#this is why they’re all bitter over there nothing but egos and pride getting in the way and rudeness disguised as ‘boundaries’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bludhavents · 3 years

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things that each greaser struggles with:

these are mostly headcanons i came up with. also, this gets pretty angsty.

content warning: alcoholism, addiction, anxiety.

darry:

- maturity. he thinks everybody looks at him like the “dad” of the group instead of just another friend, and he loathes it. he misses whenever he was able to skip work to catch a movie at the drive-in or take ponyboy and sodapop up to the dingo for lunch.

- accidental intimidation. his build is very large and strong, which is good for his job and for when he’s actually trying to, well, intimidate people, but other than that it just makes him feel guilty for being so unapproachable.

- relationships. specifically, darry is very insecure in his relationship with pony. he especially hates it whenever pony dogs on him for forgetting things or accusing him of not caring.

- emotional intelligence. he knows he comes across as cold. and he hates it. he has lots of emotions and he doesn’t air them out in a healthy way, so he tries his best to cut all the emotions off altogether in hopes that the negativity will stop, but it just makes him feel even more insecure.

- social skills. in high school, it was all much easier for him, but now that he’s working full-time and running the household, he’s fallen majorly behind in the social scene. he never goes out to the drive-in or to the dingo, and at first it was because he was too busy, but now, even if he doesn’t have a shift, he’ll make up some excuse because he’s too nervous to go and have to talk to people again since he feels like he’s gonna mess up.

- identity. darry was just starting to feel comfortable in himself and in his role in the world right before his parents died, and when they did, he stopped trying to figure out what made him happy. it has made him insecure of the emotional stint that is centered around his ego and sense of self.

sodapop:

- smarts. it’s canon that he’s insecure about this.

- growing up. while everybody else moves on to new things and grows up, he feels like he’s stuck in the same place watching everybody else progress while he stays behind. this was especially true after sandy left, because marrying her was going to be this huge exciting step in his life and when she left, he didn’t have that fulfillment anymore.

- reassurance. he feels a constant need for approval, and he will take it wherever he can get it. there’s a sort of pride he gets whenever he sees a girl checking him out, but there’s a deeper feeling telling him that she’s gonna run away once she finds out about how ‘stupid’ he is.

- authority. soda has a really hard time talking to people who are in a position of power. he gets all nervous and his hands get sweaty and his face goes sheet white in panic. his charm and social skill is enough to satisfy a conversation with a person his age, but he feels silly trying to be confident in front of an adult. he feels like they look down on him and will laugh.

- fatherhood. he’s very insecure about having a family in the future. he feels like he never appreciated his dad’s skilled parenting while he could, and since then darry has been a sort of fatherly figure in the house, but it’s hard for soda to see it that way. he grew up for 16 years with darry as a big brother and for him to suddenly be forced into a father role is troubling for soda. because of this complicated dynamic between soda and fatherhood, he feels like he won’t be able to be the best father possible for his children.

- legs. he hates his legs. you will never see soda in a pair of shorts, not even when he’s swimming. he doesn’t like the way they’re shaped and thinks that they make the rest of his body look odd, so he wears loose jeans to hide them. he’s also embarrassed of being embarrassed about them, so nobody knows, not even steve.

dallas:

- emotional intelligence. his lack of emotional intelligence is something he battles with a lot. he understands what people are feeling, but he has a hard time understanding why they feel that way. he says it’s because he’s too tuff to deal with emotions, but deep down he knows it’s because he was thrust into a traumatic childhood so early on that he never had time to build emotional bonds with people that would strengthen his empathy and understanding.

- his past, another canon take. he hates talking about it, even the good stuff, because when he thinks about new york all he can picture is 10 year old dallas watching a man being covered in a white sheet by the paramedics on the side of the road. he thinks about his friends from there and knows they’re all either locked up or dead, and it ruins any enjoyment he gets from reminiscing on the good times.

- health. he definitely has crohn’s or IBS or something else that makes his stomach hurt whenever he eats, and it embarrasses him to no end. he’s always anxious that his stomach is going to start hurting when he’s with the gang and is going to have to find some excuse to leave. he smokes so much while he’s out with them to keep from getting hungry until he gets back to buck’s place.

- his friendships. the shepherd gang is close-knit. then, the curtis’ are brothers, steve has known them forever, and two-bit is outgoing enough to make himself fit in to the group. johnny is the closest person dallas relates to, and it’s the friendship hes the most secure in.

- his smile. he knows smoking ruins his teeth, and he knows they’re crooked all over, and he knows that when he smiles his lips crack and stretch out.

johnny:

- his appearance, canon insecurity. he looks young for his age, and when the gang found him in the lot after he was beaten by Socs, they all started treating him like he was young too. he didn’t think the scar on his face was tuff, it just reminded him of being attacked.

- his voice. this is less about how it sounds and more about him not being able to speak over the shouting at home. he hates yelling, and he won’t stand in to speak up for him cause he’s too afraid of being told to “stop yelling”.

- being average. johnny feels painfully average in everything he does. he’s tried to find a skill that he truly loves and wants to take time to be good at, but he always gets frustrated and quits before he can improve.

- romance. almost every aspect of it terrifies johnny. he doesn’t know what a healthy marriage looks like, what he does know was from Mr and Mrs Curtis, but seeing them die together warped his sense of love. he doesn’t understand why you would want to love somebody so much if you didn’t have to. he doesn’t like the “til death do us part” aspect of marriage, because it makes him feel trapped. he’s not afraid of commitment, he’s afraid that he will end up in a marriage like his parents’ and not be able to leave.

two-bit:

- alcoholism. he’s an alcoholic and he knows it, but he’s been stuck in the vicious cycle of addiction for such a long time that the only way he knows how to cope with the emotional baggage of addiction is to drink more.

- social awareness. as of now, he’s very self-aware and extremely skilled in reading a room, but he didn’t used to be. he used to crack jokes at the wrong time and get scolded for it, and it made him feel horrible. like he wasn’t able to experience all the same sad feelings as everybody else because they reacted differently to the sadness than he did. they wanted to process the sadness while he wanted to ignore it.

- being absent at home. he knows he spends the majority of time at the curtis house, and he also knows that his mother spends the majority of her time at work, which leaves his little sister at home alone. he has a good relationship with her, but he doesn’t like for her to see him drunk, and as his alcoholism progresses, that gets to be more and more often. he knows this, and it’s one of the main reasons he’s so insecure about his addiction, because she’s the one who let him know that it wasn’t a one-way street. his problem affected him and her.

- commitment. two-bit is young, but he feels old enough to know how relationships work. he saw his dad walk out on them, and he was never able to process how you could go from marrying someone to leaving and never looking back. at first, he thought that his dad was just a selfish jerk, but when he met johnny and saw that his parents were also married and simultaneously abusive, he convinced himself that all marriages were bound to end up that way. he believes that if the curtis’ lived longer, they would have eventually gotten bitter and tired of each other, because in his mind, that’s just what couples do.

ponyboy:

- confidence. he has a lot of insecurities, and they’re shared pretty evenly between physical and non physical. he doesn’t like his body or his eyes. he doesn’t like how impulsive and dramatic he is.

- security. not in himself, but in life. he’s permanently on edge, feeling anxious about who’s going to be around the corner and what would happen if he got jumped and how many Socs he’d be able to fight off in case anything happened. his parents’ sudden deaths did not help this. he feels like life is constantly tossing him around, and he never feels completely safe.

- emotional outbursts. this isn’t exclusive to ponyboy, but he struggles with it the most. he hates getting upset with people, and he hates hurting other people’s feelings. when he’s feeling too many things, he starts to speak without a filter and gets mad at the littlest things, and he knows that it makes everybody around him feel bad.

- fitting in. in contrast to johnny’s insecurity, ponyboy wants nothing more than to fit in. he’s tired of being the only greaser in his classes, he’s tired of his isolated taste in movies and theatre, he’s tired of being a track star, and he’s tired of all the pressure put on him since he isn’t average.

steve

- masculinity. his dad always enforces an unrealistic standard of being strong, independent, and logical. steve is inherently all of these things, but the pressure he feels to keep it up weighs him down.

- comparing himself to others. it started in middle school when he noticed all of the people liked sodapop more. from then on he couldn’t help but feel like soda was more attractive and charming, darry was stronger and smarter, two-bit was funnier and cooler, dallas was tougher and unbothered, johnny was more likeable and down-to-earth, and ponyboy was more creative and well spoken.

- addiction. there was a time in steve’s life where he was getting high every day. at first it was fun, but then he had to quit track because he wasn’t as athletic as he used to be. it ruined his health and motivation. he started working on cars more to keep himself busy, and it helped a lot, even got him a job.

- hyperindependence. steve’s biggest character flaw is that he can’t ask for help. whether it’s asking for help in school or asking for soda to hand him a tool in the garage, steve can’t bring himself to do ask. it makes him feel like he’s not good enough to do it on his own.

#the outsiders #steve randle #the outsiders headcanons #dallas winston #dally winston #ponyboy curtis #ponyboy x reader #steve randle x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade #johnny cade x reader #two bit mathews x reader #two bit mathews #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop curtis #darry curtis

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justagirlsearchingforamuse · 3 years

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Hi, I see that you are taking NSFW requests. Would I be able to request a Johnny/fem!V size kink smut? (i.e. V suddenly realizes that Johnny was *not* exaggerating about his 'impressive cock.' :p )

Sorry that I took so damn long to answer but here is your request, I hope you enjoy it and yeah you guys can send in asks, I just take a while sometimes or have to have the inspiration to do some of your asks so ask away!

"Are you picky or just broke? Fucking pick a joytoy V, it's annoying as fuck watching you get all jittery and nervous about a fucking joytoy of all things." Johnny moaned, letting his head repeatedly hit against the dark red brick wall, pure black glasses resting upon his nose and a sour expression that never failed to somewhat put V in a shitty mood. "Just don't want the night to be shittier than ever or just plain boring but even then don't wanna be fucking crazy with whips and shit. So yeah I'm picky." V responds, shoving her hands into her pockets as her feet move forwards, the heavy smell of musk, greasy food, and motor oil the familiar and disgusting smell that could only roam in Night City. V's lustful desires had of course gotten the best of her and here she was lurking on Jig-Jig street, bright contrasting lights, the smell of cheap latex, and the odor of sex just lingers at the end of every scent. Fake smiles. Fake happiness. And fake desire. But a true and even more real need for money. That was Jig-Jig street described for V in one sentence, licking her lips her eyes move to see joytoy of all sorts on the street, all eyeing her and grinning. "Too fucking picky ... you either want vanilla sex or you want kinky ass sex, can't have both V. Not like you'll find someone able to leave you sore in the mornin' ... wake up thinkin' of nothing but him and his cock. Hm ..." Johnny groans, his voice rumbling deeply at the end as V can feel his gaze upon her and the implications that she thought he was making, ugh. "I know you're not talking about yourself ... from what I saw that was some piss poor sex you gave Alt, no wonder she was pissed as all hell, Johnny." V teases, smirking devilishly at Johnny, his grin had disappeared into a bitter expression that almost matched her at the beginning of the night. "My partners aren't ex-cops and corpo-cunts, besides none of your partners will ever compare to me or mine, hell out of all of your partners I know I have the biggest cock out of all em'." Johnny chuckled, his laugh comes out confident and prideful, V lets a scoff part her lips and she crosses her arms and it's like her body does a full eye-roll at his words. "Oh yeah, the impressive cock that takes up so little space in those stupid leather pants of yours." V chuckles, grinning from ear to ear as she watches his grin fade away and almost like his ego was beginning to shatter. "Then why the fuck you staring at my dick so much, V? Perverted much or just horny for me?" Johnny questions, crossing his arms and glitching right beside her with a devilish smirk that she wanted to wipe off his lips, the asshole actually made her question if he had this "impressive cock". "Just simply curious if you're full of shit or if you're not lying to me," V responds, a hum at the end of her words as her eyes turn to him and she stops herself at the side of an empty closed store near an alleyway.

"Did you not see enough of my memories to know or do I have to prove you wrong, darlin' ...?" Johnny chuckles, his words are smooth and sound like a purr to V's ears as he leans right beside her, a heavy and wide grin on his lips as his glasses remain sitting on the bridge of his nose. " ... I'll do it myself ... know that you think of me more than you should, darlin' ..." V purrs and when she says his affectionate nickname she forces her voice to become deeper and winks at him with a smirk curled up onto her lips, Johnny chuckles, running the tip of his tongue around the ring of his lips. "Then why don't you do something about it, merc ...? Impress me ... show me what you feel for me, darlin' ... " Johnny purrs, his eyes burning into her own as he turns to meet her eyes, he can see the slight blush that clouds V's cheeks as she crosses her arms before standing up straight as Johnny glitches out of her view. V's eyes meet a nearby club with many people dancing, drinking, and just enjoying themselves but what V really wanted to do was get on that dance floor, wanted to give him a show. The club is decently sized, it's cozy and full of warm colors such as reds, blacks, and oranges and the overall vibe just felt warm and sensual. V grins to herself, making her way into the club as she pushes through the amount of the people drinking, making out, and getting high out of their minds. She manages to finally make it onto the dance floor and waits for a good song to blast throughout the club in which V proceeds to smirk to herself, hoping and praying that Johnny was watching her because she was gonna put on a show for him. Johnny glitches into the world and is found leaning against one of the crowed walls with arms crossed but his eyes remained glued to the sight of V, to the filthily sensual show V was putting on for him. His eyes explored her figure, where her hands moved all over her body, and not to mention she was wearing a short red silk dress that fit her like a glove, her legs were just amazing and the urge to have his head in between her thighs came almost immediately. He felt his mouth salivate and his breath stopped right in his throat, hazel brown eyes remained locked onto her and the way she swayed her hips to the music. How a warm smile remained on her warm and luscious looking lips, the way her hands explored her figure, her hands move up to her breasts as she feels and clutches at the silk that covered her body. Oh, fuck ...

Spinning her heels, she begins to sway and grind her hips in a slow motion and her hands go back to exploring her figure, her hands run up to her neck as she can imagine the metal arm against her throat, she can imagine his metal fingers against her lips. "Hot damn ... I didn't know that my sweet little merc could be a little succubus ..." Johnny purrs, a chuckle rumbles at the end of his sentence as a devilish grin curls onto his lips and he takes his glasses off, V could feel his lustful gaze upon her body. V can feel his eyes on her body and V can already feel pride bubbling up in their body, even going as far as to raise her silk dress showing more of her smooth thighs before her eyes fluttered closed. V let the music take control of her body, swaying her hips to the music and she let the beat inspire her body to move to its beat, she can feel the eyes of other men on her, ugh she groans in her mind. All V wanted was his eyes on her, other men usually just see her as another fleshlight, as something to use for their own ecstasy. Johnny knew how to share it with the women he was interested in, sex with him was always something between equals no matter who you were, that's what he saw sex as. Something to enjoy, to relish in. It's not long before V can feel a pair of familiar hands resting upon her hips, his fingers are there yet they're not almost like the feeling of cool air against your skin. The aroma and the strong scent of nicotine wafted around the air, liquor clung heavily to his form, his lips bury themselves against the skin of V's neck, he inhales in her warm, human scent. She smelt sweet enough not to cloud his senses with whatever scent clung to her smooth skin, grinning warmly into her skin he lets his hands move up to her waist as he leads her body to his waist, to his hips. "A- ..." V nearly yelps, eyes slightly jump at the surreal sensation of his hips pressed against hers, she can feel his arousal pressing against her behind. "Slowly. ... Take your time, V. Hmm ... you feel that? Don't lie." Johnny purrs right in her ear, she can feel his heavy breaths against her cool skin, licking her lips a familiar warmth plagues the pit of her stomach, and butterflies crowd her stomach with hormones and sweetness.

"I can ... woah ... that's all you? Shit ..." V gasps in a short breath but bites her tongue before those stupid words can fall from her quick tongue, she can feel him all against her body, he's thick and lengthy. She can imagine he's nearly bursting in those leather pants of his, she finds herself imagining the mere sight of him in front of her, throbbing, eager, and selfishly hers. She's never been one to be selfish over someone but she'll be damned if she doesn't allow herself to indulge herself in him, indulge herself in whatever comes next for them. She grinds her hips against his, slowly swaying them against his eager hips that follow the movements of her own, both of them are eager to see where this goes. Both of them are eager to see each other's bodies, to admire their bodies, and to indulge in physical ecstasy. "Teasing me, are you ...? Come on, V ... be selfish and be greedy. Let's be greedy and selfish for one pitiful night, V. I know you want to." Johnny purrs, rugged slurred words entice her and her greedy need for him inside of her, her greedy need to have him and him alone. Turning around and snapping her gaze onto him, her eyes are hazed with lust and greed and become dark with need, her cheeks are flushed and she's moving her arms around his waist, she needs him. He needs her. She finds herself leaning swiftly into his lips, devouring and indulging in her need for him as her entire body is on overdrive, her entire body is bursting with adrenaline and it's getting hard to control it. Groaning into her lips, the warm feeling of her lips against his is a sensation he's missed, a sensation he's craved for a long time. His hand slips behind her neck as she devours his lips, her tongue parts his lips and they dance together sloppily and erratically. Moaning against his lips, V's hand rests and lingers against his bearded cheeks as they indulge in the ecstasy of the human body. Moments later, V pulls away with brightly flushed cheeks and slow yet heavy breaths leaving her heavy lungs. Everything is pulsating in her body with need, her heart, she hates how he can turn her into a puddle of mush with his words, with such ease. And he knew it too. "Ain't gonna make it home. The bathroom is the best place right now, V ... not the best or ideal ... but I'm gonna take real good care of you. Just watch." Johnny purrs, a devilish smirk resting upon his lips and a hand resting upon his hip before he glitches out of your view with a short chuckle leaving his lips. V's teeth grind against her bottom lip as she acknowledges how soaked her panties are, how he's made her feel and it's so humiliating but so embarrassingly arousing. V rubs her lips and quickly makes her way to the nearby bathroom across the club, she licks her lips and shuts the door behind her. The bathroom is fine for a public one but still has your fair share of beer bottles, bright blinding lights, and drunk passed out people in one of the stalls. "The stall ... not willing to it in front of some drunk girl," Johnny states in V's head and teleports into the slightly ajar stall, a smirk waltzing at his lips and wide legs with a heavy bulge in between his thighs, she could clearly the outline of it.

"Perv ... not that I don't mind you staring though ... just wanna hear you admit that you were wrong about my cock, V. Or are you still too stubborn to admit that ...?" Johnny taunts her, his words smooth with an edge that clings off every one of his words, he was such an ass but there was that part of her that valued that about him. "Keep the snark to a minimum or I swear to god Johnny-" V goes on, crossing her arms before Johnny chuckles and breaks her line of words. "Or what ...? Come on, darlin' ... come see my impressive cock. Admire it." Johnny purrs, words slurred and husky yet so ... commanding as he sits there, eager for her to give him some affection, and in return, he'd prove her wrong. V lets a heavy breath leave her parted lips before she enters the somewhat crowded stall with Johnny, she licks her lips before engaging in another heated kiss with the construct. "Mmh ..." Johnny groans, relishing in the sensations of her lips against his, he rests his metal hand upon her chin and he stares up at her, devilish dark eyes eager and prideful like always. "Don't you wanna see it?" Johnny purrs, hinting that she could always refuse if things were getting weird but V wanted him and he wanted her, it's very simple and yet so complicated. "I do." V strongly states before positioning herself on her knees, her mouth salivating at the mere thought of him in her mouth, she begins to undo his belt and she swiftly unzips his pants and her eyes slightly widen. Woah. Goddamn. He goes commando of course but it's there. It's pale with a flushed rosy head, veins all pumping through his lengthy leaking cock eager for any kind of warmth, he's grinning devilishly as he watches her expression of shock and slight amazement. Licking her lips once more, she wraps her entire hand around his cock, her hands look so small compared to his thick meaty cock and she moves her hand up and down and is still in amazement at how he hid it. She strokes his thick leaking cock, her eyes remain fixated on the mere sight of his cock that she can barely wrap her fingers around. His heavy lashes flutter close as he can feel sparks flood through him, he can feel her hand travel from the base of his cock down to his untamed bush of black curly hair. A short hum exited his throat as V continues to stroke his thick and lengthy cock, she continues to do so for a few moments before running her to along the sides. A shiver travels up his spine and the mere sensation of her warm moist tongue gently pressed against the sides of his throbbing cock, her curled thick eyelashes rested upon her eyelids, he watches as they flutter with the movements of her eyes. V's eyes remain fixated on the sight before her, she slowly runs her tongue along the sides before her eyes drift upwards to meet his, her eyes are gazing into his, the pure lust that clouds them is just plain arousing and tantalizing. "Fuck ...~" Johnny gasps, the heavenly curse falling from his sinful lips as he can feel V's lips wrapped around the head of his throbbing erect cock. Oh, Christ ...

"Hah ... V ... that's it ... oh, fuck just ..." Johnny groans, a short series of deep groans rumble from his throat at the warmth that consumes him, the warmth that sparks ecstasy that shoots through him like fireworks. V can feel Johnny's hands entangle themselves in her hair, running his thick ringed fingers through her locks of hair as she continues to softly suck on the throbbing flesh in between her lips. Earning groans and grunts of approval that only encouraged her to make him fucking moan her name, moaning she wraps her hand around his length, stroking and massaging the area. "Fuck ..." Johnny curses in a shallow breath, jolts and nerves of pure ecstasy course through him, it's been so fucking long since he's had someone, it's been so long since he's had the affection of anyone. He's a bastard. Selfish one at that. He's greedy and drunk off the touches V gives him, the mere sensation of her warm moist lips wrapped around him, the familiar sight of lust-filled eyes, eyes that darkened with an urge. Clutching at her locks for a few moments, his hands move down to her face, wrapping and placing themselves on her warm cheeks, caressing and gently stroking at her skin. "Take more of it. Take it all." Johnny growls in a ragged breath, greedy for more, and V is willing to indulge in his urges if he returns the favor. "Mmh ... patience, Johnny-boy ..." V purrs, his cock out of her lips before she wraps her lips back around the head of his cock before lowering her mouth even lower on his already generously sized cock. She can fill his cock, fill her throat almost entirely but she devotes herself to making him release so she does so, slowly bobbing her head up and down as she can feel tears swell in her eyes. Gripping his thighs firmly, she firmly shuts her eyes before firmly sucking on the throbbing pulsating flesh penetrating her mouth the reactions from Johnny are worth it though. The way his expression twists in pleasure, how he gnaws at his lips at the ecstasy that overwhelms him almost entirely and leaves him vulnerable to V, the way he runs his fingers through his hair before planting his fists in her hair. He's now clutching firmly at her hair, a smirk plastered on his lips as heavy breaths leave his lips along with ragged moans that fell uncontrollably from his lips. "Oh, shit ... hah ... oh, christ ..."

Suddenly he pushes her head off of his cock, pulling her swiftly into a heated kiss for a few moments, sharing a few moments of bliss before he's pulling away from her lips, eyes unable to look anywhere but her wondrous eyes. "On top, V." Johnny says, ushering her to his lap and V listens straddling his lap with her hands resting upon his shoulders and his hands slither their way down to her hips. It's not even a minute before you can feel his thick calloused fingers caress and circle around her throbbing clit, his fingers caress the sensitive nerve earning a whimper from her. He's talented with his fingers alright, he knows how to move his fingers around her clit, rubbing his fingers in continuous circles had her shuddering on his lap, gnawing at her lips, and falling prey to the heavenly sensations that shot through her. "Ugh, Johnny ..." V shudders, she can feel him bury his face into her neck, peppering multiple kisses all over her skin and it's not a minute before he sinks his fingers into her sopping, soaking heat. Moving his fingers lightly in and out of her, he's trying to prepare her for what's to come, she can feel his fingers glide without ease in and out of her before he curls his fingers into her sweet spot. "That's it ...! Hah ... fuck, oh fuck ..." V repeatedly curses, ragged breaths soon falling from lips she grinds her hips against his fingers, aching and racing to finish. "Patience, princess," Johnny mumbles into her skin before sucking firmly on her neck, leaving V breathless and gasping as she clutches firmly onto Johnny her thighs tremble and everything is throbbing with a need. "Hypocrite ... just ... mmh ... keep going." V pants, her words are slurred and she's nearly humping Johnny's hand as his fingers move almost perfectly in her, gliding at the perfect pace and he's hitting her sweet spot just right. Why hadn't she fucked him earlier? Ugh. "Fuck ...!", his fingers repeatedly hit and curl against her sweet spot, his fingers are now sliding swiftly into her and without much care. Her body is shuddering in bliss, her thighs tremble against him, her heart's pounding like a drum in her chest, and everything at this moment is perfect for her. "Really thought I was gonna let you cum, princess?" Johnny teases, his fingers slip out of her as he turns his attention towards her and a devilish grin rests upon his lips before his fingers enter his lips and he licks her juices clean off his fingers. "Wanted to keep you ... pleased enough to wait for the real fuckin' show ... to show you what it's all about fucking Johnny Silverhand." Johnny grins devilishly, firmly smacking V's ass earning a yelp from her before he's ripping V's panties off of her body, greedy to feel her on top of his cock, eager to feel that warmth you can't get anywhere but from a human. He missed being ... alive. Being human.

"Could've said that first asshole ..." V pouts, her eyes roll away from his as she wraps her arms around his neck, she can feel him rub himself in between her soaked slit, sucking in a breath he pushes V's hips down onto his large throbbing cock. "Oh, fuck ..." The words fall from your lips sinfully well, fullness and almost a complete sensation washes over her, her cheeks are flushed and almost as warm as the sun. She's so lovely. Johnny thinks to himself, his hands caress her waist and his dark brown eyes fixate on hers, and a weight is lifted off of V's shoulders. Peace. She inhales, taking in a breath before she begins to grind and roll her hips back and forth against his lap, heaviness fills her lungs as a whine slowly rolls off her tongue. Groaning, he rests his cool silver hand against her cheek, cupping and shaping his hand to outline her jaw before his fingers gently caress her flushed warm cheeks, her eyes flutter close as she bites her tongue. "Fuck ... you're .... so fucking ... big." V whines, sucking in a breath as he stretches her warm silky walls and fills all the space inside of her to the point she feels more than full, but the way another whine slips from her lips tells him she's enjoying it. "Told you so ... didn't I, doll?" Johnny huffs, a chuckle coughing out at the end of his words before he wraps his fingers around her throat earning a gasp from the woman above him, her eyes widen for a moment before she wraps her hands around his arm. "Don't make love to me. .... I'm begging you to fuck me." V grins devilishly at the man underneath her, she begins to move her hips up and down, taking in all of him inside of her with ease and bliss boiling up inside of her. His hand slips away from her throat for a moment before he decides "fuck it" and wraps his hand around her throat once more, lightly squeezing against her throat, a gasp falls from her lips once more before his name falls from her lips. "Johnny ..." It sounds so sinful, so sweet, so arousing, the way she says his name, his body perks up at the sound and it's not long before he's chuckling devilishly and gazing intensely into her eyes. The pure lust, the bliss, everything that he was feeling she could see clouded in his dark brown eyes, the way he gazed into her eyes set her body ablaze with bliss. Fuck it, she wastes no time in slamming her hips down onto his lap, his throbbing cock curls into her sweet spot, repeatedly hitting it and sending waves of bliss shooting and bursting through her. Groaning at the ecstasy that pulsates and throbs through him, he pulls her in by the throat and firmly entangles her into a sloppy kiss that has saliva on the sides of V's mouth. "Johnny ..." V moans once more, slamming and throwing her hips down onto his throbbing cock, she's so full and his cock is all that taints her mind. "Hah ..." Heavy breaths and low murmurs of his name are the only things that roll off her tongue, his hand trails down from her neck to her breasts that move along with the motions of her body. He squeezes her breast and can see the way she shys away from him, turning her head away from his gaze as she continues to ride him, chasing and aching for sweet release. It's not far ...

"Goddamn V ..." Johnny growls, biting at his tongue as burning bliss boils up into him, it's bubbling and boiling inside of him, it's hot, passionate, and fucking intense. Grabbing at V's hair, he yanks her in his direction, almost demanding she keeps eye contact with him, moans of ecstasy fall from her parted lips as her lips rush at his, groaning and moaning against his lips she is in pure heaven. Only pulling away when she can feel him thrust his hips upwards into her, bliss and ecstasy become one and it leaves V nearly screaming his name at the top of lungs. The sensations that move and course through her being are hot, intense, and everything in between, her insides are hot, warm, and mushy. He's all that is on her mind, his bliss, her bliss, it's all she can fucking think about and she doesn't care how fucking insane she may seem. "Johnny ...! Oh!" V gasps breathlessly, clinging to him and wrapping her arms around him, he's moving ruthlessly in and out of her, repeatedly hitting her sweet spot that sends her nerves into a blissful frenzy that leaves her aching for more and more. She's getting wetter and hotter with each moment of ecstasy, her hips continue to slam onto his lap with the sounds of her body slamming onto his echoing through the stall. "Gonna ... gonna fucking ... cum soon! Oh, shit ...!" She whines, moan after moan leaves her red and almost swollen lips as she wraps her arms around him firmly, her hands clutch a fistful of his black hair as many curses fall from her lips, she can feel her body burn up like a fresh fire is inside of her. Johnny can feel it too, he's panting like a dog in heat as heavy breaths leave his lips, he can feel her hot silky walls cling to his throbbing cock, she grips him firmly and takes the breath out of him. "Shit ... shit, shit shit ... come all over my ... thick cock, doll ... don't stop until you can feel me ... in your guts ..." Johnny purrs in a heavy breath, his hands move from her back and trail down to her ass, squeezing firmly at the round flesh. It happens. V boils over, her thighs tremble and jerk against him, as a continuous and brutal wave of ecstasy washes over her, it's exactly what she fucking needed. She nearly tears out his hair and he can feel her grasp soften on his hair as he clutches onto her, growling into her neck and into her smooth skin. It shoots through him, in a powerful heated wave that comes at once, he presses himself deeper into her, stretching and driving as deep as he can into her. His warm semen coats her insides or whatever kind of semen a construct can give you but it's hot and warm and leaves her shuddering at the heat that fills her. She gets off of his lap, her thighs still trembling and her cheeks still flushed, she gets up and finds herself against the door before she positions herself onto the floor, legs all wide and dress ruffled.

"Damn ... not even fucking alive ... yet you can still give it like it's nobody's business ..." V chuckles, grinning warmly at him, strands of hair are in front of her eyes as she can see him pull a cigarette out of pocket before he lights it up, inhaling the toxic stick of nicotine that he was undeniably addicted to. "Course' I can, V ... whether I'm dead or alive, I can fuck the shit out of anyone ... is that proof enough for you that Johnny Silverhand has had an impressive cock, or do I need to prove it to you once again ...?" Johnny challenges her with a taunting smile that curls onto his lips, a heavy wave of smoke leaves his lips before he presses the cigarette into his lips once more. " ... Yeah, you were right, dickhead ... now home I guess? I am more than exhausted ..." V huffs, getting up from off the floor and fixing out her crimson red dress, a cigarette is wedged in between his fingers as he fades away out of her view, glitching back into 1's and 0's. A deep sigh leaves her lips as she exits the bathroom stall, she can feel eyes glaring at her and staring at her only to add to her shame as she quickly scurries out of the bathroom. Immediately gets back home and smiles when she finally makes it to her bed, clutching at her pillow as her eyes flutter for a few moments before closing. Goodnight, doll ...

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny/v #cyberpunk johnny #johnny silverhand #johnny x v #cp2077 #johnny x reader #cyberpunk 2077 smut #johnny x reader smut

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deniigi · 3 years

Note

my supervisor fucked me over with all my other coworkers present. can I request a one shot from you to cheer me up featuring Sammy?

Did I give y’all the fic about the hotpot?

Well if I didn’t, I’m giving it to you now.

Title: hotpot

Summary: Ganke checks the comments for the Blindspot comic daily and there’s this one asshole anon who keeps talking shit about BT.

The Blindspot comic went live in the fall and Ganke couldn’t stop checking the hit count every five seconds. All night there had only been ten hits.

He told himself not to be disappointed. The only person who really mattered had read and loved the comic.

Miles said that BT had even forced everyone on the team to read an abridged version of Journey to the West, and had gone as far as to make a quiz to determine everyone’s character.

Miles refused to disclose who he’d gotten.

BT had clearly rigged the game to make himself Sun Wukong and Ganke was proud of him.

That kind of enthusiasm was exactly what he’d been hoping for, anything else now was just icing on the cake.

Even though it would be cool if it wasn’t just BT reading his own comics.

That would be pretty cool, right? Like. If people online all started reading BT’s comic. That would be sort of amazing.

Kind of excellent.

Definitely worthy of an A+ and double pats on the back.

Right?

The hit counter didn’t think so. But hey, five more people had opened the page since last night. That was something, wasn’t it?

MM: dude why not just ask Sam to tweet out the link?

How dare you, Miles Morales.

How dare you waltz into this place with logical thought.

GL: I can’t do that. That’s like. Idk. Inflating the views.

MM: okay yeah explain to me how appealing to the person in control of the largest part of his own fandom is inflating the views

GL: I see your logic and I’m banishing it

MM: I’m messaging him

GL: DON’T

MM: too late

MM: he says ‘gimme link’

GL: asdksjsjdks

@blindspot: hi I know y’all can’t get enough of me to the point of asking shockingly invasive questions and for you I say good news! Some amazing folks have gone through the trouble of making a Blindspot comic. it’s good guys check it out [link]

It helped.

A lot.

It helped a lot.

People, on the whole, had great things to say. The panels were screenshotted and tagged and sent all over social media and even though Miles was pretending to be chill and aloof about the whole thing, Ganke could imagine him smiling big and bright and white at his phone non-stop.

Mom and Auntie saw a few of the bits on Twitter and tittered over them in the kitchen like pigeons.

The pride rose like a wave. Ganke kept waiting for the crash.

It came two days later in the form of a comment that read ‘Christ, look at all this fuss. BT is fine. I hate his brother.’

It felt like someone punching the wind out of Ganke’s lungs.

He took comfort in the handful of people who leapt in to shout down the commenter. They emphasized that if the anonymous commenter didn’t like the story or the characters, then they didn’t have to read it and they, especially, didn’t have to say anything about it.

Ganke appreciated those guys. He got the feeling that a lot of the people on there knew that the whole thing had been done but a couple of kids.

Not that Anon cared.

Anon replied to all these comments ‘No, I’m gonna keep reading, thanks. Anyways, the brother is lame. The smart part is cool, but why’s it always gotta be a guy?’

The part that haunted Ganke even after he’d shut his laptop and had gone to stick his head out the window for some big breaths of cleansing air was that Anon was kind of right.

GL: should we have made Guotin’s brother a sister?

MM: no

GL: why not?

MM: cause BT’s always wanted a brother

Oh.

Okay. Then it was fine?

MM: yeah man ignore them. it’s chill.

GL: k thanks my ego is huge and fragile

MM: trust me I know

Asshole. Fine, moving right along.

It didn’t stop. Anon commented on every page. Every. Single. Page.

Ganke didn’t know what to do or say. On the one hand, clearly this person was dedicated and deeply engaged with the comic, on the other hand, they needed a Rude Alert button. Ganke wondered if Ned could code one for them and them only.

The latest of their fury was directed at the big reveal in the second issue—BT’s face.

Having now met Sam, BT, Blindspot, Ganke’s whole image of him had changed.

He was not conventionally attractive as far as like, K-Pop idols and famous Chinese dudes went. His eyes were puffy and narrow and his face was round everywhere but the jaw. He leaned more towards ‘cute’ than ‘sexy,’ which Ganke sort of loved about him.

He was friendly. Stressed and grumpy and feisty as hell, yeah, but first and foremost friendly.

Miles claimed that he called it his ‘number one asset in employability.’ Which was wild because hello, Blindspot.

Obviously, BT couldn’t help his face. But Miles and Ganke could help Guotin’s.

Ganke had sent Miles about fifteen different images of Chinese celebrities and had told him to do his worst. They’d reviewed the final few drafts and had picked one that was most like a young Chen Kun. His face was more oval-shaped than BT’s. His chin and lips were slimmer but more defined. He was pretty, but not so pretty as to be called ‘feminine,’ which Ganke thought was a solid compromise between ‘handsome as sin’ and ‘looks like he’s got a quirky sense of humor.’

Anon hated him.

Anon thought that he looked like an idol, and they were not here for it.

They told ‘the artist’ to give him a mole or something, anything to make him look ‘less pristine. God, I can smell him from here and he smells like Dior and staph habitat.’

Ganke had to look up what a staph infection was. He regretted it. He asked Miles if they should censor Anon.

Miles said ‘mmmmm, idk it’s not like they aren’t saying anything that isn’t true.’

Ganke resented that. Clearly this was defamation of BT. This person hated him and was taking their feeling out on the comic.

MM: I mean yeah but it’s not like they’re talking about the comic, man. They’re talking about the style and like, thinking about it, a mole or smth to help you tell him apart from other folks would kind of be helpful. Like, especially if we ever put him in a crowd, you know?

HHHHHH.

Fine.

Anon could stay. But they were on thin ice.

It was hard not to be bitter about Anon’s comments, especially when they arrived daily, as though Anon knew exactly what they were doing and which page they’d left off at. They couldn’t possibly be reading the comic one page at a time, this was intentional.

Ganke’s jaw hurt from all the tooth grinding he’d endured as of late.

This latest one read ‘yo, has BT ever mentioned fighting with a sword? I don’t recall him mentioning. Someone should take that thing away from him before someone loses an eye—or maybe even two.’

That felt like a pointed jibe.

That turned the churning irritation in Ganke’s gut into something much, much colder.

Did Anon know about BT’s black and blue eyes? How could they know? Was it a coincidence? It seemed to be more than a coincidence.

The pile of critiques was growing bigger and bigger, and now that Ganke thought about it, they all seemed to take issue with things that didn’t match the real Blindspot’s personality.

It was as if they knew him.

GL: miles did you read the new comment from AnonTheAsshole?

MM: lol yeah

GL: tell me if I’m talking out my ass or whatever but like

GL: you don’t think they could be Muse, could they?

Silence.

MM: oh no

Yeah. Fuck.

MM: chances are low.

GL: they know so much tho??

MM: might be stalker? Maybe someone who’s over-invested in BT’s social media pages?

GL: maybe.

MM: hold on let me ask Spidey to screen it

GL: does he know Muse?

MM: no, but he’s paranoid and he’ll get Wade to be paranoid with him, and then they can decide whether its worth giving to DD for verification. He knows Muse.

Ganke’s head was spinning. His fingers shook with guilt and the thought of Muse’s pale body hunched over a secret, cracked cell phone in a high security prison who knew where.

In Ganke’s head, he smiled wider and wider, until the skin on his cheeks cracked. He dug out scraps of paper and redrew Blindspot—Sam—with gaping holes for eyes and a screaming mouth and he drew dismembered corpses in black lakes and he laughed.

He just kept laughing.

MM: hey ganke

MM: it’s going to be okay. It’s just a comic. I’m sure AnonTheAsshole is a stalker. They’re not threatening anyone.

MM: Sam can deal with a stalker. And we can too, okay?

There was a reason that Miles was a hero. Ganke wiped at his eyes and swallowed.

GL: okay. Thanks for doing that.

MM: 👍🏾

It took a few hours because Spidey and Deadpool had lives outside of being Spidey and Deadpool, but not so long that Ganke ran out of nails to chew.

Miles messaged him back and said that Spidey had read through everything and ‘escalated it.’ This meant that whatever he’d seen had caused him enough concern to take it to DP.

Miles said that he’d get back to Ganke with DP’s verdict as soon as he had it. In the meantime, he’d run the comments by the other Spideypeople and they thought that it most likely wasn’t malevolent but was maybe something to keep an eye on in the meantime. He tacked onto all, somewhat stiltedly, that he had a weird feeling all of the sudden. The pink Spidey’s tone had changed. She’d shut down and gone cagey, which allegedly wasn’t like her at all. Then she’d told the taller guy to DM her and they’d vanished from the chat. Miles wasn’t sure what was going on there or if maybe they knew something about stuff going on that he didn’t, but he wasn’t super comfortable with it.

GL: crossing my fingers its nothing?

MM: same man, same.

DP escalated it.

Ganke couldn’t stay still in his room. There was no comfortable place to sit or stand or lay. There was nothing to do that would make him stop thinking about everything.

MM: It’s gonna be fine, man, DD always knows what to do.

Miles kept saying that for every step of the way, and yet here they were. Double escalated. Ganke wasn’t so sure he even knew what was happening anymore.

That was scary. Miles was supposed to be part of the in-crowd.

MM: Wade doesn’t think it’s anything that can’t be nipped in the bud.

That was easy for a contract assassin to say, wasn’t it?

MM: he says that you and I are fine. Doesn’t see any links there. Waiting on DD for confirmation of tone.

Hurry up, Daredevil. Your apprentice’s life might be about to take a nosedive into a heap of trash.

Two hours. One text.

MM: >:/

Ganke couldn’t contain the bubble of laughter.

GL: good news?

MM: [image]

He opened it.

SC: HANNAH YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. STOP BEING A BITCH ON MAIN

HC: You can’t tell me what to do

SC: I CAN

HC: Mom he’s being MEAN

SC: Mom she’s scaring children online

HC: I scare children everywhere I go why are these ones special???

SC: Because I said so

HC: that doesn’t fucking work Samuel you’re not her

SC: I am your older brother

SC: your ELDEST brother

HC: YOU AINT SHIT

SC: THEY DON’T COUNT

SC: HALFSIES COUNT

What.

MM: so.

MM: she’s not Muse.

MM: Red’s laughing his ass off at all of us for taking this to a level three

GL: wait I don’t understand

MM: Hannah is Sam’s little sister. She’s found a new hobby in our website.

Blindspot’s little sister was reading the comic??? Holy shit.

GL: she hates him?

MM: no I’ve been informed that they would literally commit murder for each other but this is how they express love.

No way. Siblings were wild.

GL: so we’re good?

MM: [image]

SC: apologize 🔪

HC: eat my ass

SC: apologize or else

HC: or else what? You gonna come in here and sit on me? Huh? Huh????

SC: I know your email password. All 3 you cycle through. What was his name? Uuuuuuuuuh Jing?

HC: you fucking bastard

SC: Hi Jing, it’s me, Hannah. I’ve been in mad crush with you since sophomore year. Please notice me senpai 😖

HC: Die

SC: kill me

HC: I will.

The giggles that came this time were a mix of relief and genuine intrigue. This lady read the comic every day. She took the time to scroll through pictures of her brother being an absolute lunatic and fighting with a huge monkey. Then she hopped into that comment box and took him—not Miles, not Ganke, specifically Blindspot--down a peg.

She must miss him a lot. Ganke wondered if this was her way of keeping him in her thoughts.

MM: I don’t think we’re getting a sorry, man. DD says Sam’s been at this all morning and has been tricked into apologizing himself twice

GL: so you’re saying that she’s an evil genius

MM: idk but she’s def Sam’s main nemesis. I always thought that older siblings got like, rights or something over younger ones, but idk anymore. Angel says this is normal.

GL: do you think she misses him?

Miles took a long time to respond.

MM: yeah

Yeah, Ganke thought so, too.

GL: should we change Guo tin’s brother’s name to ‘hamish?’

MM: ASDLDSDSFKdsjf

MM: one moment.

MM: sam says yes. Hannah says that she thinks our comic is shit and we need to draw everything uglier

GL: she’s kind of funny

MM: 👀perhaps she would like to be a consultant?

GL: 👀👀👀👀

MM: brb asking

MM: sam says no. Hannah says she’s got better things to do than proofread comics on the internet. She’s also not sorry. She wants that to be clear. DD says that the conversation has moved from English to Chinese and to maybe duck and cover for now. He says all is good tho. Thanks for checking in.

MM: Muse doesn’t use punctuation and talks in riddles, so if we get any of that, we’re supposed to send it to DP right away.

Oh, nice. That was a relief.

MM: oh

MM: sam wants to put us in a chat. Can I give him your number?

Uh, only if he wanted Ganke to hyperventilate.

GL: sure

[GL has been added to a Secure Chat]

It was a page of characters and emojis that were somehow more menacing than Ganke had ever seen them before. Miles popped a little waving hand into the fray, as though testing the waters, but the characters just carried on scrawling around it.

Ganke wasn’t quite sure what to do.

GL: hi? Are y’all okay?

There was finally a pause. Then a few shorter lines of characters. And then finally, Blindspot switched from Chinese to English.

SC: yes we’re FINE. We’re GREAT. Aren’t we, sibling from hell?

HC: who’re you? Why are you in our family chat? This is a family only zone, can’t you read?

SC: God Hannah he’s Korean don’t be a dick

HC: I can’t not be I learned it from you

SC: fair but pretend in the face of company

HC: okay fine. Hello losers.

MM: adksadfadsdfldfsldf

MM: hi

GL: hi?

SC: go on

HC: UGH

HC: fine

HC: I didn’t mean to shit talk your creation. Only my brother.

SC: also a sin, we’ll get to that later

HC: no one cares about you Samuel, stop spreading lies

SC: you first. We both know this is no lie, my white dad cares about me a whole lot

HC: well we can’t all have white dads now can we

SC: don’t be jealous

MM: lol you really call Matt your white dad??

HC: who is this person and how do they know our mutual parent’s name?

SC: this is not a mutual parent situation how many times have we been through this. He’s mine. Get your own.

MM: hi! 👋🏾I’m Bitsy! Spidey no. 4

GL: I’m his friend. He draws the comic. I write it.

HC: oh. nerd children x2

HC: anyways yeah Matt is our dad

SC: ffs

MM: he’s sort of dadly ig.

HC: ?? oho

SC: mind your face. Think about your face. Think about how much you like your face.

HC: little spider, did you not hear?

SC: kay everyone out. We’re done here

MM: hear what?

HC: lol Sammy you didn’t tell them about how Matthew Mcconaughey adopted you in all ways but paperwork?

Ganke held his phone away from his face as far as it would go.

MM: …wait are you for real?

SC: no. okay out.

HC: awwww Sammy so shy now. What are you embarrassed about? It’s cute.

SC: Hannah literally shut up I’m not playing

HC: damn okay sorry

MM: can I be honest?

SC: no

MM: I’m going to be anyways: I think we all sorta knew.

SC: …

HC: right?

SC: what does that even mean?

MM: idk, it just felt right, you know? You two are always fussing at each other and red lost his shit that time you got shot. He doesn’t treat you the way he treats the rest of us and we’re his teammates. He doesn’t even treat spidey like he treats you. So like, yeah. It fits.

MM: I’m really happy for you guys.

MM: is there a reason it’s a secret?

Ganke eased himself back down onto the mattress. This was real. This was like, actual, real information. Something that he and like, four other people in the world now knew.

He kind of wanted to forget it. It didn’t feel right to know.

SC: I dunno.

HC: if sam has an honest emotion towards anything he has to calculate its weight so he can make space for it in his collection of satellites.

MM: wh

SC: you’re so not funny.

HC: it’s called emotional repression, darling. It’s all the rage in this family.

MM: oh

MM: so that’s why you and Red get on so well

SC: HHHHHHH

HC: HA

SC: okay but listen his is different, I’ve only seen him cry at his wedding. I cry at least 4 times a week. Obviously under the bed, but that can’t be emotional repression. That’s expression. That’s clearly expression

HC: I can make the old man cry watch me

SC: please don’t I’ll die

MM: awwwww

SC: shut up it doesn’t even matter.

MM: AWWWWWW

SC: LEAVE ALREADY

MM: no I like it here. I want to hear you talk about how much you love your white dad

SC: I don’t. He loves me. I’m fine with this because it results in food, shelter, and continued employment.

HC: uh huh

SC: I’m using him

HC: yeah because you’re like the most manipulative person I know.

SC: thank you

HC: /sarcasm

SC: I know I ignored it.

MM: so wait why do you actually pretend like you hate him tho?

SC: wh

SC: what the fuck am I supposed to do? Just go on up for a cuddle? Have you met Matt? The second someone starts crying, he finds trash to take out to the bins. Hell no. Life is easier for everyone if I stab him with a stick and he kicks my ass in training. It’s fine.

HC: Sam is learning how to be a Manly Man. This is step one.

SC: I’m plenty manly

HC: you’re what mom imagined as manly

SC: which is perfect. That’s all I need.

HC: mama’s boy

SC: must suck to suck, no one’s kid.

Wow. Ganke had never been more glad that he didn’t have a sister.

GL: That’s kind of cool, though.

GL: that you and DD are close like that I mean.

GL: Its different from all the other mentor/mentee superheroes we see who like, sort of hate each other.

SC: wh

SC: OH. you mean Peter and Kate. Peter doesn’t actually hate Stark, fyi. And Kate calls Hawkeye the Old bi-weekly to make sure he’s still breathing. It’s actually pretty normal.

MM: he doesn’t mean like that Sam. I mean, like those guys don’t associate with their Olds now that they’re grown up and stuff, but you and DD stick together. It’s like you’re family.

MM: and that’s super cool. Idk if Spidey would ever consider me family. I don’t think he wants that for us.

SC: I?

SC: oh shit

HC: CLARITY ON THIS FINE DAY. What was your name again, tiny spider?

MM: miles

HC: PRAISE BE TO MILES

HC: AN EMOTION WAS HAD

SC: get fucked

HC: An epiphany was obtained!

SC: would you shut up

HC: Something has finally permeated that non-porous, two-inch thick skull of my esteemed eldest brother

SC: I’m your only brother

HC: you’re not

SC: they don’t fucking count

HC: now will you FINALLY invite our mutual dad to hotpot?

SC: Hannah he doesn’t want to come to hot pot we’ve talked about this. it’s too spicy for him.

HC: I’ll make it 1/3 less spicy

SC: that’s still too spicy

HC: I’ll make it 2/5 less spicy

SC: 3/5

HC: listen

HC: I have all this fucking equipment that SOMEONE left here callously

MM: what’s hotpot?

SC: 👀

HC: 👀

GL: 👀

SC: well fuck

HC: EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

GL: have we never taken you with us for hotpot???

MM: no?? is this the sticks?

HC: can be. Where do you live?

SC: Hannah no

HC: Hannah yes. We’ll make one here. You’ll make one there.

SC: do you know how much shit I’ll have to buy? Where are we gonna put it?

HC: this wouldn’t be a problem if you’d taken your goddamn inheritance with you to SF

SC: HHHHHH

MM: you guys are actually being serious?

HC: I am. I am here all on my lonesome. Abandoned by my only kin. I require enrichment.

SC: try doing your fucking homework

HC: did anyone hear something?

MM: lololololol I like you

HC: 😊

SC: wh

SC: oh no. No no no.

SC: you two don’t get to be friends

HC: come here bb pspspspspspsps

MM: I’m here

HC: got ‘im. Let’s have hotpot. Sammy send me resippy. We’ll do it together over video so I don’t fuck it up.

SC: I’ve got to go. This has been traumatizing.

HC: byeeeeeeeeeeee

HC: is he gone? Hell yeah, he’s gone.

HC: hey thanks for making that comic thing. It’s hella rad. He loves it. Mom used to call him Monkey when he was little.

GL: omg aw

HC: ikr? P cute. He misses her a lot so I think it brought back good memories. Anyways, I’m actually going to make hotpot. Come over and have some with me, it’s more fun with more people.

MM: you’re not joking

HC: nope, it’s been ages since your whole team has gotten together, right? Ask them to do it. I’m a shit cook, but Sam’ll show us how not to screw it up. And he’s playin’, he’s totally down to hang out with us. We never had more than three people. It’ll be new. Exciting. Enriching even.

MM: are you secretly a nice person, Hannah?

HC: the fuck do you mean ‘secret’??? I’m a delight.

MM: Okay I’ll ask the team and my mom

MM: ganke?

HC: 👀

That—

Sounded kind of nice?

GL: I’ll ask my mom.

HC: nice. You can tell them that it’s a friends dinner or whatever. Idc. I promise I’m not going to kidnap and murder you. I’ve got like, class and work and shit. I don’t have time for that.

MM: 👍🏾

GL: 👍🏼

HC: great here I’ll message you my number. This is legit our sibs chat so Sam’ll freak if you’re still here when he gets back.

MM: thank you! And sorry for thinking you were muse!!

GL: yeah that too

HC: lol np ttyl

That…had really just happened, hadn’t it?

Ganke needed to sit down even though he was already sitting down.

GL: they’re so nice???

MM: ikr?

GL: are you actually going to ask your mom?

MM: Im gonna ask BT if its cool first. Then yeah. Why not? Our team really hasn’t gotten together in a minute. Everyone’s been super busy. It would be a nice change of pace, and if everyone brings smth then Hannah doesn’t have to pay for anything.

MM: ah, Sam says it’s okay. He says sorry his sister is weird and that he’ll make sure she doesn’t poison us.

GL: I kind of love her

MM: same

MM: okay will check in with the others. Talk to you later.

GL: yeah see you later

Damn, at this rate, Ganke’s family was going to triple in size, and all thanks to a comic.

Before he left for downstairs, he made a note to make Guo tin’s brother snarkier.

#fic #inimitable verse #blindspot #samuel chung #miles morales #ganke lee

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saint-cichol-is-watching · 4 years

Text

Their reactions to you breaking up with them // Part One

LUCIFER // BEELZEBUB // BELPHEGOR // DIAVOLO // SIMEON

Part Two (Mammon/Leviathan/Satan/Asmodeus/Barbatos) will come later this week ! It was supposed to come out with everyone else but I just wasn’t satisfied with some (cough Satan cough Barbatos) so I decided to split it into two parts and release the second one later ! ☺️

This idea suddenly popped in the middle of the night into my mind and I can’t ignore it so bear with me.

(Also sorry for the angst if you aren’t new here you should be used to it by now)

Fun fact I’m actually writing this while listening to ‘Left & RIght’ by SVT and let me tell you this does not fit the vibe at all, but it works lmao

MASTERLIST

NB: This is all made under the assumption that the boys love and respect you enough not to kill you right on the spot of course and that they’re not crazy enough (at least not anymore) to lock you up in i don’t know an attic for example

+ Also this goes without saying that most of these if not all are not “we should stay friends” kind of breakup, it’s more of a “it doesn’t work anymore we should stop seeing each other” kind of breakup.

(Sorry for the delay I got a bit sick yesterday and couldn’t find enough strengh to open my computer and actually concentrate)

—

The one who acted like it doesn’t affect him in any way.

He gave you his everything and that’s what you gave back to him? How preposturous!

He was mad.

But he refused to show it. His pride and ego were so important to him and to him at the moment they were the only thing he could still salvage from this humiliation.

Which is why everytime he saw you afterwards, he looked at you for a milisecond before scoffing and averting his eyes before walking away from the room, his head held up high to the point it hurted his neck.

But the fact that he tried to stay proud didn’t mean breaking up with you didn’t hurt.

Because it did. And he hated every part of this.

You probably surprised him once or twice at night in the music room lazily playing a few notes on the piano with a glass of wine as his only company.

Muttering words that you couldn’t quite understand without having to get closer, but you could feel each and everyone of them dripping with bitterness and pain.

After all of this Lucifer wanted to hate you, he truly did. But he couldn’t, and it was absolutely infuriating to him.

He, Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride, one of the most powerful demons in the entire Devildom, the right-hand-man to the prince himself, fell in love with a mere weak human. And yet he was the only one left suffering.

How humiliating.

Beel was actually surprised by how much it didn’t hurt.

A break up is normally painful, but appart from a little pinch in his heart his body was completely numb to the pain.

So he didn’t try to fight it. He simply accepted it and watched you walk away. After all your happiness was always his first priority and it didn’t hurt that much so it was okay... right?

But over the days you, along with the other brothers noticed a slight change in Beel’s behavior.

Which from his perspective was coincidental with the pain from his heart spreading more and more inside of him.

It started with a lack of appetite which, coming from him, was worrying of course but you all assumed it was his way of “coping” and that he would be back eating in no time.

But it didn’t happen like that. The lack of appetite was suddenly added to a tighter grip on things. At some points you had all lost track of the times you walked on Beel staring intensely at a doorknob that he accidentally ripped off its handles.

Then it escalated. It wasn’t object he was unconsciously hurting it was now other people as well, slapping their hand away or bumping into them hard.

Until one day he found himself into a fight with a lesser demon that to your knowledge hadn’t done anything to set him off. It took the the combined strenght of Lucifer, Mammon and Belphegor to get Beel off the demon.

And it took him one glance your direction to stop fighting his brothers. He saw you look at him as if you didn’t recognize him, as if you were wondering where was the Beel you knew, the one who was kind and loving. And he started crying.

The numbness of his body was finally wearing off to reveal all of the pain it had been hiding.

Probably the messiest breakup since first he just refuses to even aknowledge what you said.

You saved his life. He was living a life filled with hatred and despair since Lilith’s death and you came in, and while things happened that he is definitely not proud of, your forgave him and gave him a new chance at life where he could have fun with you and everybody else.

He had been latching onto you since that day, his only goal in life was you. You were his life line.

That’s why he refused to break up. That’s why he said “no” as soon as the words were out of your mouth.

You tried to tell him that’s it’s not his choice but he wouldn’t hear it. He was not going to let you go.

A big fight exploded between you two, so vehement that some of the brothers who heard the ruckus rushed over to see what was wrong.

After a while they managed to cool you down and you finally got a look at his face. And you saw nothing but pain.

With his emotions exposed like that in front you and everybody else Belphegor got really embarrassed, cursed under his breath under his breath and then turn around to run away. Far from you.

Not knowing what to do he somehow found his way back in the attic where he stayed on his own accord this time. He stayed there day and night refusing to go out. Afraid that he was going to see you again.

At that moment he didn’t hate humans as much as he did before he met you, but now after what you had said he couldn’t help but let a newfound yet familiar grudge grow inside him once again. He didn’t want to trust humans anymore.

Probably and surprisingly the most crushed out of all of them.

You. Out of all people, you were abandoning him.

You were the most intimate and the closest relationship he ever had. You were his entire world, he gave you everything he could give. This man almost worshipped you for loving him. And you were pulling away from him ?

All you see in his face is utter disbelief... And pain.

He doesn’t say a word, his knees simply give out and without ever breaking eye contact with you he crashes on the floor.

When you decided walk away, he continued to look at you until you truly disappeared.

Afterwards, in public, he acted like he always did, he had this happy persona for more than a thousand years he knew how to make it look like he was feeling alright.

But you noticed. Because he avoided every plausible contact with you. He acted like you weren’t part of his world anymore because he knew that if he did so much as to look at you his smile would immediately falter.

He wanted you back. Nobody could have wanted someone back more than he wanted you. You were the first person whom he ever loved and the first person who ever truly loved him back.

He always thought he lived a life only filled with solitude until you single-handledly showed him that he wasn’t alone as he thought. Until you told him that with you by his side he would never feel alone anymore.

He thought about bringing you back by force, using his privileges as the Devildom Prince and only ruler to get you to fulfill the promise that you made to him.

He actually nearly made it happen.

But was advised by both Lucifer and Barbatos that it would be a bad idea and, while he did it reluctantly, he ultimately agreed.

But he never felt so alone.

Surprisingly Simeon was the one who had the most trouble understanding why you wanted to break it off.

The only thoughts running thorugh his mind at the moment were : “What happened ? What did he do wrong?”

He was always so careful with you, so romantic, so understanding, so... perfect.

There was no other word, he was a perfect boyfriend. He always did what he thought was right. He always treated you right. So why did you break up with him?

Simeon was a smart man, he wrote countless times about love too but he truly couldn’t comprehend the fact you wanted to end your relationship.

He thought was you had was so special, he was in love with you. Every moment that he spent with you was precious to him.

And he couldn’t get around the fact that you didn’t feel the same anymore.

But he did let you go though.

Without asking any questions or giving much of a fight because even there he wanted to put your feelings first.

He didn’t even cry, nor complained. He just caressed your cheek one last time with his long fingers, making sure to remember the softness of your skin and the shape of your jaw.

He looked at every detail of your face and he memorized them all knowing it would be the last time he would ever be allowed to be so close to you.

Then he layed his lips on your forehead for the last kiss he could give you and whispered, his voice trembling, so slightly that you barely even noticed it :

“If that’s what you want”

The first time he saw you again afterward he tried to make his way to you to talk with you as if you were back to friends. but as soon as he saw you shifting awkwardly while you looked at him he stopped in his tracks, gave you a small smile and turned around.

Once again putting your feelings first.

#obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #swd obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me!#obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me beel #obey me belphie

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iron--spider · 4 years

Text

my favorite superhero

Tony sits there, cuffed to a chair in whatever the hell facility this is, and he stews. He doesn’t enjoy being kidnapped—his ego always takes a hard hit when he allows it to happen, and now that the end of the world has come and gone, he figured this kind of shit would fall off.

But he stews, particularly angry, because this one is personal.

Justin Hammer paces back and forth in front of him. He’s a little weightier than he was when Tony last saw him, sporting a patchy, uneven beard and what looks like a borrowed suit. Still an asshole.

“Haven’t I been through enough?” Tony asks, twisting his hands in the cuffs behind his back. The iron arm is just not strong enough to break whatever the hell these are made of, and he’s angry because Justin thought ahead. When does Hammer think ahead, ever?

“Honestly,” Tony continues. “I’ve got kids now, you’ve gotta stop stalking me. I lost my arm saving the fucking world—apparently whatever the hell repercussions of all that got you out of prison, surely through no lawful avenues, so you’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Stark,” Hammer says, pointing over at him.

“No, you know what, you’re not welcome. I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back, you said it,” Hammer says, crossing his arms over his chest and holding his head high.

Tony sighs and looks away. There’s what looks like a kind of forcefield around where he’s sitting, and he sighs even harder. The room isn’t too large, with a vaulted ceiling, and Hammer’s situated himself on the platform in front of what looks like a couple empty offices. He prances back and forth above the few stairs that lead down to where Tony is, so he can stay above him.

“You know, I’m really proud of this,” Hammer says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This whole thing, right? So I snag you, and then we set off that bomb threat over in Midtown, so all your other super buddies fly over there and just think you’re slacking on the job when you don’t show up. Because you’re still handling the lower level shit like that, I know what you’re doing. I even think that Strange guy is over there, so they’re all there and they’re probably all judging you for not helping.”

“Cute,” Tony says, bitter.

“And this place is state of the fucking art, Anthony, like this could be the Queen’s bunker, and I’ve got all the buddies that left the Raft with me protecting the perimeter—chiseled, rugged guys just—ready to beat the shit out of everybody—”

“Nice, the guys that left the Raft with you, like you’re on vacation—”

“AND we’ve got you in vibranium handcuffs, you’re welcome, your pal in Wakanda’s gonna be real pissed when he realizes how far into the villain layer his shit has gotten—”

Tony looks at him, brows furrowed. “Villain layer? Layer—layer of villains? Is that what you were trying to say? And you’re including yourself there? Or like, lair of villains, like their lair where they keep their stuff—but that doesn’t really work—”

“No, just, shut up,” Hammer says. “Forget it. But that—yeah, vibranium handcuffs, so you’re not getting out any time soon even with your shiny new arm. And that forcefield is brand new Hammer tech, even if your buddies did fly over here once they’re done with their nice little distraction, they’re not smart enough to take down the encryptions, not even Banner, I checked into his degrees and what he studied and covered all my bases.”

Tony’s bitterness is mutating into something else, something more bitter and why the shit can’t this asshole leave him alone?

“Congratulations,” he says. “Today marks the first day in history that you weren’t a complete dumbass.”

“Thank you, thank you very much,” Hammer says, bending over in a deep bow, hands whipping with a flourish. “I thought about every variable, every avenue, now we just need Miss Pepper Wifey to answer my calls and—”

Tony experiences a flash of anger at that, and then a high pitched tone starts going off in his ears, and now he feels like a dumbass.

Peter. Was with Pepper.

Peter.

Like a shining light in the darkness and someone Hammer has clearly not paid attention to despite all his fucking planning, because he would have mentioned it amongst all the other bragging. Spider-Man isn’t an official Avenger yet to the world, just among the group. And Peter would never think Tony is slacking. Because Peter just doesn’t think that way.

Tony’s heart warms, because even though there’s no indication, he knows Peter is coming to get him.

“You know what?” Tony asks, looking up at Hammer again and interrupting whatever dumb shit he was saying. “I was wrong. You’re still a dumbass.”

Hammer stares at him. “What? No I’m not. Why? But I’m not.”

“You are,” Tony says, glancing away. “I’m not telling you why.”

“Oh Jesus, Tony, c’mon,” Hammer says, waltzing down the couple of stairs from the platform he was standing on, like the supreme idiot he is. “You’re such a—”

He stops, abruptly, and pulls out a small tablet from his pocket. His eyes narrow.

Here we go. Let’s go Spider-Man.

It’s faster than Tony could have imagined, and he looks on eagerly. “Oh, what’s that? What’s going on? A little hiccup, maybe?”

“Gotta be some kind of bullshit,” Hammer says. “Super friends are all at the coordinates I set them up at, my guys checked, my guys—oh my God, Raul.”

“Oh my God, is Raul okay?” Tony asks, flexing his fingers a bit behind his back. “Where’s Raul, is Raul here? Is something wrong—is Raul sick?”

Hammer glances up at him but he’s shaking more now, and his pacing gets more panicky and stilted. He holds the tablet with one hand and taps on some kind of ear com with the other, and Tony shifts back in his chair a bit, relaxing.

“Jason, Jason, can you hear me? Are you there? Buddy, the whole reason I gave you this earpiece is so you can report when I need you to report—”

He gasps, dramatically, and looks up at Tony.

“Not good?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows. “Not good news? Did they go on dinner break early? So hard to find good help these days.”

“Do you know somebody else?” Hammer asks. “I thought the Avengers were very exclusive, I thought you didn’t chat with all the other ragtag Times Square assholes.”

Tony leans forward and stares at him just as all these red, fiery lights start going off on the ceiling, and Hammer looks up and around, dropping the tablet and letting it shatter. Tony catches a glimpse of it now that he can see the screen, and he watches as guard after guard goes from green to red.

He looks back up at Hammer and grins, full of pride. “You don’t know shit about me if you don’t know who my favorite superhero is.”

And with that, the door behind Hammer opens and the lights snap out, only leaving the soft purple glow of the force field around Tony amongst inky darkness. His heart leaps when he hears a gun go off, three times with angry ricochet, and then he hears Hammer shrieking like a little girl, followed by the unmistakable sound of Peter’s webs and a body falling to the floor.

Tony sits there in darkness and silence for a long moment.

“Uh, Spidey?” Tony asks, blinking in the purple glow. “Where are you, bud? You okay?”

The lights click back on and he sees Peter kneeling on the ground, checking Hammer’s pulse.

“Oh thank God. You okay?” Tony asks again. “He didn’t shoot you, right? The asshole.”

“No, he didn’t shoot me,” Peter says. He pulls off his mask and stuffs it in his belt, looking up at Tony with a grimace. “He just, like. Passed out. I didn’t even punch him. I was gonna hit him, like, to knock him out, but he was already passed out and I didn’t even use impact webs, Tony.”

Tony snorts. “It’s fine, that’s just how he is.” He grins at Peter. “Thanks for coming, kid.”

“Duh,” Peter says, approaching him.

“I’m sure he’s got a computer around here or something, so you can disable the forcefield—”

“Yeah, I already did that,” Peter says, walking right through it, and Tony watches, mouth agape. “For some reason he had a stealth mode, and I was able to mirror that and it put it on standby for twenty minutes.”

Tony nods. “Alright, shit, that’s great, okay, plenty of time to figure out the handcuffs, find a key or something—”

Peter walks around behind him and kneels down. “He was stupid enough to alter them and add a code and a second latch.”

Tony feels him do something, and then the handcuffs drop off, like nothing. He laughs, feeling a little lightheaded, and he gets up, turning around to face the kid.

He feels completely and utterly in awe of him. He always knew Peter would surpass him, but he has with such grace and candor and it’s—amazing.

Peter puffs out his chest and points down. “One day, I’m gonna be able to break vibranium with my own strength, and then I’ll tell King T’Challa—”

Tony nearly launches himself at him, wrapping him up in a hug. He ruffles Peter’s hair and pats him on the back, sighing and holding him close. “I’m very proud of you. Very very. Really very.”

“Oh,” Peter says, holding onto him. “Really?”

“Shit, of course,” Tony laughs, wondering if he doesn’t say it enough or if that’s just Peter, always doubting himself. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on.”

“No, I’m—I was done. I’m just—I’m just gonna tell him.”

Tony hugs him for a couple more long moments before letting go, pulling back and gripping his shoulders in continued appreciation of what he’s done here. “You’re the best, you know that? Better than Cap or Bruce. Better than all of them. Number one.”

“Nah,” Peter says, but he’s grinning.

“That idiot,” Tony says, pointing over at Hammer, encased in webbing, “is one of my worst enemies.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Really?”

Tony lets his arms drop. “Well. Definitely the most irritating.”

Peter laughs. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Don’t get mad, but I took one of the quinjets to come get you. But Friday flew the whole way so it’s technically like, not that bad.”

Tony scoffs as they head for the way Peter came in, the red lights still flashing and indicating the absolute fucking wreck Spider-Man left Hammer’s facility in. “Kid, that quinjet? It’s yours now, I’m gifting it to you.”

“Don’t say things you’ll take back later,” Peter says, leading him through the corridor, where a bunch of guys are webbed to the walls—some squirming, some still.

“Nope,” Tony says, patting him on the back again. “I will not be taking that back.”

“Okay,” Peter says, eyes wide with excitement as he grabs for his mask. “Then I would also like an Iron Man suit.”

Tony scoffs and turns right when Peter does. “Okay, that—that we can negotiate.”

#tony stark #peter parker #iron man #spider-man #iron dad #my fics #and my fave villain #there he is #look at him

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teeztheflag · 4 years

Text

─────────────────────

Wolf!Seong Hwa continuation to the Wolf!Ateez Reaction to the daily life with their pregnant mate

warnings: strong language, daddy kink, arguments, discrimination

─────────────────────

Seong Hwa quickly realized that you actually went home, your old one. After the encounter at his family he thought you would come back quickly and talk it out with him - but you didn’t.

Two weeks passed and his wolf was restless and heartbroken at the distance between the two of you. He wanted to protect you, hold you again in his arms - the only place where you were safe.

Deciding he should just apologize and get this over with he texted you that he was sorry and you should come back. What he didn’t expect was that you totally ignored him which may had hurt his pride but he wouldn’t admit that.

He knew you turned out to be a stubborn mate but this was enough. Seeing you with one of his friends Kang Yeo Sang together at a local cafe he literally wanted to rip of told boy’s head. He caught you laughing while patting your tummy with his pups in front of another male wolf. No sign of sadness or guilt in your face.

He decided to wait after the two of you went your own way again and with a loud bang he pinned him against the wall around the next corner. Yeo Sang first wanted to turn and get into fight with whoever tried to attack him out of nowhere but when he sees that it’s the famous Park Seong Hwa a knowing smirk escapes him.

„Park, what a pleasure to see you here.“

„Shut it you rag. Do you even know who you’re messing with?“

„I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did I anger you or something?“ Seong Hwa‘s fist collides with the surface only mere inches next to Yeo Sang’s porcelain like face and the boy gulps.

„What were you doing with my mate? Looking at her all lovely or what? I suggest you better not touch what’s not yours or I swear you’re in for it Kang!“

Yeo Sang shudders at Seong Hwa‘s outburst and backs away more into the wall behind him.

„Fuck, Seong Hwa! You say this but don’t even take care of her!“

„Who are you even to-“

„She’s sad and told me everything.“ The black haired wolf takes a step back and frowns at the younger boy.

„Good for you. Take care of your own business and let me deal with my female.“

„You’re not really good at it ya know... She isn’t answering your texts, right? For me it seems like you made no process at all since - since how long are you separated now?“

Seong Hwa was definitely getting more frustrated with the situation. He didn’t like others getting into his business but his wolf urged him to hear the younger one out.

„I - what even is this?“

„Well, the famous Park Seong Hwa doesn’t know how to get his girl back.“ A sly chuckle leaves Yeo Sang‘s lips which earns him a deadly look by the older one.

„And you know how or what?“

„Oh yes of course I do. Well, simple texts won’t do it but every decent person would know this.“

„Listen, I have no time for this bullshit.“

„Gosh, Park! How long do we know eachother? I remember the old you who did anything to rebel against his parents and always dreamt of a mate like (y/n)! You told me once you would find her you would cherish her like no one else but now you’re playing marionette for your family.“ He definitely needed some time to register Yeo Sang’s words fully.

„I don’t understand her.“

„Then try it.“

„I did.“

„Try harder. I know you’re something like the heartthrob of our pack and well off but you should also realize that sometimes it’s needed to take others‘ feelings in consideration although you might not understand them.“ Yeo Sang rolled with his eyes.

He was right. Of course he was that little shit.

„Whatever.“ Yeo Sang clicked his tongue and turned around to leave the boy to his own thoughts.

„I am convinced you will know what to do. Think about your pups and (y/n), there’s not much time left and they need a father as soon as possible.“

Seong Hwa was so blinded by his own ego that he didn’t even think about your situation and condition at all. Soon the siblings would come and he suddenly felt very small and embarrassed. He decided the only right thing to do would be to talk with his parents and get some things clear.

Unfortunately just the next day when he was about to drive to his family‘s house a call reached him from the hospital.

„Oh, you’re the father Mr. Park? I know your parents!“

„Ah, yes. Could I please see her now?“

„You mean them, right? Your mate already gave birth to the twins and everyone’s doing good.“ She gave Seong Hwa a reassuring smile and although he was very happy about it the thought about them not calling him sooner left a bitter aftertaste.

Slowly he opened the door to your room and the first thing he saw were two boxes next to a bed where two babies were peacefully sleeping. Seong Hwa‘s dark orbs shined in awe when he got closer to them but before he could observe them more your horse voice reached him.

„Seong Hwa?“ You looked awfully pale and very exhausted which drove Seong Hwa‘s wolf crazy. His nose was buried in your neck quickly and you also found yourself enjoying the close approximation to your mate. Nothing could break a bond.

He leaned back and searched your face and eyes that held deep thoughts in them. „Are you ok?“

You nodded at him and smiled shyly eying your two pups next to you. His gaze also fell on them and he took a seat on the bed starting to caress your hair.

„(y/n) I am sorry. Everything I’ve done. I am deeply regretting not being by your side earlier.“

„But now you’re here. That’s what matters.“

„Yes, but I want you to know that I will talk to my p - “

Before he could finish the sentence his parents bursted through the door leaving his mother searching the room frantically for her grandchildren.

„Oh my god! Here they are! Look, my babies!“ Your mate sensed your discomfort at his mother‘s loud voice coming from you being still very weak.

„Mum? Dad? I didn’t know you already have permission to visit...“

Without looking at their son or daughter in law more closely they emerged the boxes and threw their full attention at the two small babies.

„Mrs. Jung informed us. She’s working here and called at us they came.“ He should’ve guessed something like that.

Seong Hwa recognized you squirming next to him because of his parents getting way too close to your children. For wolf parents the urge to protect their pups is very strong and his parents were far too early here destroying the calm atmosphere that just settled down after the birth.

„Maybe you should come back the next days. (y/n) is very exhausted and we have to look when we’re able to get out of the hospital and to our home with them.“

„Are you joking? They’re definitely coming to our house. You two are a very unsteady thing right now.“

That let not only drive your wolf crazy but Seong Hwa‘s, too.

„We’re the parents, mum. They’re coming to us.“

„But (y/n) is back to her parents house and you have to work which leaves your home empty - which is legally only yours - so it does only makes sense if they’re coming to us.“

„Are you joking?!“

Seong Hwa‘s dad rolls with his eyes at your form. „Well, you can take the girl with you but two of them are too much for someone like you and especially alone.“

„Stop!“ Seong Hwa stands up and his eyes change their color.

„This is definitely enough. (y/n) is coming back to our house and our children will come to where they belong. I should’ve listened to my mate earlier. You two are only interested in our son because of finally having an heir! This is sick and with your actions I will make sure the next time you get to see them is when you are ready to love our daughter as equally as our son!“

His parents took a step back clearly shocked and your mouth is gaped open.

„Seong H - “

„No, mum. Get a hold of yourself and you may can see them again. Start respecting me and my family and especially you as a female yourself should now that it’s discrimination at its best!“

„I am not discriminating anyone!“

„You may not realize it yourself, you two, that’s why I am telling you. Now do us a favor and get out of here.“

Shocked and at a loss of words his father takes his mother‘s hand and they leave the hospital room.

Seong Hwa turns around eying his family with an embarrassed expression.

„Good they didn’t wake up... Sorry, I didn’t want to get so loud.“

„I am glad you did. Mr. Park Seong Hwa - I am proud to have you as my mate and father of our pups.“

You smiled at him feeling more secure than anytime before. Seong Hwa was a man and a father that could protect his family even if it was his own family that was the danger.

„I took way too long to realize what is really important and right but with you at my side I know I can be better. You’re the strong one, my love.“

„Cheesy - but I like it. Now come here and give your new mommy a kiss.“ You winked at him and a chuckle escaped him. He leaned down and gave you a longing kiss.

„(y/n), please don’t say that again. You’ll forever be my babygirl.“

„Fuck, this doesn’t feel like the right time now.“ You were laughing uncontrollably and totally unaffected by Seong Hwa‘s stiff composure.

„You’re weak now but when we’re back home I will take care of you.“ His orbs couldn’t get any darker and you felt yourself leaning more into the mattress because you exactly knew what he was talking about.

„I missed you and I love you, (y/n).“

You smiled at him.

„Shit!“

„What’s wrong?“

„We still don’t have names for them...“

„Hm, as long as we don’t name him something with Yeo or Sang I don’t care.“

„Really? I thought about Se Yeon for her and Ji Sang for him.“

„No. Every other name but nothing that includes parts of this one.“

„What about San A and Woo Jin?“

„It’s getting worse.“

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↺ back to navi

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#ateez wolf #ateez werewolf #ateez mate #ateez parent #ateez wolf au #ateez werewolf au #ateez mate au #ateez au #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa werewolf #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader #seonghwa wolf #seonghwa x you #ateez reactions

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astrognossienne · 3 years

Text

birthdays: 4 - the unabashed social climber

My dabbling in birthday numerology has resulted in a ridiculously viral and classic post on my tumblr that goes through all the birthdays. The total sum of all birthdays essentially adds up to a range of numbers 1-9. In that post, I provided snapshots of the personalities of these birthdays. Now, here, on my website, I shall expound further as to why I came to these conclusions. To continue this series, we'll get into my other least favourite birthday number: 4.

4, 13, 22, 31: humanitarians, romantic, penetrating, provocative, faithful, pragmatic, reserved, immature, nakedly ambitious, tries too hard to be omnipotent, controversy always seems to surround them, savage for no reason, prides themselves on being infallible but are utterly fallible, know-it-alls, critical, anxious, smart-mouthed yet very sensitive (almost too much so), proud, tries hard to be individualistic but in reality is just like everyone else, very shady, can be and is often very disrespectful, patronizing and egotistical, needs their ass kissed, due to their vast insecurity and inherent inadequacy they have a need to conquer others and if they can’t do so then they will try very hard to destroy them, wayyy too sensitive and resorts to being caustic and abusive when they’re hurt (which is all the time), tries too hard to act/look/talk hard, can be tough but sweet, can be quite judgmental, always working, likes to one-up people, needs control and is often very self-controlled, often fake, passive-aggressive, very opportunistic and savvy, great at making friends, very contradictory and hypocritical, often very talented and hardworking, competitive, inspires others, wants to be known as kind and great in everyone’s eyes, almost always supremely unlikable individuals, often downright repulsive, has low self-esteem and projects it on others, often has hidden motives, adroit in using people’s emotions for their own ends

I think I pretty much summed them up there. Those who have these birthdays (especially those born on the 4th and 22nd) are the ones who I'm the most indifferent towards and amused by, but in the interest of fairness, let's dive into the psyche of these people, because if nothing else, they're moderately interesting psychological case studies.

When I think of 4's, I think of the character Eve Harrington in the classic film All About Eve. They're hurt, bitter, broken, miserable insecure bitches and often have low self-esteem and inadequacies within themselves, but they cover it up with false "self-love" and "assertiveness" which is actually condescension, aggressiveness, cockiness, and arrogance. This is evidenced in their unabashed social climbing they do. All social climbing have one thing in common: they seek to increase the social climber status by attacking and taking status away from others. They revel in this, since in their mind it secures their power over others, which is very important to them. They're often sad cases with attitude problems. They can’t, or don’t know how to reconcile their pain in a healthy way, so they direct it back out in mean, cruel, and insensitive ways - hurting others just because they were hurt. This process works only briefly, and usually generates extreme guilt in the person, making them stop for awhile. But, the pain of their past hasn’t been healed, so once again they try to bleed off the pain by hurting someone by being mean or rude. It’s like draining the pressure in a boiler. They know they’re inferior and broken, so they take it out full force on the people they envy and those whose true authentic power that they want. They often say what they don't mean. They're also forces of nature, and they somehow always seem to draw deep emotions out of people, and a lot for people seem to be deeply drawn to them. Fours, in turn, are often drawn by those who know how to control their emotions and make them work for them as well as those who have a deeper well of emotion than they and aren't scared of displaying it.

They have the amusing paradox of being mean AND hypersensitive at the same time, but the key is if one feels that these people are actually worth the time you have to take to get to know them, ignore their natural walls, abnormal need for control, rudeness and meanness, and love them anyway. If one can get through to that hurting part and heal and love it, these individuals can be loyal and even amazing friends for life. (incidentally, it's for this reason that I always seem to see these individuals deeply connected to 2's, 5's and 9's because I think 4's sense in them a kindred spirit, or someone they can use this strange type of "love" on and still feel accepted. But I'll cover those numbers at a later date). It might seem crazy, but a common way these people try and pull their partner/friends close is by expressing anger (of which there is a lot of) and unneeded childish aggression, often ruthlessly attacking perceived weaknesses. It usually works in the opposite way (unfortunately), but often underneath the anger is a strong plea for connection and love. The anger is a mask of protest about not getting that love. They like to create conflict and are very restless. They’re whiny and their edginess is based on their M.O. that "people want to hurt me; I must hurt them first to be safe". They’re often very petty and very small and are too selfish to show any real compassion for those going through a tough time or a tragedy, often pouring salt on the wound (although strangely enough, they're often touted as paragons of compassion and virtue).

They're not satisfied with the ordinary, and more often than not they do tend to lead extraordinary lives. They have an accessibility and a mystery at the same time. They can be calm and insanely disciplined. But they are also very fiery and passionate, and often make rash and headstrong decisions and can be very immature and insecure about themselves because of the need for balance that the number 4 suggests. They can also (only when seriously evolved) be inspirational, using their talents to move masses of people in a way very few can, such as Barack Obama (August 4), and obnoxious personalities like Beyoncé (September 4), her husband Jay-Z (December 4), and their friend Justin Timberlake (January 31 [another classic case of the low-level 4]). They are victims masquerading as warriors and use their victimhood as a weapon and other opportunistic tactics to cement their power. However, there is a lot of fixed-sign-esque (especially that of a Leonine/Scorpionic nature) ego associated with the number 4, and this requires everyone to bow down and kiss their ass. If the 4 doesn't get this type of treatment, then they'll destroy everything and everyone in their wake to assuage their hurt feelings and damaged ego, such as it is in the case of Meghan Markle (also born on August 4) and what she and her husband Harry are currently doing to the Royal Family.

Meghan tried to gain unconditional and total acceptance from them/England/the world. Since she didn't get it, she and Harry took their ball and went home" by backing out of the Royal Family and the duties associated with it and moving with their children to America, effectively cutting themselves off from Harry's grandmother, brother, and ailing grandfather. Which brings me to another point about 4's: they like to do things on their own terms, often alienating others along the way to satisfy themselves. Now that Meghan has had time to think about the "abuse" that she feels that she has received, she's going to get her ultimate revenge by trying to destroy the Royal Family with allegations of racism and mental/emotional abuse. Note: it wasn't a problem when they were courting, and it wasn't a problem when they got married, but since she didn't get the "kid glove" treatment she wanted, now they're a "racist family". I often wonder, if the firm/tabloids/press went after Princess Diana so brutally, as blonde-haired, blue-eyed and pretty as she was, what did Markle honestly expect? This speaks to the 4s often shocking naivety. Also, Markle kept referring to Kate Middleton in her interview, so that means that she's fixated on Kate as a point of envy. This is how hate and negative emotions will cause things to change and often unnecessarily so.

On the positive side (only when evolved), 4's can be active, hard-working, systematic, diligent, careful, objective, firm, introverted, serious, patient, reserved, thoughtful, sensible, analytic, calm, orderly and loyal. For those born on the 4th, 13th, 22nd, and 31st, this describes them in a nutshell.

#a freebie from my website #enjoy!#4 #four #numerology #birthdays #mine

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amlovelies · 3 years

Text

somewhere between hope and pride

written for @wayhavenmonthly‘s Fall for Unit Bravo

Day 18: Harvest

Pairing: Mason/F!oc (Serena Willis)

rating: M- strong language, sexual conversations and mention of alcohol and cigarettes

words: 1.7k

read on ao3

A/N this is another piece of my canon divergent as of yet untitled AU.

It’s exactly the sort of event I would have done anything to avoid back home. The community center is decorated with pumpkins, gourds, and leaves in the warm tones of fall. The last event of the annual harvest festival, the silent auction, is apparently the height of Wayhaven’s autumnal social calendar. Mayor Friedman had specially requested Unit Bravo’s presence. I’d considered telling Agent Greene that since I was not technically an agent that I must not be included in that mandate in order to escape attending.

However, after weeks of what amounted to house arrest, I was more than happy for an opportunity to get out an about. We still had been unable to locate the party behind the bounty on Dinah. Without any real reason to leave the premises, I’d spent most of my days in the library, watching movies with Farah, and avoiding Mason.

It’s been a little over two weeks since I ended things. That sounds like there was something to end. It’s been two weeks since I stopped hooking up with him, and it’s sucked. As much as I may know that I was making the right choice to protect myself, I miss spending time with him both in and out of the bedroom. But that was the whole reason why I had to stop it. My dumbass had caught feelings. If it was just fun then I wouldn’t miss him. Mason doesn’t do feelings.

For all my grumbling, the event hasn’t been terrible. Nate and Farah are off going through the silent auction offerings. Adam has been dragged off to speak with the mayor and Agent Greene leaving Dinah, myself and Mason alone at our table.

I’m nursing another glass of red wine and even without super senses I can hear the pretty brunette at the table behind us trying to work up the nerve to approach the brooding vampire sitting a few seats to my right. I have to remind myself that he was never mine to lose before I get too bitter.

I steal a glance to see if he’s noticed, to see if I need to really start drinking in earnest. I’ve never seen him in a button up before. It’s black and I can still see the chord of his crystal necklace poking out from where the last few buttons are undone. His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail with only a few strands falling out around his face. He looks sharp and devilishly handsome. As I look up, I find that his eyes are already on me. His brow is furrowed, but it smooths as he noticed me looking at him. I wonder how long he has been watching me, if he’s noticed how agitated I’ve become. I hope not.

For once he looks away first. Without a word, he rises from the table and I notice him reaching for the pocket he always keeps his smokes in as he heads for the hallway. I surprised he is even bothering to leave; he usual lights up wherever he wants to, rules be damned. Maybe he needs a break from the overstimulation of the room. There are a lot of people here and it must be wreaking havoc on his nerves.

“Well, that was interesting,” Dinah says off to my left.

“Huh? What was interesting?” I ask as I turn to her.

“I take it you still haven’t talked to him.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I don’t want to have this argument again. She seems determined to try and make us out to be some great romance. Not everyone gets what she and Nate have.

“How will you know if you don’t try?” she asks her voice soft as she places a soothing hand on my arm.

I resist the urge to shake the hand off. I know she is trying to be helpful, and I don’t want to lash out at her. I’m just getting so tired of people encouraging me to do something I know will only hurt me. “Mason made it clear from the beginning that it was just fun. I don’t have a right to try and change the terms halfway through just because I’m stupid and caught feelings.”

I already know how that conversation would go. At least this way my pride can stay intact.

“Don’t look at me that way, Dinah. I’m fine.” I don’t want her pity. Not about this.

She sighs and shakes her head, “and people say I’m stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn.” I say as I pour myself another glass of wine. “I’m just realistic.”

We lapse into silence as I sip at the wine. After a minute or two, Nate slides into his seat next to Dinah. I’m thankful that they can keep each other company and just leave me to my wine.

I hear a chair slide back from the table behind me, and watch as the brunette walks past me to the quieted cheers of her friends. Mason has reentered the hall, and apparently, she has finally found the nerve to make her move. She’s cute. Her low-cut dress much more flattering than the prim professional number I had borrowed from Dinah. I’m sure Mason will find her appealing enough. I knew he would find new people to take to bed; I just didn’t think I would be in the room when it happened.

I see her reach out and place a hand on his arm. He hasn’t brushed her off and she hasn’t been scared off by his rudeness. I can’t do this. I want to leave, but they’re too close to the hallway. I glance around and see a smaller exit at the back.

Adam will probably have my head, but I’d rather risk getting kidnapped than start crying in front of everyone here. In front of him.

I think I hear Nate say my name as I go to leave, but I don’t turn around. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and I need to get out now.

The door leads to a small set of stairs. I’m alone. I walk to the edge of the landing and grab the metal railing for support. It’s freezing. Drawing in a deep breath I focus on the cold. I have no one to blame, but myself. I hate that I can feel tears escaping down my cheeks. Stupid, stupid Serena.

At the sound of the door opening, I turn. I do my best to wipe away any trace of the tears before who ever it is can see.

Fuck. Why did it have to be him?

“Though you were supposed to stay inside?” Mason growls at me as the door closes behind him leaving us alone on the stairs.

“Well we both know that I don’t always follow the rules.” I say trying to be my usual snarky self.

“You don’t have to babysit me.” I continue. “I’d hate to ruin your fun.” It comes out with more bitterness than I meant.

He looks confused for a moment, “oh that” he shrugs.

“Yeah, so like I said, you don’t have to babysit me. I’ll go back inside in a minute. Go get your dick wet or whatever.” I cross my arms across my chest and roll my eyes. I’m shooting for nonchalance and indifferent, but I don’t know if I managed it.

He looks at the door for a moment before looking back at me. “I don’t think I will.”

“What, why not? She’s cute and seems into you. Isn’t that all you need?”

He leans back against the wall and with a smirk says, “only one I want to have fun with here is you, Sweetheart.”

I feel like all the air has been pulled out of my lungs. He’s a tempting vision and my body responds to the familiar pattern of banter. If it was only that it would be one thing, but there’s a flicker in my chest of something that feels suspiciously like hope. A vain hope that he means more with those words. That he means I’m the only one he wants beyond tonight.

“Too bad, because I’m not interested.”

“you’re lying” he accuses me with narrowed eyes.

“Is your ego really that fragile that you can’t handle a rejection.” I say with a scoff.

He rolls his eyes. “I know you and you’re lying.” He smirks, “remember, your body gives you away.”

Stupid vampire super senses.

“Why do you care, Mason? We both know you were going to get bored sooner or later.” I turn away so he can’t see my eyes anymore. I can’t do anything about my heartrate, but I can get rid of at least one source of information.

“Would I? I’m not bored yet.” I can’t tell if he’s asking me or if he’s asking himself. I feel him move closer so that he’s standing directly behind me. His hand ghost over my arm, not actually touching it. “I thought we were both having fun. I don’t see why it needs to stop.”

“God damn it don’t make me say it!” I yell. I had hoped he would just let it go.

“Heaven forbid I make you do something you don’t want to do, Sweetheart.” He says in a biting tone.

“It wasn’t just fun for me.” I admit as I turn around to face him. “It was beginning to mean something to me, and I wanted it to mean something to you, but it doesn’t work that way for you.”

There it is. Fuck my pride, I guess.

“What if it did mean something?” he asks.

My chest tightens as the little spark of hope flares within it, “Does it?”

He closes the inches between us and kisses me. I don’t know if it’s an answer or a test, but at that moment I don’t care. His hands move to my hips and pull us flush together. God, I’ve missed this. My whole body feels like it ignites at his touch. Would it really be so terrible to believe in this? To believe he cares for me?

This kiss breaks and I whisper, “I think I love you.”

His hands drop from my hips as if he’d been burned.

I nod and swallow all the emotions I’ll have to deal with later, “that’s what I thought.”

I don’t give him a chance to respond before I’m through the door and back to the event.

Stupid, stupid Serena. You knew how this would end.

tagging: @lord-king-saint, @morgans-ass-freckles, @agentnatesewell, @lilyoffandoms, @softforf and @bellarxse (If you would like to be tagged/not tagged/only tagged for certain pairings please let me know 💜)

#the wayhaven chronicles #fallforunitbravo #twc #twc mason #au #fanfiction #lovelieswrites #lust love and other liabilities #mason/Serena Willis

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bitch-for-a-rainbow · 3 years

Text

Lex Luthor: I actually really like him and Supergirl made me mad

So, Lex Luthor is a very interesting, sometimes thought provoking, but most of all very enjoyable character.

Lex is many things, a classic egomaniacal villain, an example of what lies can do to a relationship, a walking, talking red flag, a warning of how hubris and jealously can destroy you, and much, much more. He is not the typical strain of insane— if crazy at all, highly competent, and best of all knows every one of Superman’s buttons and exactly how to press them.

I love watching Lex in every media I’ve ever seen him in going back to the original Christopher Reeve Superman. Every media, that is, except Supergirl. Why?

Because she isn’t fucking Superman.

Obviously, I love Supergirl— I run a blog with her in my icon— but there are certain things she is not and was never meant to be. Nemesis to Lex Luthor is right up there with a mass-murdering nazi (which is why the multiverse exists-- so that you can make her the first super on earth, Lex Luthor’s ex-friend, and not completely ignore the foundation of who they are as characters)

Lex is fun because he’s so smart, but also because of the personal stake he has with Superman. Lex felt jealous. In many cases, he felt betrayed. He let that fester into mania and then he built an evil radioactive robo-suit and committed mass murder. You know, like reasonable people do.

Lex was Superman’s friend and that gives his hatred of Kryptonians not only purpose, but emotional weight. Their relationship has that itching tension of painful history. In addition, Lex is extremely prideful. To him, Supergirl would be second class, she’s backup. And there is a story there: a story when Lex has a breakdown when backup knocks him into the sun, or the (in my opinion, less entertaining) version where Superman shows up to save her, reaffirming Lex’s worldview that he’s everything and defeating Superman means that Lex is the greatest and smartest, and even more stories beyond those that still adhere to its core principles— Kara and Lex as characters.

But Supergirl chose neither. Instead they chose another recycle Superman plot. And then another. And another.

I should make time to say that I like Jon Cryer; I think he’s doing a great job with what he’s been given. He’s got the charisma. He’s got the smarmy self-congratulating swagger down perfectly. The scenes where the real Lex pokes its ugly head through his facade are just great. I think in anything else he would have made an excellent Lex Luthor, but not here.

I was… disappointed with season 4. I liked 4x20– Kara and Lena investigating was fun at worst and at best had some really good edge of my seat moments. I thought that 4x16 “The House of L” was one of the best episodes of supergirl in a very long time and it still holds its place at least in my top 10, probably my top 5. But you will notice Lex wasn’t even in 4x20 and his places in 4x16 I actually enjoyed could easily have been occupied by any other intelligent villainous character. From a very basic point of view Col. Haley would have fit the mold of the manipulator training the compassionate but confused alien to kill— Wouldn’t have been her first time.

The later usages of Lex in Supergirl are also attempting a common Superman plot. Lex “redeems” himself, tricks the public into trusting him again by framing Superman for something, and eventually is once again revealed to be evil. It sounds like a repetitive, boring plot that would lose the audience suspension if belief after a few tries— “Seriously, this again. How are they not expecting this by now?” And that complaint works for Supergirl. Because Supergirl isn’t Superman.

Clark Kent was Lex Luthor’s best friend. Clark Kent ignored every warning sign and red flag waved in his face because Lex Luthor was his best friend. Clark Kent harbors a deep, abiding hurt and resentment from Lex’s betrayal. He has no trust for Lex, just like any hero would, but he also has the built up anger from repeated clashes with Lex and the initial betrayal. So when Lex returns, once again proclaiming he’s changed his ways, Superman’s response is a very public, very obviously bitter “yeah, right.” When Lex lays one of his traps for Superman, Clark is a little too rash. Lex Luthor knows how to push all of Clark’s buttons, even if he doesn’t know that they’re Clark’s. Lex can play him like a fiddle, and as for the general populace— would you be so steadfast in your trust of the invulnerable alien that could laser you in half in the blink of an eye and seems to be getting a little too comfortable in his role as peacekeeper? Would you, when even the slightest chance could slaughter your entire planet and you would have nothing and no one would could stop him— except, of course, Lex Luthor?

We’ve been shown through many media that when Lex can’t manipulate his opponent, when villain comes that is simply too big for him to work on, he is at incredible risk. There are several stories I can think of of the top of my head where Lex becomes a temporary ally of the heroes simply because he realizes he can’t manipulate this new, powerful player and that therefore they are a risk to him (I actually really like those stories because the dynamics between him and the heroes are incredibly fun and interesting— you start to get an idea of who Lex is underneath all of the wit and ego).

This is Supergirl’s great failure with Lex. The show understands that he is a genius— makes a great fuss about it. They understand that he is a manipulator— it’s his entire plot line with Lena. But they fail to understand that Lex’s ploys don’t work because he’s just so smart like the smartest ever. They work because he knows Superman and he knows that people are afraid of him— even the ones who trust and love him live with the knowledge that if he gets mind controlled or goes crazy, he could kill them all with ease, and that it’s happened before.

Supergirl wasn’t around for Lex’s turn. This Supergirl wasn’t even in that steady of contact with Clark. She has no stinging betrayal, no anger and bitter history to make her rash and predictable. Certainly by now, two seasons into Lex’s placement in the show, she is angry— but by all the evidence we’ve been given, Kara’s anger just makes her more volatile, unpredictable and sometimes genuinely down for murder, which is definitely not something Lex needs. We have seen her both let Lex “fall to his death” (when she wasn’t all that angry— she just accepted his suicide without trying to force him into prison) and nearly shoot him with laser vision (this time she was angry and emotionally unstable after the death of Argo and the more Lex centered anger that he revealed her identity and destroyed her relationship with Lena. There is no question that she would have killed-- or at the very least maimed-- him if The Monitor hadn’t intervened). If Superman just murdered Lex when he got angry, he would have died a dozen times over.

Lex doesn’t even have a basic understanding of Kara’s mindset. He can’t. Superman was raised by American humans in Kansas— he has a worldview that Lex could easily pick up on because it is at least based on watching most of the same events unfold as they grew up— and that’s if they had never met before they started fighting. Sure, he could assume Superman had some quirks from being an alien, but the base Americanized cultural standpoint was already affecting Lex’s machinations because he was an American. He’s familiar with the culture and values Superman follows— not so with Kara. I don’t even know if it was possible for him to obtain information on her religion, let alone the cultural views on justice. His research on her past fights would have been choppy at best, given that there are so many things that only Kara or the other Superfriends were there for. He can’t have the information about that fight on Mars where Kara literally disintegrated at least 3 white martians. He can’t know what happened with Reign beyond “she’s not going to be a problem anymore”. He might have more information about the Daxamite invasion through government records and his mother but the information is still limited. As for Non and Myriad, we don’t even know what happened to Non, and did they report to the DEO that J’onn literally tore Indigo in half (very graphically I might add). Or did they just say “They won’t be a problem anymore.” Lex may have been spying on Kara since Season 2, but how much is watching her civilian life going to help him understand her, when Kara’s civilian life was constructed to hide? Kara Danvers doesn’t say a lot of what she thinks to avoid notice, and even Supergirl keeps her mouth shut a lot of the time to try and maintain human-alien relations. The episodes where she squabbles with the Col. Haley and President Baker are full of her smiling and gritting her teeth through statements that clearly make her very angry.

Lex “falling to his death” and then getting shot at the end of season 4 was a great moment— it fit with the characters motivations, but it also unfortunately illustrated the problem with Supergirl characters interacting with Lex. J’onn was a soldier who kills people. Kara has killed people. Alex has killed people. This scene was not the first time we watched Lena try to murder someone with that gun. They are not restricted by the moral code Superman uses, which makes it both more difficult and more dangerous for Lex to try manipulating them— so he doesn’t and instead they skip the intermediary and rely wholly on him being able to manipulate the public. This works to an extent with Red Daughter, but only because anti-alien sentiment was at an all time high with the Children of Liberty, and because Lex lucked into an amnesiac supergirl clone. So little of the heavy lifting was actually done by Lex it feels less like his accomplishment and more like he cheated off of 3 different people and then bragged about his math skills. I said it before and I’ll say it again. The season 4 villain could have been anyone with moderate intelligence and resources. After crisis, the excuses just get weaker and weaker. I mean come on, he confessed to trying to mind control the whole world in front of the jury while screaming vile things at his sister who’s sitting there visibly flinching at his words and they unanimously voted not-guilty? Are you kidding? (Also after watching all the courtroom scenes in Supergirl... do they know how courtrooms work? I mean, I laughed as hard as anyone at the “I plead the 5th” line, but seriously. Do they?)

And Crisis was… a choice. I personally hated that they brought Lex back to life— more so because the in-universe reasoning was so weak. Lex Luthor does not face a whole lot of consequences, it’s true, but that’s because he has the genius, guile, and money to avoid them. To give him such an unearned out— especially after all the damage he’d done by dying— really hurt the both the stakes and the character. Lex is a human, and he fights Superman by taking advantage of very human things: corruption, anger, and fear as well as ingenuity and resourcefulness. He loads the deck in his favor— he doesn’t win on luck. And Lex in the CW Supergirl, seems to only win on luck. First he finds Red Daughter right when anti-alien sentiment is blowing up, then he is resurrected, then he finds out the crisis world loves him. He has had exactly 1 major victory based on his own work— manipulating Brainy. A manipulation which was really hard to believe when Brainy was, in canon, much, much smarter than Lex, familiar with his tactics, lying to the superfriends for no reason, and had no emotional reaction to cloud his judgement.

And even so, this one plot line was one of the more interesting ones in season 5 and the most Lex Luthor-like plot line the show has had. Even when I felt my suspension of disbelief slipping, it wasn’t entirely in tatters. Lex’s win felt somewhat earned.

He has been in the show for 2 1/2 seasons and he has had 1 major victory that felt at all earned. 2 and 1/2 seasons. That’s currently around 45% of the show’s run time.

All in all, we have 4 deeply related problems that plague the CW Supergirl Lex Luthor:

Lex Luthor’s plans rely as much on effective manipulation of Superman as they do on his own genius. Without that manipulation, his victories rely much more on happenstance and luck, making them feel less earned.

Lex Luthor cannot effectively manipulate Supergirl— at the very least, not in the beginning of their relationship, which CW Supergirl focuses on— nor does he try to manipulate her or much of the cast beyond Lena and once with Brainy.

Supergirl kills people. Supergirl has killed Lex. Superman doesn’t kill people.

Lex fighting Supergirl does not have the kind of inherent emotional weight that Lex fighting Superman does.

There are some other issues I have with the CW supergirl version of Lex, but I think if it was a Superman show I wouldn’t have minded. The large amount of screen time dedicated to him would make sense there, and the fact that he’s a cockroach seemingly impervious to any plot consequences would also fit more in line with Superman’s increasing frustration and make his manipulations more effective.

The only problem I have that wouldn’t been solved purely by making it about Superman is the crowding problem. In season 1, Non and the DEO were highly connected and fed each other as villains. Season 2 also fit that same block of alien vs. anti alien. Both of those secondary villains (the army/DEO in s1 and Cadmus in s2) were very much not as big a villain as the main. Season 3 sort of had a secondary villain with Morgan Edge, but he was mostly just a Lena problem. All of these seasons had a good balance between the villains screen time and also between the villains and heroes. It got a little more complicated with the extra world killers in s3, but still functioned fairly smoothly with focus on Reign. This is one of the main reasons that seasons 1 and 3 are my favorites. S4, however, got more cluttered. A lot more cluttered. Manchester Black, the Children of Liberty, Lex Luthor, Red Daughter, and Eve Tessmacher were all villains with multi-episode arcs handled directly by Supergirl herself. There was too much to cover, not enough connection, and not enough time— plus 2 new main cast members (Look, I love Nia and Brainy but that season had way too much going on). Season 5 had Leviathan, Lena Luthor, Lex Luthor and 2 new mains. Each of those villain arcs had their own distinct plot from one another and screen time started to become more choppy and spread out. Season 6 now has so far Lex Luthor, the phantom zone, and Nyxly, as well as the Zor-El mini-arc, and while I’ll give them some leeway for Melissa Beniost’s maternity leave, there is again too much in too little time. Villains are underdeveloped or not given weighty closures, each main gets less and less personal screentime, and every shot that doesn’t serve a good or entertaining purpose feels like pouring out water from a canteen in the desert, especially now in the last season. Lex has greatly suffered for this both in the rage at how much screen time he gets compared to other characters, Kara in particular, and because of how his arcs are still hobbled by the lack of it.

I just find myself wishing they’d restricted Lex to a 3 or 4 episode mini-arc, or just season 4 and saved him for the Superman and Lois show. They could have played the crisis resurrection as just an unfortunate coincidence of fate and had it be Superman’s problem from there on.

To Jon Cryer, may you never see this. It’s so very not your fault.

If anyone actually reads this whole thing and I got something wrong let me know. I’d love to discuss it. Today, I’m just trying to isolate the main issues I have with Lex in Supergirl.

#i spent way too long on this #And I'm pretty sure I still have typos and fragmented sentences #but im not spending another minute editing #so here you go #Supergirl #Lex Luthor

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lisinfleur · 4 years

Text

Savin’ Me

Author’s Notes | Thank you @youbloodymadgenius for saving me with the remembrance of this day: I'm a shit with dates, but it was a pleasure to sit and produce something for such a sweet person. Sydney, I know our months have been being hard, but people like you are what keep sanities, hold hearts in place, keep us up and full of energy to face the everyday problems knowing there will be a sweet smile, a lovely hug, a gentle word to make us happy once again after a hard day. Thank you for being the amazing person you are and may the gods bless your life twice as you bless our world with your very existence! Happy birthday, sweetheart!

To all Harald’s fans, consider this a way for him to redeem himself with us! haha

Universe | Vikings

Pairing | Harald x Reader

Info | Viking Age AU, birthday gift for @gearhead66

Words | 2305

⁑ Warnings: Mentions of blood, wounds, some angst.

Here was him...

In a place he thought he would never be after conquering everything.

No. Nothing was really his.

Nothing was really reached.

With his body down to the wet sand - the battle still close enough to be heard leaving him behind as nothing but another wounded man to become a corpse on that beach - Harald's mind started flying through his life, almost as if closer to the death, it wanted to rethink his mistakes and choices.

His eyes, blurred, couldn't see much more than the shadows of the men - his men - fighting those monstrous Rus and their absurd strength, falling down, never fleeing, even thou their king was already fallen. He had good men, good fellowmen that followed him to the end of the world and would follow him into Valhalla, he was sure. As a commander, he had nothing to complain about.

As a man, however...

His heart clenched into his chest. Breathing was hard now and the taste of blood in his mouth wasn't able to erase the bitterness of the many empty kisses he ever received. Elisif and her lies, Astrid and her lies, the dream he was never able to fulfill... What was his legacy in this world? Who would remember his name?

His chest became too tight and Harald cough in a sad laugh: In the end, nothing he had done ever erased Björn's name from his life. He could bet that would be Björn's defeat such as many victories he was there to fight for were Björn's after the end of the battle. History would say Björn was the rightful owner of his crown, taken by that skogamaor he couldn't see around anymore. Harald bet with himself he would be known for nothing but his brother's murder in a war that now sounded senseless for him - He fought for Björn's crown and he lost. He fought alongside the man that took his brother from him.

And he lost.

But what did he lose after all?

What in this world was his?

His body was moved and Harald's eyes lost the battle from his sigh, looking down to see someone pulling him from the ground. A raider looking for his weapons? They were already stealing from the dead?

His hand lifted the sword one more time, but a familiar voice reached his ears quite on time to prevent him from dying fighting what he thought was his last foe.

"Calm down, my king. You're safe... You're safe."

What in this world was his, his mind asked itself again.

Loyalty, he answered himself when his eyes found your figure pulling his body over your shoulders, wounded and tired but finding strength into your core to carry your defeated king away from that beach, sneaking with him into the woods around, getting up even when your feet would stumble under his heavy weight, doing everything to get the two of you to safety away from that battle and the unbeatable enemy that got him down.

He was no king anymore. King of no land, he thought. Kattegat was lost. Norway was lost along with his crown, but there was you, sitting his body on the ground with his back against a tree, removing his armor, ripping your shirt and the legs of your trousers to have enough cloth for an improvised bandage to hold his chest whole until the two of you could stop further away.

"We can't stay here. They'll search in the woods. They're everywhere. The sea is safer, my lord."

Your mouth was speaking, but he wasn't really paying attention to your words. His eyes scanning your face: he knew you.

Y/N, he could remember. Your smile, your body into a dress, drinking, and dancing at his victories. Your growls, your body into an armor, fighting, and conquering his battles.

You were everywhere in his memories, among his most loyal men; among the most beautiful women of his court. Yet, he couldn't remember a man claiming you as his. At your age, like himself, you should have children, but he couldn't remember anyone running at the docks, yelling at your return from his boats. Why were you alone?

Why were you there for him?

"You should find safety for yourself, woman," he mumbled, hoarse. "I'll only pull you back, get you slower. You'll end up dying because of me." he tried.

But you lifted your eyes from his wounds after tying the bandages tight and looked into his blues with firm orbs that somehow touched him inside.

"Then we shall die and reach the halls of the gods together, my king. And I'll open the golden doors of Valhalla for you to enter, because no one will touch my king but over my dead body. Now get up, King Harald. We need to reach the next town before them."

That fire in your eyes. There was more than loyalty and he could see that. Harald held your hand, stopping you once again from taking his body over your shoulders.

"My king," you insisted, thinking he would be denying your help one more time.

But your eyes found deep blues looking into them.

"I'm no one's king, Y/N. I'm king of nowhere. I'm no king... But this is not enough for you to stop. Because you're not here for a king... What are you here for?" he asked, looking straight into your soul with those blue orbs you loved so deeply.

It was almost as if he could read the secrets of your heart.

You became a shieldmaiden for him. You fought every battle to keep your heart safe behind your shield. You were disposed to die if it was to keep him protected.

You wanted to kill every single woman who made a wound in his heart and you mourned not being your sword down into their bellies but celebrated inside when each one of them found the deserved fate.

You were always there for him. Not for the crown.

For him.

"For you, Harald," you said, for the first time looking him in the eye and ignoring his royalty.

For the first time, calling him by his name.

"I'm here for the man. For the one I know is still inside of you. Not for the poor bastard I saw falling with the weight of his own stupidity, smashed by his own ego and crushed by life's heavy fist. Not the one who took what wasn't his trying to give himself a taste of what it was to have what he wanted... By the man I saw taking a sword in his chest to save his enemy's life for honor. By the one I saw fighting for his people, conducting Vestfold for its people, not for the metal on his head."

Your words were messing with his pride.

Harald knew he failed his people, but more than that, he failed his honor for that piece of metal he wanted so hard. He lost his way, betrayed his principles, made promises, and swore oaths he could never fulfill. Everything for the crown he lost in an instant.

He laid hands on a woman that didn't want him and forced her freedom under his heavy hand for nothing but his broken pride and a sensation of vengeance that didn't last one night.

Yet there were you, still loyal to him, still looking at him as if there was more than a rag of a man looking back into your eyes.

"I'm here for you, Harald. And as long as you live, I'll believe that man can come back to me, although he was never truly mine," you completed.

Causing a flood of memories into Harald's mind.

His lips were sealed, his eyes surprised over you. His thoughts traveling through the many times he saw your eyes over him, smiles on your lips, your body moving for his claps, dancing happily until he was too drunk to find you around.

Your smiles always open and your skirts always moving through his party until there was another by his side - and you were gone.

He couldn't remember your image in his marriage with Astrid. Nor there was any memory of you around since he made her a queen.

Except for the fights, there weren't more dances or smiles... You weren't dancing at his party as Norway's King.

His chest clenched one more time and he understood the words unsaid - you weren't there to celebrate the king. He was never a king for you. But the man you loved and respected wasn't the one under that metal piece. He lost himself to become the King of Norway.

And maybe that's why his dreams were never the way he wanted them to be.

Silent, he traveled with you through the woods and towards the sea. Your heart sunk inside your chest, afraid his silence was the sign of rejection you never wanted to receive from him - the reason why you had buried your love six feet under into your heart and never told anything about it.

Harald's mind, however, was made up when the two of you reached a small village two days later that conversation. The place was abandoned, but there was still a fishing boat lost on the docks and supplies the men left behind in their rush to flee. Carefully, you helped Harald into the boat and went to the houses, gathering what you could carry, taking with you some blankets, food, lost clothes you could use to disguise, what was enough for a trip.

"For now, we'll just leave the coast," you broke the silence for the first time, messing with the herbs and bandages you found in what should have been the tent of a healer. "Then we can try to guide through the stars and find some dry land to..."

"York," Harald's voice sounded catching your attention. "We shall sail to York, to find our people and tell them what happened. To gather our men and come back against the Rus."

For a moment, your heart clenched. The king still wanted his crown.

But Harald's voice wasn't full of pride, instead, his eyes caught yours once again when he looked back at the coast and he sighed.

"There are still men of ours in here. My brothers that escaped this battle will need help. Our people are still in these lands. This is still our father's and grandfather's homes. I can't sit and chill as my people suffer. Maybe Björn still lives, and his men as well. We must go to York and gather our people to find alongside them."

You smiled.

Not the prideful bastard who would have left Björn to die just because of his ego, but back was the man you learned to love for his heart belonged to his people more than to himself.

You knew that battle could probably be suicide. You knew you could end up fighting for a lost cause. But it was once again your Harald, fighting for honor and for his beliefs. The one you swore you would follow 'til death without thinking.

"To York, then," you said. "But first, we shall take care of these wounds, my king."

His hand touched your hand when you went for his wound and once again, he stopped you. But this time, his orbs were full of something you couldn't determine.

Gratitude, maybe. The tenderness you never had.

His fingers touched your face and you felt your heart racing into his chest.

"You were always there for me. You knew me better than myself. Forgive me for betraying you. I swear on my sacred arm ring and the blood in my veins it will never happen again: I'll never lose myself this way again. And I'll honor the love in your eyes."

Harald wasn't speaking only to you, you know that. You were his people, his men, his army, his companions, his fellowmen he left behind. The only thing and everything that had left from what he lost and broke. And the forgiveness he was asking wasn't only yours, but from all the ones that trusted the man who allowed his ego to swallow him whole.

You touched his hand, gently. And your fingers caressed his palm with tenderness.

"I forgive you, Harald Finehair. For more than a king, you're a man, and men commit mistakes. I accept your oath, my king. And my loyalty and love are still yours. They'll always be."

Harald's lips curved in a smile and before you could notice, his hand touched your nape, pulling you forward, closer to him. And he touched your forehead with his lips in a gentle and respectful kiss before looking at you with tears in the line of those beautiful blues.

You had never seen your king crying before... But there wasn't sadness in his tears.

"Thank you, sweet Y/N. For everything."

Deep inside, Harald knew his oath wasn't only yours. He knew he swore an oath with his people in your eyes, one that he was able to fulfill this time. One that he would fight to keep until the end of his days.

And maybe the end of his days didn't have to be lonely. Maybe the time would allow him to conquer his way back into your heart. Cause even seeing there was still love into you for him, Harald knew you weren't any women but the one in which he could see his own kind. And such as he needed to deserve his position over his people once again, he felt he should deserve the love in your heart before asking you to stand by his side.

May the gods give me time, he mutely asked.

So as they gave him a reason to stand and fight.

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 16

TITLE: Love and War

Warnings: profanity, mental illness

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty

“You know, I’m really fucking sick of your cheating,” Tyler snarls.

“I am NOT cheating! “ Esme cries, and refuses to make eye contact with the man sitting beside her; aware of the temper that’s slowly boiling. He’s agitated; eyes narrowed, shoulders tense, jaw tightly clenched. She’s seen and heard it all before; the bitterness and the irritation and the rash jump to conclusions. “You’re imagining things!”

“Bullshit I’m imagining it. I have eyes you know. I CAN see. And what I’m seeing? You’re cheating.”

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but there’s no cheating happening. You’re just pissed.”

“Damn right I’m pissed. I know what you’re up to. I can’t fucking believe you think you can get away with it. I know YOU. I know when something’s up. And something is up.”

She rolls her eyes. “The only thing that is ‘up’ is your temper. Take it down a notch, Australian. Or I’ll take YOU down a notch.”

“I’d love to see you try,” he scoffs. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? What other shady shit are you going to pull?”

“There you go with your paranoia again. There’s nothing going on. No shady shit. Can’t you just accept that you’re losing?”

“I’m losing my mind is what I’m losing.”

A derisive snort. “Not much left to lose.”

He scowls. “I have had just about enough of your lip.”

“What are you going to do? Stab me? Shoot me? Throw a grenade at me?”

“I’m going to beat your ass is what I’m going to do. Go all fucking HAM on you.”

“You’re going to start now? Have you been napping for the last hour?”

“Is that a shot at my age? I’m pretty sure that was a shot at my age.”

“It was a shot at your poor skills and your lapses of judgement. You’re slowing down. No wonder you’re suffering so badly.”

“I’m going to make you suffer in a second.”

“Bring it. There’s nothing you got that I can’t handle.”

It’s been sixty minutes of this. The snarling and the scowling and bickering back and forth; nasty exchanges fuelled by his hurt feelings and damaged ego and her refusal to back down or admit any wrongdoing. It’s a battle of both wills and personalities; two strong and resilient yet extremely stubborn people, neither giving the other an ounce of sympathy or allowing any breathing room. And it comes to a head; a growled ‘fuck!’ on his behalf followed by the xBox controller being tossed onto the cluttered coffee table in pure frustration. Letting loose a groan of both defeat and annoyance, he leans back against the couch and rakes both hands through his hair and then runs his palms over his face.

“Cry some more!” Esme shouts, and gleefully bounces up and down on the cushion beside him. “Unleash your inner bitch baby! Because you just got knocked the fuck out. AGAIN.”

“I really, really, REALLY do not like you right now.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t handle defeat." She reaches for the open bag of red licorice that sits on the arm of the sofa; yanking a strand out and pointing it at him before taking an aggressive bite from it. “That you’re way too competitive even with the stupidest of shit.”

“This!” He wildly gestures towards the flat screen television across the room. “Is NOT stupid shit!”

“It’s a goddamn video game, Tyler. Stop taking this so seriously.”

“It isn’t just a video game,” he argues. “It’s my fucking pride! My manhood!”

“I highly doubt your manhood is in any danger because your wife beats you at Call of Duty. You need to simmer down, son. I can’t help it that I’m THAT good.”

“Is this what you do all day back home? When I’m not around? You hone your video game skills?”

“No. I just happen to have the magic touch. I can’t help it that I’m a natural. I even beat TJ AND Millie and you know how good those two are.”

He places his hands behind his head and laces his fingers together. Sighing heavily and then turning his gaze towards the ceiling. “They’re amateurs compared to me.”

“Well you’re the one who has been looking like the amateur, so…”

He shoots an annoyed glare in his direction.

“Look, in real life you may be the king when it comes to this shit; shooting people and beating the shit out of them. But in video game land? I’m the fucking master. And you WILL accept defeat and bow down to me.”

“Like fuck I will.”

“You know the rules. You’re the one who wanted to play with these kinds of stakes. Now get to it. Pay your dues to the true Queen.”

Sighing heavily, he reluctantly gets to his feet, fingers pausing on his belt buckle.

“Do it,” Esme orders. “All is fair in love and war.”

“You know, this isn’t over yet. Even without these on, I won’t be totally naked. Which means you haven’t won a damn thing.”

“I’ve won five out of seven games. You have way less clothes on than me. Now suck it up and take them off.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and angrily yanks the leather from its clasp and rips the belt from the loops on his jeans; glaring at her as he tosses the item aside. “Happy?”

“Pants too.”

“Pants and belts are two separate things. I only need to take one off.”

“Pants and belts go together. They count as ONE item.”

He frowns. “Says who?”

“Says the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“Listen, I don’t make them, I just enforce them. A belt isn’t a piece of clothing. It’s an accessory. So it is counted WITH the pants. Stop being such a baby and play by the rules!”

“Your imaginary rules you mean. I didn’t make you take your underwear off when you lost YOUR pants. Aren’t those an accessory? Shouldn't they have come off too?”

“Underwear can be worn alone.”

“You can’t go out with just underwear on, Me. Give me a break.”

“You can walk around the house in just underwear. But you don’t walk around in just a belt now, do you? Stop whining, suck it up, and drop your drawers.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he grumbles, and finally relents; popping open the button and reaching for the zipper.

“Yeah baby!” she hollers, and scrambles up onto her knees; whistling noisily and once more excitedly bouncing up and down. “That’s what I’m talking about! Take ‘em off! Let me see that sexy ass of yours! This is way better than any peeler bar!!”

“If you’re going to objectify me, shouldn’t you be tucking money into my underwear?”

“You don’t wear any. Where am I supposed to tuck it? In your ass crack? Does it work like a debit machine? I just slide my card in? Is that how it works? I have to slip something up your butt?”

“You come anywhere near my ass with the intention of slipping something into it…”

“Like you’ve never enjoyed a little ass play. Don’t act so innocent. You damn well know you don’t mind a finger up there every now and then. Don’t act like you’ve never allowed it to happen.”

“I was drunk.”

“Each time? Something like a dozen? You were drunk EACH time? Listen, there’s nothing wrong with admitting it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having that kind of kink. It’s only when I’m going down on you and you’ve been extra….well...EXTRA.”

“Enough! Why do we have to talk about it? Isn’t it enough to just to do it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does it make you uncomfortable? Discussing butt stuff? Well now you know how it feels. Not literally, because your dick is way bigger than my finger. So you DON’T know how it feels. Now shut up and do what I say. Drop your pants!”

Sighing, he slides the zipper all the way down and allows the denim to slide off his hips and ass; letting it pool at his ankles before kicking them off.

“Wait a second…” her eyes narrow and she points the remains of her licorice strip in his direction. “What the fuck are those?”

A grin plays at the corners of his mouth. “What’s what?”

“Those.” She gestures at the extra layer of clothing. “What the hell, Tyler James…”

“It’s a pair of those UnderArmour things you bought me. You said I should start wearing them. That they’ve been sitting in the drawer since we bought this place. I’m finally wearing them.”

“You’re supposed to wear them outside! To keep you warm! You don’t wear them in the house!”

“Says who? I can wear them where the fuck I want.”

“You…” she snarls, and glares at him. “...you did this intentionally. As soon as you declared this strip Call of Duty, you went upstairs and put those on. You weren’t wearing them earlier. I KNOW what you wore out. And I saw you take those clothes off when we got home from picking up the food and you were NOT wearing those underneath. You sneaky bastard.”

“Don’t hate the player,” he says, and drops down onto the couch and reaches for the controller. “Hate the game.”

“You absolute dick. I can’t believe you did that. Now THAT’S cheating.”

“It’s not cheating. It was purely a strategic move. And you call me an amateur.”

“You went calculating mercenary on me. You pulled out THAT card. You shit!”

“You may be kicking my ass at the game, but I outsmarted you. I’ve always been able to. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

“Oh, it’s on,” she declares, and snatches up her own controller and plops down beside him. Scowling and moving away when he attempts to slide closer to her. “Don’t even think about it. We’re enemies right now. Mortal enemies. Your treachery will not go unpunished.”

“And you say I’M taking this too seriously?”

“You totally upped the ante. You crossed a line, mister. Accusing me of cheating and all along it was you that was up to no good. I see how it is.”

“Does it make it any better if I tell you that I love you?”

“Save your ass kissing. Because when I win, I’m going to make you get on your knees and pucker up. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“I’m not scared of you. Much.”

“Be afraid. Be very afraid. I will destroy you.”

Grinning, he reaches over and presses the start button on her controller. “Bring it, short stuff.”

*****

She emerges victorious. Easily handing him a crushing defeat that leaves her still clad in an oversized plain shirt and wool socks and him relegated to stripping off the last layer of clothing. And his smirk is one of both annoyance and amusement as he watches her, standing on the couch with a foot on either side of his thighs and partaking in her victory celebration; a mixture of wildly tossing her hair -or what’s left of it -around and suggestively bumping and grinding her hips while repeatedly chanting: “I did it, I did! I beat you, I did!”. She’s had a little too much to drink; enjoying nearly three quarters of a bottle of wine and then indulging in two hot chocolates infused with Kahlua. And between her somewhat inebriated state causing poor coordination and her penchant for being clumsy on even her best and most sober of days, he keeps a firm, protective hold on the back of her calves. The last thing he needs is a trip to the ER and an awkward explanation of just how she fell and busted her head open. In Telluride she’d once slipped on loose stone in the driveway and went down hard; catching the back of her head on one of the truck’s running boards and creating a hell of a gash in her scalp. And for someone that had spent years in the military and on the job and who’d inflicted gnarly injuries and gruesome deaths on others, he’d been the one close to panicking; convinced he’d seen he’d never seen so much blood in his entire life and nearly hyperventilating at the mere thought of her being hurt. She’d been the calm one; trying to talk him down on the way to the hospital while he drove with one hand on the wheel and the other holding a blood soaked towel to the back of her head.

But it had been what had happened once he’d gotten her help that caused the most trauma. For both of them. The nurse in charge of administering the first line of care had taken one look at the sheer size of him and the amount of scars and tattoos covering the visible parts of body and had gotten her guard up. His behaviour had been the nail in the coffin. His PTSD (undiagnosed at the time) triggered by hospitals and all of the sounds and the sights and the smells that accompany them. He’d been irritable and short tempered and unable to sit still; alternating between vigorously bouncing or shaking his legs or aggressively pacing the floor. He had sent off a number of red flags, and no sooner did they make it back to an exam room, a handful of cops showed up. Explaining the nurse's worries and how their arrival at the ER and Esme’s injury was being treated as a possible ‘domestic abuse situation’. That had only made his mood even worse; being accused of the one damn thing he’d always vowed never to let happen. No matter how dark and dire a situation got, no matter how bad their problems or volatile their arguments, he’d sworn he’d never hurt her; promising to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger if he ever ‘blacked out’ and physically hurt her. To this day he’s still amazed that he never caught an assault charge. Shoving one of the officers that had attempted to escort him to a different room and grabbing the throat of the other; triggered the second they made physical contact with him.

Six hours later they’d been sent home with five stitches in her head, a prescription for pain meds and a half assed apology. The next day, Child Protective Services showed up on their doorstep; receiving the hospital report and hearing about how he’d assaulted two cops and wanting to further investigate. Nothing had ever come of it; their case file quickly closed when it became apparent that the children were well taken care of and there were absolutely no signs of abuse in the house. But it had done a lot of damage; worsening his PTSD and helping his distrust in the general public grow to epic levels.

“Are you done?” he asks now, when the celebration finally comes to an end. Her hair messy and wild, cheeks flushed from a mixture of her erratic movements and the alcohol she’d consumed, chest heaving from exertion. “Got it all out of your system? Or are you going to gloat some more?”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s all in good fun. Everything I do and say, is done with love.”

He smirks. “Sure it is. You good? You finished? Or do I have to boot you to the couch tonight?”

“I’m good. I’m done. It’s over. I won’t gloat anymore and further hurt your delicate sensibilities.”

Smirking, he runs his hands around to the front of her calves and slides them upwards. Briefly lingering on her thighs before snagging the bottom of her shirt and yanking her downwards. She gives a startled yelp when she initially loses her balance and then begins to giggle when he easily and effortlessly gathers her into his arms; knees on either side of his hips as he pulls her tightly against him.

“I know I got a little out of hand,” he says. “Over the whole video game thing. I get a little...intense.”

“You think? Intense is putting it lightly. You’re a little competitive.”

“Yeah, just a tad.”

“And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you’re a sore loser.”

“Excuse you,” he chuckles, and she laughs and squirms against him when his fingers dig into the sensitive areas below her rib cage. “I was trying to be nice. I was trying to apologize. In my own way.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know what you’re like, Tyler. I know how you are. You’re insanely competitive. I’ve seen you while playing xBox with the kids. And I’ve seen you after when Millie’s kicked your ass.”

“First, she doesn’t really kick my ass. It’s a small margin of victory. Second, it doesn’t happen often.”

“You keep telling yourself that, babe. Regardless, I know you. I know how worked up and intense you get. I don’t take anything you say seriously when you’re like that. Especially when you ARE losing. It’s all in good fun. You don’t say shit to be mean. Same way I don’t. It’s just who we are. We shit talk each other. I think that’s pretty cool, actually. That we ARE like that. That we’re not just husband and wife and two people raising a family together. We’re friends too. I know you’re my BFF. No doubt about it.”

“You’re definitely mine. But let’s be realistic; how many BFF’s sit on your lap with no underwear on?”

“I lost them an hour ago. One of the three games you actually won. And speaking of which…” she glances down between them. “...technically, things aren't over yet. There’s one thing that remains. That you still have to do.”

“I admitted defeat. I watched your stupid little victory dance. I let you rub it in my face. Isn’t that enough?”

“Nope.”

“What more do you want from me? My right kidney?”

“I want you to do what you’re supposed to. The rules were made very clear at the very at the beginning. And YOU’RE the one that made them. So…”

“I thought maybe you’d go easy on me. Cut me a break. Have some sympathy.”

“You’d have zero sympathy for me and you’d totally enforce the rules. So, you have no choice in the matter.”

“Me, come on, you already hurt my pride. You want to decimate it entirely? Take pity on me.”

“Sorry. I have none to give. You know what you have to do.”

“You know, I was thinking maybe you’d do it for me. Give you that last piece of victory. Give you that feeling of power.”

“Mmm...hmmm. You know what I think? I think that you were hoping getting me down there would weaken me. That I’d do a little something for you.”

“Well I DO need comforting,” Tyler reasons. “You did beat me pretty bad.”

“I totally kicked your ass. But comfort? I don’t know…”

“Be nice to me. You already humiliated me. What more do you want?”

“Don’t turn this around. This isn’t about what I want. This is totally about what YOU want. Because you know if I give in, it puts you at your twice a day. You just can’t handle change. Even when it comes to THAT.”

“I’m a creature of habit. I need my routine. I can’t help it. You know how my OCD acts up when my routine gets fucked up.”

“I love how you just so casually play that card to get what you want. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous tonight. And a little drunk.”

“Just a little?”

“Maybe a lot drunk. Or at the threshold between still being able to make conscious and wise decisions but not drunk enough to pass out and have you carry me upstairs. But, seeing as I’m in a generous and giving mood and you HAVE been on your best behaviour lately, maybe I could give you a little something.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah? A little something, huh? This is where I’m going to miss the hair the most…” he uses gentle fingers to push wayward strands out of her hair; looping dark tresses behind each ear. “...when you’re getting to business. I always knew just how much effort you were going to put into it when you’d put her hair in a ponytail.”

“I thought you liked it. My hair. I thought you didn’t mind it like this.”

“I do like it. I love it. It suits you; shows off your cute, tiny little face. I’m just used to it being long, that’s all. You know, being able to grab it and shit.”

“There’s still some length to it. Enough for you to get even your humongous hands on. And as for the whole ponytail thing, I promise I’ll find another way to let you know when I mean business. When I’m all in.”

“I’m not too worried. Even when you haven’t put your hair back, you’ve never put in a bad performance. Let’s just say, it’s not just Call of Duty you’re a master at.”

“I figure I must not be too bad. I must be doing something right. I haven’t heard one complaint in twelve and half years.”

“Baby, you’re doing everything right. You will never hear a complaint from me. Ever.”

“Have you ever thought maybe I’m not actually that talented? That maybe you’re just very easy to please?”

“Me, no one has ever gotten as quick of reaction out of me as you have. Right from day one. So I don’t know what hoodoo voodoo black magic you’ve got through those veins of yours, but all those other women? None of them even come close to you.”

“Not a single one? Not even the stripper in Thailand you once told me about?”

“Not even her. I actually had to concentrate really hard to get it up. With you? You just look at me a certain way and that’s it. You’ve got some power that I can’t even come close to explaining.”

“Maybe it’s the fact it’s lust AND love?”

“That’ll do it.”

“Speaking of lust, I really do want you to see you with your pants off. I know what a tremendously beautiful sight that is. And I’m actually feeling very generous and giving right now.” She pushes her fingers through his hair; tightly gripping the longer top strands as she leans in to kiss him. Nothing soft or slow about it; lips demanding and her tongue insistently pushing against his teeth. Even after twelve and a half years, it’s rare for her to be the aggressor; preferring him to take charge and enjoying being dominated and ‘man handled’. And it took him a while to get used to letting her have even the slightest bit of control; liking his usual role of being the one fully in charge.

His hands briefly rest on her shoulders and then slide down her arms, pausing at her hips before reaching around to slip up the bottom of her shirt and grab her ass. Fingers pressing into the soft flesh; pulling her even tighter against him and bringing her bare crotch in direct contact with the beginnings of his erection. Twelve and half years later and he still wants and needs her just as much as he did that first time in Dhaka. Maybe even more so. There’s nothing mundane about it; he enjoys the changes in her form and the familiarity that comes with their love making. Their bodies know each other so well; always eagerly responding to one another and knowing exactly how to both torture and please.. And he can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else; completely content and satisfied knowing that what they have extends far beyond passion and sexual gratification.

She’s cradling his face in her palms when she slowly pulls out of the kiss, and he winces when her teeth capture his bottom lip between them; hard enough to draw tiny beads of blood. It’s her way of letting him know just what she’s in the mood for; the slight hint of aggression and the darkness in her eyes betraying the combination of primal want and need. Even after twelve and a half years she never actually verbalizes it; the self conscious side always leery about being that honest and open and fearing rejection. So he’s become a master at reading her signs; the assertive and domineering way in which she’ll kiss him, the way her hands hungrily and needily paw and grab, the darkness that appears in her eyes and the little smirk upon her lips.

That smirk is there now. Tugging at the corners of her mouth and she slides off his lap; her dark hair slipping through his fingers and his legs parting when she places her hands upon his knees. Something changes when she settles herself between his thighs; the softness returning to her features, the smirk transforming into a delicate smile. In that moment she seems so delicate pure; that smooth, porcelain skin accentuated by the dark hair that frames her face, those enormous eyes sparkling in the glow given off by the fireplace. There’s so much trust and faith and love evident in her eyes that it almost takes his breath away, and he reaches out to lay a hand on her cheek; fingers splayed over her ear and his thumb brushing over her lips. And she turns her face into his palm; gaze never leaving his as she presses a kiss to the calloused skin. And suddenly, despite the earlier bantering and sexual innuendos, the time doesn’t seem quite right; the comfortable silence between them, the softness of her hands resting upon his knees, the dainty curve to her lips and the innocence in her eyes. And he slides his hand to the back of her head and tangles his fingers in her hair as he gently draws her forward. Her arms circling his neck as he pulls her into him; the kiss long and deep and passionate, leaving them both breathless.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he says, forehead resting against hers. “Do this right.”

“I think you’re going to have to carry me. My toes are tingly.”

“I think I can manage. How should we do this? Do you feel like caveman style of Rhett Butler in Gone With The Wind?”

“Caveman style. Makes your muscles bulge more. And gives me a chance to stare at your butt.” She gives a small shriek when an arm wraps around her waist and effortlessly hoists her up onto his shoulder; yelping when a hand clamps down on her ass he pushes himself into a stand. “My big, strong man,” she giggles. “My knight in slightly tarnished armour.”

“Just slightly?”

“Your armour is perfect as is. It’s beautiful and it’s sexy and man, does your ass look extra good from this angle.”

“Speaking of asses…” he brings his palm down on one of her cheeks in a ringing slap. “....this one? This ass? It’s all mine.”

“All yours,” she agrees, tightly grabbing hold of the waist of the UnderArmour pants he still sports as he begins the journey up the stairs. “Don’t drop me! Don’t let me fall!”

“I’d never let you fall, Me,” he vows. “Ever.”

****

The confines of his arms are the most secure and comfortable place on earth; strong and muscular, even the lightest of embraces always possessing intense power and protection. Affection -both receiving and giving- had once been foreign to him; deprived of a loving parent when his mother passed away and left with one that was cold and menacing and did nothing but inflict torture and abuse. His first wife hadn’t been one for the more quiet and relaxing moments following sex, and his life after his divorce had consisted of no strings attached hook ups; out the door as fast as he could flush the condom. So it had been a learning process; a slow yet steady journey of travelling outside of known behaviour and comfort zones. Now he’s a master of it; the aftercare and the snuggling and the long, sleepy conversations as they lay in midst of tangled sheets and sweaty limbs. And he readily seeks and offers physical contact in all aspects of his life; quick with the hugs and the taking of a hand or little random kisses when you’re not expecting them.

She lays tightly tucked into his side. Head resting on his shoulder and her arm draped across his midsection; fingertips lazily following the lines of his ribs and drawing feathery patterns on smooth, warm skin. She knows every inch of his body; able to blindly find each scar and trace the outline of every tattoo. His body is hard and strong; tall and broad shouldered, athletically built. It’s reminiscent of how he’d looked when they first met; lean and muscular, impossibly strong without any extra bulk. She’s seen him every shape and size. Rail thin and sickly looking when he’d finally gotten out of the hospital; an almost staggering loss of both weight and muscle. And the 'lumberjack' stage; thick and powerful; his build phenomenal, extra weight gathering at his stomach and just above his hips. She’s loved him each and every way; during the best days of his life and the worst. Her heart breaking at his struggles with his thin and weaker body during his convalescence five years ago; the days he hated what he saw in the mirror and would fly into rages directed at Nathan and how he’d managed to break him both physically and mentally. And she’d supported him through nearly two years of physiotherapy. The weeks filled with gruelling and painful appointments; comforting him the best she could when it all became too much to bear and he’d cry tears of both frustration and agony. Trying not to break down herself when he claimed that it would have been easier had he died. That he felt useless to both her and the kids. Lamenting that he wasn’t even half the man he was when they’d first met. But she’d gotten him through it; gently leading him out of the dark place in his head and doing whatever she could to encourage him to keep going.

Five years later and he’s come a hell of a long way. There will always be issues; long lasting effects both physically and mentally. The damage Nathan had done causing permanent and life altering problems; vision loss in the right eye, post concussion syndrome, nerve damage in the small of his back and into his right hip, a leg limp that becomes even more pronounced when the cold weather sets in and irritates the arthritis that thrives in his knee and femur. Yet he never complains; down playing the pain and refusing to let it control his life. He’ll need another operation when he hits sixty, if not before. The knee not healing and bouncing back as well as it should; the surgically repaired ligaments and tendons far weaker than they had hoped they’d be. But he doesn’t let it slow him down; even on the days he can barely move and she has to help him get out of bed or in and out of the shower. It’s a bitter pill for him to try and swallow; occasionally needing assistance when it comes to even the smallest of everyday things. She sees how it both annoys and embarrasses him; someone his size and possessing his skills and capabilities needing help from someone as tiny as her. Holding onto that one shred of toxic masculinity that tells him the roles should be reversed; he’s the one that should be taking care of her and doing whatever it takes to make sure she’s safe and healthy and protected. And she handles it the best way she knows how; quietly and efficiently. Never calling attention to his struggles and keeping his mind from travelling down a dark and dangerous rabbit hole by encouraging random chit chat; keeping things light and happy and her hands soft and loving. And in the future, never bringing up what he’d needed or what she’d had to do.

She presses a kiss to the scar that mars his left shoulder. “You awake?”

“I am.”

“You okay?”

His fingers continue to comb through her hair; slow and soothing movements. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re extra quiet tonight. I mean, you’re always quiet. But you’re even more so.”

“I’m just lying here enjoying it. The post orgasmic bliss.”

She lifts her head to look at him, admiring the line of his jaw and the beard that’s beginning to fill out and thicken and those impossible long and dark eyelashes that rest upon smooth skin. “Hey, that’s MY line.”

“Not tonight it’s not. I beat you to it.” As the fingers of one hand continue to move through her hair, the others drift along her upper arm; calloused tips occasionally pausing to trace slow and lazy patterns. “You alright?”

Nodding, she slides further up the bed. Nose pressed against the sensitive spot right below his ear and her hand reaching up to rest on the top of his head; thumb repeatedly brushing against his brow. “I’m good. VERY good, actually.”

“You were fucking amazing,” he praises, and turns his face into hers and places a kiss on the bridge of her nose. “You always are. But that? That was…”

“Extra?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Very extra.”

“I don’t want to ever hear that you’re complaining about me ever again. Because you are extremely spoiled and there are many men who would envy your sex life.”

His eyes flicker open and a frown tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t complain about you.”

“Like hell you don’t. All couples complain about each other. I admit that I complain about you. About some of the shit you do that drives me insane. Doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“There’s not really anything to complain about when it comes to you.”

“Right…” she laughs. “...don’t go sparing my feelings, babe. I know what I’m like. I know what kind of bullshit I bring to the table. And yet you’re still here. You still keep hanging around.”

“It’s not that bad; dealing with your bullshit. Besides, I kinda like you.”

“Kinda, huh?”

“Just a bit.”

“I kind of like you too. And I wouldn’t mind if you hung out around here for the next...I don’t know...fifty years.”

“Good. Because I think I’ll stick around. I’m kinda comfortable. I can think of worse lives. I’ve LIVED worse lives.”

“Well now you’re spoiled. Insanely. You’re like that mangy little kitten someone finds in a gutter and nurses back to health and they get all fat and happy and get to sleep all over the furniture.”

He grins. “Did you seriously just compare me to a stray animal?”

“Hey, you needed some work when we first met. You were a little...feral. You were living in a shack with a chicken as a roommate.”

“Roommate? That’s my child you’re talking about.”

“You were pretty rough around the edges. You needed some big time TLC. And I was more than willing to give you that. You had potential. I saw it. You weren’t as scary as you liked to think you were.”

“Maybe not to you. I wasn’t like that with you. I was trying NOT to be.”

“Until you had your meltdown over having the feels and you tried to choke me out.”

“Not one of my finer moments,” Tyler admits. “But I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to scare you. Because I didn’t want you getting all caught up in something and then have me fuck it up and disappoint you. I was trying to protect you.”

“From you?”

He nods.

“I wasn’t afraid of you. I didn’t think you’d hurt me. I could tell you weren’t that type; to put your hands on a woman. No matter how angry you got.”

“It wasn’t about hurting you THAT way. It was about us taking things too far and feeling things for each other and trying to make something of nothing. I wanted that to happen, but I was scared that it would. Doesn’t make much sense, I know.”

“I think you were trying to protect yourself more than you were trying to protect me.”

“Maybe. I guess I worried I was feeling too much, too soon. That you’d find out who I really was and you’d run. I didn’t want to get attached and have you take off because you couldn’t deal with my shit. In the same way I didn’t want you getting attached and finding out I was too much of a mess and regretting what happened between us.”

“That was NEVER going to happen. I knew you were different. I SAW you, Tyler. Who you really were. Behind those walls you built up. Behind that whole hardened and emotionally vacant mercenary act you put on. I saw it the second we met. It was all in your eyes. That you weren’t like everyone else.”

“I think you give me way too much credit.”

“And you don’t give yourself enough.” Her thumb moves to the scar on the left side of his forehead; thin yet jagged, running vertically. “I was thinking about that first night. In Dhaka. After we...you know.”

“Fucked? Four times?”

“Normally I’d tell you not to be so crude and that it was a little more softer and meaningful than that, but…”

“There was nothing soft or meaningful about ANY of those four times. It was fucking. Let’s not sugar coat it.”

“Whatever it was, it was amazing. YOU were amazing. But do you remember afterwards? When I cuddled up to you? And you wondered what the fuck was going on? You didn’t know how to react; you sort of froze up and didn’t even budge. Were you angry or…?”

“Why would I have been angry? There was nothing to be angry about. I’d just gotten through having the most incredible sex of my life. FOUR times. I had a beautiful, amazing woman in my bed. Still naked. I definitely was not angry.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Surprised. I wasn’t used to that. The whole afterglow thing. I was used to just getting shit done and getting the fuck out. And my ex wasn’t into that kind of shit. She was a roll over and go to sleep kind of girl.”

“You poor, neglected man. Never getting to enjoy the aftermath. You made up for it though. With me.”

“That I did. I was just surprised when you did it. Cuddled up to me like you did. But I definitely wasn’t angry. Or uncomfortable. It was just different. YOU were different. Doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. It felt good. It felt right. And I figured if something feels that right? There’s no way anything could be bad about it.”

“I love this side of you,” she declares, and presses a kiss to his temple. “This softer, sweet side. I mean, I love all sides of you. But this? This is always a breath of fresh air. And it did; feel right. What was going on with us. And it kind of scared me too. I wasn’t used to that. Feeling things so quickly for someone. Trusting them the way I trusted you.”

“It was a little unnerving. I was a little spooked. But all’s well that ends well, yeah? I mean, here we are. Twelve and a half years under our belts, Me. Seven kids. I think it’s safe to say that we weren’t wrong about what we were feeling. Even if it did seem too soon. I kinda knew I was in trouble pretty early on.”

“When? When you saw me on your porch?”

“I had a feeling you’d be a handful,” he grins, and turns his face into hers; placing a kiss on her brow before resting the side of his nose against hers. “It was the second night though. When I told you about Austin. It had been years since I talked about him to anyone. And I just let it out. Something told me I could. But it did scare me.”

“What were you scared of?”

He shrugs. “Being that honest about things. So soon. I was worried I’d tell you what happened...what I did...and everything would change. I thought you’d be disgusted. That you’d look at me like I was a huge piece of shit. And I would have deserved it. If you did.”

“You made a mistake. We all do. You’re not perfect, Tyler. None of us are.”

“It wasn’t just a simple mistake. It was a horrible fucked up one. I took off. My kid had cancer. And I couldn’t handle it and I ran. Like I always do when shit gets too hard. I wasn’t even there. When he died. I left him and he spent the last of his days wondering where the fuck I was and asking what he did wrong that made me hate him enough to leave.”

“You were a different person back then. You couldn’t handle it. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to. And you had a lapse of judgement. Unfortunately, it ended up being way worse than you thought it would be.”

“I was worried once I told you about all of that, you’d hate me. That it would make you sick to even look at me.”

“I have never once hated you. Not even back then. I didn’t feel disgust. You know what I felt? I felt sad. For Austin. For you. That either of you had to go through that. My heart hurt for YOU. That your child got sick and you had to watch him suffer and that it was so painful to see that you made a bad decision. I was sad for you. Like I still am. But hate you? I could NEVER hate you. You have enough hate for yourself. To last a lifetime.”

“Yeah…” Tyler’s voice quivers with emotion. “...I guess I do.”

Smilingly softly, she combs her fingers through his hair. “You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately, haven’t you.”

He nods.

“I know it gets extra difficult around this time of year. At Christmas. I know how hard it is for you. Trying to be happy and enjoy things while it feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest.”

“It’s not normally this bad. I mean, it’s bad. But THIS?” He swallows heavily around the rock of emotion sitting in his throat. “Never like THIS. I don’t know what it is. Why it’s hit me this hard this year. I don’t know if it’s ‘cause I see how much Millie and TJ are growing up. Or I see so much of Austin in both of them. It’s normally not like this. This bad.”

“It’s okay, you know. To feel this. You don’t have to hide that from anyone. Especially me.”

“I don’t want the kids seeing me like this. I don’t want them thinking they can’t be happy. It’s Christmas. They deserve to be happy and excited and to have the time of their lives. I don’t want them thinking they have to walk on eggshells because of me. Or that I’m not happy being with them. Because I am. Happy. With them. With you.”

“I know you are. You don’t have to convince me of that. I know how much you love us. How happy you are. I never doubt that.”

“I guess sometimes I feel guilty. That I am as happy as I am. That I did move on and have other kids. That I didn’t do it right by him but I turned around and made more kids I could screw things up with.”

“You are NOT screwing anything up. You are a great dad. An amazing dad. And your kids love you so much. They idolize you. You’re their daddy. There’s no one they love the way they love you.”

“He loved me. Idolized me. And look what I did. Look how I betrayed that. How I betrayed HIM.”

“It was a mistake.” Gentle fingertips brush away the tears that glisten on his cheeks and the sides of his nose. “You made a bad decision. But that doesn’t make you a monster, Tyler. It just makes you a man who screwed up. And you know what? Austin would want you to be happy. He’d want you to have a life. To have other kids. Because he’d know how much love you have and he’d want you to give that to other people. He would never deprive you of that; having other kids.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean it makes it any easier. The fact he died. Alone.”

“I know it’s of little consolation, but he wasn’t alone. His mom was with him. And I’m sure she told him how much you loved him. That she probably told him you had to go. Not that you chose to.”

“You give her a lot of credit. I can assure you that she DIDN’T say any of that. That he died knowing I abandoned him. That he died hating me.”

“A mother will do anything to protect their child from getting hurt. And I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what she did. He was vulnerable and he was sick and I highly doubt she’d make that worse by shit talking you. I know I wouldn’t. That I’d never let any of my kids hear any of that. That if it had been me? I would have made sure he knew how much you wanted to be there and couldn’t. I would have told him how much you loved him. And would always love him.”

“You’re a different person, Me. She’s nothing like you. Not even in the slightest of ways.”

“I know at one time she loved you. And you loved her. That it wasn’t always bad. That there were some good memories too.”

“I did love her. But not the way that I love you. Not even close. What I have? With you? What I feel? That’s the real deal. Her? I don’t know what that was.”

“She was your highschool sweetheart. You thought you were destined to be together. It just didn’t work out.”

“Which is a good thing. Or I wouldn’t have what I have now. Which is why I’d never go back and change things. Even if I could. Because I change one thing, it changes everything. And I wouldn’t give you or my kids up for anything in this world. Which makes me feel like shit. That I wouldn’t bring back my first kid.”

“Tyler, don’t let your mind go there. That’s a very dark place and that is not where you need to be. I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry Austin got sick and died. That you had to go through that. But comparing what you had then to what you have now? That will lead to nowhere good. Stop tormenting yourself like this. You have a good life. One that you’re more than deserving of. You have people that love you. Don’t overlook that because you’re so busy looking back at things. You’re not betraying Austin because you had other kids. Because you found love and are loved. And I can guarantee you that he would not want you doing this to yourself.”

“It’s not that easy.” He frantically swipes at the tears that freely roll down his face. “I wish it was. I wish I could turn this all off. That I’d never feel a damn thing again.”

“And that’s not good EITHER. It’s okay to feel. You’re a human being. But dwelling on what you did? You’ll never really enjoy what you have if you keep doing that. And one day the kids WILL notice it. They’ll see the difference in you. And they’ll wonder why they weren’t enough. Why you didn’t love them the same way you loved him. And I know you don’t want that.”

“I do love them. They’re my kids. You have no idea how much I love them.”

“Then you need to let it go. Not Austin himself. But what happened. The decision you made. Because it WILL destroy what you have. It’ll destroy you. And you’ve come way too damn far to let that happen. I won’t LET it happen.”

“I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to keep going through this. I just want it over. I don’t want it to hurt so much. And I don’t know why it does. Why it’s so hard this time around. I don’t have an explanation, Me. I don’t why I’m like this. But trust me, I don’t want to be this way.”

“Come here…” she encourages, as her one hand finds the nape of his neck and the fingers of the other tangle in his hair. And she pulls him down into her; both of his arms wrapping tightly around her torso and his face nestled against her collarbone. “...it’s okay, Tyler. These times are going to come up. We were told this would happen. That you’d feel this way from time to time. You’ve had a great five years. You’ve avoided these kinds of moments. It was bound to creep up; sooner or later. Christmas is always a hard time for you. I get it. I know you can’t help it.”

“I don’t want to be this way,” he sobs against her. “I just want it to stop. How bad it hurts sometimes. I just want it to stop.”

“You’re going to be alright.” Her voice is soft and soothing; fingertips lightly massaging his scalp. “It’ll pass. You’ll get through this. Same way you’ve gotten through so many things. So many bad, BAD things. You’re a tough cookie, Tyler Rake.”

“I wouldn’t be able to do this if you weren’t here. If you didn’t keep giving me chances. Putting up with all this shit. I wouldn’t even be here. Alive.”

“I love you. More than you could ever know. I love you more and more every day. And I’m not going anywhere. You know how you always say ‘I got you’? Well I’VE got YOU.”

“I love you. So much. I wish there was a way of telling you HOW much.”

“You don’t need to say it." She drops a kiss on the top of his head. “I know. You make it perfectly clear. In your own way.”

“Thank you. For this. For everything.”

“You’re going to be okay,” she assures him, and runs her fingers through his hair. “I won’t let you fall either.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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indiavolojones · 4 years

Text

3kish words, E, pr: dialuci, #frantic handsy grinding where both parties are grimy and trapped in a place. that’s what romance is, thanks @devildomz

“Lucifer,” Diavolo purrs, and Lucifer tosses a halfhearted glare up through his lashes at the ornately carved ceiling at nothing in particular. Spares a moment to wonder for the owner of this tomb, and if they ever had someone that said their name just the way Diavolo says his.

He shivers at the thought.

alternate summary: a dialuci addition to a modern magic!au i wrote, where Lucifer is a world-renowned curse-breaker that takes a teaching job at the academy Diavolo is in charge of. they then go on a field trip that ends with them trapped in a tomb! but don’t let this fool you, it’s a frottage pwp.

(based in the same universe as this asmo/solomon magic college!au)

because i have no impulse control, and because @kareirakugaki is a *terrible* influence that went “what if they went to a tomb” and

tumblr user indiavolojones: oh fuck yeah

i also play loose and fast with the details. don’t look too into how magic works, guys.

~~~

“A university funded trip,” Lucifer summarizes, looking at the proposal in front of him, “You want me to take a group of children to an ancient tomb with a potentially large amount of obscure, lethal curses.”

“They’re hardly children, Lucifer!” Diavolo laughs, waving his hands. It’s partially true, the Advanced Curse-Breaking course hosts only students aged twenty and up, but Lucifer has seen much older adults lose their cool at less. Lucifer smothers the knee-jerk reaction to squint suspiciously as Diavolo just keeps giving him that megawatt smile. The same one that both charms and infuriates the Board, much to Lucifer’s secret, vindictive glee.

“Besides,” Diavolo’s smile softens, and softens Lucifer’s carefully constructed walls with it, “You said you missed being out in the field. I thought this might be fun for you.”

Lucifer sighs. Maybe this will be fine.

Never again.

Absolutely no more field trips for the curse-breaking department. Lucifer will bring back every obscure jinxed item he stumbles upon back to campus before he ever, ever goes on another university funded trip.

They’ve been trapped here for nearly a week.

More specifically, six days since Lucifer missed one curse, delicately woven into the surface of a pressure plate, and he hasn’t stopped beating himself up since. An ancient magic that had immediately sent shivers through the entrance hall, Lucifer barely managing to shout get back! at Mammon and the rest of their party when the foundations began to crumble.

Mammon and the others should find the exit easily enough, considering it’s only a few hours in the other direction. Getting back to Lucifer and Diavolo is the hard part, now that the site of their cave-in (aka the only known way out) is an unstable path, they have to find another way out or hope that someone out there can find them. Magical tombs are notorious for being hard to get in and out of without using the intended entrances, too many wards layered over the walls to dissuade those who would try to use brute strength to get through the labyrinth. Thankfully, Diavolo and Lucifer are both powerful mages in their own rights, so they’re far from helpless. Lucifer’s able to siphon water from the moss and wildlife to keep their water pouches adequately filled, even if it tastes a little strange. Diavolo has an intense amount of obscure knowledge of herbology, and somehow manages to deduce which of the strange plants won’t kill them to consume.

They stick close to the cave-in, but the ground grumbles in warning every so often, and Lucifer makes the call for them to venture further into the depths but... They aren’t any closer to finding a way out. They’re running out of supplies, their mana reserves at an agonizing all time low, and one can only live on bitter moss and plant water for so long.

The kiss itself is not a surprise, but merely a culmination of months of unspoken tension and lingering, awkward affection, spurned into action by the adrenaline, the danger. Diavolo’s hand massaging enticingly into Lucifer’s hip as he pushes him against the mossy wall, the wandering nature of the other hand as it traces up the side of Lucifer’s neck, cupping his jaw.

When his back hits the stone, Lucifer’s lips part to warn Diavolo against the act, as it might trigger any wall traps they might not have initially noticed–but Diavolo reads this as an invitation, tongue dipping deeper into the other’s mouth. Lucifer’s traitorous legs spread to accommodate Diavolo’s increased force, tipping back so that he’s balanced by Diavolo’s body and the surface behind him, so hm, maybe it was an invitation.

If this is how they’re going to go out, Lucifer would rather be kissed breathless than die wandering aimlessly through these ruins… Although, now that he thinks about it, it would hurt his ego terribly to be found mid-embrace, skewered by some magical spear trap.

After all his hard work, for his research and reputation to be dragged through the dirt at his tragic end...

Lucifer’s hand on Diavolo’s chest starts pushing insistently, until Diavolo tilts his head back. The kiss breaks, but not the heat between them. Lucifer can’t help the glancing down at the spit-slicked sheen of Diavolo’s swollen lips, dragging his gaze up to catch the burning gold of his eyes. His heart stutters, but Lucifer keeps his composure as he speaks:

“Do you think now is the time for this?”

As if Lucifer is not hard, hot, and wanting against Diavolo’s body, his breath rattling in his chest–but Lucifer’s hands are pressed flat against the cool wall behind him, fingers wordlessly easing magic into the stonework to search for signs of ancient curse-work.

“I think everything will work out in the end,” Diavolo says, calm and measured, yet light and playful–his words are vague enough that Lucifer’s eyes narrow.

Desperation is a heady, powerful drug.

It would make perfect sense for Diavolo to kiss him now, when their tension is at an all time high, when the harsh need for survival is offset by the human desire for comfort. There is a heat in the other’s motions, in how Diavolo’s hands twitch to explore Lucifer’s body, but none of the desperation that Lucifer would expect from a rowdy, passionate encounter in an ancient, abandoned tomb.

“Why is that?” Lucifer scoffs. Why does he have such confidence? What does he know that Lucifer does not?

Lucifer is no stranger to dangerous situations–curse breaking is the equivalent of bomb diffusion, essentially. Including all the morally dubious, soul rotting side-effects of knowing how to build those bombs. So Lucifer, who has on more than one occasion thrown himself into death’s arms only to come out victorious, should not be more frantic than Diavolo, a fucking chancellor to a prestigious magical academy.

A man that spends more time sitting inside, filling out paperwork, and guiding young, impressionable minds than anything else should not look so calm.

“Because you’re here.” Diavolo grins, a boyish honesty to his words. A record audibly screeches in his head. Lucifer blinks, magic stuttering to a halt at the other’s words, peppering out against the unforgiving stone.

“You’re Lucifer Morningstar–world-renowned curse-breaker.” Oh, he’s playing at Lucifer’s pride in the best way, and Diavolo knows it. “You have more accolades than most of the staff. You’re the best person I could have possibly been trapped with in a place like this.”

Diavolo raises the hand from Lucifer’s hip to gesture at the tomb around them, before reaching down to prod at one of the hands Lucifer has against the wall, urging until he laces their hands together. Residual magic sparks off Lucifer’s hands, and Diavolo rubs his thumb into the nooks between his knuckles.

“How could I not think everything will be fine?”

If Lucifer were Mammon, he would be spitting vehement dissent until the moment passed. If he were Levi, he might spontaneously combust. If he were Satan, he–Lucifer doesn’t have time to ponder what his stupid brothers would do when faced with such shameless praise. His parted lips speak no words, Lucifer knows that he likely has a few precious seconds before Diavolo teases him on his speechlessness–

–Diavolo kisses him, and it wipes away all coherent thought anyway.

Lucifer, a healthy thirty-something year old man, is not a virgin.

(Granted, most of the people he sleeps with tend to not have any knowledge of what he truly does. Being a world-renowned curse-breaker has its perks, but most people that find out his profession tend to be a little put off. Professor has a much more respectable edge to it, not that Lucifer’s been able to think about anyone but this absolutely infuriating chancellor.)

With this thought in mind, Lucifer will kill both Diavolo and then himself before he ever admits that Diavolo manages to work him into, dare he say it, a mess.

He’ll only acknowledge that Diavolo’s plans to completely blindside him with his honesty worked perfectly, much to his chagrin, however much Diavolo denies there being any kind of planning involved. (Lucifer hears Diavolo’s infuriating, lilting voice, full of amusement: How could he have planned a cave-in, Lucifer? Lucifer has too much faith in him!)

Regardless, Lucifer flourishes under Diavolo’s touch, the hand on his neck tracing back to fist into his hair, the hand laced with him against the wall refuses to let Lucifer go.

He’s sure that he doesn’t smell great, that they’re both covered in layers of grime–they’ve taken the best efforts to keep clean with what they have available, but Diavolo bites at Lucifer’s neck like he smells and tastes like a fucking delicacy, and Lucifer lets out a gasp too loud in the echoing chamber. His mouth snaps shut, fierce blush crossing his cheeks, but he can feel Diavolo’s smile against his skin.

He shivers at the thought. When Diavolo says his name again, it’s accompanied by a gasp turning into a muffled shout, bitten into the exposed skin just above the collar of Diavolo’s leather jacket when Diavolo slides a thick, muscular thigh between Lucifer’s legs.

Diavolo presses the weight of himself, slotting perfectly against the spaces of Lucifer’s body–Lucifer’s free hand flies to grab Diavolo’s bicep, marvels in the flex of it under the fabric.

“No one’s here, Lucifer,” Diavolo murmurs–Lucifer somehow spares another moment to curse him for this, for the quiet intensity that Diavolo only displays in the tenderest of their exchanges. Granted, before this, it was quiet evenings in the faculty room, a coffee gifted after a sleepless night of grading papers. Now it’s Diavolo grinding against him.

“You don’t have to hide your voice.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes, deciding that he’s been pliant and demure for long enough.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer replies, almost nastily, but it holds no true malice and Diavolo’s always been a sucker for Lucifer being a bit cruel anyway. Lucifer would have to be blind to not notice that when others shy away from his harsh tongue, Diavolo takes to it like breathing.

It’s a quick, easy motion for Lucifer to slide the hand from Diavolo’s bicep to his hair, to grab tighter onto Diavolo’s short red hair. Dirt streaks across Diavolo’s cheek from somewhere, and Lucifer has to fight to hold onto his feral lust, instead of the foreign burst of affection, the desire to dotingly wipe it away with his thumb.

“This is what you wanted, right?” He asks, and the question comes out quieter than intended.

“I want a lot of things, Lucifer,” Diavolo admits, and truly, his honesty will be the death of Lucifer. His head tilts into Lucifer’s hand, melts into his grip. “Pretty much all of them involve you.” His amused, lidded eyes drip with intent so pointed that Lucifer almost balks at the weight, hesitant at the promise Diavolo offers so freely.

Lucifer will forever claim his apprehension is a mix of exhaustion and concern for their situation, not an oppressive doubt, the latent insecurity that shades all of Lucifer’s decisions.

But when Diavolo shifts back to clumsily undo the button and zipper to Lucifer’s pants, slipping his hand in, cupping over the thick line of Lucifer’s cock through his boxers, Lucifer finds it hard to doubt the other at all. Groaning through grit teeth at the new, too-close friction, Lucifer tries to jerk away. Diavolo takes his face in hand, stares directly into his eyes.

“Just, just let me,” Diavolo stumbles over a laugh, huffs the rest of his sentence, his fingers dragging over the head of his cock, dampening the fabric with his precum. It makes Lucifer feel like a teenager again, each breath too hot in his lungs, nearly delirious with want.

Diavolo hisses when Lucifer tries to reach for his cock as well, batting the other’s hand away, warning, “Lucifer.”

While Diavolo is a powerful mage, there’s generally a difference in the level of skill between himself and Lucifer. Lucifer’s talents lay in the practical, in understanding the groundwork and complexities of something in front of him, something tangible. Diavolo is brilliant in his mastery of diplomacy and the theoretical, the open, endless possibilities that magic and its future leaders will present.

Physically, though... Not by much, but Diavolo is taller. Diavolo is broader. Lucifer is aware of his own physique, pleasant to look at, although slightly softened by the last few months of grading papers and helping students get uncursed by their own experiments.

Diavolo has a natural strength to his motions, a warrior’s confidence, a king’s authority–but Diavolo is an educated, if not eccentric, man. Lucifer has never seen him resort to paltry shows of brute strengths for anything his mind could conquer.

So when Lucifer makes another attempt at getting in Diavolo’s pants, Diavolo pins Lucifer’s hand against the wall by his shoulders. The jarring impact of the back of his hand hitting the stone wall sends an unexpected thrill through him, sends something like magic through his nerves, setting off his synapses. The novelty of it. Of Diavolo, so aloof, so charming–the intensity of his force is exhilarating, and Lucifer does not quite know how to temper the want in his chest at the sight of it.

Once Lucifer relents, folds to this interesting new sensation, Diavolo finally gets a proper palming grip on his cock through the boxer briefs. Lucifer groans, not entirely muffling his voice, but the hand in Diavolo’s hair tightens again, and he presses his lips to the shell of Diavolo’s ear so that the other can hear how he feels. It works as intended, because Diavolo lets out another quiet curse, his impossibly warm, big hand stroking faster along Lucifer’s shaft.

In the end, it’s easy to let himself get swept up in Diavolo. The angle is awkward, but Diavolo’s enthusiastic motions are consistent enough that Lucifer feels pleasure building low in his belly. Diavolo’s grip on his wrist loosens to the point, where his motions are jerky enough that somehow, he’s not sure which of them cause it, their hands lace again.

The act is so intimate that it almost startles a laugh out of Lucifer, or it would have, if Lucifer had any air in his lungs left to spare for such things.

It is laughable, to have them hold hands like this when the act they’re engaging in is so shameless in itself. There is nothing romantic or intimate about how they’re pressed against the wall of a long forgotten tomb, Diavolo’s hand shoved down his pants and Lucifer desperately holding onto him as Diavolo threatens to tear him apart from the inside out.

Lucifer is exhausted, strung out, his mana deficient a hollow ache inside his chest, but Diavolo’s touch is everything. Distantly, he wonders if Diavolo is adept at any kind of healing magics, but no, Diavolo is just as magically depleted as he is. There is no other reason for the scorching heat between them other than their own stupid libidos.

Lucifer can barely breathe, his nails dig into Diavolo’s skin hard enough to leave bright red, crescent marks in both the nape of his neck and the back of his other hand. Pleasure shoots up his body at the too-dry strokes, his toes curling as he rocks into Diavolo’s steady form. He kisses Diavolo, wet and messy. Their teeth clack, Lucifer bites down on Diavolo’s lower lip hard enough that he tastes a hint of blood, sharp and coppery in his mouth.

Diavolo keens, and the sound is so wanton, so needy, that it makes Lucifer’s entire body shudder.

Lucifer’s orgasm is a surprise that shoots through him like a flare. When he cums, he lets out a strangled cry at his release into their kiss– the sound swallowed by Diavolo’s greedy mouth. He arches against Diavolo, his entire body caught in a thin line of tension. He screws his eyes shut, shaking as Diavolo’s hand continues to work him through each wave of raw pleasure.

Diavolo talks him through it, murmuring quiet words of encouragement that would have Lucifer snarling were it anyone else. Diavolo does not mean to be patronizing, a voice deep inside Lucifer knows, and in the dreamy, post orgasm-haze, he clings onto it. He clings until his cock becomes too sensitive in his boxers, his body twitching away from Diavolo’s thorough touch.

It is now that he realizes the uncomfortable situation of having cum in his pants, a truly disgusting sensation as it drips down his thigh, embarrassingly coats the front of his boxer briefs.

“Don’t say anything,” Lucifer growls, and Diavolo pets his hair gently. Lucifer refuses to admit that it feels nice.

“I wasn’t going to,” he promises, and before Lucifer can say anything else, he feels the accidental bump of Diavolo’s hard cock against his thigh. Another flash of embarrassment crosses his features at his own selfishness, easily reminded of how Lucifer had so desperately chased his own release in Diavolo’s hands.

“Don’t get that look in your eye,” Diavolo croons, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of Lucifer’s jaw. Lucifer stifles the instinctive reaction to jerk his face away, cheeks burning bright red at the action. “I wanted to do that for you.”

“I thought I said not to say anything,” Lucifer says, but then his hand is reaching down to cup Diavolo’s cock in hand, “And who said we were done?”

“Let me down,” Lucifer commands, still breathless, unsure of why he’s requesting that they move positions. What Diavolo thinks is going to happen when they both get to the ground is just as much of a mystery to Diavolo as it is to Lucifer, although there’s a stunned, somehow still turned-on part of Lucifer’s brain that demands Diavolo kiss him on a horizontal surface.

Maybe they’ll use some of their water rations to clean themselves, that way Lucifer can get on his knees, slide between Diavolo’s legs. Take the other into his mouth, heavy, thick weight of it on his tongue, and reduce the man to the same level of incoherency that Lucifer dreamily feels.

Diavolo, the hapless fool, does his best to help Lucifer accommodate the new uncomfortable wetness in his pants, but his attempts are quickly in vain. With a quiet oof, one of his feet tangles with one of Lucifer’s, and they crumble to the ground.

Lucifer lands unceremoniously on his ass, Diavolo on top of him. Diavolo’s hand reaches out to catch himself, bumping into a stone previously unnoticed. The stone shifts, unexpectedly, but what’s more of a surprise is the sharp sudden singing of triggered magic– –still reeling from his own orgasm, Lucifer reacts on instinct alone, one hand reaching out to grab a fistfull of Diavolo’s shirt, clutching him close to his body, another to sweep his arm up to cast a wide barrier around them. Diavolo grunts as his knees bash into the rough ground, propped up between Lucifer’s spread legs. He steadies himself on Lucifer’s knees, head twisting to turn around when nothing shoots out at them–

“Is that–” Diavolo begins, as Lucifer breathes, “–An exit.”

---

Once they meet up with the rescue team, Lucifer has to handle Mammon being annoying and fretting over him while he’s got dried cum in his pants. That’s the end. I didn’t write it, but just know that Diavolo cannot stop grinning. Mammon’s like, what the hell man, i just SAVED YOU?? and lucifer is like, YES YES now can we PLEASE get the fuck out of here

i’ve been feeling kind of self-conscious about my obey me content recently so... thanks if u got this far huheuehe

#ch: lucifer #ch: diavolo #pr: dialuci #writing #spicy content

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

You’ve Set my Soul to Dreaming Pt. 1

Christmas has always been Steve Harrington’s time to shine.

It wasn’t that it was his favorite time of year; darkness falling at 5pm bummed him out, and the heat in his house was never good enough to stand up to the freezing, unpredictable Hawkins weather. Overall, he preferred the spring, when the sun was warm and the breeze was cool and the flowers were blooming.

But festivity, that suited him well, and, probably more than anything, so did giving people things. In the non-physical sense, he always gave his all to ensure that everyone around him was happy.

Whether that was a good character trait or a flaw on his part he had yet to decide, but nobody could say that Steve Harrington was selfish. Sometimes it felt like he gave so much away that there wasn’t even much of him left at all, so much as just who he tried to be for his friends, for his parents.

Literally though, he was the best at presents too. Maybe it was the unlimited bank account, or just the fact that he was so considerate, but everyone always loved what he bought, or made, in the case of the few exes who’d refused material possessions over a heartfelt, handmade gift. (ugh)

That’s why, every year, he couldn’t help but buy as many presents as possible. For his mum, his friends, though the supply of those was getting rather sparse recently, the kids he babysat, their parents, the neighbors, the house keepers, his teachers, pretty much just anybody who he could possibly think of a reason to give them something got an expensive little novelty in hopes that he'd get to see their grateful reaction.

Sometimes he wondered if they just faked it to make him feel better about himself, but he kept doing it anyhow because it did make him feel better about himself, thank you very much.

Especially because recently, there was a lot going on to feel not so good about.

This would mark the tenth year in a row that his parents flew out to the tropics, where it didn’t snow or reach temperatures even half as cold as Indiana, and that’d been fine and dandy for a while, since before, he was living in the childish daydream being home alone, and after that he’d always had someone to spend it with.

But this year, this year he’d be all alone, in his mansion big enough for half of the city’s population to fit inside, and he’d been feeling pretty lousy about it since they informed him of the trip in early December.

That and the fact that he’d almost been killed a handful of times literally a month ago didn’t bode too well for his Christmas spirit.

Steve Harrington didn’t back down from a little hardship though, so what if he was plagued by a sense of crippling loneliness and nightmares bad enough to keep him awake for days on end, that just wouldn't be enough to keep him from rising to the occasion.

‘Tis the season to shove aside all that troubles you and put the needs of others before your own right?

So the morning of the fifteenth, the last day before winter break, Steve does as he always does and ditches his books, opting to instead stuff his backpack full of presents.

They’re wrapped terribly, he’s never been too good with his hands, and recently they’ve started to shake when he gets too nervous, so it’s kind of, lumpy, wrinkled, way too much wrapping paper on tiny boxes, but he’s happy with it. Even if he stabbed himself with the scissors about a million times and got tape in his hair trying to get them wrapped.

Another of Steve’s holiday trademarks is ugly sweaters. He has exactly twenty five of them, one for every day leading up to Christmas, and he wears them religiously.

These aren’t just any old tacky sweaters either, they’re homemade, the ugliest of the ugly.

His gramma had done basically nothing but knit in her free time, so when she heard that her grandbaby wanted a Christmas sweater and couldn’t find one that wasn’t made out of wool, (side bar, he was extremely allergic, like, life-threateningly so) she made him enough to last him the entire month of December up to Christmas Day.

Thank heavens she was terrible with sizes, so they all still fit if not just a little snugly even about 10 years after she made them. By now they were somewhat faded and pilled and riddled with loose threads, but they were soft as all hell and one of a kind, so he didn’t bother with replacing them.

This particular morning he’d chosen a white sweater embroidered with tiny versions of his childhood poodle Charlie in her little Christmas hat, the first his gramma did without a pattern, and his absolute favorite.

Maybe everyone else though it was dumb how into the whole thing he got, but nothing made him happier than pulling up to the school in a sweater from ‘74 with a bag full of overpriced knickknacks.

Steve started his day by giving Jonathan and Nancy their gifts in the cafeteria before the first bell rang, since they wouldn’t all three see each other again throughout the rest of the day, and he could barely contain his excitement.

Watching his friends carefully pull apart the crummy wrap job he’d done was probably one of the best feelings ever, in his opinion. Or maybe it was just the knowing that he’d put a thoughtful effort into making other people happy combined with the fact that he was using all that hoarded wealth that went towards nothing but funding his parents trips to bring someone a gift that would mean more to them than those wasteful luxuries.

Whatever it was that compelled him so, it was enough that he had to stuff his hands in his pockets and bite his tongue to keep from making a fool of himself in front of the whole school while he waited for Nancy and Jonathan to open their presents.

This year he’d reined the budget in a little, since last Christmas he’d gone just a little bit overboard with a $300 camera for Jonathan and a necklace and a ring for Nancy that cost him a 7th of his (very expensive) car payment. He still probably spent more than was considered normal, just not enough that his parents would notice the huge sum of money missing this time.

They didn’t have a whole lot of time before the bell would ring and they would split off to their respective classes, but it was enough that Steve got to see their reactions and revel in the hug Nancy gave him on behalf of the both of them.

He’d opted to get Jonathan a bag for the camera he’d gotten him last year, since you never know when something could happen to it, and before he even had it all the way unwrapped, Jonathan was getting his camera out of the bag he already used to put it in the new one.

Nancy got a bag this year too, but hers was a fancy designer thing he’d picked out of a catalog meant for his mother. He figured she’d need it for when she went off to college, or got the journalist job she’d been telling him about for a year and a half.

Heading off for first period, he already felt the swell of pride that comes with the season, and he could not wait to hand out the rest.

Perhaps another of his favorite parts was that, giving people things was the secret to saving his reputation when he was the way he was.

Everyone knew Steve Harrington was the “up to no good” type, who bought weed off of the shady guys camping out at parties, and got in your daughters panties just to promptly break her heart, and who fails all of his classes and barely scrapes by in high school.

But then he shows up in a hand knitted sweater and with a candy cane between his lips to spread his Christmas cheer, and suddenly all is forgiven, and he is transformed into the sweet Harrington boy who always gave the most thoughtful gifts.

First on the list was Mrs. Click, the history teacher he’d been stuck with since sophomore year.

History was by far his worst subject, and Mrs Click wasn’t the type to make sure you understood before she sprung a pass or fail pop quiz, so he’d failed her class twice.

Even with how stupid she had to think he was, the bright smile on her bitter old face when he handed over the little box with a large Givenchy brooch inside meant that he’d earned his redemption for the third year in a row.

Next was the tie-pin for Mr. Cook, the Spanish teacher, a little golden thing that had cost him more than he’d like to admit and earned him a pat on the back. He was good enough at remembering what he had to know in Spanish, but reading and speaking it? He might as well have been completely illiterate.

His pronunciations were so poor that even the chunky ruby inlay was almost not enough to save face, but in the end his ego got its booster anyhow.

The rest of the day went on like that: a bottle of Mon Parfum for Miss Foster, the English teacher, a SoundBand for the coach, a gift card to the most expensive store he could think of for Mrs. Hall, and so and so forth, each giving him that same rush of confidence, a sense that he was doing something important until he was practically floating through the halls.

By seventh period math, he’s only got two gifts left. A fancy pen set for Mr. Butler, and the other, well, the other one is for Billy Hargrove.

Billy Hargrove who, only about a month ago, had beat his stupid face in and gave him a concussion he still wasn’t quite over, and who definitely wasn’t going to give him that giddy joy he usually got from giving gifts, but he still felt like he needed to extend a holly branch.

Because the way he saw it, Billy couldn’t take all the blame for what went down, so why shouldn’t he be the one to try to apologize, be the bigger person and earn Billy’s respect through his shopping abilities like he did with everyone else.

He knows it’s kind of poorly thought out, maybe even completely crazy to try to make a peace offering to a boy who could practically be called his bully, but he’s still not anticipating the fact that, when he walks down the third row of desks and holds out the little box wrapped in red paper for the other boy to take, Billy just sort of stares at him.

Shaking it a little, like he’s trying to get the attention of a cat with a bag of treats, Steve sets the box down on Billy’s desk and retreats to his own seat a few aisles over.

That’s where it stays until about halfway through the period, which is just a free day anyways, no 75 year old man in his right mind would make a room full of teenagers do algebra on the last day before Christmas break, when Billy finally leans forward and snatches the gift box off the polished surface.

Steve could try to pretend he’s not staring, vibrating in anticipation of Billy’s reaction to the gift, a silver zippo with Venetian engraving, but he’s caught when Billy, having dumped the lighter out of the box and into his hand, turning it over a few times, turns to look at him.

There’s a look on his face that’s a cross between confusion and surprise and something unreadable, like maybe he’s trying to tell Steve with just a look that this was a mistake, and he’s going to kick his ass again as soon as the bell rings, but in a way he still thinks it’s worth it.

Because Steve Harrington does not have enemies, no matter how many toes he steps on and things he does wrong, and maybe Billy won’t accept a fancy lighter as an apology, but at least he’ll know that he tried to make peace.

Even after he turns his attention to the gossip circle running in front of him, Steve can feel Billy’s eyes on him. It’s borderline creepy, in Steve’s own opinion, but he supposes he can understand it.

He might have been a little more grateful and not so stalkerish were he in the same situation, but, potato potahto.

As soon as the bell rings Billy’s out of there like a bat out of hell. He’s up out of his seat before anyone else, halfway out the door and tossing a crumpled ball of red paper in the trash before the rest of the class could even blink.

At first, Steve isn’t even sure that Billy didn’t throw the whole zippo away, but he sees it catch the light from where it’s held tight in Billy’s fist just before he disappears through the doorway completely.

The fact that the lighter wasn’t in the bottom of the trash can was a good sign, but, this still didn’t bode all that well for a Christmas truce.