#jesus when did I end up with NINE PLANTS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sidekick-hero · 1 year

Text

Lay all your love on me

This is for Alice (@yournowheregirl), who had this wonderful idea of Eddie taking care of a sad Steve. I tried to make it as soft and loving as possible and I really hope you like it!

Happy Valentine's Day, my dear 💜

(steddie | explicit | 4.6k | AO3 Link)

Valentine's Day used to be something Steve loved.

Back in the old days, when he had ruled the halls of Hawkins High and all the pretty girls had hoped to be his sweetheart for that day, to find a card from the Steve Harrington in their locker, Valentine’s Day had been his favorite day of the year.

With Nancy, it had also been a pretty great day. He had learned that she liked the ballet, so on their second Valentine's Day together, he had taken her to Indy to see a performance of the local ballet, and even though it hadn't been his thing, the look on her face had been the best gift she could have given him. That and the amazing blowjob in his car when they had parked in a cornfield on the way back to watch the stars.

Halloween '84 had changed all that. After that fateful party, Valentine's Day had become as much bullshit as the rest of his love life. The breakup had not only made him miserable, it had made him doubt everything he thought he knew about himself.

The next Valentine's Day he had spent getting drunk at some stupid party and sleeping with a girl he didn't even know the name of. Not his proudest day, but misery loves company, and he vaguely remembered her telling him she had been dumped the same day. They had both been looking for a meaningless distraction.

February '86 saw Steve Harrington pulling babes again. Only none of them meant anything. He went through the motions; card, chocolate, roses - the whole nine yards. But his heart wasn't in it. Lisa - or was it Lucy? - had giggled and planted a kiss on his cheek when he showed up at her house. At the movies, they had sat in the back to make out and she had jerked him off while muffling his moans with her clever tongue in his mouth. It had been nice.

She hadn't returned his calls the next day.

In ’87 his life had changed once again. The near end of the world had put things into perspective for him. It had made him realize that it wasn’t meaningless dating he wanted but a partner. Someone to love and cherish. Someone who would love and cherish him in return. Someone who made him want to be better, who challenged him and supported him. Someone who was in it for him, Steve, and not for his reputation or his looks or the money he no longer had.

For one hot minute he had convinced himself that someone was Nancy, that she was still it for him. But that was as much bullshit as it had been in ‘84. Nancy and him, they had their chance, and it did not work out for a reason. He wanted to settle down, she wanted to make it big. Live her dreams and be the strong, fearless, and passionate journalist she deserved to be.

So when Dustin calls him at an unholy hour on the morning of February 14, '87, he picks up on the sixth ring and grumbles, "What the hell?”

"Steve, that's no way to answer the phone." Dustin sounds indignant, the condescending little shit.

"That's how I answer my own goddamn phone when someone calls me on a Saturday before the sun comes up, Henderson."

Dustin remains silent on the other end of the line, and Steve can hear his raised eyebrow. It's a showdown, a battle of wills that Steve will not lose. Not to a goddamn 15-year-old.

The silence holds.

And holds.

"Harrington residence, Steve speaking." He grunts through clenched teeth. It's too early for this shit.

Dustin doesn't even try to hide the smugness in his voice. "Steve, I need you to drive me and El to the miniature golf course this afternoon."

"I have to what now?"

"Aren't you listening? Jesus Christ, Steve." The little bastard is spending too much time with a certain metalhead, Steve thinks. "Me and El have a Valentine's Day date at the miniature golf course this afternoon." The Duh at the end is clear in his tone.

"No, I get that, although how a nice girl like El would want to spend Valentine's Day with someone who can't even say please or thank you is beyond me."

"Oi!"

"But I don't see why I should be the one to drive you. Can't Hopper drive you?" Steve knows that Hopper would love any reason to spy on the boy dating his daughter.

Apparently Dustin does too. "Steeeeeve." He whines. "Come on, man. You know how Hopper is. This won't be a date, but a stakeout followed by the most awkward interrogation ever." When Steve says nothing, Dustin adds, "Don't you want us to be happy, Steve? After all we've been through, don't you think we deserve some happiness, some normalcy?"

Steve folded up like a house of cards.

"Fine. You win. Goddamn it. I'll drive you and El to your date. Happy?"

"Thanks, Steve, I knew I could count on you. Can you pick up Will, Mike, Max and Lucas on the way?"

"Yeah, yeah - WHAT?" He must have heard wrong.

"Oh yeah, Mike and Will want to go to the movies for Valentine's Day, 'cause that's not so obvious, you know? And Max and Lucas are going to the arcade. That's where it all started for them, and the last few years have been really hard on them - "

Steve needs to stop being such a goddamn pushover for these kids, he really does.

"Okay, Henderson, I get it. I'll pick them up." Steve cuts off the tear-jerking monologue. He hears Dustin's enthusiastic 'Awesome' and his own 'Always the goddamn babysitter' comes out fond instead of annoyed. He's so whipped by these kids.

And that's why Steve spends most of his day driving a bunch of 15-year-olds around. And Robin, who calls him just as he's about to leave the house to ask if he can give her a ride to Vicky's. It's her first time spending the night there.

It seems that everyone has a date for Valentine's Day. Everyone except Steve, which makes him the perfect designated driver.

The icing on the cake is that even Keith has managed to get a date, so after dropping Max and Lucas off at the arcade, he heads over to Family Video for his late shift.

Here he has to advise couples on the most romantic movies, help guys find something sweet and plotless enough to make out with without missing too much, or point some girls in the direction of romantic comedies they can watch over ice cream while dreaming of their Prince Charming sweeping them off their feet.

When he finally drags his tired body to his car, it's already 10:30 pm. His feet hurt, his head hurts, and worst of all, there's a heavy weight on his chest and a queasy feeling in his stomach that he can't really explain. He just feels... sad.

Nothing happened. Everyone was fine, even happy. So why is he feeling so sad?

Steve decides to just go home, have a generous helping of the expensive scotch his father hides in his office, and go straight to bed. Tomorrow the sadness will be gone and he will be back to his normal self.

When he gets home, there is another car parked in the driveway. For a horrible second, he thinks it's his parents, but then he recognizes the beat-up van, and he smiles for the first time all day.

Eddie is sitting on his front steps, a six-pack of beer next to him and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. The front light comes on as Steve approaches and the light makes him look unreal, like some kind of appearance straight from heaven.

He looks up and his eyes light up as they fall on Steve. The smile Eddie gives him is a bright and happy thing, even his dimples seem to be so happy to see Steve that they have to come out to say hello. The heaviness in Steve's chest doesn't go away, but it feels a little lighter than it did back in the car.

Eddie gets up and starts walking toward him as Steve comes closer, drawn together like magnets. They stand close, almost touching, when Steve asks, "Eddie, what are you doing here?" He wishes he didn't sound so breathless.

"I figured you'd probably be home, so I came to hang out."

"Oh, great, so you assumed I didn't have a date on Valentine's Day? Jesus, thanks for the vote of confidence. I didn't know I was that pathetic."

The queasy feeling in his stomach is back and it turns his insides sour, the crushing heaviness adding to the sensation. He knows in a distant way that he is being unfair, that Eddie didn't mean anything by it. But it hurts. He hurts.

Steve's sudden outburst catches Eddie off guard. His body swings back, away from Steve, and his doe eyes look even bigger as they scan Steve's face. Steve hates that Eddie almost looks scared for a second. He hates that Eddie thinks, even for a moment, that Steve might hurt him.

"Eddie, I..." his voice breaks, unable to articulate what he barely understands himself.

But it is enough for Eddie to understand. His face softens and he moves back into Steve's space.

"No, I guess I was just hoping you didn't have a date so we could both be single together today and spit in the face of this capitalist holiday."

Steve can't help but roll his eyes at Eddie's dramatic antics. Eddie smiles at him, a gentle thing, and his hand slowly rises to Steve's face before Eddie realizes what he's doing and lets it fall back down.

"Are you okay, Stevie? You don't seem, I don't know, yourself." Eddie tilts his head to the side. "Did something happen, sweetheart?"

It's the goddamn sweetheart that does it. Steve's whole face crumbles and before he even knows what's happening, tears fill his eyes and make his vision swim. He tries to swallow the feeling down, to get himself back under control.

He loses the fight against himself and the first tears start to spill down his cheeks.

"Oh, hey, shit, Stevie. Sweetheart. What's wrong?"

Eddie swoops in and takes him in his arms, as naturally as breathing. Like they do it every day.

Steve tries to speak but can't. He wouldn't even know what to say if he could, so he just pushes further into Eddie and shakes his head where it's pressed against Eddie's chest.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me. But how about we go inside, huh?" Eddie's arms are still around him and he speaks the words directly into Steve's ear.

Steve nods against his chest but doesn't move. Eddie chuckles, the sound vibrating through Steve's body where it's still pressed against Eddie's. Future Steve will be so embarrassed by his behavior.

Steve jumps when he feels Eddie's hand pat his ass.

"Sorry, I was just -" now the hand wanders to his front "trying to find your -" and the hand dips into his front pocket where it closes around his house keys "aha!"

The keys jangle as Eddie opens his front door and Steve takes a shuddering breath. He's not sure if he's glad or disappointed that Eddie didn't try his other pocket first.

They make their way inside and Eddie leads him to the couch in the living room where Steve sits down with a heavy sigh. His eyes had closed on their own, and when he opens them again, Eddie is hovering over him, his eyes soft but his eyebrows knitted in worry.

Steve tries to smile up at him, to tell him it's all right, wants to say sorry, man, not the Saturday night you had in mind, huh? but he can't. He fucking can't. Instead, he asks, "Can you stay?"

Eddie can. Eddie does.

He sinks down on the couch next to Steve, thighs pressed together, shoulders touching. They just sit there, breathing, for several minutes.

"Today just - sucked. I don't know. I just, I - fuck." Eddie looks at him, Steve can feel his eyes on him, but he doesn't say anything, lets Steve find his words.

"I don't want to feel like this, man. Like - " Steve sighs, searching for words. "Like I'm alone." He holds up his hand before Eddie can speak. "I know I'm not. I do. I know I have Robin, the kids. But they all have someone, you know? Someone special. Someone they want around because they love them, because every day is better with them in it. Not because they can do anything for them. Just because they are - they are their person".

Steve looks at Eddie with so much longing in his heart that it threatens to drown him. "I want to be someone's person."

When Eddie doesn't say anything, just looks at him with big eyes, Steve lowers his eyes again and looks at their knees instead. "Sorry, I don't want to be such a bummer, you can go if -"

The hand on his cheek stops him.

"Steve Harrington, you already are someone's person. You have been for months."

Eddie leans in, leans his forehead against Steve's and looks him in the eyes as he says, "I came here hoping you wouldn't have a date so I could feel like I was your Valentine's date. And you can punch me in the face for that if it means you stop looking so fucking heartbroken. But Steve. You are my person, okay? My favorite days are the days I get to see you, even if it's just so you can bitch at me about one of the kids. I want you around all the time. Some mornings I have to force myself to do stupid things like clean my room or take a fucking walk so I'm not standing on your doorstep at the crack of dawn."

Steve can't help but chuckle at the sound of indignation in Eddie's voice when he says clean my room, like it's the worst chore in the world. Eddie smiles at his reaction.

"I want to hear your laugh more than I want to hear Metallica live. I know it's not much. But you are my person and you will never be alone.

Steve is in Eddie's lap before Eddie can even close his mouth.

"Say it again. Eddie, please. Say it again." Steve almost begs, his lips inches from Eddie's.

"You, Steve Harrington, are my person."

Their first kiss is sweet. Sweeter than Steve would have expected, if he had ever allowed himself to think about it. He jumps right in, wants to show Eddie what his words mean to him, but Eddie immediately slows them down. He makes their kisses small and soft, just lips against lips, and Steve swears he could die from the sweetness of it all.

But at some point their kisses begin to grow longer and longer each time their mouths meet. They also become deeper as Steve slides his tongue between Eddie's supple lips. Steve has never kissed a guy before and he expects it to feel different. And it does, a little. There's stubble on Eddie's cheek where Steve's hand is cupping it, and there aren't soft breasts pressed against his chest, but another hard, muscular chest. But so many things are the same. Eddie lets him take control and there are little gasps and soft moans coming out of their mouths as they hold each other.

It's only when Steve begins to rock against Eddie in his lap that Eddie pulls away. Steve chases his lips, desperate for them to continue, addicted to the feeling of Eddie.

"Steve - Stevie, hey, baby, stop for a minute." Steve does, not sure what's wrong. Eddie cups his cheek, where not long ago tears had made their way across his skin. "Are you - is this okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Honey, you were so upset just a few minutes ago. I don't know, I just don't want to take advantage of you. I don't want you regretting this tomorrow."

Steve is pretty sure that Eddie is his person too.

"It's more than okay. This feels so good, Eddie." As if to prove his point, Steve rocks against him again to let Eddie feel how good it feels for Steve.

"Okay, okay, I get it. You want me to make you feel even better, baby?"

Steve wants. Oh, how he wants.

He doesn't answer, just dives right back in and crashes their lips together. What started out sweet and tender turns messy and desperate in seconds. It's as if Eddie has unleashed some kind of hungry beast in Steve's chest.

He bites Eddie's lower lip and enjoys the feeling of Eddie's hips thrusting up in response. Eddie's hands roam his body, never able to stay still for long. The metal of his rings feels warmer than Steve expected, like an extension of Eddie's thick fingers on his skin.

A high-pitched whimper falls from his mouth as Eddie's thumb finds his nipple and strokes over it, again and again. His shirt is in the way, restricting the movement of Eddie's hands, so he pulls his hands from where they are buried in Eddie's hair to pull the shirt off his body.

Eddie's mouth catches his nipple before Steve can dive back in for another kiss.

"Shit. Fuck. Eddie." Steve's hands find their way back into Eddie's hair, unable to do much more than hold on for the ride. The heavy feeling in his chest is forgotten. All Steve feels is heat and desire and some undefined thing starting to bloom where the heaviness used to be.

He's lost in the sensation that is Eddie, all around him. His smell, his skin, his fucking mouth. Suddenly there are teeth scraping over his already abused nipple and Steve almost loses it and comes in his pants like an inexperienced freshman. Jesus Christ.

Steve feels Eddie's smug smile against his skin. He wants nothing more than to feel more of him, to feel everything, so he reaches for Eddie's fly with only slightly trembling hands. He has already undone the button and is about to pull the zipper down when Eddie's hands close over his. Eddie's sinful mouth has left Steve's nipple to say something, and Steve shudders at the sudden coldness he feels on his spit-slick skin.

"Sweetheart, slow down. Let me make you feel good, okay? No need to reciprocate. I just want to take care of you."

Steve melts at the sentiment behind those words, and his heart soars at the knowledge that, for once, someone wants to take care of him, not the other way around. But if Eddie thinks this will make Steve want to devour him less, he must not know Steve at all. Instead of slowing down, he slaps Eddie's hands away and goes for the zipper of his jeans again.

"You make me feel good, Eddie, so good. I wanna make you feel good, too. Wanna feel you." Steve babbles, trying to coordinate his rocking hips and searching hands. There is too much blood going south for him to multitask efficiently.

Eddie growls deep in his chest and grips Steve's wrists tightly. "I said slow down, sweetheart." With that, Eddie puts Steve's hands behind his back, one over the other, and doesn't let go.

"You want to run this show? Go ahead. Take what you need, baby." He leans back against the couch and looks up at Steve with dark, dark eyes.

Steve whines at the loss of contact, at the restriction Eddie has put on his hands, but his face is flushed and his erection is straining against his jeans. He's never done this before, never been exposed like this, his needs and desires laid bare by Eddie's skillful hands and gentle heart.

So Steve takes what he wants, just as Eddie asked.

He slides forward to sit more firmly in Eddie's lap, so he can feel Eddie against him as he begins to rock back and forth more urgently. There's delicious pressure against his dick, but it's not enough. No matter how fast or slow he moves, he can't get anywhere near where he wants to be.

Steve clenches his thighs and presses down on Eddie's firm thighs as he rolls his hips back and forth, moans and groans falling from his lips with increasing desperation. He wants - he needs -

"Eddie, please. Please, it's not enough, I need - " Another breathy whimper.

"What do you need, baby? Tell me. Everything. I'll give you everything."

Eddie is just as affected as he is. His pupils are dilated to twice their normal size, the beautiful brown of his irises swallowed by hungry blackness. His hands tremble where they still grip Steve's behind Steve's back, and Steve squeezes them gently. It calms a part of him to know that he's not alone, that they're in this together. It gives Steve hope that it means something to Eddie, too.

"I need you, Eddie. I don't care, I just want you. I wanna feel good with you."

Before Steve knows what's happening, the hands around his wrists disappear and slide under his ass to where it meets his thighs. Eddie leans forward and brings his lips right up to Steve's. Before he kisses him, deep and dirty, he whispers against them, "Hold on tight, baby."

He barely manages to wrap his hands around Eddie's shoulders before the other man stands and lifts him into his arms. Steve instinctively wraps his legs around Eddie's waist and the hands under his thighs press him tightly against Eddie's body.

Holy. Shit.

They stumble up the stairs and Steve feels Eddie tremble under his weight. He wants to ask him to put him down so he can walk, but his mouth is busy being devoured by Eddie's lips and tongue.

Thank God he left his door open because he doesn't think Eddie would have been able to hold him up and open the damn door. As it is, they tumble inside and towards his unmade bed. Steve is glad that Eddie is too busy to see the plaid monstrosity that is his room. He wants Eddie to have a nice, mind-blowing orgasm before he has to see this.

He expects Eddie to drop him on the bed, maybe even throw him down in another show of strength. Eddie does not.

Instead, he drops to his knees on the bed and lowers Steve onto the mattress with such gentle care that Steve almost forgets why they're here. He's still hard and aching in his jeans, but the burning need has subsided for now. He lifts his hand to Eddie's cheek, cupping it gently as he looks deep into the soft chocolate button eyes.

"Hi," he whispers.

Eddie leans down and nudges Steve's nose with his own.

"Hi," he replies, smiling down at Steve.

Their next kiss starts out sweet - lips sliding against each other, little nips and kitten licks, but soon the fire between them is rekindled. Eddie is still kneeling between Steve's spread legs, and as he leans back to look down at Steve, his hands find their way to Steve's jean-clad thighs.

"Let me take these off you, yeah?" Steve nods and watches with rapt attention as Eddie slowly undresses him. "So goddamn pretty, Stevie. You're gorgeous, inside and out."

His cheeks are burning and he's afraid that the tears that are starting to gather in his eyes will fall if he doesn't do something. He grabs Eddie's left hand, stroking his hipbone, and pulls him closer so he can kiss him. "You too." He tugs at Eddie's shirt to show what he means. He still means both.

Eddie removes his own clothes with efficiency, and Steve thinks that next time he'll take his time to uncover and appreciate every inch of Eddie's body.

Soon they're both naked, Steve on his back with his head on the pillow and Eddie still between his legs. They drink each other in and Eddie leans down to plant a soft kiss on Steve's lips. He seems to be waiting for something, but Steve doesn't know what.

"Eddie, tell me what to do, what do you want?"

"Baby, you don't have to do anything, okay? Let me do all the work for once. I want to." He chuckles at Steve's puzzled look. "I really do. I want to make you feel good. I want to see you fall apart at my hands and I want to put you back together again. If you let me." He gently bites Steve's jaw. "Please say you'll let me." Another bite at his throat, just as soft. "Please, baby, let me make you feel good."

Steve squirms on his sheets, his hips jerking in a futile search for friction.

"Yes, anything. Please. Anything. I want you to."

After that there is no need to speak. There are sounds from Steve's lips and showers of dirty praise from Eddie's, but both know what they want, what they need. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, soft protrusions and sharp edges fitting just so.

Eddie takes his time, kissing and licking every inch of golden skin he can reach. When he bites, it's soft, affectionate. It still leaves marks and Steve welcomes each one because they mean this is real, this is happening.

Steve lets Eddie do what he wants to him, pliable and so responsive to every touch, to every word of worship and praise, that Eddie kisses against his skin. He never knew it could be like this, never felt so completely loved and cared for. It seems like days go by as Eddie worships every single part of him.

When Eddie finally takes him in his mouth, Steve thrashes against him, overwhelmed by the sensation. He's on edge for what feels like hours, gripping himself tightly at the base to hold back his orgasm.

He's still in Eddie's mouth and Eddie has the audacity to smile up at him through long lashes, his lips stretched wide around Steve's girth, winking at him. Steve's groan is almost painful. He has to look away or not even his hand will stop him from spilling his release into Eddie's cocky mouth.

Not to be deterred in the least, Eddie begins to suck on the head as if it were his favorite lollipop. His tongue swirls around the head and dips into the slit before his mouth sinks down on him in one swift motion.

"Fuck, Eddie. Jesus Christ."

The throaty chuckle is what does him in. Before he knows what's happening, before he can even think of stopping it, he comes down Eddie's throat in hot, messy spurts.

"Shit! No, no, no, no. Fuck. I'm so sorry, Eddie, oh God, I don't know what happened, I didn't mean - "

Eddie silences him with a soft kiss, lips slick with Steve's release. He strokes Steve's cheek and smiles down at him with a blissful expression on his face. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen, baby."

"But. It was so fast. You didn't."

"To see you lose it like that, baby. To see you writhing and moaning and being so overwhelmed with pleasure that you can't help but come? Steve, sweetheart, that was better than any orgasm I ever had. I wish I could have recorded it, I'm afraid no memory will do it justice."

Steve looks at Eddie, sees the genuine joy on his pretty face, the warmth and affection in his big brown eyes, and wants to believe him. Wants to believe that he didn't have to do anything to deserve it. But it's hard.

"What about you?"

"Nothing. It can wait. Right now I really want to hold you and bask in the afterglow for a while. And maybe later we can get something to eat and watch a movie. What do you think?"

Steve thinks he's in love.

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

Thank you @legitcookie for being a wonderful cheerleader and beta while also being sick af. Toughest cookie in the jar 💜

#steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #my writing #stranger things #happy valentine's day #nsft

139 notes · View notes

i-used-to-wear-the-fedora · 1 year

Text

Time in a Bottle, Steddie Fix-it AU

Eddie felt the way the bats dug into his sides and neck. Their teeth tearing at his flesh and ripping it away despite his struggles. The pain that came with it was indescribable as he felt the blood start to flow. It choked him. The teen gurgled as he drowned in his own blood. He tried to get away. Go back to Dustin and celebrate. He remembered the younger boy running over to him. Dustin panicked as he tried to stop the bleeding, but Eddie knew it didn't matter. He was going to die, but at least he'd die a hero.

"I didn't run this time." He remembered smiling as he said this. Coughing one last time as his vision blurred over and the darkness took him. He was dead, but Eddie was okay with that.

"-die! Come on, you're gonna be late for work!"

To Eddie's surprise, his eyes snapped open. His body sat straight up as he gasped for air. The teen flailed for a moment from the shock. Swatting at the air to fend off the swarm of demobats when he paused. He looked around to see he was no longer in the hellish landscape of the upside down, but instead, his bedroom. Eddie blinked away the confusion as his mind struggled to comprehend what was going on, especially since the last thing he remembered was dying a bloody, painful death.

"What the hell?" Eddie mumbled as he untangled himself from his bedsheets and got up. Looking over at the digital clock on his bedside table, Eddie saw it read nine fifty-two. June thirtieth. Eddie shook his head. There was no way the clock was right. And how the hell did he end up back home? A knock on his bedroom door made the teen jump. He quickly turned around to see the door opening as his uncle peered in. A semi annoyed look crossed Wayne's face as he saw the state of his nephew.

"Damn it, Eddie. You have a shift in," the man looked down at his watch, "eight minutes, and you're not even dressed yet? I thought you wanted to keep this job -" Wayne's scolding was cut off by the teen as Eddie practically ran into his uncle. Wrapping his arms around the older man's chest in probably the tightest hug he'd ever given someone. As far as he knew a few seconds ago, he'd never see his uncle's beautiful, grizzly face again. "Whoa, kid, easy there. You're gonna throw out my back again if you're not careful." This prompted Eddie to relent his grip on the man. He started to tear up as he wiped his face, much to his uncle's confusion. "Jesus kid, are you okay?"

"Y-yeah." Eddie barely bit back as he tried not to cry. "I just....just had a nightmare."

"Er, right." Wayne rubbed the back of his head awkwardly as he shuffled his feet. "Well, you get ready for work. I've got to head to the plant soon." Eddie nodded, the relief that flooded his system stopped for a moment as a question rose.

"Hey Wayne? What's the date?"

"June thirtieth."

"No, like the year." Eddie clarified. Wayne raised an eyebrow.

"Nineteen eighty-five." Eighty-five. A year before Vecna. If Vecna was even real. Was any of it real? There was no way he just imagined a whole year and a half of his life. It had all felt real. But...maybe that explained all the weird supernatural shit. It was just a really, really messed up nightmare. "You okay, Ed? Didn't hit your head or anything, did you?"

"No. I was just thinking. Be ready in a second." Wayne nodded as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Eddie ran over to his dresser mirror. The goth half expected to see some horrific vision to let him know he was still living out some strange nightmare. Instead, he was greeted by his normal reflection. No demobat bites or battle wounds. Just, normal Eddie. His hair was a little shorter and upon inspection, he found he didn't have his chest tattoos yet, but it was still him. Alive. He couldn't believe it. Slapping himself a few times revealed it wasn't, in fact, a dream as he could feel the stinging pain in his face. The confusion, the joy, the fear and so many other emotions ran through his mind as he walked over to his closet. Digging through the closet for the Tower Records shirt he remembered throwing away almost a year ago. The mall hadn't burnt down...yet.

'Yet? Come on, Eddie, that was just a dream.' He told himself as he slipped into the uniform, grabbing his lanyard that hung off the door handle with a renewed excitement after having his life flash before his eyes. This was his chance. His year.

#stranger things #fanfiction #stranger things au #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #au #time travel fix it #wayne munson

31 notes · View notes

woodworkingpastor · 2 years

Text

Legacy: What we will leave behind? -- 2 Timothy 3:10-4:8 -- October 16, 2022

Introduction

We finish up today with the sermon series A Big Gospel in a World of Little Things, wrestling with some of the unexpected ways the Gospel shapes our lives and invites us to consider our mission and ministry in a world where the powerful influences of pandemic and partisanship, economy and consumerism, violence and idolatry feel like they are the big things and the Gospel we proclaim is something we try to fit in and among and around those things—when space and time allows. It is absolutely by design that we finish this series with this sermon on Council Meeting Sunday! What a great opportunity to continue this conversation.

The words that have formed the inspiration for these sermons came from worship songs at the Inhabit Conference I attended in late April. The conversations and presentations that took place there were led by church leaders who have realized that the model of congregational life that assumes people come “here” for spiritual nurture, rest, and recovery from our stressful lives and then go out “there” for our jobs, social events, and many good outreach projects isn’t working like it once did. We heard many encouraging stories for people who planted churches in community centers and coffee shops among millennials and homeless people, and who are keenly attentive to the needs and the beauty and the ugliness of their communities. In so many ways, the conference embodied our denomination’s Compelling Vision Statement in magnificent ways:

Together, as the Church of the Brethren, we will passionately live and share the radical transformation and holistic peace of Jesus Christ through relationship-based neighborhood engagement. To move us forward, we will develop a culture of calling and equipping disciples who are innovative, adaptable, and fearless.

Or, as we’re learning to say,

Jesus in the Neighborood.

It is this statement, in conversation with our Scripture text this morning, that brings me to the last “word” in this sermon series: Legacy. What will we leave behind?

Paul’s final instructions

Paul’s second letter to Timothy is likely the last recorded words written by Paul in the New Testament. Nearing the end of his life, he writes to his young protégé, offering a fascinating combination of reflections of the current state of his ministry and his hopes for a future that is fully in Jesus’ hands. He leaves instructions for Timothy to help him navigate congregational leadership in apocalyptic times; meaning, times in which the things that we have come to rely on to provide structure and help us make sense of our world can no longer be relied on. How will we live?

The task, as it turns out, remains the same: we are to make disciples—people whose daily lives and interactions with the world around them are increasingly shaped by the Gospel—and to do this in constant interaction with Scripture. The job will not be easy, and the task will never be done, but it remains the task.

Furthermore, there will be times in our lives when that job is easier and there will be times when that job is harder. To put it into Paul’s terms, we are to “proclaim the message…whether the time is favorable or unfavorable.” Our times are clearly trending in the “unfavorable” direction.

But let’s frame this differently for a moment. Earlier this week I listened to a podcast on the value of Sabbath keeping—this radical, Scriptural idea that we ought to take one day out of every seven and rest. No work! Can we imagine doing that? Most people can’t. The podcast speakers talked about how much easier it used to be to give our Sundays to worship and to rest when all the stores were closed and there weren’t any sports leagues for our children to be involved in. When culture made it possible for Sunday to look just like every other day, people—Christians included—just said, “Sure.”

In his book Canoeing the Mountains, author Tod Bolsinger describes an issue of the Los Angeles Times from December 1963 that includes stories on “the nine-thousand member Hollywood Presbyterian Church, and a list of daily Bible readings for the upcoming week” (p. 12). The point of all of this is that it is easier to follow Jesus when the culture is on your side. As that goes away, our work of making disciples and allowing our lives to be shaped by Scripture becomes more difficult.

The challenge for us is to neither get caught up in nostalgia for the old, favorable days gone by nor to throw a pity party about how everybody is out to get us. We must deal with reality.

If you remember the first Sunday of this sermon series, we heard a Moment for Mission that described Lewis and Clark’s journey to the Pacific Ocean, and how their already difficult job was made even more difficult by the fact that the fundamental assumption of their journey was wrong. Everyone believed that the mountains in the western part of this continent were similar to the mountains in the eastern part of the continent, and that the attempt to find a river route to the Pacific would succeed. Obviously, everyone in the United States government was wrong because no one had yet hiked out there to look, and because of that, the Corps of Discovery faced some unfavorable times. But it was not Lewis and Clark’s fault that what was known about the East was not relevant for exploring the West. It did not mean that they were bad explorers or even were doomed to failure. One of their most significant realizations was that the assumption that “no one knew what the western mountains looked like” was false. There were plenty of people who knew that information—the Native tribes who called the plains and Rocky Mountains home. Lewis and Clark’s legacy was significantly shaped by their willingness to forge new relationships and to learn from people they were used to ignoring.

Similarly, in the sermon on that first Sunday of this series we met the Hebrew midwives whose lives were made more difficult by Pharoah’s instruction to kill baby boys upon their birth. Being a midwife was particularly unfavorable in their circumstances. Again, their difficulties were not their fault; it’s that their circumstances had changed in some difficult ways.

In Paul’s case, what I find fascinating is essentially his pastor’s report. Notice the ways Paul says his ministry circumstances are unfavorable:

The things that happened to me in Antioch, Iconium, and Lystra. He was called to the ministry; embarked on his first missionary journey; threatened with stoning as a heretic in Iconium, and actually stoned in Lystra by people who had come from Iconium figuring if they couldn’t get him in their own town, they’d chase him to the next and get him there.

Wicked people and imposters all around. People actively opposing his work in significant ways.

The reality that people prefer preachers who tell them what they want to hear.

Demas deserted Paul.

Alexander the coppersmith did Paul great harm.

No one supported Paul at his first defense.

But even as he lists these difficulties, Paul also tells all the ways ministry remains favorable:

God rescued him from his persecutions (which are themselves signs of his faithfulness).

Scripture is valuable.

Timothy is pastor in Ephesus and Tychicus is on his way there.

Crescens is in Galatia.

Titus is in Dalmatia.

A crown of righteousness awaits.

Paul’s love for Jesus is not shaped by his present circumstances. Because of that, he can admit that even though everything is not good, everything is OK. Can you imagine such a thing? Are we thinking the same thing about ourselves? Does that language fit? I hope so!

Everything is not good, but everything is OK. Paul has learned from Jesus, the master teacher, to accept the world as it really is. Are there some problems that are proving difficult to deal with? Yes, there are. Are there some amazing things happening through people and congregations who are increasingly learning to love Jesus in their particular communities? Absolutely! Paul loves Jesus so much and has found such truth and power and identity in Jesus calling him to be a missionary that he can live with no illusions on how things are going. Challenges exist. Some times will be less favorable for ministry than others. The difficulties are not an indictment on his character, his ability, or God’s love for him. But neither is a commitment to a tradition an excuse to live in the past. There remains work to be done, and the legacy Paul leaves to Timothy and other church leaders who follow after him is this gift of digging down deep within both the Gospel and our local circumstances to make disciples who are gripped by the vision of the heavenly kingdom and filled with hopeful courage to lead into the future to see that vision become a little more real, a bit more visible than it was when they began.

Our legacy

Deep down, I believe we get this. I’ve been reading the book The Making of a Mystic recently, and in it, the author says when you call people to a “further spiritual journey beyond inspiration and excitement, not everyone is going to tune in” (107). It is one thing for people to go to a concert, or listen to a podcast, or read inspirational devotional literature—different kinds of “mountain top experience”—and get excited about their faith. We absolutely encourage these encounters with Jesus—and we encourage them with our dollars; they are in our budget for a reason, because we know that lives are transformed on the mountaintops.

Brethren also know that spiritual maturity means that what inspires us on the peak sustains us on the path. It’s easy and good to be inspired and excited by a worship service or a revival meeting or an event like NYC or camp or Pilgrimage, and then slip back into the routine of inconsistent spiritual living, until the next event that inspires and excites us.

Not everyone wants to cultivate what Eugene Peterson calls “a long obedience in the same direction” and find spiritual strength in the ongoing, day-to-day, unremarkable aspects of worship and prayer and forgiving and reconciling and loving. But those are the disciplines of the path.

Brethren faith practice at its best shapes us to the longer and more challenging commitment of following Jesus over the long haul. And I believe if there is anyone who has the tools in their toolboxes for rising to the challenges of our current apocalyptic, unfavorable ministry season, then it is us. If anyone ought to have the vocabulary and the theology and the imagination to be able to figure out how to proceed when we realize many of our ministry assumptions have changed, it ought to be Christians! Our very lives are defined by grace and transformation! We are literally not what we once were—

everything old has passed way; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17-18).

So what will be our legacy? That’s what we need to determine. But let me give you a picture:

Imagine it’s the third Sunday of October, 2047—25 years from now. (I looked that up, that will be October 20.) I don’t mean to be morbid, but first ask yourself if you expect to be here in 25 years? None of us are promised tomorrow, so please don’t be too offended by the question! Think about the children and youth who are here today, and imagine that they’re still here in 2047, and they are the deacons, and board chairs, and preachers, and music leaders. What decisions might we make in 2022 that will be celebrated in 2047?

There are a few of you here who might reasonably expect to be here with your children in 25 years. Can you imagine a Sunday dinner when one of your now adult children asks, “How did our church come to make the decisions that brought us here?” Your answer might go something like this: “Let me tell you about 2020—when we had a really encouraging congregational retreat that was followed by a pandemic and some really difficult politics in our nation. When things returned to normal, we realized that much of what we had been so excited about in early 2020 wasn’t working so well, and we came to see we had some decisions to make: we could continue in the pattern and rhythms that had served us so well for so long, or we could recognize that what got us to the first quarter of 2020 was not going to take us into the future. We chose to seek the leading of the Spirit in a new way; to trust God and one another; to risk change; to be a church that would serve the needs of our children and grandchildren, even if we would not be alive to see them. We continue to value the traditions that served us for so many years, but our legacy to you was to learn how to be the church in an “unfavorable” season. We followed the lead of the denomination to prioritize being Jesus in the Neighborhood, and your presence in church is a testimony to that hard work. Our love for Jesus gave us the strength to embrace our moment and give him the glory forever and ever.

Many of us have different ideas and perspectives and thoughts on this matter. We should hear them all. For me, the most pressing question for today is, “How can we be a church where our children and grandchildren find faith?”

0 notes

toastedkiwi · 3 years

Text

Professor

Summary: newly transferred to your husband’s school, you’ve already made some friends. However, they don’t know that you’re married to the hot professor.

Pairing: Professor!Bucky Barnes x Student!Reader, Wife!Reader

You had transferred to your husband’s university that he works at a couple weeks ago. You even managed to get into one of his advanced classes. He’s pretty proud of you and he loves seeing you sitting next to this redhead whose become one of your friends. You aren’t the greatest at making friends and he’s very happy that you found someone other than his friends. His are complete maniacs and you’re the youngest in the group. You had just turned 21 and Bucky’s 30. His friends are all around the same age or older.

You met Bucky when you were just 19. Your ex best friend dragged you to a club you didn’t want to go to and weren’t legally allowed in. She made you wear a tight dress and heels. She straight up left you at the club after ten minutes of meeting a guy and insulting you. This guy grabbed your ass which made things worse. He tried taking you home but this blue eyed man swooped in while his buddy Sam just flirts so hard with the guy while Maria, his now wife, watches from a foot away.

“There’s a party tonight,” Natasha said as the two of you sit down. “Wanna come?”

“Can’t. Got a hot date tonight,” you said knowing that Bucky overheard you as he starts writing on the white board.

“With who?” She asked.

“This guy named Luka. He’s really sweet,” you said.

Bucky smirks knowing you and him are going to have a fun time picking up after the 6 month old tonight. You and him have planned to have a nice movie night in with Luka and Alpine the cat. He honestly cannot wait. It’s the highlight of his week and he always looks forward to it.

“Does he go here?” Natasha asked.

“No, he’s actually a New York firefighter,” you said since the six month old loves the plastic helmet that his Uncle Sam got him.

“Damn, what are you even doing here when you could be with the firefighter right now?!” Wanda asked from a row behind.

“I sadly cannot fail this class,” you said.

“If only Professor Barnes—,” Natasha said glaring daggers at the back of your husband’s head.

“Glaring at me won’t change the F you got your freshmen year, Ms. Romanoff,” Bucky said loud enough for everyone in the lecture room.

“You could’ve given me a C!” Natasha sassed back.

He spins around and said pointing at her, “you didn’t show up to class. Don’t be a bad influence on the transfer student.”

Natasha scoffs crossing her arms over her chest while you giggled. Bucky obviously flashed a smile at you and you grinned wider. The two redheads quickly noticed at how fast he favors you. Bucky easily starts class as the last student sits down.

“You should be careful. Professor Barnes is married,” Wanda said as you, her, and Natasha walk through the campus courtyard.

“I know,” you said and you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t even try with that DEMON of a human being,” Natasha warned. “He’s absolutely terrible.”

“You’re just mad that you have to retake this class,” Wanda said. “Also, Y/n has a hot firefighter boyfriend.”

“I’m pretty sure Professor Barnes is not that bad,” you said.

“Awww, you’re so innocent,” Natasha mocked.

You rolled your eyes thinking if she only knew. You haven’t said anything about being married to the professor to anyone except the university’s dean of students. You just want a pretty normal college life besides the fact that you’re married and have a kid with a man nine years older than you.

“Ignore her,” Wanda said. “But we’ll see ya next class.”

“Bye,” you said splitting from the two.

You head straight to the parking lot where Bucky parks his precious Audi Rs7. You try opening the passenger door but you forgot to get the keys from your husband. He usually gives you them as you make sure to be the last to leave and so he can kiss you without watchful eyes but Nat and Wanda got you to leave before you got the car keys.

Twenty minutes later, your husband comes with the keys spinning on his finger and his briefcase. He gives you a cheeky smile.

“You can drive, dollface,” Bucky said tossing you the keys.

You catch them and unlock the car. You go to the trunk with Bucky. You open it up. You put in your backpack and he puts in his briefcase. He gives you a quick kiss on the lips.

“Oh, I called the jewelers before my first class,” Bucky said as you both went to your separate sides.

“What did they say?” You asked.

“Your ring will be done tomorrow and we can pick it up,” he said with a smile.

You grinned and got into the car. Bucky slides in and closes his door. You close yours and adjust your seat. You both buckle in. You start the car.

“I liked how you used our son as your excuse to not go to a frat party,” he said.

“He’s a great excuse. I would’ve said you but I don’t know how Nat would react to me being married to the professor she hates most,” you said backing out of the parking space.

Bucky chuckles pulling out his phone and said, “she’ll get over it.”

“I don’t know about that, James,” you said biting your lower lip.

“Don’t worry, babydoll. She’s a pain in my ass but she’ll stick around you,” Bucky said as you drive off. “Wanda will too. If not, you’re stuck with me and the boys.”

“Oh Jesus,” you said.

~~~next week

You carry Luka into the lecture room and you’re the first one in besides Bucky. Luka is not feeling too great and you couldn’t leave him at the daycare. Bucky left in an Uber before you due to two of his classes starting before your two of the day. Luckily, you got Bucky’s class first and know that he’ll let his little man into the class without hesitation. It’s quite a perk to be married to your professor.

“Hey..,” Bucky said and he’s immediately concerned seeing Luka in your arms.

“They wouldn’t let him into daycare,” you said softly. “He’s got a cold.”

Bucky takes his whimpering boy out of your arms holding him against his chest. He rubs his back.

“Why don’t you sit up in front today with my little man?” Bucky suggested. “You’d be closer to the door.”

“That was my plan,” you said quietly. “Are you staying longer today?”

“Nah, I don’t need to but I can take Bubba back to my office until you finish up your class with Banner,” Bucky said. “So that we can all go home together.”

“Fine by me. I brought extra clothes and tons of diapers in case as well as formula,” you said.

“Alright, I’ll let you go sit down with Lu,” Bucky said.

He tries giving you Luka back but he just cries. Bucky holds him back against his chest. He cooed at his little one.

“I brought the carrier,” you said smirking.

“You better pull it out, darling,” he said.

Soon enough, Luka is strapped to Bucky’s chest, you got your kiss from your husband, and you’ve planted yourself at the end of the first row. You’ve pulled out your notebook and pens, highlighters, and mechanical pencils. You took out your phone and get a picture of Bucky with Luka. Your backpack along with the diaper bag is under table.

Classmates start coming in. Wanda and Natasha stroll in as well.

“Who’s baby did you steal?” Natasha asked as Bucky is writing on the board.

“First of all, that’s kidnapping and I have better morals than that,” Bucky said looking at the two redheads. “Secondly, why steal a baby when I can make my own with my wife?”

“Oh my god, disgusting!” Natasha said racing up the stairs in the middle to her regular spot.

You laughed along with others in the room. Wanda goes up the set of stairs nearest the door and slides into the swivel chair next to you.

“That’s sparkly,” Wanda said pointing to the ring on your ring finger.

“I know,” you said grinning.

“When’s the big day?” She asked.

“Why are you sitting over there?!” Natasha asked.

“It’s near the nearest exit,” you said.

Natasha groans and picks her stuff back up. She heads over to the two of you and sits next to Wanda.

“So, When is the big day?” Wanda asked.

“Already? You’re so young and innocent,” Natasha said.

“Ladies,” Bucky said sarcastically. “I’d like to start my class unless you have more pressing matters.”

“Sorry, Professor,” you said and he gives you smile.

“Alright, I have a special guest with me, my son Luka. He’s just six months old if you’re curious and no, I didn’t steal him,” Bucky said to the class. “Hopefully, we’ll get through the lesson with little to no disturbances from him.”

Natasha and Wanda turned to you immediately as your husband proceeds with the lesson. You ignore their looks even though you find it quite amusing.

Once the class gets dismissed, you take your time packing up. Wanda and Natasha sit and turn to you. Bucky comes over without hesitation. There’s no point in hiding it any longer.

“Do you have the diaper bag?” Bucky asked. “Luka took a shit and I’m scared it’s the explosive one.”

“Yeah, I got it,” you said standing up putting your backpack on and grabbing the diaper bag.

“Seriously? This whole time?” Natasha asked.

Bucky takes the diaper bag and said, “yeah.”

He gives you a quick kiss before heading off.

“Wow,” Wanda said.

#bucky barnes x wife!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #professor au #college au #professor!barnes x reader #professor!bucky barnes x student!reader #dad!bucky #dad!bucky barnes #fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic

2K notes · View notes

leon-scott-kennedy · 3 years

Text

Frostbitten

Chreon, Rated-T

Read on Ao3

Leon had barely kicked off his unbroken-in boots and flopped face-first on his bed when his phone rang. He groaned. Getting called back to the training field might kill him. Every inch of his body ached and throbbed after taking a literal beating for the last ten hours; he couldn’t be bothered to change out of his sweaty clothes, let alone shower. USSTRATCOM training was tough and the instructors tougher, but this was precisely what he had signed up for, a chance to help people, to make sure that Raccoon City never happened again.

The handset slid out of the cradle when Leon smacked it in his blind search. It hit the floor with a clunk, half suspended by the cord.

“Shit.”Leon grabbed the phone and rolled onto his back. “This better be important.”

“Rough day?”

Leon sat up, a lump forming in the back of his throat. “Chris?”

Weeks ago, Leon tracked down Chris long enough to send an email warning him that Claire had gotten herself into some deep shit and needed a hand, and then handily tacked on his new number in a hastily added PS. But, unfortunately, Leon himself was a bit busy with his so-called new job, which so far consisted of him having his ass handed to him on a regular basis, and he hadn’t been in contact with Chris or Claire since Raccoon City two months ago.

Honestly, Leon had hoped the Redfield siblings had found each other and were off chasing Umbrella and saving the world together, but apparently not. Coupled with Leon and Sherry having seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet for weeks, Chris had been a little desperate when Leon finally managed to send an encrypted email.

“How’s it going, rookie?”

Leon snorted and flopped back on the mattress, tucking his free arm behind his head, his fatigue melting away. “Oh, you know.”

“That good, huh. I know you can’t tell me what’s going on, but are you okay?”

Always with the tough questions. Leon sighed, but his stomach gave a funny little flip. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“I definitely owe you one.”

“I think we’re about even.” Leon wasted nights alone in bed thinking about the night he spent buried against Chris Redfield’s chest, arms wrapped protectively around him as he fell apart when Raccoon City was still a smouldering ruin on the horizon. Leon yearned for that level of comfort and warmth. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I found her. But, we lost someone.”

Leon’s chest ached. How many people was that now? How many people had they lost in this war that they hadn’t even been aware they were fighting. Umbrella destroyed so many lives; hurt so many people. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Condolences - apology, solace, commiseration - hung thick in the air between them, so many words left unsaid. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry I left, that I abandoned you when you needed me; I wish you were here.

“How’s Sherry?”

“She’s good,” Leon lied. His stomach clenched painfully at the thought of the little girl he and Claire had managed to save from the city. The one thing Leon had done right.

Except, the first thing the government had done was take Sherry from Leon, separated them, interrogated him for days until they finally held her life above his head like a guillotine. His visitation remained few and far between, but she was alive and well taken care of, and that’s what mattered. Even if she’d traded one lab for another.

“Good. That’s good. Listen, Claire and I are back home getting things in order, but we both want to see you. Without you, I wouldn’t have found her.”

“Chris, seriously. It was nothing. I just passed on the information I had.” Leon twirled his finger absentmindedly in the phone cord. “I couldn’t get to her, but knew you could. I’m glad you found her.”

“You’re in DC, right?”

“What? Yeah. Listen, Chris-” Leon tried.

“We’re going to drive down for the weekend before we fly back to England next week. We’re putting together a team, but Claire really wants to see you. I want to see you. I need to thank you.”

Leon scrubbed his hand across his mouth and stared helplessly up at the stucco ceiling. Chris wasn’t going to take no for an answer, not that Leon wanted him to. On the contrary, he wanted to see them as badly as they wanted to see him.

“The weekend should be fine,” Leon said. “I usually have them off unless they decide to airdrop me into the center of a national park with nothing but a combat knife and a flask. I mean, no guarantees, but, you know.”

“Jesus Christ, Leon. What have you gotten yourself into?”

Leon grimaced. “Unfortunately, that’s classified.”

“I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.” That made two of them, but Sherry’s life hung in the balance.

Chris and Leon hashed out tentative plans for the weekend. Claire and Chris would drive the nine hours down from Franklin County on Friday, which Leon found insane. Nine hours trapped in a vehicle with their sibling for a dude they barely knew, only to be met with disappointment because Leon wouldn’t be whatever they expected. All the same, he’d let them crash at his place for the weekend, and then they’d fly out of the Dulles International Sunday evening.

Warmth blossomed in Leon’s chest; hope. Things weren’t ideal. Yes, he’d been coerced into the service of his country, but he wanted to do what he couldn’t in Raccoon City; save people, make Umbrella pay for their crimes. Maybe he could have done that alongside friends, allies, or Chris. Instead, the acute loneliness tingled in the back of his mind, a constant reminder that he had been abandoned. Not on purpose, no, but his naivety showed weakness.

The call ended with a promise, like their last separation, a reluctance to part, but a promise of companionship, of warmth, of friendship that was almost destined to end in grief. Leon couldn’t help the anticipation that bloomed.

Leon noisily clattered the headset back into the cradle and took stock of his tiny bedroom cluttered with dirty clothes, plates, a half-empty glass of water, and first aid supplies. “Fuck.”

Cleaning the apartment wouldn’t be so bad considering his severe lack of possessions, and he had three days before visitors arrived. Not that either of the Redfield’s would care about the clutter and shortage of furniture. If anything, they would understand. So much had been lost the day Racoon City disappeared in a mushroom cloud. Still, he tidied every moment he had between beatings, lectures, and exams.

Friday morning, the apartment was shockingly spotless except for the freshly used coffee mug in the sink. Loading it into the half-empty dishwasher wouldn’t have been all that difficult if Leon wasn’t already running behind schedule. The commute to the training center took twenty minutes on a good day if he obeyed all traffic laws.

Today likely wouldn’t be one of those days since he was due for roll-call in seven minutes, which seemed pointlessly ridiculous as he was the only agent in training. But the government liked to make him jump through hoops, literally.

Each course they had him run became increasingly complex and ludicrous to the point that Leon failed more than ninety percent of the time. With each fall, one instructor that he didn’t know the name of, only called Sir, yelled “dead” as if it wasn’t already abundantly clear that one mistake would be a death sentence in the field. Something he probably knew that better than the assholes pulling the strings. None of the big wigs had lived the hell he lived, seen what he had seen, and relived what he relived every night alone twisted in the sheets of his bed.

By the time Leon trudged through the front door of his tiny apartment, two hours later than planned, his entire side was mottled blue and purple from the fresh thrashing at the hands of his close combat instructor. His hand to hand had improved the most over the last month with the help of his natural flexibility and agility that earned him a few jokes about how he should have joined the circus. But they were impressed.

Nothing about his training was normal, even he knew that. Nothing like the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team had been formed before, people had never been reanimated from the dead by a virus before, and they were trying to prepare him for the worst. A nightmare they had never experienced themselves, but he had.

The phone rang. Leon groaned, staggering as he pivoted where he had been about to face-plant on the couch, and headed for the phone in the bedroom.

“Hello?” Leon said, almost certain it was Agent Benford with a new brutal assignment. He sagged onto the bed in relief, curling onto his side when the increasingly familiar greeting of ‘hey, rookie” rumbled in his ear. “Chris.”

“Thank god. Where have you been? This is the fourth time we tried calling.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Leon groaned as his side twinged. “Got, uh, caught up at the... office.”

“You sound like you’re in rough shape.”

Leon hummed. “Been worse.” A sad truth.

“We were calling to say we’re an hour out, but now that’s more like ten minutes,” Chris said, and Claire shouted something unintelligible in the background. “Oh, right. Remind me to give you this number. Claire made me get one of those Nokias so she can keep track of me.”

Claire screeched indignantly, and Leon snickered. “I’ve got a pager,” he offered as consolation. All that much easier to be at the government’s beck and call, but if Chris ever needed him, or Claire, or Sherry.

Leon rattled off a few quick directions to get the Redfield’s to his place, then hung up the phone and rolled out of bed to shower. The hot water stung the fresh bruising, his muscles ached, but he felt human the more he scrubbed away the sweat and grime.

The buzzer for the front door rang as Leon eased a fresh t-shirt on over his head; his shoulder twinged, but he limped over to buzz them up.

A few minutes later, since the building’s elevator took years because of the ‘historic’ value as the real estate agent had put it, someone knocked at the door in a frantic staccato. Leon swung the door open, hair still damp, and was immediately tackled in a hug.

Fight or flight kicked in, Leon’s brain came back online in fits and started in time to hug the small woman hugging him tightly rather than throw her over his shoulder. Claire’s mouth ran a mile a minute. Apparently, he had been missed, and Claire didn’t appear to want to release him anytime soon if the creaking of his ribs were anything to go by.

Leon stared helplessly over her head at Chris, who laughed, but pried his sister off Leon so he could drag him in a hug too. Chris enveloped Leon in a bear hug. That level of high alert that itched in the back of his mind for months ebbed, not disappeared, but faded enough that Leon enjoyed the moment, squeezing Chris back just as tight.

“Come in,” Leon said as he stepped back and waved them into his tiny apartment. “It’s not much, but, you know.”

Claire and Chris shucked their shoes and jackets and wandered into the apartment. Claire scrutinized every little detail or lack thereof. Decoration wasn’t exactly at the top of Leon’s priorities. Nevertheless, he had what he needed: a couch, a TV, a coffee table that doubled as his kitchen table, and a mattress in the bedroom. No bedframe, but he wasn’t picky. Clean sheets and a blanket, and he was good to go.

“It’s, ahh...” Chris trailed off as he glanced around the sparse room.

“What are you, a squatter?” Claire cut in. She stood in front of the mostly empty closet she’d opened.

“Okay, I was going to say it’s a bit Spartan,” Chris said. He slapped a comforting hand on Leon’s shoulder. “Can’t be easy to start all over from nothing, again.”

Leon rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders slumped. “I did warn you guys. Not much to do.”

Chris hummed, his hand dropping from Leon’s shoulder as he wandered off to the kitchen. “You got beer?” The fridge was stocked with two six-packs of cheap beer, a bottle of ketchup, a carton of 2%, and eggs.

“I’ll order food,” Claire said, glancing around, but the phone wasn’t in sight. Leon directed her to the bedroom, where his mattress sat on the floor against the wall. “Jesus Christ, Leon, is that a milk crate?” Clearly, she’d found the bedside table with the phone and takeout menus.

Groaning, Leon sank down onto his couch and buried his face in his hands. The cushions sank beside him as a much larger body sat down. Leon peeked out from between his fingers at Chris, who smiled sadly at him.

“If you need anything-” Chris started.

“I’m fine.” Leon ran his fingers through his damp hair and slouched so his elbows rested on his knees. “Not a lot of time to do much these days, you know, between the daily ass kickings and memorizing a million and one protocols.”

Chris mirrored Leon’s posture. “You could always come with us.”

Leon shook his head.

“Leon-”

“I can’t,” Leon snapped in time for Claire to walk out of the bedroom.

For a second, Claire paused, eyes bouncing between the heavy tension that hung between them. “I ordered Chinese. Did I miss something?”

“No,” Chris and Leon said at the same time.

The food didn’t take long to arrive. The delivery guy, already familiar with Leon’s apartment, joked that he had company for once. The restaurant had even thrown in some free spring rolls for one of their best customers. Sad, considering he’d only been in DC for a little over a month.

The three of them settled on the couch together; Leon squashed in the middle of the sofa, pressed against Chris because Claire had claimed one end with her feet up and tucked her toes under Leon’s thigh. They’d settled for a cheesy action movie they found flipping through channels, something with a bus that couldn’t stop, but ignored it in favour of light conversion, mostly Claire. Neither Chris nor Leon were much in the way of conversationalists. Still, Chris offered a tidbit here and there, and Leon hummed along, nodding when need be, and occasionally offered the occasional dry joke that had Chris and Claire in stitches. Chris nearly snorted beer out his nose when he made an off-the-cuff remark about the first day always being the easiest.

Pleasantly buzzed from a few beers and noodles heavy in his belly, Leon began to nod off, his head helplessly bobbing with the weight of fatigue.

Distantly, Leon heard a chuckle. His head plopped down on the closest shoulder, broad and warm, and the last thing he remembered was Claire wiggling her toes under his thigh and giggling.

When Leon woke up to his bladder screaming, the apartment was dark. For a brief second, he panicked when he discovered his mobility restricted, but his foggy mind pieced together the clues to form a complete picture. He was still on the couch, curled into Chris’ side, nose pressed into Chris’ neck. The arm slung around Leon’s shoulder held in him what couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a secure embrace. They were barely covered by what Leon quickly realized was the thin comforter from his bed because Claire, curled up on the other end of the couch, had stolen most of the blanket, leaving Chris and Leon with a tiny corner.

Leon eased himself out of Chris’ protective hold and slipped off the couch, tucking Chris back under the blanket so he could escape to the safety of the bathroom in what was becoming a pattern. Wake up cuddled with a man he barely knew, panic, then flee.

The moonlight through the clouded window lit the bathroom enough for Leon to piss and wash his hands without hitting the light. He stood, hands braced on the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were lighter, and his hair was a wild tangle after falling asleep with it still damp. Even if he looked less tired, he was exhausted. He shivered. DC winters were colder than he was used to.

Shuffling back into the living room, Leon found Claire stretched further out on the couch, having used Leon’s absence to steal the very little room Leon had occupied beside Chris. “That seems about right,” he said, then jumped when Chris’ head popped up from where it had been stretched out against the back of the couch. “Oh! Sorry, I can just...” Leon waved vaguely back down the hall towards his bedroom.

Chris lifted his corner of the blanket in invitation.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Leon argued, rubbing his arm. “I can just sleep in my bed.”

“Isn’t this your blanket?” Chris asked.

Leon shivered in the cool December chill. “It’s not that cold.”

“Leon.”

Leon slunk back to the couch under Chris’ watchful gaze and tried to find space, but Claire’s sprawl left no room for Leon to squeeze back into. He hovered for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed, but the choice was taken from him when Chris grabbed him around the middle and hauled him down over his lap. Leon squawked, slapping a hand over his mouth. His butt nestled between the arm of the couch and Chris’ thigh, his legs thrown over Chris’ lap.

For almost a full minute, Leon stared at Chris open-mouthed, unable to do anything but blink like a startled owl while his attacker shook with silent laughter.

“Cat got your tongue, rookie?” Chris snickered.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Leon snapped his jaw closed, pursed his lips and purposefully flung an arm around Chris’ shoulders before wiggling until he was burrowed tightly into the warmth of Chris’ side like a kitten. Still, it took a few minutes for Leon to relax enough to sink into the heat of the body beneath him, Chris grinning a challenge to him. Leon rolled his eyes and stuck the cold tip of his nose into Chris’ neck.

“Christ, Kennedy,” Chris said as a stilted shudder ran through him, but wrapped Leon in an inflexible hug like the first night they met, the night Leon’s anxiety and doubt demanded the comfort of another person, the night he still dreamt about. “What are you? Part snowman?”

“Popsicle, but thanks for asking,” Leon mumbled.

Tucked under a small corner of the worn comforter he found in a thrift shop his first night in the city, Leon tilted headfirst into the satisfaction and comfort of Chris Redfield. Most men would have balked at even the idea of cuddling with another man, but Leon had never been like other men. He’d learned early in life to take comfort where he could because kindness was often isolated incidents of empathy.

The smell of coffee tickled Leon’s nose. He was hot, a little too hot, and a little sweaty, but he was comfortable, safe. He pressed into the warmth, groaning quiet contentment when the heat squeezed back until a sharp snort and a giggle shocked him into alertness like a splash of ice water.

Leon’s eyes snapped open. Claire grinned at him from the far end of the couch, legs pulled up to sit cross-legged, hand curled around a steaming mug of coffee. “Morning.”

Ao3

#chreon #leon s kennedy #chris redfield #claire redfield #resident evil fanfic

73 notes · View notes

amyscascadingtabs · 3 years

Text

this is sappy but whatever. i wrote most of this before the season started (which is why i come off as reasonable and somewhat mentally stable about all of this) but felt appropriate to post it now as a thank you. ❤️

i have vivid memories from the night b99 was cancelled. the news came late evening my time, and i had been editing fic and checked twitter and there it was. loud and clear. i don’t remember which site it was but the picture was jake and amy with their wedding cake and that made everything feel even worse.

i remember freaking out even though i had been prepared, because those last days before the news hit on tumblr were... panicked. but i still freaked out to the extent that i ran outside in my pajama pants and hoodie and blue plastic slippers and called my mom, and then i walked up and down the streets where i lived in the darkness and cried in frustration as she tried to talk me down. i remember there were random guys with motorcycles out? but i was too hysterical to care. i’m pretty sure i screamed something to my mom about ”HOW CAN BIG BANG THEORY GET A BILLION SEASONS BUT THIS SHOW GETS CANCELLED????”

i know everyone who was in the fandom at the time has their cancellation story. what played the biggest part in mine was the fact that i felt like i hadn’t had enough time. really, i had only just become active in the fandom, only just started interacting with people on here and writing my first few fics, but i was absolutely loving it. it was giving me happiness again after a long period of emptiness and depressive feelings. when it was cancelled, what made me feel the worst was the fact that i’d had so little time – to make friends, write fic and react to episodes together. i felt deeply jealous of everyone who’d gotten more.

thinking about it coming to an end now has made me remember that night and those feelings of jealousy. because i did get more time. i got three more years. that night, i remember asking for just one, for a half, for anything, and i got three years.

and these three years have been a whirlwind of emotions and feelings and episodes and debates and discussions and gifsets and fanfic and asks and having this as my safe space while pretty much everything changed around me in the outside world, and i just want you all to know that i have never taken a single day of them for granted. this show could have been taken from me before i’d ever gotten the chance to grow with it and alongside it, and instead it was part of my life for three whole years.

i have a really, really good memory (four time quiz champion anyone? just me?okay <3), and i remember so much of it in such detail, and it's so weird to think about how long it's been when it also feels like yesterday.

i remember my first comment on peraltiago parenting experience, my first episode-related fic, the insane high after the renewal, staying up all night to watch the wedding live. i remember writing fanfiction on the beach while on vacation in greece, on a plane to berlin, at home on my parents balcony late late at night. i remember the honeymoon episode title being released, s6 starting filming again, the excitement over every little piece of news and finding about the cast directing. i remember labor fic and christmas fics and when i scroll back to pictures of my paris trip in january 2019 it's interspersed with a billion pictures of andy at the golden globes. i remember lighting my fairy lights in my little basement room and watching season 6 in bed at 2.30 am if it was a big episode, and watching it in the morning before fridays in high school most days. i remember writing post-ep fics during classes and on my phone on subways and trains. i remember the s7 news, and the casecation nerves and debates, and fucking kissgate. being named "the class amy santiago" by my friends when we graduated and getting a little silver paper plate to show for it. i remember the first fic exchange and inventing julian and simon santiago and i remember meeting @johnny-and-dora and eating wagamamas in manchester and talking about how simon santiago was DEFINITELY on the stairs and buying a little fake plant that i named andy plantberg (he's still in a box somewhere). i remember writing fic during slow hours in the ice cream shop i worked at. moving and putting up my framed b99 poster in my own apartment (very much still up). finding out about trying and everyone going fucking crazy. infertility fic. melissa's pregnancy news. s7 promo and standing outside my job the very first day and texting siân "AMY HAS TO PEE!!!!!???" because that was in the promo and we knew there were pregnancy tests involved in the first episode. the crazy happiness of s7 finally premiering. everyone going crazy about jake and amy deciding to start trying and how i could quote the scene verbatim the next few days. the week leading up to trying, what turned out to be the last normal week before the pandemic. the fucking MESS i was after that. the following week and ding dong and crying with happiness. being dizzy with hyperfixation joy the following day and barely feeling aware of the covid pandemic for the first few days because i was just thinking about jake and amy having a baby. getting through the first few weeks mostly because of b99. admiral peralta and finding out we were having a BOY and not even being disappointed even though the headcanon had been the opposite for years because it was perfect. the iconic b99 quizzes. lights out and mac being born. somehow managing 475 days before season 8, coping together when we got the news about the final season, watching the cast do their final day of filming. the first stream being interrupted by a storm warning and cutting out several minutes because of course. getting to see parents peraltiago and MAC and the insane speed with which those few seconds were giffed. more b99 quizzes. the vow renewal. the finale.

i remember all of it and so much more and as much as my heart is breaking, i’m trying to remind myself that i could have gotten none of this.

brooklyn nine-nine has been such an important part of my life. and it always, always will be, forever. i could have lost it all that night, and instead i got three more years. if i'd known that when i was walking the streets outside my house in the darkness in complete panic, i would have cried with happiness.

so thank you. all of you. for everything. ❤️❤️❤️ for the friendships, the joy, the asks, the debates, the fic response, EVERYTHING. whether we've shared three years or one or less, just know that i'm so grateful.

have some random pictures i found and screenshots from my private instagram (which is inactive so don't bother) from when i started this hyperfixation. jesus lmao 😭😭😭😭 i am less insane now. no i'm not. but i express it less on instagram.

#my writing #b99 #b99 finale #goodbye b99 #tagging people felt wrong you're all part of this #that's my old computer my new one also has a few but it's less hysterical

103 notes · View notes

imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

What About Trust, Chapter 12

TITLE: What About Trust CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 12 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki owns a bookshop on Midgard. He had to do something there to try and avoid getting any attention. But he’s not fond of having customers, is rather grumpy and guarded. But then he meets a bright, bubbly and trusting young woman who doesn’t recognise him. To his dismay, he finds himself becoming rather fond of the mortal. RATING: M

Cleo was at Loki’s for the evening one day, having spent a few hours previously in his book shop. Reading and surfing through his hundreds of books.

She had made pizza, taken her ingredients from home. He promised he would make waffles in the morning for breakfast in return. Loki even had her sort and bring some nice plants for inside his house, to make his living room a bit nicer and more homely. So when they decided to watch a film on his large TV in the living room, it was a bit nicer. Though they both still preferred to be in the den.

But halfway through the film, they both became rather distracted. They started making out and Cleo ended up straddling his lap, unable to ignore the bulge she could feel pressing against her between her legs. And as Loki’s tongue became more eager and urgent in her mouth, she couldn’t help grinding against him a bit, making him gasp into her.

‘Do uhm, do you want to go to the bedroom. Get more comfortable.’ Loki hummed over her lips, slightly breathless as he squeezed her hips.

Cleo pressed her forehead against his and she nodded eagerly. ‘Please.’ She whispered, biting her lip.

Loki stood up, wrapping his arms around her as he lifted her. She squealed and wrapped her limbs around him, giggling as he carried her through to his bedroom.

He gently tossed her down onto the bed, then began removing her clothes and kissing against her bare skin. When he had her fully naked under him, he reared back and swiftly removed his own clothes. She was beautifully flushed as she watched him undress, revealing his muscled form. She ran her hands down his chest to his abdomen, making him shudder.

Loki leaned down over her and started kissing her again, while his hands roamed her body.

‘Are you sure, you’re ready?’ He asked, panting with desire.

‘More than ready!’ Cleo grinned at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Loki took his time with her, preparing her slowly yet thoroughly. She had never been so aroused before, the way he was taking his time.

When he finally moved between her legs, getting into position, she was positively glowing and desperate for him. He began kissing and sucking on her neck while he pushed into her, both of them moaning and gasping at it finally happening.

It was slow, passionate and tender. They were in no rush at all.

But as Loki and Cleo got lost in their love-making, a sudden unexpected bodily noise ruined the moment and had Loki halting. He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at Cleo underneath him, a small smirk tugged on his lips.

‘That was NOT a fart! That was a queef, I swear. Oh jesus christ.’ Cleo said as her cheeks went bright red and she put her forearm over her eyes.

Loki tugged her arm away, leaned down and nuzzled her nose with his own. ‘I know, darling. I could feel it a bit.’ He laughed.

He began moving again, but it kept happening. Loki then couldn’t stop laughing, while Cleo was absolutely mortified.

‘Fuck me, why won’t it stop!’ She whined.

‘I am fucking you, love… But not going to lie, it does sound like you’re walking through mud in squeaky wellies.’ Loki commented between laughing.

Cleo then lost it, she burst out laughing too and soon had tears rolling down her face. Both of them fell into fits of laughter, unable to stop. Loki then slid his arms fully around her and he rolled them onto their sides, closing her legs around him more.

‘Let’s try a different position.’ He laughed against her chest and began moving again, making her laughter turn into moans.

The new position worked, no more embarrassing noises. Though it did lighten the mood even more. Laughter was always welcomed during sex. Especially during their first time together.

With scratch marks down Loki’s back and bite marks on both their necks by the time they were finished, they were both exhausted. They lay in a sweaty heap, entangled in one another’s limbs.

‘Well, that was… rather incredible… and hilariously embarrassing at the same time.’ Cleo giggled and hid her face into Loki’s chest. He chuckled and trailed his fingers up and down her spine.

‘It was indeed. Not embarrassing though, as laughter is always sexy.’ Loki purred.

‘Says the one that wasn’t the one queefing.’ Cleo scoffed.

Loki chuckled and buried his face into her hair. ‘What our bodies do naturally can’t be helped.’ He hummed, amused.

‘Still… It couldn’t have at least waited to happen during our second time or something. Why the first?’ She whined.

Loki just laughed again and squeezed her tightly to him.

The following morning, Cleo woke up on cloud nine after last night. She was draped across Loki’s chest, he smiled and slid his fingers through her hair, turning her towards him so he could kiss her on the lips gently.

‘That’s the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.’ He purred, smiling against her.

‘Me too… It was a bit of a workout last night.’ She giggled and then rolled off him onto her back so she could fully stretch out with a groan. All of her muscles were aching, but in a good way. It had been a while since she’d felt that delightful kind of ache.

‘How about we have a shower together?’ Loki suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

‘Would we both fit?’ She giggled and turned onto her side to face him again.

He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Of course. Come on, it will be romantic and sexy.’ He smirked.

It was anything but romantic and sexy…

They got in the shower, it was roomy enough, but they were bickering over getting under the stream of warm water as it was a bit chilly otherwise. And when they tried to get touchy feely, their hands were just slipping over each others bodies from the body wash they stupidly used first. So they had to rinse it all off quickly.

Cleo almost slipped when she tried lifting one of her legs up around Loki, but luckily, he grabbed her and saved her from falling over. When they finally figured out a position and he had her up wrapped around him, Loki accidentally stepped back and hit the tap, knocking the shower to freezing cold.

They both screamed, but Cleo had never heard such a scream from a man before, it made her howl with laughter as he quickly placed her down and turned around to turn the heat up again.

When he tried kissing her to get in the mood again, she couldn’t stop laughing, tears were rolling down her cheeks and she was almost doubled over in laughter.

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head with a laugh. ‘Yeah, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.’

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #what about trust #chapter 12 #fanficshiddles

36 notes · View notes

ptersparkers · 4 years

Text

affection

summary: the two times jj maybank had rejected the affections of others and the one time he welcomed it.

warnings: hints at abuse (it’s not mentioned at all but it’s canon with jj’s relationship with is dad) and typos, probably.

(not my gif, i’m having trouble finding the editor)

add yourself to my taglist!

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” Pope warned the blonde tourist when she said she was going to say hello to him. By her posture, attitude, and everything about her, he knew she was going to try to get his attention in a promiscuous fashion.

“C’mon,” she said, jutting her bottom lip out. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. JJ had engaged in small talk with her at last night’s party, but it didn’t go beyond speaking casually. You had arrived only to give John B. the towel that you had borrowed and left but JJ tried to catch up with you.

“He doesn’t like to be touched or hugged,” he said casually, leaning against a tree that hid him under the hot North Carolinian sun.

“That’s not what I saw last night,” the blonde said, smirking as if she knew him better than his best friend since childhood.

“Delusional,” Pope muttered as she began to walk away. John B. had come back outside with two water bottles in his hand and gave Pope one when he saw a stranger attempt, and failed, to get JJ’s attention by caressing his shoulder.

He jumped back and knocked over the cleaning supplied for the surfboard he was working on. The girl gasped at his sudden expression and apologized over and over again before stumbling out of the space, not daring to look at Pope who hadn’t bothered to hold in a laugh.

“Jesus,” JJ cursed.

***

“Maybe my boredom will be cured if I walked into the ocean,” JJ said casually. Kiara had been scrolling on her phone for the past twenty minutes, waiting for John B. to set up the party in the boneyard.

“That’s dangerous,” Kiara said, not looking up from her screen.

“I’m so bored,” he said. “The sun’s not even down and the tourists are gonna be the same oblivious shits they always are.”

“That’s why you get drunk, JJ,” she said. “Tourists suck but it’s nice to escape for a little while.”

“Do you know when Y/N’s gonna be back from her shift?”

“I think at nine,” she said. “She’s gonna swing by for a little bit and play it by ear.”

“Okay,” he said, not wanting to press any further.

When the sun eventually set and the air became a little cooler, three bond fires were lit and the place was scattered with teenage tourists who were looking for a good time and to party with the locals. It was no secret that JJ had previously enjoyed his trysts and used to have no attached feelings with people who would be leaving within a week or two. It seemed that the girls who came to the parties knew he would be there and it was almost like they had a secret game of who could catch his attention and who would last long enough flirting and, eventually, being led away from the party.

It wasn’t like that every night. But sometimes, buzzed girls get brave when it comes to seeing someone they want to spend the night with.

“Wow,” one girl said, laughing at whatever nonsense JJ had said. “It sounds like you and your friends get into a lot of trouble around here.”

He laughed and took a swig of his beer. “I wouldn’t call it trouble.”

“What would you call it?”

“I’d say we’re adventurous,” he replied. John B. could see a few girls hanging around JJ’s every word in hopes that they were going to get lucky that night but he had to laugh at the futile attempts to seem like they were more worthy than anyone else at the party.

“How long do you think they’ll last?” you asked, approaching John B. and standing next to him, leaning on a wooden fence.

“Not even ten minutes,” he said. “They’ve been eyeing him like the last piece of meat.”

“Don’t they always?”

“What’s up with you nowadays?” John B. asked. “You’ve been working a lot more these past two weeks.”

“One of my coworkers got food poisoning and I offered to cover her shifts,” you said, sighing. “I’m kind of exhausted but this ends tomorrow because she’s coming back to work and I’m ecstatic to relax and hang out with you guys.” John B. nudged your shoulder and you two shared a laugh. The sibling-like bond strengthened with every heart-to-heart conversation you two had.

“I think we’re all starting to go insane when you’re not here,” he confessed. “Kie’s getting annoyed with us. Pope keeps forgetting to bring snacks. JJ’s complaining that he has no one to talk shit about us with.”

You laughed. “And you?”

“I have no one to annoy, duh,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I think I need to sleep for a month straight before I do anything else,” you said. “Or at least have some time to take a decent nap without it being too hot to sleep.”

The conversation died down when you watched ahead and saw that JJ had tried his best to avoid the advances of the raven-haired girl when she tried to put her hand on his cheek. You had to admit, you felt bad for the girl when you saw the others she was surrounded by snicker, but you all knew they’d eventually try their hand at getting JJ alone for the night.

JJ made up some excuse to leave them sitting by the branches and approached the two of you.

“I’m gonna head back,” JJ said. “Too tired for this shit.”

“Get some sleep,” you said in concern, handing JJ his jacket that was resting beside John B.

“It’s really good to see you,” JJ said, backing away. “I’m sorry, those girls kinda freaked me out so I’m gonna go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow?”

You and John B. nodded and waved goodbye, watching him disappear into the dark.

***

“You busy?” a redhead asked, sauntering to where JJ and John B. were sitting. The Wreck wasn’t as busy in the late mornings before the lunch rush on Tuesdays and the two were sitting by the bar, enjoying complementary smoothies that Kie had given out. A group of girls were sitting not too far behind, seemingly encouraging her to behavior.

“Kind of,” he said, averting his gaze.

“I saw you at the party last night,” she began. “I wanted to say hi but you left before I could.”

“Just had a lot of things on my mind,” he said nonchalantly as John B. desperately resisted telling this girl to leave them alone.

“Well, would you want to come walk by the beach with me?” The redhead looked back briefly at her friends, who were giving her a thumbs up.

“No thanks,” he said with a fake grin. “But thanks for the offer.”

The redhead, defeated, walked back to her friends without another word.

You walked into The Wreck with a bikini top and jean shorts that were nearly soaked, Sarah trailing behind you. You had just come from a surfing session and convinced her to come out with you that morning before deciding to meet up with JJ and John B. at the restaurant for lunch.

“I’m starved,” you said as Sarah left the room to go and use the restroom. JJ turned his head at your voice and grinned as you walked over to him, your arms stretched out to give him a loving embrace. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and peppered it with loving kisses.

“I missed you. I think you should quit your job and only hang out with me.”

You laughed and pulled him from your body, moving wisps of hair from his eyes before stroking his cheek with your thumb. His eyes were trained on yours and you kissed the tip of his nose, which left JJ a blushing mess.

“Oh, come on!” you heard someone yell from behind you. You turned around to see four girls frowning towards you.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

“Other than be JJ’s girlfriend, I don’t think so,” John B. said, amused.

“Whatever,” you said, turning back around and planting a kiss on his lips for all to see.

“That’s my girl,” JJ said when you two parted, squeezing your hip.

“Anyway,” Sarah said, clapping her hands, “I’m starved and the food Kie’s making is not going to eat itself.”

You had to admit, while it was amusing to watch girls try to get on JJ’s good side, it was increasingly annoying when you noticed just how much people took notice of him. Was he good looking? Absolutely. Was his body sculpted by the gods? Of course. Was he your boyfriend and not some one night stand a tourist could enjoy? Why, yes.

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that JJ would reject any advances that came his way nor would he ever entertain the idea of doing something that would end up with both of your hearts broken. JJ wasn’t stupid; he had spend so long pining after you and finding the right time to tell you how he felt to even think about dating anyone else, much less a tourist who didn’t mean anything to him.

He was yours and you were his. Simple as that.

#jj maybank #my writing #affection

1K notes · View notes

pastrnaks-sainz · 3 years

Text

Get Your Frustrations Out on Me

Pairing: Charlie McAvoy x reader

Type: Smut

Warnings: Smut, swearing, oral (m receiving), blowjob, fingering, 18+

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: You and Charlie were strictly friends with benefits. It had started from a drunken one night stand that turned into something a little bit more. After a rough day at work, you were in desperate need of Charlie’s touch.

Smut Prompt #65: “There are only two reasons you’d call me at one in the morning and judging from the way you’re dressed nobody’s dead”

A/N: I feel personally victimized by that GIF this man is so pretty

~~~~

It was past midnight and you were still awake. Normally, you were out like a light by ten. But not tonight. You had had one of the worst days anybody could possibly imagine. A total dickhead working on a project with you undermined the entire thing and absolutely fucked you, and numerous other people, over for the rest of the month.

You mulled the idea over in your head for the third straight hour. Your phone was sitting right beside you, it would be an easy call to make. Charlie would probably still be awake, he never seemed to be sleeping during the summer.

By the time the blinking red numbers on the alarm clock on your night stand hit one, you caved. You reached for your phone and tapped Charlie’s contact.

“Hello?” he answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” your voice was tense. “Uhm, can I come over?”

You could almost see Charlie smirking on the other end of the line.

“Yeah,” he was quick to respond. “You know your way up.”

You felt like your head was underwater as you made the drive over to Charlie’s apartment. Few other cars were on the road, but it was still Boston so you didn’t get there as quick as you would have liked to.

The elevator moved too slow for your liking, but you were soon knocking on Charlie’s door.

“There are only two reasons you’d call me at one in the morning and judging from the way you’re dressed nobody’s dead,” he said as he opened the door. You looked down at your silk sleep shorts and tank top. “Come in.”

Your lips were on his the second the door was shut behind you. His eyes widened in surprise before he gently pushed you off of him.

“Hey, slow down,” he said, his hands on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I’m just frustrated.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I just need to get my frustrations out.”

“I can do that,” Charlie smiled, kissing you again. He was gentle, letting you set the pace you wanted to move at. You tangled your fingers in his hair and shoved him against the wall. He let out a soft moan that you claimed as you kept kissing him. His hands rested on your hips, his fingers sure to leave bruised.

“Bedroom. Now,” you commanded breathlessly. Charlie nodded and connected your lips again, walking backwards towards his bedroom, relying on muscle memory to not let him bump into anything.

You reached the bedroom unscathed, and instantly shoved him down to the mattress. He landed with a small grunt.

You pulled your tank top over your head and discarded it somewhere in the room before crawling up his body. Charlie’s hands migrated from your hips to your ass where they played with the soft flesh. Your lips attacked his neck, peppering kisses and leaving behind purple hickeys. Groans and pants ripped from his throat. You balled his t-shirt in your fists. He sat up and pulled it over his head and tossed it to the ground with your tank top.

“I’ll never get over this,” Charlie whispered huskily before attaching his lips to one of your nipples. You whimpered, tossing your head back in pleasure.

His hands and lips worked you to cloud nine before you came back down and resumed your actions. You planted your hands against his chest and pushed him back down the bed. You kissed down his chest, lips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Charlie was a groaning mess by the time you followed his happy trail down to the waistline of his shorts. You hooked your fingers over the edge and pulled them down his legs. His cock sprung free, a bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip.

“Y/N, please,” Charlie whimpered helplessly.

You licked a wide stripe along the vein on the underside of his dick before taking him in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around his lip, using his moans to keep going. Inch by inch, you took him in your mouth until you couldn’t fit any more.

Charlie’s moans grew louder as you hollowed your cheeks around him. You threw your forearm over his hips to keep him in place and stop him from bucking deeper into your mouth. His thighs started shaking when you bobbed your head up and down.

“Jesus,” he muttered. The muscles in his abs clenched as he tried to keep himself together.

You pulled off your hip, moving to kitten lick his tip before taking him again.

“God, Y/N,” he moaned. “I’m close. I’m so, so close.”

You hummed around him, the vibrations sending him over the edge. Hot ropes of seed hit the back of your throat. You swallowed and let him fall from your mouth.

“Always so good,” Charlie pulled you up and kissed you, tasting himself on your lips. He used the leverage he had against you and flipped you onto your back.

“Charlie-”

“Let me take care of you too,” he hummed seductively. You relaxed into the pillows as he kissed his way down your body. He slowly pulled your shorts off your legs, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. He kissed above the elastic waistline before taking it in his teeth and pulling it off too.

His rough hands spread your legs apart, exposing your dripping pussy to him. He licked his lips before pressing his index finger to your clit. You jumped in surprise, not expecting the sudden pressure.

Charlie dragged his finger through your slick folds before finally pushing it inside you. You groaned, your hands moving to lace through Charlie’s hair.

“More, please,” you whimpered, arching your back off the mattress. Charlie threw his forearm over your hips just as you had done to him and added another finger. You moaned loudly.

He trailed his lips up the inside of your thigh, nipping at the skin and leaving small purple bruises. His fingers pumped in and out of you, making obscene noises. Your thighs began to shake under his touch. Charlie, with his surprisingly acute knowledge of your body, knew you were close. He was hard just from seeing your walls flutter around his fingers.

“Come on, baby,” Charlie cooed. “I know you’re almost there.”

With one sharp twist of his fingers, he hit your g-spot making you spasm around his digits. He smirked to himself as he watched you come undone. He sucked your cum off his fingers, making you moan again as you made direct eye contact with him.

“So sweet,” he hummed, voice thick with lust.

“Charlie,” you reached out for him. He laced his fingers with yours and pinned your hand to the mattress beside your head as he crawled on top of you. Your legs came to wrap around his hips.

His lips connected with yours as he reached to his nightstand for a condom. He kneeled above you as he ripped it open and slid in on. You gulped, your eyes darted from his dick back up to his face.

He took your hand again and slowly slid inside you, both eliciting pornographic moans. He stilled for a moment, before rocking hips back and forth setting a smooth pace. You moved your hips to meet his, making each thrust hit deeper.

“God, Charlie,” you moaned. He squeezed your hand and kept going.

A thin sheen of sweet covered his chest as he placed a hand on the headboard to keep his balance. He grunted as his pace sped up. You felt him hit that spot inside you with every thrust. The muscles in his lower back flexed every time he moved.

Even though he felt like he could for hours longer, he knew he was close to his edge. He never could last very long very long when he was with you. You were the same way. He always seemed to be able to reduce to a moaning mess within minutes.

“Charlie,” you whimpered, clinging to his bicep as your body spasmed around him. He came seconds after you with a loud moan. He pulled out and landed beside you on the mattress before quickly rolling off and disappearing into the bathroom. He came back with a damp washcloth in hand. Your breathing returned to normal as he cleaned up. You found your strength and stood up when he went back to the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” he asked when he came back and saw you pulling on your clothes.

“Going home like I usually do,” you answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh,” he said, feeling his heart sink. “Do you, maybe, want to stay?”

You froze.

“You’re asking me to stay with you?”

“I mean, yeah,” Charlie shrugged. “You seemed really upset, I don’t want you to feel like you need to go home.”

You looked at him in confusion.

“I mean, a quick fuck is great and all but cuddling is where the real comfort is at,” he grinned. You giggled and finished pulling your tank top over your head.

“Alright,” you agreed, moving to climb back in bed.

“Wait,” Charlie stopped you. “Use the bathroom if you need to, take a shower if you want, I’m going to change the sheets.”

You took him up on his offer to use the shower. The warm water felt amazing as it washed over your tense muscles. When you stepped out, there was a warm towel waiting for you and a pair of what you assumed to be Charlie’s sweatpants. The ‘73′ in gold lettering proved your theory correct. They too were warm when you pulled them on.

“Did you throw these in the dryer or are your clothes naturally this comfortable?” you asked as you walked out of the bathroom, depositing your used towel in the hamper next to the closet.

“I put them in the dryer,” Charlie affirmed. “Are they comfortable enough for you?”

“These are literally the softest things I have ever worn.”

“Come on,” Charlie smiled, opening his arms as he made himself comfortable in bed. “Cuddle with me.”

“You’re adorable,” you sighed as climbed in beside him, your head resting on his chest.

“I know.”

Despite Charlie’s smooth answer, he was waging a full scale war in his brain. Over the course of your friends with benefits endeavors he had slowly fallen for you. He knew you promised not to ever let that happen, but this was something he couldn’t avoid. He knew, he tried.

122 notes · View notes

thran-duils · 3 years

Text

From All Sides (P.8)

Title: From All Sides (Part Eight) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Pirate Tony. Tony is obsessed with a certain barmaid at port and showers her with gifts to try to bring her to his bed. She is resistant to his advances, her eyes elsewhere, specifically on her coworker, the cook. Although, that love is unrequited and always will be. The reader is forced into close quarters with Tony unexpectedly and sailing the sea, she slowly bends to his will. And he plans to give her all the affection he can to make sure she stays. Words: 2,480 Warnings (for the whole fic): Eventual smut, violence, angst, possessive behavior Warnings for this chapter: Heavy violence!

Part Seven || Part Nine || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Tony jolted back, stepping out of the way of one of Ivan’s fists. He took advantage of Ivan being so close and landed a punch at the center of Ivan’s ribs. Ivan choked, the air knocked out of his lungs, losing his balance a little. Tony did not miss that and kicked at his calf. Ivan stumbled even more but found balance again. Tony backed off.

His hair clung to his forehead, sweat covering him. It glistened on his bare chest.

Again, Tony tagged Ivan up, landing a handful of strikes. But Ivan got his in and sent Tony into the wall. Pissed, Tony grimaced as he turned around quick just as Ivan was on him. Ducking out of the way, Tony blocked Ivan’s incoming kick and got another punch in. In the same spot he had hit before on his ribs and Ivan grunted. Tony had done that on purpose, hoping to crack Ivan’s ribs and it seemed he had.

Having the upper hand for even a moment, Tony used it to his advantage to sweep a kick and Ivan tumbled backwards. Tony was on him in a moment, laying punch after punch. Ivan held up his hands trying to block Tony but Tony’s fist collided with Ivan’s jaw, sending him sprawling, face to the ground. He was out cold.

The crowd around the pen erupted louder now. Tony stood up, straight, his breath loud and short as his heart pounded in his ears. He brought a hand up to his cheek, feeling the cut there that Ivan had given him early on and his ear hurt where Ivan had boxed him.

Tony backed off completely now so Ivan’s men could come collect him. He turned to the exit of the pen, eyes searching for Steve and the men he had brought with him. They were waiting and Steve intercepted him and told him that he needed to bandage up his hands. Tony looked down, seeing that yes, his knuckles were bloody.

But he had won. Now all he needed was a quick bath before returning to the ship.

<><><>

You were outrunning the crew, weaving in and out around people on the docks, heading further into the cavern’s expansive layout. You were not sure where you were going but you just kept running, tossing looks over your shoulder.

When you caught sight of Bucky closing in, you pumped your legs harder.

It was all for naught because the man had ridiculous speed. Your heart clenched as you heard his pounding footfalls right behind you and in that moment you knew you were going to be caught.

Bucky tackled you to the ground, slapping the gun away from you, sending it flying across the floor. He planted a knee directly into your chest, holding you fast against the ground. You tried to stab at him clumsily with the knife, but he gripped your wrist painfully with his metal arm. You cried out as he tightened his grip to cause your hand to go limp. He yanked the knife away with his free hand. You slapped helplessly at his thigh; he was crushing your ribs. You gasped for air, hands grasping his knee, trying to shove it off.

“Give me that rope!” Bucky barked at one of the other pirates that had caught up by now.

Tossing the knife aside as well, Bucky easily caught your forearms, pulling them up towards him. He held your arms close together before him.

“Tie her up!”

The other pirate did as you watched helplessly, wincing at the bone crushing grip Bucky had on your forearms. The extra rope was long hanging off your wrists and you were stuck tight.

Snapping his fingers, Bucky pointed at his gun. “Give me that!”

Your vigor was renewed, and you started kicking your legs, trying to bring at least one up to knee him in the ass. Bucky’s jaw was set, glowering at you. The man brought him the gun and Bucky pointed the gun at you and your mouth fell open, going limp immediately thinking he was going to shoot you. But he pointed the gun to the side and shot at the ground away from the pair of you.

“Stop making this more difficult than it needs to be, Y/N!”

In shock and your ears ringing, you blinked. Bucky holstered his gun again and stood up quickly before swooping down, picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder as if you were a bag of flour. How strong was this man to handle you like this?

“I told you that you were making a huge mistake!” Bucky said to you, his grip tight on you as he turned and began to stomp out of the room. “There was no way you were going to get away from me.”

Shock clearing, you squirmed in his arms, and he only held tighter. You used your tied hands to beat at his back and he only chuckled, which made you even more upset.

“Hit me all you want, dear. You’re not getting away from me again. I won’t disappoint Tony twice today.”

<><><>

“Where the hell is everyone?” Tony demanded as he approached Sam, who was standing next to the ramp, eyes searching the port. He immediately noticed that even more of the crew was missing than the small handful he had taken with him and Steve. Sam looked far too disappointed to see Tony which made him even more suspicious.

Sam sighed and said curtly, “They went ashore.”

Tony stepped closer, staring Sam down who to his credit was keeping eye contact with his captain. “Why do I feel like there’s something else you need to tell me?”

“They’re looking for Y/N. She left the ship.”

Tony was quiet, eyes wild. The silence scared Sam even more than if Tony had immediately burst. Still, the inevitable explosion caused Sam to flinch.

“Pray tell me how she managed to evade an entire fucking crew!” Tony barked. “I trust you! Or I should be able to trust you to follow my orders! And you cannot even manage one woman?”

“She had a knife. I don’t know where she got it. She tried to just walk off, but Bucky stopped her and she got the jump on him. Knife directly to his throat.”

“Then yank it away from her! Like Bucky couldn’t have overpowered her? Jesus Christ!” Tony hollered. “He’s gotten out of tighter situations before!”

“Well, she demanded his gun and he gave it to her and she used that to get off the ship by pointing it,” Sam went on and that information made Tony even more furious if it was possible. Sam quickly added in Bucky’s defense, “I don’t think he wanted to injure her for fear of angering you.”

“Letting her off the ship is angering me more! I thought that would have been clear but apparently no one thinks on this vessel! And who in the hell was supposed to be watching my quarters in the first place? Oh, right, Alexei. Where the hell is that prick?”

“Passed out. Nose was deep in a bottle,” Sam answered stoically. “Found him afterwards.”

Tony’s face was red, veins taut in his neck, as he tried to not scream. He shook his head furiously, taking a step back, head turning towards the dock. He wiped at his mouth, taking a deep breath.

“Bucky’s got her,” Steve announced from the railing, his head turned away from port to look at them onboard.

Tony stormed over to the railing, seeing indeed Bucky had her swung over his shoulder. To Sam, he snapped, “Where is Alexei?” Sam told him and Tony ordered, “Do not let Bucky put her back in the cabin. I want her to see this.”

Finding Alexei below deck, Tony gripped the hammock and upended Alexei unceremoniously. He circled around the hammock, eyes pinned in a rage at his crewman trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Tony did not give him much time to figure it out before he swung his fist down, clocking Alexei on the cheek, knocking him to the ground.

“What—” was all Alexei got out, pained before Tony hit him again.

Grasping the back of his hair, Tony tore his top half away from the ground, Alexei’s back bent back painfully in the process. Alexei’s eyes were unclear, a mixture of the drink and the fact Tony had just knocked his brain about twice in quick succession.

“I gave you a direct order to stay outside my cabin and make sure that Y/N did not leave!” Tony bellowed. “And what did you do? Go get yourself drunk and let her escape! And she ended up causing a lot of people grief in the process! You fucked up big time, Alexei!”

Tony let go of his hair and planted a series of hard kicks into Alexei’s side and stomach when he tried to roll away to protect his side. Alexei vomited from the last kick, clutching his stomach in pain. Tony was not satisfied yet, not even close.

Dragging him up the stairs and up on deck, the crew parted for him. Tony tossed him onto the deck, drawing a pained moan from Alexei. Y/N was staring at him in a mixture of disgust and horror beside Bucky, who was holding tight to the end of the rope around her wrists.

Alexei sputtered blood, his hands shaking as he tried to plant them on the deck to push himself back up. He only got up a few inches before Tony sent a rough kick to his backside, sending him sprawling again.

“I did not tell you to get up,” Tony snarled rabidly.

His eyes went around the circle of his crew, chest heaving. His knuckles were stinging, this being the second time he beat a man into submission today.

“This sorry sack of shit was supposed to be outside my cabin to make sure my lass did not leave. How hilarious I come back and find he had not done what I asked and instead found himself at the bottom of a bottle. What happens when someone disobeys a direct order from me?” Tony shouted out at his crew. “We know the answer to that, don’t we?”

Alexei blubbered, trying to ask for forgiveness for only a few moments, drawing Tony’s attention. His lip curled in disgust, and he sneered, “At least have some dignity, you scurvy dog.”

In a fluid motion, Tony unholstered his gun, aiming it directly at the back of Alexei’s head. He cocked it and the gunshot echoed.

As the smoke cleared from the shot, Tony holstered his gun again. Turning to Y/N, he pinned her with a glare. He stalked towards her, the crew silent as the tension between the two of them could be cut with a knife. She was cornered, her eyes full of fright. He was sure this was the first time he had ever evoked that in her and he found sick pleasure he had put it there.

“At least, that rule applies to the crew. My men. You on the other hand, no, I’ve got something else planned to teach you a lesson,” Tony seethed, staring deep into her impossibly wide eyes. “When I said do not leave my cabin, I fucking meant it. And since you can’t seem to follow directions, looks like I’m going to have to enforce it myself until you can learn to behave!”

To Bucky, he snapped, “I’ll deal with you later!”

Tony jerked her away from Bucky, feeling her stumble behind him as he stormed off. She was struggling to keep up with him. The crew parted again as he made their way back to his cabin. When they reached it, he pulled her beside him, throwing his door open. He shoved her inside in front of him and closed the door behind him.

“Tony—”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

Dragging her to the bed, he snapped his finger at the floor and instructed gruffly, “Get on your knees.”

She looked indignant suddenly at the command, “I will not!”

Rolling his eyes, his patience growing ever thinner with her troublesome attitude, he gave a swift, light kick at the back of her knees, causing her to buckle. She tried to catch herself, but he was already using the momentum to shove her down to her knees next to his bed.

“Stop it!” she begged.

Tony snorted, “You must be mad if you think I am going to do that.”

She tried to crawl away when he gave lax on the rope, and he punished her with a yank. She hissed against the burn on her wrists. He gave another rough yank to bring her even closer to the bed, and she winced as her knees drug against the hardwood.

Looping the rope around the bedframe, he began to tie it expertly. Her eyes widened, realizing what he was doing.

“Tony, please don’t!” she pleaded as he tied it taut. She yanked helplessly against it, stuck against the built-in bed. She sniffled, tears forming. There was no way she was going to escape that without help. She gave another hard pull and whimpered audibly at the rope rubbing at her wrists.

Tony grasped her chin and demanded, “Stop it right now! You’ll rub your wrists raw!”

“Then untie me!” she said, trying to escape his grasp but he only held tighter, fingers digging into her jawline.

“You can earn your way back up onto the bed and out of those ropes with good behavior!” Tony let go of her roughly and she sunk further onto the floor.

Tears that had been collecting tumbled over now, fat down her cheeks. Tony was unmoved in his anger; he could not let her get away with disregarding his orders. He would break her down, make her obedient. And if that meant doing this the hard way and having her either hate or be afraid of him, then so be it. That was better than not having her at all.

Coldly, he told her, “Cry all you want. I told you what you need to do to get back in my good graces. It’s up to you, love. You know damn well how patient I can be. Just give me what I want and you can be comfortable. Those are the rules.”

With that, he turned away from her and grabbed fresh bandages off his table. He would get a crew member to re-wrap his hands for him since Y/N was disposed at the moment. He tossed her another glance, and she was watching him apprehensively, sniffling. He looked away, gritting his teeth before leaving the cabin, slamming the door behind him, having confidence this time that Y/N would not go missing if he left her alone.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

#tony stark x reader #dark!tony stark #dark!tony stark x reader #dark marvel #my shit

43 notes · View notes

humbughana · 3 years

Text

hometowns

Rafe and Lola visit each others hometowns.

enjoy this short lil thing... or don’t bestie.

RAFE

“Rafe, honey,” Lola stepped off the plane, a hand shielding her eyes from the blistering sun. Rafe looked back at her with a grin and she continued, “What in the living hell is this?”

Rafe laughed wholeheartedly at her expression and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind, “Welcome to the Outerbanks, baby.”

It was amusing watching Lola deal with the summer heat, a piece of paper in hand to fan herself. Lola scowled at her sweatshirt she was wearing with her shorts, not at all anticipating it would be this hot, “Why did you let me wear this?” She asked in despair as they walked from the landing strip to the car. Rafe looked her over with a small smile and shrugged, “I thought you had a shirt on underneath.” She rolled her eyes and took off the sweatshirt, leaving her in a blue sports bra, “I don’t want to be all sweaty when I meet them for the first time!” She exclaimed when Rafe looked at her in surprise, trailed down her exposed torso.

“Oh I don’t mind, baby.” Rafe smirked slightly, before getting into the car. Lola jumped in and turned on the air conditioning immediately, slumping back in the seat. Rafe purposefully took a more scenic route to let her see the ocean and the small back roads through town. It was hard to keep his eyes on the road when she was hanging half out the window trying to get a good look at the blue water with wide eyes.

“It’s so pretty!” Lola laughed blissfully, letting her fingers twirl in the rushing wind outside the window, her hair blowing around her face. Rafe wished he had a camera to capture the perfect moment but his memory would have to do for now, “And you got to see this everyday?”

Rafe chuckled, looking sideways at her and grabbing her thigh when she started to hang halfway out of the car “You lived next to the beach too!” Lola only scoffed, shaking her head, “Not like this.” Thinking back at her Connecticut beaches and it really couldn't compare to this.

When the car slowed down in front of a beautiful white house she threw on one of her college t-shirts from her bag and followed her boyfriend to the front door, “What if they don’t like me?” she whispered as they stood shoulder to shoulder at the door. Rafe rolled his eyes but stared straight ahead, “shut up, they’ll love you-

The door swung open to reveal Rafe’s stepmother Rose and Ward standing behind her, both with wide smiles on their faces.

“You must be Lola!”

It was safe to say meeting the parents went amazing and Lola was already ‘part of the family’ as Ward said. Wheezie and Sarah were sweet and teased Rafe until his cheeks turned red and Lola snickered at him. Now Rafe was showing her around, and they ended up at the club.

Lola snorted, “You look like you golf,” Rafe turned towards her with an unamused look, “What does that even mean, Lo?”

She shrugged with a grin, “You just look like the type.”

“You look like you couldn’t even hit the ball,”

It was her turn to look offended, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Rafe smirked and shrugged as she did, “You just look like that type of girl.”

So that's how the couple found themselves on the course as Lola watched Rafe hit his first ball, it veered much too far to the right and didn’t go nearly far enough. Lola whistled lowly, “ I take it back baby, you must not be the type.”

“You’ve got a big mouth, Lo. Hit your ball.” He pecked her lips as he passed and she stood up with her club and set her ball up. I guess golfing never came up in conversation with the two of them but Lola was from New England, where there was literally nothing better to do in her overly suburban town but go to the country club. Her father taught her how to golf when she was just a little girl and made her go out with him every now and then. She never knew it could be quite the party trick until now.

Lola set her feet in position before sending a wink over to her boyfriend watching her with narrowed eyes. She drew her arms back in the position that had been drilled into her mind her whole life and hit the ball perfectly.

When she turned back to Rafe with a little grin, “I think I hit it, didn’t I?”

It was safe to say Rafe was not amused with her.

Nine holes later, Lola was absolutely crushing Rafe as he just gaped every time she hit the ball.

“Pay up baby,” Lola purred with her hand out, wiggling her fingers as Rafe shook his head in disbelief, “Where the fuck did you learn that?”

Lola shrugged, “My dad plays.” Rafe just shook his head and dug out a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and put it in her hand, “Thank you.” she leaned up and planted a kiss on his mouth, “Now c’mon, let’s go get some ice cream. On me.” she winked at him as they walked out of the clubhouse.

Lola obnoxiously paid for both of their ice creams and now they were walking down the street mindlessly teasing and chatting with each other as Rafe pointed out his favorite places.

“Let’s go home and change. I’ll take you to the beach.” Rafe bumped her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist when her face brightened and she nodded enthusiastically, “Can we swim?” Rafe nodded with a grin, “We can do whatever you want. Tomorrow my dad’s taking us all out on the boat.”

“You have a boat?” Lola asked incredulously to which Rafe just nodded but rolled his eyes at her, “and so do you, lo.”

“But it’s not the same!” Lola groaned all the more excited to be here, “The vibe is just different. You wouldn’t understand.” She shrugged with a grin thinking of her hometown. When they got back to his house they rushed to put on bathing suits before going back out to the ocean. Lola promptly wasted no time sunbathing and ran straight out into the cool water, laughing as she went.

Rafe caught her around the waist and they both fell backwards going under the water. Lola re-emerged first, “I don’t ever want to leave.” she groaned, wrapping her limbs around her boyfriend, “I love it here.” Rafe let out a laugh as her love for his hometown. His hands squeezed her thighs lovingly, “I had no idea.”

“Just wait until I take you to my hometown.” Lola rolled her eyes at him, “Then you’ll understand.”

“Looking forward to it baby.”

LOLA

“Jesus christ it’s cold.” Rafe whining as he crossed his arms when they stepped out of the airport together. Lola looked over at him and his sad winter coat while she was promptly bundled up in her favorite Canada Goose jacket with gloves and a hat, “I told you,”

Rafe just shot her a look before looking for the Uber they ordered to her house, Lola leaned into his side as they leached off of each other for warmth, the later of the two welcomed it greatly. She spotted the car right as Rafe’s teeth started to chatter and pulled him along, shoving him in the car when their luggage was taken care of.

“Welcome to Connecticut, baby.” She said sarcastically and kissed his cold cheek.

Rafe’s eyes widened when they pulled up to her family home. It was normal to her but it was much different than the houses down in North Carolina. The house sat on almost eighty-seven acres with a long driveway up to the front of the house that sat proudly on perfectly mowed grass that her father was always obsessing over. She glanced over at Rafe who only watched in amazement at the car stopped in front of the house finally, “Well?” She asked with a grin, “You ready?”

Rafe could only nod, and climbed out of the car and grabbed their luggage before Lola ran up the steps to the front door and pounded on the oak french doors. They swung open to reveal a woman that was a spitting image of her daughter standing with a faux scowl but it broke out into a warm smile as they hugged each other. Rafe cautiously walked up behind them before her mom saw him and grinned at her daughter, “He’s very handsome sweety,”

“Don’t encourage him, mom.” Lola grinned at Rafe who was then engulfed in a hug by her mother, “Where’s dad?”

Her mom pushed them both inside and Lola snorted at her boyfriend looking up the tall ceilings in awe, “He should be out in the stables I think.”

Rafe cut his eyes to hers incredulously as Lola was beaming with excitement and took his hand, “Stables? You have stables?” Lola nodded enthusiastically as she opened a back door that overlooked the massive backyard that seemed to just go on and on.

“Let’s go,” Lola pushed him towards a set of steps to the ground impatiently and led the way towards the main barn, “Dad!” She yelled when they stepped inside.

“Lo?” An older looking man rounded the corner and Lola ran to hug him as he laughed, Rafe watched feeling a little awkward but waited to meet her father who shook his hand firmly and squeezed his shoulder, “Nice to meet you, son.”

“Daisy?” Lola bounced with excitement to which her father rolled his eyes playfully and pointed outside. Lola snatched Rafe’s hand and pulled him along back into the cold air to see Lola making her way to a massive white horse. She stood on the black fencing and pet the horse with a soft smile.

“You have a horse?”

“Technically we have seven.” Rafe’s mouth dropped open, “But yes, this one is mine.”

“It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Rafe stood next to her, hand shoved into his pockets. Lola elbowed him in the side, “You just never asked.”

“I never asked if you were a horse girl?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled but smiled anyways.

The next day Lola woke Rafe up at the crack of literal dawn with a shit eating grin on her face that only could mean trouble as she climbed to sit on his waist. Rafe groaned, covering his eyes as she slapped then away from his face, “Lo, we are not having sex with your parents room right down the hall. It’s too early.” Lola smacked his chest as he gasped, “Get up, dumbass.”

Lola ended up having to drag him out of the bed and shoved proper clothes into his hands, “These aren't mine-

“Put them on.” Lola pointed to the bathroom and he only sighed, still rubbing his eyes tiredly. Rafe walked out and Lola nodded, satisfied with herself and gestured for him to follow. She opened the door the one of the garages and led him to the opposite side-

“No.”

Lola laughed, “Yes, It’ll be so fun!” She started rummaging through her snowboarding stuff. Her family basically collected the stuff so she was fairly certain there was a board Rafe could use along with the boots.

“I’ve never skied before!”

Lola held up a finger, “Snowboarded.” She pushed a board in his direction, “And it’s good to try new things.”

And that's how Rafe found himself at the top of a snowy mountain as Lola laughed as he fell for the fifth time, “You almost got it!”

“Shut up, Lo.” He climbed back to his feet as she just grinned in adoration, “You were right, you know.”

“About?” She watched him and he shook his head, “It’s a very different vibe,” Lola let out a warm laugh as she remembered what she told him. To be fair it was winter here and they went to his home during the summer but still.

“Now bend your knees.” She ordered and pushed him away from her.

Hours later they were back at her parents house, curled up on the couch closest to the big fireplace. Her parents had dinner reservations leaving the couple to themselves as Lola rested her cheek on his chest, a blanket over the both of them, “”m glad you’re here.” she yawned as he ran his fingers through her hair mindlessly.

“Hey, Lo?”

She mumbled incoherently, almost asleep. Rafe smiled down at her, “I like it here,”

“Really?” She cracked open one eye to look at him and he nodded, “I could get used to this,”

“Oh really?” She sat up straighter with a soft smile, “Even the cold?”

“Don’t push it horse girl,”

Lola punched his arm and he winced with a booming laugh, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I love you too, Lo.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe #lola and rafe #outerbanks

47 notes · View notes

toxophilitis · 3 years

Text

Hot Daughter Peeps cont

CHAPTER NINE

Tracy's horny little plan worked like a charm. The secret was in the timing. She had already schooled Al in his part of the plan, and the next day all she had to do was wait for her mother to get in the right mood.

There was no school, so Tracy stayed home with her mother and watched her turn into an irritated, cranky, grouchy lady as the hours wore on. Carol had been getting fucked a lot lately and now, suddenly, she wasn't getting any.

"Tracy? Don't you want to go out and play?" Carol finally asked. "You can watch TV tonight."

"No, Mom," Tracy said, eyes peeled to the game show. "I don't feel like going out."

She smiled to herself, knowing that Carol was dying to get to her magazines and vibrator. Tracy's presence prevented that, and the little nymph loved it. Her mom was horny and that's what Tracy wanted. The hornier Carol was, the better.

By four o'clock, Carol was a nervous wreck.

She paced the floors. She ate beyond her diet.

She drank too much coffee. And sweet little Tracy looked like she was oblivious to her mother's condition.

Over dinner, Tracy said, "Can we have that woman-to-woman talk now?"

"No, darling," Carol said. "I'm not in the mood."

"But you said you were going to tell me why I should stay away from Mr. Benson."

"I already did. Now don't nag."

"You used to like him," Tracy said. "What happened to change your mind? Please tell me."

Carol looked into her daughter's innocent blue eyes and couldn't bring herself to tell her the horrible truth.

"I'm sorry I brought it up. It's not something I should talk to you about now. Maybe when later."

"Oh, mother! I'm not a child!"

Carol covered Tracy's hand with hers. "I don't want to hurt you," she said.

"It'll do you good to talk about it," Tracy said. "That's what you always tell me. Why don't you let me be your friend and not just your daughter?"

Carol studied her daughter's face for a moment. Tracy's sincerity melted her resolve to keep the secret. Suddenly, a tear came to her eye, and the next thing Tracy knew, she was pouring her heart out. Her story was the same as Al Benson's -- Mr. Arnold and Mrs. Benson ran off together to God knows where, and there was never a divorce.

"Oh, Tracy," Carol finished. "I didn't ever want to tell you."

"I'm not hurt," Tracy said, with drier eyes than her mother s.

"You're not?"

"Of course not. Gee, Mom, where have you been? You read the papers. You watch TV. This is the age for divorces and new relationships. I think it's super!"

"You do?"

"Sure! I know about you and Phil."

"What?" Carol gasped. Tracy was tempted to tell her she had seen them naked in bed, fucking their brains out, but she decided against it.

"Well, I know you weren't just holding hands. I mean, you're both adults."

Carol looked nonplussed. "What's this world coming to? My daughter is freer than I am!"

"You can be free, too, Mom. Just let yourself go. And stop thinking I'm a little girl who doesn't know anything and has to be protected."

"I don't know," Carol murmured. "That's an awful big step for a mother to take."

They chatted some more while they did the dishes together. Tracy steered the conversation back to Mr. Benson.

"Is that why you're mad at Mr. Benson? Because his wife took dad away from you?"

"Yes!"

"But that wasn't his fault," Tracy said, putting a dish away. "Why blame him?"

Carol turned and peered at her daughter quizzically. "How did you get so smart? You're right. I never stopped to think that way. He didn't have anything to do with it."

"Right," Tracy said with a little laugh. "And he suffers, too. I mean, if he has to watch dirty movies, he must be in terrible pain."

"We won't talk about that, young lady," Carol said firmly.

That was okay with Tracy. The ice was broken. The seed was planted. Now it was time for the final stage of her plan.

"Mom, can I go to the movies?" she asked. "You're exasperating, Tracy. You sit home all day watching TV, then when a good movie's coming on, you want to go out. Well, go ahead, but be home by midnight."

Tracy was home ten minutes after she left the house. She slipped in by the kitchen door and hid herself in the hall closet. From there, she watched her mother on the sofa. Then she saw Carol turn the TV off and go to her room.

Tracy stole out of the closet and tip-toed into the living room. She got down on all fours and crawled over to the sofa. Rising up, she peeked over the back of the sofa and saw just what she thought she'd see. Carol had the shoebox on her bed and she was getting undressed.

Tracy watched with bated breath as her pretty mother made herself beautifully naked. Her pubic hair was a big black bush. Tracy saw her sit on the bed and apply the vibrator to her pussy.

Satisfied, Tracy back-tracked and snuck out the kitchen door. She dashed over to Al Benson's house and rapped an his door.

When she opened it, she laughed excitedly and said, "Now!"

She was back in the hall closet when the front doorbell rang. She peeked and saw her mother come out of the bedroom in her bathrobe, a terry-cloth thing that was really too small for her, especially across her huge tits.

"Al!" she said, a little startled by his appearance.

Al was wearing nothing but an old pair of cut-offs. "Can I come in, Carol? I saw Tracy go out, and saw your light on."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all. I'd just like to talk to you -- if you don't mind."

"Well, I was going to bed early..."

"I could come back tomorrow."

"No, that's all right. Come in."

Tracy smiled with relief. She cracked the door a little wider and watched Al and her mother move to the sofa. Her ears perked up.

"There's something I've been wanting to say for a long time," Al began in a kind of voice that thrilled Tracy. "I understand how you would hold it against me for what happened, but I'd really like to be your friend again."

"I was thinking about that today," Carol said.

"Do you think we could be friends?"

His eyes roamed over her half-naked tits and thighs. Her eyes ran over his hairy chest and chunky crotch. They looked as tense as two teenagers about to neck. Tracy stifled a giggle.

Suddenly Al's mouth was on Carol's and their arms went around each other in a passionate embrace. Tracy's hand flew to her tits and she rubbed them hard as they kissed. This was super exciting for Tracy.

She was wearing an old blue mini-dress, and her tits felt great in it. Her nipples stood out and made little bumps of their own as she played with them. She gave a little moan as her tits were aroused by her fingers end by what she was looking at.

Al had Carol's robe wide open. "You're beautiful," he said hotly, feeling one of her big tits. "I always thought you were, you know."

"No," Carol whispered. "I didn't know."

"Remember the last picnic? You were wearing a green halter and matching shorts. You drove me crazy that day. Every time you moved, I wanted to attack you."

Tracy put a hand over her mouth to silence herself. She knew that Al didn't remember a damned thing about that day, much less what Carol Arnold was wearing. Tracy had supplied him with all the details, knowing that her mother would find it romantic. It worked.

"I didn't think you even noticed me," Carol breathed, letting him explore her tits freely.

"I guess I'm not as bold as your husband," Al said, slipping one hand down to her bushy twat. "He saw what he liked, and took it."

Carol tittered like a teen. "It looks like you're taking what you like."

He sure was! Tracy thought hotly, eyes wide on the horny scene. Al pressed Carol back against the sofa and wedged his hand between her thighs, and his big finger disappeared into her muff. Tracy gawked and rubbed her pussy hotly.

Al's mouth captured Carol's and they took turns sucking tongues. Carol's hand slipped over onto Al's lap and Tracy saw her deft fingers get his cut-off's open and his big stiff dick out. Al finger-fucked Carol's cunt and she jerked his prick.

"Take me to bed," Carol suddenly breathed hotly.

Tracy watched as they made their way around the sofa and into the bedroom. Then she took her little dress off and crept naked in all fours to the sofa. She peeked over it and saw her mother push the vibrator and magazines aside and lay down flat on her back, legs wide open.

"Give it to me," she heard her mother rasp. Tracy crouched, knees shaking as she watched Al drop his cut-offs and climb onto the bed between Carol's outstretched legs. She licked her lips as Al slid his massive cock into Carol's juicy cunt and she finger-fucked her own juicy cunt as Al fucked her mother.

From her new vantage point, Tracy could see all of her mother's hot pussy and could easily see Al's rigid prick drill into her hot, writhing body. It was doubly exciting for her because her mother was getting fucked by the nicest man she'd ever met.

Her excitement mounted by the minute and, as Al's big cock slaughtered Carol's grinding cunt, she squeezed her ills hard and finger-fucked her pussy hornily. Her cute little ass quivered and her legs trembled as she came on her drilling finger.

After a short one, she crept on all fours around the sofa and into her mother's bedroom. She crawled around the bed to the side and Al fucking away lustfully.

"Jesus!" he groaned.

"Wh-what's the matter?" Carol gasped hotly.

"Nothing, nothing," Al groaned into her ear. "Your pussy's so tight."

Tracy stifled a giggle and reached one hand up onto the bed. It felt around, found her mother's vibrator, and pulled it down with her. Smiling triumphantly, she rolled under her mother's bed and fucked herself with the vibrator while the bed overhead jounced and jiggled violently.

She didn't dare turn it on, but she had lots of fun with it anyway. As Al fucked Carol's cunt more and more overhead, Tracy drilled the thick dildo in and out of her squirmy, squishy pussy-hole. It felt great!

"I'm cumming!" Carol screeched.

"Good," Al grunted hornily. "I want you to."

"But what about you?" Carol gasped.

"Don't worry about me. I like fucking your pussy. And I want you to enjoy it."

"Ohhhh, I doooo," Carol whined, churning her ass faster on the bed. "I-I -- oh! Al! It's -- cummmiiinnnggg!"

The bed rocked crazily then as she came wetly and vibrantly. Al fucked all of his stony cock into her pussy and his hot nuts slapped her asscheeks wetly as she came all over him. She had a gushy cunt.

Tracy listened to the sexy sounds of her mother and worked the vibrator faster in and out of her twisty cunt-hole. She got it deep inside her belly and churned hornily on it, fucking herself deep to get tremendous feeling up her cunt. She came like crazy on it.

"Ohhhhh, ahhhhh," Carol moaned, shuddering with ecstasy. "That was good! Why don't you cum now?"

"Not yet," Al said thickly, one of his fingers diddling her squirmy asshole.

"Al! What are you doing?"

"Have you ever been fucked in the ass, Carol?"

"Goodness, no!"

"I want to fuck it," Al groaned.

Carol shook all over, but said nothing to the horny idea. Her husband had never thought of doing such a thing. Maybe because she had come off as such a saint about sex. But then, Phil hadn't fucked her in the ass either.

Tracy switched the vibrator from her wet cunt to her tight little asshole when she heard the bed squeak as her mother changed positions. She heard Al direct her to get her knees farther apart.

Tracy spread her pretty legs real wide and, recalling Al's big cock up her own ass, she inched the soaked vibrator into her hot ass. Then, as Al fucked her mother in the ass with his monstrous cock, she fucked her own asshole with the thick vibrator. She had all she could do to keep from crying out the way her mother did.

"Al! Al!" Carol cried. "Oh, my God! So that's what it feels like! Ohhhhh, I didn't know your prick was so huge! Jean was crazy to leave you! Ohhhh, fuck me, Al, fuck meeee!"

"Hang onto your pillow," Al said hotly. "I'm going to give you something special, something you've never had before."

With that promise, he pulled his soaked cock out of her clenching asshole and drilled it into her cunt. Then he pulled it out of her cunt and drilled it into her asshole. Back and forth, again and again, he serviced both her fuck-hole, faster and faster. Carol's fuck-holes both got drenched with her cum and they took his prick willingly, hotly, eagerly.

Al gritted his teeth with intense pleasure and fucked the hell out of her body. Even when he shot his load, he fucked it into both orifices, delighting the hell out of Carol. Never in her life had she had such a marvelous, fucking experience.

"Ohhhh, ahhhh," she wailed, cunning wildly, "where have you been all my life? Ohhhh, I've been married to the wrong man! Ummmmm, I'm cumming so much!"

Under the bed, Tracy got on all fours and, with her hot hands between her legs, fucked all of the vibrator into her tight, squirming asshole. Then, as if she knew what Al had done, she fucked the plastic sex toy into both her holes, one at a time, until she came again, shivering from head to toe as her young pussy creamed.

17 notes · View notes

just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

Note

Part 4 of Jimercury Kid series

(Contains spanking of a child.)

It was unusual for Jim to allow anyone to accompany him with his gardening, mostly because it was something he held close to his heart, and he did a much better job without having someone else under his feet. But when Khaleel started making a habit of toddling out into the garden to watch him plant flowers or trim the hedges, he didn’t have the heart to shoo him away and instead began tutoring the little boy about the ins-and-outs of gardening, even investing in a little plastic trowel and bucket so Khaleel could practice planting his own flowers.

Of course, the garden still wasn’t 100% safe, despite them childproofing it as much as they could, and Jim made it very clear to his son that he was never to touch any of his gardening tools without permission. The koi pond had also been sectioned off with some rope, after Phoebe caught the little boy leaning vicariously over it to stare at the fish below the surface and had hastily grabbed him before he fell in face first. For the most part, Khaleel had been compliant with the rules concerning the garden. But, as with every toddler, it was only a matter of time before he ended up getting himself into trouble.

Jim had been busy planting a new flower bed when he heard the familiar scurrying footsteps of his son and seconds later, Khaleel’s little arms were wrapped around his leg, big blue-green eyes staring up at him hopefully.

‘Daddy cut flower, please.’ The child babbled, pointing towards the rose bush nearby.

It took Jim a moment to understand the boy’s request; Khaleel was aware of how much Freddie loved his flowers and often made a point of asking Jim to cut him a few of the Eden roses and remove the thorns so he could take them to his Baba. Freddie’s cry of delight always made the child elated.

‘Daddy will cut you some flowers in a minute, sweetheart.’ Jim replied, gently stroking Khaleel’s dark head of hair. ‘I just have a bit more work to do.’

Usually, Khaleel would nod and maybe hang around to watch his father work until he was ready to fulfil his request. But today, his bottom lip stuck out and he let go of Jim’s leg to cross his arms defiantly.

‘Want flowers now.’ He whined, tugging at Jim’s trousers, and pointing desperately to the roses.

‘No, Kenny.’ Jim responded gently, the boy’s nickname rolling off his tongue with great affection. It was Phoebe who had started calling him that and the name had stuck.

But Khaleel refused to relent. He tugged harder, starting to cry until Jim sighed and set his trowel down in the dirt. He was a far more patient man than Freddie was, but that didn’t mean he was about to tolerate a tantrum. He had no problem laying down the law when he needed to.

‘Khaleel Joseph Mercury-Hutton, I said no.’ He spoke firmly down to the little boy, refusing to be moved by the teary eyes. ‘Daddy will cut you some flowers when he’s finished with his work. Until then, why don’t you play with your bucket and spade?’

He had anticipated a screaming fit, but surprisingly, Khaleel let go of his trouser leg and toddled over to the plastic bucket and trowel that were sitting nearby, his fit seemingly forgotten. Relieved, Jim turned back to the patch of earth he had been working on and began scattering the seeds in the tiny, individual holes, before covering them. He turned around to locate his watering can when he was met with a sight that almost made his heart stop.

Khaleel was holding on to Jim’s gardening shears, which he had foolishly left sitting out on the grass in preparation for trimming the hedges after he was done with the flower bed. The little boy was struggling to open them, the blades pointed right towards his face and Jim’s life literally flashed before his eyes as he shot up and tore them out of the toddler’s hands before he took his eye out. Jim’s heart was beating so fast, he could hear it in his ears; once the fear had subsided, it was replaced with an overwhelming rage, and he threw the shears down as he approached his son in a few quick steps.

‘Don’t you ever, ever do that again!’ he roared, grabbing the little boy under his arms; before he even realised what he was doing, he had knelt on the grass, pulled Khaleel over his knee and delivered two swats to the seat of his pants.

He raised his hand to deliver a third swat, but suddenly came to his senses when he heard Khaleel crying loudly, his little hands flying behind him to protect his bottom as he sobbed, ‘no Daddy, please! I’m sorry!’

Jim could hardly process what had happened. He had hit his little boy. Not once, but twice. He felt sick.

He carefully lifted Khaleel off his knee and tried to put his arms around him, but his son immediately sped away towards the house until he disappeared through the conservatory door, sobbing. (1/3)

Jim honestly thought he was going to vomit. He sat down in the grass, head in his hands as his mind replayed the scenario over and over, torturing him. How could he have done it? He and Freddie had always agreed there would be no smacking, none whatsoever. How could he have lost his temper so badly that he’d hurt his own child?

Growing up in Carlow, he and his nine siblings would always receive a good smack when they were naughty. Hell, he’d be lucky if he only got a few swats with the hand – his father preferred to use a slipper or a wooden spoon for punishments. He never resented his parents for their discipline; he always knew they loved him and that’s just how it was back then, especially with such a big family to take care of. There were times when he’d been leathered so hard, he couldn’t sit for days, but he had turned out alright, hadn’t he?

Clearly not, he thought to himself.

No doubt Freddie had had a similar upbringing, as boarding schools were notorious for their rather brutal methods for discipline. But while Jim had convinced himself that such treatment hardened you and made you a stronger person, Freddie believed it caused nothing but pain and fear. It didn’t matter whether it was a tanning with a belt or a soft swat with the hand – striking a child in any kind of fashion was wrong through the Persian’s eyes.

Speak of the Devil, no less than five minutes later Jim heard a door slam and turned to see Freddie storming across the lawn, looking so angry that Jim would have dropped dead right there if looks could kill.

‘What the fuck have you done?’ His husband yelled as soon as he was close, finger prodding aggressively at Jim’s chest. ‘Khaleel came into the lounge crying his eyes out, saying you smacked him!’

Jim had seen Freddie angry before, but in this moment the other man was positively murderous. He held up his hands defensively. ‘He wanted me to cut some flowers for you and got upset when I asked him to wait. So, he grabbed my garden shears, even though I’ve told him never to touch them. I was terrified he was going to hurt himself, so-’

‘So, you hurt him instead?’

The garden fell silent. Jim opened his mouth, then instantly closed it. Freddie was right. There was no way he could defend this, no matter how much his stupid brain tried to justify it.

‘I-it was just a smack, Freddie. It was over his trousers, he probably barely felt it-’

‘That’s not the point!’ Freddie shouted, stamping his foot. ‘Your son is in there scared out of his wits, thinking his father now hates him! We agreed that we’d never hit him, Jim. You promised!’

‘I didn’t hit him, I smacked him.’

‘There’s no difference and you know it!’ Freddie was in tears, fists clenched, face red with anger. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this! If this is how you plan to treat our child, you can pack your bags and get out right now, and you’ll never see Khaleel again!’

The colour drained out of Jim’s face as he heard those words and for a moment, he thought he might faint. Even Freddie seemed shocked and covered his mouth, as if hoping he could take back what he said. There was a long pause as they took a moment to calm down, their breathing long and laboured.

‘I…I didn’t mean that.’ Freddie eventually stammered. ‘I would never take Khaleel away from you, I swear. But we agreed, Jim. We agreed we’d never smack him, no matter how naughty he is. You promised.’

‘I know…’ Jim was ready to cry himself and he covered his face, ‘I’m so sorry, Freddie. I just… I was so scared, and I lost my temper. But you’re right, there’s no excuse for what I did. Jesus Christ, I’m a monster.’

Freddie reached up and removed Jim’s hands from his eyes, his anger having dissipated. ‘You’re not a monster. You’re a father who loves his son and made a stupid mistake in the heat of the moment. God knows, we’ve all made mistakes, Jim.’

The Irishman looked so miserable that Freddie leaned in and quickly kissed his lips, ‘come on. We should go and have a little chat with Khaleel.’

‘I don’t think I can face him.’ Jim said quietly.

‘Nonsense. He loves you and he’ll forgive you.’ He took Jim’s hand and slowly led him back towards the house. (2/3)

When Jim entered the kitchen, he noticed Khaleel sitting at the table with Phoebe, who had managed to distract him with some raw cookie dough which was the boy’s favourite treat. As soon as he saw Jim, Khaleel’s eyes widened slightly and he shuffled off his chair to go and hide behind Phoebe, breaking Jim’s heart as he looked up at him in fear.

Freddie gave Jim an encouraging glance and Jim squatted down to his knees. ‘Kenny? Kenny, sweetheart, please come here.’

The little boy hesitated, glancing up at Uncle Phoebe for approval, before running over to his daddy and wrapping his arms around his neck, burying his face into the grubby material of Jim’s overalls.

‘Sorry, Daddy.’ Khaleel whimpered, hanging on so tightly it was a miracle he didn’t strangle the man. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

Jim bit his lip in an effort not to start bawling like a baby. He held his son close, gently swaying back and forth to soothe him. ‘I’m sorry too, sweetheart. Daddy shouldn’t have done what he did. I’m so, so sorry, Khaleel. I love you so much and I’ll never smack you again. I promise.’

‘I love Daddy.’ Khaleel mumbled back and he actually giggled as Jim started to place kisses on his cheeks, Jim’s moustache tickling his soft, delicate skin.

Freddie watched his two favourite boys with a fond smile as the pair reconciled. Being parent wasn’t easy, but he and Jim were learning every day. (3/3)

(Eh, this wasn’t my best work, and I wasn’t sure how to end it, but I hope you like it anyway.)

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

First of all, I hope you're doing well, anon. All my love and hugs to you🧡

Secondly, omg what are you talking about? This is BRILLIANT and my heart I love this fictional little baby so much🥺

Smacking as a punishment is no doubt a sensitive topic, especially in the context of Freddie's life, and I think you dealt with it beautifully. The other day I saw a discussion about Freddie and Jim's possible difference in views regarding smacking, and I loved how you have incorporated that aspect. It feels very real.

And oof, Jim being so heartbroken after smacking his baby, and Freddie's (expected) reaction... my heart. Another tiny detail that I loved was how you made Freddie kind of expel Jim from the house whilst being engaged in a heated argument. We know this happened multiple times, with Freddie realising his mistake sooner or later. It was a nice authentic touch, character wise. But of course, in this series they're parents so he came to his senses pretty early. It's possible that with time, the real life Freddie may have stopped being so rash too, or at least may have pleaded with Jim to come back sooner, lol.

Anyway, I absolutely loved this part. I loved the reconciliation between Jim and Khaleel, and also the fact that the toddler is so comfortable with Phoebe. I mean, of course he would be, but it was nice to see.

Lovely drabble as always, anon. Thank you for writing!

Also, someone sent a prompt for you. If you have the time, they'd really appreciate you writing on it💙

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #freddie and jim and their baby #anon writing

17 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

98. I’ve been hired to kill you, but you don’t seem that concerned???

Super/vigilante/mercenary au? I feel like it would be really cool if one of them has known the other’s secret identity for a while but doesn’t have anything against them. The two have also been becoming /close/ friends with mutual pining, so the hit is actually just a good excuse to reveal their identity before asking them out. Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I tried to work in as much of this as I could

Content warning for mentions of guns and mentions of death

It’s a dark and stormy night, because of course it fucking is.

Indrid steers the borrowed car down the street, rain hammering the car while his heart tries chiseling it’s way from his chest. He doesn’t want to be here, circling the block like a shark on a reef, the light from the top floor, left corner of the apartment building telling him there’s no pretending his prey isn’t home. He doesn’t want to think about the instructions he burned, the lethal object hidden in his clothes.

He doesn’t want to kill Duck Newton.

“Excuse me, but I have a rather odd question; which of these trails is the least traveled?”

The ranger looks up from the map between them, grin friendly and a little lopsided, “Lookin to do some birdwatchin or somethin?”

“I like to draw but I, ah, I also get easily overwhelmed by crowds.”

“Try this one” The man circles a trailhead, “not super popular this time of year. Watch out for mud.”

“I shall, thank you.”

He didn’t.

Which is why he’s back in the visitor center, trying to get enough of the mud off so that driving home isn’t miserable. Worse, the ranger from earlier walks in, takes one look at him, and snickers.

“I tried! Truly, I was careful, but there was this-”

“Patch of stones in the trail?”

“...Yes. How did you know?”

“Fell flat on my ass two days ago thanks to them. Wait here a sec.” The door swings shut, then opens again while Indrid is rinsing mud from his glasses. The ranger holds out a packet of body wipes, “this’ll get the worst of it.”

“Thank you ranger...Newton.”

That same smile, reaching a pair of mismatched eyes, “Just call me Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid parks in a spot far from any streetlights or cameras, pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and starts towards the apartment complex.

“These are fascinating.” Indrid peers over the edge of the dock at the early blooming bulbs.

“Glad you like ‘em, thought they might be alley after you showed me those drawings of the marsh.”

He imagines Duck seeing the flowers on his rounds and thinking not of the seasons, the weather, the way their petals look near the water, but of him. It’s the sweetest thought anyone’s ever spared for him.

The lobby door opens easily, courtesy of the copy of the keycard left in his mailbox. He knows he should take the stairs; fewer people use them.

He calls the elevator.

“Duck? The sign on the door is, that’s just temporary right?”

“Nope.” Duck sets his hat on the counter, runs a hand right through the grey streak in his hair, “they’re closin the whole park until further notice, which is probably gonna be never. Laid all of us off.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Even Indrid could tell it wasn’t. That from their occasional conversations, Duck’s work was akin to his heart, kept life flowing through him on even the roughest days. The assignment had told him not to worry, that he was almost doing his target a favor, ending a life he wanted over anyway.

Indrid knocks on the door, tossing his options about in his mind as slow footsteps approach. He could do what he was sent here for. Or he could offer Duck Newton something to brighten his days.

The door opens, Duck standing there in boxers, a plain white t-shirt, and a confused expression.

“Indrid? Jesus, come in, you're fuckin soaked. This is some storm.”

“At least it will help with the drought.” Indrid closes the door, slips off his shoes, lets Duck take his sweatshirt to hang near the heater, angling his body so he won’t see or feel the handgun tucked in his waistband.

“Yeah. Assumin it don’t just mudslide all the hills that lost their cover durin fire season.” Duck sighs, plops down on the couch, “sorry, ain’t exactly in a chipper mood.”

“That’s sort of why I came to see you. I, ah, I wanted to see how you were getting on after the park closing.”

Duck gestures to the messy apartment, then at himself.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you got enough money to reopen the park indefinitely.”

He chuckles, “I wish I did.” He picks up a small, wooden ship, “goodness, did you make this?”

“Yep. Know it’s an old man hobby but, uh, I dunno. I just like makin stuff. Putting things into the world, even if it’s just a model ship on the shelf or a mint plant on the windowsill.” His smile is tired, but there’s a determination to it that makes up Indrid’s mind for him. He’s about to make his offer when Duck adds, “mind grabbin me some water since you’re closer to the kitchen? Cups are in the middle cabinet.”

“Of course.” Indrid crosses into the small kitchen, mind wandering to what their first date will entail as he sets his hands on two glasses.

The cold metal at the base of his neck hurtles him back to earth.

“Someone set you up, slim.”

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Duck’s hand goes instantly to Indrid’s gun, pulling it free and tossing it away before roughly patting him up and down. The barrel on his skin never wavers.

“Duck, please, I, I can explain.”

“No need to. Thought you seemed familiar, went diggin and found out who you work for. Bet you thought I hadn’t seen your nine mil, but I ain’t lived this long by bein careless.”

“I don’t understand. The file they gave me didn’t say anything about this.”

A bitter chuckle, “Wasn’t always a ranger, slim. The fact they didn’t tell you that makes me think they’re hopin I off you, not the other way around.”

“But, but I didn’t do anything.” The crack in his voice is why he was never cut out for this, he told them that, over and over again.

“And you ain’t gonna.”

“Duck please I, I wasn’t going to do what they told me.”

“If your bosses are who I think, then helpin me would be a goddamn death wish on your part.”

“It would have been worth it. One date with you would have been worth whatever they did to me if they caught me after I ran.”

“That’s mighty funny” the barrel disappears, and the ghost of a kiss takes it’s place, “I was busy weighing whether askin you out was worth the risk of gettin shot.”

Duck sets the Glock on the counter as Indrid slumps against it, turning to find the ranger watching him carefully.

“What do we do now?” He sort of wants him to kiss him, sort of wants to storm out and find whoever thought he could be gotten rid of so easily.

“I say we-” Duck freezes as three, sharp knocks come from the door. He crouches to the floor, Indrid following him. The ranger grabs Indrid’s gun from the floor, whispers, “stay put, follow my lead.” Then he calls, “who is it?”

“I have a package for you to sign for, Mr. Newton.”

“Be right there. Actually” he lowers his voice slightly, “uh, Indrid, you’re right by the door, could you-”

The shot breaks the wood right where Indrid’s head would be. Duck fires two shots, both of them sighing when there’s a tell-tale thump of body meeting carpet.

“Glad yours had the silencer. Buys us some time, but someone is bound to come outta their apartment eventually and find the fucker.”

“Our hitmen also have to report completion within a certain time frame or back-up is sent. And no, I can’t do it for him, it has to be voice contact.” Indrid stands, calmer than a moment ago; this part he knows.

“Good to know. In that case, slim,” he raises an eyebrow, “think it’s time you and I take a vacation.”

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

“You really got no clue what they’re after you for?” Duck winds them along highway 50 as the sun peers anxiously over the horizon.

“None.” Indrid fishes out the roll of mini doughnuts he bought near Donner Lake, the first place Duck had deemed safe to stop since they left the coast. They’re in his car, Indrid knowing full well the one he borrowed has a tracking device installed, “I’m mostly a numbers man; they give me scenarios and I give them likely outcomes. I, ah, I also helped with clean up, but I suspect they did that when they were annoyed I’d given them what they thought was an inaccurate prediction. I don’t like the aftermath of disasters, even if they’re small. And I was never, ever assigned a hit until last night” He worries a hangnail, “I thought they were satisfied with my work. Even if they weren’t, they could easily do away with me. There was no point in sending me on a fake mission and hoping you’d kill me instead.”

“Unless they got something against me too, which they could.” Duck drums on the wheel, “I, uh, I joined a, uh, guess you’d call ‘em a vigilante group when I was younger. I was eighteen and they recruited me, sayin how there were certain folks who were chosen to protect the world from evil. I avoided it for a few years, but they were persistent, and honestly I thought I could make a difference. That we were just protectin folks who the system didn’t. And we did. Kinda.”

Indrid offers him a doughnut, which he takes and chews before continuing

“Trouble was, not everyone agreed on who needed protectin. It got so convoluted and so goddamn dangerous that I decided I wanted out. Wanted to spend the rest of my life makin things grow, lookin out for the woods, that kinda thing. It almost worked. But if I could go back in time to talk to that kid, I’d tell ‘im there are enemies you can’t unmake, things you can’t undo.”

“Very true.” Indrid murmurs, “I suppose I’d tell myself I did not blame him for throwing in with who he had to in order to survive.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you’re doin’ now, too.”

“No.” Indrid shakes his head, “right now I am on the run with someone I like a great deal.”

Duck flashes him a smile, flips the blinker to turn them into the only sign of civilization for miles; a cluster of buildings calling itself Cold Springs Station. The groggy teen at the counter gives them the key to a cramped cabin.

Indrid tosses his bag--the one he hid in the trunk of the borrowed car, knowing the likely outcome of his visit would involve flight of some kind--down on the right side of the bed, Duck doing the same on the left. It’s only when they’re under the covers, both half-asleep, that he notices he forgot something.

“Drat. I meant to stick something plush in my bag. I, ah” he blushes, “I sleep much better with something to cuddle.”

A strong arm drapes over his waist while Duck tucks his head under Indrid’s head, “how’s that?”

Indrid winds his limbs around him, feeling like a little kid who’s just had his favorite teddy bear returned to him after hours of tearful searching, “perfect.”

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

The plan is to weave through the Southwest like a drunk bee before turning North; they need to put off visiting any places with friends or family for as long as they can. They spent a morning on the floor of a run down motel with a map and some pens, marking off the safest routes and places they’d like to visit. Duck picks state parks, Indrid any place likely to have lots of sweet food.

Whenever they stop for the night, they never bother asking for two beds. While they’ve yet to go further, Indrid delights in waking Duck with a kiss on the cheek each morning.

On the Nevada border Indrid spends two hours playing Blackjack, counting cards enough to win several thousand dollars but not enough to get caught. In a pizza place outside of Salt Lake, Duck wins Indrid a stuffed mothman from a claw machine (“just in case you gotta sleep alone some time”).

And fifty miles from Alamogordo, they get into trouble.

Indrid carries his weapon near constantly, but he really didn’t think he needed it at the Motel 6 Breakfast Buffet. When the man waiting for the waffle maker next to him says “outside, Cold, let’s get this over with” he goes still, wishing they’d at least given him time to eat.

Then he hurls his scalding mocha into the man’s face, striking him in the ribs and breaking his nose before he even hits the floor. Orange and red liquid splashes his face, two shots hitting the juice dispenser behind him. The other two assassins don’t get a second chance to fire; Duck takes out one with a chair, jabs the other with the splintered leg, and gathers both their guns with an ease that Indrid admires.

As they’re sprinting for the parking lot, Indrid slapping an extra two hundred dollars on the lobby desk in apology, he realizes admiration doesn’t quite capture his feelings. Duck is so calm in the face of danger, so commanding, and so very, very...hot.

The moment he allows himself that thought is the moment he dooms his focus for the remainder of the day. He contributes to the planning of their next stop, to driving and watching the mirror for cars that follow for too long, but his mind is back in the dining room, hoping Duck will turn the fire in his eyes onto Indrid, bend him over the beige table and take him while the people who tried to hurt them whimper and bleed on the floor.

“‘Drid? I’m gonna go shower, didn’t get a chance this mornin. You wanna scope out dinner?”

“Of course, but I fear it might be the vending machine special again.”

“Eh, I can live with that, especially if they got those Oreo packets.” Duck blows him a kiss and shuts the bathroom door.

Duck’s showers are between five and six minutes in length; Indrid’s certain he can get himself off in that time. He slips his pajama pants down, spits in his hand, and pretends the fingers pressing on his neck are not his own. That Duck’s voice is in his ear the same way it was that first night, low and so firm Indrid has no choice but to bend.

“You droppin hints, slim?” Duck leans in the bathroom doorway, towel around his waist.

He bolts upright, pants tangled around his knees, “Nono, I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to be a few minutes more.”

“Wanted to shave and forgot my dop kit. Now I’m kinda disappointed that I was gonna miss the show.”

“I, ah, I, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Thought we established we were into each other.” Duck’s smile falters, “wait, fuck, if you decided you ain’t I’ll back the fuck off.”

“No!” Indrid crawls to the edge of the bed nearest Duck, not caring how silly he must look, “it’s the opposite, I want you even more now than I did when we started this trip. After this morning I--ah, never mind. The point is, I would very much like to get you into bed sooner rather than later.”

“How about now?”

“Only if you…” Indrid’s brain screeches to a stop as Duck drops his towel. Now he understands where the urge to create phallic sculptures comes from; he wants to preserve this sight for all time.

“Glad you approve.” Duck chuckles, joins him on the bed, “gotta say the, uh, feelin’s mutual.” He slides a hand along Indrid’s dick, gone soft from his alarm, and lets out an approving groan as it hardens against his palm, “that’s it, sugar, get excited for me.”

“If I get any more excited I will explode.”

“Can’t have that, it’s a pain to clean blood off of walls by yourself” a kiss finds his cheek, “you got a preference for how we do this?”

“I, I’d like to, ah, receive. At least for tonight. Is that alright?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck growls, abandoning him on the bed and laughing when he whines, “gimme two seconds, slim, then I’ll take care of you.” Two condoms and a small bottle of lube bonk into Indrid’s foot, “packed those just in case. You’re gonna get one of ‘em out and open yourself up for me while tellin me just what got you so riled up. Shirt off, c’mon, get to it.”

The gruff tone means Indrid is blushing on every inch of skin by the time he’s fully naked. As Duck’s gaze moves over him, all traces of dominance wash away, leaving expression tender when their eyes finally meet.

“Christ, ‘Drid, you look better than ever coulda pictured. Shoulda been bookin more places with pools just to get you shirtless.”

“It’s January, dear.”

“Hot tubs, then.” Duck nudges him onto his back by kissing his shoulder, and the sight of the ranger above him reminds Indrid’s fingers what they should be doing. He fumbles the condom open, gasps when one digit feels like a massive intrusion.

“Easy slim, easy, you’re probably still tense from this mornin.”

“I thought that much was obvious.” Indrid grins as Duck bends to kiss his collarbone.

“It is, so start tellin me what got you so horny you jerked off the first free second you had.”

“It’s a, a bit embarrassing OH, ohthat'snice” he sighs as Duck kisses a slow trail towards his hips, “but I find the moments when you demonstrate a certain...ruthlessness in-incredibly arousing.” He wiggles his hips happily as Duck drags his lips across his belly.

“Keep goin.”

“You’re brave, and calm even when things are awful, and that makes me feel so very safe with you. But then there are those times when I remember how dangerous you could be, AHnnn” the second finger goes in easier than the first, “that when it, it comes down to it you are more seasoned in lethal matters than I am and I, you could render me utterly helpless, have me, use me, hurt me, but instead you offer me more tenderness than I deserve.” He glances down to where Duck’s chin rests on his chest, the ranger’s eyes overflowing with affection.

“You want the gentle me or the rough one tonight?” Duck tucks a strand of Indrid’s silver hair behind his ear.

“Rough.” It’s so quiet he’s amazed Duck hears it.

“Okay. In that case-”

“AHgod!” Indrid’s hand is pulled free as Duck first flips him over and then hauls him onto his knees.

“Hands on the wall. Now.”

Indrid sets his palms on peeling grey paint as foil crinkles behind him. When the head of Duck’s cock rubs his entrance he whimpers, hoping the prep was enough.

“Here’s how this is gonna go; I’m gonna use this cute little ass however long and however hard I want, and you;re gonna keep your hands there the whole fuckin time. You move, or you mouth off, and I shove some fingers in along with my dick just to remind you who’s boss.”

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid rests his forehead on the wall.

“It gets to be too much, say stop.” A kiss to his neck, “much as I wanna ruin you, wanna be good to you even more.”

“Understood. Now please, please fuck meEEEh, ohgoodnessAH, ahhhgod.” He scratches the wall as Duck stretches him open, the prep proving enough but only just and tears pricking his eyes by the time Duck bottoms out.

One hand stays on his hip while Duck’s right arm wraps around his chest, keeping them close, “Fuuuck, now I see what your job was; ass this nice, you were the fuckin cocksleeve for the entire Organization, weren’t you?”

“Not at all” Indrid rolls his hips at the taunt in Duck’s voice, “I was a very valuable asset.”

“Yeah, I’ll say you’re an asset.” A sharp thrust, the menace of which is broken by Duck giggling at his own joke, Indrid hiding his face in his arm to do the same.

“I say in, ahgod, an office all day, no one saw me, I was not h-hired for my looks, I promise you.”

“If you say so. I say it’s their. Fuckin. Loss.” Three thrusts and Indrid’s cock is dripping onto the pillows, and he moans as Duck settles into a demanding rhythm.

“Got another theory for you, slim.”

“D-do tell.” Whether the stammering is from his teeth clacking together or his thoughts being bounced around his brain from the force of Duck pounding into him, he can’t say.

“I think you stuck around as long as you did because you get off on it danger.”

Indrid sucks in a breath, whimpers, “No. I, I was there because I was apprenticed out and, as you knowOH it’s, it’s hard to leave such places.”

Fingers on his throat, pressing but not squeezing, “Liar. Bet you got off at least once a day, let everyone from the hired hits to higher ups cum in you as long as they made you think they could off someone. Oh fuck, heh, you like that?” Duck smirks as Indrid tries to fuck himself in time with the pumps of his hips.

“Yes, goodness, I’d never want it, only want you, but, but the idea is divine.”

“Too bad, because now you’re all mine and anyone who tries to take you is gonna be in for a world of hurt.”

His climax curls in his stomach, begging him to touch himself and free it, but he’s determined to be good.

“Duck, please let me cum, please, it’s so good but I can’t-”

“I’ll help you out sugar, don’t worry. But you gotta do one thing first.” Duck nips his ear, “say you’re my personal toy from now on. C’mon” the fingers on his throat tighten, “say i-”

“I’m yours, I’m your toy, only you can have me, you can do whatever you wish to me and I’ll take it with a smile, anything, sweetheart, please, pleasepleasepleaseAHhhhn.” His cum splatters on the wall, Duck’s hand leaving his dick the instant it does to dig his fingers into both hips and fuck up into him with ecstatic groans.

“That’s it sugar, take it, be good for me and lemme fuck you until you can’t move, ohfuck, fuck, ‘Drid, yes, fuckyes.” He holds him tight as he cums, breath warm against his back. Then he’s pulling out and slumping forward as Indrid falls back into his arms.

“Ooops” he snickers, spotting the cum, “still easier to clean than blood.”

“Indeed.” Indrid bites his lip, “I, that was wonderful but there’s one thing more I would like. Will you kiss me.” He looks over his shoulder to say it. Duck cups his face, turns it so he can bring their lips together. It’s far slower and twice as tender as anything else they’ve done together.

“Can’t believe I forgot to do that until now. Gonna kiss you silly.” Duck kisses him again as Indrid turns in his lap. When he pulls back, his face is serious, “Y’know, it’s easy to be brave and calm when I’m doin’ it for you. You make me feel like I can face any goddamn thing, long as it’s for your sake. That make sense?”

Indrid studies his face in the half-shaded light from the bedside lamp, sees the curves and colors, sees the man he was willing to run away for.

“Yes, sweetheart, it does.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #meet ugly #hitman au #I guess?#assassin au

12 notes · View notes

navegandoaciegas · 4 years

Text

Sunshine Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: fluff, soft!Bucky, mentions of injury (no graphic descriptions), 3.6k words

Summary: You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish he wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

Two years ago you were supposed to enjoy a solo road trip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invited himself along. Now you’re forced back to New York, and your boyfriend is ready to surprise you once again.

A/N: Bucky’s POV. Sequel to I love my baby to death, but I suppose you could read it on its own. As always forgive any mistakes, English is my third language.

Had to repost this cause it didn’t show up in the tags, hopefully this time it will

“I swear Buck, if I see one more damn corn plant I’m losing it. I am this close” you say pinching your thumb and pointer finger real close “to a mental breakdown. I’m never eating corn again, mark my words. No corn flakes, no corn on the cobble, no nothing. I’m done.”

“We’re in Iowa, in the middle of the corn belt, I don’t know what you were expecting.” he replies, slightly amused by your little outburst and sour mood.

“Well, clearly not ending up on the set of Children of the corn.” you groan, getting back to sulking in the passenger’s seat, seething at the fields that are only a scapegoat to the real problem.

You’d been merrily skiing in Montana when his skis got somehow tangled with yours and he tumbled down on you, dragging you down the slope. Hadn’t you injured yourself, rolling in the snow like it only ever happens in cartoons would have been pretty comical.

“What?” you screech, almost jumping off the stretcher and grimacing in pain when your left foot hits the metal poles at the side. “No. It’s just pain, I’m sure it will go away, right? I mean I was an Avenger, I’ve suffered worse than a fall.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but knee surgery will be necessary, the MRI here shows you’ve torn your ACL and from the looks of it, your left knee was already damaged badly, numerous times at that, probably a result of your time on the field.”

“I can’t, I can’t just get surgery, we’re miles away from home and I-”

You’re almost sobbing and Bucky feels like shit because he’s the reason for all this and all he can do now is pat your back reassuringly.

“Given the extent of the damage, I’m afraid there’s no other option.”

“How long is the recovery time?” he asks, voice unsure.

“Well, it’s my knowledge she’s not an enhanced individual, so like any average human it will take anywhere from 6 to 9 months to recover fully. In the meantime, no more hikes or sports.”

Bucky inhales a sharp breath. Six to nine months. No more hikes. Surely you’ll have to go back to New York.

God, you are so going to break up with him.

Turns out you didn’t dump him in Montana, you didn’t abandon him in one of those auto stops along Interstate 90 in South Dakota, and you don’t seem to want to break up with him amidst the green fields of Iowa, but still, he knows he will drive through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate, driving the same route you did as friends two years ago, along Interstate 80 headed East instead of West, only this time he’s not hoping to be more than the annoying old man who invited himself on your trip; he’s your boyfriend now, but maybe not for long.

“You know, you really are dramatic.” you say in a teasing tone, “I’m not going to break up with you, stop thinking about that, it was an accident, ‘s not like you beat me.”

“I know, I’m just sorry because you’re in pain and it’s my fault and now we have to get back home but I know you wanted to stay more and I did too and if I didn’t-” he’s rambling, and your place your hand on his thigh and squeeze reassuringly, offering him one of those sweet smiles he dies for.

“Buck, it’s okay” you interrupt his word vomit “like I said a million times before, it was an accident, it’s going to be fine I promise. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise with my mood, I swear I’m just pissed at all this damn corn. We’re never going to a maze again, by the way.” That gets a laugh out of him, and he loves you even more because you’re always there to lift his spirits. “I’m dreading these next months, the surgery, physiotherapy and all, but I know you’re there for me, yes?”

He nods, teary eyed, and you continue, “And I can’t lie, it’s been a while, I’m kind of excited to see everyone again, I mean except for Sam of course,” you say, as if he didn’t “live rent free in your head”, like Sam himself put it, “Jesus that man, how many of our trips has he invited himself on? I’ve lost count. ‘Member when we found him waiting for us in Phoenix? Fuckin’ weirdo.”

You both chuckle at the memory of Sam in your motel room, waiting on your bed with crossed arms like a disappointed parent, pissed off because you hadn’t called in a week and he was worried sick that something may have happened to you, a deadly sniper, and him, the Winter fuckin’ Soldier. Truth is, Bucky was so excited about your new relationship that he rarely let you leave the bed when you were in your room, and when you did you were in no condition to Facetime anyone, with your smudged mascara and swollen lips.

“I’ve heard Clint will come visit us with Laura and the kids. Nathaniel must be so big now.” you add, your eyes glazed over as you think of the little boy who was named after your Natasha.

“God, Morgan is probably all grown up.” he muses, a tinge of sadness in his voice. You squeeze his thigh again. “And the spider kid too, he’s a grown man now.”

“That he is.” you chuckle, “But to me he’ll always be the boy in the red spanx who knocked us on our asses in Berlin.”

He smiles and shakes his head at the memory, and you both fall in a comfortable silence. Now that he’s not consumed by fear anymore, Bucky kind of agrees with you that all this green is, in fact, nauseating.

“You know what, no more popcorn either.”

“Deal.”

A year and something ago

Arizona

“Can you believe there’s a city in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences? We should totally go and visit just for the hell of it, sounds like the type of place Steve Rogers should have been born into.” you state with all the seriousness in the world, and he snorts because after all this time you still haven’t found it in yourself to stop mocking Steve’s righteousness.

You’re walking ahead of him and he’s so distracted by your tiny denim shorts that he, the master of stealth, almost trips over a boulder. You’re always pretty but tonight, illuminated by the orange sky of Arizona, you look like a dream. And you’re so happy, snapping photos at everything you see, that even if Bucky hates the desert and the heat makes him uncomfortable, he won’t tell you, because the look on your face makes it all worth it.

“Baby, look at this big boy here, he’s like 20 feet tall. Oh my god, he’s so cute and beefy, just like you.” you gush at one of the giant cactuses of Saguaro National Park.

He raises his eyebrows skeptically.

All he sees are green spiky motherfuckers that he’s accidentally hurt himself with more times that he’d like to admit in all those damn ‘hikes’ you like so much, but to you cactuses are the most beautiful sight in the word. He genuinely does not see the appeal, but he understands now how you feel when he talks about all his ‘nerd shit’, as you call it.

“I’m cuter.” he says frowning.

“Of course you are.”

For some reason you don’t sound convincing at all.

It’s only spring but here in Tucson the temperature is 85 degrees today and he’s sweating buckets underneath the long sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing to conceal his vibranium arm. He’s long past the time when he was forced to hide from authorities or the general public’s judgement, but still he doesn’t want to be recognized and attract attention. He doesn’t do well with crowds, and he doesn’t understand how you can be so calm and collected when people stare at you and ask for photographs while you’re minding your own business.

As soon as you get back to the motel you’re staying at he takes off his soaked shirt, not caring that the air conditioning is probably going to end his old ass.

“What the hell happened to you?” you ask, scowling as you analyze the skin around his prosthetic.

He shrugs. “It happens sometimes.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me James.”

You only call him that when he’s in big trouble. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose: why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the damn time? “It’s nothing sweetheart, just sometimes the skin becomes flared when it’s too hot.”

“Nothing?” you shrill, throwing your hands around animatedly, “Nothing? Bucky your whole shoulder is super red and irritated, don’t act like it’s normal. We’ve been in the sun for hours, for days really, why didn’t you tell me anything? I would have driven us back here immediately. Does it hurt?”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin your fun, you liked it so much there. And no, it only itches a little.”

Your eyes soften and you move to cup his face in your hands, looking at him with so much love that he feels himself melt away into a puddle, “Baby you don’t need to do that, you know I care more about you than anything else.”

“Even more than the cactuses?”

“Well, now you’re asking too much of me.”

He snorts and playfully hits your arm, then he falls back on the bed and drags you down with him. You stay cuddled like that for a while before you pull back to look into his eyes.

“I appreciate you doing this for me Buck, but you don’t ever need to sacrifice your own comfort for me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry. But you looked so happy.”

“Don’t be, and I’m always happy with you, I promise.”

“I’m always happy too.”

“We’re such saps. Gross. Anyways, guess where we’re going next?” you ask him cheerfully, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.

“The plan was New Mexico, Texas and Louisiana, right?” he frowns. You’d made plans together ages ago and you were so excited about visiting Texas of all places for God knows what reason. He’s predicted already that he won’t stand the suffocating, humid heat of that whole area. At least Arizona was dry as hell.

You on the other hand, everyday he’s become more aware of how much of a lizard you are, seeking the sun and walking around in the scorching heat not even breaking a sweat.

“Guess again baby boy, we’re going straight to Oregon. I mean, it's not Alaska but it’s not as hot as the desert here, right?

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to overheat?” you state like it’s obvious, rolling your eyes, “We’ll do New Mexico and the rest next fall, and now Oregon and Washington because it’s a little cooler there. So what do you say?” You ask with a hopeful look in your eyes.

“Princess I appreciate you doing this for me, but I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to change plans for me, this is your road trip.”

“No you won’t Buck, you’re not doing good and I don’t ever want to see you suffer, you understand? By the time we get to Texas it will be summer and you won’t stand it, it’s better if we visit when it’s colder.”

He smiles softly. He knows he’d do the same for you. “Then Oregon it is.”

You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom to shower, “Oh, and baby?” you call out, peeking your head from behind the door, “This is your road trip too, never forget that.”

Oregon

“Why does Thor get to have places named after him and we don’t? We were Avengers too.”

“But are we norse gods?”

“I mean, not yet, but I definitely deserve some nature’s wonder, or at least a star, to be named after me.”

“I’ll call WMO and get them to name a hurricane after you, princess. It seems more fitting.”

“Asshole.”

You’d been camping somewhere in Oregon’s wilderness when he came up with the idea of visiting all of the State’s so called seven wonders, starting from Thor’s Well on the Coast and ending in Mount Hood near Portland. You took a thousand photos of each attraction and sent a video of the water seemingly draining inside the famous well to the God himself, who enthusiastically expressed his appreciation.

Bucky’s cherished every minute of it, from the hot springs of Crater Lake to the chillier temperatures at night that force you to snuggle closer to him to warm up.

You’re in Portland now, and you’re thoroughly enjoying it, but what’s new about that? You’re always so full of life, so genuinely excited about everything the world has to offer that he’d be worried if you weren’t having the time of your life as you usually are.

He likes the city too, which is saying a lot.

“Blueberries are the superior berry and that’s the hill I’m willing to die on.”

You’ve been eating your way through Portland for weeks, and you’ve been discussing pies for a solid thirty minutes now. It’s raining outside and you’re cooped up in a small pie shop, eating more than an average human can and receiving weird looks from the waitress as you tell her to ‘keep ‘em coming’.

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong princess,” he states with a stuffed mouth just for the sake of aggravating you to no end, “blackberries are just so much better.”

It works as you grimace in disgust, both at his statement and his manners.

He’s found out you are weirdly opinionated when it comes to pies: pecan pies are an abomination, pumpkin doesn’t belong in dessert, lemon pie and key lime pie are only acceptable if someone’s grandma is kindly offering them to you, rhubarb pie without strawberries is a threat to mankind and cherry and blueberry pies are the absolute best. Apple pie is too bland to even take the time to discuss it, although the taste is likeable enough.

He on the other hand likes anything pie and anything sweet. And anything that gets a rise out of you.

“Please Buck, this isn’t even a blackberry pie, it’s some sort of inbred experiment that turned out kinda right.”

He shushes you, barely holding back a laugh when he sees the waiter side eyeing you as you disrespect one of Oregon’s most famous dishes, “First of all, it’s called marionberry and it’s a type of blackberry. And second, keep it down unless you want us to be kicked out, you’re offending a whole state.”

“Sorry.” you shrug, “But blueberry tartness level is where I draw the line, anything more than that is unacceptable.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re still a child and haven’t developed adult taste buds yet baby.” He does love his senior citizen card a bit too much.

This earns him a kick under the table and a scowl. “Stop it, grandpa.” you groan.

He grins and digs in your slice of marionberry pie. You resume to people watching.

God, he loves Oregon. And he loves you.

He really is a sap.

Wyoming

Washington was nice enough. You’ve taken him bar crawling most nights, and all of them have ended with him giving you a piggyback ride, per your request, back to the hotel room you were staying at.

It takes 13 hours to drive from Seattle to Yellowstone and you’ve driven all the way. You refused to disclose the destination of the trip and he’s fallen asleep the last 3 hours in the car. He’d mentioned he wanted to see the geysers somewhere in Pennsylvania two years ago and you remembered and took him.

Bucky couldn’t be happier.

He’s still describing the constellations above you when you fall asleep, and he’s so absorbed by the sky that he doesn’t notice until your head falls on his shoulder and he hears your soft snores.

He picks you up bridal style and takes you back to the fancy tent he bought on a whim in Ohio after you both slept in the SUV and woke up with major back and neck pain. He smiles as he removes your makeup with a wipe and does your skincare just the way you taught him, and admires your relaxed state.

He grazes your pretty face with his vibranium fingers, something so unimaginable to him before he met you, as he never thought his arm could bring anything other than pain.

Back when he was a semi stable 100 year old man thrust in another fight yet again, he hadn’t realized the extent of his feelings for you, believing he was only attracted to your beauty and youth. He hadn’t seen the way your smile lights up a whole room, nor the way you listen, truly listen, to anyone who may have anything to tell you, without ever judging them. He hadn’t witness your kindness and patience, let alone experienced them on his own skin. He hadn’t been lucky enough to watch you feed bird seed to the ducks of every pond of the country, or try to rescue a cat from a rooftop and almost falling off to save it.

Then Sam told him you were leaving and he felt like the word was collapsing on him. He’d found the sunlight and he never wanted to be without it.

Now he’s seen it all, all the little things that make you who you are, including your flaws, and he loves you not regardless of them, nor in spite of them, but because even your worst imperfections make you… you.

Bucky doesn’t know if meeting you was a way for the universe to fix all the wrongs that have been done to him, a sort of payback for all the shit he’s been put through, but in case it is, then he’s got no objections. And maybe he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, but he’s a selfish man, and now that his sunshine girl is with him he never wants to plunge back into the the darkness ever again.

He tucks you both under the sleeping bag and snuggles next to you.

“Buck?” you mumble in a haze, tugging at his t-shirt, “Love you.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but his supersoldier hearing allows him to pick it up. He kisses the crown of your hair as he caresses your back.

“I love you too sweetheart.”

He wants to spend the rest of his time on Earth proving you how much.

New York

6 months later

The doctor wasn’t lying when she warned you that recovery would take 6 to 9 months.

You said the aftermath of the operation hurt like a bitch and that physiotherapy hurt even more. Today’s your last session and Bucky is glad about it for many reasons, like how you’re not in pain anymore for starters, and maybe because of how annoyingly fun, smart and hot your therapist is. Not like he’d ever admit it to you.

“Jesus,” you groan, “he turned me inside out like a sock, I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“Sounds fun.” he deadpans.

“Someone’s jealous of the doctor?” you ask with a mischievous smirk.

“‘M not. He’s not all that.” he mumbles, blushing like a school boy.

You snort and drawl a ‘sure’. He sends you his best death glare.

“Whatever. I hope you don’t mind if we take a stop before going home.” he announces, helping you into the car. His palms feel clammy and he’s sweating despite the chilly winds of New York’s fall.

“Sure, where are we going?”

“Actually, that’s kind of a surprise, you’ll see.”

You beam at his words; he knows you love surprises and he hopes you’re going to like this one.

----

You look radiant as you lie on the blanket he’s spread on the grass, surrounded by colorful foliage. You’re sipping some of your favorite wine and nibbling on crackers as you admire a flock of birds migrating south in the sky.

You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish we wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

He’s prepared a long, passionate speech to tell you how much he loves you, of all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better and of all the reasons why he’d be a good husband.

But when you look at him with those bright eyes and beaming smile, he can barely remember his own name. He drops on one knee and holds the box out with shaky hands.

“Marry me, please.”

----

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please reblog and comment, don’t be shy, feedback is always appreciated 🥺🤲

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n

317 notes · View notes