#under the manhattan bridge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carolmunson · 9 months

Text

out on the moonlit floor. (older!modern!eddie)

part six of who knows how many orange colored sky set list

you and eddie walk down to the piers at brooklyn bridge after you both meet up for dinner a couple nights after your embarrassing drunk sleep over. you both spur on conversations about each other over icecream -- and when you get home, you both share more than you expected. inspiration from this series comes to you in part by: @loveshotzz 'all i really want is you' series. wanting to fuck that old man. and readers like you.

tw: discussions of minor character death, drinking some alcohol, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), some vague talk about BDSM, couples first time, reader cries after sex

songspiration: kiss me | six pence none the richer

Now that the humidity broke it was almost a little chilly over by Brooklyn Bridge Park tonight. The water from the Hudson slapping against the posts of the first pier, each little wave winking when it caught the light of the moon. Manhattan sparkled across the river, glittering in both of your eyes while you walked toward the fireboat station turned ice cream parlor. Kids run around with sticky hands and mouths, shrieking and giggling with each other while parents look onward. Other couples walk hand in hand down towards the other piers -- some still under construction.

The air is warm but in a comforting way -- a reminder that fall is on the precipice, peeking itself out in hints so that you want something pumpkin flavored in early August. Eddie's hand is warm and clammy in yours, the silver bands on his fingers warmed by your touch.

"I never come down here," he says, looking around, "Why don't I ever come down here?"

You shrug, "I dunno -- are you a big water guy?"

He scrunches his nose and shakes his head, "Not really -- Steve'll drag me to the beach a lot when he visits and I'm fine with the beach but -- I'm not like, a beach guy. Or a river guy, or whatever. Lakes, sure. Ponds, why not?"

"I love being near the water," you say, leading him into the boathouse. You get in line behind at least ten people, all savoring their dog days of summer with an ice cream cone. It's warm in there, all the fans do is blow around the smell of sugar and cream, waffle cones off the press. He lets go of your hand to lay it gently on your shoulder to guide you through, heated skin to heated skin.

"I can love being near the water," he offers.

"Yeah?" you turn your head to look at him, his cheeks flushing. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. A little warm, a little slick on your skin. In your pretty summer dress that he hadn't seen yet. The soft quirk of your brows when you ask.

"Yeah," he nods, "For you? Of course."

You roll your eyes, taking a few steps forward as the line moves, "What looks good to you?" You pass a sticky menu you to him that he squints to read, apples up his lifting up to hide his eyes. You pull his glasses from the worn collar of his shirt, clearing your throat while you tap them against his knuckle.

"I can read it, baby," he mutters, distracted by the descriptions in light ink on white paper hidden behind a foggy sheet of plastic.

"You're gonna give yourself a headache," you chide. He rolls his eyes this time, taking his glasses and tucking them back on his collar. He passes the menu back to you.

"I already know what I want."

"Sure you do."

You walk out together, him with his Sweet Cream & Cookies cone and you with you Salted Crack'd Caramel in a cup. He's had two bites of yours and already regrets his decision.

"Well if you could read the menu then you probably would've got something more exciting," you tease, pulling your cup away when he reaches again.

"I mean this is good but it's boring," he pouts, "I'm not a boring ice cream kind of person."

"Is Steve?" you ask, his head tilts at the question, turning to you.

"Steve?" he repeats, "Why're you asking about Steve?"

"That's who Big Guy is in your phone, right -- with the little muscle emoji next to it? Your buddy Steve?" you smirk at him, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth.

"Yeah, that's my guy," he nods, "You know how I said he always drags me to the beach when he visits?"

"I do," you nod, a spoonful of ice cream resting on your tongue before you swallow leaving a coating of mocha, sea salt, and caramel behind.

"He's visiting soon," Eddie smiles down at your lips closed around the plastic spoon, "I'm really excited for him to meet you."

"Do you think I'll like him?"

"I think...Steve's a boring ice cream person," he laughs, "Always gets like -- butter pecan or something. You think I'm an old man? Wait until you meet this guy."

You both laugh with each other like mean girls on the playground.

"Is he um -- is he doing okay? I know you mentioned a few weeks ago that he lost his wife," you're shy while you approach the subject, you could tell it weighed heavy on Eddie to talk about it.

"I think..." Eddie starts, taking a lick of his ice cream while he considers it, "I think he's doing okay for being almost half a year out. I um, I stayed with him for the first three months -- moved him into the house they bought --"

"She passed before they moved," he explains when your brows knit in confusion.

"Oh," you nod along, face relaxing so he can continue.

"Moved him in -- I think he cried for six days straight. We didn't even sleep, just laid on his couch and watched Fever Pitch like, eighty five times in a row," he looks out at the water while he recalls it and then smiles, "Which is so weird considering he's a Cubs fan."

"That's so niche," you giggle before softening, "You're a good friend."

"He'd do it for me," Eddie shrugs, "He's already done like so mu--"

Before he can finish, two runners speed by, knocking him in the shoulder. You both watch his cone fall in slow motion towards the blacktop of the walk way.

"Sorry," the guy calls out while he continues on, barely looking back over his shoulder while he goes. The neon yellow of his running sneakers become little flecks as he gets deeper towards the tree covered walkway on the other side.

"Hey, fuck off and DIE, asshole!" you call after him, a grit in your voice that Eddie hadn't expected to hear. He can't help but laugh at your anger at his expense.

"Hey, hey," he starts, newly free hands resting on your shoulders, "Easy killer."

"There was plenty of space for him to run," you seethe, "He's a fuckin' asshole."

"It's okay," he promises, face relaxed, "It's okay."

"It's not okay," you sigh. You hold your half full cup and spoon out to him, "Have mine."

"But then you won't have one," he says, "I'm not taking yours."

"You already know you like the flavor," you insist, "I'll grab myself another one, I need a water anyway."

Eddie looks at the ice cream and then you, one dimple creasing when a side smile pulls at his lips, "Okay."

When you come back with your new ice cream he's settled down on a bench directly across from the Freedom Tower. You can see all the lights across the water from the Seaport, water taxis and mini dinner cruises coming in an out of dock in the haze of a midsummer night.

"Before Sandy, this used to be a weird sad looking mall," you say, sitting next to him, "And there used to be a really good restauarant called Red -- I loved it cause they never carded me."

"You go to college here?" he asks, you nod.

"I liked the mall cause there was a Bath and Body Works and a Christmas in New York store. I'd go in there every time I was homesick -- just felt cozy for some reason," you shrug.

"But the new stuff there is cool too," you say, taking a bite of your ice cream, "It's definitely like -- for rich people."

"Definitely for rich people," he agrees, his spoon sneaking over to your full cup, his empty one next to him. He steals a bite, letting the flavor savor on his tongue.

"Come on, why do you keep getting amazing flavors?" he sighs. You hold the cup tighter to yourself, a smile working on your lips.

"This one is just for me," you chide, "If you want more go get more."

"Nah, I just wanna taste it one more time," he says smoothly, quietly, leaning in. His hand finds your cheek, ducking in for a long slow kiss, "There we go."

Speechless, you just shake your head and take another bite when he breaks away.

"No, no, I think I need another one -- gotta get the full flavor profile," he smirks, loving the sounds of your giggle when he leans in again for another kiss. He gives you three loud smooches on the lips, enough to make a few people roll their eyes but neither of you notice. Too wrapped up in each other to really care.

Eddie's apartment is as it always is -- it smells like him, the walls are covered in knick-knacks and framed posters. Maximalism at it's finest -- organized chaos -- but somehow streamlined. You leave your sandals in the hallway, barefeet hugging the cold hardwood from the AC.

"You know what I could go for right now?" you ask. He looks up with his brows raised, putting his wallet and keys in a bowl by the door. He'd forget them otherwise.

"A mezcal marg," you say, "I'd fuck up a marg so hard right now."

"Well lucky for you," he starts, walking over to the bar cart behind the dining room table, he lifts up a bottle of Del Maguey Vida, "I have mezcal."

"Yay," you let out quietly, not too far off from our quiet cheer when you were wasted in his kitchen last week. You can tell he used to bar tend by the way he mixes drinks, how he slaps the mixer and shakes it, how he eyeballs the liquor. It's not long after you've situated on the couch that he comes over to you with your drink.

"Here cutie," he says, carefully passing it to you from behind the couch and walking around it with his own. The first sip confirms he's made these a million times, wonderfully smokey and salty, refreshing and fruity.

"Oh no," you laugh, "It's really good."

"I'll make you as many as you want," he takes a sip and settles down next to you, arm outstretched behind you, "Thank you."

"Why're you so good at everything?"

"Me?" he quirks his brow, "Nah, I'm just -- I have a lot of experience with like, mundane shit."

"No, no, you're like -- you're good at a lot of stuff," you nod, "Give yourself some credit."

You feel bold even though you've only had two sips of the margarita, but it gives you some courage nonetheless, "What else are you good at?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well --" the cat catches your tongue for a moment, suddenly unsure if you want to bring it up. But then again, he's already seen you at your almost most pathetic.

"I saw those handcuffs in your room the first time I was here," you start, "You good at tying girls up?"

He blushes hard, laughing off the embarrassment, "S'cuse me?"

"I'm serious," you laugh, "Are you good at tying girls up? Is that the kind of stuff you're into?"

"I -- wow -- um," he bumble through words trying to find an answer, looking down at his drink and then looking at you and back down again.

"I -- yeah," he shakes his head, surprised at his own confession, "Yeah, I'm -- I'm into that kind of stuff. Not like, not all the time -- but for some partners, sure, yeah." "So you are a little freak then," you tease.

"Maybe," he shrugs, "By the look on your face though it looks like you might be really interested in that."

You shrug back coolly, another sip of your marg giving you a moment to consider, "I can be."

"Yeah?" He leans back on the couch, legs spread open while he looks you over. He keeps his eyes on you, sipping slowly on his drink while he does. You start to get shy under his gaze, exactly what he was waiting for, "You think you could handle it, sweetheart?"

As expected, you roll your eyes, "Ew."

He puts his drink on a coaster on the coffee table, coming back up to give you a kiss, "You don't think it's ew."

"I know," you nod, letting his lips trail down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Unafraid, you crawl back onto his lap like you did the first night you were there. His hands wander more freely, sliding up and around your thighs, listening to your sounds and how you like to be touched. When you roll your hips he doesn't stop you this time, he lets you do it, savoring the relief he gets every time the pressure meets his hardening cock in his slacks.

"I'm not," Kiss, "Gonna do that," Kiss, "Tonight, though."

"Oh," you smirk, holdhing his face in your hands while you look down at him, "Are we gonna do it tonight?"

He blushes again, chastising himself for assuming what you wanted, "No, no, only if you want to. And I want it to be nice and like -- I want it to --"

You lean in for one more slow kiss to shut him up, he groans into it, "I want to."

Eddie gulps, looking up at you with a nod, "I'll um...I'll meet you upstairs."

He watches you get up and head towards the small spiral staircase, his mind buzzing a mile a minute. He collects the glasses and puts them in the fridge for later, cleaning up a bit while his hands nearly shake with nerves and excitement. Just as he's about to make it up the stairs he sees his phone start to buzz on the coffee table. Steve.

And normally he never does this, but for the first time in months he clicks 'Ignore' before heading up the stairs behind you.

You undress after him, trying not to gape at his body, trying to ignore the way it drives you insane. His tattoos dance with each move of his waist and arms, each flex of his thighs. He takes his time making his way over to the bed, sliding the throw to the floor when he sits on the edge of it to watch you.

Your dress comes off slow -- he beckons you forward to stand between his thighs. Neither of you speak while he cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing softly. You let out a quiet sigh when his lower lip drags against the top curve, pressing into a kiss. Moving to the next to take a nipple into his mouth, wet tongue sliding over it while his thumb teases the other.

Your hand reactively reaches for his head, pleasure starting as a line up your neck and down to your pelvis -- a whimper coming out of you involuntarily. He gives a final flick of his tongue before pulling your underwear down to your knees, letting them fall to your ankles. He looks up with a smile and a kiss to your lips, "Lay down for me."

He doesn't have to ask you twice, kicking kicking your panties off and sliding onto his bed. You lay back against the soft comforter and look up at him while he kneels over you, eyes gleaming while they take you in.

“Peach you’re…you gotta be fucking kidding me,” he lets out with an airy laugh.

You look up at him while he lets his eyes roam over you again, suddenly self conscious. You cover some of your chest with your forearm, tucking in on yourself.

“No, no baby,” he coaxes softly, “Show me, show me you.”

You reluctantly release, it had been a while since you were fully naked in front of someone. You grimace when your arms fall back flat on the comforter, hands daintily laying just above your head. He bites his lower lip, the pink in his cheeks flushing to a soft red. His hands reach up to the sides of your rib cage, eyes on you for silent permission.

“Jesus,” he says under his breath. His hands slide down carefully, cascading into the dip of your waist and up over your belly. One finger tip traces a stretch mark just above your pelvis that you wished he hadn’t noticed — that you forgot you had. His hands continue their journey over your hips to the tops of your thighs — your body warm and welcoming to his touch.

“You are gorgeous,” he whispers — partly to himself, partly to you.

You lean up on your forearms and look down at yourself briefly, “Yeah? You think so?”

“I uh – fuck –” he shakes his head in disbelief before leaning forward to kiss you, “I really think so.”

His lips come in for a long peck, settling himself over your calves, forearms and biceps flexing while he leans on his hands to steady himself on the mattress. He breaks away to kiss your neck – gentle, only a few before placing one soft kiss to your chest – working his way downward. He kisses the pad of fat on the peak of your ribcage, down to your stomach, right over the stretch mark that you wish you’d forget about now. He kisses the other side of your belly, mouth and breath warm while he does, eyes blown like he’s mapping you out.

You revel in the quiet, watching him savor you, adjusting to sit on his knees between your legs. He bends down like he’s praying, lips blessing the top of one of your thighs. He bends one of your legs up and out, kissing the inside of your knee.

“Please,” you whisper down at him. He kisses the inside of your knee again, feeling your weight shift in the bed while you open your legs further. He looks down between your thighs, brows tilting in awe at the sight of you bared for him.

“Push up on the bed a little, honey,” he instructs, so quietly you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t so close. If the rest of the apartment wasn’t so still. You slide up on the comforter while he adjusts the pillows behind you, “That’s good? You comfortable?”

You nod breathlessly, his smile making you melt the more you see it in the light of his lamp in the corner. He kisses you again, hand reaching up behind your neck to pull you to him while you let his tongue into your mouth. It slides against yours with needy precision, wanting to get as close to you as possible while he does. When you part he lets out a shaky breath, nuzzling your nose.

“You okay?” you press your forehead to his.

“Yeah I’m just – I think I’m nervous,” he laughs, “You’re makin’ me nervous.”

“Why’re you nervous?” you ask, pulling back to look at him.

“I dunno. I guess I just,” he leans back, “I’m never normally thinking my way through it. At least I haven’t for a while.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like I was just taking people home to fuck, then they’d leave,” he shrugs, “I’m like…I’m taking my time and I wanna make sure it’s like – the best sexual experience you’ll ever have.”

“Sexual experience,” you repeat back in a tease, he puffs out a breath with a roll of his pretty brown eyes.

“I’m trying to be meaningful here,” he asserts, “M’trying to like – make love to you.”

You giggle again at ‘make love’ but cover your mouth, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I’m not making fun of you. That’s very sweet, Ed.”

He tinges an embarrassed pink and settles back on his knees, hands running through his hair.

“Baby,” you soothe, coming up to smooth your hands over his shoulders, “I’m sorry. I promise I’m not trying to make you feel silly or embarrassed. I’m nervous, too.”

“Baby…” he repeats back, a boyish grin pulling up on his lips, “I’m not a baby.”

“Yeah you are,” you nod, kissing his cheek, “You’re such a baby.”

“Thought I was an old man,” he says, that blushy grin still plastered on his face.

“You can be both.” You lay back against the pillows, watching him take a settling breath before coming back down to meet you for another taste of warm kisses. He lets himself press a loving kiss to your cheek before dipping down to leave intentional kisses down your sternum, following his map from your rib cage to your belly, the top of your thigh, the inside of your knee. Neither of you speak when he kisses the inside of your thigh, letting him part you right before his tongue starts to flick dutifully over your clit.

Your quiet gasp makes his eyes flutter closed, feeling you settle down into the pillows while his lips open over you, nose resting on the pudge of your mound. His tongue works steadily, working you while your legs bend and creep upwards, thighs to your chest. One hand reaches up to squeeze the inside of one, spreading you apart a little further for him. You feel the warmth of the back of his head as he leans to the side against your thigh, tongue dragging up over and over before moving right back to center.

“More,” you sigh out, starting to whimper, hips reacting to each flutter of his tongue. He start to suckle, eyes flicking up at the sound of your voice. He nods while he works, one hand coming up to slide a finger in either ease – he’s not surprised.

“Oh!” you squeak out, the little quake in your thighs makes him huff a laugh.

“Does this feel good?” he asks against your skin. He kisses your other thigh why he waist for an answer. You nod down at him, breaths picking up while his finger dips slowly in and out.

“S’really good,” you slur out, the tingle in your belly rising to an electric buzz.

“D’you like getting eaten out?” he asks, starting again. His middle finger pushes in with his index this time with mild resistance.

“Hmmm-yes,” you breathe out at the slight stretch, feeling him hook into you once his fingers push the hilt. You push up on your forearms and then your hands, the pleasure making you dizzy while you look down at him.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. He obliges, head down and determined, sucking and teasing, the soft flick of his tongue getting you closer and closer. His fingers pulse, pushing in and in and in, the pads of his fingers pressing on your core that makes heat run through you. You aren’t sure if you’re numb with pleasure or you’re flooding over his finger, the buzz is becoming overwhelming. Your heart hammers, his fingers working in a controlled steady rhythm – too grown to know that when a girl’s about to cum you don’t speed up, you stay the course.

“ShhhitI’mgonnacum – ohmigodI’mgonnacum.”

His lips break away from your clit as you start to come undone, a smirk prevalent on his face when he leans in to kiss you through it. You moan so loud into his mouth it’s almost a cry – a prayer to God that you make it out with all your senses.

He feels the gush of your release over his first and middle finger, leaking plentifully into his comforter. He smiles when he breaks away from you — soft kisses on your cheeks while you shiver.

You flop flat on your back with a deep breath, shutting your eyes while you push air out of O shaped lips.

“You okay?” his low gravelly voice settling in your chest. You nod, a little hazy, shifting over a wet spot under your limp thighs. “Ugh.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, knowing that you can feel what you left behind. He squeezes your calf with a soft chuckle, “Just a lil’ mess, baby. D’y’need a minute?”

You nod, another deep breath, peeking through your heavy lids to watch him stretch over you while he clicks on another light. The sconces above his bed glow golden and soft above the both of you, glinting against his silver jewelry like a fire. Eddie’s form shifts the mattress when he lays next to you, rough palm smoothing over the top of your stomach to the opposite dip in your waist.

“That was uh…”

“Yeah…”

You lay there with each other, eventually finding the strength to move onto your side to face him. He’s confident now that you came, more sure of himself – he knows he can make you do it again.

“Don’t give me that look,” you chide.

He giggles darkly, face splitting smile pulling his cheeks up, “M’not giving you a look.”

“You are giving me a look.”

“M’just…you know – It’s always good to know you still got it,” he shrugs, falling onto his back. He tucks his hands behind his head, elbows splayed out on either side, biceps flexing, “And I still got it.”

“Yeah, yeah, you still got it old man,” you laugh, tucking yourself under his arm so that your head lays on his chest. You look down the expanse of him, fingertip tracing one of his tattoos that flows down to his lower stomach. His cock twitches, kicking up at the gentle touch so close to his pelvis. You let out a soft hum when one of his arms comes down to wrap around you, kiss pressed to the top of your head. You tilt up, noses brushing while your fingers still trace, searching lower until the scratch of stubble from week old manscaping finds you.

You kiss him first, moving out from under his arm, propping yourself up on your elbow while you guide him. He grunts out a low groan when your hand finally wraps around his cock, offering him steady strokes, giving him a type of relief he’s deeply needed this past month and some change. It’s not long before his fingers wrap around your wrist to put you back on the mattress, hard and leaking, desperate to be inside you. Your eyes linger on it while he leans over to grab a condom from his bedside table drawer, he smirks while he rolls it on.

“Ready?” he asks, cocky, tossing the foil packaging off the bed. You nod hurriedly, grinning while he props your hips up under a couple of his pillows.

Another kiss and he’s parting your legs again, fingers sinking into the fat of the back of one of your thighs while he guides himself down the slick slit of your core. He goes slow, tip teasing your clit before sliding down to your entrance. He’s concentrating, but he still flicks his eyes up at you beneath his feathered bangs before starting to push.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He eases in, you feel the stretch immediately, legs springing up tight towards your chest. One, two, three short even thrusts before you’re slick enough to accommodate him. He pushes in slowly, both of you sighing in pleasure when he splits you open to the hilt, your legs parting further. His other hand meets your lonely thigh, gripping tight while he starts at a steady rhythm, head lolling back for a moment then coming back to center.

“Baby…” he starts, a growl of a grunt coming from his chest, “You – oh, honey – you feel so good, so — oh fuck...”

You can only respond with choked ‘uhn! uhn! uhn!’s at every thrust, the head of his cock plunging deep at this angle, nearly brushing your cervix. His kiss is welcomed when he lets go of your legs to lean forward over you, propping himself up on one forearm, hand on your cheek.

“That’s good? This feels good?” he pants into your mouth.

“Mhm,” you whine, “You’re so deep.”

“I know,” he coos, “M’really deep. You like that?”

“Yeah,” you squeak when his thrusts become intentionally strong and slow.

“Feelin’ me?” he asks, tip of his nose running along your cheek, forehead against your temple. You nod, groaning while he continues, holding his hips in place after every plunge into your core. His cologne and scent of his hair products blend together in a dark spice that makes your mouth water, eyes fluttering closed when you hear his breaths become gravelly – each one its own growl. You can barely think, your mind’s not able to keep up with the pleasure of where his cock keeps hitting, how full you feel, where his free hand wanders, how he kisses your neck. In the haze you realize that he likes this, he likes being in control.

Your body bounces against his hips when his thrusts start to pick up in speed, not fast like a jackhammer, but fast enough that the buzz in your belly becomes a vibrant hum. He gives you a final sloppy kiss on the neck and then the lips before leaning back up for more leverage, gripping your waist just above the flare of your hips.

“Look at me,” he huffs out, more of a command than a suggestion. Your heart rate quickens at the sound, bark and bite while his fingertips squeeze you. Your eyes snap to his like magnets, like when you first kissed after your date in the park.

“God,” he groans, “S-so – fuck – pretty.”

His next thrust hits a spot that makes you see white, a whimper choking out of your throat. You grab his wrist, whining, “Ohmygod there, right there.”

“There?” he teases softly, slowing down to slowly drag his cock in and out. He hits it again at an achingly low speed this time, but the pleasure is just as delicious.

“Yes, yes right there – please,” you don’t even know what you’re saying please for, what you’re asking. You just need to feel this, you need him to get you there. He quickens his pace, the slick and sloppy sounds of skin hitting skin and ragged breaths disrupting the quiet of the room. Tears pool in your eyes in pleasure while you cry out, back arching into each snap of his hips.

“More, more, more,” like a chanting prayer flows out of you, spurring him on. His heart thumps in his chest while he looks down at you, your face contorted, the way your breasts bounce. He resists the urge to reach down and clamp over your neck when you bare it to him, pushing yourself against the pillows. He busies himself by gripping your thighs again in a bruising hold, holding steady at a pace that clearly feels great for you but feels amazing for him. Eddie bites his lip, the sight and sound of you sending him reeling. He’s getting close, hips starting to stutter while your walls loosen a bit to accommodate him further, you’re already soaking his pelvis – you’re gonna cum, he can feel it.

You can feel all your sounds in your throat, kneels pulling together as the vibrant hum in your lower belly becomes a vibration. He doesn’t stop, grunting and huffing like a bull with each thrust while he tries to hold back. He pulls your knees apart to make space for him, chest to chest while he pumps in a little bit faster. Eddie’s mouth takes yours hungrily, greedily while he lets out an aching moan.

“Fuck – fuck - shit,” he growls, eyes clamped closed while your noses rest against each other. He keeps going, fucking you through his orgasm despite his shaking arms. At this position he can adjust to go a little deeper, and when he does you gush. He keeps going, feeling the pulses of your walls over his cock, a confident grin puffing out tired breaths.

You grip his biceps when he does one final hit that sends you over the edge, thighs and hips shaking when he does. You feel it in your whole body, goosebumps rising like you can’t handle it, back nearly aching in an arch that settles back down. Your moan turns into a cry – a real cry. You shudder while your body comes down, tears pouring down your cheeks and you can’t quite get yourself to settle down.

“Oh, honey no, did I hurt you? Are you okay?” Eddie swallows, voice back to soothing comfort while he eases up, “What’samatter? Did you not like it?”

You wipe your eyes but the tears still come, you shake your head no. Embarrassed from blubbering you try to cover your face but he smooths your hands away, “What’s wrong, Peach? Please talk to me. Was that too much? Was I too rough?”

“N-no,” you laugh a little, “Sorry, this is r-ridiculous. I’m – m’okay.”

“You don’t look okay,” he says. He settles on his calves, easing you up to sitting – with some coaxing he gets you straddled in his lap. The exhaustion from your orgasm distracts you from the stickiness between your thighs, the uncomfortable wetness leftover between your legs. You feel sleepy and soggy.

“Did I do something?” he asks again, hands cupping your cheeks while his thumbs swipe away oncoming tears.

“N-no it was ju-just really intense,” you swallow and cough, another sob racking through you, “J-just came really hard.”

He nods, looking at you intensely, “Do you just want me to hold you?”

You nod back and without a second though he pulls you tight into him, bringing you both back down sideways on the mattress. He lets you let it out, running the backs of his fingers along your back until you start to calm down, sobs shuddering down into sharp breaths, to normal ones, to slow.

“A little better?” he asks, quiet and sweet. You nod with your eyes closed, cheek squished against the comforter. Eddie smiles, easing the condom off his now softened shaft and tossing it in the bin under his night stand. He soothes you for a while, sitting on the side of you and running his palms over your back and thighs, over your calves, selfishly over the swell of your ass. He puts pressure on your lower back, between your shoulder blades, the top of your neck.

“This is really nice,” you croak out, feeling the warmth of his hands cascade gently over you.

“Sometimes it’s nice to just get worshiped, huh?”

You nod again, breaths steady, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he confirms, “You deserve it, don’t you?”

“I do,” you smile.

“That’s my girl,” he coos. My girl, my girl, my girl.

It echoes through the both of you, the declaration – the claim, but neither of you say anything.In fact at this point, it looks like you might’ve fallen asleep.

Eddie takes the throw that had been pushed to the floor and covers you up for now, he’ll wake you later for pajamas and water and a snack. For now he figures you should just rest, you look so cute like this – all worn out ‘cause of him. He quietly slips on a pair of socks and gray sweats and pads his way downstairs to make you something, swiping up his phone to see two missed messages from Steve on his screen.

Big Guy💪👔 37m ago Did you just bitch button me?

Big Guy💪👔 37m ago What the fuck?

Big Guy💪👔 36m ago Photo notification.

Eddie rolls his eyes, opening his phone to his texts. His eye roll stops when the picture of Bandit curled up on his bed by the sliding door pops up. Eddie said the bed was way too big for him, but Steve insisted he’d grow into it.

Eddiesorry dude, i was busy. u around?

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago Taking Bandit on a night walk. You okay? You have a show tonight?

EddieNah. 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago Hell yeah dude 😎 Congrats!

Eddiethanks man.just putting something together for her for when she wakes up.

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago fucked her to sleep lol

Eddie gotta change my middle name to nyquil 😎

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago so it was good huh?

Eddie i’ll tell you all the horny details tomorrow but honestly dude? i might end up loving this one.

He wakes you up later leaving gentle kisses on your forehead, set of his comfy clothes in his hand for you, “Made you a little snack downstairs, you hungry?”

You stretch, nodding, feeling a dull ache in your hips and inner thighs. You frown when he eases the throw off of you, forcing you to stand up and get dressed. Eddie’s scent is prevalent on his clothes, enveloping you again when he does the same with his arms.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you assure, looking up at him, “Now, don’t get a big head about this or anything – but that was easily some of the best sex I’ve had in my life.”

He lets go of you, shrugging with a smile and tilt of his head, “What can I say? I –”

“I said don’t get a big head,” you warn, stifling a giggle, “Don’t you go around bragging about it either.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I promise,” he holds his hands up, leading the way down the stairs.

“Not even Steve.” You follow him down, body taking over to lead you to the snacks he laid out on the counter of the island.

“Not even Steve,” he repeats, picking up his phone again.

Eddie she just told me that this was the best sex she’s ever had in her life lol i’m the fucking man

Big Guy💪👔 0m ago you da man 😎

prev | next

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #older!eddie #older!eddie munson

709 notes · View notes

free-my-mindd · 1 year

Text

Another apartment view from down under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass.

#nyc #nycsunset #downtown manhattan #newyorkcity #manhattan #city views #night view #citylights #buildings #apartmentview

1K notes · View notes

oneshotnewbie · 7 months

Note

A jogger finds a phone and calls the cops. When they take it and put it into a zip back, they accidentally turn on the phone - revealing a picture of The Captain of the SVU and Reader?

Possible trigger warning: This one-shot includes the mention of blood and kidnapping, the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

William Jacobs ran across the Brooklyn Bridge at the same time every morning, trying to beat his best time. But today he desperately thought about turning back and skipping today's sports session - the weather was playing into his cards.

Despite all the negative voices in his head, the young man ran from the Brooklyn bridge to the Manhattan Central Park and back. At this early hour there were hardly any passers-by and only occasionally a few cars drove past. As he took his first step off the bridge, he was inspired by the release of happiness hormones and increased his pace.

William loved being able to look out over the East River and let his thoughts and feelings flow freely. His black hair flowed in the wind and was dampened by the drizzle, her ragged breathing evident in the chill of dawn. When he managed halfway of his way, he was panting like never before in his life - the cold air making it harder to force enough air through his lungs. The young man felt the slight sting in his side, but did not hesitate to stop.

It was not until his head moved towards the entrance of the Central Park that he saw something blue and shimmery lying on the ground. Confused, he stopped and cautiously approached the object, peering left and right to locate other people.

Startled, he jumped back and almost stepped into the street when he saw red-brown stains around it, some of them even splattered on the cell phone he had found. William did not even hear the car behind him screeching to a stop next to him and the car door being opened with an aggressive jerk. "Are you crazy? I almost ran you over!"

But the young man did not answer the older women. She looked at the black-haired guy and saw fear and disgust on his face. His shaky fingers pointed to the main reason he stopped, which was why the woman looked confused on the ground and shortly after promptly walked back to her car in shock. "We have to alert the police." he shouted in a shrill, abnormally bright voice. The stranger nodded her head and pulled her cell phone out of the glove compartment of her red car. She quickly tapped on her phone and held it trembling against her ear.

"Emergency call center, how can I help you?" A calm voice asked on the other end of the line, beginning to type on her keyboard to find out the location of the caller. "We found a phone." she spoke anxiously, earning a sigh from the 911 agent. "Mam, you know this is not an emergency, right?"

William looked confused at the device in the old lady's hand, and in his adrenaline rush he did not quite understand why the sigh was being given. So he quickly snatched the cell phone from her and continued the conversation. "Listen. Here is a cell phone lying at the entrance to Central Park, covered in blood splatters. I also recognize an original NYPD cell phone case."

“Which entrance are you at?” the woman's low voice slowly calmed his rapidly beating heart. He took a deep breath while trying not to let his mind sink into a hole of horror scenarios. He looked around, trying to figure out which entrance he really was at. "Fifth Avenue at the Plaza Hotel,"

"Do not touch anything. I will send you a unit."

ᕚ---ᕘ

The gentle rain pattered quietly against Olivia's bedroom windows and made her open her eyes just a crack wide. Her tired gaze glowered out and a hand brushed over her face as she watched the night slowly fade away. Her attention turned to the other side of the bed, her fingers curling into the cold sheets next to her.

Her fiancée was no longer lying next to her and she sighed heavily. She usually woke up before you almost every morning, kissing along your naked spine stroking her hand with pleasure over your sides before she remained on your bare hip, waking you up for another day. Olivia loved waking up next to you since she shared a bed with you and enjoyed every minute of it. But she respected your exercise routine in the early hours of the morning and was in no way offended if she started the day without you.

The brunette tried to close her eyes for another five minutes, but quickly abandoned the idea when her cell phone rang. A little angry, she felt around on the bedside table for the annoying-sounding device and answered the call. "Lieutenant Benson?" she sighed loudly, already pulling the blanket off her body.

The brunette, half asleep, rummaged through her closet for some clothes and ran into the bathroom to get ready. "Central Park, I will be right there." When she ended the conversation, she tried to reach you on your cell phone to take you home, but her attempt came to nothing and she did not think about it any further - you had already put your phone on silent often enough to avoid being distracted.

After quickly downing a cup of coffee to wake herself up, she pulled her coat off the hook and slipped through the door into the day's events. The rain worsened on the way to the crime scene, washing every possible mess back into the sewers. When she got out, Amanda and Fin were already standing at the cordoned off area that had been created to protect the evidence from the rain. "What do we have?"

"A blood-spattered cell phone," the blonde expressed, gratefully accepting an evidence bag from another officer. She carefully placed the found object in it and handed it to her boss. "A cell phone? Why were we called?" the Sergent and the detective shrugged and raised their hands in question. "The caller thought it was a cell phone belonging to one of our colleagues, which is why we were notified because a significant amount of blood was found next to it."

Olivia nodded, looking worriedly at the phone in her hand. You had the same case around your phone, she had given it to you as a small gift. She turned it around so the screen was facing her and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the scratch on it. The brunette had almost caused the same one on your phone when she saved you from a bullet a couple months ago.

She always wanted to have it repaired but you would not let her - it was a memory for you. "Liv, are you okay?" Finn asked worriedly, watching as the color suddenly drained from his best friend's face. She nodded in response, looking back from the evidence to the paving stone. A good amount of blood that was not easy to ignore. "Yeah, it is just.."

The tough woman could not finish the sentence right away. The screen turned on on its own, showing a reminder notification on the display. Underneath you could clearly see two smiling faces smeared with light gray paint as a background image.

She recognized the image immediately. Olivia shot it herself when you were recoloring your bedroom together. Olivia swallowed hard, the phone shaking in her hands as she tried to suppress her rising panic. “It is y/n’s. It is her phone."

335 notes · View notes

visit-new-york · 9 months

Text

How many years did it take to build the Brooklyn Bridge?

The Brooklyn Bridge stands as an iconic symbol of New York City, connecting the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn over the East River. Its majestic towers and intricate cable patterns have captivated the imagination of millions, but behind its grandeur lies a tale of determination, innovation, and unwavering perseverance. The question of how many years it took to build the Brooklyn Bridge unravels a narrative that spans more than a decade, marking an extraordinary chapter in the history of civil engineering.

Planning and Design:

The conceptualization and planning of the Brooklyn Bridge date back to the mid-19th century. In 1867, John A. Roebling, a renowned German-born civil engineer, envisioned a bridge that would unite the rapidly growing cities of Brooklyn and New York. Tragically, Roebling passed away in 1869 due to injuries sustained during a ferry accident, leaving the ambitious project in the hands of his son, Washington Roebling.

Construction Commences:

Construction officially began in 1870 under the supervision of Washington Roebling, who faced numerous challenges, including the treacherous waters of the East River and the need to accommodate the busy maritime traffic of the time. The construction process involved sinking caissons—large wooden boxes filled with compressed air—into the riverbed to create foundations for the massive towers.

However, the conditions within the caissons proved perilous. Workers faced dangers such as decompression sickness, commonly known as "the bends," due to the rapid change in pressure. Despite these hazards, construction persevered, and the towers began to rise.

The Great Cable Debate:

One of the most critical aspects of the Brooklyn Bridge's construction was the installation of its cables. Washington Roebling opted for a novel design, employing steel cables in lieu of the more common iron chains. This decision sparked a heated debate within the engineering community.

Ultimately, Roebling's vision prevailed, and the steel cables were employed, showcasing the innovative spirit that characterized the project. The cables, meticulously woven and anchored to the towers, served as the backbone of the bridge, supporting its vast expanse.

Inauguration and Legacy:

After 13 years of construction, the Brooklyn Bridge finally opened to the public on May 24, 1883. It was an extraordinary achievement, not only for its innovative design but also for the determination and resilience exhibited by those involved in its construction.

The Brooklyn Bridge quickly became a symbol of progress and connectivity, transforming the dynamics between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Its completion marked the longest suspension bridge in the world at the time and set new standards for engineering excellence.

Conclusion:

The question of how many years it took to build the Brooklyn Bridge unveils a remarkable tale of vision, dedication, and overcoming adversity. From the initial plans laid by John A. Roebling to the final completion under the stewardship of his son, Washington Roebling, the bridge stands as a testament to human ingenuity and the enduring spirit of those who dared to dream big. Today, as the Brooklyn Bridge continues to stand tall against the Manhattan skyline, it serves as a reminder of the extraordinary feats that can be accomplished through perseverance and innovation.

209 notes · View notes

tagthescullion · 6 months

Text

The Undead Diary of Luke Castellan

Fandom(s): Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Rating: T

Summary: It's not Luke's fault the Underworld is understaffed and some of its doors connecting with the living world are left unattended.

Words: 2929

AO3 link

I’d like to begin this story by saying this wasn’t my fault.

Not completely. Or well, not exactly.

The decision was mine, I guess. Except that it wasn’t a decision. More like an impulsive action that turned out to have big consequences.

But, in my defence —a line I’ve been using a lot these past few years, and, come to think of it, all of my life—, I was left unsupervised.

Let’s go back to the beginning.

I died.

Was it painful? Yes, very. Was it unfortunate? Many would disagree. Did I have it coming? I might have, yeah.

At any rate, my arrival in the Underworld had been most expected (by both the demigods alive and the ones whose deaths I’d had a hand in). All things considered, betrayal to the gods and my old camp-mates and whatnot, I hadn’t exactly hoped for a loving welcome committee.

If I’m honest, my judgement and the execution of my sentence were far less harsh than I probably deserved.

Hades himself was in charge of my fate, and to my utmost surprise, he vetoed the judges’ decision to let me burn in acid in the Fields of Punishment. Instead, he suggested I made myself useful, to account for all the destruction I’d brought.

“My domain has expanded exponentially in the past century,” Hades had said. “Daedalus has proved a worthy addition to my efforts to keep it organised efficiently, and you will follow his example if you’re smart.”

And for the past year I had done my job well enough to keep the Lord of the Dead content.

Daedalus was grateful for another pair of hands, so to speak, for I’m not entirely sure I really had hands, or if my spirit’s consciousness believed it hard enough to make it feel that way.

The old man was an incredible and astute engineer, but he had trouble controlling his workers. I, on the other hand, had no idea how to even build a bridge with legos, but I had lots of experience in the field of leading reluctant people, monsters, and even minor deities into battle, which meant organising souls into efficient work groups was a piece of cake. And so I did —carefully watched by one of Hades’ Furies, of course—.

At the beginning, I didn’t see any fellow demigods. Not any I knew, anyway. I was sure some of the souls working under me had been demigods in the past century.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have the time, Hades had given me Wednesdays off —I didn’t really know what day of the week it was, time is an elusive variant in the Underworld, but the Fury was kind enough to remind me—. I just didn’t have the courage to face my old acquaintances just yet.

I kept to the outskirts of Elysium. Souls don’t need to sleep, don't need to eat, don't need to do anything, truly. So I wandered around, looking remarkably like the souls who’d forgotten themselves after so many years.

One day, I was spotted by Lee Fletcher.

It felt like a dagger through my unbeating heart. Lee Fletcher had been my best friend and the second person I’d failed to convince to turn to Kronos’ side. I was glad Lee hadn’t joined in the end, but I’d been shattered when I learned of his demise in Zeus’ Fist at camp.

Lee didn’t look particularly surprised, though.

“I was hoping you’d show your face around eventually,” he’d said. “You deserve a punch in the face and a friend to listen to an explanation.”

I had then offered my old friend a crooked smile. “That’s why I didn’t come round.”

Lee walked with me for a while in silence. I didn’t feel like explaining, and I suppose Lee didn’t feel like forgiving just yet.

After a couple of weeks, it became our Wednesday routine. Lee dared to speak before I did. He told me of what he knew of our respective siblings, and what he knew of everybody else, really. Demigods died and brought news even after the Battle of Manhattan. Obviously, a lot less frequently, but demigod life wasn’t easy in peace times either.

At some point, Lee managed to convince me to meet Silena.

I assumed if anybody was also wary of our former friends it was her. She’d been a marvellous informant, but that had also made her an incredible traitor.

There was a fraction of a second of tense silence when we stood face to face. Then Silena bursted out into sobs and hugged me tight.

“We fucked up,” she cried. “We fucked up, we fucked up…”

I agreed, of course. Gods, we’d fucked up big time.

Slowly, Lee threw more people my way.

Traitors at first, all of them filled with guilt and remorse. I imagine if they weren’t, they would’ve been burning in the Fields of Punishment with the acid the judges had wanted for me.

Then, there’d been a couple of kids who’d never joined my side. They were reluctant, I knew, but they clearly respected Lee enough to go along with him.

Eventually, I got used to the nasty glares, but, more surprisingly, I started getting comments around the lines of, ‘Something had to be done, though’, ‘They really don’t care much about us, do they?’.

Through Lee’s diplomacy and my visible humility and apologetic behaviour —which wasn’t natural to me, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to start defending myself—, my old friends appeared on my Wednesday walks without being coerced. And I even stopped dreading those meetings so much.

That was until spirits started disappearing.

It was rather chaotic at first. There was fear around, which wasn’t common in Elysium.

But then the fear turned into hope. They didn’t disappear. Rumours said they were going back to life.

My inner curiosity got the best of me, as it always did.

One Wednesday, I led Lee and Silena to Melinoe’s cave. She wasn’t home, which made me wonder whether she was in her father’s castle or just roaming around, scaring the shit out of innocent mortals.

When Melinoe wasn’t in her cave, there was always Thanatos, I knew, making sure nobody snooped around like we were doing. Thanatos was a rather strict fellow, and a very good ally to Hades.

In retrospect, it was easy to see he hadn’t been seen around in a long while. But then again, it’s easier to notice those things in hindsight. Time, as I said before, is hard to keep pace of in the Underworld.

“I don’t like this,” Lee said. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Worst case scenario, they’ll blame me.”

Lee smiled. That had been a thing even before I left camp. Whenever something fishy happened, Chiron was always quick to point at me rather than Apollo’s golden son.

“I’d rather they blamed nobody,” Silena said. “This place feels terrible, let’s go back.”

I stared at my friends. Didn’t they realise? Thanatos wasn’t here, neither was Melinoe, the Furies would need some time to catch us.

“It’s a way out, guys!”

“Out?” Lee’s expression turned uneasy. “Listen, Luke, we shouldn’t mess around with that idea.”

“It’s been done before,” I insisted. “Or almost.”

“I’m with Lee,” Silena said. “What’s happened, happened. We can’t leave. We can’t go back.”

“There’s nobody here!” I took another tentative step into the cave. I felt a pull, pushing me out into the open, but I went further in. “It feels… strange.”

I felt warm and cold at the same time. I hadn’t felt much since I’d died. My spirit had felt a trace of sensation, but it was muted. As if it was a memory rather than the real thing.

Could I possibly go out? Into the living world?

Over the past year I’d pushed down those feelings of incompleteness. There were still so many things I wanted to do. So many apologies. But two in particular. There were two people I’d have given anything to see.

And perhaps, if there was nobody to stop us, we might be able to leave!

“Luke, stop it!”

But Lee’s voice grew dimmer in my ears.

I could meet them again, my two girls. Explain, tell them how sorry I was.

The force pushing me back grew stronger with every step, but it was no match for my determination.

Step after step, the sensations enhanced in my chest. Cold and warmth, and even a hint of nausea. The ground sloped down, slowly at first, then steeper as I kept going.

Then I realised I could smell. It didn’t smell like a musty old cave, it was the smell of summer. Of hot wind and freshly cut grass.

It only made my resolve stronger.

It was pitch dark. The light from the entrance of the cave had been lost completely.

I went another step further. Then another step. And another step.

I took a deep breath. I could breathe. I was breathing!

Another step. Another step. Another step.

The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears. Loud, strong, quick. Deafening.

Another step. Another step. Another step.

The force pushing me back was so strong now, that I almost tripped. But I regained balance and managed to keep going.

Another step… Another step… Another step…

Then the ground disappeared.

And I fell.

-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z

My first sensation when I woke up was warmth in my face.

A memory stirred in my mind. The smell of ripe strawberries, the laughter of children free for the summer holidays, the rhythmic sound of waves, a towel under my body, and the warmth of the sun hitting my exposed skin.

It was the sun. The sun! I was feeling the sun on my skin!

Then the feeling disappeared, and the brightness I could see through my closed eyelids banished.

A soft hand patted my cheek carefully.

“Hello?” Said a woman’s voice. “Young man?”

I opened my eyes slowly. Outlined by a halo of sunlight the face of a pretty woman of about thirty hovered around a metre away from me.

I tried to speak but my throat felt like sandpaper.

“It’s okay,” she said. Her voice held a trace of an accent. “It takes a while to get used to being back.”

Back.

In spite of the burning feeling in my throat, my face split into a grin.

“Back,” I rasped. “I’m back.”

The woman helped me sit up.

I studied her properly now. Her skirt, blouse, and sweater looked old-fashioned. Her hair was loose, but it curled in that style I’d seen in a thousand WWII movies. She had a warm smile and a clever look.

“I’m Luke,” I said, offering her a hand. “My name’s Luke Castellan.”

“Maria,” she replied.

She looked at my hand and shook it after a second of hesitation.

“I keep forgetting Americans shake hands. So impersonal,” she stated with a raised eyebrow. Her tone was teasing though.

“Are you—” I caught myself. “Were you dead too?”

“Right to the point, yes?” She smiled. “Yes, I was dead. I have been for a while. But now I’m here, and I need to find my son.”

“Your son?” I was surprised.

My perception of ‘mother’ isn’t the best, but this woman didn’t look like a mom to me. She looked like an old time movie star, those that always had perfect make-up, in the black-and-white photos I’d seen in the cinema close to my place in Connecticut.

“Yes,” she said. “My little boy. He should be an old man by now, I would have expected.”

“But he isn’t?” I wondered.

She shook her head, anger and sorrow transformed her expression.

“My daughter passed away,” she told me. “Not too long ago. She should have been old, but she was still a girl.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I looked down, and when I spoke it was full of bitterness. “Children’s lives should never be at risk.”

And despite what many may think, I do believe that kids shouldn’t be put in the line of fire.

Maria nodded, swallowed, and composed herself so fast I felt a little thread of envy. If only I could’ve put up a cheerful façade that quickly…

“You don’t look old enough to die either,” she decided, giving me a once over.

“I think I deserved it,” I admitted. ‘It was my choice’ sounded a bit too harsh. “Besides, I’m 23, that’s better than dying as a child.”

Maria huffed. “23 is still so young.”

“As opposed to…?” I asked.

She seemed horrified by my audacity.

“A lady doesn’t ask nor answer that question,” she said firmly. “And neither should a gentleman.”

I shrugged. She sounded fancy. I guessed in whichever time she came from, old-money people stuck to those ridiculous social rules.

“What do you know of your son?” I wondered. “Do you know where we can find him? Hell, do you know where we are?”

I scanned my surroundings. My eyes were unused to the sun, which made me squint a bit.

It looked like a meadow. The land was flat, not a hill on sight. The grass was green and soft under me, and far to my right, there was a big house.

“Italy,” she said. “Veneto.”

Holy shit.

“A bit far from where I expected to be,” I said.

“The Underworld has many exits,” Maria told me.

My muscles tensed. I had assumed she was a lost mortal, who had followed the path out of the afterlife by accident, but mortals in Italy wouldn’t be likely to call the Underworld by that name. Nor, I guess, would they be likely to have children who were supposed to be old but looked young.

“Oh, I know about all of this,” she smiled. “My children are— were, like you. Demigods. I’m… what’s that term he used? Clear sighted?”

I nodded.

Italian demigods. Did I know Italian demigods? Probably a fair few, but I wasn’t sure if any of the ones I’d met were from Veneto.

And she said she had died ages ago. Whoever her children were they would have been taken out of time.

It rang a bell in my memory, but my mind wasn’t clear enough yet for me to recall properly. Not to mention I’d known dozens of demigods who had bizarre stories.

Thalia was a tree for a while, she’d looked younger than she should have been that time she pushed me off that cliff.

Annabeth and her little gang had been in that Casino thing in Vegas, that had messed up time for them, too.

And the Sea of Monsters, there were a lot of islands there where children could have been stuck in time for decades.

“Are your—,” I hesitated. “Did your children ever get to camp? Camp Half-Blood, in New York?”

Maria’s expression turned dubious. “I think so. Bianca didn’t explain much, she didn’t stay long. But I reckon wherever my boy is, it’s in America. That’s the last place I saw them.”

That’s where she had died then.

“Then camp’s our best bet,” I said. “He’s alive, he’s likely to have at least crossed paths with somebody from there.”

She nodded.

She turned and pointed at the house in the distance. “That’s my family’s home. You can stay there for a bit. To rest.”

She stood and offered a hand for me to get up too.

“I— Yeah, thanks,” I said. I felt weak. I’d just come back to life. She was right to say it took some adjustment. I wondered how long she’d been back. “I could use a place to sit for a bit.”

In exchange, I could help her find camp and her son. Assuming the kid was still alive, that was. I wouldn’t go to camp myself. I’d be stoned the moment I set a foot in there. But leading Maria there was the least I could do after she’d been so kind to me.

I just hoped her son wasn’t somebody I knew. That could make things awkward.

We walked for a bit in silence. As we got closer, the house grew bigger and bigger. ‘House’ was an understatement, I thought. The place was huge.

Balconies, huge floor to ceiling windows, at least four storeys tall. It had a path that led to the main entrance lined with orchard trees, and off to the side there was a less pretentious dirt path that I assumed went to the servant’s entrance.

“I’m sorry,” I said, before I could stop myself, pointing at the immense building in front of us. “But did your family own Italy?”

Maria gave me a funny look. “It’s not such an ostentatious place.”

Perhaps if you are related to the Windsor family, then Maria’s family’s house isn’t ostentatious. If, like me, you come from the US suburbs, then it’s something taken right out of Downton fucking Abbey.

“My father was a marquess,” she explained, when she caught my cynical expression. “Sua grazia, il Signor di Angelo, and all the paraphernalia it came with. The house is all right, but we weren’t…”

But I had stopped listening.

Di Angelo. I did remember that name. Di Angelo was that little kid who’d popped out of nowhere with an army of undead soldiers and his godly father on toe.

But not even I couldn’t be that unlucky.

“What’s your son’s name?” I asked, as casually as I could.

“Niccolò,” she said with a proud smile. “But everybody always called him Nico.”

Nico. Nico di Angelo.

Well, fuck. To nobody’s surprise, I could be that unlucky.

#luke castellan #maria di angelo #lee fletcher #silena beauregard #hades pjo #nico di angelo #pjo #riordanverse #hoo #mis fics #tagthescullion #undead diary

107 notes · View notes

oldnewyorklandia · 2 years

Photo

Eliot Elisofon. Ladders Under Manhattan Bridge, 1938.

#Eliot Elisofon #photography #New York City #New York #30's

634 notes · View notes

luvendiary · 1 year

Text

Spoils of War

Percy Jackson x Hecate!Reader

a/n: i think this is my longest work so far. honestly, I even forgot I had this in my drafts. i hope you like it, and as always let me know what you think.

summary: percy is not as willing as you to make certain sacrifices.

Manhattan was burning and you were in the middle of it. Even though the entire city was under a sleeping spell, the streets had never been louder and rowdier. The magic that covered the whole island was palpable, as the Titans made no effort to hide it. The gods were also putting in their fair share of magic in order to help their children to defeat the Titans. Your mother, for example, seemed to have sent a message to the mortals on the outsides of Manhattan, since no one appeared to be entering the city.

You were currently fighting side by side with Percy and the Hermes cabin on the Manhattan Bridge. Your stamina was getting low now, however, you didn’t allow yourself to stop even if your lungs were pleading you to, and your limbs were aching to the point that you felt they were going to fall off.

You heard Percy grunting behind you, and you turned to face him as he was fighting off several Empousai. You raised your silver sword and helped him fight them off, not without one of them oh so kindly giving you a big slash across your stomach which caused you to hiss in pain.

Percy turned to you once he had finished with his share of the Empousai and his worried gaze traveled your body as he checked to make sure you were okay…well, as okay as you can be in a situation like this.

“I’m fine,” you said between a painful hiss as you glanced down at your now maroon shirt. “It was shallow.”

Percy nodded, admittedly still worried, but he knew he couldn’t exactly do anything to help you right now. His eyes suddenly froze in fear, and you looked up to see that he was not looking at you, but rather something behind you. As you were about to ask what’s wrong he shoved you out of the way and raised his sword.

You immediately tumbled to the ground and your eyes snapped towards Percy, but instead of seeing him in action he was frozen in place, his sword still mid-swing and still in a running position. You came to the sudden realization that the Brooklyn Bridge had gone awfully quiet, and as you looked around, the entirety of the Hermes cabin was frozen in time, just like Percy.

“My dear Y/N, it’s nice to see you again.”

You tensed at the sound of the voice. Your hairs stood on their and and a lump formed in your throat.

“Of course, I would have loved for it to be under different circumstances. But that’s alright, I’ll take what I can get,” Luke -or rather Kronos- said as he walked towards you with a nonchalant attitude, swinging his sword around as if he was back at camp teaching the younger campers some new tricks.

You remained silent, partially because of the paralysing fear you felt as he approached you, as well as the fact that you didn’t know what you were supposed to say. Would Luke hear you? Was there anything left of him down there? Or was it just Kronos now?

“Oh come on, I now you, you were never the type to stay quiet. Talk to me darling.” His sweet tone made you feel sick to your stomach, as if he didn’t care for all the suffering that he has caused, as if he didn’t see his brothers and sisters frozen in time, fighting for their lives. All because of him.

“You don’t know shit about me,” you replied as you glared daggers at him, bitterness laced your voice.

He let out a humorous huff as his golden eye seemed to pierce into you for a second before his attention moved to Percy. “I can’t believe you chose him…” he said with disdain as he inspected his sword.

You couldn’t believe him. How could he think you were the one in the wrong here? Had Kronos really corrupted his mind that much? “I chose him? Luke, you chose Kronos!”

He looked at the ground and grinned before looking up at you. “It needed to be done Y/N. I did it for us! For you!” He said in voice that may have sounded comforting in any other situation, his smile spreading wickedly across his face, making you cower in your stance.

“I never wanted this! This is not right!” you yelled. “Don’t blame this on me, you betrayed us! You betrayed me!”

His mad calmness unsettled you, your rage seemed to do nothing to move him or even provoke a reaction, instead he tilted his head backwards, as if this was a boring conversation for him. As if he had had this conversation a million times before and what you’re saying is just pure nonsense. With a sigh he lowered his head once again and stared at you blankly, “I loved you, you know? I would've torn the earth apart for you."

Your breath hitched. The truth was, you had also loved Luke, a part of you still did. He was your first friend, and he was your fist crush. He was the first thing that came to mind whenever you thought of comfort when you were younger, and you couldn’t tell were everything had gone wrong.

“This is not love Luke…” you said as you lowered your sword. “Look around you, these are your brothers and sisters you’re fighting agains. We’re just kids, we’re not supposed to be at war.”

“I loved you,” he repeated again, his tone deadly calm, seemingly disregarding what you just had said “but you chose him!”

You carefully took a small step towards Percy, in fear that Kronos might do something.

He raised his sword and aimed it at Percy’s throat. “You chose him, so now I’ll tear the world apart. And I’ll give you one last choice, you either come with me, or I’ll make sure to get rid of him right here,” his tone was sharp, and the bitterness in it was palpable.

“Luke…please.”

“Choose Y/N,” he said with a wicked smile. “Although I suppose we do have time on our side.”

You clenched your fist and bit down on your lip. You wanted to scream and cry. You couldn’t believe this is what it had all come down to. You softened the hold on your sword and allowed it to fall to the ground without much grace.

“I’ll come with you,” you said, anger lacing your voice. “Now lower your sword.”

He laughed softly, seemingly amused by your fierceness, but he obeyed nonetheless. “It wasn’t that hard now, was it?”

“Unfreeze them Luke,” you said simply.

“I guess I can do that now. Just remember that if you try to make any clever move, I can just do this all again. I have the advantage here Y/N, you better remember that.”

Your jaw clenched and your breath became heavier, you couldn’t believe this was happening, never in a million years you thought that the prophecy would eventually lead to you fighting who used to be your best friend. You watched as with a wave of his hand the battle resumed, although not really. As soon as everyone was back, silence overtook the Manhattan Bridge once again. You heard Percy groan and growl with rage as he attacked Luke, the blonde didn’t even flinch and just moved as he dodged his attack.

“Percy!” you yelled, you tried to put up a strong front at least for him and your fellow campers.

Percy halted and looked at you pleadingly, “You can’t- I won’t let you.”

You offered him a sad smile as you approached him, however Luke cleared his throat. You looked back at him and with anger in your eyes said, “Just a minute, I’ve already given you what you want. Let me say goodbye.”

Without waiting for his permission, you went to hug Percy and tried with all your might to hold back your tears. You felt as he wrapped his arms around you, holding on as if you were to vanish any instance.

“Don’t go Y/N, we’ll find another way.”

“As long as you’re here, we have a chance,” you replied.

“Please don’t-”

“If you keeping your life means I have to sacrifice my freedom, I’ll do it,” you whispered as you tightened your grip on him before letting go.

Percy stared at you, worry plagued his eyes and you could see what seemed to be the hint of anger hidden behind his features. He searched your gaze, for any sort of message telling him that this was just a sick joke. That maybe he was just having a terrible nightmare and that Rachel had probably knocked him out with that blue hairbrush of hers. But he found nothing.

You just smiled one last time as you looked at him, your eyes glistened because of the tears that wanted to escape them, but you didn’t allow them to. You stepped away from Percy then, and you felt as Luke placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip was hard and his fingers dug into your skin.

A slight tinge of comfort made its way through your body as you saw how Connor placed his hand on Percy’s shoulder and the rest of the Hermes cabin stood behind him. Anger sadness and frustration was all reflected in their eyes as they stared Luke down.

“Thanks to our brave Y/N, and her oh so brilliant sacrifice,” Luke snarled. “I will tell my troops to retreat until midnight. And don’t confuse my kindness as sympathy to the gods, I’m just merely giving you time to re-evaluate your choices, or exchange goodbyes perhaps. You choose.”

Silence reigned. The air was tense with conflicting feelings.

“Goodbye Luke,” a voice said amongst the crowd. It was Connor, his usually carefree attitude long gone.

Luke glanced at him and laughed softly, “Goodbye, bother.”

And just like that, he turned around, dragging you with him. An army of giants and titans followed suit.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Luke was weak. Using his power to stop the battle had drained them. So while he was resting, you sat on the edge of an ambulance as Ethan Nakamura took care of your wounds.

Ethan sighed as he finished wrapping the bandages around your torso, “I know you really don’t want to hear anything from me right now, but it’s good to see you Y/N.”

You raised your eyebrows in a dismissing way and gave him a little hum of acknowledgement.

“I understand you’re mad, but he’s trying to do something good.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes in frustration, “How the fuck is any of this good Ethan?! You guys are all absolutely deranged here!”

“The gods don’t give a shit about us.”

“And you think titans will be any different? They’re using you!”

“Y/N/N-”

“Don’t call me that.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you. He looked to the floor with a heavy sigh before turning his back on you and walking away.

The world seemed to be submerged in calm chaos, a cold war waiting to explode. And as you sat in that ambulance by yourself, you allowed yourself to cry.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Percy walked into their base with a heavy aura of anger pulsating through him. Your sisters immediately looked up as they felt him walking into the building, Lou Ellen sensing what had happened as she saw the boy’s aura, and you nowhere to be found.

He intended to walk undisturbed up to the roof to at least clear his head, however as he was walking the lobby of the building, Annabeth stepped in, worry plagued her features.

“Percy? What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it Annabeth,” he replied.

Annabeth didn’t need to be told, she was the daughter of wisdom herself after all, however disbelief spared no one. She saw Connor Stoll by the door and he just gave her a solemn nod. She was gone.

“Percy…I’m so sorry, I know what she meant to-”

Percy dropped his pen and his knees buckled, however Annabeth caught him in time and held him close. She carefully slid them both onto the floor and allowed the son of Poseidon to cry. The sobs racked his body, and her shirt was starting to get wet. A few tears made their way out of her own eyes and she buried her head on his shoulders. Y/N was family to Annabeth, she had been the one to never underestimate her, she had been her best friend as soon as they had find her with Luke and Thalia, she had been the one she could turn to whenever she missed Thalia a little too much.

Silence filled the lobby, amongst the chaos the demigods had seemed to find a small pocket of time to honor their fallen brothers and sisters.

“She’s not gone,” Annabeth heard a voice speak up. “She’s not dead.” It was Lou Ellen, another daughter of Hecate. Her eyes were tinted red since she had just recently been mourning the loss of one of her sisters. The daughters of Hecate seemed to agree.

Percy raised his head from Annabeth’s shoulders.

“We can feel it, whenever our magic disappears. Hers is weak, but it’s still there.”

“Kronos took her Lou,” Percy spoke up. “She went willingly, to protect me.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Didn’t you hear me? She was taken because of me!” Percy said coldly.

“And I said it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it is Lou!”

“It’s not, you stubborn fish-head!” Lou said, raising her voice.

“She knew Kronos was going to try something. It was either going to be her, Annabeth or Thalia,” another one of your sisters said. “She said her goodbyes to us beforehand, just in case.”

“Why didn’t she say anything?” Annabeth asked.

“She made sure it was her, she thought she would be more useful that way. With all of you fighting,” Lou Ellen explained. “We tried to stop her, but she had already taunted Luke. He was going to find her wherever she was.”

Percy stood up, “We have to get her back. She’s smart, she knew he was not going to harm her, did she?” Lou Ellen nodded, as Percy retrieved Riptide.

“Kronos said he would retreat his troops until midnight, that gives us time to regroup and make a plan,” Percy said.

Annabeth stood up next to him and whipped her tears away, “I’ll get to Thalia and the hunters, tell them what’s going on, they can spread the word.”

“No need to,” another voice said from the entrance. It was Thalia, the dark-haired girl strutted in the lobby with the rest of he hunters, she was bloodied and bruised, her shield had not been drawn back yet. “We supposed something had happened when the cyclops we were fighting just turned their backs on us and walked away.”

“Luke took Y/N,” Annabeth said. Thalia’s eyes went wide.

“Maybe we could try and send her and Iris message,” one of the Hermes campers said.

“The Iris children are not anywhere nearby, and we can’t possibly make a rainbow at this time of night,” Annabeth explained.

“We should rest,” said Lou Ellen. They all turned to look at her as if she were crazy, however she was quick to explain. “She knew this would happen, and she wanted us to focus on the battle. If not her sacrifice would be in vain, I’m sure she’ll find her way to us, she is resourceful.”

Percy said nothing as he stared at your sister, he knew she was right, but he couldn’t just ignore the fact that you were taken, he wanted to know you were safe. He clenched his jaw and walked into the elevator before making his way up to the roof.

He was going to get you back, even if the world burned down and he burned along with it.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Manhattan was on fire. The stroke of midnight appeared to add gasoline to an already raging flame.

You watched with horror as all kinds of monsters prepared themselves to bring war to the people you loved.

Kronos stood next to you, a confident smile on his face. He looked ahead, admiring his army, he then turned to look at you and offered you the same smile. You glared at him, hoping that everything you were feeling was somehow transmitted to him.

“Don’t worry dear, you wont miss out. You will make yourself useful,” the blonde said.

“Over my dead body,” you replied.

He chuckled, and shook his head.

“Is this amusing to you?”

“Very much,” he said. “I’m afraid you don’t have an option here, Y/N. Dolos agreed to make sure of it,” Luke explained. His grin grew as realization dawned on you. You shook your head and tried taking a step backward, but two strong arms stopped you. Dolos was the titan of manipulation and mind control, meaning that your free will was about to be stripped away.

“Let me go!” you shrieked, as you trashed in the arms of whoever it was holding you.

“Don’t resist, it will be less painful,” the person pinning you down whispered. You gasped as you heard it, the voice belonged to Ethan Nakamura. Desperation settled in and you started kicking and screaming, tears violently flowed down your cheeks.

“Take care of her Nakamura,” Luke said.

And before you know it, something along the lines of “I’m sorry,” was whispered in your ear before you felt a sharp pain on your head, followed by darkness.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The battle had started, despite their opportunity to regroup and the new plans that had been put into motion, the demigods were tired. True, they seemed to have an advantage over the titans, as their spirit was fueled with rage and a hunger for revenge. They honored every fallen sibling and friend with every arrow fired and every swing of their swords and daggers.

Percy had the Empire State building in his line of sight. Annabeth, Thalia and Chiron stood next to him. However, before he could take another step a deafening blast was thrown their way, throwing Chiron to the side of a building, the wall collapsing on top of him. Annabeth and Thalia immediately went to help him, while Percy drew his sword. From the cloud of dust, a figure emerged, it was none other than Kronos.

“Luke!” Annabeth growled, her voice filled with rage. She took out her dagger and launched on to Luke, however his skin was apparently immune to it, since as soon as her knife touched it it bounced right off, dislocating her already injured shoulder.

Percy rushed to help Annabeth up, and supported her by putting her arm around his shoulder.

“Don’t be rash, Annie,” Luke said with humor.

“Go to hell!” she said.

“I’ve just returned, do you want to send me back already?”

Thalia stood up as soon as Chiron was free. He had been knocked out, but there was no major injury present. “Where is she Luke?” she asked coldly.

Luke appeared to be amused, this was just one big game to him, “Thalia! It’s great to see you again. I’m afraid though, that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sick son of a bitch, tell me where Y/N is right now,” she repeated.

“You don’t need to scream Thals, she heard you just fine.”

The three demigods face contorted to reflect the confusion they were feeling. You were here?

“You can come out now Y/N/N,” Kronos said as he looked to his side.

Amongst all of the chaos, a set of footsteps could be heard, and sure enough you could be seen joining Kronos’ side. Your eyes, instead of their usual color where glazed over with a white mist, and you seemed to have a vacant expression.

“Wha-? Y-Y/N-?” Annabeth said, she was convinced the pain in her arms was making her hallucinate.

“She’s been so helpful, not a word out of her,” he said with a small laugh, as if he was sharing an inside joke with you.

Percy was in disbelief, he ached to go to you and make sure you were as far away as possible as the blond maniac. On the other hand he was completely and utterly confused, what were you doing? He must’ve find a way to bribe you, right?

Something in Annabeth’s head seemed to click, “Oh my gods, Percy, she’s being controlled. It’s Dolos, he is in her head!”

“What the fuck is a dollop?!” Percy screamed, slightly panicked.

Luke moved his hand in a motion that pointed towards them, immediately your hand light up with your magic and you started advancing towards them.

“Percy! Run!” the blonde yelled as she started to step backwards.

Percy turned and started running down 305 Fifth Avenue as you tracked him down, your blank eys now glowing red. In a split moment, he turned to 33rd street in hopes that you would follow him instead of Annabeth and Thalia. It seemed to work, since not a moment later your figure appeared.

“Y/N! I really don’t want to hurt you!’ he screamed from mid-street.

You said nothing, instead your lips contorted into and unnatural smile. Your hand moved as the concentration of magic on it grew, and before he knew it, you threw it at him. Percy dodged it, as he threw himself to the ground and rolled away.

You fired attack after attack, leaving Percy breathless. He knew Luke was getting away, he knew that by know he was already inside the Empire State Building, and he knew he had to do something to get past you. What he didn’t know was how. he couldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t.

His pleas fell on deaf ears, as you slowly approached him, still nor ceasing to attack. He frantically looked around, looking for something -anything- that might help him escape. As you were about to deliver, what appeared to be your final blow, a hand shot out of the darkness, holding on to your wrist tightly, making your eyes snap to whatever was holding you back from ending your best friend.

Nico DiAngelo stepped out of the shadows, Mrs. O’Leary following suit. In a flash, he took out a black-obsidian sword and with it’s hilt stroke you in the head, making your eyes roll to the back of your head and going limp. Percy scrambled to catch you, which he successfully did as he propped your head onto his lap.

“You should get going,” Nico said.

Percy knew he was right, despite him wanting to stay and make sure you were alright.

“Mrs. O’Leary and I will take care of her,” Nico said as if reading his mind.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

When you woke up, the familiar scent of herbs and incense woke you up. You were back at camp, in your cabin. A mild headache was nagging you, and your body felt sore to no avail. You groaned softly as you sat up, rubbing your eyes, getting them accustomed to the light.

The door suddenly opened, and Will Solace walked in, he didn’t appear to notice you at first since he was looking down at a clipboard.

“H-How long?” you mumbled.

Will’s head snapped up, his golden curl catching the sun beaming from the outside. He looked like a true child of Apollo. His eyes widened in disbelief as he rushed towards you.

“Oh gods,” he stuttered as he took a look at you. “You’re awake!” he said with a breath of disbelief.

“You’re screaming,” you said as you massaged your temple.

He took out a small flashlight and inspected your eyes, “I’m barely raising my voice, he would barge in if he heard the slightest commotion. But don’t worry, I suppose it’s normal.”

“How long was I out?” you asked once again.

“About three days,” he replied, checking on the bandages wrapped around your body. “Here, eat this,” he said as he shoved an ambrosia square down your throat. “We’ve had to heal them without any nectar or ambrosia, we were afraid your body was too weak to properly digest them.”

You choked, and your eyes went wide. “Th-three days?!”

“Percy made the gods promise that you were going to be alright, and your mother forced them to promise that it would take at most a week, but I guess they were feeling extra kind,” Will explained. “He almost lost it when Zeus talked about your sacrifice, as Dolos’ victims or whatver. They don’t really live to tell the tale. He rejected the offer to immortality and so…here you are.”

Your head was spinning. You had won the war. You had lost sisters. Kronos was gone. Luke was gone. Perseus Jackson had done it. Perseus Jackson, had rejected immortality for you.

It was all a mixture of bittersweet happiness and grief, and despite still not being on your full senses, you could feel it.

“W-Will. I-I…” you could barely get out coherent sentences as you stood up from your bed in a slight stupor. “I really need to go”.

“No, wait, you’re still weak!” he called out for you as you were halfway to the door. You ignored him as you bolted through the door. The light from the sun disoriented you slightly, but you wouldn’t stop, not until you found him.

Your feet instinctively took you to the north woods, were you were sure he might be. Sure enough, the black-haired boy stood there, next to the river in which he had been claimed. Riptide was out in full display, as he trained. His groans of frustration could be heard, as you approached him slowly. You could see him sigh in defeat after he lowered his sword and ran a hand through his hair.

“Percy?” you whispered softly.

His figure stiffened, and he dared not to turn around.

“Percy?” you repeated.

He slowly turned around, and his features showed fear and disbelief. He feared his mind was playing tricks on him again, that you would turn around and that you wouldn’t be there. But you were, and that was enough for him. He dropped his sword and just stared at you. You could see the tears that were threatening to spill over. You took a small step forward, and that was all he needed to meet you halfway. His arms wrapped aroud your frame as he took you in.

Your mind was going at a thousand miles per hour.

“I missed your birthday,” you whispered. It was the only thing that you thought of, despite it sounding ridiculous to you.

He chuckled tearily, “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me,” he whispered back. He dug his head in your hair, taking in your scent, and basking in the fact that you were actually there.

For the first time in a long while, you felt safe again.

#percy jackson x reader #percy fic #percy x reader #percy jackson #perseus jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #annabeth chase #annabeth

642 notes · View notes

tiredtxmblrvet · 2 months

Text

Fic Rec Friday #4

If y'all want more fic rec fridays, check out @mediumgayitalian

Below are 5 fics I've enjoyed this past week/recently.

(guess who learned how to indent on posts!)

oh, what a sin by @rosyredlipstick

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194697

Summary:

For some reason, Nico thought convincing Fitzwilliam Emerson "Golden Boy" Solace to abandon his hosting duties, blow off his company’s gala entirely, and run off with him into the night would be much harder. Well, that’s what Jason gets for trying to force Nico into attending a party.

We're back with another Rosy fic! This is an awesome one-shot where Will and Nico are both rich little shits and sneak away from their big-shot families. I'd read an entire series of this! The way Nico and Will's chemistry shines in this one-shot is incredible. Plus the family relations of Nico's family is just *chef's kiss*.

talk your talk and go viral (i just need this love spiral) by wrongcaitlyn

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46368430

Summary:

“Keep telling yourself that,” Will says quietly, because even though the door is closed, speaking any louder would seem wrong. “You’re too harsh on yourself. If you wrote songs or something, you’d easily get on the Billboard Hot 100. Dad would help you. I would, too.” “Promote it to your seven followers?” “Yes!” Nico laughs, and then Will is joining him, and they’re closer than before, but it’s nothing unusual. It’s been this way since before stupid feelings and stupid crushes, and Nico would be damned if he let it change just because of that. or a celebrity au ft. childhood friends to lovers, a bit of trauma, and a famous friend group (plus leo).

I'm still in the beginning stages of reading this story, but I'm already obsessed with it! The author's writing style is interesting, and I just love a good celebrity AU.

we're not brave, we're not soldiers by Chriscrosswallflower

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39827199

Summary:

The battle of Manhattan was mostly a blood stained blur but Will would never forget the sight of his brother’s body falling along with that bridge. __ Follow along with this set of one shots as Percy and Will navigate the pain and trauma of being child soldiers and grow to form an unlikely friendship. Because I think these two could be great friends and two sides of the same coin, so I decided to put my plot bunnies to paper.

I just really love the way Percy and Will are portrayed in this collection of one-shots. Their trauma and emotions feel so raw and so well-written, and I'm personally a Will and Percy besties truther, so I honestly would have loved this fic anyways. The fact that it's so awesome is a bonus.

The Sum of Our Choices: The Titan's Curse by TheTimeTraveler24

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24637117

Summary:

Maybe it's not always about trying to fix something broken. Maybe it's about starting over and creating something better. A group of special individuals are drawn together for a reason. They might not see it yet, but they are the only ones who have the power to change their destiny. They'll face opposition from the gods along the way and sometimes things won't work out the way they want. But this group is special. Their choices just might be the key to everything. Something is happening. Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, and Thalia Grace are on their way to Westover Hall in response to a distress call from Grover Underwood. At the same time, Magnus Chase is wandering around in the woods. Under strange circumstances, the two groups meet and the course of history will never be the same.

This fic is actually a crossover AU with the Magnus Chase series, so if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to skip. However, this fic is a time travel "fix-it" fic of sorts where the trio are taken from their lives post the Hidden Oracle and have to relieve the events of the The Titan's Curse (and the rest of the series, this series is 800k words!) and I'm still on the first fic, but I am HOOKED already! So I figured I'd rec it here.

three-in-one soap by thelordofshrimp

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52887397

Summary:

Austin glared at his sister. “Will can’t lie, genius. He says that since he became head counselor, any shower that lasts more than three minutes gets interrupted by someone needing his help.” “That’s… crazy.” Nico considered the number of showers he’d taken even in his short time at camp and imagined if even half of them had been interrupted. “It is,” Jerry agreed. “Not like there’s much we can do about it, though.” “You can always do something about it.” Nico sat up. “There has to be something.” “Not unless you can somehow keep the whole camp safe at once.”

This is just a cute one-shot where Nico tries to make it so that Will can actually take a shower for once, but shenanigans ensue anyways. It made me smile, so I'm rec'ing it here.

Okay that's all! I'll probably keep doing this until I run out of fics to recommend. Have a good friday lovelies!

#percy jackson #pjo #solangelo #nico di angelo #percy jackon and the olympians #will solace #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #fic rec #solangelo fic rec #percy jackson and the olympians #magnus chase

42 notes · View notes

1nm806 · 7 months

Text

jack talks about That Scene again and no one is shocked

I feel like Spot is quick to anger (obviously) but he's not irrational with his anger. He's snappy and brash but he's not going to ACTUALLY beat you up for no reason. He has a plan and it's normally to intimidate until the other person backs down. If his goal is to pick a fight then he goes into the interaction differently, but he very rarely gets into actual fights in an uncontrolled rage. And sure, this leads people to think that maybe he's all talk, but there are definitely stories of him fighting and winning, so that sort of talk tends to get squashed.

I think he only gets into controlled fights, things like fights over the leadership of Brooklyn, or the strike, that sort of thing. He talks about throwing his friends off the bridge, and offhandedly threatens people with a soaking, but he tends to not follow through unless it escalates to that point.

All this is to say. No one's really seen him lose his cool. He's even joking around a little during the strike, he's so confident that he seems to just have it under control. So when he's desperately trying to calm people down when Jack's standing in front of the union dressed in the clothes picked out by Pulitzer, no one's really expecting much. A loud threat or two, as he keeps Race and Hotshot calm, sure, but not for him to get everyone silent and to then turn heel to face Jack and just scream himself hoarse. He just lunges straight for him and half the newsies immediately grapple him and frantically try to simultaneously calm him down and keep him AWAY from the guy he seems to be trying to actually kill. Spot's screaming and yelling about Jack being a traitor and it's set all the newsies off again, the littles are crying in anger and fear, the older Manhattan newsies have seemingly been given the go ahead to start yelling as well, and all the Brooklyn lot are (obviously) ALSO absolutely livid.

And, yeah, they quiet down soon enough, with Spot being held tightly at the back of the group like some sort of hostage, and Davey's speaking to Jack and telling him that even he's feeling betrayed. But even after they disperse, everyone starts treating Spot like glass, because Jesus Christ NO ONE knows what to do in that situation. And he HATES it for sure, so off he goes, back to Brooklyn, furious at both Jack for scabbing, the Manhattan newsies for changing their treatment of him and himself for getting that emotional.

This ALSO works well with my post about Spot getting REALLY overstimulated in that scene because that has him on the floor sobbing, unable to speak or feel any sensations at all. Yeah. All in all the only people that don't treat him differently afterwards are Davey (because Davey gets it, he understands what it's like to deal with that - autistic Davey for REAL) and Race (because they're best (boy)friends, nothing would change that, no matter what).

#i never reread things like this #so i hope this makes sense #ough The Scene... ill always just repeat my words but ill never stop talking about it #jack's hawkin the headlines !!#newsies #92sies #spot conlon #newsies headcanon #spot conlon headcanon

59 notes · View notes

vintagehellfire · 9 months

Text

All For Show | E.M

musician!Eddie x showgirl!reader

Summary: 1955 New York City, where dreams come true. You get to dance and perform for crowds every night, bringing in good money for yourself and for daddy’s jazz club. The regulars love you, the women envy you, and the musicians are strictly banned from flirting with you (and the other dancers of course). This wasn’t a problem until your father up and coming musician Eddie Munson to perform at his jazz club. Eddie was the first man to catch your eye, and you the first performer to be worth his time, and your fathers wrath.

Warnings: implied female reader, mysoginy, eventual smut, swearing, no use of y/n, nudity, drugs, smoking, slow-burn, alcohol, anger issues, controlling father. 18+ only. mdni

Chapter I: People are Strange | 1.9k words

The rain pelted down on New York City in cold and unrelenting sheets, the traffic bustled, and one would even dare think that the torrential downpour couldn’t sour the mood of any New Yorker on this evening. Although that was far from the truth, the sheets of rain had no effect on those who frequented the jive clubs on 52nd. While traffic was relatively slow, and the constant whoosh of tires, tearing through deep puddles that littered the streets, could be heard, jazz enthusiasts gathered, flocked even, to the clubs along that stretch of road. Broadway by day, seedy little clubs by night, nothing would stop them nor the musicians.

Dancers would perform in the shoddier bars, singers would accompany jazz legends, crowds would eventually drink enough to let loose and grab their swing partners and bring a new life to the otherwise stuffy and humid rooms. The air would weigh heavy but the mood was light.

Dressing rooms filled up with smoke, cigarettes lined up in ashtrays like cars caught in a traffic jam on the Manhattan Bridge, and yours was no exception. Your cigarette lingered on the dark ashtray your fathers club provided, patting makeup onto your face, your hair in tight pin curls, waiting to be let down for the show. The pretty little number you were going to wear tonight was sure to turn some heads and you knew that it would make the club goers trajectory worthwhile with the downpour and all. Dinner and a show - at least that’s what your father would say, however not much dinner was being had by the time it was your turn to perform. You had a certain magic about you, enchanting the room, making them forget everything, from drug to drink and from drink to smoke.

You gave yourself a once over, heart hammering into your chest. You black robe bunched up in your lap, the satin keeping you cool in the sweltering humidity of the dressing room. Your eyeliner was defined and sharp, and you even added a small dash of brown eyeshadow under your eyes to create the illusion of sultry eyelashes à la Marilyn Monroe. All you were missing was your rouge.

“Are you almost ready, dollface?” You heard a familiar and deep voice call from beyond the door. Your father, the club owner, had managed to get you a spot in his reputable little joint. If you were to remember correctly his words were ‘Ain’t no way that my sweet doll is going to be cozying up in some sleazy beaknick club’, and so here you were, safe as can be and under the watchful eye of your father. He paid you generously and made sure that while you were whoring yourself out, as your mother liked to put it, you’d be safe. A man that was admittedly slightly ahead of his time, not by much, but it counted for something especially when you were made in the shade for the club.

“I’ll be right out, sir!” You called out through slightly pursed lips, applying a deep scarlet wax over them. You quickly let your hair down, brushing out your pin curls, giving you that movie star glamor that you adored. It added just that much more class to your performances. With a pucker of your lips, you brought the tip of your right hand ring finger to the corner of your lips and wiped away the small smudge. With one final fluff of your hair, and a deep breath, you stepped out.

Meanwhile, your father had been preoccupied with the newest addition to the staff. Edward Munson. Unruly, cynical, rough around the edges, and gifted talent - the things that made musicians of this time. Your father had brought him in for an interview, and you’d maybe seen the back of the man’s head, nothing to give you a solid impression of him. Had you paid him any mind at all well, you would have noticed that his talent was not only in his nimble hands but in his voice too, his hair a bird's nest that he would pull back into a bun, and a smile that routinely had ladies swooning. No, he was no greaser of any sort, nothing but a beatnik in fact. Another thing that would have immediately caught your attention, and would in due time, was his dimpled smile - it was enough to have you real gone.

Your father made sure Edward was settled onto the stage, piano at his very fingertips. While his usual joint had him either swinging the bass or rocking the guitar, your dad decided that the safest option was to start with an almost melancholy melody - in fact it had been rehearsed many a time, and you too had rehearsed it in your sultriest voice with Victor, you old pianist. You could scat to it, get into that blues swing and with just enough nuance to keep not only the club goers entertained but yourself as well. Edward had the piece memorized as if it were the back of his hand, he could even play it backwards had he wanted to, that of course was not accounting for the pretty little number you hid under your nightgown.

As soon as the wild haired musician stepped out, the crowd cheered, whistles were heard across the music hall, and anticipation for your appearance only grew. Careful steps lead you to the backstage area where your father gave you a golden smile, “That’s my baby! Give em the old razzle dazzle!” he clapped his hands together eagerly. “Remember, we’re testing out a new musician tonight, He’s the fuckin’ cats pyjamas according to old Mr. Hefler,” Mr. Helfer being the man who passed the club down to your father, “and I expect with your voice it’ll just be a hit, dollface.” Your cheeks heated at the praise your father had given you.

When the whistles died down into a whisper and you heard the stage light go on, you exited, dropping your nightgown, allowing it to pool around your feet. You were left in a black floor length gown with a sweetheart neckline and black satin gloves that reached your elbows. Your Mary Jane heels snug on your feet. As soon as you emerged, the tobacco filled nightclub erupted in cheers, clapping, and loud wolf whistles. With a delicate movement of your hands you brought them down to earth, allowing a silence to swallow the room, anticipation so thick you could slice through it with a knife. The musician then started playing then tune gracefully, a swing to the notes. You captivated the audience with the first sultry note you sang out into the club, and the same could be said for the poor man attending to the piano keys. Your voice was a siren’s call, and it certainly didn’t help when half way through you started pulling your gloves off, tossing them into the crowd and turning to look at the gorgeous man providing your accompaniment. You shot him a wink and that’s the moment he knew he was a goner. He nearly faltered with his song for the first time in his career.

From one piece to the next, Edward watched you with hungry eyes, a wolf looking for his prey, but so did the club goers. You weren’t theirs or his for that matter so what did it matter? Nonetheless, a jealousy coursed through his veins at the sight of you wrapping a feather boa around the neck of a regular - Mr. Harrington. It was nothing but empty flirtation and he was a good sport about it. You had rejected him previously as you don’t tangle into affairs with clients, it was known. It didn’t matter either way because you had not eyes for him. For a moment, he wished it was he who would be getting this treatment, alas, your father had strictly forbidden it.

“Now, son,” Your father warned, “One thing you must know is that we have many tempting women here, that is the business after all, however we do protect them and we take care that they are very well protected, you know what I’m saying?” He warned Edward.

“I understand, sir, I don’t think I should be stepping out of line in that regard. I’ve played in many a club and frankly it’s not been an issue. Women may be tempting but I won’t find a wife in these clubs, I play em because it makes me feel alive.” With a gentle slap on the back, your father praised Edward Munson, letting out a small “don’t get any wise ideas son” but little did he know he would become his biggest headache.

Once the show was over and you glistened from the sweat that formed from being under the hot spotlights, you snuck off backstage to cool off. A little glass of water and a lemon tea to help your voice would do. You quickly beelined to your dressing room, slipping off your dress and pulling something much more comfortable on. A little note from your father awaited you in front of your vanity, as it always did – it was a tradition between the both of you dating back to your first performance. A smile overtook your face, red lips stretching wide as you nursed your tea. As you put the mug down, you grabbed a cigarette, tucking it between your lips and lighting it. It remained perched against your plump bottom lip as if it belonged there. Suddenly, a knock at your door broke you out of your trance.

“Come in!” You called out meekly seconds before the door swung gently open with a creak. The old hinges needing a little tune up if anything. Your dearest father poked his head in between the crack in the door frame.

“Are you decent?” He called out, a chuckle softly escaping your lips. He knew you’d respond with a cheeky line, you were witty and came up with quick retorts to his questions, no matter how simple they might have been.

“Me?” You laughed out. “Sure, I’m decent.” That earned a light chuckle from your father and a rather abrupt snort from someone behind him. This piqued your interest and you got up, adjusting the new robe you had slung around yourself. Your delicate hands tied a bow in the front of it and with a smooth and calculated movement, you slipped a pair of slippers on before making your way over to the door to properly invite the party of two - it seremed - in.

“Sorry to bother you, doll, but you must meet Edward Munson, our new musician.” Your father stepped foot into the foot, revealing the dashing man that hid behind him. You couldn’t help but part your lips, catching the cigarette before it fell and taking a long drag to compensate. Your eyes roamed over the man’s body, tight black dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, messy birds nest hair, a smirk playing on his kissable lips, and yet his eyes as soft as honey. His own cigarette was tucked gently between his ringed index and middle finger on his right hand, and lord what you’d allow those skilled hands to do to you. It seemed that a small amount of ink poked out from under his rolled up sleeve and you desperately wished to reach out and see it for yourself but you couldn’t – you cut yourself off before you could trail your eyes any lower. What was happening? You never found a client attractive, much less the musicians. What about this man has got you wound up?

“Call me Eddie.”

🖤

A/N: let me know what you think/if you wanna be tagged in this. I don’t really know what I’m doing but here we are. Also this was def not beta read so I’m so sorry for that but I hope you enjoyed it. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

I think from here on the chapters will get longer ! Stay tuned.

#eddie munson x reader #All For Show #eddie x reader #musician!eddie #showgirl!reader #1950s!AU #stranger things AU #musician!eddie munson #alternative au #alternative universe #1950s #1960s #reader insert

143 notes · View notes

swan-of-sunrise · 1 month

Text

Hawkeye (Part II)

Summary: Clint reaches out to (Y/N) for help and after a visit with the physically and mentally taxed archer, she takes it upon herself to meet Hawkeye’s #1 fan and impart a little wisdom onto Clint’s young partner.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: This week's chapter is a little longer because (a) I'm not sure I'll have Part III finished by next Thursday and (b) You guys deserve it!! There's a surprise character that'll pop up in the second half of this chapter and if you've seen Spider-Man: No Way Home, then I think you'll know who it is lol thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Hawkeye (Part II) December 21st, 2024 Apartment of Moira Brandon, East Village (Previous Chapter)

Out of all the Avengers she’d been introduced to during that fateful party at the Avengers Tower so many years ago, (Y/N) always had a secret soft spot for Clint Barton; he was equal parts kind and sarcastic, quickly noting the anxiety she’d been desperately trying to mask from the moment she arrived and taking the time to get to know her while simultaneously directing playful jabs at his fellow teammates. Their first meeting and team-up in the subsequent conflict with Ultron coupled with Natasha’s endless stories from their days of working together at S.H.I.E.L.D. cemented (Y/N)’s unbreakable trust in the archer, and it was that trust that led her to an average-looking East Village apartment building only four days before Christmas with a priceless and top-secret piece of S.W.O.R.D. technology tucked away in her messenger bag.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice, (Y/L/N),” Clint smiled as he ushered her into the temporary safe house, checking up and down the hall before locking the door and leading her into the cozy living room. “See any of those idiot Tracksuits tailing you?”

(Y/N) shrugged her winter coat off and draped it over the back of the couch with a humorless chuckle. “Nope, but I almost wish I had; I could’ve used a good laugh or two after that horrendous traffic jam on the Brooklyn Bridge.” She folded her pink scarf in half and tossed it on top of her coat, meeting Clint’s eyes with a sardonic smirk beginning to spread across her face. “Wouldn’t you know, some dumb-ass archer decided to impale a Pym Particle-infused arrow into the Manhattan Bridge and create commute hell for anyone traveling in or out of Brooklyn?”

Rolling his eyes, Clint flopped down onto the well-worn couch and sighed in exasperation; he looked exhausted, with darkened circles under his eyes and a noticeable cut on his forehead. “Still a smart-ass, I see. For your information, I shot a Pym Particle-infused arrow at a regular arrow and then it impaled itself into the bridge.”

“Well, either way, I thought you’d like to know that Scott got his ass chewed out by Hank for that little stunt,” She replied in amusement and sat herself down on the couch beside him, taking a moment to adjust her sweater over her small baby bump before rummaging through her messenger bag. “Apparently, Hank’s not too fond of his life’s work being used for – and I quote – ‘stupid shit you see on the eleven o’clock news.’”

The archer scoffed at that. “I once saw the guy use Pym Particles to enlarge a goddamn chicken sandwich, but whatever.”

(Y/N) laughed as she withdrew a small metal case and handed it over to Clint. “Back-up hearing aid, as requested; my coworker said that this is one of the best on the market, so you should be well-covered if yours ends up breaking again.” He nodded in thanks and slipped the case into his pocket. Her former teammate’s recent hearing loss as a result of years of work as a S.H.I.E.L.D. spy, Avenger and vigilante inspired her to seek out Brooklyn College’s underfunded but resilient disability resource center; she studied ASL and learned enough to not only begin teaching Steve and Carina, but to also pre-film her lectures for any hard of hearing student who decided to enroll in her Introduction to American Popular Culture course. “And I looked into that socialite guy for you…” Activating the transparent S.W.O.R.D. tablet – a parting gift from Nick Fury before he traveled up to the organization’s newly-built space station – (Y/N) allowed it to scan her handprint and read off the information she’d collected. “Jack Duquesne, born into the obscenely-wealthy Duquesne family that’s apparently descended from European aristocracy. Since he’s seemingly never worked a day in his life, he’s had enough free time to become an expert swordsman and accrue a pretty impressive sword collection; is that what he was doing at that black market auction the other night?”

Clint nodded as he studied the images on the tablet’s screen. “He wanted to add the Ronin’s sword to his collection; according to Kate, he ran off with it after the Tracksuits crashed the auction, and then he almost took my head off with it when we broke into her mom’s penthouse this morning.” When (Y/N) thoughtfully tilted her head to the side, his frown deepened. “What?”

“When I did a little more digging, I found out that Duquesne is listed as the CEO of Sloan Limited. It’s a shell company, one that launders money for none other than-”

“The Tracksuit Mafia…” The archer exhaled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing a hand over his forehead. “Kate thinks that Jack Duquesne killed his uncle Armand. At first, I thought the idea of him becoming her stepfather someday was clouding her judgement but it’s looking like her instincts might’ve been right.”

Taking note of the stiffness in his movements and the weary tone of his voice, (Y/N) tucked the tablet back into her messenger bag as she gave him a sympathetic smile. “None of what I found out really helped you, did it?”

“It helped, (Y/L/N), it really did…” Clint hastily reassured her. “But I’m no closer to being able to go home for Christmas. I’ve got the suit and the sword, but Maya Lopez and the Tracksuits still have me and Kate connected to the Ronin and there’s a good chance that they’ve got Laura’s Rolex; I can’t leave until I track it down and figure out a way to stop the Tracksuits from targeting Kate, and I’ve gotta do all that before Kingpin gets involved.” He sat back and offered her a small smile. “The Barton Family Christmas hit a little speed-bump, as you can tell, so how’s the Rogers-(Y/L/N) Family Christmas going so far?”

“Well, Carina helped us decorate cookies and gingerbread houses for the vets down at the VA hospital yesterday, and then she decided that our living room wall could use a thick coat of frosting as well.” Clint burst into laughter and (Y/N) couldn’t help but join him. “Steve’s convinced that she’s got the makings of an artist, but I just think she likes to keep us on our toes. And this little gumball…” Beaming, she rubbed a hand across her bump. “Moved for the first time this morning.”

“That’s amazing! Boy or girl?”

“We don’t know yet, but we’re gonna open the envelope my doctor sealed for us together on Christmas Day and find out.” Memories of her first pregnancy and the overwhelming loneliness she struggled with unwittingly came to the forefront of her mind, but she forced herself to ignore them as she continued. “I’ve never really been one for big gender reveals, but after Carina’s…shall we say, unconventional birth and everything we’ve been through since, I just wanted this pregnancy to be special for us.”

A look of understanding crossed Clint’s bruised face, as he was one of the few Avengers who could empathize with desiring balance between a normal family life and the superhero life they’d been thrust into, but he merely smirked and jokingly replied, “Well, if you’re still thinking of baby names, I’ve always thought that Clint Rogers-(Y/L/N) had a nice ring to it.”

(Y/N) snorted in amusement. “Oh, really? You know, I’ve heard the same exact thing about Sam Rogers-(Y/L/N), James Bucky Rogers-(Y/L/N), Bruce Rogers-(Y/L/N), Thor Rogers-(Y/L/N), Korg Rogers-(Y/L/N) and Rocket Rogers-(Y/L/N).”

“I’m not usually one to judge, but I’ll totally judge you if you name your kid after a talking raccoon or a big pile of rocks.” When his chuckles died down, the archer’s blue-grey eyes softened as they looked between her face and the bump she was unconsciously cradling. “I’m really happy for you guys, and I know…I know that Nat and Tony would be, too.”

After flashing him a thankful smile, (Y/N) leaned her elbow on the back of the couch and rested her temple against the palm of her hand. “So, what’s this Kate Bishop like?”

“A pain in my ass,” Clint bluntly replied and when she lightly scoffed at his answer, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m serious! That kid’s cocky, reckless and she talks way too much…but I can’t deny that she’s a damn good archer and her instincts are sharp.” His brow arched as a thoughtful expression crossed his injured features. “You know, she reminds me a little of you, actually; she put that suit on to protect innocent people from the Tracksuits without a single thought for her own safety, just like how you volunteered to help an Air Force vet and a couple of wanted Avengers save the world from Hydra without a single thought for your own safety.”

(Y/N), detecting a hint of concern in her friend’s tone of voice, nodded in understanding. “You’re worried about her.”

Clint nodded. “Damn right I am. You were twenty-seven when you helped Steve, Nat and Sam stop Project Insight, and Kate’s only twenty-two; you understood the risks of getting involved in this sort of life, but Kate…she’s got blinders on. I tried to make her understand that I’m not a role model, that I’m not someone that people should look up to and that this life I’ve led for the past twenty years isn’t a game but like I already told you, she’s cocky and reckless.”

“She doesn’t know about the Ronin, does she?” When Clint shook his head, (Y/N) bit her lip and carefully contemplated her next words before speaking. “Maybe the reason you can’t get through to her is because you haven’t shown her the real you and she can sense that you’re hiding something from her; if you open up to her now, then you might be able to stop her from getting too deep into all this.” He shrugged his shoulder, but she could see that she hadn’t convinced him to confide in his reluctant partner; she glanced down at her wristwatch and hummed to herself. “Well, I should probably head out now if I want to beat the commute traffic to Brooklyn…”

“Yeah, and I should give Laura and the kids a call before I pass out from exhaustion.” Clint helped her to her feet and gave her a fond smile as she pulled her coat and scarf back on. “It’s been good seeing you, (Y/L/N), and I really appreciate your help. Tell Steve that I said hi and that he should totally name his second-born after one of his oldest and coolest friends, okay?”

“Sure thing, Hawkeye,” (Y/N) chuckled, slinging the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder as they walked over to the apartment’s front door and giving her friend a hug, careful of his bruised and battle-worn limbs as she did. “Good luck, Clint. You’re going to fix this and you’re going to make it home for your Barton Family Christmas and on Christmas Day, we’ll give you guys a call to let you know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” With a smile and a teasing salute, Clint opened the door and watched her head towards the building’s elevator before retreating into the temporary safe house.

(Y/N) stepped into the elevator and after the door slid closed, the uneasy feeling that had begun to form when the topic of Kate Bishop came up only seemed to deepen as the elevator descended. It was foolish to further embroil herself in Clint’s struggle against the Tracksuits; not only was she entering her pregnancy’s second trimester but if a powerful man like Kingpin caught wind that she was involved, it could put Steve’s secret life in jeopardy and their family’s safety at risk. But it was Clint’s comparison of Kate to (Y/N) that compelled her to pull the S.W.O.R.D. tablet out of her messenger bag and research the young archer’s cell phone number.

“I sure hope that I’m doing the right thing, Nat,” She murmured under her breath as she worked. “For Kate and for Clint’s sakes…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, (Y/N) was seated at one of the rickety metal tables outside Greenwich Village’s own Joe’s Pizza, patiently waiting for the twenty-two-year-old to work through her star-struck awe while she enjoyed a slice of pizza and scratched the young archer’s rescue Golden Retriever behind his ear.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I’ve met two Avengers in less than a week! Is this, like, some sort of a superhero test? Or a trial period or somethin’? I mean, I’ve only been in four-ish fights so far…or wait, was it five? I don’t know, I can’t really remember ‘cause I’m pretty much running on caffeine and adrenaline at this point,” Kate nervously chuckled, a little out of breath as she finally stopped rambling and attempted to rearrange her excited features into a nonchalant smile. “…So, um, what can I do for you, Ms. (Y/L/N)?”

“Please, just call me (Y/N).” Smiling, (Y/N) took another bite of her pizza slice and used it to point at Kate. “I’ve heard a lot about you from our mutual friend, so I wanted to meet you for myself.”

The young archer’s brows raised almost comically. “R-Really? Wow, that’s really…was it all good things you heard?”

“Mm-hmm, and I also saw the video of you rescuing this good boy on the news.” The one-eyed Golden Retriever nuzzled his face against her lap and perked up when she tore her slice of pizza in half, wolfing it down in record time once she offered it to him. “He’s lucky that someone as skilled as you came along when you did.” After watching the dog enjoy his chunk of pizza, she looked back up at Kate and sobered as her eyes fixated on the steri-strips that closed the lacerations that were scattered across her youthful face. “Actually, I asked you to meet me here because I wanted to talk to you about this case you’re working with Clint.”

Kate slumped in her seat, a dejected frown beginning to form on her injured face while she took a halfhearted bite of her pepperoni pizza slice. “You think I should stay home and let Clint handle it, don’t you? That’s what my mom thinks, too; she didn’t say anything about it to me, but I know she thinks I’m crazy for doing this. I mean, I’m just a civilian and Clint’s a freaking Avenger, so I guess I see why it’s nuts that I’m helping him out, but I…I can’t just sit back when I know that I can help.”

Smiling a little to herself, (Y/N) dabbed at her lips with a napkin and shook her head. “Kate, I’m the last person on the planet who’d ever tell you to stay home and ignore the instinct to help. I was just a civilian when I helped Steve, Nat and Sam take down Hydra – an unpublished historical-fiction novelist with a part-time job at the V.A., who just so happened to be one of only two people in D.C. that a couple of wanted Avengers could trust. They tried their hardest to make me stay home and out of danger but I refused, because I knew that I could help them. I had to help, no matter what, and nothing they’d say could change my mind.”

“So, you understand why I’m still helping Clint?” The young archer’s expression brightened and she sat up in her seat. “That’s great!” When (Y/N) didn’t immediately answer, her head tilted to the side in confusion. “…Isn’t it?”

“You and I are a lot alike and because I see so much of myself in you, I wanted to tell you what I wish someone had told me ten years ago, when I took my first steps into the life of an Avenger.” (Y/N)’s fingers caressed the content Golden Retriever’s fur, taking small comfort in his calming presence as she continued. “When you choose to spend your life trying to help people, there’s going to be consequences you’ll have to face. Some of the consequences won’t come as a surprise – the fights and battles have taken a physical and mental toll on me, for example, and I’ll have to live with their effects on my body and on my mind for the rest of my life – but others will. From the moment it began, my entire career’s been called into question; you see, people assume that my success is due to my long-time association with the Avengers and not the writing skills I’ve worked my ass off developing and perfecting. I lost any chance at anonymity or a private life when I announced my engagement to Steve Rogers. I became estranged from my family, because they didn’t approve of my relationship or my association with the Avengers. I went through the joy of befriending some of the kindest and most misunderstood people in the world, and then I was forced to mourn them in a way that no one but my fellow Avengers could ever understand; the world lost Iron Man, Black Widow, Black Panther and the Vision, but I lost Tony, Nat, T’Challa and Vis.”

Kate bowed her head and stared down at the discarded pizza crust on her plate. “And you lost Steve, too.”

(Y/N) nodded mutely, careful to keep up the ruse that Steve Rogers died in the Battle of Earth and wasn’t currently wrapping Christmas gifts with their fifteen-month old daughter in their Brooklyn home. “When you face the threats that Clint and I have faced, you have to accept that there’s going to be things that you lose along the way. I don’t tell you any of this to dissuade you, Kate, far from it; I’ve always believed that if you feel that you can help, then it’s your moral obligation to do so.” She reached across the table and rested a comforting hand atop Kate’s, giving her a small smile when her eyes finally met hers. “But it’s important that you know that this life isn’t easy, and it’s only fair that you hear it from one of the only Avengers who stumbled into this life the way you have. Do you understand?”

Kate nodded, and the brief silence that filled the air as (Y/N) finished her slice of pizza was broken by a timid question. “Do you know who the Ronin is?”

“…I know who they used to be,” (Y/N) carefully replied. “But if you want to know more about the Ronin, then you’ll have to ask Clint.”

“Urgh, I knew you’d say something cryptic like that. Hey, what’re Clint’s favorite Christmas movies and does he have any strong opinions about ugly Christmas sweaters?”

After (Y/N) helped Kate plan out the perfect mini-Christmas party for a homesick Clint, she bid the young archer and her energetic Golden Retriever goodbye and watched them both stroll down the sidewalk with a fond smile on her face. It was clear to her that Kate’s heart was in the right place, and that perhaps she was the perfect person to help Clint move on from the Ronin as well as resolve the ongoing conflict with the Tracksuits. I just hope they’ll both stay safe, she thought as she anxiously bit her lower lip and stroked her small baby bump, her mind preoccupied with a myriad of the worst possible outcomes to the archers’ partnership.

“Here you go, Ms. (Y/L/N): one large chicken and olive pizza to go,” The young worker’s sudden appearance shook (Y/N) out of her heavy thoughts and after setting the pizza box down, he started to bus the table with a small smile on his face. “Need any packets of Parmesan cheese or red pepper flakes?”

“No, thank you, I-” (Y/N) cut herself off when her eyes caught sight of a familiar well-worn paperback sticking out of the teenager’s back pocket and she felt herself begin to grin. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a copy of For Queen and Country with its original cover art. How’re you enjoying it?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s one of my favorite books!” The young worker’s gaze briefly met hers as a light blush dusted his cheeks; there was a brief flash of grief in his brown eyes – a deep sort of grief that looked entirely out of place in the eyes of a teenager – but it soon vanished when a bashful expression graced his features. “I’ve been a fan for a pretty long time, Ms. (Y/L/N), and I was actually workin’ up the courage to come out here and ask you for your autograph. I don’t wanna bug you or overstep-”

“Of course I’ll autograph your copy!” (Y/N)’s smile widened as he stammered out a brief thanks and scrambled to hand her the paperback and his server’s pen. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Peter, Peter Parker.” Again, (Y/N) was struck by the strange emotion that flashed across his face, but what gave her pause was the sudden familiarity that his name brought her; she couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about the teenager’s name tugged at the far reaches of her mind. Doing her best to shrug the unsettled feeling off, she jotted down a brief greeting and signed her name before blowing on the drying ink and handing the book and pen back with a smile. “Thanks a lot, Ms. (Y/L/N)! It was good seein’ you agai-um, sorry, I think my manager’s callin’ me, happy holidays!”

Peter Parker, who’d abruptly turned as white as a sheet, shoved his book and pen into his pocket and scooped up the dirty dishes before practically sprinting back inside. (Y/N)’s brow arched at his odd shift in behavior, but gathered up her pizza box and strode down the sidewalk to where she’d been lucky enough to park her yellow Volkswagen Bug. After securing the pizza in the car’s front trunk (or ‘frunk,’ as Sam liked to jokingly call it), she carefully climbed into the driver’s seat and waited a moment for the baby to settle down before dialing Steve’s cell phone number.

“Hey, sunshine! How was your visit with Clint?”

“Productive, for the most part; he has an idea of who the middle-man between Kingpin and the Tracksuits is, but he’s still not sure how to stop them from targeting him and his new friend Kate or uncovering Laura’s past. I also had a quick chat with Kate over lunch, which is why I’m bringing home a chicken and olive pizza from Joe’s; you should also know that your offspring conned me into buying it.”

Steve chuckled. “Oh, they did, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, and you should count yourself lucky that it was only pizza; at four months pregnant with Cari, I was craving Flamin’ Hot Cheetos dipped in vanilla ice cream,” (Y/N) snickered as her husband made a sound of disgust on the other end of the call. “Oh, and the strangest thing happened as I was leaving! Do we know a Peter Parker from anywhere?”

“…I don’t think so, but the name sounds awfully familiar.”

“Right? There’s something strange about it but I can’t put my finger on-” A recognizable babbling in the background of the call caused her to stifle a giggle. “Someone’s feeling chatty today, aren’t they?”

“I think that last episode of Sesame Street might’ve riled her up a bit; you know how much she loves when the Count makes an appearance,” Her husband remarked before calling out, “Cari, did you wanna talk to Mama? Mama’s on the phone right now.”

The gibberish grew louder as the infant toddled over and happily exclaimed into the phone. “Mama!”

“Hi, lemon drop! I’ll be home really soon, okay? Mama loves you!” (Y/N) smiled to herself, listening to their daughter’s incoherent mumbling grow faint as Steve regained control of the cell phone. “I should be home in a half an hour or so, depending on how backed up the bridge is.”

“Fingers crossed that all the city’s archers decide to leave the Brooklyn Bridge un-impaled for the afternoon commute.” Steve joked. “You can tell me all about Clint and his new partner over pizza and my famous green smoothies. I love you, sunshine.”

She gave her phone an exaggerated air-kiss that made Steve huff out a quiet laugh. “I love you too, sweetheart, and I’ll see you soon.”

After hanging up the call and tucking her cell phone into her messenger bag, (Y/N) started the car’s engine and turned up the radio, the local station’s Christmas playlist already playing through the speakers. “Okay, gumball, your daddy promised to make us a smoothie, so let’s get this show on the road.”

Pulling away from the curb, (Y/N) hummed along to the upbeat Elton John track in the hopes that the music would distract from the unsettling feeling beginning to take form in the pit of her stomach, but the tune wasn’t enough to make her shake the suspicion that someone was watching her from afar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Who do you guys think was watching (Y/N)?? You'll have to stay tuned to find out! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5

Hawkeye (Part III)

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk @momc95 @savedbystyle @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley @username23345@crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell @y-napotat @mary1raven @groovyqueer @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

21 notes · View notes