he moved to the control panel against the wall opposite of the bunks and punched in a couple numbers. The energy shield around her buzzed louder for a second before shutting down completely.

Jaina didn’t budge as the mandalorian moved to kneel before her. He grabbed something off the tray before handing it to her. She reached for it cautiously, her stomach rumbling when she noticed the ration pack and small bowl of fruit. She looked up at him in astonishment. Fruit was hard to come by when you lived primarily in space; she couldn’t believe he was giving some to her. He continued to watch her until she started to eat.

Mother of Moons, she was hungry. She tried to remember the last time she had eaten, but she didn’t even know how long she had been unconscious. She eagerly ate the food, savoring the way the flavor of the fruit burst across her tongue. It wasn’t until she felt full that she realized the mandalorian had been watching her. She immediately straightened up, embarrassed over how quickly she had lowered her defenses in front of the enemy. The movement pulled at her shoulder and the shot of pain made her grimace.

“Turn around.” The mandalorian ordered.

Jaina was immediately on the defensive, refusing to move. She didn’t know what he wanted, but there was no way she was turning her back to him.

There was a note of frustration in his voice as he said, “Do you want bacta or not?”

Jaina’s eyes darted down to his hands where a bacta patch was clenched in a fist. She relaxed slightly, realizing he had no intentions of hurting her.

Yet. She reminded herself. He had no intentions of hurting me yet.

She slowly turned her back to the mandalorian. Without any hesitation, he reached over and pulled the collar of her shirt down over her shoulder until the wound was visible. The brush of his leather gloves against her skin made goosebumps rise under his touch. Neither of them acknowledged it as he started to apply the patch.

“You have no idea.” She whispered after a second of silence. His hand paused on her shoulder. “You have no idea the amount of people who will die if you turn me in.”

There was a moment where everything was silent and still. Then he continued smoothing the patch over her skin.

“I’m not afraid of the Jedi.” He said. She didn’t doubt it.

“The Jedi aren’t who I’m talking about.”

His touch left her body and she could hear him stand up behind her. She turned around just in time to watch the energy shield fall in front of her, caging her in once more.

“I’m not afraid of death either.” He said, turning to start the climb back to whatever was above her prison.

“It’s not your death you should be worried about.” She replied. He paused on the ladder in slight hesitation before continuing on. She watched in silence as he climbed through the hatch. He looked down at her one more time before closing the hatch, sealing her into the room alone.

Her hand reached up to grasp the pendant in her hand, fear rising in her throat as she thought about the consequences to come.

#star wars #boba fett #boba #bounty hunter #im sorry for the lack of smut #jedi #shes a work in progress #fanfic #fanfiction

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uzumaki-rebellion · 4 years

Text

“Wet Sugar” [Part 22 of 30]

Summary: Erik and Yani face serious troubles...

Mature Audience. NSFW. Smut.

youtube

"Behind my pride there lives a me, that knows humility Inside my voice there is a soul, and in my soul there is a voice But I've been, too afraid to make a choice Cause I'm scared of the things that I might be missing

Running too fast to stop and listen It's time to step out on faith, I've gotta show my faith It's been illusive for so long but freedom is mine today I've gotta step out on faith it's time to show my faith…"

– "Strength Courage & Wisdom" - India.Arie

Erik was late arriving for breakfast in the front house. He jogged around the compound trying to offset tension in his body. Lack of sleep made him cranky. He felt like he was losing focus of the big picture.

The other mercs went through plates of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, biscuits, and grits. Erik put together a plate of lighter fare, some fruit, wheat toast, and a glass of orange juice. He glanced at Leona who replaced a platter of bacon with fresh sausage links and was surprised to see Yani's cousin Cee Cee in the kitchen pulling out hot biscuits from the oven.

When breakfast was over and the crew wandered down to the gun range to discuss departure dates and future rendezvous points, Erik straggled behind in the kitchen.

His eyes peeped Cee Cee again as he placed his orange juice glass in the sink. Leona wiped down the kitchen counter with a soft blue cloth.

"She won't work here anymore," Leona said with a soft voice.

Cee Cee leaned against the dining table in the other room watching him and Leona.

There was no need to ask why.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Leona nodded.

"Me too."

"How is Sweet Pea?"

Leona smiled big and wide.

"She good. Spending more time with her father…and sister…"

Erik went to the fridge and grabbed a bottled water.

"That's good," he said.

"She still ask about her Baba—"

"It's okay, Miss Leona—"

"Him don't need no explanation. Don't even talk to him about nothin', Auntie."

Cee Cee brought in empty bowls and brushed past Erik, shoving him a little.

"Cee Cee—"

"Fuck him. I told Yani he was just using her—"

"Quiet your foul mouth, gyal!"

Cee Cee looked startled by Leona's voice.

"Auntie—"

"We can still be cordial. Kind."

Leona's eyes took in Erik's dower expression.

"They are both doing well, Mr. Killmonger."

Erik left the kitchen, his legs moving so swift he could still hear his name on Leona's lips.

It hurt.

Like hell.

A physical pain that lodged in his throat and wouldn't leave his belly any peace.

He hated being at the compound. And now that she was gone for good, all he saw were dreary days ahead until he left that tiny rock.

During the meeting with Klaue and the other mercs, Erik once again found himself compartmentalizing his thoughts to keep sane. He also found himself looking forward to London. He needed to be around family, people who loved him, and to be in a new environment. What was once a warm paradise had now become a cold underworld.

Yani had turned all of her social media private. He had no more access to her or glimpses of Sydette. She cut off all contact. Blocked his number.

It hardened his heart. But it was for the best he kept telling himself. His bags were packed.

He was ready to vanish.

###

Linda was always hovering around Killmonger.

It drove Yani crazy.

Not because she cared about them being together, but because it was intentional on Linda's part.

The bulk of Erik and Linda's time together was spent with Klaue of course, but there were those times that Yani thought Linda was purposely being dramatic in front of her to get a reaction.

Touching Erik and grabbing on his arm after meals. Laughing a little too loud with him when Yani passed by with dirty laundry or cleaning supplies. Even when Yani used different routes to move around the compound, Linda found a way to be there.

"What's wrong with you?" Leona asked.

Yani stacked glasses and dishes in the cupboards then rinsed her hands in the sink.

"Nothing."

"Not with that face."

"Got a lot on my mind."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Just school stuff. Figuring out my schedule for next term."

Her Aunt watched her but didn't question her further.

"They still at the gun range?" Yani asked.

Leona glanced at the small viewscreens near the fridge.

"Yes."

"I'll be back—"

"Yani."

"Yes?"

Leona put her arms around Yani.

"I know it's not easy."

"I'm fine, Auntie. For real."

"I hear you say that, gyal, but mi know the truth."

"See you in a few."

Yani looked around her surroundings before she snuck a towel from the pool area and made herself blend into the foliage as she slipped down the hidden path. She hummed a little bit to herself as she pulled off her t-shirt. Adjusting her bikini top, she was glad that she opted to wear her swimsuit under her clothes. After a quick dip, she could throw her shirt and dark sweats back on with no one even knowing she had been in the water.

Reaching the final curve that opened up to the cove, Yani stopped and clenched her fist inside her bundled shirt.

Linda was sprawled out on a towel in a pink one piece. Erik was right next to her on his own towel, shades covering his eyes. A pounding pressure struck her left temple and a dark heat rose in her chest. The cove felt polluted with their presence. Nothing was sacred anymore and Yani wanted to cry. Why would he bring her down there? He knew that was her water…

"Taking a break?"

Linda stared at her as she smoothed out her beach towel.

Yani kept quiet. Erik didn't even budge. She wanted to kick sand on him.

"The water is actually a decent temperature," Linda said.

She stood up and walked into the water, allowing the water to reach her chest.

Yani pulled her shirt back on and turned around to head back to the kitchen with her Aunt.

"You down here too?"

Neal's predatory smile made Yani feel worse. Unger was behind him wearing trunks. She backed up from the two of them.

"The water is great!" Linda called.

Yani walked past the two men and when she glanced back, Erik was still sunbathing. He hadn't moved an inch.

Yani acted unbothered for a long time, but the last straw was watching Linda walk out of Killmonger's room giving her orders to bring him soup. Slinking around in a gauzy house dress and telling her not to disturb him. They probably fucked all night, using up another box of condoms, and expected her to clean their messy sheets.

That man had the damn nerve to make her bring him food to that bed. Just an excuse to rub her nose in his new sex life.

She wasn't hurting for dick though.

Zachary turned out to be a capable replacement.

The sex was…different. Calm. But satisfying.

They started hanging out together. Lunch dates. Occasional dinner dates. She brought him to social events with her friends and then finally brought him around family again. She kept Sydette out of the equation this time around. She didn't want to put her daughter through the attachment of another man who might not be a long-term partner. It was better that way. Sydette still asked about her Baba, but Yani kept her busy with daycare, play dates, and time with Chez.

Chez.

Who knew he could get his shit together to act as a father for once? Maybe Killmonger had knocked some damn sense into the man. Sped up his maturity. Being forced to give him Sydette was heart-wrenching, but in the end, it gave Yani the freedom to do things for herself on the weekends.

When Killmonger tried to tell her that he missed her, Yani became enraged. After screaming at him in Klaue's house, she was done. There was no way to be at the compound with him there. She went back to her apartment and blocked Killmonger from any access to her.

Zachary helped her forget. Especially that night when she saw Killmonger at the Bacchanal. He had the damn nerve to ask her to dance as if they were chummy like that anymore. When he walked up on her she wanted to spit in his face, tried her best to keep her hands to herself when she felt him standing behind her, all that body heat of his fanning out onto her. Thank God her homegirls kept him in check. They prevented her from clawing his face. Him standing there with short hair, almost clean-shaven, like he was pretending to be some new dude for her. Fuck him.

The lap dance she gave in front of the crowd was a declaration to him that alla her thickness was off limits to him for good. Once she was back in her apartment, she called Zachary over and finally gave him her sticky sweetness.

Strange though.

She gave Zachary everything on her couch, but not in her bed.

The bed that Killmonger bought her.

Each time she had sex with Zachary they did it in his bed at his place, or on her couch. Never her bed.

Different hands on her body, different energy around her, different conversations in her house made it easier to loosen Killmonger from her thoughts.

It wasn't full-proof though.

She caught herself having lucid dreams of Killmonger fucking her. She'd wake up with her pussy throbbing like she could feel him inside of her. Her slippery wet dreams felt so real. Swollen wet folds greeted her fingers when she woke up from those erotic imaginings. Bitterness slept in her mouth with his name still trapped there. Zachary would have his sheathed average length sink into her, and sometimes she would catch herself daydreaming of Killmonger in the middle of the act. Zachary could get quite worked up, but it wasn't the ferocity she was accustomed to. She wondered how long it would take to shake the ghost of that nigga's dick from her pussy. She wanted to hate that man to help her forget him. How could she when he still haunted her in her sleep and in another man's arms? It was crazy. But she knew it would pass. It always did eventually and then she was over it.

Erik seemed to be over it. He didn't bother to stay out of her way anymore, and when he passed her by it was like she was a non-entity.

She treated him the same and eventually, she became numb to his presence.

Almost.

Her last day working came once Leona received permission from Klaue to have Cee Cee trade jobs with Yani from now on.

Taking one last walk around the property searching for Jerome, she encountered a sobering sight. All the men and Linda hovered around Erik and Neal as they fought one another in an open circle. Hand to hand tussling. Shirts off. Both wearing loose joggers. Neal was using boxing moves that Yani was familiar with, but Killmonger was making moves that frustrated Neal. It was that capoeira he knew and some other fighting style.

Her heart thudded as she watched the two men give one another bruising punches. Neal lost his cool completely when Erik used his bare feet to strike his face with a series of tight cartwheels and backflips.

"Get him, Killmonger!" Linda shrieked as she tossed water from a bottle at both of them. Neal was able to get in some hard hits and when his fist made contact with Killmonger's cheek, something ignited in that man and his hands became swift weapons against Neal's chest and stomach.

The others urged them on and Yani felt herself getting queasy watching blood spurt from Neal's mouth and cuts from Killmonger's face from bare knuckles. Neal gave Killmonger a powerful uppercut that made him stagger back clutching his jaw. He flexed his neck and lunged for the man, placing him in a tight headlock. Killmonger punched the man and more blood flowed.

Neal twisted his waist and Killmonger shoved him onto the ground.

They traded more blows until Neal charged Killmonger knocking him onto his back. Yani gritted her teeth knowing the hard cement would break skin. Killmonger reached up and grabbed Neal's throat, his powerful hands choking tight. Neal thrust his hands up and broke Killmonger's hold on him. Rolling away from the leaner man's weak punches, Killmonger swayed his body in a dance-like rhythm around Neal causing the other man's frustration to bubble over. Neal reached for a thick broken tree branch lying on the ground and beat Killmonger with it. The abuse didn't last long once the branch was snatched from Neal's hand and tossed aside. Yani's Ex lost it.

Killmonger beat the man so bad that Unger and Shipley had to drag him away.

"Jesus…Killmonger…!" Linda shouted.

"Thought you were gonna back that shit up homie…said you could show me some things. Whatchu show me, huh? Nothin' nigga. You ain't want this—"

Huntsman helped Neal to his feet and away from Killmonger.

"Lemme go! I'm not done yet!"

Neal thrashed against Huntsman.

"Trust me, you're done. Go clean yourself up," Linda blurted, her fingers touching the wounds on Killmonger's face.

"Anyone else want a taste? All that talk…"

Killmonger spit on the ground. What splattered there was dark against the cement. He wiped his chin and his heated eyes darted around, challenging the others.

Linda's eyes were riveted to Killmonger's. She handed him a beer and he took a deep swig. Grabbing it away from him, she drank down the rest spilling it on her shirt.

"Making a mess," he said.

"You wish," she said.

Linda reared back and kicked Killmonger in the chest. Surprised, he dropped down and swept his legs against hers knocking her off balance. Linda recovered and threw up her fists to box him.

What was wrong with them? Was this their entertainment?

Yani couldn't take it anymore and left them to their violent play.

###

A sheet and pillowcase were tangled in the dryer as Yani pulled them out. She couldn't get the images of Killmonger fighting out of her head. Folding the linens, she wondered how he could be so brutal and willing to harm his own body when it wasn't necessary—

Killmonger barged in carrying a knit bag of dirty clothes. His left cheek looked slightly swollen, and he had a small bandage over his right cheekbone. He halted near the doorway for a second when he saw her, then went about his business of checking the washing machine. He tossed his clothes in, reached up for laundry detergent, and ignored her completely. He wore a tight t-shirt and camouflage pants. A Glock was tucked in the back of his waistband.

Yani continued folding sheets over on the wide folding table next to the dryer.

"There any more fabric softener?" he asked looking up at the shelf above the machines.

Yani reached under the folding table and lifted up a new bottle of softener. She slammed it on the washing machine and continued folding.

Killmonger took the bottle and opened it. He glanced at her for a moment and stuck the softener on the shelf above him. Lingering after his clothing load started, Yani felt irritated.

"You need somethin' else?"

"Nah. You?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

He sauntered over to the door.

"Why did you take her down there?"

"What are you grumbling about now?"

"That was my place…my private spot to swim and be alone—"

"You gonna stand there and whine about people swimming? You don't own nothing here—"

"But you know how I feel about that place!"

Yani's shrill scream shocked her own self, her fists clenched and pressed against her thighs.

"I didn't take her down there. She said she followed you and discovered it. You didn't do a good job of protecting your playground. She told the others about it. That's on you."

Yani reached out and struck him in his chest. She was shaking so hard as her nails raked across his keloids.

"What is wrong with you?! Bitch—"

He pushed her back against the folding table and Yani reached up and grabbed onto the silver chain he wore around his neck that had an onyx and silver ring on it.

"What you not about to do is have me come up out myself!" he yelled.

Grabbing her arms, he held them against her, his face hard and close to her face. His gold teeth gleamed in the laundry room light. Her hands shook furiously at her sides and she tried her best to keep tears from pressing out of her lids, but he saw it.

"Fuck, Yani…calm down…it's not that serious," he said placing his hands on her shoulders.

"It is for me."

"You right girl…you right…forget what I said."

She pulled back from him and started folding the sheets again. He didn't move from where he was and when she looked back at him, all she could focus on was the bruises on his face. It was like she was staring at a stranger. How did it come to this so fast?

She couldn't breathe. The room felt like it was closing in on her.

He reached out and cradled her neck, pulling her in close. His other hand stroked her arm and when she shuddered, he lifted her up and made her sit on the laundry table, her ass warmed up by a clean bed sheet.

"Hmmm…"

The groan in his throat was swallowed by her mouth when his lips sought hers out. His tongue pushed her lips apart and he leaned into her so her breasts pressed into his chest. The ring on his chain poked her.

She had forgotten what his mouth and lips felt like. No, that was a lie. She missed how his mouth and lips felt like. His tongue snaked around hers and her legs automatically opened wider for him. She gasped when he yanked up her shirt and unfastened her bra. Reaching behind himself he pulled his gun out of his pants and sat it next to her hand on the table. She watched him raise up his shirt and pull half of it over his neck, showing a chest and abs that were worked out more from when she last saw it naked.

Plunging his tongue down her throat again he stayed on her mouth until she felt her insides squeeze with anticipation. Hot breath in her ear, and hotter lips on her neck, Yani leaned back giving in more by the minute. He licked around her neck and she bent her head forward so he could lick her tattoos and give tiny kisses there.

His fingers hooked into the band of her loose cotton sweats and her hands jerked back to hold them in place.

His tongue slipped into her ear and the wet warmth made her stomach drop and her hands grabbed onto his shoulders.

"Baby…" he sighed, tugging on her pants again.

She let him drag them down, rocked her hips forward and lifted her ass to help him get them down to her ankles. He pulled down his pants and fisted his erection. His eyes sought hers and she felt all tension leave her body with a rising desire to join their bodies together again. She placed her fingers around his fat wet glans and squeezed. His eyes slammed shut and his mouth parted, the gleam from those gold slugs taunting her. Her skin tingled wanting him to bite her flesh. She placed his tip against her opening and when she enveloped his length, she didn't exhale until he was firmly rooted.

"Daddy gotchu all upset," he said digging in her pussy hard.

She gripped his length tight and his eyes stayed on her face.

"Taking it like a good girl…Daddy's good girl. All this dick…yeah…stretching this fat pussy out right. Don't be mad. Daddy's sorry…ohhh shit…you putting it on me girl. You still mad at me? Huh, that why you gripping me so fucking tight? You squeezin' Daddy's dick…ah fuck…keep squeezin' on this pipe….do that shit girl…punish me, Baby…teach Daddy a lesson…."

Yani's head tilted back, her mouth alternating between staying parted and becoming a tight pout. She felt so full. Zachary could never hit her walls like that. He was unable to hit the bottom of her pussy like Killmonger's extra inches. Her facial expressions must've excited him because Killmonger never looked away as he stroked her deep.

"Been keepin' this pussy tight for me…" he grunted.

He lifted up and pulled her pants all the way off so he could push her legs back on the table. The angle tugged on her clit and he rode that position while he continued watching her face. It was hard to keep her eyes on him as she closed them occasionally because she couldn't stand the intense pressure on her walls. He was moving in a way that prevented her from getting full contact stimulation on her clit. The tugging of her hood had her moaning under her breath. She wanted to scream but there was no telling who was around to hear her cries if she truly let go of what she suppressed.

"Look at me, girl. Keep them eyes on me. I like watching your face handle this dick-"

"Nigga it don't take this long to throw some clothes in the…oh, shit, my bad nigga—"

Shipley's flustered voice took in Yani's pussy being plowed righteously. Killmonger got in four more good strokes before he even stopped. Yani grabbed her shirt and pulled it down. She pushed off of Killmonger's dick and pulled on her pants.

Shipley's eyes stayed on her the entire time and Yani felt so much shame. The man held the door wide open.

"Yani!" Erik called.

She left, half walking, half running past Shipley and down to the cove barefoot.

Out of breath, she stepped into the water just to feel the coolness revive her feet. She would never come back there again. Not to the healing waters that caressed her toes, or the compound that had taken care of her since she was fourteen. She couldn't face any of the people. Especially Shipley. He would confirm that what they all whispered about was true.

The sun did a slow crawl to a blood-red sunset. Her body felt hot and sickened and embarrassed by the day.

She stripped and walked further into the water.

She wasn't shocked to hear a splash behind her as she swam further out. She heard his arms stroke through the placid water.

"Yani. You okay?"

He swam around her naked until he could see her face. They both tread in deep waters staring at one another. Killmonger tried reaching out to her, but Yani swam back to shore and pulled her clothes back on. She felt empty. Cold.

It hurt to walk away from her once special place.

And him.

###

On a lazy Sunday when Chez had Sydette, Klaue summoned her to the compound. Her Aunt texted her and said Klaue wanted to see her right away.

Yani was hesitant, worried that she would run into Killmonger or worse…Linda.

But the compound was quiet.

Klaue sat by his pool drinking a whiskey sour, and when she stood before him, he waved a hand for her to sit in the lounger next to him. She felt nervous, her eyes flitting around expecting Killmonger to show up and throw off her emotions.

"Sad to not have you here anymore, Yani."

Klaue's eyes were runny and pink. He had been drinking for quite some time. Salmon board shorts and a white polo shirt adorned his body. He offered Yani a drink but she declined.

"Here," he said, handing her an envelope.

A check.

Her eyes popped out at the amount.

"Mr. Klaue…"

"That should cover the cost of your schooling, lab fees, etc…"

Yani's heart sped up.

"Your family has taken care of this property for many years. I want to repay that…we want to repay that."

"We?"

"The bulk of that comes from Killmonger. He suggested some sort of severance package for you before he left."

"He's gone?"

Her eyes couldn't hide what she felt.

"It's always all work and barely any play. Family business. He didn't want me to tell you that he gave you part of that. But I wanted you to know. It's obvious that he cares about you and your Aunt. You got very close, didn't you?"

Yani turned her head away from him and focused on the check.

"Killmonger. Complicated. Volatile. Loyal. Easily my best…also one of the meanest men in the trade…and yet…"

Klaue stared at her.

She kept her eyes steady, but her fingers trembled. There was enough money in her hand to take care of herself and Sydette for the next few years. At least until she found a nursing position somewhere. It was beyond school tuition. It was a chance at a real life on her own.

"Thank you—"

"Thank him. He was the most generous. I'm taking care of school. He's taking care of the rest."

"Incoming call. Limbano, Robert."

"Duty calls. Excuse me."

Klaue lumbered up from his seat spilling a bit of whiskey. He shuffled down toward his main house and Yani ran to the front house apartment.

"Auntie!"

Leona sat in front of her tv with Cee Cee watching a nighttime soap.

"What is it?"

Yani shoved the check in her face.

"What is this?"

Leona's eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

Cee Cee grabbed the check.

"Shit!" Cee Cee yelped.

"Who gave you this? Klaue?" Leona asked.

"Klaue…but mostly Killmonger."

"Why him do this?" Cee Cee asked.

Leona's eyes stayed with Yani's. Auntie knew, Yani was sure of that.

"Quick, go put it in the bank!" Leona said shoving Yani out of the apartment.

Yani grabbed her Aunt's arm.

"Why didn't you tell me he left?"

"I didn't know."

"I gotta go!"

Yani ran all the way to her car and drove straight to the bank.

Once the deposit had been made, and she waited to make sure the full amount showed up on her deposit slip, she sat in her car and felt the full weight of regret. Pulling out her cell she typed him a message. Erased it. Typed it again.

She swiped his number and felt her chest and stomach get tight waiting for him to answer.

But he didn't.

###

"My God, Addae! Look at my nephew!"

Erik stared at his Aunt Serah as she held her face with her hands staring at him in her front door. He had surprised his play Aunt by arriving a day early. But the bigger surprise was waiting for him in his Aunt's visiting room.

"Fuck outta here! Watchu doin' here, girl!"

Erik ran up and picked up his play cousin Marisol and twirled her around. He dropped her back on her feet and took a good long look at her. Marisol was breathtaking. Skin so rich with unblemished dark skin. Onyx eyes. Perfectly symmetrical features that could be cute and loveable one moment, but fiery and capable of trouble in the next. It was hard to believe sometimes that his play cousin who had been an ashy-legged crybaby tagging after him through the streets of Sao Paolo, and annoying him to no end, grew up to be the raven-haired beauty before him.

"Auntie sent me a ticket since you were skipping us this holiday."

Marisol's voice was a balm to his ears, her Portuguese accent bringing him back to Brazil and her mother's beef dumplings and rice.

"Looking good, cuz," he said.

"And you're looking big. I see you are eating well."

She bent her body low to the ground, her ginga smooth, her hands rocking toward her chest.

"Ready to play already, cuz?" he said.

Erik countered her moves in a mirror-like fashion.

"Oh no, not in my living room with my expensive artwork in the way! Take that outside!"

"We'll stay tight Auntie," Erik said kicking up his foot and tangling it with Marisol's hands. His cousin did a front walkover and twisted her legs around.

"My God, you two can't be together for five minutes without testing one another!"

"Oi quem mandou levar! Essa carta pra sinhá! Oi quem mandou levar! Oia la Besóuro preto. Oi quem mandou levar…!

Marisol's singing voice stirred Erik's movement, his hands and feet flew faster and Marisol held him off.

Erik joined her in the singing and Serah picked up one of her standing statues of a Cameroonian warrior and moved it from their dangerous leg kicks.

"I see nothing has changed, you are both still hard-headed," Serah sighed, standing back from them. She began clapping her hands, keeping the song rhythm going.

Erik did a slow backflip and he swayed in front of his Aunt and sang to her another capoeira song.

"A capoeira meu amor…a capoeira me chamou…a capoeira meu amor…a capoeira me chamou…"

His voice was choppy but true, and Marisol joined him as he serenaded Serah.

"Such a charmer!" Serah said.

She grabbed Erik's chin and kissed his forehead.

"Go wash up. Dinner is ready and you are lucky I made a lot since we weren't expecting you until tomorrow night."

The moment Erik smelled Serah's cooking in the kitchen he had forgotten all about St. Thomas and Klaue and Linda and—

His cell phone chirped up missed calls that finally caught up to him in London and he scrolled and erased many that were unimportant. But a certain number popped up on his screen and he stared at it. No text, but a voicemail.

Yani.

"Thank you."

Damn.

She had the money and Klaue opened his big mouth.

"Yani? Who is that?"

Marisol stared at his fingers and he swiped the phone off.

"I swear, every time I see you, it's someone new."

"Shut up."

"It's true."

Serah headed to the kitchen as his Uncle carried his bags to a guest room.

Erik unpacked, and once dinner was served and eating commenced, he put away thoughts about Yani and focused on his family.

His Uncle Addae caught him up on the political happenings in London and other parts of the U.K. Serah gave him a couple of books covering ancient sculptures from Central and East Africa to help him pinpoint pieces he had to look out for. They spent two days going through her archives online and she used 3D imaging to give him a feel for shapes and sizes. He already knew the vibram tattoo on his gums would verify any authentic Wakandan pieces with vibranium in them. They took a family trip to visit a few museums, and Erik took discreet pictures of the layouts of each, prepping himself for future trips if the need arrived.

The rest of his time was used playing chess with Marisol, catching up on friends, family and old girlfriends back in Brazil, going out dancing with her and taking long naps together on the couch like they used to as kids after binging bad horror movies all day.

When his Aunt and Uncle went out to do last-minute Christmas shopping, Marisol made him take off his shirt so she could look at his scars.

Her face took on a pinched intensity.

"JaJa," she whispered using his family nickname as she touched the new lesions that had finally healed after his Angola trip.

"I did it myself. Didn't want to bother you with it."

"How many more must you take?" she said.

"As many as I need to get me what I want…hey…don't make that face. You know what it is—"

"JaJa…"

"I'm done talking about it."

He picked up his laptop and turned on some soft music, setting the computer down on the coffee table in front of them. He pulled his shirt back on.

"I'm not putting any more on your body."

"I do it myself now. No need to bother you with it."

His lips felt tight. Her eyes looked away from his.

"Who is that?"

Erik tried to change the screen images that played with the music on his laptop, but Marisol was too fast. Her thin dark fingers swiped his screen and pulled back the last three images that flashed past.

"JaJa…did you…did you have a child?"

Erik closed his eyes for a moment and sat back on the couch. Sydette's big smiling face filled up the computer screen with his face right next to her. It was one of the last pictures he had with her that Twyla took when he said goodbye to his little girl. They were all dimples in that photo.

"She's mine, but she's not really mine—"

"Don't talk semantics. Is that your baby? Who is the mother? Wait…did Disa and you?"

"No. This baby belongs to someone else—"

"But is she yours?"

Marisol's dark coal eyes looked hopeful.

"No. Her mother is someone I was seeing."

"Show me."

"Not right now, Marisol…please…I'm not-"

"No worries. No pressure then."

She touched his face.

"JaJa…"

Yani still lived in his throat and deep in his chest. Shit. His own cousin could see her on his face.

Marisol patted his chest.

"She's a beautiful child. You both look very happy together."

"I was happy."

"You can't stay that way?"

"Nah…it's too complicated…"

"Hmmm, I've heard that before. This must've been serious. Complicated is in some Disǎ territory. This baby's mother have you wound up like that again?"

Erik's eyes cut away from Marisol's. She was so much like his mother in many ways. Able to read his emotions inside his silence. His fingers reached out and held Marisol's hand. Squeezed it. He leaned forward and scrolled through a photo folder and swiped open a picture of Yani and Sydette inside Klaue's car. The night he left her for Angola.

Marisol stared at the photo and he was met with bright white teeth from her lips.

"They are beautiful. Were you with them before you came here?"

"We didn't part in the best way."

"Do you ever?"

The smirk on her mouth was playful but understanding.

How many times had Marisol witnessed all his messy entanglements? Played referee when he was being sloppy with his dick? Jumped in front of women in her own home town throwing hands over him in public when he was being young and dumb and uncaring? Marisol knew so many of his darkest secrets and shared in two of them. Truth was, if she ever changed from being a teacher, she could be the most brazen killer.

She had a reason to be.

Years ago, they both experienced the trauma of their Aunt Lia's death at the hands of assassins, and that bloody history stained and bound them both. When he was nineteen and she was barely eighteen, they had done the unthinkable together. For revenge. For their Aunt and for his mother.

Erik touched Marisol's black shining hair. It looked like wet ink and smelled like the coconut oil he used to dress his locs in when he was younger. It was a calm smell. Familiar. Soothing. She smelled like coconut oil when she seared a sterile knife into his flesh giving him his first keloid scar on his collar bone. For the cop who captured his mother in Oakland and paved the way for her to be extradited and die a lonely death. Erik was fifteen then.

Marisol gave him three more when they both took out men in Sao Paulo, and he gave her the one and only marking on her body. Under her left breast. She had mixed an ancient concoction she found from an elder in Candomblé who had ties to some ancient maroon scarification rites. It was the start of the map on his body. The story carved into his flesh over the years.

Marisol was there from day one. She was the only one who knew the truth when his family questioned the strange rite. His Uncle Bakari may have suspected some things, but no one else was bold enough to ask for the truth. His past piercings on his face were just youthful experimentation before the Naval Academy. But the scars…

He leaned his head on Marisol's shoulder and she stroked his hair.

"Can you go back to them? Is it a done deal?"

He shrugged.

"You love them?"

He nodded and Marisol sighed.

"Maybe…maybe you shouldn't go through with your plan. This could be a sign for you…"

Erik pulled himself away from her and closed up the picture on his computer. The music still filled the room with hollow sounds.

"Does she love you?"

"She once did…now, I dunno. Like I said…complicated."

"You should fight for this then…wait…listen to me…sit down, JaJa. Hear me out. Perhaps what you really need is there. In that woman. In that little girl."

"I owe them, my parents—"

"Your parents would want you to be happy and free of this. Auntie Lia would want you to have your own life…I want you to have that."

"I'll have it after…"

Marisol leaned forward, pulling her soft shiny curls into a top knot as she moved away from him.

"You'd throw away a guaranteed happy life for an uncertain future? Uncle N'Jobu and Auntie Cali would feel hurt if they saw you now—"

"I feel them in here all the time!"

Erik clutched at his chest. The anger in his voice flew out and Marisol flinched and stepped away from him. He slammed his fist into his chest.

"I carry Baba and Mom in here everywhere I go and that woman…that baby…they pushed themselves in there too and I can't carry them all."

"Hey…hey…JaJa…listen—"

"No you listen! I owe them. My Baba. My Mom. I won't be able to fully rest until I have finished this for them."

They heard the front door open and Serah's excited voice calling to them. Erik jumped up and wiped his face. Marisol reached for his arm and squeezed it.

"We can finish this later—"

"Nah, I'm done talkin' 'bout it."

"I feel sorry for you."

"Don't."

"Fuckin' stubborn—"

"Like you ain't either."

Marisol pursed her lips and went to greet their Aunt and Uncle.

It was time for tree decorating and baking cookies and Erik was happy to see his Aunt feeling like a kid again wrapping gifts for all of them, and making constant face chat calls to Erik's Grandfather and Marisol's mothers. The energy was festive and light even though Marisol's words weighed on Erik's mind. She just didn't understand. He couldn't change his plans midstream.

He was satisfied knowing Yani had funds to build a foundation for herself and Sydette. That was enough for him. He could move on knowing she was good and the baby was good. That was all he could give them. Nothing else.

###

It came from one of the cruise ships that docked at the port a week before Christmas. Tourists came and went with the seasons for it was the ebb and flow of island life. No one thought to quarantine the sick little white boy from Wales when he first showed signs of the sickness, and when his parents trotted him out to a burger stand, the sickness spread among a few island adults and children. It wasn't until the boy died a week later from respiratory failure that health officials were able to trace where it came from.

When it hit St Thomas, it was like a firestorm and spread among the old and young children alike. Most adults were able to pull through, but several babies and toddlers did not. Five had died in two different hospitals already before Yani even knew her own baby was in danger.

"Hey Sweet Pea," she said watching her daughter climb up the stairs with her father. It was Sunday evening the time of handing over Sydette back to Yani so they could spend a few days together with her family before New Year's.

Chez held his other daughter Star in his arms, and Yani noticed right away that something was wrong with Sydette's sister.

"Is she alright?" Yani asked.

Chez held the little girl against his chest as he watched Yani pick up Sydette. Star's coloring was paler than usual and her sweaty brow concerned Yani.

"She hasn't been feeling too well the last two days."

"Take her to the doctor."

Yani stared at her own child. Sydette looked fine.

"Ursula is taking her tomorrow. We've been giving her liquid Tylenol—"

"Chez, I don't think you should wait. Take her now."

Yani reached out and touched the child's forehead. It was clammy and hot. Star had rapid breathing and her lips looked milky blue.

"She's sweating out a fever—"

Star's head lulled back.

"Oh God, Chez!"

"Star!"

Chez ran down to his car with the baby dangling nearly lifeless in his arms.

"I'm calling Ursula!" Yani yelled down to him.

She held Sydette tight as she spoke to Ursula letting her know the condition Star was in. Afterward, Yani jumped online to check for symptoms, and when she read of the children already dead, her stomach lurched. It was contagious.

Sydette looked fine and her temperature was normal. Pacing her living room, Yani called her roommate Nanette who went to Puerto Rico to visit her baby's father with Azriel.

"Don't come back to St. Thomas. At least not until after the New Year—"

"How is Sydette?"

"Alright. I'll keep you updated with news."

"Thanks, Yani. Do you think it was one of those unvaccinated kids?"

"The news doesn't say that here. It spread from China to Europe. Now it's here because of that little boy."

Yani watched over Sydette, feeding her liquids and bathing her carefully.

Later that evening Chez called her back.

Star had what the dead white boy from Wales had.

Yani was on winter break from school and she didn't have to take Sydette into daycare. Staying in their apartment, Yani looked after her daughter and prayed that she was one of the lucky ones. Star's condition worsened, and when she was placed in critical care, Sydette came down with the same exact symptoms.

Yani vacillated between anger at Chez and Ursula and anger at herself for her daughter's poor health. They should've taken Star in the moment she fell ill. Instead, the virus incubated and it was passed onto Sydette.

In the hospital, Yani sat near her daughter's bed as she was pumped with fluids and medicine that hadn't worked for any of the children that died.

Her Aunt Leona and mother stayed by her side as Sydette's condition became more fragile. A new drug was administered and for a few days, it looked like Sydette and Star were improving. Yani was able to get some rest then on an uncomfortable chair.

"Go get some sleep, your mother and I are here," Leona said as she passed her niece a paper cup filled with chamomile tea.

"I don't want her to not see me," Yani said. She was exhausted and scared.

"At least go stretch out in your mother's van."

"No. I want to be here."

All the ill children received round the clock care, and Yani's nurse training allowed her to be calmer than most of the parents on the same floor as her. Staying clinical and remaining alert in the room helped her a little bit.

Watching her baby girl shit on herself and sweat profusely with constant shivers was horrible to witness. Sydette had a fever so high that the doctors worried about her having seizures. Whatever this new virus was, it had the medical staff in a chokehold.

"A baby died on another floor," Yani's mother said walking in with two coffees in her hand.

"Why would you come tell her that?" Leona scolded.

Yani's mother tried to comfort her with a hug, but Yani's pressure was up. Her temples throbbed. She was losing her clinical edge. Sydette wasn't getting better. Star wasn't either. In fact, Star was declining rapidly.

Chez was in and out of their room, comforting one baby mother after the other. He looked distraught and heavily disheveled. His clumsy attempts at trying to keep humor among them to lighten things backfired and Yani found herself stressed even more with his presence. Ursula was constantly texting him to return to Star's room. All the waiting and doctors not knowing what to do wore them all down to gristle. Chez was pulled into two different directions. They would rip him in half.

"Just go be with them," Yani said with deep frustration in her voice. Star was the sicker of the two children and needed Chez the most.

She held Sydette's small hand and couldn't believe the weak little body withering away on the hospital bed was her child.

Twyla and her other cousins came to visit and hold vigil so Yani could eat and relieve herself in the restroom. The more people came parading into the room, the more frightened Yani became. Four days in, Star was put on a breathing machine, and Sydette was trailing behind her.

All she could do was cry.

###

Erik walked into his Aunt's flat full of good cheer and good lager. He went on a pub crawl with his Uncle Addae and they were both lucky that they were clear-headed enough to hail a cab and give comprehensible directions.

He was ready to crawl into a warm bed and sleep off a good buzz, but Marisol greeted him with his cell phone in her hand.

"It's been buzzing non-stop," she said.

"Why I left it to begin with," he said. His words were slurred and he kissed her cheek heading to his room.

"There are a ton of texts, JaJa. Someone talking about your Yani—"

Erik snatched his phone from her hand.

Fifteen messages in an hour. But it wasn't from Yani's number. It was her cousin. Twyla.

Erik swiped her number quickly. It was still early on the island.

"Big Man…"

Twyla's voice sounded all wrong.

"Twyla—"

"Yuh have to come here. Sydette is dying…she nuh 'gon make it. She sister Star passed away this morning. Please come back here. Fast. She's on a respirator and the doctor wants to remove it…"

Erik sobered up instantly.

"Dying?"

"That virus. It spread here. Sweet Pea got it and her sister had it too…and—"

The phone gave muffled sounds and Erik could hear Yani bawling in the background with her mother yelling in heavy patois.

"I have to go. Get here. Anyway you can…please. It's bad."

Erik held his phone for a long time to his ear, even after Twyla hung up.

"JaJa?"

Marisol touched his shoulder.

Erik bolted up from the couch.

"I gotta leave. I gotta get outta here—"

"Where are you going?"

Serah stood in the middle of the room watching him and Marisol.

It was the dawn of a new year, and his baby girl was going to leave the world. That had to be a mistake.

"I gotta go!"

Marisol followed him to the guest room and helped him pack his duffle bag.

"JaJa, what is happening?" Serah asked.

"I'll call you when I get there."

His eyes felt wild in their sockets and he could barely focus on his belongings being tossed into place.

"Marisol? Do you know-?

"He just has to get back—"

"My little girl—"

"Little girl?" Serah's face looked puzzled at his words.

He prayed that he would make it back in time.

Rushing out of the flat, he flagged down a cab that shuttled him over to the airport. He lucked out on a red-eye that could get him to St. Thomas. It was leaving within the hour. His body shook with fear. He was always too late.

When the vibram tattoo in his lip itched as he played basketball with his little homies at the age of 10, he ignored it until the sky above him glowed with streaks of blue clouds above his father's apartment complex. He ran so fast to get to that top floor…but he was too late.

When his grandfather placed him on a plane at eleven with his Aunt Shavonne and Uncle Junie to get to a Sao Paulo prison to see his Mom…it was too late.

Fate always fucked with him, held him back from going forward to get to the ones he loved in time.

All he had on his phone was the address of the hospital and a room number.

His anxiety crippled him on the plane and by the time he dropped down from the sky back onto that tiny rock, Erik was full of fatigue, sorrow, and anger at himself. The last time he saw Sydette in person, she was comforting him, lifting his spirits, and making him grateful to know her tiny soul.

Why did he give her a check instead of himself? What could money do for her now?

The dread in his chest carried him along with the cab ride to the hospital.

God please…don't let me be too late again.

Let me say goodbye properly this time…

###

Chp 23 Here

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