#if i had a nickel for every chapter of this fic where they sit down and just play board games and ignore their problems. id have 2 nickels
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Eyes like Stars [Bobby Axel x Reader Multi-chapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 6 - All I Need.
Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 5 [AO3] / [Tumblr] / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.
18+, explicit smut, multi-chapter read.
“This is Emily, she’s my girl.” / "I want you so bad. I want every bit of you.”
Bobby's past relationships and the years he spent in Needle Park looking for a fix are revealed in this chapter as the two of you spend more time together than ever. On a little date with Bobby, you come to get to know your boyfriend on an intimate and personal scale better. Both opening up to one another now as a couple, you can hardly sit still at work anymore–simply too eager to get home and to Bobby. Feeling the pressure on from your career and your branch manager's attempts at putting you down, you finally speak what's on your mind against him. The desire to constantly be in one another's embrace and presence is mutual between you and Bobby now; unable to get your hands off of each other which starts as confiding and comforting about your day to your first time having sex and getting intimate with each other.
[WARNINGS]: Mentions of past drug abuse, mentions & depictions of drug dealing, prostitution, heavy smut, loss of virginity, heavy fluff.
[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The first chapter with smut and intimacy is here and it's the first of many! 👀 This fic differs in the way that it revolves around the reader's personal and intimate relationship with Bobby almost solely. Life, career, problems and everything else surrounds you two and impacts your relationship, canon to the fic's plot and characters' true personalities! 😅 So expect a LOT of smut and fluff in this fic almost in every chapter and mostly more than once. If you've read my Michael Corleone x Reader fic, "Moth to Flame", this'll be very different as there isn't a major, action-based plot involved meaning there is a lot more room for personal drama and tragedy as we've seen in the film! This smut fic is taken up a notch as a result, there's a lot more vivid sexual detail. 🥵🥵
Bobby’s release from prison marks the end of his and Helen’s relationship and you find yourself spending more time with Bobby and taking care of him after everything he’s been through. Working and living in Manhattan as a college drop-out, you distance yourself from Helen who Bobby and you take solace with one another in hopes to get out of the toxic lifestyle of drug use—promising each other to start a new life with one another and get clean. Falling in love with Bobby, you experience a mutual, passionate and loving relationship with its own highs and lows that promises to bloom into something more serious but also can threaten to collapse. As Bobby’s new girlfriend, your relationship hangs on a thread with old skeletons coming back into Bobby’s life, relapses, and a new panic on the horizon that threatens to undo it all.
[ 2 Years Ago ]
It was one thing to fuck and let out that built up sexual frustration anywhere at any time, but another matter entirely to sloppily fuck for a score of heroin, especially upstairs in the backroom of your own father’s convenience store.
Tucked away in the furthest corner of the dingy room where practically no sound could echo out or be heard at any other point in Bert’s convenience store, Bobby had both Bert and all of his customers downstairs fooled.
“This is my first time, you know that?” Lindsey breathed as Bobby had pinned her against the boxes the moment the two got up in the backroom and closed the door.
After all, he was balling Bert’s daughter, Lindsey, for the first time and solely for two nickel bags of smack once Bobby caught wind of just who was selling the best shit in town and for what price.
“Yeah?” Bobby practically tore off Lindsey’s panties as he lifted her skirt up. “I’ll make short work of you, darlin’. You got ready for me, huh?” He was referring to the bottle of lube Lindsey stole from downstairs.
Surprisingly, Lindsey didn’t want cash or alcohol from Bobby in return. She was more than happy to get the bags off of her hands if Bobby gave her the best fuck of her life; now tired from playing with herself alone and too shy to approach Bobby and his friends by herself.
“Yeah,” Lindsey giggled breathily as she handed Bobby a condom—also stolen from a pack that was neatly tucked back on its counter in the store aisle where she found it.
A deal was a deal, and it was no different from paying eight dollars for two nickel bags at the time—especially when smack was flowing in like milk and honey in the streets.
“First time ain’t gonna be your best time, baby.” Bobby unzipped his jeans and yanked it down his ass along with his briefs—letting his half-erect cock free as he began to jerk it off. “You know that?”
If Bobby just had to fuck his way through for two bags that could last him at least a few days if he was careful, then he’d prefer that all the more than spending any money he doesn’t have to.
“Yeah,” Lindsey eagerly glanced back at Bobby’s cock and licked over her lips. “Gonna hurt?”
Instead of counting stock and organizing inventory in the backroom for her shift, Lindsey clutched tightly onto a stacked pile of cargo boxes in front of her as tight as she could.
“With this much lube? Nah.” Bobby tapped the back of his fingers against the bottle in her hand before he got fully erect and rolled the condom onto his cock. “Gonna feel real sore and tender, though. You sure you want your first time with me?”
“I know what I want. Trust me, I can take it. I like the pain.” Lindsey grinned back.
Her one leg was spread apart, with the other lifted up by Bobby’s hand. Bobby could tell, virgin or not, Lindsey’s pussy spread apart and was already dewy from arousal.
“Try to keep quiet, so your old man don’t hear.” Bobby’s eyes darted down to her pussy as he licked his fingers and wet them before spreading her. “Ain’t no sound gettin’ up here, but the fucker's got radars for ears.”
Lindsey arched her back and leaned her chest against the boxes in front of her as she moaned from Bobby’s touch. “C-can’t enjoy myself now too?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?” Bobby spread Lindsey’s pussy further, his eyes widening a little in confirmation. “Yeah, you’re a virgin, alright. Gonna be a tight fit…”
It was Bobby’s first time having sex with a virgin, after all. Whether he personally liked Lindsey or was really attracted to her all now didn’t matter. As long as she was comfortable and liked how Bobby fucked her, the closer Bobby would be to taking his nickel bags home.
Maybe he’d come back if she offered to sell smack to Bobby again like this, but it didn’t really matter to Bobby if she asked for money next time or not. It’s not like he specifically would enjoy fucking Lindsey, or so he thought at the time.
Bobby coat the condom over his cock entirely in lube and warmed it up as he pumped himself. Once he was practically dripping with the slippery liquid, Bobby poured some more onto his palm and smothered it over and around Lindsey’s pussy.
With each touch, Bobby saw that Lindsey slightly bucked her hips back in response, and her pussy contracted. Bobby could tell she was much hornier than he was because while this was personal for Lindsey, Bobby was just doing this to score.
All lubed up within a few minutes, Bobby didn’t waste time beginning to fuck Lindsey. He spread her pussy as wide as he could with his free hand and pushed into her tight little hole with a slow thrust.
Lindsey pressed the side of her face against the box she was clutching on and squeezed her eyes shut. She welcomed Bobby’s thick cock penetrating her for the first time, enjoying the feeling of fullness in her gut.
Bobby couldn’t tell at that moment if he knew he was going to have trouble staying hard because of how much heroin he had been using or if it had anything to do with the fact he wasn’t really attracted to Lindsey.
Knowing that could neither be an excuse nor something he could deal with at the moment, Bobby leaned his free hand upward the moment he had more than just his tip inside of Lindsey.
He pulled Lindsey’s tank top down roughly to reveal her large breasts—her nipples now hardened and pressed up against the cargo boxes. In an instant, Bobby felt his cock pulsating from a sudden surge of arousal shooting up through him. Just what he wanted.
Bobby glanced down and saw droplets of blood around his condom and slathered more lube on the shaft of his cock before he filled Lindsey’s pussy to the brim.
Lindsey let out a moan, half in pain and half in pleasure, as Bobby’s hips met with hers. Bobby grunted and continued to hold Lindsey’s thigh up with one hand and kept his other hand clutching a fistful of her hair to control the pace and angle of his thrusts.
“You’re bleeding,” Bobby grunted out quietly, thrusting in and out slowly three more times.
“Good,” Lindsey moaned back, “do it… Push in again—faster.”
Bobby licked over his lips and began to pick up a normal pace thrusting in Lindsey as her pussy relaxed and grew accustomed to Bobby’s thick length. Her breasts jiggled against the boxes she was up against with each thrust Bobby gave her from behind.
“And just how many sexual partners have you had unsafe sex with you?”
All that surrounded the two was a half-used bottle of small lube sticks to a ripped condom wrapper on the floor; a most interesting way to lose your virginity to Bobby Axel, but one Lindsey could have hardly contained her enthusiasm for.
“Just a couple, but I know them.”
Bobby rode Lindsey’s frilly skirt further up her waist quickly with his free hand. He had been at it for about a good ten minutes now and hadn’t had a decent fuck in a week before that.
“No prostitutes of any kind?”
“You got a nice ass, you know that?” Bobby murmured back to Lindsey as he watched his hips slam up to hers.
“Y-Yeah?” Lindsey could hardly make out a coherent sentence as Bobby slicked in and out of her with ease.
“No, just intimate partners, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Bobby squeezed Lindsey’s thigh, now confident he could keep his erection as he continued fucking her.
It wasn’t long until he sped up, recognizing from Lindsey’s body language and movement that she was as comfortable as she could be getting rammed by Bobby’s cock.
“Y-you gonna cum in me, Bobby?” Lindsey moaned loudly.
Eager to make her cum and get this over with, Bobby’s mind was just on how he and when he would shoot up his new bags of heroin as his hips quickly jerked in and out of Lindsey.
“How am I gonna cum in you with a condom, baby?” Bobby panted and gave Lindsey’s ass a smack. “You outta give me another bag if you want that too.”
Bobby hated condom sex, but he understood it was more necessary than not. He felt like he was sick and couldn’t taste anything but ate because he was hungry.
“Y-you know, I can…” Lindsey whined and moved her hips back in rhythm with Bobby’s.
He knew he didn’t have anything, and neither did Lindsey, especially with this being her first sexual interaction, but it wasn’t STDs Bobby was concerned about—it was strictly about not getting Lindsey pregnant.
“And safe sex partners?”
“I ain’t ready to be a father, darlin’.” Beads of sweat formed over Bobby’s forehead as he watched his cock slide in and out of Lindsey’s reddened pussy.
“H-how about you cum in my mouth?” Lindsey’s eyes were half-open as she continued to let the rush of pleasure daze her.
“Yeah, that I could do.” But first, Bobby would have to make Lindsey cum, and he knew that. “You gonna swallow it down or make a mess for your Pops to clean up?”
“I’ll swallow,” Lindsey giggled back.
“The number probably ranges to a dozen or somethin’ like that.”
Bobby paired his harsh thrusting by toying with Lindsey’s wet clit at the same time. Sweaty and hot from the friction, he pressed his chest against Lindsey’s back while he fucked her thoroughly from behind.
“You were a heroin addict formerly and had a dozen sex partners?”
With two coupled sensations of pleasure, Lindsey would have lost her balance from the weakness in her knees. She began to moan out even louder, unable to keep herself quiet, and was proving even more irritating for Bobby as she still hadn’t reached her orgasm.
“Yeah, I had a lot of sex. Back then, I was really active.”
Bobby knit his brows at the sounds of Lindsey’s high-pitched, girly moaning. “Oh! Oh, yes! Yes, yes, YES!”
She sounded like a pornstar wannabee, and Bobby knew she wasn’t faking it either—which is why it began to severely annoy him.
“Lindsey,” Bobby breathed out, but her loud whines and squealing overpowered Bobby’s voice.
‘Shit,’ Bobby thought to himself as he glanced down, feeling his erection beginning to wane.
Knowing that heroin usage can and usually does lead to erectile disfunction now, let alone Bobby fucking someone he’s not necessarily attracted to and now turned off from, he’s about to grow soft at any moment.
“Harder, Bobby, harder! Oh! Oh, yeah! Yeah!” Lindsey rolled her eyes back in pleasure. “Right there, baby! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me good—”
“Lindsey,” Bobby raises his voice, attempting to maintain his erection.
“Ohhhhhh!” Lindsey squealed, her thighs beginning to shake against Bobby’s. “Bobby, Bobby…! Bobby, more! More! Fuck! Give me your cock!”
‘For fuck’s sakes, this little horny slut.’ Bobby rolled his eyes, knowing if he had to listen to any more of her whore talk, his dick was going to shrivel up entirely.
Bobby clasped a hand around Lindsey’s face harshly and gave it a shake as he breathed against her neck. “Stop,” Bobby slapped Lindsey’s cheek with some force, “stop fuckin’ moaning; my dick is about to go soft.”
“H-huh?” Lindsey blinked in confusion, not having registered a thing Bobby said to her.
Bobby would think he must have fucked the brain cells out of her while he was at it. Keeping his hand clasped over her mouth to muffle out her irritating voice, Bobby began ruthlessly fucking Lindsey and swirling his thumb against her clit, now almost out of desperation to have her cum.
Just as Bobby expected, his cock hardened fully again, and the sounds of Lindsey’s moans, now being muffled noises instead, were much more of a turn-on than anything else.
In just a mere few moments, Lindsey’s hips shook against Bobby’s as her muffled moans turned into soft little whimpers. Bobby surprised himself by moaning breathily in response to Lindsey’s orgasm, convulsing against his cock.
Lindsey’s cum dribbled down to the side of one of the boxes and dripped onto the floor as she felt the rest of her orgasm wash through her. Bobby pulled his hand back slowly and kept Lindsey pressed up against the cargo boxes before he looked down and slowly pulled out his cock from her, inch by inch.
Lindsey cummed over Bobby’s cock, and the creamy, wet mess over the condom was proof of just that. Lindsey’s knees quivered as she fell to them, lazily turning to face Bobby, who peeled off the condom and threw it aside like nothing.
Now at the height of his own arousal, Bobby pumped his cock in front of Lindsey’s face and let out a grunt as in just a minute later, he reached his climax.
Lindsey gasped a little but kept her mouth open and her tongue out as she closed her eyes. Bobby let out a long, drawn-out groan as a dozen spurts of his hot, sticky cum landed over Lindsey’s face, mouth, and tongue, dripping down her chin.
Lindsey gladly licked up and swallowed any cum she could get close to her mouth, and once Bobby was finished, the two breathed heavily and gazed up at each other in a lustful silence.
It was the best sex of Lindsey’s life and the only sex she wanted to have from that day onward, but it was the most mediocre sex Bobby ever had.
He only continued to surprise himself once he realized he had feelings growing for Bert’s girl, which led to a two-year relationship before Bobby met Helen.
Two years would either go down the drain or somewhere, Bobby had thought. He had his own reasons for leaving Lindsey behind, and it didn’t have much to do with the fact she was a careless, heavy heroin user too.
No, Bobby decided even though Lindsey had been his girlfriend for two years, he only saw her as a fuck buddy and someone to cuddle and talk to when he was bored, whereas Lindsey knew when it came to Bobby, she would always want more.
Bobby was stubborn in the way that he knew his view would never change on life, let alone people. Fucking and hooking up in Needle Park? A waste of time if you’re an addict and you’re not scoring.
Hoping for a future, let alone kids and getting married in Needle Park? The biggest and funniest running joke you could tell yourself and your friends. There was no hope or future here. Just bleak, grey skies and a question of where the next dose is coming from and how much it is.
Bobby wasn’t going to turn down his high sex drive. He loved getting his dick wet, fucking, and fucking anytime he got the chance to in any manner he wanted to.
Squeezing tits, sucking on nipples, spanking a woman’s ass until she moaned from her cheeks growing red. Spreading and fingering pussies, burying his face in-between a woman’s legs, and slobbering over her clit till she practically squirted in his mouth.
Anal, oral, vaginal, doggy style, missionary, pile driving, bent over the couch,
against the trunk of a taxi, in a public washroom, rubbing against one another in public, spitting in a woman’s mouth, blowjobs, sixty-nine positions, rapid and harsh reverse cowgirl—Bobby did it all.
It wasn’t just a needle Bobby shared, after all. Why would he give up his streak of pleasure when he knew all of the women he fucked and got to know had no chance of a proper life and future in Needle Park like he did?
They used him, and he used them right back. A quick fuck, a quick hit of booze, a quick shot of junk. Everything was fast and used in Needle Park. What difference would it make? Bobby wasn’t the only one to ask the same question, but he had never asked it so many times to himself once he saw that it was you who visited him in jail.
You do. You make all the difference for Bobby in knowing if he has to split apart the life he’s grown accustomed to living in Needle Park just to have you—to be with you and to understand you, then he will. You’re the difference because the high, fast life isn’t what Bobby wants. Hookups and quick orgasms aren’t what Bobby needs from you.
It’s different. It’s personal. Everything’s changed. It’s not some mere attraction from being turned on. It’s not a craving for sex after six months of abstinence. There’s compassion, caring, and thoughtfulness behind it all. There’s no selfishness between you and Bobby.
There’s something else. It’s love. It’s a growing, tender love emphasized and shared by the two of you.
~
[ Present Day. ]
Bobby presses his forehead against yours lightly, beaming back at you with a warm smile as he keeps his arm lovingly wrapped around your waist. The two of you share a brief laugh amongst one another as you skip past Needle Park and head down the block side by side towards 71st street.
The cool wind blows over your reddened, blushing cheeks as you two pick up your walking pace, and Bobby’s scarf snuggly keeps you warm from the fall weather coupled with the touch of his body brushing up next to you.
“See, once you get past the shithole of 70th street here, you can actually find something to eat.” Bobby gives your hips a reassuring squeeze as he points up to a local dinner across the street. “Me ‘n Hank must’a tried the entire menu a thousand times here.”
“I’m guessing it’s good, then?” You laugh.
“Nah, it tastes like shit.” Bobby grins at you as you both begin to cross the street. “But the fries? Oh man, lemme tell you about the fries. Terrific. I’mma be the reason why they got a shortage; I live on that stuff, man.”
Out for lunch this afternoon and spending more time together than always, the giddy feeling inside of you from being Bobby’s girlfriend is still fresh from a little over a week ago, but it couldn’t possibly be any more impactful.
You would have said yes ten times over and over again if you had to and got to know Bobby on a more intimate scale as your lover instead of just a friend. The comfort and trust between the two of you had that had grown over the sensual moments and experiences shared with one another is entirely different and invigorating.
For what seems like the first time in forever, you’re not just waking up dreading work and only having that to look forward to for the day. You’re not sleeping alone or making random, small talk to Luna because you barely get to socialize with anyone outside of work unless you’re at Needle Park.
For once, the conversations you have aren’t about the last panic, if there’s an upcoming one, or questions from random junkies and addicts if you know a guy who knows a guy.
There’s just you and Bobby; nothing forcing you two to be together and nothing held at stake. It’s pure intimacy. It’s a desire that longs for one another. It’s built on chemistry, mutual understanding, and attraction.
Bobby may have asked you to be his girl so soon, but there’s nothing sudden about your relationship. Bobby’s certainly also felt that way for his previous ones. When he knows, he knows, and he goes out to get what he wants if he can tell someone wants him just as bad too.
As a matter of fact, there’s been nothing rushed about your own personal relationship with Bobby, to begin with. The two of you had known one another for almost two years before this, seeing each other on the regular when you and Helen were close.
The first night you were more than comfortable cuddling up to him anyway, and definitely well before anything was made official. Even the way he asked you to be his girlfriend still has you feeling some type of way; the butterflies in your stomach still tug and pull every time you find yourself lost in Bobby’s eyes.
You know better than to base your happiness off of something—let alone someone—but still, find yourself struggling with it already when it comes to Bobby. Keeping that to yourself, you at least relax and let yourself revel in the fact that you have Bobby all to yourself.
“I’mma get you anything you like,” Bobby pushes open the entrance of the little diner, leading you inside. “But if you ask me, you know I’ll say the fries and banana cake.”
“Banana cake?” Your eyes light up as you peek around the little bakery counter of the diner at the small selection of cheesecakes, pies, and other pastries.
“Yeah,” Bobby chuckles, noticing your reaction as the two of you approach the front counter. “They’re always makin’ ‘em fresh too. Ya want one, baby?”
“More like, do you want one?” You blush, looking up at Bobby. “Because I’m paying.”
“Aww, nah, no, you’re not.” Bobby shifts on his feet, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh, I said I’mma get you whatever you want today. It’s on me.”
“Don’t let him pay. You got that?” You point a finger at the cashier, who smiles back at the two of you. “No matter what he says.”
“Whatever she wants, kid!” Bobby exclaims back to the cashier, “I’mma pay you in advance—just get her what she wants.”
“I don’t think so!” You laugh, pulling Bobby away from the cashier by hugging your arms around his waist. “It’s on me, and that’s final.”
“Ya gonna fight me on this one, huh?” Bobby grins back at you playfully, tightening the small knot over the bandana on his head. “If you insist, baby.”
“I do.” You reaffirm—your shyness taking over as Bobby pulls you into his embrace, rubbing up against your back.
“Hey! Ya heard her,” Bobby calls out to the cashier, gesturing with his free hand. “Get us two things of fries, and uh—oh yeah, lemme get two things of pop and a slice of banana cake, will ya? Thanks, pal.” He peeks down at you as you raise your head from Bobby’s chest. “That sound good, baby? ‘Cause I’mma pay anyway.”
“You’re stubborn.” You blush, “you have to let me treat you every once in a while.”
“Once in a while?” Bobby brushes a curtain of your hair behind your ear. “At this rate, you gonna treat me every single day. Not that I’d be complainin’ but, maybe save it for home, eh?”
Bobby’s clearly teasing you, and it does nothing but flare up the blush on your cheeks and the butterflies in your gut at the provocative joke.
Before you can respond back to Bobby, both of you turn your heads back to the bakery counter, where you hear a voice call out for Bobby’s attention.
“Hey, Bobby!” A guy waves back at Bobby from behind the counter, adjusting his apron before moving closer to the counter. “Good to see you again! How you been, man?”
“Doin’ better now that Hotch ain’t breathin’ down my throat,” Bobby’s tone of voice remains playful. “Hey, this is Sonny,” Bobby tells you, gesturing back to him by the counter. “He ain’t any different from the rest of us at Needle Park, but he got a job, so that’s the biggest difference.”
Sonny laughs, shaking his head. “Yep, that’s me. Who's the chick, Bobby?”
“This is Emily,” Bobby clasps your hand with his free one as you peek back at Sonny with a shy smile. “She’s my girl.”
“She feedin’ your arm?” Sonny smirks back.
“Aww, man.” Bobby groans at the question, brushing him off before turning you around and heading towards an empty table.
‘Feeding his arm?’ Whether Bobby figures you’ve picked up on what Sonny means or not, the hint is clear to you that many of Bobby’s girlfriends and past flings have fed his arm, and while Bobby knows he dated and fucked some simply for the sake of getting a fix, you do not.
“Be careful either way,” Sonny calls back, beginning to head back to the kitchen himself. “Hotch is around like he actually has something to do.”
“Yeah?” Bobby glances over his shoulder as the two of you take a seat at a table by the door. “Piss on Hotch.”
Your eyes find Bobby’s as you get comfortable in your seat, noticing he’s still warm and energetic from being in a good mood regardless.
From the moment Bobby catches your eye contact, he gives you a wink and pulls out his pack of cigarettes from his bomber jacket’s pocket.
“Ya want one, darlin’?” Bobby offers, pulling a cigarette out of the pack.
“I’m good,” you smile back shyly and refuse.
“Mm, suit yourself, baby.” Bobby pops the cigarette in the corner of his mouth before he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around the back of his chair.
You unravel Bobby’s scarf around your neck and let it loosely dangle over your shoulders as you also pull off your jacket, more so for the sake of looking distracted and actually doing something instead of constantly staring at Bobby.
“Here you are,” the waiter approaches your table with a large tray, setting down the two plastic cups filled with soda before placing one plate of fries in front of you and Bobby, then the large slice of banana cake on the center of the table.
“And how much is that all gonna be, huh?” Bobby appears rather annoyed by the food being served on the table, striking you by surprise.
“Ten dollars,” the waiter nods back at Bobby.
“Ten dollahs?” Bobby raises both of his brows in disbelief, leaning back in his seat.
You cover the smile growing on your face and stifle back a laugh, glancing at the two of them as the waitress gives a nervous frown.
“Nah, I know you didn’t just tell me all this shit costs ten dollars.” Bobby stares back at the waiter. “You know me, right? I come here a lot.”
“Uh—uh, yes.” The waiter nods. “Yes, of course.”
“Terrific.” Bobby sits upright in his seat, lighting his cigarette before holding it between his fingers. “Then for me, it’s free this time, isn’t it? You see, I’ve got my girl here, and we haven’t had our lunch yet, so I’m getting a little agitated.”
“Yes, yes it is.” The waiter nods quickly. “I’ll just ring it up for you—free of charge.” And with that, the waiter scurries off nervously.
“Wow.” You murmur back, impressed, giggling. “You really did a number on him.”
“Ah well, it was either he told his boss I don’t wanna pay, or I tell his boss he’s got coke on the tip of his nose—that ain’t flour.” Bobby puts his cigarette back in the corner of his mouth before he eyes the plates of food before him. “He scratches my back sometimes. I scratch his.”
“You’re the best customer, huh?” You take a small sip of your fizzy soda.
“Oh yeah,” Bobby says in a boastful tone, picking up a French fry. “Nobody eats as much French fries and banana cake here than me. You wanna beat my record?” He grins, “be my guest because you’re gonna love it. Mm,” Bobby pops a small French fry in his mouth.
“I will,” you laugh, dipping a French fry into some ketchup. “I love that you seem to know everything and everyone on this entire block.”
“More like they just know me.” Bobby gives you a wink, munching down on his fries. “Not a problem ‘cause we’re all eyes and ears for each other thanks to Hotch. You won’t see him eating no banana pie in here, but he’ll sure as hell ruin anyone’s day without even tryin’.”
“Who is Hotch, exactly? A police officer patrolling the upper west side?” You ask, pulling your soda cup closer to you.
“Oh yeah…” Bobby nods at you, intrigued. “Forgot you barely know the guy. Hotch is every addict’s best friend, but I’m sayin’ that loosely. Hotchner or whatever is his name. Lots of cops ‘round here, but Hotch is some sort of stupid, hotshot detective hooked on arrestin’ junkies for a paycheque.”
“Does he make it apparent he’s around?” You peek at Bobby.
“When he’s on the road patrolling, yeah.” Bobby shrugs. “Other than that, he tries to blend into the crowd. He fucking sucks at it, though. Dude’s got a bird’s nest and the bushiest eyebrows I’ve ever seen. He ain’t look like a detective, not like maybe what you seen in the city or even in films, but he sure as hell don’t look like no regular pedestrian to me.”
You cover your mouth as you laugh, noticing Bobby grinning at you—pleased by your reaction. “Yeah, that’s right. You’ll know it when you see him. He’s blonde,” Bobby gestures to his hair, “about this tall—” Bobby gestures his hand upward, “givin’ people dirty, suspicious looks like he’s the finest broad in town or somethin’. Well, between you and me, he can fuck right off.”
“Is he…?” You pause for a moment as your smile fades to a frown. You almost immediately regret starting the question, but Bobby already picks up on what you were going to ask him from the look in your eyes alone.
“Yeah,” Bobby says quietly with a nod. “And the last nine times before that. He’s obsessed with arresting me. I dunno, the guy has some handcuff kink with me.” Bobby blows out smoke away from you, placing his free hand on top of yours. “Hey, don’t worry about it, babe. You know that don’t bother me anymore. You can ask me anything.”
“Still,” you nibble on your bottom lip. “It bothers me, and now so does Hotch, and I’ve barely seen the guy.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want ya worrying about him, baby. He’s after addicts and petty thieves out here. Lurks around Needle Park when the flow is good so he can catch someone with possession. He ain’t care about getting addicts help or somethin’. Hell, I don’t even think he knows what rehab is. He just does his job and follows orders. He’s a real, grand piece of shit. So as long as he ain’t tagging behind you or gaining interest in who you are, I won’t kick his ass.”
You blush, nodding. “That would be best. Some cop he is. Does he really know you that well?”
“Oh yeah. Oh yeah.” Bobby emphasizes. “He could probably sketch out my face perfectly in his sleep. Fucker knows me like the back of his hand. I’ve done pissed him off and ran from him a couple times too. That’s fine by me, though,” Bobby munches down on another French fry. “If I can drive him a little crazy, it’s worth it even though he won’t get off my trail. I’ve done everything, believe me.”
“Everything, huh?” You smile back at him from behind your soda cup as you take another gulp.
“Just about,” Bobby nods as if he’s pondering the question. “He got an older sister. The only thing I haven’t done is balled his mother yet.”
You both burst out laughing as Bobby smirks wryly at you, raising his cigarette up back to his mouth. Bobby’s laugh and the beaming smile over his face causes the butterflies to twist and pull once again in your gut, although you can’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy from Bobby basically giving away he’s had sex with Hotch’s sister too.
“But anyways, baby,” Bobby licks over his lips as he puts his shortened cigarette back in his mouth and squeezes your hand. “I’m here with you for lunch, aren’t I? We talk about Hotch anymore, and the food is gonna start to spoil. Mm, mmm, here—” Bobby picks up a French fry and leans in closer to you. “Have one of these, baby.”
Blushing, you open your mouth as Bobby puts a French fry in carefully—purposely grazing his fingers alongside your lips before pulling back. “Yeah, how’s that? Taste good, huh?”
“You weren’t joking,” you nod back at Bobby, chowing down on your food. “Mm, this is really good.”
“My tongue knows, baby.” Bobby points at his mouth. “Best food in town, though nobody gives a shit about comin’ down here. Oh well, more for us then, huh? You ever come down to this street before?”
“It would be my first time.” You shake your head with a smile, “but maybe you don’t blame me for trying to avoid Needle Park too much these days.”
“Oh yeah?” Bobby gazes back at you, “and why’s that?”
“Not hard to start using.” Caught off guard by Bobby’s gaze, you blush and quickly divert your attention down to your drink. “Especially when you don’t have much to lose.”
“Peer pressure?” Just as you look up, Bobby licks off a bit of ketchup from his fingertips, his eyes still on you.
“I…” You pause for a moment, furrowing your brows and shrugging. “Not really, but it kind of does get to me if that makes sense. And it wouldn’t be my first time using. Once I was in, it was hard to get out. There’s rarely any reasons to stop using.”
“You gotta chip, baby.” Bobby pats his wrist, showing you the very few and mostly faded needle marks on his skin. “Nice and slow, very little and not too often. That’s chippin’. You go beyond that, you’re usin’. Grass, though, that’s another thing. You evergreen out?”
“More than once.” You admit, sheepishly. “It took me a while to kinda find my tolerance with it.”
“You like smokin’ it or eating too?” Bobby blows out cigarette smoke under his breath.
“Both—whatever I can get my hands on, but if it’s something like grass brownies, the high is always harder and lasts much longer.” You raise your soda back up to your lips.
“Grass brownies…” Bobby repeats with a little nod. “Not exactly health food, huh?” A joking smile returns back to Bobby’s lips. “You know, don’t ever think I’m ungrateful or anythin’ that you cook for me.”
“Never.” You giggle back, your eyes lighting up at the sight of Bobby’s smile. “You like what I cook? If we can call it health food.”
“We can call it delicious,” Bobby points out, giving out a dramatic, overwhelmed huff. “Best stuff I’ve ever eaten. It’s been years. I mean, look at me,” Bobby gestures to his chest with his cigarette between his two fingers. “
“You lost a lot of weight before, baby,” you nod with a frown, gazing at Bobby’s body.
“I’m feelin’ better already now, though, you know that?” Bobby grins at you.
Blush hits your cheeks again as you nod at him. “And you’ve put a little bit of the weight back on, slowly but surely.”
“It’s ‘cause my girlfriend is such a great cook.” Bobby teases, raising your hand up to his mouth and giving it a quick kiss. “Mwah.”
‘Oh my God.’ It’s as if you can instantly feel your knees getting weak at the feel of Bobby’s warm, soft lips against the back of your hand just like that.
“Because you see these things?” Bobby holds up a French fry before the both of you. “I’ve been livin’ on these things since I was ten.” He bites down on it—still holding onto your hand with his free one. “That’s why I look so good, ya know?”
You hold back a laugh, giggling and noticing how Bobby’s eyes light up towards your reaction. He shrugs his shoulders loosely and places his free hand over his stomach. “Actually doesn’t hurt for once. I haven’t had a full stomach of food since I was nine.” Bobby uses the back of his fork to cut through a small piece of the banana cake.
“That’s after you and Hank ran off?” You feel a wave of sadness hit you at the change of topic.
“Yeah.” Bobby answers. “Then we spend the rest of our time fighting for food with the other junkies.” He bites down on his piece of banana cake. “They ain’t my friends, you know.”
You blink back in surprise, your curiosity growing. “Really? Chico, Irene, and them?”
“No fucking way.” Bobby shakes his head, looking disgusted for a moment as he sets his fork down. “None of ‘em. Some friends they would be. You know I’ve been beat up by half of the people out there? They see me as Bobby, the addict. They see you as just Emily.”
“That’s not right.” You frown back at Bobby. “If it’s only as good as it gets until the next panic, you can’t trust anyone.”
“Oh yeah, baby. You’re absolutely right.” Bobby takes another piece of the banana cake, this time raising it up to your mouth as he leans in. “Why do you think I ain’t giving them face this time around? Fun guys to talk to, sure, but they’re nothin’ to me just as I’m nothin’ to them.”
“You’re everything to me, though.” You lean over to take the forkful of cake in your mouth.
“My girlfriend’s flirtin’ with me,” Bobby comments out teasingly, “like I won’t grab her face and kiss her right here in front of everyone.”
You giggle, covering your mouth as you chew done. Bobby beams back at you, biting down on a chunk of the banana cake while rubbing his fingers over the back of your free hand. “Eat up, baby. I ain’t dropping you off work on an empty stomach.”
“Mm—you know I think we may just need to take a pound of this stuff back home with us.” You lace your fingers with Bobby as the two of you finish up the banana cake.
“Just one pound?” Bobby snorts, “shit—at this point, I’m gonna threaten to kick the shit outta ‘em if they don’t make me at least ten. Then you and I can live off of banana cake forever, huh?”
“Oh no, I don’t think so.” You point your fork back at Bobby as he begins to shrug his jacket on. “There’s going to be no more living off of one thing here from now on.”
“Oh yeah? But I gotta live on somethin’, baby.” Bobby jokes, getting up from his seat and moving towards you.
“And you have that one thing, don’t you?” You tell him, beginning to pull your jacket on.
“And what’s that?” Bobby takes your scarf, snuggly wrapping it over your neck and brushing his fingers against the nape and sides of your neck as you slowly rise to your feet and come face to face with Bobby.
“Me.” You blush, answering him.
“Just you,” Bobby leans in and pecks a soft kiss over your lips before both of his hands find yours. “Mm—though I was thinking something more edible. Not a problem, right?” A lazy smirk grows over his face at the sexual joke.
Your face flushes red as Bobby notices you purposefully avoiding eye contact with him, loving nothing more than teasing you like this just to get a reaction—especially in public.
“Definitely not a problem,” you give Bobby’s cheek a kiss as his protective arm returns around your waist, leading you out of the diner.
“Uh-huh,” Bobby’s eyes greedily dart over you as soon as the two of you walk out onto the street. “Are you sure you have to go to work today?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” You giggle back. “Trust me, I don’t wanna go either. I’d rather be at home eating more banana cake with you.”
“Oh, you and me both.” Bobby squeezes your hip, “that’s exactly why I’m askin’. Don’t want you going to work just to serve some asshole coffee and donuts.”
“It doesn’t look like he’s leaving anytime soon either.” You groan, rubbing over your temple as if you can practically feel a headache coming on from just the thought of having to see Sykes again. “I don’t know how much more of his incessant whining I can take.”
“And he’s a grown-ass man too?” Bobby snorts. “Do you really have to put up with shit like that, baby?” You and Bobby cross the street together, making your way down to your work building.
“I really wish I didn’t have to.” You sigh out in annoyance, “I’m literally the only one he expects this from. Yeah, he comes once in a while because corporates makes him, but then at least I know, and I can mentally prepare myself the day before or something. It’s like he knows this tires me, and he does it on purpose.”
“Piece of shit,” Bobby mutters under his breath. “Hate these business-type assholes so much. Ya know I’m practically dreading every step I take bringin’ you to that place?”
“I know, baby.” You take in a deep breath, “but there’s really nothing I can do about it for now. At least I can say I get paid for it or whatever.”
“Yeah, well, if he asks you to wipe his ass for him next, let me know so I can at least go and kick his balls up his throat,” Bobby grumbles—an adorable, irritated pout forming over his lips.
“Bobby!” You give out a small laugh, nudging him. “Don’t worry about it, baby. Even he can’t go past asking for anything more than gourmet donuts and black coffee. He has to actually do some work too.”
“I’mma worry about it,” Bobby mumbles, pulling you closer to his side. “As long as he ain’t laying his hands on you, I can at least tolerate him being annoying.”
“Never, ever, baby.” You blush, leaning your head over Bobby’s shoulder for a moment before Bobby tilts his head back down and plant another kiss over your lips. “And what are you going to do for the rest of the day?”
“Without you? Not much.” Bobby licks over his lips. “But somethin’ I kinda been putting off for long enough now.”
“Santo?” You lower your tone, your eyes growing wide with curiosity.
“Mhmm.” Bobby nods, “everything’s cooled down on the scene now too. I gotta go talk to him at least.”
“Yeah, but Bobby, you still need to be careful.” Worry begins to grow in your voice.
“Don’t worry about me, baby.” Bobby reassures you, “Santo’s practically expecting me by now. I was his best distributor, and even he knows it. Ya know, maybe if he sees me again like this, he’ll take it as a good sign. So because of a whore I went to jail and sat my ass in there for six months—fine, whatever. But I’m out now; I didn’t snitch, I didn’t tell. I’m doin’ what I gotta do.”
“So we both hate our jobs, is what you’re trying to say.” You at least try to find some humor in the subject as the two of you approach the front of Way Enterprises.
“Lately?” Bobby comes to a slow stop with you, holding both of your hands in his. “I hate everything except you.”
You blush, giggling at his comment. “Be careful anyway for me, okay?” You give Bobby’s hands a little squeeze before wrapping your hands around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. “For Luna and for me.”
“Oh, Luna too? For sure, then.” Bobby grins, hugging you back tightly. He momentarily glances over his shoulder and back towards your work building as an annoyed expression grows over his face.
Bobby practically rolls his eyes before facing you again with a smile. “I’ll go home right after, and I’ll tell ya how everything went like a good little housewife, huh?”
“Pretty terrific housewife you are, huh?” The two of you laugh as you feel Bobby’s hand dangerously trailing down to your ass.
A lazy smirk grows over Bobby’s lips as he could care less who's walking past the two of you on the street or who's watching the two of you in one another’s arms. “Just think about me, and I promise ya time will be whizzing by in there.”
“Believe me, I already do.” You tilt Bobby’s chin down gently, so he faces you directly.
“Oh, good.” Bobby breathes, eyeing your lips. “Kiss me before you go in, at least, huh?”
Your lips practically throb back in response as you gladly lean in and give Bobby a kiss, feeling him return it full-mouthed and wet on purpose.
“Mm, alright, before I get lost in you again.” Bobby slowly parts his lips from yours, giving your ass a light slap. “They’re all expecting you in there, miss secretary.”
“I’m sure they are, Mr. Axel,” blushing furiously, you still linger your fingers over Bobby’s as you walk up to the front door.
Wanting to at least take Bobby through to the lobby with you before you actually head up to work, every bit of giddy excitement and general enthusiasm leaves you in almost an instant as the security guard by the front door shoots you a dirty look.
He steps in between the both of you, causing you and Bobby to let go of each other’s hands as the security guard specifically blocks only Bobby’s path from entering the building.
Bobby rolls his eyes at the security guard, hardly bothered. He gives you a playful wink as you begin to head inside and step back to avoid the security guard’s hot breath over his face. “Regular palace ya work in!”
You cover your mouth, laughing as you wave back at Bobby through the windows and walk towards the elevator.
Bobby beams back at you, lingering by and completely ignoring the security guard’s attempt to be intimidating before him. Bobby watches as you get onto the elevator and doesn’t move an inch away from the entrance of the building until you’re no longer in his line of view.
With that, Bobby tightens the bandana over his hair before fixing up his collar and beginning to walk off down the street. From the moment he’s able to cross through the intersection, Bobby picks up his pace and zips his bomber jacket up to his neck.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Bobby takes a deep breath in and glances up at the end of the street before him—continuing with all his wits to make his way down to the alleyway he knows Santo’s men are bound to still be in.
~
From the moment you walk into work and are just one slight turn away from approaching your office desk, your entire day is ruined instantaneously.
Not only do you spot Logan Sykes leaning against one of the office cubicles and making conversation with a few female coworkers, but a shitty, glitter decorated sign is hung up at the back of the office bulletin board reading out: “Welcome, Mr. Sykes, to Branch #18!”.
Realizing now that Sykes’ stay is going to be anything but brief, you can feel the enthusiasm and energy drain out of you as you plop down in your seat and clock into work.
You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a deep breath, hearing nearby chatter from the cubicles faintly talking about Sykes’ “official stay at the branch.”
“Well, it’s official now, isn’t it? The ‘boss’ is here to stay… Great. He’s going to be on our ass all day, I swear.”
“You’re tellin’ me…”
You peel your jacket off of you and almost throw it over the coat rack with your purse, only gently and neatly wrapping Bobby’s scarf before tucking it back into your bag.
As you take your seat at your desk, you pretend to keep yourself occupied by glancing at the daily agenda log and organizing your pens and notebooks before you.
Every time you hear a single footstep appear to grow louder towards you, a sensation of annoyance and anxiety grows in your gut, and so does the need to consistently look busy.
“You see, ladies, promotions here are entirely under my responsibility, so I would love to review your performance logs and speak to both of you individually. Strictly corporate procedure, as you know.” You dread even having Sykes’ voice in earshot and quickly begin to scatter as much of your notes and daily worksheets for the day over your desk to appear swamped with work.
“In all honesty, I’m thinking promoting someone here during my stay to assist me is an altogether much better decision than hiring someone completely new. Agree? We have to keep our secretary busy even outside of peak hours, right?” You hear Sykes give a little laugh down the hall.
Just then, the telephone rings and catches you off guard. You flinch a little in your seat and let out a deep breath, realizing just how irritated and on edge you are already.
You pick up the telephone and hold it up to your ear, just glad you have something else to literally listen to that you actually get paid for. “Hello. Way Enterprises Manhattan branch—Emily speaking.” You fix up your best customer service voice.
“Hello, Miss Sutcliffe?” You’re surprised to hear Doctor Gordon’s voice on the other end. “I apologize for contacting your work telephone number; however, I was advised on your file that it would be the most reasonable choice of contact around this hour of the day. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
“Not at all, Doctor.” You quietly let out a sigh of relief. “Happy to hear back from you. Is this about Bobby’s results?” A sudden spike of curiosity and anxiety rises in you.
“It is. All of the results have come back in, and I’ve nothing but good news to tell you, so please don’t worry.” Doctor Gordon reassures.
“Oh, thank God.” You murmur, rubbing your temples. “That’s a relief.”
“I thought so.” Doctor Gordon replies, “he’s fine. He just needs to eat healthy and well to maintain some weight. I would recommend staying off of hard liquor and drugs, of course. Mr. Axel would be doing himself a favor had he not smoked as much or at all, but as for his STD test, it’s come back completely clean.”
“Thank you, thank you.” You lean back in your seat. “I understand. I’ll make sure to tell him tonight. Bobby’s been waiting for the test results too. Thank you so much, Doctor Gordon.”
“No, Emily, thank you.” Doctor Gordon says back. “There’s not a lot of selfless folks like you out here anymore, let alone taking care of someone like Bobby. I mean no offense, of course, but I see a lot of potential in the boy, as do you. I hope he takes care of himself and gets his life together. This is a good learning experience for him too, health-wise.”
“I agree.” You nibble down on your bottom lip. “It’s the least I can do for someone I love and care about.”
“That much I can understand.” Doctor Gordon chuckles. “In any case, if you need anything or there are any other medical concerns, please don’t hesitate to call my office so we can schedule another appointment or such.”
“For sure, I will. Thank you again, Doctor Gordon, and have a nice day.” You smile to yourself.
“You as well, Miss Sutcliffe. Take care now.”
You hang up the phone and pull your office chair back into your table, letting out a deep sigh that’s short-lived due to the sound of footsteps beginning to approach your direction.
‘Shit.’ You hope you at least don’t look as irritated and impatient as you certainly feel in front of your own boss.
“Emily?”
‘And there it is.’ You slowly set down your pen to look up and see Sykes before you, carrying a handful of thick file folders and documents in his hands—coming to you alone.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Sykes?” You fix up your best customer service voice.
“Come and say ‘hello’ next time you clock in, for starters.” The same overly-friendly and trying too hard smile returns on Sykes’ face. “And deal with these for me, if you will. I’ve had them on my desk all morning.” And with that, Sykes practically drops all of the paperwork down on the corner of your desk, causing your pen to roll off your desk.
“Err—thank you.” You mumble back, staring at the thick sheets of paper before you—unable to even figure out where to start.
“And in the meanwhile, perhaps you can come to see me before your lunch break ends, and we can discuss matters of promotion?” Sykes rests his palm over your hand as he leans on one foot.
“Promotion, sir?” You know the conversations of promotion are constantly in everyone’s mouth and ears, but to discuss it in your position would be the same as doing so to the janitor.
It’s an entry-level position, sure, but there’s little to no room for budging when it comes to promotions. You’d have to be put in a different position in the company entirely.
“Well, yes.” Sykes nods surprised that you’re clueless about it. “As you know, corporate has put me in charge of interbranch promotions and performance logs. At this moment, it’s why they’ve financed my stay here. The company wants to reward its hardest working employees and give those who want to move up the ladder the opportunity to do so. Have you not thought about it?”
“It’s an enticing offer, sir, but… I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.” You shake your head. “I’m just a secretary.”
“That’s true.” Sykes eyes with you pity in his expression. “But you don’t always have to be, is what I’m saying. I could promote you, you know. You could be my personal assistant.”
Your mouth badly wants to tell Sykes to fuck off but can’t decide on whether to say that or ask him if this is some kind of sick joke. You hold it together as you stare back at your boss in confusion. “I don’t understand how that’s a promotion, sir. Wouldn’t that also be temporary?”
Sykes almost seems offended by your comment but can see from the look on your face that you appear as sincere to him as you can get. “It would be temporary if I was leaving, but I’m not. My position here is permanent now. Way Enterprises has transferred me to this branch permanently, so no, it wouldn’t be temporary.”
‘Permanently.’ You feel your heart sink into the pits of your stomach as Sykes continues talking. “And from there—give or take a few years—maybe three to five, and you could be well on your way to becoming assistant to the manager, and who knows? Maybe if you’re ambitious enough, you could retire as assistant manager.”
You stare back at Sykes and expect some sort of punchline to a joke or for his signature shit-eating grin to form back on his face, but both his tone and expression read seriousness and anticipate a response from you.
“No, thank you.” You turn down his offer. “I’m not interested.”
“I’ll let you think about it, then.” Sykes taps your desk with his palm, straightening out his posture. “I’ll be reviewing requests all week, so at least you—”
“No, Mr. Sykes, I think you misheard me. I don’t want the promotion. Not now, not at the end of the week.” You cut him off for once.
Sykes’ eyes could cut into yours from the sharp look he gives you. Hating to be refused and interrupted, he shoots you a look of severe disappointment. “You don’t want to.”
“No.” You reaffirm. “I prefer my current position.”
“Emily,” Sykes rolls his tongue in his cheek, putting one hand on his hip. “How old are you, if I might ask?”
“I’m twenty-five.” You answer back plainly.
“And you want to be a secretary for the rest of your life?” He scoffs in disbelief.
‘Who said I was going to work here my entire life?’ is the only question buzzing through your mind. Both of you look back at one another, assuming the other is stupid.
“I didn’t say that.” You reply. “All I said was I’m not interested in your promotion.”
“I see.” Sykes clears his throat. “Well, I handle all promotions within the company, so even if there was another one you were interested in—”
“I would call human resources,” you interrupt Sykes yet again, “and I would have a conversation with someone from the head of the appropriate department about a promotion like that.”
“No, you would talk to me about it.” Sykes narrows his eyes. “I would be your first contact. I’m the buffer between human resources.”
“I’m still able to contact human resources to discuss my employment and promotion opportunities, though.” The look of irritation growing in Sykes’ expression only fuels you to keep going like this.
“Emily,” Sykes begins, taking in a small breath.
“Why are you doing this?” You frown back at him, staring right up into his eyes. Before Sykes can even answer, you add on. “I don’t get it. You wanted to come in here and surprise us all as like nobody was expecting you. You claimed you didn’t want a welcome party, and that was beside the point, but then you got upset when we didn’t throw you one. On your first day, you had me juggling donuts and coffee for you and didn’t let me greet or talk to the clients waiting at my desk. Then you complained about the ‘incompetence’ of this office during the review meeting. Why are you doing this?”
“I beg your pardon?” Sykes slightly raises his voice at you, but it doesn’t affect you in the slightest.
“You’re acting like a spoiled child, not a branch manager.” You furrow your brows in disgust and concern. “Productivity only tanked because you came in here. And now you’re going to review promotion requests after we had the worst performance week? I know what you’re doing.”
“I think you should watch your tone.” Sykes points a finger down at you. “And you should treat me with some respect as your—”
“Why don’t you just do your job?” You shoot back, pulling the pile of documents closer to you. “If this is your way of trying to humiliate me or put me down, you should reconsider. This is my job. I work here. I’m paid to do this.”
“You work here.” Sykes nods sharply at you, “but for how long, I wonder?”
“You’re bluffing.” You look right back into his eyes. “You’d never fire me.” Sykes’ expression sours even further. “You want me around. You need me.”
“You’re right.” Sykes’ tone softens as he gazes back at you, his eyes now darting from yours to your lips and below down to the shape of your breasts in your blouse. “So you’ve figured out as much, but you’re not employed to sit here and look pretty, Emily.”
“You can review my performance logs if you like.” You shrug your shoulders, picking up your pen from the floor.
“I will believe me,” Sykes mutters. “And just to make sure you’re not actually slacking off here, you wouldn’t mind clocking out in my office, would you?”
“No.” You answer but almost instantly regret it.
“Good…” Oliver glances down at the paperwork in front of you before taking a step closer to your desk. “And one more thing, Emily. This conversation stays between you and I, understood? If I hear it as lunchroom chatter, there’s going to be consequences.”
“Understood.” You blink back at him from how close he’s suddenly grown to your face up to the point where you can feel his minty breath against your chin.
“Now get to it.” Sykes leans away, nudging the documents closer to you. “These aren’t going to fill themselves out.” With that, Sykes turns back on his heel and heads off towards his office.
You let out a deep sigh of relief the moment Sykes is out of your line of vision. You lower your head down onto your desk, still stunned by your own boldness against your own branch manager of all people.
The rush of adrenaline still washes over you as you peek your eyes up and realize you may have just not only kept your job but secured yourself some peace for the rest of the day.
Courtesy of Bobby’s influence beginning to rub off on you, you’re in no mood to take shit for the rest of the day. Today’s shift will pass by as is, and especially better today knowing that Logan Sykes is aware you have a big enough complaint on his behalf to raise a serious issue with human resources.
If it isn’t blackmail now, it might as well be, but when it comes to Bobby, defiance is the last thing he needs to show to who he’s going to see today.
~
From the moment that Bobby steps foot into the grimy alleyways of 110th street, he’s greeted by nothing but hostility against his presence. Bobby takes a step back just as quickly as he took one in, holding his hands up in surrender to the four men dressed in stuffy trenchcoats practically lunging out towards him.
“Who the hell are you?” One calls out towards Bobby.
“Name your business or leave. This isn’t the part of town you just wander into, kid.” A second one warns.
“Relax, you know me.” Bobby begins to approach slowly, showing the men he’s not a threat to them, or is he hiding a knife or weapon of any sort on him. “It’s me, Bobby. Bobby Axel.”
“Axel.” The third one murmurs, exchanging a glance with the two. “You the kid that was locked up tight and worked for Santo?”
“I probably ain’t the only one, but yeah.” Bobby comes to a stop, approaching all four of the men. “I came here to see Santo. I’m not here to fuck around.”
“Just got out, did you?” The fourth man loosens his grip on the switchblade inside his coat pocket. “Yeah, well, the boss has been asking about you, though you don’t just turn up here uninvited without so much as a heads up anymore, got it? The police are on our ass as is; we need to know who the hell is coming in and out of this place.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Bobby purses his lips, gesturing to the dented, old metal door behind them leading into the abandoned apartment complex. “You gonna let me in to see Santo or what?”
The third man exchanges a glance with the first two before giving them a nod. Their body language clearly gives off to Bobby that he’s only welcome here because he has business with Santo otherwise, he’s not invited, and his presence is merely tolerated.
“Search him first.” The first man says to the second.
Bobby extends his arms out a little and stares back at the second man, who begins to quickly pat down Bobby. “He’s clean,” the man notes, stepping back. “Follow me, Axel.”
Bobby follows Santo’s guard through the side entrance and into the musty apartment. Instantly, Bobby can pick up on the heavy scent of cigarette smoke and mold that surrounds every crevice of the old, badly taken care of building.
Bobby remains quiet and pretends not to notice Santo’s scattered men watching him from every corner of the building as he continues to walk up the filthy staircase—avoiding touching or brushing up against the stained, sticky railing.
“You wait out here.” The man points back at Bobby as they approach the last suite at the end of the hall. “I’ll let the boss know.”
Bobby doesn’t say anything back, simply looking back up at the man and leaning his back against the wall as the door closes in his face. Barely even able to get a glimpse of the room or hear anything from inside, Bobby patiently waits out in the hallway with both hands in his pockets.
Bobby tilts his head up and glances at the cracked ceiling, noticing major water damage coming through. It’s not his first time in this building, but it seems to have grown worse over the past six months, like the perfect place for a police raid due to how suspicious not only the men lingering outside seem, but just by the fact a whole apartment complex is practically abandoned like this.
‘If it doesn’t smell like shit, then I’m at Em’s place.’ Bobby rubs the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, feeling his nostrils sting a bit at the rancid scent now beginning to irritate him as if someone was smoking several cigarettes in front of his face.
Bobby blinks and looks up as he hears the door click open. The same man glances at him from behind the door with one eye, giving a nod. “The boss wants to see you, kid.”
The man pulls the door open just wide enough for Bobby to slip through, and then it’s immediately shut and locked behind him. Bobby notices from the corner of his eye that the man leans against the door as if to block his exit, but he doesn’t sense any hostility or aggression in the room.
Just as it’s always been, Bobby sees a couple of women across the room preparing small packets of heroin quietly and keeping to themselves. An office desk is to their right, where Santo sits smoking a cigar and watching the women’s rapid movements in packaging up the drugs.
Several of Santo's men remain in the room playing cards, sipping whiskey from the bottle, smoking and keeping to themselves, or making very quiet small talk with one another.
Nobody except for Santo bothers to look up at Bobby as he begins to approach the office desk. "Axel." Santo lets out a quiet, disappointed sigh. "I didn't think you'd show your face around here ever again. You fucked up."
"I didn't fuck up." Bobby tries to hide the defensiveness in his voice against Santo. "I got almost all of your deliveries done except one."
"One too many." Santo frowns. "Being caught by the police wasn't part of the job description. You know how this works by now."
"Would you believe me if I told you my ex-girlfriend ratted me out?" Bobby swallows hard. "I had everything under control, and the bitch knew where I was—what I was doing. She put Hotch on my ass."
Santo blinks, taken back by Bobby's explanation. The disappointment leaves his tone and is replaced by curiosity as he speaks out, "that's different, then. Was she the only one who knew?"
"Yeah," Bobby replies. "She bought a lot from your distribution herself too."
"What's her name?" Santo furrows his brows in frustration.
"Helen Reeves," Bobby tells him. "Ratted me out to Hotch in exchange for stayin' outta jail herself. She ain't tell me Hotch was onto her. She didn't tell me a thing."
"Hmm." Santo gives a small nod, eyeing Bobby up and down. "And after six months behind bars, you're here again, and for what? A pity party? To give me an apology?"
"No, because I know you don't like that shit." Bobby stares back at Santo. "I was your best distributor, and you know it, man. I did what I was told, and you know I wouldn't have gotten caught if it wasn't for her. I never fucked up before that. I could have told the cops everything. I didn't say a word. I sat in there quietly for six months, and now I'm back because I want to be."
"That's true; you could have." Santo slowly rises from his seat. "You have credit to your name, kid, I'll give you that, but we don't applaud those who do the bare minimum here. Do you want to work? I'll give you work, but that'll be your last chance. I don't care how you fuck up after, we don't know each other, or you're a dead man. I don't have room for fuck ups and mistakes here."
"Yeah, I get it," Bobby mumbles back. "I know that."
"Good, then act like it." Santo reaches into his desk drawer, pulling out a small envelope carefully stuffed and packaged well with three hundred grams of heroin. "70th street apartments. Nothing has changed. You know what to do." Santo hands Bobby the envelope.
Bobby gives a small nod, taking it and gently feeling at the powder-filled envelope as Santo continues. "Needle Park gets their fix first. They pay better and upfront. You can start making them tomorrow and get your shit together tonight. You got that?"
"Yeah, boss." Bobby's eyes meet with Santo's as he hides the envelope inside the inner pocket of his bomber jacket. "I'll handle it."
"Don't disappoint me, Axel." Santo shoots Bobby a scolding look. "I'm not going to tolerate failure anymore. The risks will not be higher than the reward. Do your job properly and don't tell any one of your girlfriends about this for your own sake, or you won't be showing your face in Manhattan ever again."
~
From the moment you unlock the door to your suite and push it open, every bit of dread and exhaustion from your workday instantly dissipates off of you at the sight of Bobby. Sitting across from you, Bobby is plopped up comfortably against the couch in a long-sleeved, knit brown top and navy slacks.
Letting the soap opera on the television serve as background noise, Bobby lights a new cigarette with a match, and you feel butterflies instantly swarm in your gut seeing your boyfriend.
Noticing you just as quickly, Bobby peeks his head up—his expression lazy at first as he waves the match out, but you notice how quickly his eyes light up seeing you. "Em, baby."
"Hi." Blush hits your cheeks harder than ever as you let the door close behind you.
Bobby takes a small drag from his cigarette, quickly hopping off of the couch and making his way towards you as you lock the door behind you. "Mm, hey, hey…" Bobby helps you shrug off your jacket, hanging it loosely over the coat rack. "Couldn't come home any sooner?"
"Believe me, I wish." You smile back shyly at Bobby as he wraps both of his arms around your waist and pulls you into his embrace. "The day just couldn't end fast enough for me."
"Never does, baby." Bobby keeps his cigarette loosely in the corner of his mouth, taking it out for just a moment before peppering soft, wet kisses over both your cheeks. "Ya know I've been waitin' for you to come home all day. I missed you."
You blush deeply, embracing Bobby back. "And all I wanted to do was come home to you, so that makes two of us."
"Good," Bobby grins, raising his cigarette up to your lips. "Now you can relax with me all ya want. I wanna hear about your day."
You lean in, taking a drag from it and blowing smoke out deeply before Bobby puts it back into his mouth. "Mm, I think yours is bound to be more interesting than mine. Right now, all I want to do is just snuggle with you in bed." You slip off your shoes.
"That can be arranged." Bobby teases, "come 'ere, baby. Come relax with me. You look exhausted," Bobby pulls you by your hips, leading you towards the bedroom.
"Again," you groan quietly, more than happy to enter the bedroom with Bobby. "I promise it's not always gonna be like this."
"Be like what, baby?" Bobby puts his cigarette between his fingers, blowing out smoke around the room. "You go to work all day surrounded by stuffy corporate fucks, people who'd beat the shit outta each other for a little promotion, and ya gotta pretend you give a fuck about what you do? Give yourself a break, babe." Bobby laces a hand with you, pulling you onto the bed with him as he practically throws himself down.
You squeal, hugging onto Bobby's chest as you both lay sprawled out within each other's embrace on the bed. "Maybe you've got a point there."
"But it doesn't end there." Bobby extends his arm over to the end table by the bed, quickly putting out his cigarette before snaking an arm around your back to hold you close to him again. "Then ya come home, you cook, you clean. Also, you gotta deal with my bullshit."
You two burst out laughing as you press your forehead up against Bobby's, feeling the tips of your noses touch. "But that's my favorite part."
"Oh ya?" Bobby grins, giving your chin a little shake before kissing your lips softly. "Mine is whenever I get to see you and be with you. So tell me," Bobby runs his firm hands up and down your arms. "How was your day, baby? Get all that stress off your chest. I wanna hear about it."
"If you insist," you smile at Bobby shyly. "But it'll piss you off more than anything."
"Don't tell me that asshole manager of yours gave you a hard time again—the fucker." Bobby holds onto you tightly.
"I actually put him and his incessant whining in his place today." You giggle, nodding at Bobby.
"Oh, did you?" Bobby's eyes widen in curiosity. "Damn, remind me not to get on your bad side."
You place your hand gently over Bobby's cheek, proudly explaining the story. "He came to offer me a position as his personal assistant like I was the most pathetic thing he'd ever seen. I made him feel insignificant by saying I'd go through all that trouble just to talk to human resources instead of him."
"What a piece of shit." Bobby comments. "Thinks he's special, does he?"
"You have no idea." You roll your eyes, caressing Bobby's cheek with the side of your hand. "Talking about promotions and performance reviews. Sykes seemed more upset about me working as a secretary than I did."
"Yeah, well, you ain't gonna be his little secretary forever." Bobby smooches your forehead. "You got bigger and better things comin' in your future, so fuck him."
"I said the exact same." You nod back shyly. "I wouldn't wanna be there forever anyway, but I think I pissed him off enough because I was so certain about it. I don't doubt he'll bother me again, but maybe now he'll think twice."
"Maybe?" Bobby gazes at you, running his hands down your sides. "Maybe you should just get me to kick his ass for you. He ain't bothering you for no reason."
"Oh yeah?" You let out a small laugh. "You seem insistent; I might just let you do it."
"He the type to never get his ass kicked before, so this would be a first." Bobby chuckles, moving his hand slowly down to your thighs. "A guy like him sees a girl like you who isn't kissing ass for promotions or sucking dick for longer vacation days. You're gonna pull his attention. Now either he's got mommy issues, or he's a virgin. Either way, he wants to pick on you. Pretty girl, sitting all by herself…" Bobby gives your thighs a squeeze, "an asshole like him doesn't know when to leave anything alone, right? So he bothers you because he wants your reaction. He wants more than that."
"More than that?" You raise a brow. "How could he want more than that from me? I'm a secretary, and I have to answer to him if he's at the branch."
"Exactly, but how you're gonna answer to him is somethin' else." A feeling of jealousy surges through Bobby as he knits his brows. "I don't want him to even think of laying a finger on my girl. If he has any stupid tricks up his sleeves, little dirty favors he wants—I'll fuck him up, and then I'll go ball his mother."
You burst out laughing, snuggling Bobby's chest tightly. "And that's as good a threat as any. Mm, Bobby, don't worry, baby. Even Sykes wouldn't be so stupid as to put his entire career on the line for something like that. I would pick up on it from a mile away."
"Well, I'm just sayin' for his sake if he values his life." Bobby pulls you up by your hips as he sits up, letting you straddle onto his lap. "I don't share what's mine, and you're my girl. You're all mine." Bobby plants a small kiss on the side of your neck before lacing both hands with you. "Which is why I'm tellin' you something nobody else gets to know."
"Santo?" You lower your tone, eyes widening in curiosity.
"Mhmm." Bobby rubs his thumbs over your knuckles. "I couldn't tell if he was expecting to see me or if he was surprised more than anything that I even showed up in the first place."
"He was probably the first to know you got arrested, right?" You frown.
"Yeah." Bobby scoffs quietly. "He isn't stupid. He knows I was his best distributor. If he just brushed me off, that would be his own loss. But," a smile begins to form on Bobby's face, "he gave me a piece, and I'm back on."
"Just like that?" You blink back in surprise.
"Mhmm, just like that." Bobby nods. "I gotta go make deliveries startin' tomorrow morning. Told you. I'm no fuck up, and none of that bullshit was my fault. Santo knows this."
"Well, if he's as much of a businessman as they say he is," you giggle with a shrug. "Then he should know better. This must be your lucky day, huh?"
"Oh yeah," Bobby grins back at you. "Just when I thought things couldn't get better, eh? Now I can make a buck or two again like my girl." Bobby playfully pinches your cheek.
"Feel like celebrating?" You blush, now finding Bobby's hands massaging over your shoulders tenderly.
"Maybe." You notice Bobby's gaze grow possessive over you. "I want to do that here. Have you all to myself—celebrate with my girl."
"I'm all yours." You blush, leaning in and gently pressing your forehead against Bobby's as the two of you share a small kiss. "Tell me what's on your mind, baby."
"You know…" Bobby lowers his tone to a husky whisper, grazing his fingers alongside the outline of your jaw. "When I was clean, all holed up in jail for months on end like that—all I had was dirty thoughts."
A knot of arousal pulls in your gut as you're unable to take your eyes off of Bobby's lips as he continues speaking to you in a soft tone. "But it was all over the place, never directed to someone or something… Now it's still the same. Has been. I've been thinking, you know? I could think about that one dirty thought for hours." Recognizing curiosity mixing with shyness growing in your eyes, Bobby licks over his lips before he goes on, "never had that when I was just chippin' before, but it's different with you now. Feels good…"
Every muscle in your body clenches in the response of arousal surging through you. Bobby's hands begin to roam down from your shoulders to pick at the buttons on your blouse. Unbuttoning them one by one, Bobby keeps his eyes on you to read for a reaction in your eyes. "Right?"
You give a small nod, feeling your face flushing scarlet in blush. Your heart begins to race in your chest as if it's almost about to burst out. The shyness washing over you isn't one of insecurity, but that you've never been this close to being intimate with anyone before.
"It's the same now…" Bobby undoes all the buttons off your blouse as your bra peeks through. "I've been having all these dirty thoughts about you."
Bobby gently tugs on the fabric of your blouse, letting it fall off of your shoulders. You shrug it off completely, your breath hitching as Bobby's warm hands pull teasingly at the straps of your bra.
"Just as I'm having them now…" Bobby pulls you in closer to him over his lap, careful not to let his growing erection brush or poke up against you just yet. "But only if you want to know."
"I do," you breathe back, placing your hands gently over top of his on your bra straps.
Bobby gazes back at you, and with your consent, he begins to slowly slide the straps down off of your shoulders. Maintaining painfully shy eye contact with Bobby, you reach your hands back behind you and unhook your bra—letting it fall off your chest.
Your breasts spill-free as Bobby's eyes widen at the sight—only bolstering his arousal. Bobby tosses your bra off the bed and purses his lips open slightly as if to say something but keeps quiet. You can see his tongue grazing over his lips as you blush, watching Bobby's greedy eyes dart all over your chest.
"Oh, you're beautiful." Bobby murmurs and watches as you take his hands and place them over both of your breasts.
Bobby looks back up into your eyes and gives your breasts a squeeze. Attempting to keep quiet as much as possible, Bobby still makes out a very soft, almost barely audible whimper coming from you.
"I'll tell you…" Bobby swirls the tips of his thumbs over your hardened nipples, rubbing at them. "What kind of dirty thoughts I've been having." You notice Bobby's voice beginning to sharpen as he can barely hold himself together in front of you like this anymore.
As if Bobby's having withdrawals from you, his erection almost painfully throbs in his slacks at the sight of your breasts before him.
"Bobby…" You let out a shaky breath as you welcome arousal unraveling through every point of your body.
You desperately want to press Bobby's hands upon you to keep touching you, and at the same time, you want him to pin you down upon your bed and take you right here, right now.
The arousal and chemistry between the two of you is undeniable at this point. Almost as if Bobby's read your mind, he squeezes your breasts harshly now before leaning in and pressing a deep kiss onto your lips.
Your eyes flutter shut as Bobby keeps both hands over your breasts, touching and squeezing them as his kiss grows more forceful. You gladly part your lips open and kiss Bobby back feverishly—every inch of your body aching and wanting him more than ever.
As if all desires between one another have spilled through, Bobby's relentless in how desperate he is to tease and please you. The kiss grows wetter and harsher, and you can practically feel your lip throbbing against Bobby's.
His kiss is everything you could have wanted and more. Bobby's not sloppy, but he slips in just the right amount of tongue. It's a needy kiss but not filled with force or pressure to make you uncomfortable or push into you. Bobby knows just how to kiss you and leave you wanting more.
You let out a little moan in Bobby's mouth as he slowly parts his lips away from yours—a small string of dewy spit breaking apart. Eyes half open and utterly aroused to no avail, you breathe out and gaze helplessly back at Bobby.
"You have no idea…" Bobby pulls his shirt off of him from behind, throwing it off his head and onto the floor. Your hardened nipples brush up against his bare chest, and another jolt of arousal runs through you. "How much I've wanted to do this to you."
Bobby presses his chest up to yours and pins you down onto the bed. Your breath hitches as Bobby hovers over top of you, keeping one hand clenched onto the bedsheets and the other cupping your cheek. "How much I've thought of this…about you."
Bobby's chest is pressed up against yours as he trails his fingers alongside your mouth. Bobby parts your lips open with his thumb before grazing it over your bottom lip.
"I want to make you mine." Bobby's eyes darken with lust as he makes momentary eye contact with you and his lips are on yours once again in an instant.
You wrap your arms eagerly around Bobby's shoulders and pull him in as close to you as he can get. The small patch of wetness in your panties soaks through and begins to grow as you feel Bobby's erection poking up against your inner thighs.
"I want you so bad," Bobby breathes out as he breaks the kiss—his hands clutching the waistband of your midi skirt. "I crave you. I want every bit of you, Emily. You don't know…" Bobby snatches your skirt with your panties down your knees. "What you do to me…"
"Bobby," you whimper out, kicking off your skirt and panties down your ankles before clenching your legs shut. "Please, just please…"
"Anything for you, baby. Anything…" Bobby's eyes take in the sight of you fully naked and vulnerable before him with pleasure.
His touch feels hotter, as does the temperature in the room as Bobby roams his firm hands down your stomach and around your hips.
"Fuck…" Appreciating every inch of your body and utterly mesmerized by it, Bobby squeezes your hips before roaming his hands down your inner thighs. "You are perfect."
He makes brief eye contact with you before leaning in and kissing both of your thighs. Bobby lets his hands slide off your thighs as he leans over once more and presses his forehead against yours. "And in my thoughts, I think of taking you like this, you know that?"
Bobby begins to inch down his pants. "Have you all to myself, be selfish with you because I want you. I want you," Bobby repeats, "I want you so bad, baby. I need you. I want you to want me."
"Bobby, please, please." You nod back at him eagerly, whining. "Yes…" Your eyes widen as Bobby momentarily pulls away, kneeling on the bed and grunting as he pulls his briefs down and lets his cock spring free.
Your cheeks sting with blush as you practically feel your pussy throb at the sight of Bobby's length, especially the width of his cock's girth and how it's slightly curved when fully erect.
Droplets of precum form over the tip of Bobby's cock, now flushed pink and reddened from how aroused and hard he's gotten.
'Oh my God.' You can hardly take it all in at once, seeing how good Bobby looks completely naked before you; a light patch of chest hair over his torso trailing down to his lower waist and pubic hair; how his biceps and muscles clench and flex as Bobby hovers back over you.
'He's so fucking hot. So fucking hot.' Every inch of your boyfriend's body is perfection to you, and with both of you naked and pressed up against one another, you've never found yourself so horny and aroused before.
"Shit…" Bobby pumps his cock, noticing the precum for himself. "Oh, yeah,” he breathes out, watching as some of the precum begins to drip down his shaft.
Bobby's eyes lazily dart back over to you and then down to your pussy as you can't help but feel your clit aching at the sight of Bobby touching himself—just wanting him to make you feel and take every inch of his cock right now.
With both of you breathing hotly between one another in mutual arousal and desire, the silence in your bedroom is almost erotic. Bobby slowly slicks his hand upward from his shaft, licking off a bit of the precum off of his fingers before positioning himself above you again.
"You're wet," Bobby breathes, glancing down to your pussy as he places both of his hands gently over your breasts.
Flushed scarlet and in a severe state of arousal, you give Bobby a shy nod and whimper. You spread your legs open a little and hear yourself gasping quietly at the sound your pussy makes as its parts.
Bobby's eyes darken with lust as a lazy smirk form over his lips. "Yeah, baby… Perfect. You're fucking perfect. Ooh…" Bobby keeps his eyes on yours as he roams his hands slowly down your body—wanting to touch and feel every bit of you first.
“Damn,” you hear Bobby mutter to himself as his fingers brush up against your nipples. You shiver a little at his touch out of arousal, noticing how Bobby’s eyes remain over your chest. “You have the nicest tits I’ve ever seen, baby.”
“Trying to flatter me?” You giggle quietly, both flustered to hear Bobby’s dirty comment.
“You have no idea.” Bobby leans over and plants a kiss on both of your breasts. “Mm, mine. I want to be the only one who can touch you…”
Bobby's touch over your skin is electrifying—so soft, gentle, yet demanding, and hot. He could stroke your hair or caress your face, and you would find yourself drifting to a welcoming nap in his arms easily the same way Bobby's got you throbbing now, and he's barely done a thing.
"Bobby," you place your hand over his bicep, watching as he begins to stroke his cock between your legs again.
"Yeah, baby?" Bobby slightly pulls back for your comfort, watching for any signs of hesitancy over your expression. "Something wrong?"
You smile shyly at him, giving a little shrug. "Nothing, it's just that this is my first time."
You notice curiosity form in Bobby's eyes as his hand pumping his cock slows down before coming to a stop entirely. He eyes you up and down carefully, and for a moment there, you're unable to figure out Bobby's reaction towards you.
"You're a virgin?" Bobby places both of his hands on top of your warm thighs.
"And you're not," you joke back, blushing again.
"Uh-huh." A grin spreads over Bobby's lips as he chuckles, giving you a small nod before stealing a kiss from your lips. "Don't worry about me, baby. Not a problem with me…" Bobby looks you in the eyes for confirmation again as he slowly spreads your legs open with his hands. "I'll gladly take your virginity."
"Bobby," you whine out, embarrassed by his remark.
"You want me to be gentle, then?" Bobby smirks, leaning further downward to your lower waist.
"Maybe when you're first going in…" You gaze back down at Bobby, feeling your heart beginning to pound in your chest again. "I want to feel all of you."
Turned on by your demand, Bobby breathes hotly over your stomach before placing a kiss right above your pelvis. "I'll give you anything you want, baby. You want me to fuck you until you can't speak?"
"You can do whatever you want to me." You murmur, your voice strained with arousal. "That and more."
"Mm." Bobby sloppily kisses just above your pussy. "I'm going to have fun breaking you in, then." Bobby trails the tip of his nose down to your pussy before spreading your lips apart with his fingers, smirking wryly. "You're definitely a virgin, baby. Look at how tight your pussy looks. Never spread these legs before, huh?"
You feel the knot of arousal inside of your gut tugging at you from Bobby's dirty talk—feeling your muscles clench in pleasure to feel Bobby breathing just above your clit. Bobby's dark eyes peek up at you from between your legs, noticing your embarrassed expression to his words.
Bobby gives your pussy lips a gentle tap with the palm of his hand, moving his mouth dangerously close to it just to tease you. "Just for me."
Your eyes flutter open in surprise as Bobby gives your pussy a full-mouthed, sloppy kiss. The sensation of his hot, wet mouth over your clit doesn't even compare to the little bit of pleasure you were able to give yourself by fingering or rubbing over your clit to get off.
"Oh…!" A soft moan comes out of your mouth that surprises you and only grows louder from how good Bobby's mouth feels suckling over your clit.
"Mm—" Bobby practically buries his face into your pussy, keeping his tongue and attention specifically over your clit as he drools over the rest of your pussy.
"Bobby, Bobby…" You moan, bucking your hips up against his face in reaction.
"Ah!" Bobby's tongue flicks up and down quickly, tasting your wetness and eating you out as if it would be the last time he'd ever get to.
Completely greedy and lost in a trance of pleasing you, Bobby remains relentless. The tip of his tongue toys with your clit as he presses it down against it completely, making sure to keep his mouth over your pussy entirely to build up your orgasm without giving you a break.
Bobby rubs your inner thighs, pressing his fingers into the sides of your pussy and pelvis while applying a little bit of pressure to amplify the pleasure going through you.
You clasp a hand over your mouth, hardly an effort to muffle out your loud moans and groans. Even the sight of Bobby between your legs is enough to get you going, and the heavenly sensations washing over you cause you to curl your toes in response.
"Oh, baby," Bobby moans against your clit, momentarily pulling his lips back, his mouth covered in your wetness and dripping with his own spit. "Virgin pussy tastes so good. You taste so good…"
A half gasp, half moan spills out from your mouth as Bobby cups your ass with both hands and slobbers over your pussy once more. "O-oh my God, Bobby!"
You can feel Bobby's stubble brushing up and against your clit repeatedly, building up an intense orgasm you can feel about to release from your gut. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Yes!" You shriek, rolling your eyes back in pleasure.
Your moans and cries only influence Bobby to keep going. He laps up your pussy juices before they can even trickle down your shaking thighs, obsessed with the way you taste and how the folds of your pussy feel against his hot tongue.
"Bobby, p-please, please! I'm gonna cum, Bobby!" You whine as your hands tug at Bobby's tousled hair.
Bobby rubs his forefingers against the tip of your clit as he continues eating you out, using his free hand to massage your wet pussy lips.
"Oh my—ohhhh!" An increased feeling of pleasure only causes you to throb even more against Bobby's mouth as your orgasm nearly reaches its peak.
It doesn't help that Bobby's moaning against your pussy too, severely turned on himself. His cock throbs and begs to be inside of you, now oozing with spurts of precum that drip down his shaft and onto the bedsheets.
Bobby angles his tongue upwards, applying more pressure onto your clit and purposefully grinding his stubble against it again.
"Yes, yes, yes!" You squeal as your thighs shake uncontrollably, and you can no longer fight the orgasm unraveling in your body.
Bobby instantly picks up on queue, feeling your pussy convulse around his mouth. He doesn't stop there and continues eating you out—giving his head a little quick shake against your clit.
Your eyelids flutter as you feel every inch of your body feels a blissful numbness from your orgasm. The sensation is phenomenal, hitting you from all sides and delivering immense pleasure.
Bobby quickly licks up the cum trickling out of your pussy, planting another wet, deep kiss over it before pulling his mouth back and panting. "Fuck, baby…"
Panting and still sensitive and tingling from the aftermath of your orgasm, you cry out again as you feel Bobby swirling the tips of his fingers over your soaked clit in a circular motion. "B-Bobby…!"
"Oh, baby, you're perfect." Bobby breathes heavily, giving your clit a kiss. "Came right in my mouth, just like that… Fuck. Look at you, a dripping mess."
You weakly clutch onto the bed sheets with both hands, attempting to catch your breath. "M-more, please. More."
"You don't have to tell me, baby." Bobby licks over his lips. "I'll make you cum again and again until you cry."
"Mm…!" You wince in pleasure, propping yourself up by your elbows on the bed.
Bobby pops his index finger in his mouth, lubricating it with his spit before carefully swirling it around the entrance of your pussy. His lazy, lust-filled eyes gaze up at you as he slowly begins to ease his finger in, pulling it in and out slowly. "Gonna stretch you nice and wide for me now, baby. You like the way I touch you?"
Feeling your knees quiver like jelly, all you can do is sit and helplessly watch as Bobby has your body in a trance and haze of pleasure. "Y-yes…"
Knowing what he's doing, Bobby watches your expression and takes note of your body language and reaction to him slowly fingering you—making sure you're comfortable and enjoying it over everything else. "You tell me if anything hurts or doesn't feel good, baby."
With half of his index finger inside you, Bobby stops there as he begins to finger you in and out. You part your lips open to speak, but pleasure rushes through you again, and all you can do is give out little moans in response. "Mm… Oh, you want this. You fucking do…"
When Bobby feels your pussy throbbing against his finger and growing wetter, he slobbers over his middle finger and begins to ease it inside of your pussy. "Perfect, baby, you're so good."
"More!" You moan out, pushing down on his hand.
Bobby chuckles, not needing to be told twice. He picks up his pace now that he knows you're fully comfortable and begins to finger you at a quick pace. "So fucking tight. Fuck."
"Y-yes, yes," you'd almost be embarrassed as to how whiny your moans sound just now if you weren't practically enthralled by Bobby's touch.
"Oh baby, you're soaked." Bobby pants, spreading your wetness open again before dipping his fingers inside. "You're so fucking wet for me. Moan, baby. Moan for me."
Not that you could keep quiet even if you tried. "F-feels so good, Bobby…! Oh!"
With Bobby's fingers snaking up inside of you, a loud moan comes out of your mouth that's only muffled silent as Bobby leans over and kisses you roughly.
Bobby moans back in your mouth—his fingers still thrusting in and out of your pussy sloppily. You cup Bobby's face and kiss him back hungrily, feeling him beginning to coax a buildup of your second orgasm.
You and Bobby slowly part your lips apart from one another, eyes locked in a lustful gaze and panting. "You like it when I kiss you like this, baby? So you can taste yourself on my lips?"
"I love when you kiss me," you breathe against Bobby's lips, nodding shakily.
You can feel the tip of Bobby's cock press up against your waist as his precum smears over you. Just like that, Bobby pops his fingers out of your pussy and into his mouth, licking off every bit of your dewiness from his fingers. "Mm…"
You cringe a little in embarrassment but feel more turned on than ever. Bobby even closes his eyes as he licks off his fingers, enjoying every little bit of this. "I wanna lick and fucking taste every inch of you, you know that?"
'Oh my God.' Your face flushes red as you shyly gaze up at Bobby.
Bobby gives your thighs a firm smack with both of his hands. "I'm gonna make you see stars with my cock, baby. You want me to fuck you good, huh?"
Every part of your body yearns and begs for Bobby as you nod back at him quickly, whining and bucking your hips towards him. "Yes, yes, yes…" You've never been this aroused before, so much so that it's almost painful demanding for release only Bobby can give you now.
"Mm," Bobby licks off his thumb, giving the tip of your clit a little circular rub. "I'll get you ready for me first…"
A small, breathy moan escapes your lips as you look up at Bobby, noticing him leaning over to the nightstand and pulling open the drawer. You watch Bobby curiously as he reaches his hand inside the drawer and rummages around momentarily, a mid-sized bottle rolling down to his hand as he grabs it along with something else.
Bobby pulls back and holds up a bottle of lube and condom in his hands, the condom wrapper crinkling between his forefingers. "There."
Your eyes widen a little at the sight of the condom and lube; they sure as hell aren't yours, nor did you buy them or keep them here. Knowing Bobby went out to buy a pack of condoms and lube that are both new and unopened only further gives it away. He's been meaning to fuck you ever since.
"I don't want to use one…" You gesture to the condom, still regaining your breath.
"No rubber, huh?" Bobby's eyes flicker with curiosity; he knows he doesn't either if he doesn't need to. "I'd love to fuck you raw, baby, but only if you're sure."
"Well, Doctor Gordon says it shouldn't be a problem…" You giggle back as Bobby tosses the condom onto the floor.
"And did he mention it would if I impregnated you?" Bobby grins, popping open the lid of the lube bottle.
"On one of my safe days? I don't think so." You blush, watching Bobby pour some lube into his palm before slicking it over his cock.
"If you say so, baby." Bobby grunts, making sure to coat his shaft generously with the slippery lube. "Mm, if anything, I wanna feel you and all of you." Bobby squeezes more lube onto his hands and over his fingers before kneeling closer to you.
Setting the bottle of lube aside, Bobby rubs his fingers between one another before lubing up your clit and pussy. You whimper, eagerly spreading your legs as wide as you can as Bobby smothers the lube in the folds of your pussy.
The cool touch of the lube causes you to shiver a little, but the feeling of Bobby warming it by rubbing up and down with his slender fingers over your pussy is another pleasurable sensation altogether.
"They say the first time isn't the best time," Bobby smirks, rubbing his lubed fingers around the entrance of your pussy before gently thrusting his fingers in and out of you. "But who says it doesn't have to be, right, baby? I'll be gentle first, just like you asked, but tell me if anythin' hurts or makes ya feel uncomfortable, alright?"
"Mm," you nod back shyly at Bobby, spreading open your thighs with your hands.
Bobby positions himself over the entrance of your pussy, grasping his shaft—dewy and soaked from all the lube. He gazes up at you as you take a shaky breath, watching the tip of his cock remain only an inch away from your pussy.
"I know you're gonna be so fucking tight, baby." Bobby taps his cock over your clit.
You whine, wrapping your thighs around Bobby's waist in response. "Please…" Your cheeks flush red at the sight of Bobby slicking his shaft up and down your pussy with how easily it slides from the lube.
Bobby licks over his lips, exhaling softly as he begins to push his cock into you. At first, as you feel Bobby's tip enter you, it's a similar sensation to how he fingered you but with a thicker feeling of fullness.
"Oh, you're so fucking tight, baby." Bobby hisses, holding onto your hips with both hands as he continues thrusting in.
"Oh, Bobby," you moan out softly, feeling your clit ache yet again as Bobby begins to spread you. Only now does it come to mind that you have no idea how Bobby's going to fit every inch of his cock inside of you like this.
Bobby inhales sharply at how tight your pussy feels around his cock, continuing to push into you inch by inch. "Oh, fuck…"
You feel a sharp, burning sensation that lasts only for a moment as you attempt to relax your muscles and take all of Bobby in you.
Too embarrassed to look down, you clutch shakily onto Bobby's shoulders as he lets out a deep moan and bucks his hips up sharply—entering you fully. "Yes, yes, baby… Yes." Bobby's hips come into contact with yours as he stops, now with all eight inches of him inside of you.
You breathe out deeply, feeling very full, and your arousal hitting its tipping point filled to the brim with Bobby's cock. Bobby's lips remain slightly parted open, his eyes lazily gazing down at your pussy as he begins to slowly thrust in and out of you. "How's that, baby? Feel good?"
Discomfort follows the first few thrusts, but with the lube and your own natural wetness mixing in—pleasure takes over your body entirely. "Y-yes, Bobby, more. More…" You bury your face into Bobby's shoulder out of embarrassment, barely able to stop yourself from moaning.
"So. Fucking. Tight." Bobby grits his teeth, bucking his hips back and forth. "God…" He sloppily kisses your cheek, watching his cock slick its way in and out of you.
You feel something warm trickle out of you just as Bobby notices. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds onto your hips as he picks up his pace just a bit faster, chuckling breathily to notice the small droplets of blood dripping out of you.
"You're bleeding, baby. It's okay." Bobby nuzzles your neck, leaving sloppy little kisses as he trails his lips back up to yours.
"Ohhh…!" The fullness of being freshly fucked with Bobby pressing his body over top of you is one thing, and the pleasure you feel mixing in with how sore and tender your pussy feels is another.
"Your pussy feels so good, baby." Bobby moans loudly, causing your cheeks to flare up with blush.
Like a man possessed, Bobby doesn't relent in quickening his pace as he thrusts in and out of you just like you asked. You squeal, feeling the slipperiness of his cock pounding you in and out.
"Bobby!" You clutch onto Bobby's back, digging your nails in as pleasure begins to rack over your entire body.
Obsessed with your reaction, essentially praising him, Bobby presses his forehead against yours and breathily chuckles.
His hips slam back and forth into yours, a sloshing, sloppy noise of skin hitting skin filling the room. "Yes, yes, yes…"
The lube and the wetness of your pussy mix, making a sticky mess over Bobby's waist and pubic hair as he rams his cock inside of you.
You two can barely kiss each other properly from how fast, and hard Bobby rocks your body over the bed, tongues colliding with one another in wet, sloppy kisses.
"Emily," Bobby groans, gripping your thighs harshly. "Oh God, y-you don't know what you do to me, baby. Oh, you feel so fucking good!" He moans even louder, "oh fuck!"
"Harder!" You tug onto Bobby's messy, tousled hair for balance, now completely mesmerized by the angle Bobby fucks you in to feel all your weak spots.
"H-harder, huh?" Each thrust coaxes another moan out of you, and the sensation is coupled with Bobby licking and kissing up to your neck while fondling your breast with his free hand.
As if the pleasure has intensified tenfold, Bobby's muscles tense up and flex as he continues pounding you. Completely and utterly lost inside of you, Bobby moans out—feeling pure ecstasy as your pussy clenches around his cock. "Oh, baby, fuck!"
Just the sound of his velvety moans turns you on, and you find yourself pushing your hips back and forth down to his just to hear him cry out your name. "Em—I'm close, baby. I'm close."
"Bobby, I—" Your thighs tremble uncontrollably around Bobby's waist, feeling the ache of your virginity being taken.
Bobby keeps a perfect rhythm in his thrusts, now beginning to fuck you even harder and rougher than before. "I'm gonna make you fucking cum."
"I'm gonna make you cum on my fucking cock—" The bedsheets roll off the sides of the beg and come undone from all the friction of fast, sloppy fucking.
"Yes, please!" You cry out, watching Bobby's cock slide in out of you over and over again helplessly.
Bobby's lips crush over yours, never once losing his quick and rough pace inside of you. You moan back in Bobby's mouth as he kisses your tongue, getting a faint taste of cigarettes and fruit.
Beads of sweat form over Bobby's forehead as pieces of his hair stick to it. Without even tiring or slowing down his thrusting, Bobby reaches his fingers down and quickly toys with your clit to stimulate you further.
You hold onto Bobby's shoulders and kiss him greedily—barely able to stay put on the bed. Bobby parts his lips from yours for a moment with a deep groan as he tilts your chin down to face him.
"I'm gonna cum, baby," his voice remains completely out of breath as he watches the motion of his hips. "I'm so close—so close."
The tip of your nose bumps against Bobby's as he kisses you forcefully again, a fiery lasting hunger inside of him finally releasing after six months of abstinence. "C-cum in me, Bobby, cum—ohhh!"
"Virgin pussy feels so fucking good." Vocal in bed and insistent, Bobby is almost intoxicated by how pleasurable your tight pussy feels around his cock.
"You're a virgin, but I'm fucking you like a whore." Like a junkie getting his first fix after a major withdrawal, Bobby fucks you as if he's insatiable by the pleasure he grants both of you.
You give up on attempting to hold back your moans entirely. Hearing every husky, breathy moan, Bobby gives out only makes you want to hear it even more. "Y-yeah!"
Feeling your orgasm just about to tip over the edge, Bobby gives you a wry, lazy smirk as he continues to slick his fingers over your clit. "Anything for you, baby. Fuck yes. Tell me it feels good, baby."
"Y-yes, yes—" Your breathing grows shaky as you can hardly keep up with Bobby's rapid fucking, and your orgasm easily unwinds inside of you in an instant. "Give me more!"
Bobby pins both of your wrists down above your head in one hand, stopping you from covering your mouth as you practically scream out in pleasure.
"I want to hear you scream out my name, baby. Don't be shy—" Bobby groans, "let me cum deep inside of that pussy." He lets go of your wrists and tugs on your hair. "You want me to, huh, baby?"
"Y-yes, yes!" You can barely make out a coherent sentence and squeal as Bobby's cock slides out of you.
"Shit," Bobby chuckles breathily, noticing a string of your dewiness part from his cock. He taps his cock against your pussy lips before thrusting it back in, causing you to tilt your hips upward and moan.
"Ah—yeah!" Bobby tilts his head back, finding his pace back inside of you. "I'm cumming, baby, I'm cumming!"
You clench your thighs as tightly around Bobby's waist as you can, gasping out breathily as Bobby gives a final groan and pushes his cock fully into you.
He jerks his hips upward and stops, squeezing his eyes shut as thick, hot spurts of Bobby's cum fill you in deep. "Ohhhh, God!"
You weakly clutch onto the bedsheets, completely out of breath. You gaze up at Bobby weakly, giggling back at him as he slowly pulls out his cock and plants a wet, full-mouthed kiss over your lips.
"Uhhh…" Bobby moans quietly, attempting to catch his breath as he locks eyes with you. "Tight and wet—if I knew, maybe I'd have asked to fuck you sooner, huh? Filled my girl up…" Bobby spreads your pussy lips.
"Mm…" You whine out in embarrassment and quickly become surprised to see that Bobby leans down and kisses the entrance of your pussy—smearing his own oozing cum onto his lips and licking it off.
'Holy fuck.' A tug of arousal and desire pulls inside of you again at the very sight.
"Again!" You whine, grasping Bobby's arms.
Bobby gives your ass a smack, positioning himself up to your pussy again. "Oh gladly, baby. I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh!" You wince out in pleasure as Bobby swirls the tip of his cock around your entrance—smearing his cum all over your pussy lips.
Bobby licks his lips, grinning. "You look so good filled with my cum like this, baby." He begins to push his tip in slowly, but his hips come to a halt as he gazes at you.
The two of you remain silent, breathing heavily and looking back into each other's eyes. Bobby runs a hand through his hair, then places both of his hands gently on your thighs as he spreads your legs.
"I want to make love to you," Bobby breathes. "After I've fucked you like this…"
You give Bobby a shaky nod—knowing the erotic desire in you craving him isn't simply based off of lust and a need to cum and fuck. The chemistry, trust, and bond between you two have grown into a different passion and desire altogether that neither of you deny.
You lean upwards and cup Bobby's face with your hands, pulling him into a kiss. Bobby's eyes flutter shut as he embraces you upon the bed, pressing his body gently up against yours as he bucks hips inward.
With one hand over Bobby's cheek and the other intertwined in his dark hair, you kiss him deeply and passionately. Bobby matches your fervor, fucking you slowly with every inch of him.
The kiss shared between the two of you is more gentle and loving, but it's needy and possessive, and neither of you want to part your lips from the other.
The romantic intimacy shared between the two of you is erotic in its own sense. Bobby makes love to you just as well as he fucked you a moment earlier as if he knows exactly what your body wants and what angle to hit to find your sweet spot.
Your thighs shake around Bobby's waist, and your knees feel even weaker as the scent of sex fills the room. Breathy panting, the sound of kissing, and the sloshing noise of Bobby's lower waist now soaked with lube and cum against yours is all that can be heard in the room.
Bobby angles his hips in such a way that it feels like he's fucking you completely different. He presses his arms over your thighs and nudges them upwards, coaxing for you to raise them. Still lost in Bobby's kiss, you rest the heels of your feet over Bobby's shoulders.
A filthy moan escapes your mouth as the angle that Bobby fucks you in changes. Your pussy feels tighter around him, and as Bobby jerks his hips in reaction, you can tell he's just as enthralled in the pleasure as you are.
You feel your climax approaching slowly, and Bobby grows more insistent throughout the kiss. The two of you take little momentary breaks between the kiss to breathe out before your lips collide over Bobby's all over again.
Bobby feels your thighs and legs trembling against him and grips them tightly as he tilts his head back from parting away from the kiss and lets out a loud moan.
Bobby's lips remain dewy and wet from the kiss, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you begin to pant and feel your pussy humming around Bobby's cock as your orgasm overwhelms you.
Pleasure builds on top of pleasure, and Bobby holds you tightly against him as he continues his deep, hard thrusts. Every inch of his cock dips in and out of you with ease, and you wonder to yourself how much more you can take before you burst the moment your orgasm comes undone.
Timing his climax with yours, Bobby feels your pussy clench around his cock the moment you cum. Refusing to hold back any longer himself, he cums for the second time the moment he feels you cumming around his cock.
Both of you moan in each other's mouths as Bobby gives a final thrust and cums deep inside of you. Sweaty foreheads pressed up against each other as you lace both of your hands tightly with Bobby's against the bed.
Your orgasm causes every part of your body to tingle in pleasure, and you notice Bobby biting down on his lip as he lets the aftermath of his climax wash over him.
Panting and out of breath, Bobby raises your right hand intertwined with his and kisses your knuckles gently.
You gently caress Bobby's cheek, planting a little smooch on the tip of his nose. You can't help but smile at him as he does the same shyly, knowing that this has been your first but not last incredible intimate moment with one another.
"I love you, Emily," Bobby admits to you.
Although Bobby knows his weakness in romantic relationships has always been falling too hard and too fast, saying the first "I love yous" and giving himself in intimately, he could care less.
For once in his life, he feels that he can finally trust his partner fully and without judgment. Bobby feels safe with you, at home with you like he's always belonged in your arms, and he knows his feelings towards you aren't fueled by a need for sex or drugs. They're genuine, and they always have been.
Bobby's dark eyes peek back up at you with an expression you've never seen before. In his eyes, you see stars filled with a deep longing desire for you, love, and intimacy.
"I love you too, Bobby." You breathe against Bobby's lips, sealing another kiss over them.
~
#al pacino#al pacino x reader#alfredo james pacino#melis-writes#bobby axel x reader#bobby axel x oc#bobby axel fanfic#the panic in needle park fanfic#the panic in needle park#the panic in needle park smut#bobby axel x reader smut#bobby axel#eyes like stars fanfic#the panic in needle park x reader
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Where Do You Think You’re Going (Whumptober 2020)
Serious warnings for physical, mental, emotional, and verbal abuse. Food is also used to control someone. John Winchester is not a nice person.
This is written new for Whumptober 2020, but is technically a prequel to the Whumptober 2018 fic I’ve been writing (Time for Whump, Boys - Chapter Four)
Summary: (set before season one) "But there was something about tonight, something about the endless hunger and fear and pain and loneliness that just broke him down." When Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean is left alone to face the rage that has overcome their father.
The carpet in the hotel room was thin, like a piece of felt glued to concrete instead of anything with actual cushion or padding. The walls were unyielding, the stained paper a testament to the years this place had been left to rot. The heater barely spluttered out enough warm air to keep the temperature tolerable.
Dean sat against the wall, knees hugged to his chest, staring up at the ceiling and trying to will himself to fall asleep. He didn't want to look down at the pair of double beds. One held their gear from the last hunt...the other held Dad.
It was his own fault, anyway. If he hadn't screwed up on the hunt, if he hadn't almost let the thing get away, if he hadn't taken so much time to do one simple task he could have been curled up in a bed right now instead of exiled to sit on the floor. Fitting punishment, Dad said, and Dad had to be right, right? John Winchester was quite possibly the best hunter in the country, and if he said Dean screwed up and needed to be taught a lesson, again, then Dean would shut up and learn it.
He stared blearily at the clock. Sometimes he wished things could just go back to the way they were, back before Sammy had left them, back before his dad was was so twisted up with rage. But that was useless. A pipe dream. Why would Sammy ever come back after Dean had driven him away? If he'd just done his freaking job, just looked after his brother, just done enough then Sammy wouldn't have left. His father wouldn't be so angry. They could be together, like before.
Dean flinched as he accidentally brushed a hand against his side. There was undoubtedly a set of nasty bruises forming there—though at least Dad hadn't been wearing his steel toe boots, so Dean's ribs weren't busted this time. His side was throbbing and hot to the touch, and despite the coolness of the wound he longed to get a cold compress.
The ice bucket was right there, on the little hotel dresser. He was encouraged to treat his own wounds—hell, expected to treat his own wounds. It wouldn't count as discipline if Dad patched him up after every punishment, after all.
He had long ago given up on trying to get Dad to stop. For a while he'd thought that maybe it was just a phase, maybe if Dad got all the anger and grief out they could go back to the way things were. Every punch or kick, every blow of the belt across Dean's back—they were all supposed to be steps back to normalcy. Somehow, though, the well of rage inside John Winchester just never seemed to end. It wasn't getting better as time passed, it was getting worse.
Or...or he was getting worse. Maybe that was it. Maybe he just hadn't noticed how poorly he was performing in hunts these days, all because he was too selfish to think beyond himself. He hadn't tried hard enough to keep Sammy with the family, and he obviously wasn't trying hard enough now to be any real help to Dad.
Dean quietly climbed to his feet. The ice machine wasn't too far away, so he wouldn't even need his shoes for the short trip. Dad made a noise in his sleep when Dean picked up the bucket, but it seemed like the older man was still deeply asleep. That was when Dean saw the handful of change John had left on the dresser next to the ice bucket.
He hesitated. He hadn't eaten anything for dinner—hadn't been allowed dinner, food wasn't so plentiful they could just waste it if he wasn't pulling his weight. It had seemed all right at the time, with the fading adrenaline from the hunt, the burn of humiliation as his father outlined everything he'd done wrong, then the pain of discipline he hadn't had much appetite then. But now...now Dean's stomach rumbled at the thought of food. There was a vending machine next to the ice machine. Surely Dad wouldn't miss a dollar or two. Just for a granola bar, not anything as extravagant as candy. He'd even eat it outside so the rustle of the wrapper wouldn't wake his father.
He carefully picked through the change on the dresser. One dollar and fifty cents, that would be more than enough for a granola bar from the vending machine. He could eat it right there, while the ice bucket was filling up. That wouldn't even take any extra time.
Dean had slipped the change into his pocket and had just put his hand to the door when a gruff voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Where do you think you're going?” John's voice was thick with sleep, whiskey, and anger.
Dean swallowed. “Just to get s-some ice,” he replied, holding up the ice bucket.
John made an angry sound, practically a growl deep in his throat, and threw back the blankets to stalk over to Dean. “You were running,” he said.
“No, sir,” Dean shrank back against the door, ice bucket held in front of him like a shield. “J-just ice. You said-”
“Don't tell me what I said!” John roared. He snatched the ice bucket away from Dean and hurled it across the room, then tangled his fingers in the collar of his son's shirt to slam him against the door. The hand dug into the small of Dean's back, no doubt adding to the bruising there. “You're lying to me.”
Dean shook his head frantically. Lying was wrong, almost as bad as screwing up on a hunt. Lying was what made your brother leave and your father angry. “I'm not,” he protested weakly.
Dad backhanded him, adding to the bruises on his face from earlier. “Pockets,” John hissed.
With trembling hands Dean pulled out the change he'd taken. The quarters and nickels winked accusingly in the faint light of the hotel room. It was stupid. He shouldn't have taken it. He'd just been so hungry.
Dad grabbed his wrist and wrenched his hand up to study the money more closely. “So you're stealing again.”
He broke down. “I'm sorry,” he whispered as Dad wrenched his hand even higher, until his wrist was screaming under the strain. “I was just hungry.”
“Hungry?” John's eyes were cold, unreadable. “Fine.” He released Dean, the change scattering around the room, and stalked over to the trash can that sat between the beds. Dean knew what he was getting, but that didn't make his stomach revolt any less when John shoved the half-eaten burger at him. “Eat, then, Dean. Eat if you're hungry.”
It had been sitting there over twenty-four hours now. When Dad had brought it in it had been a juicy bacon cheeseburger, the kind that Dean used to crave. John had eaten most of that burger, and what was left was a greasy, congealed mess in a soggy bun. Dad had left it sitting out while they were getting information, and when they'd come back to the hotel to prepare for the hunt he'd torn a strip off of Dean for not making sure the leftovers were properly refrigerated.
There was no excuse. He should have seen it, should have paid more attention to what his father was eating and if there was anything leftover. If he'd put it away like he should, his dad might have something better than a half-rotten burger to offer him now.
“I thought you were hungry,” John said. His voice was dark and rough with anger. “Were you lying?”
Dean swallowed. He could try to stomach the burger, and probably be punished again for wasting food when it came back up. Or...or he could skip that discomfort and face his punishment for lying. Again. Obviously he wasn't hungry enough if he was turning his nose up to food his father was offering him.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, not daring to look John in the eye.
With a growl, his father held the remains of the burger closer to Dean's face and squeezed it until the rancid grease ran out between his fingers. “You're sneaking out in the middle of the night,” the older man began. “Stealing from me. Lying to me. Refusing the food I provide. Am I forgetting anything?”
Dean shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. Why hadn't he just gotten the ice? Dad might have let him get the ice. If he hadn't taken the change, he wouldn't have sparked so much anger in the older man.
“Shirt off,” John commanded. He wiped his greasy hand on the hotel comforter and starting sliding his belt through the loops in his pants. “On your knees.”
He was already complying. It was harder to pull his T-shirt off with how sore his ribs were, but he managed to do it before his father strode over to help him. If he made Dad tear his T-shirt taking it off that would just be wasting more resources...it was bad enough he couldn't even build enough muscle to wear the same size clothes as his father. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, folding over to offer the best surface area for his father to work with.
John was always thorough, brutal, and efficient. He knew exactly how many blows would leave his son bleeding, shaken, and on the brink of passing out without actually beating him unconscious. Dean was fighting down the nausea from the pain—and nausea on an empty stomach just wasn't fair—when his father finally stopped and tossed the belt aside.
“Pack up,” John sneered. “We're leaving in an hour.”
Dean blinked up at him. “N-now?”
“I ain't getting back to sleep after this, boy!” John roared. Dean flinched back, expecting another blow. When it didn't come he risked another glance up, to see his father sitting down on the edge of his bed to pull his boots on. “Need to head to Riddle next. Tonight was a shitshow, but at least I found the sons of bitches.”
Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor again. He flinched when John's booted feet hit the floor. “One hour,” the older man warned before stalking out the door, keys in hand.
With shaking hands, Dean followed his father's orders. The weapons had to be reassembled and packed away, ammo stored in the right cases, evidence of their presence scrubbed away. He pulled his own meager possessions out of the dresser to stuff in his tattered duffle bag and hesitated when he found his old phone.
John didn't know about it—well, he probably did, and just didn't care as long as Dean didn't use it. He'd kept it in hopes that Sammy might call or text, but his little brother had shown no interest in keeping contact.
But there was something about tonight, something about the endless hunger and fear and pain and loneliness that just broke him down. Without really knowing what he was doing, Dean punched in the only number he had to contact his brother.
The phone rang a couple of times, and Dean was about to put it away when the call finally connected. “Hello?
It was Sam. He sounded raspy with sleep and a little irritated at being woken up, but it was Sam.
Shaking, Dean held the phone a little closer to his ear and squeezed his eyes shut. “S-Sammy?”
#whumptober2020#no 5#where do you think you're going#failed escape#supernatural#fic#fanfic#abuse tw#physical abuse tw#mental/psychological abuse tw#abusive john winchester
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Observant {II}
Warnings: Language
Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N: alright SO once again we petermj stans have been blessed with content which has inspired me to continue this fic. originally, this was going to be the last part, but i have an idea for a third part so...there’s AT LEAST one more coming. I was going to combine it with this part, but I wanted part 2 to be in peter’s pov, and the next part to be in michelle’s pov, so that means more chapters!!!!! I really really hope you like this. please let me know if you do!! and again, please note I DO NOT HAVE A TAGS LIST!!!!! THE REASON WHY IS IN MY FAQ!!!! ANY/ALL MESSAGES REGARDING THIS WILL BE DELETED!!!!
{masterlist}
By the time Peter Parker realized he had fucked up, he was already home in bed.
The day had been as normal as the day of a teenage superhero in New York could be. He had gone to school, aced an English pop quiz on Macbeth, and had lunch with Ned and Michelle. He had even made Michelle laugh, an honest-to-God, uncontrollable laugh, with one of his jokes, which normally just earned him an eyeroll, and, occasionally, the smallest of smirks. Next had come chemistry, where he began mixing a new batch of web fluid without anyone detecting him, and robotics club after that. It wasn’t until he was patrolling after school that things had taken a turn for the abnormal.
When Peter had seen the car coming for Michelle, he first thought he wouldn’t make it to her in time. The thought of not being able to save her…Peter turned over onto his back in bed, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t allow himself to think of what could have happened. Instead, he focused on what did happen. He saved MJ. He pulled her away from the car, he made sure she was okay, held her in his arms…
Peter cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. Holding MJ so close to him…he had liked it more than he should.
Michelle Jones had been a bit of an enigma for so long that when she began to open herself up to Peter, he had dived in head first. Getting to know Michelle was a privilege that she didn’t grant to many people, and Peter didn’t take the gift lightly. Every time Michelle let down a bit of her guard in front of Peter, he felt a sense of pride, which turned into affection, which turned into…
Peter wasn’t sure. He knew he admired MJ; she was one of the smartest people he knew, not just at school, but on the streets, too. She taught him all about social issues, helped him challenge himself in how he acted and the things he did, and so much more. She was witty and honest and observant and beautiful. To some, she was abrasive, but to Peter…she was everything.
Peter sighed to himself and rubbed his eyes again. Everything wasn’t exactly how someone was supposed to think of their best friend. And yet.
The events of that day entered Peter’s mind again. He had pulled Michelle tight to him as he swung her away from the car crash, and checking to make sure she was okay had been just as much for him as it was for her. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to leave until he knew MJ was okay. And MJ, in her typical fashion, told him to go back to saving people. He had nodded, reached for a high-five, and tried not to get flustered when she seemed flustered. She had tucked her hair behind her ears, and he loved the look on her face. He was almost upset when he had to say goodbye, but—
Peter’s eyes snapped open. It was then that he realized his mistake. And to make the mistake with Michelle, someone who noticed everything…
But then again, it could only have happened with Michelle. Michelle Jones was the only person who could make him so flustered that he forgot that Spider-Man didn’t know who she was, let alone her name, or her nickname (which she herself said only her friends called her).
“Jesus, Parker.” Peter groaned under his breath, sitting up in bed. “You idiot.”
Peter rubbed his forehead, trying to ward off the headache he knew was inevitable. Calling Michelle by her nickname was second nature to him now, and he hadn’t been able to stop it from slipping off his tongue. But then again, she was shocked and dazed from the incident. Maybe she didn’t notice.
Peter snorted as soon as the thought entered his head. She was MJ. Of course she noticed. She noticed everything. There was no point planning for what to do if she knew his secret. Peter had to plan for how to approach the subject to her. It was too late to do anything preventative. No, Peter had shut the door on that option the moment he was unable to shut his mouth. Damage control, that was what he needed to do now. It was the only thing he could do.
When Peter made it to school the next day, he was a nervous wreck. He had barely slept the night before, had hardly touched his breakfast. May even thought that he was sick, insisting on checking his temperature before he left the house. Part of Peter thought that it would’ve been easier to lie to her and say he was ill, so that he wouldn’t have to face MJ at school. But Peter hated lying to his aunt, and besides…he wasn’t very good at it. Instead, he took his usual subway train to school (with people giving him a wide berth due to his appearance), grabbed the books he needed from his locker, and made his way to his first class.
Michelle was already there when Peter arrived, sitting in her usual seat that was one row over and two rows up. Her messy curls were tucked into her usual haphazard bun, and she was wearing a grey t-shirt with a blue jacket overtop. Her posture was hunched over as she doodled in her notebook, paying little attention to those around her.
Peter kept staring as he walked to his seat, sitting down smoothly and quickly. Students were still filing in, moving between his line of vision to Michelle, but she still hadn’t looked up.
An uneasy feeling creeped into Peter’s stomach. Was MJ mad at him? Was she angry that Peter hadn’t trusted her with his secret? When he had been running potential confrontation scenarios in his head last night, the possibility of her being angry hadn’t crossed Peter’s mind.
Steeling himself, Peter took a deep breath. There was only one way to find out.
“Hey, MJ.” Peter called quietly across the desks.
Michelle looked up, glancing over her shoulder at Peter. She gave him a curt nod before looking back down at her notebook.
The greeting, by anyone else’s standards, might have been a little icy, but it was a typical response from Michelle. There was no way for Peter to tell if she was mad or not from that interaction. He was about to get out of his seat and talk to her when the teacher called the class to order, and the opportunity was gone.
Peter spent most of the class staring at his friend, trying to see inside her mind. Not for the first time, he wished that his spider-sense was less intuition and more telepathic. If Peter had a nickel for every time he wished he could read MJ’s thoughts, then he would’ve been richer than Mr. Stark.
The moment the bell rang, he began making his way to her, but she already darted out of the classroom, headed to her next class. Peter thought he’d find her at lunch, but she was mysteriously absent.
“Do you know where MJ is?” He asked Ned, looking around the crowded cafeteria.
“No.” Ned shook his head. “She’s probably reading a new book or something, and didn’t want us to interrupt her.”
“Yeah.” Peter echoed, still scanning the cafeteria. “Probably.”
Peter struggled through all his classes that day, barely able to focus on the tasks at hand. When Peter saw Michelle in chemistry, she was still acting the same, like there was nothing wrong. Was she really this unbothered by discovering his secret? Peter wished he could share her carefree attitude; he had already sweat straight through his t-shirt, and had to change into a spare Midtown sweater from his locker.
Decathlon practice after school was the same story. Michelle didn’t say anything to Peter before or during practice, and Peter was left staring at her as she asked the team questions. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice any of Flash’s crude jokes at his expense. All he could focus on was talking to Michelle.
Peter finally caught up with her after practice. She was speaking to Mr. Harrington, so Peter dropped his notebook on purpose, the pages scattering everywhere. He told Ned to leave the papers, that he could get them himself. He took his time cleaning them up, just finishing as Mr. Harrington left the auditorium. That was when Peter spoke up.
“Hey, MJ.” He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Can—can we talk?”
“Sure.” She walked over to him, handing him one of his papers that he had missed on the ground. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I-I just—yesterday, I—you know…” Peter trailed off, his ears flushing pink. He couldn’t find the right words to say.
“Yesterday…what?” Michelle asked in confusion, her brow furrowed. “What about yesterday?”
Peter frowned. “What do you mean, what about yesterday?”
“I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Peter.” Michelle pulled her backpack over her shoulder. “Did something happen yesterday?”
Peter nodded slowly. “The car crash…?”
“Oh.” Michelle’s face slipped for just a second before returning to her neutral expression. “Did you see that? I didn’t spot you in the crowd…”
“You didn’t spot—you—” Peter faltered again. “What?”
“It was pretty busy, though, so I guess that’s why.” She shrugged. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine.”
“You’re…fine. Right. Because Spider-Man saved you.” Peter said slowly.
Michelle nodded. “Yeah. You saw it, right?”
Peter blanked for a moment before stammering out a response. “Y-yeah! Yeah, I saw it. From the crowd, right. It was…yeah. He saved you.”
“Lucky me.” Michelle said, glancing at her watch. “I’m kind of running late, Peter. Was there anything else you needed to talk about?”
Peter’s breathing was evening out, his heartbeat finally slowing. Was it possible…Michelle really hadn’t noticed? “No, that…that was it. I just wanted to check up on you.”
“Okay. Well…see you around.” Michelle waved slightly before exiting the auditorium.
“Yeah. See you.” Peter said weakly, watching Michelle disappear.
Peter couldn’t believe his luck. Had Michelle really not noticed Spider-Man call her MJ the day before? He thought it couldn’t be true, but…maybe the adrenaline and shock of the entire incident had distracted her. Maybe she really hadn’t noticed. Maybe, for once in her life, Michelle Jones hadn’t been completely observant.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief, a small smile creeping onto his face as he exited the auditorium. For once in his life, luck seemed to be on his side.
Michelle watched Peter walk down the steps of the school, a spring in his step. When he reached the fence, he glanced around quickly before jumping over, landing smoothly on the other side. He dusted himself off before continuing on his way. From her spot behind the stone steps of the school, Michelle sighed. She really had no idea how Peter had kept his powers a secret this long. But for now, she would help him do it. After all, he had saved her life. The least Michelle could do was save his secret.
Of course, neither of them knew the trouble that lied ahead, or how impossible that task would become. All they knew was the buzzing feeling that came with protecting someone you cared about, and the lengths they would go to help the other person. And really, in that moment, that was all that mattered.
For a moment, anyways.
#peter parker x michelle jones#peter parker#michelle jones#mj#peter parker x mj#petermj#spideychelle#petermj fanfiction#spideychelle fanfiction#petermj imagine#spideychelle imagine#petermj fic#spideychelle fic#zendaya#tom holland#spider-man: far from home#spider mah: homecoming#avengers imagine#marvel imagines#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#spider man fic#spider man imagine#spider man fanfiction#avengers fanfic#avengers fic#writing#tom holland x reader#peter parker x reader#tom holland x you
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Fic: If You Want It Back
Chapter One: You’d Probably Think (Tumblr | AO3)
Chapter Two: If You Knew | Read on AO3
(This is a short chapter, mostly establishing that our boys are on opposite sides of the country as adults; They do not remember each other and they are not happy; this isn’t necessarily a HAPPY chapter, but it’s setting up for some cavity-inducing sweet fluff heading your way!)
- - -
Eddie | 39
“Eddie, there just won’t be enough room for all of this!” Myra insists, gesturing to the boxes of clothes.
Eddie gives a half-hearted chuckle and runs a hand through his hair. “Sweetheart, I need space for my stuff, too.”
Myra quirks her eyebrow at him and continues to argue. “This is my closet. That was the deal.”
“Honey, it’s attached to our bedroom.”
Myra turns icy at his response. “It is my closet. We’re in this tiny apartment that you wanted, that you said was so important, and I said I need my own walk-in closet. That was the deal.”
“Myra, this apartment is hardly tiny. And I have to be able to put my clothes away.”
“There’s a dresser over there,” she points.
He looks for a moment. “How can I fit all my things in three drawers?”
Myra shrugs carelessly. “And I didn’t get my craft room. Figure it out, Eddie.”
He sighs in defeat. “Yes, dear, I know.”
Eddie and Myra Kaspbrak are finally moving into their first home in New York - an apartment just south of Midtown Manhattan. It’d been a long time coming, a lot of long, frustrating conversations on home amenities and proximity to the airport. He had to do a lot of traveling, after all.
Eddie knows this isn’t what Myra wanted. What she wanted was a two-story, four-bedroom, two-bath modern home and a fucking jacuzzi in the backyard. If he had a nickel for every time he had to say, “I just don’t make enough money, sweetheart,” or “That’s too far a drive from JFK,” and “We may need to move, I can’t get locked into a mortgage just yet.” He mine as well have been negotiating with his mother. (God rest her soul.) Myra only understood that Eddie made “good money” with the insurance company. To her, that meant they made “plenty of money” to afford whatever she wanted.
He pulls off his jacket, and pulls up his long sleeves to get to work on his boxes of clothes.
“Eddie-bear, you know you don’t need all those clothes. Just get rid of some things,” Myra says from inside her closet. He refuses to turn around and watch her carefully placing her designer handbags and shoes. “Just keep work clothes out and leave the rest in storage.”
“Sure and I’ll just sleep in my work clothes, too.” He says quietly to himself. He carefully cuts open the first box and looks over the stack of nicely folded shirts in air-tight bags, organized by color. He pushes the box to the side and moves onto the next box, that reads “Eddie: Miscellaneous” on the side in marker. This one might actually contain stuff he can get rid of to appease his wife.
His wife.
Eddie loves Myra. Of course he loves his wife. Eddie is a good man with a good job and goals and loves his wife very much. Myra was the perfect woman for him, exactly his type. He enjoys kissing her. He enjoys sleeping with her. She takes care of him. She loves him. Not a lot of people love Eddie, but Myra does. She’s his better half. She keeps him in check. Keeps him focused on what’s important. ...Which, would be her, he guesses?
The key to a healthy, successful marriage is repeating these things over and over again until they’re real, right?
He hears his lovely, selfless, caring wife strut out of the room towards their new living room.
He cuts open the “miscellaneous” box, full of clothes that are not in air-tight baggies nor are they organized by color. He can already smell age on them, possibly dust and mildew from sitting in his mother’s storage. He pulls a few items out, looking at them and then back inside the box. There’s not too many things in here, but it’s obvious they are not from his adulthood. He then examines the few clothing items he’s pulled out - an old fannypack (From when he was a kid, always carrying his meds around. That can go;) an old pair of pajamas (Myra will yell at him for wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajamas like a teenager. These can go;) a couple old polo shirts (From college, probably. And probably too small by now. They can go;), a zip-up hoodie…
The hoodie looks like it might fit. (But he never wears ash-gray, it’s too cheap-looking for his tastes.) It is a jacket hoodie, might be nice for layering in cold New York winters. He looks over its condition. It’s very worn, almost like it’s supposed to look vintage. One of the wrist cuffs is ripped open at the seam, like someone’s been shoving their fingers through it, something only an annoying kid would do. There’s also a rusty brown stain on the opposite cuff, which is undoubtedly blood. Ew. He looks at the zipper of the jacket, which is missing a metal tab, and extra difficult to zip. Okay, well that’s great. There is no size or manufacturer tag, it’s apparently been ripped out. The strings coming out of the hoodie near the neck are discolored and dingy, and ...are those bite marks at the plastic ends? Disgusting.
There are dark, hard spots around the edges of the pockets on the front. He rubs his thumb across them gently, and knows. They’re cigarette burns. Wow. Well, this definitely wasn’t his, he’s never smoked a day in his life. He would really like to not die of cancer, thank you very much.
His thoughts are abruptly cut short when Eddie subconsciously catches a whiff of the jacket. Undoubtedly, he smells cigarette smoke. Maybe even marijuana, which he’s never touched. But there’s more than that. He pulls the jacket closer to his face, closes his eyes, and smells.
Body spray. Not the nice cologne Eddie wears, but some kind of cheap, douchey-smelling body spray meant to impress girls. Wood. Burning wood, like a bonfire. And… sweat. Someone else’s sweat. Which really should be gross, and it sort of is first, but he keeps breathing it in. It’s an unidentifiable, masculine smell from someone this hoodie belonged to.
There’s something warm in his chest. His heart is pounding as he inhales the jacket’s bouquet over and over again.
“It’s one of my faves.” He can hear a voice say quietly, from somewhere dark in his brain.
His hands are shaking as he sets it down and wipes his hand across his mouth and nose, fidgeting. His mind is racing to identify where this jacket came from, but he can’t complete his mental search. There’s like, nothingness where he expects to find answers. He can feel sweat forming on his forehead and his throat getting tighter. What is happening? Is this an asthma attack? He hasn’t had an attack in years. He puts his hand on his chest and forces himself to breath at a steadier pace, in and out, in and out.
“Eddie-bear, you ok?” He’s startled for a moment. How long was Myra standing there?
He clears his throat. “Yes, dear, I’m okay.” Gotta make up something to throw her off, he doesn’t want her thinking he has ever smoked. She’d never let him live it down. “Just trying to figure out if this is clean or not.”
Myra rips the hoodie from his hand, Eddie grasps at it pathetically. “Why? What does it smell like?” She holds the hood of it up to her nose, then scrunches her face at it. “It doesn’t smell like anything. Just smells dirty.” She tosses it back to him. “Also, it’s torn up. Why do you still have it?” She steps across the wood floors back towards her precious closet. “Just throw it out.”
He knows already this isn’t even his jacket. He just… doesn’t understand why he has it. What he does know is getting rid of it is not an option. He needs this. He’s… supposed to return it, he thinks.
He decides that there is room for it. So he folds it tightly and sticks it in the back of his bottom dresser drawer, where he hopes Myra won’t ever notice it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Richie | 39
Richie wants to fall asleep. Everything will be easier if he just falls asleep. Everything will be over sooner if he just falls asleep.
He looks at his smart watch. It’s 2:40 a.m.
He’s lying on his bed in his LA home, naked except for his boxers, next to a stranger he has just had sex with. The sex was fine, pretty standard. She wasn’t interested in foreplay, which he doesn’t mind because he’s not good at pretending to enjoy it. He’s not really interested in her. She’s not interested in him either, he thinks. She’s probably just interested in writing about it on one of those bullshit ‘celebrity sex review’ blogs. A part of him kind of hopes, actually.
He’s sure of one thing: he wants her out of his home so he can continue to be miserable in peace.
The bed is shifting and he can feel a hand on his chest.
“You okay?” The stranger asks in an innocent voice that fools no one. She’s pretty enough. Rich, dark hair and brown eyes. Tanned skin and a nice body. He doesn’t remember her name or if they even actually talked at the bar. She knew who he was, and that was enough.
“Fuckin great.” He fakes a smile at her. She starts to snuggle against him, which is not the response he wanted. “Hey, listen, this was awesome, but I’m flying out early tomorrow.” He had really hoped to just doze off and deal with this in the morning. But his favorite lie usually worked to get these types of strangers out of his home, out of his life.
“Oh. Where are you going?” She rests her chin on his chest.
“...Chicago.”
“I love Chicago!” She giggles.
Another fake smile, but more difficult to pull of. “Yep.” And he gently moves from under her, leaning away.
“You should totally go to the giant silver bean and take selfies by it-”
“Listen, I gotta get up super early, so I’m gonna call you an Uber.” He lifts himself from the bed and walks across the bedroom to pull on a t-shirt.
“Oh? Okay.” She responds too happily. It’s irritating that she isn’t taking a hint. She gets up and begins pulling on her shorts and heels.
Richie heads to his nightstand, where he picks up his phone and requests an Uber to his Hollywood home. “‘Jerry’ will be here in six minutes in his ‘2015 Toyota Camry.’ He’ll take you wherever you want.” He’s not very good at hiding the fact that he doesn’t really care if she gets home, just as long as she goes.
He hears her ridiculously tall Stilettos click behind him and feels hands on his shoulders. “My number’s in your phone. Call me when you get back?”
Goddamn it, just go already. “Sure.”
Her arms drop to her sides and she makes an annoyed noise. She just got the hint.
His sexual guest struts across the living room towards the entryway, holding her bag and jacket. Richie can’t help but examine her ass as she walks, even though there’s no longer any mystery to what lies beneath her shorts. He scans the room for anything missing (he’s been robbed by a hot woman once or twice) and sees a bright pink bra and lacy top still lying on the couch. He sees that she is wearing his shirt, on her way out.
Nuh-uh, no, NOPE, they are not playing this game. “Uh, sweetheart.” He whistles. She stops and turns to him, and he responds by eyeing her up-and-down. “Can I have my shirt back?”
She tests him with a coy smile. “Well, maybe I’ll bring it back to you?”
“No, no no no no no no, you can wear your own clothes home. That’s my favorite shirt.” He extends an arm and is flexing his fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion.
She’s taken aback, but comes back towards him to take off the shirt. Slowly. Presenting her tits.
They’re not that impressive. And she’s being annoying, so he’s done pretending to be charming.
He smirks, snatches the shirt from her hand, and then walks back towards his bedroom.
He can hear her shuffle to pick up her remaining clothes, her heels clicking across the floor. She scoffs. “So, that’s it?”
He doesn’t face her, he just raises a waving hand to gesture ‘goodbye.’ “That’s it!”
“Wow. Fuck you.” She spouts.
Richie tosses his shirt on his kitchen counter. Bless his open floor plan. “Yeah, thanks for that.”
She mockingly laughs and opens the front door. “You’re an asshole. And you’re not funny.”
“Okie dokes!” He says casually at her.
The Uber driver pulls up behind her in the driveway. “ASSHOLE!” She shrieks, and slams the door shut.
He slumps onto his stupidly-expensive couch and exhales in relief. “Yep. I sure am.”
He doesn’t know why he allows himself to get used by every horny fan he meets. (And “fan” is a generous term. None of them even give a shit about his comedy, they just know who he is and that he’s got a couple specials on Netflix.)
He should be grateful. He’s got everything he could ever want and need. He’s got a huge house, plenty of money, 156K followers on Instagram, more comedy special gigs on the way, may even go on tour with some big names. He’s got a shot at Saturday Night Live, his manager tells him. Not that Richie wants to move to New York. He doesn’t know anyone in New York.
Not that he knows anyone in LA, either. Just horny fans he meets in sleazy bars.
He should be grateful, and he knows that. But he’s just miserable. And alone.
He rubs his eyes under his glasses and lets them fall back onto his nose before he stands up to march himself to sleep. He grabs his shirt on the way back to his empty bedroom.
“Bitch thought she could take my favorite shirt.” And he flicks off the lightswitch.
#reddie#fanfic#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrak#adult reddie#miserable reddie#dont worry we'll make them happy i promise dude#ao3#chapter 2
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Operation Newsboy
Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, things are heating up in this fic
It’s still smol but plot development *jazz hands*
Here’s the prologue, chapter one, and chapter two if you hadn’t read them
Chapter 3
Warnings: still nothing except Race smoking a cigar (things heat up next chapter I promise)
Words: 1,187
Editing: a lot plus grammarly (I got 20 newsies slang words marked grammatically incorrect this time)
***#***
When Jack came to, he was sitting against the wall, his bag of newspapers on his lap.
“Hey. Hey. Are you awake?” A kid was standing in front of Jack. The kid was wearing hand-me-down-looking clothes. Jack groaned. “Oh, you’re awake!” He said. He offered a hand to pull Jack up, and Jack took it, standing up and groaning.
“Aw, feels like a herd of horses been tramplin’ my head,” Jack muttered.
The kid smiled. “I know what that feels like.”
“Who-who is ya?” Jack stumbled, and the kid put Jack’s arm around his shoulder.
“I’m Wally,” the kid, Wally, said.
“I’m Jack.” Wally bit back the urge to say ‘I know.’
“Do you have a place to go? A home, or—”
“The only home I’s got is the Lodge.”
“Can you give me directions?”
“Yeah, sure.”
The two boys kept walking down the street, Jack stumbling every so often.
Finally, they made it to a building with a sign that said ‘Newsboy Lodging House’ in large letters.
“This is it,” Jack said. Wally unhooked Jack from around his shoulder, then opened the door. Before Jack went inside the Lodge door completely, he turned to Wally. “Hey, do youse got a place to sleep?”
“Uh, does the park count?”
“No. Come in. We’s got a bed for ya. I think.”
“Oh, uh, thanks,” Wally said. He didn't think it'd actually be that easy to get an in with the newsies, but here he was. They went inside, trying to find a bed for Wally. It was relatively easy, considering the rest of the boys were still out there selling papers.
“Eh, no problem. Ey, how’s ‘bout you come with me, tomorrow, to sell the papes? Unless you’s got a job.”
“I don’t have a job, but I don’t want to trouble you.”
“Eh, no trouble! Weasel makes more money the more papes he sells to the newsies.” The two boys stopped near a clean bed. “Ah, here’s a bed for youse. It’s next to the door to the roof, but—”
“It’s a bed. Better than where I thought I’d be sleeping tonight.” Secretly, Wally was ecstatic. He knew that Jack slept on the roof, and this was as close as he could get.
“Good. Youse got anything to put down? Somethin’ to mark ya spot?” Jack asked.
“I-I got my hat.” He said. It was just a newsie cap.
“Yeah, no, that’s gonna get stolen.”
“You steal each others’ stuff?” Wally asked in disbelief.
“Mostly for jokes or somethin’. The boys always gives it back. Usually.” He added quietly.
Suddenly, the door banged open. “Is anyone here?” Someone called.
“Crutchie!” Jack called. “We’s up here!”
After a few minutes, and a few muffled thumps, a kid of about fifteen with shaggy blond hair and a crutch staggered up the stairs.
“Hey, Jack!” The blond boy, Crutchie, said. “Who’s the new kid?”
“This is Wally. He needs a spot to sleep. And work.” Jack said. “Oh, yeah, Crutchie!” He said like he was just remembering something. “Today, when I's was sellin’ papes, two random guys came up to me to buy a paper!”
“That’s your job, Jack.” Crutchie teased him, his face deadpan.
“Yeah, but the first guy gave me a quarter! All I’s did was hawk the headline!”
“No way!” Crutchie breathed, his eyes as big as, well, quarters.
“Yeah! And the second man, he gaves me a dollar! A dollar!” Wally could guess at who the two guys were.
“Aw, Jack, it’s just you’s pale, pitiful mug that sells all the papes,” Crutchie said teasingly, and they gave each other a high five.
After a few minutes of joking about the people they conned, Crutchie stood up. “Hey, the boys said they was goin’ to Jacobi’s afta sellin’. You comin’?”
“Yeah,” Jack said.
“Who’s Jacobi?” Wally asked.
“Oh, Mr. Jacobi runs the deli. He lets us hang out there before he lets his customers in.”
“Cool. What d’you do, perform large dance numbers or something?” Wally meant it as a joke, and then quickly realized he was being too proper. “I mean, like, dance crazy dances?”
Jack and Crutchie shared a look. “Eh, occasionally.”
Wally was gaping at them. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Lead the way, Captain Jack,” Wally said.
***#***
Wally watched, trailing a bit behind Crutchie, Jack as pushed the door open to Jacobi’s Deli, where a few of the newsies were already waiting.
“Afternoon, gents!” A tall kid with blonde hair and a cigar sticking out of his mouth called. “Who’s the new kid?”
Wally raised his hand in a small wave. “I’m, uh, Wally.” Truthfully, he was a bit put out with the fact that a teen-aged kid just had a giant cigar in his mouth.
The kid smirked. “What’s the matter? Ain’t youse sure?”
“I—” Wally began, but Jack saved him from complete embarrassment.
“Ah, Race, lay offa’ ‘im. Your ugly mug is enough to scare anyone.”
The kid, Race, put an exaggerated hand over his heart. “Why, Jack, youse say that to all the fellas, don’tcha?”
“Just for youse, Race,” Jack replied.
Crutchie limped off somewhere, talking to some other boys.
The boys stayed there for hours, joking, teasing, and yes, even a dance or two. More kids showed up and introduced themselves to Wally, who amazed them all with the fact that he actually had an education.
When the little party ended, and the boys walked in a large gaggle back to the lodging house. The newsies were laughing and joking like nothing was wrong, but Wally couldn’t shake the feeling that someone--or something--was watching them, but every time he turned around, nothing was there.
They all arrived at the Lodging House with no incident, and they were settled in their beds when a bright yellow and red flash illuminated the window.
Wally jumped up, whacking his head on the upper bunk above him, which was occupied by Romeo, one of the boys he met at the deli earlier.
“Wally?” The groggy voice of Romeo popped up from above. “What’re youse doin’?”
Wally didn’t answer, just ran out the door as fast as he possibly could without doing his “lightning thing”.
Not a second later, Race spoke up. “Romeo, youse owes me a nickel. I’s told youse that he’d do somethin’ weird before the night’s over.”
***#***
As soon as the door closed, Wally raced after the flash of red light. The Particle Accelerator doesn’t explode for the first time in 115 years, he thought. This is worth checking out, even if it’s not my time assassin. Then that really annoying, small voice in the back of his head whispered, what if it’s a diversion? A diversion to get you away from Jack and your friendly neighborhood time assassin knows who you are, waiting for the right moment to—
“Shut up!” He yelled loudly, in an attempt to quell the voices in his head.
The guy he was chasing stopped whirled around, his feet sliding on the pavement. Wally stopped just in time to avoid barreling over the other speedster.
“Wally?” A familiar voice said, pulling off the cowl over his face.
“Barry?”
***#***
Yeah no regrets here sorry fam
#Jamie writes stuff#operation newsboy#I did decide to make them singing and dancing#idrk why#comedy maybe?#I think I'm hilarious and I'm really not#newsies#jack kelly#racetrack higgins#romeo#newsies fic#legends of tomorrow#fanfic#wally west#canon era#fanfiction#writeblr
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Atrophy (6/7)
Chapter (6/7): Lucky
Rating: Teen+ (For: Language, Graphics Depictions of Violence)
Summary: An old friend returns, to wake Nick from a terrible nightmare.
Chapter Notes:
@letswaitforme, @deltajackdalton,@impossiblepluto,@mutatedsilverunicorn,@12percentplan,@telltaleclerk…idk, who else wants to be tagged in updates of this fic?? lemme know ;)
Previous Chapter | Read on ao3
“Let’s begin at the beginning, Greg. How did you find the house?”
Overexposed lighting, overly clean surfaces, beeps and shouts and screams. He would hate it--he once confided to his friend, that he hated hospitals.
“Greg?”
The poor guy, probably terrified enough as it is. Second time being in the hospital within months.
“Greg, are you listening to me?”
The buzzing and bustling, the hovering, the constant pokes and prods and questions. It almost made him claustrophobic.
“Greg!”
A hand on his shoulder firmly pressed the fabric of Greg’s shirt. Not as firm as Nick’s grasp was, but enough to summon Greg Sanders back into his body. His fingers fumbled on the edges of his shirt, screams and cries reverberated in his head.
“Where did you go? Sara said you and her were in the garage, examining Nick’s car--”
“Car, right. Yeah, we, uh, we were processing Nick’s car. Nothing out of the ordinary, but we noticed his kit wasn’t there, nor any evidence from the scene. There was security cam footage from across the street that showed a woman exit Nick’s vehicle--well, presumably--and draw some cash from an ATM, then she got a cab and vanished. We had nothing, for a while, though I’m sure you know that. Then, somebody called my phone with a voice modulator, told me they had a lead but would only meet me in private--”
“Don’t tell me--”
“I was gonna call for backup, it’s just--”
“I expect something like this out of Nick, but you, Greg? Who knows what could have happened--”
“I found him, didn’t I?” Greg snapped. A look of shock blossomed on Catherine’s face. Greg’s face fell, this sudden outburst was out of character for him, but it was hard to shake off the rage towards the psycho that reduced Nick to the man he found in the closet. It was hard to shake off the shock, that something like this could happen to somebody so close to him. It was hard to think that Nick has been through so much in the last eleven years, that somehow he’s found the strength to hold on, when everything and everyone is telling them that he shouldn’t be alive.
Their attention moved from each other to the man on the other side of the glass, lying in a hospital bed, unconscious. Sara was sitting next to him, held his hand. Catherine sniffled, then walked into the room, Greg followed behind.
Greg stood at the foot of the bed, as Catherine pulled up a stool on the other side of the bed. Nick looked peaceful in his restful state, but Greg could still hear the man’s screams and sobs ring out in his mind, as his body was moved onto a stretcher.
“It’s okay, Nick, they’re taking you to the hospital,” Greg had told him, after making the mistake of taking his hand away from Nick’s. A connection, one that Greg would never fully understand Nick’s need for, severed.
“No! No hospital! Mmm fine...Need to...find...Greg…”
“I’m here, man, I’m right here.”
“He’s buh-buried...need to...dig him up...Mahaha--arshhhhhhh too…”
A sedative, Nick had screamed so loudly as the needle was pushed into his skin. Greg wondered if Nick had been shot with one of the darts found on the bed. As they brought Nick out of the house, Greg could only think about collecting a tox sample, to see what he had been drugged with, to cause a reaction to the sedative so violent he had nearly punched the poor paramedic.
“Ray processing the scene?” Sara asked in a hushed voice, not that Nick would be able to hear them anyway.
“No, I got someone from swing--Ronnie Lake,” Catherine replied, her eyes on Nick.
“Good. Ronnie’s good.” Sara gulped down something, a light layer of tears glimmered in her eyes. Greg wanted to move to her, offer some comfort, but found his hands glued to the end of the hospital bed.
It was different, when Nick had gotten shot. They were all worried, sure, but when they found out he was awake, conscious, demanding pizza and cracking jokes, they knew that he was at least somewhat okay--they hadn’t heard about the details of the shooting right away, all they cared about was Nick, and even when they did, Nick had just jumped right back into work, seemed okay, seemed like his normal self. Maybe that’s why Greg had neglected Nick’s state of mind at the funeral explosion, elected to just help Nick get dressed into a spare change of clothes, get cleaned up, instead of goading him back to the hospital as Catherine had commanded.
Maybe it was selfish, to take that for granted, to not pay more attention, because what if Nick was indulging in the same reckless behavior that had nearly gotten him killed after Warrick was? He could have been triggered by the loss of another member of law enforcement--even if Officer Clark wasn’t part of their team, per se, Nick wore his heart on his sleeve, the guilt complex was apparent. What if he had walked headfirst into this situation? It was hard to tell if the signs of struggle in the bedroom were from the original crime scene, or from any sort of struggle Nick would have put up. They would have to wait for him to wake up to find out what really happened.
“Willows? Catherine Willows?”
A doctor entered the room, nudged Greg aside to pick up Nick’s chart.
“We’ve already contacted Gil Grissom, the other emergency contact, but were told that you were here on site. I see you found the place all right.”
An attempt to lighten the mood, put a smile on their sullen faces. He must have good news, else, he’s trying to ease the pain of his news.
“Unfortunately, this isn’t our first rodeo,” Catherine told him. Nick would have laughed at that.
“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that Nick’s going to be just fine. He’ll be sore for a few days, has a broken hand, and will be sporting a new scar on his chest, but it could have been much worse. After decontamination, there’s also no side-effects apparent from the tetrodotoxin, either. Most patients survive that, if they didn’t, uh,” The doctor coughed. Greg noticed how young he was, how green. “Succumb to the more harmful effects.”
“Tetrodotoxin, the paralyzing agent?” Sara asked in a hoarse voice. “Was he…?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to him to find out, but with the high dosage he was given, it’s a miracle he’s even still here. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have been fully lucid. In fact, I’m shocked he’s not in a coma, most patients usually fall into one, if they survive.”
Greg’s heart had stopped at the mere idea of Nick being fully aware of what was happening to him--with the nonsense he seemed to speak at the house, he hoped that perhaps it was some sort of fever dream, hallucination.
And then, he remembered the phone call.
“Doctor…” he cleared his throat, didn’t even want to consider the possibility, but the question had to be raised. “Was there any signs of...of seh…”
His voice cracked, trailed off before he could even finish the word. Catherine had removed her gaze from Nick to look at Greg with a widened gaze, a realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
“No.” The doctor responded, quickly, shortly. He didn’t seem too fond of the idea, either. “No, there weren’t in our examinations.”
The young doctor also cleared his throat, looked back to the chart.
“He’ll be staying overnight for observation, given a prescription for some painkillers, but he should be able to go home in no time.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Catherine muttered, her eyes falling back onto Nick.
The doctor left the room, and Greg resumed his watch over Nick, who still seemed to be asleep.
“So...Grissom’s his emergency contact?” Greg asked with a small chuckle, breaking the silence. He became aware of the fact that Nick wouldn’t quite like being under the watch of so many eyes, removed his gaze to stare at the floor.
Sara chuckled back. A smile cracked on Catherine’s face.
“Yeah, guess so. Said he was gonna change it, after the restaurant shooting. Guess he didn’t think he’d need to, so soon.”
The resumed their shared silence, waiting. Waiting for Nick to flutter his eyes open, demand a pizza or a beer. Waiting for some sign that even though the doctor said he’d be able to go home soon, that truly, he would be able to go home soon. Waiting for an indication that he would be okay, he’d be back to normal. Waiting for Nick Stokes, the mountain of strength that he is, to wake from his slumber.
They would be waiting for a while.
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Lucky. If he had a nickel for every time he heard the phrase “he’s lucky to be alive,” he would be able to retire from the Las Vegas Crime Lab by now.
He was lucky that Grissom came and saved him from that terrified woman with a gun.
He was lucky that the glass just barely missed his neck, that the fall from the window didn’t injure him any more. He was lucky that Brass and his squad showed up when they did, lest Nick witness his house from becoming any more of a horrific crime scene.
He was lucky that he was given a fan. Funnily enough, he was even lucky that he shot the damn light, that the ants came pouring into the box, because if they didn’t, he would still be six feet under. He was lucky that Hodges just happened to call right before the lid was opened. He was lucky that Grissom’s plan worked, and that he was above ground.
He was lucky that he was only shot in the shoulder, though one bullet was dangerously close to his heart.
He was lucky that he had stood his ground where he did, that the van’s door didn’t hit him as an explosion sent shock waves through the air.
But luck isn’t what Nick would use to describe the outcome of his survival against Veronica. She never intended for him to die, not really. He was her favorite toy, after all. She wasn’t going to give him up that easily.
------------------------------------------------------------
The sound of a cane woke Greg up from a standing slumber, two canes, two Doctors, accompanied by a third person that made Greg think he hadn’t woken up, and that he was still dreaming about a screaming man chained in a closet, who was oddly silent, though physically struggling.
“Ran into a friend downstairs,” Ray announced as he, Grissom and Doc Robbins all entered the room.
“Gil?” Sara asked, hopping up from her seat, though she didn’t let go of Nick’s hand. Grissom walked over, embraced his wife, planted a soft kiss on her cheek.
“Got the first flight that I could, but I can’t stay long. How is he?”
“Not...entirely sure, he hasn’t woken up yet,” Catherine said, walking over to plant her hand on Grissom’s shoulder. “I’m...gonna go call his parents.”
Grissom nodded, looked to Nick. He placed his hand on Sara’s on Nick’s. A feeling fluttered up Greg’s chest, hope. Grissom was here, so Nick would definitely be okay.
“Any idea who…?”
“No. House was registered to a ‘Gertrude Ortollins,’ we’ve got an APB on her now. Hey, Gil, good to see you,” Brass replied, entering the room.
“Jim,” Grissom acknowledged, shaking Brass’ hand with his free one.
“How’d it go with Marsh’s family?”
“About as well as it did with Clark’s. How’s Nicky?” Brass asked, wiping his face with his hand.
“Still sleeping.”
An exasperated sigh, laden with worry.
“Sanders, you--you were at the house, what did you see, what happened?”
All eyes on Greg, and he felt a bead of sweat on his forehead. The details were, in fact, hazy, but he told them what he remembered anyway.
“Went to the house, found a bedroom, Nick was in the closet, and he was, uhm...heavily drugged--paralyzed, I guess--Something knocked me out, and when I woke up, there were darts on a bed and Nick was half-free. He kept saying ‘dig him up,’ and I-I thought maybe he was talking about…But he wasn’t and now we’re here.”
“No sign of the person who knocked you out? Male or female?”
Brass grabbed Greg by the shoulders, shook him a little, drilled him into the ground with questions. He pulled a picture out from his pocket, a crime scene photo.
“Do you recognize this? See it anywhere in the house?”
It was a picture of a body, dressed up in Nick’s vest, surrounded by evidence tags, markers, his kit, his gun. The man’s eyes were wide open, glazed over. A word, written in marker--”STOKES” with the “O” acting as a bulls-eye, a dart lodged right in the center.
“Take it easy, Jim, we’re all a bit worked up--”
“Zip it, Langston!” Brass snapped. Grissom and Sara tore away from Nick, sensed that the detective had reached a boiling point.
“Ray, let’s go get some coffee,” Doc Robbins muttered, nudging Ray out of the room.
The dust in the air settled, once Brass heaved another heavy sigh.
“I should...I should go apologize,” he muttered, and left the room. He left the picture on the floor, Greg picked it up and put it back on the bed.
Greg, Sara and Grissom were all left in isolation and silence, a trio that had not worked together for years, and yet, it felt like nothing had changed at all. A feeling of togetherness, in their silence, as they continued their watch over Nick Stokes, a man they all loved in different ways.
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Birds. Birds were flying above him, chattering away, not a care in the world. No particular destination, just the air beneath their wings, a light feeling in their chests. Circling the air...or, were they circling him?
His body, sprawled on the ground, a bird who fell from the sky. He felt small, so small in comparison to the winged creatures above him, to the large shovel that was balancing his broken body.
“Aw, you poor thing.” A voice cooed at him. A giant woman loomed above him, looked down on him. “I’m gonna keep you.”
The shovel propelled his body into the air, he was unable to move his limbs, fell haphazardly into the woman’s hand like a rag doll. She poked and prodded at him, stuck a needle into him. And then another. And another. Perhaps his body was somewhere else, feeling the pain she was inflicting on him. This body was nothing, just a lifeless toy.
“You’re mine,” the woman kept whispering to him, petting his chest with a single finger, applying particular pressure to his scars. All clothing was gone--he felt so naked, so embarrassed.
She brought him into a house, the wallpapers were continuous streams of crime scene tape. The house was silent, except for the shuttering click of a camera. Camera flashes were the only source of light.
“Oops!”
His body rolled out of her hand, onto the ledge of a staircase. With the tip of her foot, she nudged his body forward, and he tumbled down a seemingly endless amount of stairs. He couldn’t feel the pain, as his limbs flailed around, as his head finally came to an impact with a clear, glass surface. The bottom of the stairs landed him into a box, a glass coffin...no, not into, above. He landed on top of the body of Officer Marsh.
The sound of a phone ringing, a voice picking up. His voice, talking to Greg.
“Hey, man, sorry, I can’t make it to breakfast.”
“What? Why? What the hell is wrong with you, Nick? Then again, I figured as much, you’re such a shitty friend. Don’t even know why I even said yes when you asked me.”
He wanted to scream, tell Greg about the man in the box beneath him. To warn him, not to go looking for Nick.
“You know, first you send Officer Clark to the back in that restaurant, and now you sent Marsh down a flight of stairs? Down to the ground, buried alive? Do you even remember what that felt like, Nick? How it felt to be struggling for air, struggling against six walls, just inches from your body, unable to move? He’ll die by asphyxiation, alright, but it’ll be post burial. Unlike you. You always survive, when the people that should...don’t.”
Click. Flash. His body rose up, dangled by something tight around his wrists.
“You’ve been a very bad doll,” the woman whispered to him. “It’s time for your punishment.”
He was carried to a dollhouse, an exact scale model of the house he was currently in--if he had a heart, it would have stopped, the miniature killer was back, was going to go after Sara again, or worse, maybe everyone again.
But this woman wasn’t Natalie Davis, this was Veronica...a woman with no last name. Nothing to set her apart, nothing to identify her as anything other than Nick’s “owner.” He might as well get used to calling her that.
Discordant music was playing, some stupid song he would hate for the rest of his life, mixed with a song he once sang to himself, during an extended period of torture, to keep his sanity. A futile effort, now, his sanity flew away with the rest of the birds.
She split the house apart effortlessly, located in the bedroom, there was a closet, with an attachment for the chain that she was holding him by. She attached his body to it, closed the door, then closed the house. A large eye peeked into the window, watched him, for minutes...for hours...for days? Maybe even years. The eye left, a camera lens took its place.
Then, it began to rain.
Tiny birds flew like darts against the window, he could just barely see corpses smash against the window and slide down.
And then, one big corpse hit against the window, dead center. Bulls-eye. It wasn’t a bird, it was Greg Sanders.
“Another broken toy, ready to be buried.”
He wanted to scream, he didn’t care what happened to him, his life was meaningless, he served no purpose other than to please Veronica, none of that really mattered, so long as Greg was safe.
“Dig him up!” he cried out, pleading, the puppet finally had a voice.
“Nicky?”
“DIG HIM UP!” at the top of his lungs, all energy expelled from his body, but a shock brought him back to life, as he opened his eyes and saw Gil Grissom sitting next to him.
------------------------------------------------------------
Nick had woken up unceremoniously, his eyes had fluttered open, just as Greg thought they would. They all encouraged a charming smile to spread onto his face by showing them their own, it worked, his eyes lit up and his lips spread apart, curving slightly upward.
“Greg,” he croaked. “Sorry I...missed breakfast.”
“It’s okay, call it a rain check.”
He groaned, twisted his body a little.
“What...What happened? How long have I been out?" he added, after seeing Grissom next to him.
Greg’s mouth gaped open in shock, he had not expected those words, out of someone who seemed to be in a conscious state of mind at the scene of the crime.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sara asked.
“I...I was at a crime scene? I turned around, and...woke up here,”
Greg held up the picture.
“You don’t know anything about this?”
Nick stared at the picture for a moment, a puzzled expression on his face, his brows furrowed down, a glimmer of something shone in his eyes.
“Nuh...No.”
Grissom had been staring intently at Nick the whole time, his head cocked to one side.
“Greg, Sara...could you give us a minute?”
Maybe this is all a bit overwhelming…
Greg and Sara nodded, left the room in a mutual agreement that Grissom would get the answers. A mostly impartial third party, who hadn’t been there, for the past two years.
Greg was hopeful again, that maybe Nick was just hazy from the sedation, that Grissom would be able to talk to him, get at least some of the story while it was still fresh in Nick’s head. They gave the pair their privacy, Grissom had closed the blinds after they had left the room. Catherine rejoined them, Sara filled her in on what happened. Catherine knocked on the door, but didn’t enter.
Grissom came out, almost an hour later, with reddened eyes, immediately embraced Sara.
“Well? What did he say?” Catherine asked, peering into the room through the crack in the door.
Grissom looked up at her, a solemn expression on his face, as he held onto Sara’s hand.
“He doesn’t remember anything.”
#csi cbs#csi fan fic#nick stokes#greg sanders#whump fic#nick and grissom#my fic#fic: atrophy#OH MAN#i wrote this in like four hours enjoy#BORDERLINE HORROR THIS CHAPTER IS!!#that freaking nightmare sequence I CANNOT
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Baby Daddy - Chapter 1
If you've read Well, This is Awkward, then you already know the premise. This is not that story! This is the longer and angstier version that I promised. Updates will not be every day though, because I need to learn how to prioritise! Also, this fic is a gift to @emmaseasall, who has had a hell of a year, and whose birthday it is today! Happy birthday, Emma!
You an also read it on AO3, and find the Chapter Index here on Tumblr.
Back when Laura was a kid, her Uncle Peter was stupidly in love with this girl who was stupidly in love with this movie where this girl missed the train, and that one little action changed everything. Laura, nine-years-old and allergic to boy germs and anything gross like kissing, had not been impressed, either with the dumb movie or with the dumb girl. Luckily she only had to suffer through a few instances of Uncle Peter “baby-sitting” and making out with the girl on the couch before he dumped her for her twin brother. Because Peter has always been an asshole, apparently. Point is, Laura hated that movie, but there are moments in life, okay? There are moments that can change everything.
Laura likes to think of that, sometimes. She’ll sit on the fire escape of their shitty apartment, drinking coffee so black it tastes like tar, and smoking cigarettes because it annoys Derek, and she’ll wonder what might have happened if only one tiny thing had been different.
Is there a universe where Derek didn’t stumble into Kate Argent’s path?
Is there a universe where their family didn’t burn?
And is there even a universe where Laura met a crazed werewolf in the woods, and her shock at seeing it was Peter was so great that she didn’t step back quickly enough, and the last thing she felt was his claws slashing across her throat?
Maybe.
There’s a universe for everything, right? Accepting that makes it hard to hate what happened, because it could always be worse. Laura is the alpha now, and Derek is her beta, and Peter is—well, Peter is Peter, but he’s much less crazy now—and the universe is random, and chance is a fucking bitch, but Laura thinks she’s finally figuring out how to listen to it and take a goddamn hint.
And right now it feels like the universe is slapping her in the face with this…this kid.
The kid has been coming into the diner where Laura works for a few months now, always late at night, and always buzzing like he’s on something. They get a lot of that in this neighborhood, but the kid doesn’t smell of anything except Adderall, which Laura guesses explains his twitchiness. He’s about eighteen or nineteen, probably a student by the weird hours he keeps, and he always pays his bill in small change. He tips well, but usually in pennies and nickels, which is a pain in the ass, but better than no tip at all.
And he smells like something that—for the first time since coming back to Beacon Hills six months ago—feels like home.
He smells like the Preserve. He smells like long summers spent running barefoot in the woods. He smells like loam and pine needles and abelia blossoms. He smells like home the way it was—long days and golden twilights and wood cracking in a campfire.
Laura hasn’t been able to set foot on her family’s property since she came back. She and Derek share a shitty apartment on the shitty side of town. Laura can’t bring herself to go and stand where the house once did. She’s seen pictures online; the charred bones of the Hale house are a favorite for local photographers, and they popped right up on Google maps when Laura was looking to see where the Goodwill store had moved to. It hurt enough to see the ruins online; Laura doesn’t want to see them in person. Not yet. She’s not ready, and she doesn’t think she ever will be. She wants to remember it the way it was, and that’s hard enough already.
In the meantime, she serves the kid coffee as charcoal black as the burnt cedar frame of the house she was born in, and tries not to look too obvious when she leans in to inhale the kid’s scent.
It’s a Wednesday night, almost midnight, and the kid has been sitting on a plate of curly fries and a cup of coffee that Laura has refilled three times already in the hour he’s been there. He’s pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. He’s hunched over a textbook, highlighting relevant passages. When Laura refills his mug for the fourth time, she notices that most of the page is highlighted.
“You’re at the community college, right?” she asks him.
He blinks up at her. “Yeah. Accountancy.”
“That sounds inter—”
“I hate it,” the kid snaps. He scowls down at his textbook. “I fucking hate it so much.”
Laura blinks at the sudden venom in his tone.
“God,” the kid says, closing his textbook. He sighs, and rubs his hands over his face. “Sorry. It’s been a rough week, and I’m an asshole at the best of times. Sorry.”
Laura glances around the diner, but her only other customer is Harold, the town’s elderly drunk, and he’s asleep in a booth. She sits down opposite the kid. “Want to talk about it?”
The kid narrows his eyes at her. “Are you serious?”
Laura shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I just figured everyone in town already knew my deal,” the kid says. “I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. My dad’s the sheriff.”
Laura looks at him blankly.
“Oh, you really are new in town, aren’t you?” Stiles snorts. “My dad got shot in the line of duty about eight months ago now, right before I graduated high school. He’s been on sick leave ever since. I was supposed to be on a full ride to GWU in D.C., but my dad’s sick pay barely covers the mortgage, let alone getting him any home help, and the way the insurance company is dragging things out, he won’t see any money from the county for years yet.” He closes his textbook, and sighs. “So my plans changed, you know?”
His voice is calmer now, but there’s something in his gaze that’s a little distant, as though he’s staring right past Laura, right past Beacon Hills, into a future that he never got the chance to live.
“Yeah,” Laura says. “I know. My name’s Laura.”
Stiles’s forehead creases. “Yeah. It says so on your name badge.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Laura Hale.”
There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes, and then he pales. “Oh. Oh shit.”
“I know a few things about rough weeks,” Laura says.
She knows a few things about giving up her dreams as well. And she knows guilt, and loss, and pain and fear. She was scared, and she ran, and a part of Peter will never forgive her for that. It’s okay. A part of Laura won’t forgive herself either. But eighteen-year-old Laura was still a child in so many ways, too young to step into her mother’s shoes. Too young to know what to do, when she felt so afraid and so alone. When all her pack bonds had been severed by the fire, except the one tethering her to Derek. And even though Peter had still been alive, breathing on his wheezing hospital ventilator, she hadn’t felt him. She’d thought he’d gone too, the parts of him that were him, and there had been nothing left but the machine. She’d been so wrong about that.
Stiles throat clicks as he swallows.
Laura smiles slightly at him. “If you want to bitch about how unfair your life is, I’m not going to judge you for it. I’ve been there.”
Stiles exhales heavily. His fingers beat a nervous tattoo along the laminate tabletop. “Sometimes I resent my dad for getting shot. How fucked up is that?”
“Pretty fucked up,” Laura says quietly. “Sometimes I hate my family for dying. I mean, how could they? I wasn’t ready to be the one in charge.”
Stiles swallows again, and looks away quickly. He swipes at his eyes quickly with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Yeah. I get it.”
From over in the other booth, Harold snorts himself awake. “Wh—wha—”
Laura reaches out and puts her hand over his. She squeezes gently, and his scent softens again into that sweetness that is reminiscent of the Preserve. “I should go deal with him.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. He flashes her a smile. “Thanks, Laura.”
“Anytime, Stiles.” She stands, and goes to refill Harold’s coffee before he can complain. When she looks around again, Stiles has gone back to his textbook, his posture more relaxed now than before they spoke.
***
Laura and Derek live in a loft on Lincoln Street. It’s semi-converted, which Laura thinks means the developer ran out of money before he finished turning the place from a shithole into something actually habitable. The loft is caught somewhere in the middle. It has running water and heat, but also holes in the walls. The rent is cheap though.
Derek picks up a job as a bouncer at some dive bar downtown. Peter calls it playing to his strengths; he gets to wear his leather jacket and get paid for glowering. The hours he keeps are as bad as Laura’s. They’ve both become more or less nocturnal, and Laura worries it’s like taking a step backwards. At least she has her regulars to talk to at the diner. Who does Derek talk to? Nobody, probably. He goes to work when it’s dark, and comes home when it’s dawn, and if he says more than two words to anyone during his shift, Laura would eat her hat.
If she owned a hat.
She worries about Derek. She worries about his silences, and his scowls, and sometimes she wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and see if the brother she remembers falls out: funny as hell, and fun to be around. A little smartass, just like a younger brother should be. The thorn in her side, and the pebble in her shoe. She misses him, probably as acutely as he misses the old Laura.
She was different too, back then.
Laura and Derek don’t need the money their jobs bring them, not now they’re back in Beacon Hills and have access to the Hale vault again, but they’re both used to living like this. Sometimes Laura wonders if it means, in their hearts, they’re still running. Laura is still afraid, she supposes, but her alpha wolf is growing stronger. This is herterritory. Laura doesn’t want to run anymore. She wants to stand.
She wants to rebuild a home in her territory. She wants to rebuild a pack.
She lies awake at night, listening to Derek’s heartbeat through the wall, and decides that they’re home now.
They’re home.
She just needs to start believing it.
No, more than that.
She needs to start acting like it.
She has her territory back: she needs to build a pack.
***
The weeks draw on. Summer softens slowly toward fall, and Laura starts to look forward to those strange hours when Stiles wanders into the diner, and takes a seat in a booth with all his books spread out around him. He’s usually tired, anxious, and his scent smells a little bitter with it, but he always has a smile for her, and they fall into an easy familiarity. He reminds her of a little brother. She lost two of those in the fire. Three, if she counts Derek.
Most days she counts Derek.
Stiles bitches a lot about having no money, but not in a way like he’s angling for any. Why would he be? He has no way of knowing that Laura has any more than he does. He bitches to her like he expects her to be in the same shitty boat, and she was. For years she and Derek had been living from paycheck to paycheck—whenever either one of them could actually get a paycheck-- because that was just another thing Laura hadn’t known: how to access the money their parents left them. Wasn’t like she could just walk into a bank, tell them who she was, and expect them to hand over the cash. That was something Peter had sorted out for them when they were back in Beacon Hills, because Peter knows about lawyers and insurance and inheritance and all those things that Laura didn’t.
There was so much she didn’t know, and she was afraid that if she’d asked some stranger that hunters might have found where she and Derek were.
There was so much she didn’t know.
Stiles is the same. She watches him sometimes, as he painstakingly goes through letters from the hospital, from the insurance company, from banks and lawyers, trying to get a handle on exactly how much debt he’s drowning in. And it’s hard. She can see that written in his creased forehead.
He’s not much older than Laura was when her world fell apart too.
Laura feels a rush of sympathy for him.
“It’s hard,” she says, helping herself to one of his curly fries and dipping it in the pool of ketchup on his plate. “Do you have anyone you can ask for help?”
“No.” Stiles makes a face. “I mean, the Department did a fundraiser and that helped a lot, but all that money went straight to medical bills, you know?” He drags a hand over his face. “It’s hard, but it’s not like we aren’t managing. It’s just… things are tight, that’s all. We’re stuck in this shitty place where Dad’s not well enough to work, but doesn’t actually hit any of the right criteria to get benefits. And he’s busting his gut with his physical rehab, but you can’t rush that either. Just… ugh. Once he’s well enough to go back to work, things’ll get a hell of a lot easier. It’s just… it’s just gonna be rough for a while.”
Laura knows that feeling.
The next night, Stiles tells her about his Jeep, and the five hundred dollars he’s been quoted to replace the starter motor.
“Guess I’m catching the bus to college now,” he says, inhaling the steam from his coffee.
So no, he’s not starving to death or living on the streets or anything, but every time she sees him Laura thinks he’s been a little more battered by his circumstances, a little more worn down. And he’s always so tired.
She wants to help him, but she knows he won’t take charity.
“You know,” she tells him, “you’re here every night. You might as well wash a few dishes.”
“Yeah?” His face brightens at that, and he flashes her a smile.
She likes Stiles. She likes his scent.
He reminds her of family.
She wants to rebuild her pack.
Really, when the idea hits her, Laura’s surprised it took as long as it did.
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Haven’t done that in a while, have I?
It by Stephen King
Rating: 1/10
Review:
Urgh, this dumpster fire… This dumb book blocked up my nightly readings for far too long, I was so ready to abandon it at points but eventually hate read powered through because some masochistic parts of me still wanted to know how it ended. This goes right on top of the list of garbage I read/watched/did for James.
It also is a prime example for why I usually steer away from long novels or fics. It’s not that I can’t read them, I read a ton for work and yes, they’re huge books, but it takes some tremendous skill to fill 1000 pages of a novel and keep it interesting and/or non-repetitive throughout. It’s what amazed me so about Gaiman’s American Gods, my copy has 640 pages and not one, NOT ONE of them is too much.
My copy of IT has 1376 pages and honest to god, you could have easily scratched 800 of them and it still would have been the same goddamn story. 300 pages alone are basically “and then he told his friends what the reader just read”. SO UNNECESSARY!!
Like, if it contributed anything to the world or character building, ok, I could have dealt with that, BUT IT DIDN’T! The characters and their arcs are established pretty early on, partially through proper character building, partially through the time-jumps, but quite often through blatant tell-not-show.
King spells everything out SO many times, through so many weird analogies or metaphors, I mean, WOW! Eddie the momma’s boy, Stan the Jewish one who’s a bit obscure due to dying early on, Ben the sensible fat one who becomes a main character but sort of doesn’t, Richie the “funny” one (I swear if I had a nickel for every time King writes “they laughed” when absolutely nothing funny happened, I’d be very very rich), Bill the shameless heroic author insert who couldn’t be more of a textbook definition of Marty Stu if he tried, and Boobs, who will get her own paragraph in this rant. Mike is the one who actually gets off the best, I did like his first-person interludes, how they build his investigative and questioning nature and what they did to the overall story.
Which brings me to the structure: I don’t mind time-jumps nor changing perspectives, I actually love them if done well, and they’re not TERRIBLE here (they do make sense for the message), but King way too often feels the need to interrupt a scene at a suspenseful point only to retell most of it when he gets back to the scene. Most of the side characters suffer from that, foremost Henry Bowers and Tom. It gives the story this episodical feel “He ran. He made it out. This time. IT would get him soon.” DUN DUN DUUUUUN and when we cut back he’s running again!
This works once, twice or even thrice but gets SO TIRING if done every.other.chapter! This is a problem I have with many long fanfictions, where it actually does make sense, since the author publishes the chapters separately and tries to keep the reader engaged, yet I STILL don’t like it. And in a published book?! @clickthefrog mentioned that there’s a good chance that King wrote this super high on a plethora of drugs and OOHHHH YEAH, I can totally see that happening, but I wonder if his editor was sitting next to him and doing lines from the same damned pile of coke.
Someone really needed to go over this and cut it down to its essentials. Which aren’t bad, I did like the monster, I did like IT, the whole idea of Derry just being infested by it was great, some of the horror elements are genuinely disturbing and I GET the fascination with Pennywise and the other manifestations. Not all of IT makes sense imho but not everything in horror has to and those scenes were perfectly fine. But they make up like 10% of the book!!
The rest is Beverly’s tits.
Jesus HOLY-OBJECTIFICATION-BATMAN-MOTHERFUCKER! I am NOT exaggerating when I say that every time the focus shifts to her, there’s a remark on how hot she is. Which I MAYBE would be ok with when she is an adult, but it happens to the 11-year-old girl as well! If I had a nickel for every time her “small breasts” or naked skin or seductive red hair is mentioned and how the boys want to touch her, I’d be even richer. I mean, there is adoration and growing sexual obsession through the eyes of PRE-TEEN boys, and there is creepy as fuck objectification through the eyes of the author.
And yeah, I bet you’ve all heard of that scene… Look, I don’t mind fucked-up things in fiction, I’ve read things way worse than what happens here but context and build-up freaking matter. I cannot shake the feeling that King delights in and gets-off on putting Beverly though sexualised,violent shit, what happens with her father, her husband, Jesus Christ, that terrible sex scene with Bill (he makes her cum twice with the thrusts of his mighty penis… two good things came out of this: James and Jessica getting it on for my viewing pleasure and the knowledge that I, a fucking foreigner with limited English skills, can write better sex scenes than a best-selling American author. GO ME!!) and it’s all fine, it’s a horror story, we all love putting our favourite characters through terrible and humiliating things sometimes, I get it, we cool.
But after these scenes that clearly establish that King has a thing for Beverly, that 11-year old girl makes five of her male friends fuck her because… she loves them and that will build a connection? Uhmmm? What the fuck?! I get that she’s fucked-up because of her father, but the way it’s written, the obsession with the non-working baby dicks and how she feels pleasure and cums when Ben shoves in his grown-man thing… Whow! Gross! Ew ew ew, this is wrong and it would be wrong if it was written well too.
Anyway, gross child sex scenes aside, if you couldn’t tell yet: I’m pissed I paid for this book (they only had the German version in the Open Book Case) and I’m pissed that even more people will pay for it.
A friend of mine has that theory that as soon as a book makes it to the piles at the front of an airport book shop, the author is set for life. People see it when they’re bored, they recognise the title, so they buy it and read bits of it. These are people who usually do not read much, so they have no comparisons, they often don’t even finish the book but they remember that they’ve had it in hand so they talk about it. These books sell, they make a movie, even more people know of the title and buy it because they recognise it but who knows how many of them actually read it; it absolutely doesn’t matter how bad the book is, it keeps on selling. That’s my theory with IT because there is no fucking other explanation why this got so successful.
The movies definitely helped, I haven’t watched either movie yet (parts of the old one on TV, but never the full movie), I most likely will before IT2 comes out, they’re supposedly not as unintentionally creepy or borderline paedo pornographic as the book, so I’ll give them a try. Not gonna pay for them though, nope, not a chance. :P
#widge reads books#read in English#not gonna tag that because I will lose enough followers with this already xD#totally can see why James accepted this though#everything where he can wade through a ton of sticky gore and look like he'd jumped into a blender#there is a long sweary rant under the cut#fair warning
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The Mystery of the Glorious Adventure: A Wadlow Sibling Fan-Fic (part 1/2)
a new senpai fic! this one took 5 days to write (august 14th to august 19th) and it was fun to write. enjoy! :D
senpai loves reading his new book, but his siblings don’t agree. when his book goes missing, he decides to crack the case and figure out who took it!
Robert Wadlow smiled as he placidly turned the page of his book. He was reading a novel by Richard Hailburton, his favorite author. Hailburton wrote stories about his travels overseas, one of which wasn’t even his own.
The book Robert was reading now was called ‘The Glorious Adventure’, which showed Hailburton taking the same path that Ulysses took around the Mediterranean Sea in ‘The Odyssey’. Robert greatly preferred Hailburton’s other adventures, but he didn’t mind reading one about the ancient Greek hero. It was nice to have a different point of view for a change.
As Robert read his book in content, he heard a knock on his doorway and looked up to see Helen standing there.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said. “Mom called for you three times.”
“...Oh. I guess the third time’s not a charm, huh?” Robert asked with a chuckle. “Sorry about that. I was so caught up in my book that I didn’t hear her, I guess.”
“Which book is it?”
“‘Glorious Adventure’. It’s by Richard Hailburton. You might like it.”
“Huh,” Helen nodded in thought. “Maybe I’ll read it later.”
She walked away and Robert soon followed. He got up from his bed and left his book behind.
...
Half an hour later, Robert returned to his room. He ducked through the doorway and frowned.
His book was gone.
“I thought I put it here...” his voice trailed off as he touched the bedsheets.
He slowly crouched down and lifted the covers. Through the slight darkness, he saw the familiar yellow cover peeking out.
“There!” Robert smiled as he grabbed the book and put it on his bed. “I should probably leave it on the table next time.”
He lay down in bed and flipped to the page he had dog-eared before continuing to read.
...
“Hey, Robert,” Eugene called. “Junior wants...”
He stopped a few feet away from Robert’s chair, instantly noticing that his brother was absorbed in his book.
“You’re reading that again?”
Robert looked up. “Of course.”
“But you read it yesterday.”
“So?”
“You should read a different book. You know, to get some variety in there.”
“I will once I’ve finished this one.”
“But you read that a couple weeks ago.”
“And?”
“And you should read something else!”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should read something else. Or anything at all, for that matter,” He put his book down. “What do you want?”
“Junior wants to go get ice cream at Block’s.”
Harold Jr. toddled into the room. “Will you take me, Big Brother?”
“Of course I will.” Robert said with a smile, getting up from his chair.
“I want to go too!” Betty exclaimed as she came out from the kitchen. “Where are we going?”
“You’re going to Block’s,” Eugene replied. “And I’m staying here.”
“You don’t want some ice cream?”
Eugene shook his head. “Save me some if you want.”
As Robert, Harold Jr. and Betty went out the front door, Eugene looked at the book in Robert’s hand, which almost couldn’t be seen.
“He really likes that book of his, doesn’t he?” Eugene asked himself with a sigh.
...
Robert glanced up from his book, viewing the Alton sidewalk in front of him for a moment before returning to Ulysses in the Mediterranean.
“Can you see the road okay?” Betty asked.
Robert nodded, not looking up from his book. “Yeah.”
He almost tripped and grabbed tightly onto Betty’s shoulder.
“Are you sure about that?”
Robert regained his balance, sighing as he let go of his little sister. “I guess not.”
“You should probably take that back home. You wouldn’t want to trip again.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Robert said as he began to turn around. “I’ll go back-”
Harold Jr. gave Robert’s pants a tug. “Stay, Big Brother!”
“I’ll take it back for you,” Betty offered. “That way you can stay with Harold Jr.”
Robert smiled. “I’d like that.”
“And I would, too!” Harold Jr. added cheerfully.
Betty smiled and jumped up, taking the book out of Robert’s hands. “What’s this book about, anyways?”
“It’s about Richard Hailburton- that’s the author- following the path that Ulysses took.”
“Who’s that?” Harold Jr. wanted to know.
“Odysseus from ‘The Odyssey’. It’s a story from Ancient Greece.”
“Where’s that?”
“A far away place in a really far away time. The book came out nine or ten years ago, but I only just heard about it last month. It’s really good.”
“Is it so good that you want to walk around while reading it?” Betty asked with a knowing smile.
“I suppose it is,” Robert responded with a smile of his own. “We’ll meet you at Block’s, alright?”
“Alright!” Betty nodded before running off with Robert’s book in tow.
...
“One giant double dip cone, please.” Robert said.
The girl behind the counter nodded, her eyes widening slightly. “T-That’ll be five cents.”
As Robert gave the girl a nickel, the door jingled open. Betty walked in with a smile.
“You’re just in time,” Robert told her. “What do you want?”
“A single scoop of strawberry!” Betty replied.
Robert turned to the girl. “And that’ll be...”
“Three cents.” the girl responded with a dazed nod.
Robert gave her three pennies and she slid them towards her, not keeping her eyes off of Robert. One of the pennies fell, causing her to finally break her focus away from the giant.
As she bent down to search for the penny, Robert found a table to sit at. He helped Harold Jr. into the chair before sitting down himself.
“What did you order?” Betty wanted to know.
“A giant double dip cone.” Robert replied
Betty giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your order. A giant double dip. It’s just like you!”
Robert couldn’t help but chuckle. “I guess it is, huh?”
The ice cream arrived a minute later.
“One single scoop of strawberry,” The girl handed Betty her cone. “And one... giant double dip.”
Robert smiled as he gently took the cone. “Thank you.”
The girl gave another dazed nod. “...Uh-huh.”
After she left, Betty looked at Robert’s ice cream.
“Huh. It might sound like you, but doesn’t really look like you.”
“You mean I’m not two scoops of chocolate?” Robert asked with a smile, causing him to chuckle and Betty to giggle.
“You sure are sometimes. You have a scoop every night after dinner.”
“What can I say? It’s in my blood.”
“Is it really?” Harold Jr. asked.
“No, but I wish it was.”
For the next few minutes, Robert and Betty had their ice cream. Harold Jr. shared from both of them, but preferred having Robert’s.
“What are you going to do once we get back home?” Betty asked.
“Probably get back to reading.” Robert replied before taking a bite of ice cream.
“Maybe you should take a break from it. You’ve been reading an awful lot lately.”
Robert nodded. “I suppose I will.”
“But first...” Harold Jr. spoke up. “More ice cream!”
...
Robert, Betty and Harold Jr. arrived home after all the ice cream had been finished. Instead of reading, Robert chose to listen to the radio. He sewed while enjoying his favorite program and stopped as the show ended. His fingers were beginning to cramp, so he decided to set his sewing down for a while.
It’s been quite a while since we got home, Robert figured. Maybe I should sneak in a chapter or two of ‘Glorious Adventure’. I’m sure that wouldn’t hurt.
After switching off the radio, Robert went to his room. He was about to duck through the doorway when he remembered something. He knocked on Helen and Betty’s bedroom door, smiling at the sweet music that floated past the door. It stopped after a moment and Betty opened the door.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“I just wanted to ask you something.” Robert said.
“Well, ask away!”
Robert looked at Helen. “Before I do, I just want to say that your violin playing was very beautiful.”
Helen blushed slightly. “Thanks. And it’s a viola.”
“Right. A viola.”
“What did you want to ask me?” Betty asked.
Robert smiled. “I was wondering where my book went. You know, the-”
“That stupid book by the traveling guy?” Eugene asked, poking his head out from his and Harold Jr’s room.
“It’s not stupid,” Robert told him with a frown. “And his name is Richard Hailburton, not ‘traveling guy’.”
“Richard Hallburton, traveling guy, it’s the same thing.”
Robert rolled his eyes and turned to Betty “Where’s the book?”
“I put it in your bookshelf,” Betty replied. “It’s in the top somewhere.”
Robert nodded before ducking into his room. He frowned when he saw the top of his bookshelf.
“What the- she said it was here!” Robert exclaimed.
He searched through the rest of his shelf, but the book wasn’t there. Robert frowned and looked everywhere in his room, from under the bed to in his closet to even behind his photographs on the wall. The book was nowhere to be found.
And now it was up to Robert to find it.
...
An hour later, Robert had looked through the entire house and the book hadn’t shown up. He sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh.
“What’s wrong, Big Brother?” Harold Jr. asked.
Robert smiled and picked his little brother up, setting him in his lap. “I can’t find my book.”
“Oh. Where is it?”
‘That’s just it. I’ve looked everywhere and it’s nowhere!”
“Maybe you can look there.”
Robert chuckled. “I think I’ve already looked there.”
“Hmm...” Harold Jr. looked down at his lap before looking up at Robert. “Maybe you can go to the magic book place.” he suggested, referring to the library.
“Maybe I can. Would you like to go?”
Harold Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah!”
“Then I guess that’s what we’ll do.”
...
Robert held his library card behind a copy of ‘The Glorious Adventure’. It was a little worn and didn’t have any dog-eared pages, but it was better than not being able to read it.
After reading a chapter and a half, he put his book down and checked the clock on his bedside table. It was almost time for dinner, so he decided to stop reading.
Robert was about to take his library card out when he heard footsteps from down the hall. He hurriedly shoved the book under his pillow before seeing Betty skip by the doorway.
“Dinner’s ready!” she told him with a smile.
“I’ll be right there.” Robert said.
Betty nodded and walked away, leaving Robert alone. Once he knew she was gone, he peeked underneath his pillow to check on the book. He had let the other book get away, but he wasn’t about to let this one vanish into the night.
...
A few hours later, Robert had gone to bed and was fast asleep.
But a sudden sound caused him to become wide awake.
He put on his glasses and sat up in bed. Looking through the darkness, he saw that one of his leg braces has fallen on the floor.
That’s funny, he thought. They usually stay up pretty well.
As Robert picked up the sturdy iron brace, another thing caught his eye. One of the drawers on his bedside table was cracked open. He opened it and gasped slightly.
The library book was gone.
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Cynics in the Dark, Chapter 1 - (Bianca/Violet) - BeautifulMistake
Summary: They were both too cynical to let it go anywhere. But he made her laugh. And she made him sweat. An alternate universe romance fic with some genderfuck elements. Featuring Bianca Del Rio/Roy Haylock as a non-drag comedian and Violet Chachki as a transwoman from a powerful society family in New York. Rated T for now, but eventually M. Chapter 1: Trill
He was on a weird gig when he met her. He’d been hired to MC a big fundraiser gala, some shindig for rich Manhattan liberals to get drunk and take each other’s money. Society types weren’t his usual crowd at all, but his name had started getting out there at that point, and he guessed those white yuppies liked the optics of themselves being photographed laughing at some slightly downtown Latino comic. Plus the money was good, better than most gigs he was called for, that was certain. So his crowd or not, he rented the tuxedo, checked his teeth were pretty, and put on a show for the ladies who lunched and the fat cats who bought the martinis.
He worked hard for this one, toning down his usual rapid-fire insult shtick, but not so much he didn’t sound like the guy they’d hired. He actually did research, first time he’d had to do that in a while. Figuring out what their bag was let him know just the right way to skewer it without taking things too far. Roy was no dummy, so he wasn’t about to sound like one. Folks like that liked to think of themselves as able to take a few lumps, but take it too far, and they’d turn on you in the time it took to flip the nickel to the help. It was a fine line to walk, but he nailed it, poking fun where he thought they wouldn’t mind, saving most of his real zingers for their Republican opponents, who they were clearly superior to because they hired their illegals to work indoors too. He was getting real feedback, good-sized laughs even from stiffs likes these, and but more and more as the night went on, he found himself holding out for the sound of one laugh in particular.
It was very distinctive, difficult for him to describe. He didn’t catch it often, usually only when he pushed his luck a bit and threw something out with real teeth. But he found himself starting to listen for it, a sort of high, light trilling almost like the song of a bird. Kind of weird, kind of pretty. In normal circumstances it was the sort he might have made fun of, but the fact that he was able to pull it out so rarely made him hang on it. He found himself starting to play to it, work harder for it, and every time that weird little bird laugh rang out, he counted it as a victory.
At the end of the night, when the monkey suit was off and the monkey had danced his last, he dutifully reported to the front office for the other half of his check. But instead of the frowning, pantsuited lipstick lesbian who hired him, there was another girl, dark hair, flashy dress, sitting on the desk there waiting for him. He had a vague memory of spotting her in the crowd, which meant she was a guest there, some relation or arm candy or paid escort to the political luminaries. And since somebody’s girl for the night probably wouldn’t be paying him, he wagered she was hooked up but good.
Hot girl, at least by some standards. Her face was beat for the gods, in the way some girls used it by the trowelful to make it look like they weren’t wearing anything at all. It would have fooled most dudes, but with his line of work he’d learned to clock it even in this light. Amid her glittery bath towel of a cocktail dress, she was all long, gawky limbs and pale skin, jutting with sharp bones. Not his type, he liked a little more meat on a girl, but something about her all the same. Like a model from the 90s or a rock star, back when they were all on heroin.
Leaving behind the shtick for a minute, he accepted the check mildly. “Thank you. Enjoy the show?” he asked, more out of politeness than anything.
Those exquisitely painted lips quirked. “Not as much as I expected. I thought you were really going to let us have it.”
Roy didn’t miss a beat. “Well, in that case, honey, your dress is ugly.”
And there it was, that birdsong laugh.
#bianca del rio#violet chachki#bianca x violet#romance#angst#beautifulmistake#cynics in the dark#rpdr fanfiction#submission#m/f au#trans character
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