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ghoststyles · 2 months

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Casanova

HIIIII 🤍 Here is a little piece I've been working on for a while! This is inspired by the song Casanova by Rayland Baxter. Harry is a manipulative little twat in this, so bare with me 🤍

7.5K words;

TW: SLIGHT mommy kink. He doesn't call her mommy but he calls her mama and Miss/Missy. P in V sex, oral sex, phone sex. FACETIME SEX <3 Slight mentions of suicide. EXTREME drug and alcohol abuse. Arrests, jail. the works.

ENJOY AND GIVE ME A BOOP IF YOU LIKE IT :D

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Money, all I ever want is money But I never wanna work for the money So I borrow the money from a woman

Harry Styles knew who he was from a young age. A charmer. A flirt. He uses his wits and his good looks to manipulate the people around him until they have no choice but to give in, conning them and infiltrating their lives for his own gain.

His days are simple; He sleeps until 11, combs his hair into a perfect swirl of chocolate curls, brushes his perfectly white and straight teeth, spritzes his neck with his ridiculously priced Tom Ford cologne, climbs into his Porsche Cayenne to hit the gym, and grab an $18 smoothie for the ride home. From there, he lets the day unfold how it pleases, until it’s time to go to the club with his friends. Here and there, he’ll meet up with his dealer and his bookie to spice it up.

Rinse. Reuse. Repeat.

As a child, Harry was dirt poor. He’d never let anyone know that, however. His perfectly curated image blossomed the minute he got to college, leaving any ounce of mediocrity behind. His friends were none the wiser, assuming Harry was there blowing his trust fund like the rest of them, when really, he was a charity case.

Every day, he’d walk to the corner store for cigarettes for his dad and cans of tuna fish, stealing a small item to try and feel something. The owner, Mr. Abbott, knew Harry stole from him, but never said a word. He’d return to their one bedroom apartment, flicking the light on, only to find the electric bill hadn’t been paid.

His parents are not addicts or criminals, by any means. If they were, he’d at least have a touching back story. Neither of them have the drive or the desire to succeed like he does. They lived their simple lives, worked paycheck to paycheck to support him and his siblings and never worked for more.

On the day he left for college, he vowed to himself to never let anyone see him as the poor, pathetic boy he was. He’ll put his own silver spoon in his mouth, if he must.

So, as he sits high and mighty on his throne after doing a few lines off a pretty girl’s tits in the VIP section of his favorite club, The Viper, surrounded by his fellow socialite friends, he thinks of one person.

You.

Harry isn’t unemployed, per se, but, he doesn’t exactly have a job, either. Two years ago, at the ripe age of 21, he graduated magna cum laude from university, with top marks in all of his classes. But, he knew he didn’t want to work a traditional job. He wanted to travel, he wanted to live lavishly, and he wanted to party.

That’s where you come in. The gorgeous, alluring and kind-hearted woman that feeds the beast that is his lifestyle. He wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.

Swiping aimlessly one day on the dating apps, he stopped his scroll abruptly to study your profile. You’re perfectly curated - the collection of photos reflecting your outgoing personality and beauty.

38. Looking for some fun. Dog mom. CEO. Let me spoil you <3

Seeking a male ages 21-28.

His eyebrow quirks. A sugar mommy? Is that a thing?

He swipes right, hoping deep down you match. This could be it. This could be his way in. The funds from his financial aid are quickly dwindling, and he’d be sooner caught dead than with a part-time job.

He dawdles around his apartment for a few hours, pacing the room to see if you matched with him. The possibility of this arrangement is scratching an itch he’s been desperate to quell.

He readies himself to meet his friends at the club, placing cologne on his neck and wrists. For good measure, he adjusts himself in his trousers to get a little blood flowing down there.

As he plucks his keys from the door, he hears the familiar ping from the dating site ring out from his laptop. Stopping in his tracks, he pivots to stand at his desk. He swallows thickly before entering his passcode.

Congratulations, Casanova94, you matched with BabyHoneyxo

A dazed smile makes its way to his lips, his dimple popping significantly. This is going to be good.

Can you believe I never met her? Can you believe she never met me, too? But she calls me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

Now, almost two years later, you and Harry have still never met in person. But, that’s by your request. You want a companion. A call boy. Someone who will always answer the phone when you need it. And ever since you inherited your family’s wealth and company, you want someone to spoil.

It started off slow; texts asking about one another’s day, learning about hobbies and interests. Then, the wire deposits came in. Harry wasn’t sure if he had hearts in his eyes or dollar signs. You don’t tell him how to spend the money, but you definitely drop hints.

“Get yourself a new outfit, baby. Then send me a picture,” you smiled lazily on FaceTime one night. “Maybe you can find something to match the Porsche.”

Harry chuckles boyishly, “You’re too good to me. I just went shopping last week!”

He has you eating out of the palm of his hand.

“I know, I know. I just want my baby boy to be happy. Can you pull yourself out for me, baby? Wanna see you,” you purr, making yourself comfortable on your king sized bed in your quiet penthouse. You’re winding down for bed, even though your lover is just getting ready for the night.

“Mhm,” Harry responds, voice an octave higher and desperate sounding. He slides himself out, letting his cock harden slowly in his hands. “My friends will be here soon, Missy.”

“That’s okay, bubba. We’ll be quick. Mmm, look how big and gorgeous you are,” your sultry tone sends shivers up his spine. He adjusts the camera so you’re looking at his abdomen from below his thick cock.

“My perfect boy,” you moan out as you touch your clit for the first time this evening. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes, Missy. Wanna be good for you. Can I touch myself harder now?”

“Yeah, baby, go ahead. Squeeze that big cock. Tell me when you’re close.”

At this point, you’re furiously rubbing your clit, and gently teasing a finger inside. His breaths are becoming more labored as he pumps his cock at a faster pace. You pause just before your climax, sending your heart rate to a thunderous pace you can hear the ringing in your ears.

You look over at your phone propped up next to you to find your little love sweating and fisting himself hurriedly. The whimpers coming from the other end make the hairs on your arms stand up. After a beat, you continue the assault on your clit, starting off slow in order to reach that peak again.

“I-I’m close, Missy. Please let me cum. I f-feel so good,” at the tail end of his begging, he moans deeply.

“Uh-uh. Who always cums first, baby?”

“You, Mama. You cum first,” he pants, his eyes making panicked contact with yours.

“That’s right. Good boy. I’m so close baby,” you squeak out as you stick two fingers in your cunt. You cry out, at your release, gently tweaking your nipple with your other hand.

Harry isn’t far behind, taking one last swipe over his tip, using his other hand to cup his balls. He cums all over his fist, small specks of white littering his belly. He whimpers again, barely able to open his eyes.

“Let me see, baby,” you whisper, waiting for him to show you his load. He pans the camera silently, the haze already leaving his head. But he’d never tell you that.

“Thank you, Missy. I feel so good.”

“Mmm, bet you do, baby. Now go clean up and have fun with your friends. I’ll talk you tomorrow. Behave!”

“Okay, I will. Goodnight.”

The minute Harry presses ‘end’, an ounce of remorse bubbles in his chest. Just an ounce. He rises from his bed to jump in the shower, ridding him of his guilt and shame.

Sure, you’re gorgeous, and nice. But you’re not what’s getting him off. Or so he likes to tell himself. Throughout your sessions on FaceTime, Harry’s mind wanders to the girls he’s hooked up with the weekend before, and the countless drugs he’ll consume on a night out. That’s what gets his rocks off.

You’re the means to his ends. The gateway to his wildest dreams. He’s going to hold onto you for as long as he can, even if he has to get off over the phone a few nights, or pretend to care about the philanthropy you’re supporting that week.

Harry should be your only philanthropy, he thinks to himself. This is the easiest job he’s ever done. And it only makes it better that he can do whatever he wants, with no consequences.

As he gets out of the shower, his prick still swinging in the air, he picks up his phone to see a Venmo payment from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $2,000.00 - 😘

Without even hesitating, Harry, heart rate rising a bit, opens up a text field - to his club promoter. He ignores the dozens of texts from family members over the last few weeks. He’ll make his yearly obligation call to his mother at some point.

Hey, Mike! Can we upgrade to V.I.P tonight? I can put $2K down now.

He’ll thank you later. Tonight, he’s the hero of his friend group. A slight nervousness prickles on his neck. Harry isn’t naive - he knows he should be smarter with his money - your money. But you haven’t given him any reason to believe the well will run dry any time soon.

So far, despite your generosity, Harry still lives paycheck to paycheck. He blows his money on extravagant trips, nights out at the club, and plenty of booze and coke. It’s times he hopes to look back on one day and smile. He swears to you he’s saving the money and working towards investing and buying a house.

Scout’s honor.

I got a real bad feeling, I'ma let her down Got a hole in my pocket and I'm running around Spending all of her money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin' Back to the hole that I came from

Every night that he steps out of his apartment, he shakes the nagging feeling in his gut, the embodiment of the life he left behind. He calls his Uber Black to take him to the Viper, his little white baggy in the breast pocket of his Burberry overcoat.

He nods to the driver when he opens his door and proceeds to pour a small line of the substance onto the screen of his phone, but not without seeing another text from you.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Enjoy the night, sweet boy! Be safe xo

Harry smiles to himself at your contact in his phone. You all but had a fit when you found out he’d never seen The Graduate. Once he saw it, his world changed.

Swiping away your message, he plugs up his nostril, inhaling sharply as he moves his face over the surface of the screen. He grunts lightly, throwing his head back and shaking it out. That should hold him over until they’re in their secluded area of the club.

The car pulls up to the club around 11:45, the house music already bumping. The line looks brutal. He scans it to see if he spots any 10s waiting that can keep him company later. Miles, Marquise and Jade are already inside at their table.

The bouncers greet Harry, bumping his fist and patting him on the back. He can feel the eyes of the nobodies in line glaring at him enviously. When you spend the average person’s salary in one night at the club, you eagerly reap the benefits.

As he’s escorted through the crowd by the five-foot-nothing hostess, his senses are on high alert. He can hear his heart beating over the music and can feel the bass shaking the floors. He smiles tightly at the girl as she leads him to his table and scurries back into the crowd.

Marquise and Miles, his best friends from undergrad stand to greet him, as Jade greets him from the lap of her catch of the day, a burly, bearded dude already glowing from sweat and the 8-ball they’re about to dig into.

Taking his first swig of the Don Julio his regular bottle service girl, Tasia, pours into his mouth, he cracks a wicked smile, convincing himself there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

“So,” you start quietly on your daily FaceTime coffee date. You’re perched in your home library’s windowsill. “I was thinking of flying you in for my 40th. It’s going to be pretty chill. I’ll probably hire a chef and have a dinner at my place. Maybe 15-20 people.”

Harry is cocooned in a blanket on his bed, his iced coffee you had DoorDashed to his apartment slowly melting on his bedside table. His eyes had slowly drifted shut as he listened to you talk about everything and nothing. That’s how these things went — you talk and he listens. You’re after his companionship, after all.

At your words, his eyes shoot open, causing him to try and sit up gently so he can hear you better, not believing what you’re saying. Inhaling, he hesitates before he starts to reply.

“Uh, um,” he bites his lip and looks at himself in the corner of the screen, trying to gauge if he looks as shocked as he sounds. “W-when are you thinking? I have a couple trips coming up and plans with my friends.”

He decides to play it cool. You have to know this is a huge development in this arrangement, right?

“Well, my birthday is the 27th, obviously.”

He scoffs, “I knew that part, Miss. When is the party?”

“Watch the ‘tude, baby. I was hoping for that Saturday, maybe. But I’d be willing to work around what you have coming up.”

He’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have major travel plans until the summer, when his friend group will jet off to Greece. He’s been saving up your pennies to charter a private plane.

“Don’t agree to it now, but please think about it. I love spending time with you and I’d love to finally meet you. We can tell my family that you’re part of one of my philanthropy groups. I’m your largest donor, after all,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Okay, let me get myself together for the day, and I can see what’s going on,” Harry grits out, trying not to let you down.

“Okay, baby. Have a good day. Let me know if you get up to anything fun,” you say with a mild hurt in your tone. The least he can do is make an effort to finally meet you.

“Will do. Bye, Miss,” He says quietly, swiftly hanging up the call and chucking the phone towards his pillows.

“Fuck!”

Hm, Casanova You know that I'm a casanova Throw my pennies in the well Waking up in jail 'Cause I never paid attention Do you remember all the good times? Do you remember all the bad times too? She reminds me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

You didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Every day that passes as your birthday party looms, you mention flights, or activities you can do once he arrives. Harry laughs them off, distracting you by touching himself or telling a story from his gatherings with friends.

It’s not until you’re barking orders at him over the phone, 1 week before your party, denying his orgasm that he finally relents.

“Miss, please, I-I need to cum,” he whimpers as he has a ghostly touch over his angry, red cock. “P-please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm? I want my pretty baby at my birthday party. Wanna show you off and whisper filthy things in your ear and feel that pretty cock under the table. Agree to fly out to me and I’ll let you cum, baby.”

“Miss,” he croaks out, his stomach in shambles trying to stop himself from coming for the third time. “Okay, okay, Mama, I’ll go. I-I’ll come for your birthday! Please let me cum.”

You all but squeal in delight, instructing him to finally let go. Talking him through it, he keens from your praises for following the rules. A nervous heat travels up his neck, realizing what he agreed to in his post-nut clarity.

“Good boy. Take a picture before you clean up, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning and I’ll have my assistant send over your travel information.”

He nods, unable to make eye contact. You’re oblivious and overjoyed, thinking he’s just too fucked out to look at you.

“G’night, Missy,” he chokes out.

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you hum before hanging up.

Harry snaps a photo of his messy left fist and cum-covered stomach before cleaning himself up and returning to bed. He eagerly picks up his phone to check his dating apps for his matches. He’d been talking to a new girl, Madelyn, for the past week, so excitement bubbles in his stomach.

She’s meeting him and his regular group at the Viper tonight, so he’s excited to show off to her. Maybe she’ll even be down for a romp in the back seat of his Porsche.

His phone pings, signaling another deposit from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $5,000 - Can’t wait to see you 😘

He smiles, his right thumb picking at the skin of his ring finger. The guilt he feels from abusing your kindness starts to eat at him. But he didn’t get this far by being nice to people. You can’t possibly have feelings for him, right? You haven’t even met, for god’s sake. He shivers, shaking the feeling so he can focus on the night ahead.

Pushing you far, far in the back of his mind.

It’s now the night before your 40th birthday party, and you’re buzzing with excitement. Your penthouse is decorated in pink and floral frill - almost like your Great Aunt Gertrude exploded - but it’s chic and will be a hit amongst your New York City socialite friends. Your party planner floats around the room, puttering with the florals, candles and gem stones scattered around.

You anxiously check the time, counting down the hours until Harry boards his flight from LA. He’s jumping on a red eye, so you’ll greet him with coffee and donuts when he lands. A pang of nervousness hits you as you remember how distant he was this week, saying he was busy with friends or doing god knows what an unemployed 23 year old does in Los Angeles.

Monday, 3:31 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry, missy. I’ve been at Miles’ art showing all day.

Wednesday, 11:27 AM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry! At the gym with Do Not Disturb on. Hey, can you send me some cash? Last min car maintenance 😢

Friday, 5:58 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Hi missy. My friends want to go to the opening of the new Carbone out here. Think your friends can get us a table? It’ll be 9 of us.

Hope your dad’s chemo appointment went okay.

You can’t be mad at the little monster you’ve let him become. You are always an after thought as his only priority is making sure the cash cow is alive and well. He extends effort just enough to make the butterflies in your stomach reappear when he does give you the attention you crave.

Inhaling deeply, you ascend up the grand staircase in your Upper East Side brownstone and begin your pampering routine, sending photos to Harry of the hydrating eye patches on and curlers in your hair, blowing kisses and sticking out your tongue.

Typically, Harry answers relatively quickly to your silly messages, but, tonight, he’s gone radio silent. Maybe he’s trying to conserve his phone battery for the flight?

You open your medicine cabinet to examine your fast-acting anti-anxiety pills, hoping you can will away this uneasy feeling. Padding over to your bed, you pop your pills before tucking into your silk sheets. Before putting your phone on the charger, you send Harry one last message.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Safe flight, baby ♥️ I’ll be tracking you, but tell me which terminal when you land. Can’t wait to see you 😚

Flicking out the light, you close your eyes with the hopes of finally meeting your lover in just twelve hours.

I got a real bad feeling I'ma lose my cool Everywhere that I go, everything that I do Stop me using the money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin'

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

Ping!

Harry, Delta airlines can’t wait to welcome you aboard Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35

Ping!

You may now board Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35. Welcome aboard, Harry.

Harry’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably as he watches the busy bodies move around him. Despite his social butterfly nature, his social anxiety rears its ugly head every once in a while. Or, it could be tonight’s concoction of pills.

He places his phone on Do Not Disturb, just as he gets a text from you. Closing his eyes in defeat, he comes face to face with the awful, shameful and downright despicable choice he’s made.

He’s not going to New York.

Instead, he’s standing booth side at a club next to John Summit, his favorite DJ, as he passes around a bottle of 1942. The pills he’s on are plastering a wide smile on his face as the throng of bodies around him jump around, despite the absolute panic and guilt he feels in his veins.

He’s wondering when you’ll realize he’s not coming. The lack of texts? The empty escalator to the pick-up area well after the flight has landed? He can picture your cherub cheeks reddening with embarrassment, fighting back hot tears.

To distract himself, he leans down to capture the blonde girl to his left in a kiss, despite not even making eye contact with her prior. When she peers up at him, her pupils are just as dilated as his as they sway back and forth.

He kisses her once more, just as Marquise offers him another baggie.

The panic sets in about 30 minutes after his flight landed. Surely that’s enough time to grab his bag and meet you here, right?

Your eyes urgently scan over every person that walks by probably sending them into fight or flight as a deranged woman looks them over in search for her boy.

You look down at your phone, the background a photo of your dog, completely clear of any notifications. With vigor, you throw out the box of donuts and his iced black Americano. Swallowing your pride, you skulk back to the parking lot to cry in the safety of your car.

You feel like a loser. A pathetic middle-aged woman who got fooled by a man half her age. The mental gymnastics that takes place as you drive home with white knuckles on the steering wheel should have you committed.

Your dating life wasn’t easy. It started in high school, where you were invisible to the boys, always deemed not good enough to date. Extending through college, you were still nearly invisible, working over time to find just one guy to have any interest in you and take your virginity. Just to get it over with.

As the dating scene expanded in your 20s, you still struck out with men your age. It wasn’t until your late 30s when your hopes and dreams of a family came crashing down on you that you’d made that godforsaken dating profile.

You still remember how your heart skipped a beat when you saw Harry’s photo for the first time. His boyish charm was palpable, followed by his incredibly witty prompt answers. He was your solution. If you couldn’t earn someone’s love, you could at least buy it.

The lump in your throat is preventing you from calling him and leaving the fiery voicemail you so want to do. You assume he’ll ignore any calls from you anyway.

Pulling into your private garage, you let out your frustrations by wailing and smacking the steering wheel of your Bentley. To prying eyes, the cops should be called. You allow yourself to flip for 5 minutes before putting on a brave face and going inside to begin getting ready for your birthday party, ringing in another year of heartbreak and disappointment.

3 glasses of a 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s how much alcohol it took to have you crying in front of your friends and family.

You couldn’t tell them what was really wrong, of course. They have no idea about your and Harry’s arrangement. They’d call you an idiot if they knew how much money you’ve sent him.

Everyone is shooting you sympathetic looks as you cry on your best friend’s shoulder. For all they know, you’re stressed with work and your dad’s cancer diagnosis. It’s a lot of pressure on a single woman.

Rubbing your back, Candice whispers all the affirmations she’s been telling you since college. It’s incredibly annoying to get advice from someone whose life is perfect.

You quietly thank her, clearing your throat of the lump that’s formed. Looking around the room, you make a break for it, grabbing your phone as you lock yourself in the guest bathroom.

Tears blurring your vision, you dial his number for the first time all day. It rings and rings, finally sending you to voicemail, as you’d suspected.

You’re silent for a beat after the beep.

“I-I don’t even have words for how I’m feeling right now. I was so fucking excited to see you…feel you….kiss you. And instead I’m locked in a bathroom at my own birthday party, calling you like a fucking loser,” you start, snot threatening to drip down your face.

“I give, and I give and I give, and yet you still let me look like a fucking idiot in front of my friends and family. You couldn’t do one fucking thing for me? You…You didn’t even have to put any effort. I paid for a car service, paid for a first-class seat, bought you a wardrobe…”

“I just hope whatever the fuck you’re doing right now is worth it. I don’t ask questions about what you do with my money, since I’m the one who started this. B-but I thought you were a decent person. I feel so fucking stupid right now,” you are talking to yourself at this point. You shakily inhale and stare at the ceiling.

“We’re done. I’m done with your bullshit. I’m not gonna let some ungrateful brat take advantage of me anymore. Have a nice life, Harry. Hope you have to move back to bumblefuck and lose all the friends you’ve been lying to this whole time,” you end off the message with pure venom leaking through your words.

You press end, feeling slightly better that you’d used his deepest darkest secret as ammunition. The mirror in front of you shows a shocking picture; running mascara, watery, red eyes, and disheveled hair.

Patting some toilet paper under your eyes, you clean up the best you can before returning back to the party. If you were strong, you’d block his number. But you can’t help but wonder what his response could be.

He deserves it. It’s 4:40 AM and he just mustered the courage to listen to your message. His under eyes feel heavy as he listens to your words, hitting him where it hurts. His hands are shaking as he lowers the phone to his lap, drowning out the sound of your sad, heartbreaking voice.

5 years ago, he was a decent person. Now, he looks in the mirror and sees his slightly gaunt face and tired eyes staring back at him. He even notices a few gray hairs every once in a while.

His lifestyle takes a toll on him — He’s well aware of that. But for now, he has no reason to stop. Harry lightly smacks his head back on the seat of the Uber back to his apartment. Cracking the window, he lets the sounds of the early morning deter him from vomiting.

The car arrives at his apartment — a guest house in Hidden Hills, the only place he can afford with the zip code he desires so badly. He never brings anyone to his place, too paranoid of his secrets getting out. Vision doubling, he struggles to stick his key in the lock. He knees the door has he twists the knob, sending him tumbling flat on his face.

Smacking his head on the tile floor, he recoils, lifting his hand to feel droplets of blood on his nose and bottom lip. The metallic taste is leaking into his mouth, sending him into a spiral. His front door is still wide open, allowing him to see the sun peaking over the hills in the distance.

He crawls over to the threshold, slamming the door shut with his foot. He lays back down on the cool floor, exhausted from his efforts. His breathing evened out, lulling him into a comatose state before succumbing to the darkness.

But before he passes out, all he can picture is your gorgeous, disappointed face.

I'm back in the hole I got nowhere to go La la la la, la, la Spinning around In the cold dark hole deep down in the ground Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from

The thing about rock bottom is that you don’t realize you’ve hit it until you’re clawing your way back to the top.

In the days following your fallout, Harry’s experienced enough misfortunes to last a lifetime. It started off with his credit card declining on a $6 breakfast sandwich, only to come back hungry and sad to his car being repossessed in front of all the Hidden Hills housewives out and about.

The panic rises in his chest, and it’s taking everything in him not to call you and beg for forgiveness. He’s come to realize how fucked up his actions towards you became. He misses the butterflies and longing he felt when you first started your arrangement.

He stomps back inside, miserable and feeling like a loser. If it wasn’t for Marquise’s birthday party later, he’d be sure to go dive in the ocean in hopes of never resurfacing.

His closet is taunting him — full of the clothes you’ve bought him. He can remember every single piece he tried on for you, and the praise you were so quick to give him. He never reciprocated when you’d show him new pieces and showing off your incredible body. But, you hadn’t called him out on it, so he continued on.

The all black outfit he chose reflects his mental state. Filled with dread and remorse, he pulls out his kitchen drawer to peruse the substances he has left. His stash is dwindling as fast as his bank account, so he has to be strategic until he figures out his next move.

Grabbing the baggies, he situates them in the breast pocket of his jacket to conceal everything. They’re going to a new club tonight, so there’s no being saved by the bouncers if shit goes south.

The party goes off without a hitch. Bottles pouring, dancers hanging from the ceiling, and an influx of out of town girls willing to do anyone and anything. Harry has nearly pushed you completely out of his mind, but he does something completely out of character.

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: I’m sorry.

You’re at a wine bar with your girlfriends in the Village, and the message you receive shakes you to your core. You haven’t heard from him in days. Not even after you repossessed the car and canceled his credit card tied to your account. You thought for sure that would smoke him out of his foxhole. But, he’s Harry. He’s selfish and too full of pride to ever come forward and apologize.

Your friends notice the faltered look on your face, but opt to ignore it as they bitch about their husbands and kids. Despite your fleeting dreams of having a family, most of the time you’re thankful you can’t relate to them.

Turning off your phone, you throw it in your new Kelly bag — a little treat to get over the heartbreak — and return to the conversation.

He doesn’t even remember how it went down.

The last clear memory he has is being escorted out of the club to go back to Marquise’s. The combination of coke and alcohol, plus this week’s tumultuous events had him on edge, so when the unfamiliar bouncer at this mediocre club grabbed him wrong, it sent Harry into a frenzy.

To match his bloody nose and busted lip, his knuckles are now decorated with crusty amber smatterings of blood — his own, and the bouncer’s. His jaw and wrist were aching, still mouthing off like a rabid animal as the cop read him his Miranda rights.

So now, he sits in a cold cell in the county jail awaiting his arraignment — a seemingly straight forward assault and battery charge, now amplified by the 40 grams of cocaine and Adderall in his coat pocket. The bastard cop smiled to himself when he patted him down. Harry will give him this one, the rinkydink small town cop who is used to giving out traffic violations.

Tired, in dire need to piss, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, Harry’s head snaps up when the officer notifies him of his bail — a measly $75,000 — and lets him know he has one phone call. Balling his fists, he looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

The cop assists him in standing up. His wrists are chained together behind his back, after all. Releasing him from the confines, Harry rubs his wrists where the cheap metal chafed him.

“You have 5 minutes to make a call. Do you know the phone number or do you need me to access your cell phone?”

Harry scoffs. Who the fuck still memorizes phone numbers?

“Phone,” he replies, a clear edge in his voice.

“Whose contact am I looking for? Mom, Dad?”

“Fuck’s sake. No, I need the number of,” Harry pauses suddenly as he remembers your name in his phone.

“Mrs. Robinson,” he finishes quietly.

The cop raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and reads the number aloud to him. It rings, and rings, diminishing any hope that you’ll answer. It’s in this moment Harry is at his rockbottom.

“Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Department of Corrections for the City of Los Angeles. An individual is trying to contact you. Do you wish to answer?”

You gasp as the automated voice informs you of your worst nightmare.

“Hello?” you say quietly. It’s 8:15 AM, and you’re at the cafe on the corner for a latte and reading, trying not to disturb those around you.

“M-missy?” His voice sounds broken. It sends a stabbing pain straight through your chest.

“Harry, what happened? What did you do?”

“I-I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. N-not just with you. I know I fucked everything u-up,” he’s starting to sob, unable to catch his breath between words.

“B-but I got into a pretty bad fight last night, and I had some,” Harry pauses to look over his shoulder to make sure the officer isn’t listening. He wipes the tears in his eyes with his thumb. “I had some stuff on me, so now I’m in a lot more trouble. A-and I know I fucked everything up and I don’t deserve anything from you, but I don’t have enough money for bail.”

You sigh, not really even sure where to begin. Tears are threatening to spill over as you hear his clearly broken sobs.

“How much do you need?”

At this point, Harry hung his head at your silence. He snaps his head back up when you agree to help him.

“It’s $75,000.”

“Jesus, Harry, what the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t even know, I barely have any memory of—”

“Five minutes, inmate!” the officer interrupts him.

Harry rolls his eyes and continues.

“I’m not sure what happens next. B-but thank you, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve this in the slightest.”

You shiver at his use of your first name. Closing your eyes, “I know you don’t. Just tell me who I need to call.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you hear your incessant doorbell ring. It’s 6 in the morning, just a few days after you paid Harry’s bail. You’ve been laying low, unsure if you’ll even hear from him again.

Your doorman, Paul, informs you of a visitor. A visitor? At this time? Unable to even comprehend what’s going on, you press the button to confirm opening the door, and wait.

Your bunny slippered feet tap your coffee table anxiously. Is it your mom? Here to inform you of someone’s death? Or is it your best friend from college who couldn’t come to your party? Or is it —

You’re broken from your racing thoughts as a timid knock on the door echoes through the house. You shuffle hesitantly over to the door, unable to even bring yourself to look through the peephole.

Closing your eyes while pulling open the door, the absolute wind is knocked out of you as you eye up your waiting guest.

He’s tall, tanned and gorgeous as his photos. It’s unfair to look like this after stepping off what she assumes was a red eye flight. He looks exhausted. His lip and nose are busted, and he has a yellowing bruise on his left eye.

“W-what?” you flounder in disbelief.

His hands fold together at your reaction, unsure if he should hug you or keep a respectable distance. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself. He’ll play by your rules.

“What the fuck is going on?”

You look adorable. The sleep barely wiped from your eyes. Slight bed head and disheveled silk pajamas. Harry is in disbelief that this is the woman he’s come to realize his feelings for.

“I know this is so fucked up,” he trails off. “Coming here. I don’t deserve even a minute of your time, but I needed to come here and tell you how fucking sorry I am. How deep into the superficial bullshit I got. I took advantage of you and your kindness and I lost myself in the process.”

You must look flabbergasted, because he inches closer, placing his hands gently on your arms. His touch is searing, but the first reminder that he’s actually standing in front of you and not an extremely lifelike apparition.

“I-I,” you stumble.

“We don’t even have to talk right now. You can send me away, if you need. But I’m here, I’m here in New York and I want to change. I want to be better for you. These last few days— when I had absolutely nothing — made me realize something.”

His eyes are now earnest and starting to tear up. Your reflection is so clear in his tide pool green irises.

“I had nothing, and it made me realizing you’re my everything.”

His profession had you clutching your metaphorical pearls. Your heart is racing, sending your central nervous system into a tizzy. You know he’s not lying, because he’s looking dead in your eyes waiting for your reply.

“H-Harry, I don’t even know what to say,” you stall. Your body knows what it wants to say.

“I know and like I said, if you need time, I underst—”

“If you’re here and you’re not bullshitting me; you really want to change. Then, you’ll fuck me like it.”

If Harry’s jaw could drop to the basement, it would. Instead of word vomiting, he lunges forward, guiding both of your bodies back to the hallway and placing a panty-dropping kiss on your lips. He doesn’t even have time to admire your beautiful home.

You break the kiss, grabbing his wrist to lead him to your room. The sheets are mussed, your clothes are all over, but you can’t even begin to fucking care. You all but dive back onto your bed, pulling your nightgown up to reveal your bare, perfect pussy.

Harry drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs. The photos and the FaceTimes don’t do any justice to the sight in front of him. You’re complete and utter perfection.

He waits for your approval before leaning forward to lick from back to front. Your back arches slightly, throwing your ankles over his shoulder. His fingertips dig into your skin deliciously, so you grab onto your blankets for dear life.

“Give it to me, Missy. I’ve been waiting two years for this perfect cunt. What the fuck was I waiting for?”

You laugh, not expecting his sense of humor at this moment. For the last few months, it’s been like talking to a robot. It was an exchange of goods and services. But here, in front of you, is a man. A man who’s willing to change his ways for you. The man you’ve waited all your life for.

“Always here for you. It’s yours,” you purr, placing your hands on top of his.

He growls, vigorously licking into you. He removes his right hand to insert his two middle fingers into your center. This has you howling, unable to even remember the last time a man did this for you.

“Baby, baby. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum for you, finally,” you whine, focusing on the immeasurable pleasure stemming from your legs.

“Mhm, I can feel you, Mama. Let go for me,” he begs, making direct eye contact with you.

It’s the moment you lock eyes that you’re letting go. All the stars are aligning and symphonies are playing in your head.

“Ah, ah! There, Harry!”

Harry keens at hearing his name roll off your tongue. He slides up your body to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. You grab at his under shirt, insinuating that you want it off.

He peels it off and cheekily pulls your tit out of your nightie. He winks before connecting his lips to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud and sucking gently.

“Please, want you inside me. Gimme my big cock, baby.”

“It’s yours, Mama. All of me.”

Harry slides his briefs down his legs, revealing the main event. His dick swings slightly before hitting him in the stomach. You moan, unable to wait even another minute for him.

“Please,” you cry out, scratching down his chest.

He lines himself up, moaning in ecstasy as he pushes in. Your mouth falls open, a silent whine escaping.

“So big, baby. I should’ve flown out to you the minute you sent me a dick pic. Like a fucking middle schooler.”

Now Harry is laughing. He’s in disbelief that he would ever treat you the way he did. The clarity from the last few days is damning.

His pumps are getting faster and longer, bottoming out every other thrust. He looks down to where you’re connected, your pussy lips wrapped around him deliciously, a slight white substance leaking out of you. He leans down to kiss you, wanting this connection he’s subconsciously wanted since he met you.

“Want you to cum with me, Missy. Cum with me. Want to show you I mean it. I mean everything I said.”

You gently put your hand on his cheek, to which he immediately nuzzles in at the touch.

“I know you mean it, baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He nods, leaning down to kiss you again, his thrusts slowing but still ramming you to the hilt.

“You close?”

“Yes, baby boy. Cum with me, I’m cumming now.”

Harry’s cock twitches as he bumps your walls before releasing long and deep into you. You push your noses together, lips ghosting over one another’s.

Harry is finally home.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this, little brat.”

He flashes a shit eating grin, kissing you again.

“I expect nothing less.”

And I don't ever Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

#harry styles #harrystyles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x yn #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

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cal-flakes · 11 months

Note

Hii <3

I’m so glad I found your page. I love reading your work! You’re so talented🥰

Could I ask for dealer/rafe who teaches you how to ride him and you’re all nervous because it’s your first time trying but he’s being really sweet about it?? Thank you!

╰┈➤ rafe teaching y/n to ride him

warnings: smut, obviously. praise, choking, hair pulling.

summary: rafe teaches innocent!reader how to ride him.

“i’m nervous rafe..” she whimpered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, her thighs still quaking from the orgasm he just gave her.

“what are you worried about princess?” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to the supple skin around her nipple as she straddled him. “what if i can’t do it?”

“i’m going to show you how, okay baby?” she nodded hesitantly, lifting onto her knees, allowing him to position himself underneath her.

bowing her head, she craned her neck to look at his throbbing cock, the tip already lubricated with pre-cum.

“you just need to lower yourself onto it angel, gently..” she did as told and lowered her hips onto it, mouth falling agape as he pushed through her folds.

they’d had sex before, but she still wasn’t used to the size of his cock yet, especially not this way.

“fuck..that’s it baby, just sit on it for a minute..” he praised, one hand holding her waist while the other groped her breast.

a broken moan escaped her lips as she adjusted to him, having fully buried his cock inside of her.

“you okay princess?” he questioned, his rough hands roaming her exposed skin as wet kisses trailed her neck. “mhm..” she whimpered, slowly rolling her hips against his.

a quiet groan erupted from rafe, throwing his head back in pleasure. taking this as a sign, she continued, rocking against him at a slow pace.

a torrent of grunts fell from rafe’s mouth as her walls clenched around him. “is this okay?” she cried, feeling so full. “you’re doing perfect angel, keep going..” he cooed, adjusting their position slight so her breasts pressed against him. “now use your knees, find a good rhythm..”

following instruction, she lifted, sliding back down his length slowly.

the room soon filled with their exclamations as her pace increased, with a little help from him.

he secured an arm around her waist, and the other clamped onto her shoulder, using his strength to move her up and down his throbbing cock.

“relax your body baby, i’m gonna go a bit faster okay?” he soothed, looking into her glassy eyes. she nodded, squeezing her eyes shut as he thrusted into her.

broken moans broke free from her throat as he pounded into her, contradicting his statement. her thighs trembling from the pleasure, she clawed at his back, chest heaving.

“you’re doing so good princess…such a good girl…” the praises fell from his lips, tightening the coil in her stomach as her eyes welled with tears.

“fuck..rafe!” she cried, the tension in her navel threatening to unravel. “i know baby, i know..” he groaned, the vibrations of his words sent shivers down her spine while electricity surged through her quickly.

“r-rafe, m’gonna-” she cut herself off with a cry, arms wrapping around him like he’d disappear from under her, clinging on as the muscles in her body tensed at once.

“you’re so fucking tight..” he hissed, his own release filling her as he continued thrusting, his pace slowing.

he grazed his teeth against her shoulder while his grip on her waist squeezed the air out of her.

“shit…you did so well baby..” he cooed once more, allowing her to collapse against his chest while he brushed her hair away from her face.

“are you sure?” she muttered, her insecurities returning. “i promise sweet girl, that was amazing..”

“hmm, okay..” she sighed, focused on her breathing as the muscles in her legs contracted.

“m’gonna make you my own personal cowgirl..” he joked, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as her eyes fluttered closed against his chest.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #outer banks #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #obx #rafecameron #dom!rafe #rafe obx #rafe smut #soft!rafe cameron

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muwapsturniolo · 2 months

Text

✯THEE CHAPTERS✯

IN WHICH...I give yall the fics, headcanons, and whatever else I have written about the triplets.

WARNINGS... most fics are smut but there is fluff in them as well as angst.

smut- ☆

fluff- ❤︎

angst- ✕

other- ✢

CHRIS STURNIOLO:

☆ so hard: 1 2 3

☆ freshlove for the fit: 1 2 3 4

❤︎ hummingbird

❤︎ ma belle Evangeline

✢ dealer!reader: 1

❤︎ Chris dating a black girl

✢ fake snap

❤︎ ☆ day at the beauty supply

✢ dating a plus-sized baddie

☆ want to play Pschyo Killer?

☆ NSFW ABC's

❤︎ camera roll dating Chris

❤︎ suave

✕☆somebody else

✕ ex for a reason

☆ bubble pop electric

☆ cyber sex: m1 g1 m2 g2 m3 g3

MATT STURNIOLO:

☆ you look good on camera, baby lets go make a film

✕☆ hoodie: 1 2 3

❤︎ Matt dating a black girl

✢ fake snap

☆stress relief

☆it's a vibe

☆NSFW ABC's

✕ kill bill

NICK STURNIOLO

❤︎Nick with black girl bestie

❤︎✕ best friends brother

SERIES:

✢✕ malevolent Matt/Chris x reader: 1 2 3 4 (ongoing)

TRIPLETS AS:

✢ halfbloods: goddess version x god version

✢ rowdy ruff boys

TAGLIST 🍑

if you would like to be added to the taglist, click on this link and comment. if you would like to be removed, plz dm (no hard feelings!!)

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision @ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3 @j3tblackt3ars @ilovestarz @lustfulslxt @soimightlikeoldmen69 @tastesousweet @slut4sebastiansallow @whicked-hazlatwhore @stasiesturn @loljackwasfat @nicksmainbitch @ninacutebee16 @mayhem-72 @sturniolosmind @breeloveschris @mattslolita @mattsivy @guccifrog @hysteria-things @mrssturnioloo @teenagetrash00 @koris_009 @patscorner @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @nickuniversity @luverboychris @thenickgirl @riasturns @imwetforyourmom

(it wont let me add more tags so the rest will be in the comments)

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lokisgoodgirl · 8 months

Text

Home Truths: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (4) Loki is given a shake, and the four of you hit up the local supermarket. Warnings: Minors DNI. Ex-Loki. Major Satchelage. Humour. Brotherly/ Domestic fluff. Smut references. Mild angst. Pining. (w/c 4.5k) Recommended Folklore Track: Hoax

The rain hadn’t stopped. You’d spent the next few hours limping between rooms, keeping busy, stealing glances out the droplet-streaked windows where you could.

Where was he?

The kiss had lingered on your lips. The taste of Loki absorbing into cracks of delicate skin like water in thirsty soil. Nobody knew where the god had disappeared to in the early hours, allegedly.

What's more, they didn't seem surprised.

It had been another two hours before Loki returned holding a string of thoroughly deceased rabbits.

He stalked through the front door, turning abruptly into the kitchen and lowering them to the dining table with a macabre series of thumps.

“Holy Moses-” Steve scoffed disapprovingly, folding his arms.

The kettle began to whistle on the stove as Loki paraded to the cupboard. He pulled out a mug sporting a large yellow bear with an eyepatch.

“I saw no reason why our ‘education’ need be stifled by a mild weather-tantrum” he drawled, gesturing to the window before plucking a teabag from the tin. He glanced back to you as you leant against the kitchen doorframe. His eyes narrowed. There was no hint there of what had passed between you only hours before. It made you sad. But not surprised. “Don’t you agree, Agent?” he purred. Thor emerged by your shoulder.

“What the-?” his eyes fell on the limp pile of fur adorning the plastic tablecloth; gasping sharply. “Hodorekorn, brother?” His excitement was electric. Loki shook his head. “Alas, no brother. Rabbits. But much the same to ensnare.” The god tilted his head as he poured from the kettle, throwing Steve a wink. “See, Rogers?” he smirked. “I am not completely useless.”

Thor’s arm stretched above your head, pressing his hand against the frame. “It took you four hours to capture five hodorekorn?” He chuckled wrly. “Rusty indeed, brother.” “Rabbits.” Loki corrected, stirring his tea.

Steve swallowed, eyeing the bundle. “What are we supposed to do with ‘em?” he said, regretting the words as soon as they were spoken. “Skin them, and cook them of course!” Thor’s boom filled the tiny kitchen.

Steve gagged.

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread. Loki’s eyes met yours, giving the smallest nod. “Yeah, we can do that” you said, “good thinking Thor. Steve? How about you take the first one? Dealer’s choice.”

Steve clapped a hand to his mouth, pushing Thor into you in a hasty sprint to the bathroom. Dry wretches followed as the three remaining Avengers descended into laughter.

Tears streamed down Thor’s face while you doubled over, clinging to his forearm. Even Loki’s demure overtures of mirth rumbled across the linoleum, although you were certain that it was the sight of you and his brother that was the cause rather than the captain’s overdramatic heaves. Just like the old days, you thought with a pang. Thor wiped his face, catching his breath while there was a pause in the theatrics from the bathroom. For a moment, silence. And then... ‘Heuuuuuurgh-’

You and Thor looked at each other with simultaneous disbelief, the following whoop of laughter utterly uncontrollable. Loki took a sip of tea before placing it down, walking silently to the table. He tilted the chin of a rabbit towards him, frowning.

“We really should skin these brother,” he said sharply, “they will lose succulence otherwise.” You looked up through misty eyes, the release making you forget everything else. Loki had bristled, his mood altered somehow. Thor caught his breath beside you, panting heavily. “I- I can show you how,” you gasped as you wiped a trail from your eyes. Loki waved a dismissive hand. “No need. My brother and I are not quite as incapable as Rogers would have you believe.” Thor’s brow furrowed, shaking his head lightly in your direction. Don’t mind him, it said. “Outside or inside?” you asked, reaching for your jacket on the hall hook. It was still wet. “Outside,” Loki said with finality. His eyes flew to your hand, resting on the anorak. “Your presence is not required, Agent. My brother and I are perfectly capable, as I said.” He shot a piercing glance to Thor. The blonde swallowed.

“Uhhh...yes. Indeed, yes – brother, lead the way.” Loki breezed between you, stooping gently at the door-frame as a slick waxed Barbour unfurled over his lithe body. It hung to his thighs, the taut curve of his muscled ass shifting. The ghost of his knuckles grazed your palm as he passed. Accidentally, you were sure.

Thor lingered by the coat-hooks, shoving an arm brutishly through the sleeve of a particularly beaten-looking yellow raincoat. The material creaked menacingly as he hoisted it up his biceps.

There’s no way that is zipping closing, you thought – half watching the outline of Loki pacing towards the small hut at the edge of the cottage boundary.

Thor threw a look over his shoulder, checking Loki was out of earshot. He tugged the sides of the raincoat down. The edges lined perfectly with his nipples. Rain fell vertically outside the open door, a gush from the awning gutter pooling around the doorstep.

“He probably wishes to recount his version of what happened last night,” Thor said in hushed tones. Hushed for him, anyway. “What do you-” Thor waved a hand, eyes closed to your protestation. “Sister, please – the neighbours over yonder valley likely heard the commotion my brother’s intransigence provoked. Rogers and I heard everything.” The strap of your backpack hanging on the rack suddenly became very interesting.

“I’m not your sister, not anymore. Never was – technically” you heard yourself say, avoiding his inquiring eyes.

Pursing your lips, you scratched a nail down the strap’s weave. Thor squeaked as he shuffled closer, constrained arms wrapping around your shoulders with difficulty.

Breath heaved from your lungs as he pulled you tight. “You’ll always be my sister, sister” he smiled, resting his chin on your hair.

“If these last decades taught me anything, it is that blood relation is the least important quality.” He placed a kiss on top of your head. “Now, I must depart, and entertain my brother’s lukewarm justification for his boorishness.”

He turned, throwing a ridiculous pointed yellow hood up with a flourish.

“And skin some rabbits, of course” he projected loudly, throwing you a calculated wink. From behind the bathroom door, Steve wretched again.

Loki flung the rabbits on the small bench squeezed in the corner of the hut. A ragged door hung from its hinges. If he wasn’t sure it would disintegrate, he would have slammed it. He didn’t know what to think.

Growth, he surmised, was becoming more trouble than it was worth.

He pushed his hair back from his face, the wet slick that met his hand more familiar now than he would like.

“That was rude, Loki” Thor rumbled, shaking himself like a dog in the doorway. “Hardly,” Loki snapped, casting a disparaging look in the speaker’s direction. He felt a snarl curl at the corners of his mouth at the sight of his brother spilling from the tiny yellow raincoat. “And you look ridiculous.” Loki sat abruptly on the bench, turning his attention to the rabbits. He divided them out. Three for himself, two for Thor. His brother was slower. Always had been. “It was rude,” Thor repeated, squeezing himself to the bench on the other side of the sad bundle. Loki slid a small hunting knife over in silence. Hadn’t used them in years, he realised.

Not years, Loki thought. Centuries.

Perhaps more. The shuffle of fur coming skilfully away from muscle rustled the air.

“You’ll never win her back being like that, you know” Thor murmured, drawing the knife respectfully around the rabbit’s hindquarters. Loki scoffed in spite of himself.

“Who says I wish to win her back?” he huffed, laying the first completed rabbit on a clean cloth by his side. Despite stoic intent, he found himself looking up to meet his brother’s incredulous stare.

“What?” Loki said sharply.

Thor released a theatrical shrug, rabbit swinging. “Oh I don’t know brother-” he started, laden with sarcasm.

“Something about your perpetual hangdog expression, insufferable lovelorn mooning and thwarted midnight attempts at seduction led me to believe there could perhaps be something more at play.” He tapped the half-skinned rabbit against his temple. “Not just a helmet-hold, brother” he drawled.

“It was barely ten pm,” Loki muttered petulantly, busying his hands. They continued in silence, before Thor cleared his throat. “What did you wish to speak to me about, if not that?” “It was that, you cretin. But I wish not to discuss it anymore.” “Your feelings for her?” “They have never been in question, brother. You know that.” “Yes.” “Well.” Loki snapped with finality. “Well?” “Her feelings towards me. Her concerns, the ones that broke us...she was, right.” He faltered, grateful for the pause Thor held while he gathered his thoughts. “She told me I was hurting her, and I cared not. And I know not why. At the time, her protestations seemed unreasonable.”

The confession hung around his neck like a ceremonial amulet. Heavy, powerful. “And now?” his brother probed quietly, concentrating on his work.

“Who am I, Thor?” Loki whispered, peeling the fur back from the delicate soul in his hands before stopping. “Who am I if not who I have been for centuries? Millennia?”

“People change, Loki” Thor said quietly, reaching for his brother’s hand. Loki looked up, brows peaked softly.

“But brother, we are not ‘people’. Are we?” Thor was silent. Sympathy swam in the depths of his eyes, darkened by the gloom of the cabin. Rain hit the roof. Loki was glad of it, filling the empty silence. “I’m trying,” was all Loki could muster.

“I’ve noticed,” Thor replied cautiously. “As has she, I suspect. But the palace of Asgard was not built in a day.” “She kissed me,” Loki hummed quietly, staring at the bundle in his lap. “This morning.” “Ah,” his brother hummed mysteriously.

The blonde drew his hand away from where it sat atop Loki’s. He flipped the knife, inspecting the ornate handle. “Do you remember when father gave us these?” he said thoughtfully, a smile stretching across his face. Loki frowned, gazing at his own knife. “The summer with the-” “- Haugan sisters.” They both paused, sighing simultaneously at the wall. Thor shook his head, waving nostalgia from the air. “Father said that they symbolised our transition to maturity. Protection, sustenance, a connection to our roots Loki.” Loki closed his eyes, summoning the memory. The grass was long that endless summer, a log cabin with a stone chimney that dwarfed the exterior. A cabin that had no right to be where it was – and yet, “Loki?” He opened his eyes, meeting his brother’s. In that moment, they could have been three-hundred again.

The blonde god flipped the knife back to position. “Your problem, brother, is that you spend too much time worrying about what you think you should be, rather than what you are.” “And what am I, brother?” Loki bristled, laying his second rabbit down by the side.

“Someone who’s afraid to be loved” Thor said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He pulled the final tug of fur from his charge. “Ah-Ha!” he smiled, turning. “Thank you,” Loki said quietly, cradling the offering and placing it with the others.

“All she wants,” Thor murmured, his concentration fixed on the second rabbit in his lap, “is you. The real you. The one that I know. But maybe one who listens better. And not the mural version, or the lore from battle tales...” He paused, before a sly grin stretched his lips. “Well, perhaps sometimes...if you catch my drift.”

"What if he is not enough?" Loki whispered. He wasn't sure if Thor heard him.

His brother's face had become serious again. He was on a roll. “To feel that your lover sees himself as superior to you in every way? Takes any opportunity to remind one of that? To never try to adapt to a reasonable request? I can see how it can become tiresome.” He shook his head, frowning. “Mother would never have put up with that nonsense. Why should she?”

“Indeed,” Loki muttered softly. He placed his third rabbit to the side as a sigh rattled his chest. His brother was making far too much sense for his liking these days. “Fear not, brother” Thor rumbled as he leant over, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “I have a cunning plan. A kiss this morning is most welcome news.” “It was a strange situation. She knew not what she did- it would not have ended well, it-”

Loki’s eyes widened in horror, realisation blossoming. “A cunning what-?” There was a knock on the hut door.

Suddenly, Loki realised that the rain had stopped. Your face popped around the corner. Loki straightened, wiping his hands on his Barbour.

“Steve and I are driving into town” you said, casting glances between the gods sitting hunched on the rotten bench. “Want to come?” Thor propped his fists beneath his chin, smiling obscenely. “Oh, please, brother!?” Loki thought about rolling his eyes, before stopping himself. He pursed his lips instead. “Certainly. Although I am surprised considering-” “We’ll be ‘undercover’, obviously” you cut with air-quotes, glancing backwards. “Apparently Steve needs something from the shops. He seems a bit flustered. The nearest one is pretty small but…” Your head disappeared again, only delicate fingers remaining curled around the door’s ragged edge. He had the sudden urge to protect them from rogue splinters. Loki frowned, noting an impish smile had worryingly taken up residence on his brother's face. “-Yes, I’ll...yes I’ll tell them.” Loki and Thor looked to each other warily, before you appeared again. “Steve says wash your hands,” you said, raising your eyebrows. “And lose the yellow slicker” you nodded to Thor.

From the assortment of abandoned jackets hanging bushel-like in the hallway, they had managed to find one for Thor that wasn’t quite as conspicuous. The 3XL puffer jacket spread around him like a navy cloud.

Steve turned abruptly, eyeing Thor and Loki in the back of the Fiat. A hiss squeezed from the puffer every time Thor fidgeted. “Where am I supposed to put my legs?” Loki muttered scathingly. “This thing has gotten smaller since the drive here.” Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of magic-” he said, taking his time. “It seems that some of my personal items have gone missing.” Loki glanced at his brother, brows peaked as Steve continued. Thor’s gaze wandered out the window, following a passing bird. “We need to pick up some supplies, like bacon – that’s the cover with her,” he thumbed backwards, “since someone ate the whole week's ration.” Steve’s judgemental gaze swung towards a distracted Thor.

“But on the sly, keep your peepers open for some…” he cast a wary glance out the front windscreen, seeing you locking up the cottage. “-Unmentionables.” “Condoms?” Loki quipped factitiously. Steve flushed. “No, Laufeyson” he hissed, tone frantic as you crunched towards the car. “Rogers underwear has mysteriously vanished, brother” Thor chuckled. “One minute they were lined up in the suitcase, all thirty-six pairs. The next-” he made a whooshing gesture. “Thirty-six?” Loki mouthed incredulously. “Christ, Rogers. Did you intend on soiling yourself thrice daily?” The god twisted towards his smirking brother. “What did you do to them?” “Me? Tis not I who suspicion has fallen on, brother” Thor gasped, pressing his fingers innocently to his chest. Loki rolled his eyes, and this time – he meant it. “Well it wasn’t me.” Loki huffed, folding his arms as Steve’s stare pinballed between them. “I have better things to do. And besides, what fetid joy would I gain from such a waste of-”

You pulled the car handle with a jerk, noting all three men inside bristle and straighten in a way that could be considered nothing short of suspicious.

“Everything okay?” you murmured, settling into the driver’s seat. They nodded in silence.

Thor’s jacket hissed.

“That better not be a parp, Odinson” Steve muttered, followed by the low buzz of a lowering window. You adjusted the mirror, meeting Loki’s eyes and quickly looking away. “Okay,” you sighed to yourself. “Let’s do this.”

The comforting Tesco Express sign glowed in mid-afternoon gloom.

It was barely three, and yet it may as well be sundown. Clouds still smothered the sky, hanging low and ominous over the town’s uneven rooftops. You pulled into a parking spot outside, thanking the powers that be it was quiet. Steve cleared his throat, digging into the breast of his raincoat. He produced four mismatched caps, jamming one low on his brow before handing out the rest. “I don’t think I need to remind you to exercise caution. Don’t be suspicious. Don’t draw attention to yourself, and if anyone asks – we’re just four pals from out of town here for some good ol’ fashioned cottaging.” You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t mean what you-” “May we begin this expedition so that it might end sooner?” Loki drawled. With no warning, Thor farted.

The captain’s eyes widened. “Get out...get out!” he gagged. It was the fastest evacuation of a hatchback you had ever witnessed. Thor was last, his cheeks pink. “All the bacon,” he explained sheepishly while pushing the seat forward. You took Thor’s arm, letting the puff of his jacket warm your chilled fingers. While the god’s wide eyes inspected the snack chiller inside the door, you saw a non-nonchalant Loki meander straight to the checkout followed by a jumpy Steve.

The captain hung back, picking up a packet of gingerbread men and inspecting it over a pair of sunglasses.

Loki drummed his fingers on the counter, smiling wryly as a member of staff appeared from the back. “Hi, with you in one second-” they said, holding up a finger before disappearing again. Loki murmured pleasantries, adjusting the cap holding the stuff of his hair. “What are you doing?!” Steve hissed. Loki caught a musty waft of his own waxed jacket as he turned, shooting Rogers a perishing glare.

“You’re the one that has us looking as though we intend to rob the place. Hush,” Loki hissed back. Steve snapped back to the nutritional information as the Tesco worker re-surfaced. “Sorry about that,” they said.

Loki released a dazzling forced smile. “Do you happen to have any mens undergarments in this” he raised his palms, searching for an accurate descriptor, “place?” The man on the other side of the counter frowned. “Like, underwear? No...you’d need to go to one of the bigger stores for that kind of thing.” Loki stared at him. “There’s one in Millom?” the man added nervously, making the sides of Loki’s eyes crinkle before his features softened. “I see,” he purred, tilting his head. “How unfortunate.” “Anything else I can help with?” the mortal asked. Loki sighed thoughtfully, rocking on his heels.

“One package of,” he squinted at the shelf behind the counter. “Durex Extra Safe, if you would.” The heat from Steve’s cheeks radiated the short distance from the bakery display. There was the squeak of a shoe, the telling crack of biscuit as the captain’s sensibilities floundered. Behind the counter, the man turned without a second thought, reaching up before glancing back. “Pack of three or pack of twelve?” he asked.

Loki smirked. “Pack of three or pack of twelve, darling?” he crooned to Steve, whose face had flushed an alarming shade of beetroot. He turned back to face the cashier. “Pack of twelve.” Loki winked.

You couldn’t hear what what transpiring at the check-out, but the shade of Steve’s skin gave the distinct impression it wasn’t on script. The oblivious shop worker reached up, bringing down a box and handing it to Loki who parted with a crisp twenty pound note. Where did he get cash, you thought; before realising what the box was. Are those...

“Agent, look-” Thor exclaimed beside you as he held out an oblong package. “Party Rings,” he said smugly, “If ever there was a snack made for I, tis this – surely.” You muttered a quick uh-huh, stalking down the aisle to where blustery Steve was busying himself picking up a random assortment of foodstuffs piled high in his arms. “Steve?” you said warily as you removed three packets of bacon and a tub of yoghurt. It revealed his face, still flushed and sweaty.

“Laufeyson bought...prophylactics,” Steve rasped as his eyes darted around the empty aisle.

“I saw,” you responded sympathetically while the captain shook his head. “In broad daylight too” he added, narrowing his eyes over your shoulder.

The increasingly erotic scent of waxed Barbour jacket filled your nostrils. “Got everything?” your ex quipped. Steve’s lips flapped, forming words that didn’t come. He released a goose-like hiss instead. You quickly unloaded the rest of the groceries from his hands, spilling them into Thor’s basket just as he parked himself beside you. “What’s happening?” Thor said. Crumbs from a ravaged pack of Party Rings clung to his beard. Loki continued, unperturbed.

“I’m sorry they didn’t have your unmentionables, Rogers. But nevermind – not a totally wasted trip.” He tossed the box of condoms to Steve who caught them out of instinct. “Oh, Extra Safe – excellent choice,” Thor rumbled far too loudly. “And a necessity, for my brother and I – nothing else seems to hold the force of our seed without making quite the mess-” he cast a knowing glance to you. “She knows,” he winked. Steve looked between the gods, aghast. Thor produced a chicken drumstick from his pocket, taking a casual bite. “Are you the same, Rogers?” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “I imagine you must be with all that super-whatjit-serum business.” There was silence. “Oh, right” Thor laughed awkwardly. “Well, you never know...this trip might be the one.” He slapped Steve on the back, chortling.

“Stop calling me Rogers…” Rogers whispered. He looked like he was in shock, staring at the pack of twelve condoms in his hands. “Someone might…” Steve’s face paled as catastrophic images fell into place inside his head. A picture of him on the homepage of every gossip site there was, holding a box of French Letters in Tesco Express like a pervert. He stuffed them in his pocket.

“Let’s pay for this stuff and go.” he said firmly.

“Excuse me?” a voice creaked from further up the aisle. The four of you broke your huddle, battle-stances activated.

An old man shuffled closer, the tap of his walking stick echoing on the polished floor. “What should we do, Agent?” Thor muttered out the corner of his mouth. Your face softened, looking the geriatric up and down. “He’s clean, just an old dude,” you said. Steve tutted beside you. “Could be a disguise.” “A disguise?!” you hissed. “Excuse me, are you-” the old man started, before stopping in a haze of coughing. You began to step towards him, but Steve’s arm flew out to stop you. Four sets of eyes watched the man pick up pace, rubber end of his cane tap tap tapping on the floor as his crinkled gaze widened. It swept between the tall figures before him. Recognition. “Code Amber. Breach. Do something normal,” Steve whispered in panic. Without missing a beat, Thor lifted a sandwich carton from the basket and held in front of his face.

You turned, colliding with Loki’s chest. “Follow my lead,” he growled as he yanked you around the end of the aisle.

Before you could protest, he had you caged against a row of toilet paper. Matt plastic packaging cushioned the back of your head while Loki’s forearm pressed against the face of a sweet looking puppy. “This is normal... isn’t it?” Loki breathed, eyes flickering nervously from your shocked expression to where Steve was checking the expiry date on milk.

You stared up at him, fighting the urge to inhale deeply against the hollow of his neck with all your strength. Pine and smoked cedarwood and that fucking wax jacket. Loki's throat bobbed, working anxiously as the elderly gentleman bypassed the strange man holding a sandwich in front of his eyes. He was gaining on Steve. He's actually worried, you realised. “Move, Rogers” Loki grit, frowning as the intruder finally tapped an undercover captain on the shoulder. The god's eyes widened earnestly. It made you want to sink onto your knees.

The bow of Loki’s jawline was strained, veins tight and pulsing like they did when he was about to cum down your throat; his eyes pleading and needy, mouth open and- You swallowed. Letting your fingers clasp around the rough material of his open jacket, you tugged it gently. “It’s just an old man,” you whispered. Loki tilted his head, seemingly just realising the position he had manoeuvred you into. A gulp made his throat stiffen, then relax.

“Two old men,” he hummed, mirth warming his eyes. You smiled, and so did he.

Loki shuffled closer, his breath mingling with yours. He glanced towards the scene unfolding one aisle over, wetted lips hovering dangerously close to your own.

“Update,” he purred playfully, “the decrepit man has asked Rogers to get something from a high shelf. He has obliged.”

You pursed your lips with an approving nod, hoping Loki couldn’t smell the adrenaline seeping through your pores. “And my brother is still the village madman.”

A giggle escaped you, before the pad of Loki’s index finger smothered it gently. He leant close, your foreheads touching conspiratorially as silent laughter made his chest shake. His mouth creased in a soft smile, rolling the bottom lip beneath the top. “Shhh, you’ll get us in trouble,” he murmured in a way that made your soul leave your body. You wondered if he was hardening beneath his trousers right now. He would have, before. Maybe – if last night was anything to go by. But your awkward kiss this morning flashed back with frightening clarity, the hard look in his eyes as he said the only word that ever seemed to matter. Go. Don't be an idiot, you thought bitterly. Your hands slipped from their rest on his jacket, catching briefly on his belt. Loki watched them fall.

“Me in trouble,” he corrected, face stiffening. You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before Thor’s face peered around the corner, a half eaten ploughman’s sandwich in his grasp. “Time to leave before Rogers goes into cardiac arrest,” he chuckled, nudging his head towards Steve loitering jerkily by the door.

“Can you pay for these?” Thor said, holding out the basket. Empty packets lay nestled amongst the survivors. “You’re the least famous.” You rolled your eyes, nodding up towards Loki. “That sounds like something he would say,” you quipped without thinking. Loki’s brow furrowed. He let the protective arm resting above your head fall without a second glance, striding the long way around towards the exit. Thor took another bite of sandwich. He shrugged, before following his brother. But he didn’t, you thought with a stab of guilt as the three of them disappeared into the street.

The glow of the Fiat’s lock lights flashed. He didn’t.

--> Continued in Chapter Five, A Cunning Plan

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dcxdpdabbles · 10 months

Note

Would it be possible to read what happened during Phantom's mating season peak in The Bakery is a Front from Tim's POV? I just think the pure baffled energy that Tim would be radiating from being taken care of so nicely by his hot kidnapper from another dimension would be hilarious. Really the whole kidnapping had to have been a better experience than some of the galas Tim has been forced to attend; at least definitely the best kidnapping he has ever experienced, 10/10 would be kidnapped again.

It happens so fast.

One second he's suffering through Danny's overdose, and the next, the dead body in his arms is leaping over Bruce and trapping Damian in an iron-clad grip.

Jason and Dick react the fastest, but it does nothing to someone who can density shift. Tim can only watch Danny sobs on top of Damian, speaking in a strange dialect. It sounded like cracking ice every time he wailed.

"Unhand me!" Damian grunts snaping a knife into Danny's side. Despite the apparent red spot growing on Danny's shirt, the other man doesn't flatter in his movements in the slightest. He squeezes harder, but it doesn't seem like he's trying to hurt Damian. If anything, it looks like he's...cradling him? Yes, it did in fact, seem like Danny is attempting to cradle Damian like a baby.

What on earth-?

"Shit! Danny put him down!" A new voice shouts. Three women and a man burst into the room. Tim has yet to learn where they come from, but Bruce wastes no time throwing a pair of Batbolas at them. It hits the target on the man and the red hair women, tangling their legs and knocking them off.

The man yelps while the woman grunts, throwing her arms in front of her in an obviously trained reaction. She can't stop herself from falling all the way, but her reflex is nothing to scoff at.

She doesn't seem to care as she shouts at the drug dealer. "Daniel Fenton, you let that boy go right now! Are you listening to me?"

"Danny is not here right now."

Tim jerks his head in his fake boss' direction watching in horror as the man's usual blue starts glowing green, and his dark hair bleeds into white. There is an unnatural glow emanating from under his skin that makes him appear so beautiful Tim loses his train of thought for a moment.

This transformation seems a bit too much to just be a meta-gene activation. Is Danny....not human?

One of the women- who looks like a younger female version of Danny- blasts him with a zap of green from her hand. It reminds him of Starfire, but while his friend's blast is nothing but heat, the green of the girl seems more light than flame.

He drops, unconscious, letting go of Damian. The newcomers relax when the goth-looking one kneels next to him and presses her hands against his neck. Danny appears returns to the human one Tim is used to in another quick blink of an eye. "No pulse!"

"Thank goodness." The red hair, one says, sitting up. It's then that Tim realizes it's Jazz. The one that talked down Jason and the rest of Danny's men not even two weeks ago. So neither left of the siblings left overseas? How had they tricked Babs? "No pulse means he's still in his mating season. Quick we have to get him quarantined again before-"

"You are not going anywhere!" Jason growls, leveling his gun at her. Jazz blinks down the barrel, then raises a brow. It reminds Tim of Alfred when the man found his hidden coffee machine- disgusted, disappointed, but most of all, unimpressed.

His brother sneers. "I want to know what is happening here and I want to know now!"

"Can you not read?" Jazz returns, speaking as if an annoying customer demands a service she can not provide. "I put up signs that clearly said Quarantine do not enter around Danny's house. Why do you think that is? Oh, maybe, it means to leave this area alone."

"You bats are lucky we got here when we did," The man says, trying to twist out his binds. It's not going too well, as a few electric mobiles slip out of his pockets. "The only way to snap the human side of Danny out of his daze is by making him deny his obsession which is something I hate doing."

What?

"I hate hitting him too" The girl with the energy blasts pouts "I makes my stomach turn."

She twists at her waist seconds before Damian's foot swings through the air, where her head was only seconds before. She sidesteps his three other attacks, face twisting into a sneer. "Hey! Back off! We don't share the same obsession!"

"Silence wrench!" Damian sneers, which makes her even angrier.

"Make me, you wannabe pirate!" the girl hisses, and it's then that Tim realizes they may even be the same age. She is doing a masterful job of barely being out of Damian's deadly reach.

"Don't hurt him, Elle!" Jazz shouts, "Things are already complicated enough-"

The goth woman screams as she is suddenly launched into the air, slamming into Bruce and cutting off the redhead. Dick rushes to the now-standing Danny, aiming a barrage of attackers that the man easily slips through. Bruce throws the woman off him, slamming her against the wall and knocking her out in the same action. The man screams as Jason shoots out his kneecaps and Tim-

Tim suddenly finds himself unable to think as large green eyes overtake his vision. Danny's eyes and hair are bleeding in and out of different colors as the man stares at him. "Mate...."

Tim's mouth dries, and his eyes are drinking in the man. He knows he should be doing something, but Tim can't remember what he should be-.

"TIM!" Dick screams, snapping him out of his daze, and....oh, Tim is falling. Danny- or whatever is pretending to be Danny- has pushed him by pressing his hands against his chest and shoving him through a portal.

Danny is watching his drop with a soft smile, that is at odds with Jason appearing at his side with guns blazing.

Tim drops onto a pile of soft snow- or what he thinks is snow. It looks like it, soft like a fresh full pillow, but it's not cold. If anything, it's the perfect temperature to nap in.....he's exhausted. When was the last time Tim slept? He can't remember.

His eyes are getting heavy. His body is going boneless.....he has never been so comfortable in his whole life....is this what it feels like to rest on a cloud...

Tim blinks, around the room trying to fight the urge to give into the darkness, and he notes that he seems to be in a castle made entirely of ice and snow...like Danny's home.....he also appears to be in a tower? The windows are shaped like one.

Tim takes note of the sky being a bright green color which is..odd, but that's all he can think clearly as he finally goes under.

_________________________________________

It feels like he only closes his eyes for a second when Tim is startled awake by a scream of rage. Jerking away, he sits up, trying to gather his bearings. He needs to find out where he is and where his gear is.

Tim pulls on the crotcheted sweater he's been stuffed into, breathing a sigh of relief when he realizes his Red Robin outfit is still on underneath. He climbs out of the bed made entirely of snow, flickering his eyes about.

He's covered head to toe in other crotchety objects- pants, sweater, socks, gloves, a scarf, and a hat- all big enough to fit comfortably against him and his vigilante costume. Raising a hand to his face, he touches the smooth leather of his trusted mask.

Right. Danny let him keep his secret identity intake. That's... something.

He glances around his surroundings again, this time for sure, that his in some type of castle covered in ice. It's beautiful, like something out of a Disney movie with shiny crystal frozen designs everywhere. He carefully makes his way to the window, looking out into a far darker green of a sky.

He squints into the distance seeing acres and acres of a vast castle and land, but on the far right, there seems to be a drop....a cliff? Or the edge of this island. For you see, he could make out flouting doors and islands in the sky.

This differently wasn't his earth.

Danny, not being human, was becoming more and more plausible.

"Release me!" A voice echo. Damian.

Tim slams the door open, sprinting down the hall toward his younger brother's distress calls. It's a castle; even if everywhere he turns, it seems to be a frozen wonderland.

There are ice sculptures of Danny between every large ice pillar. They portray him as Tim usually is used to or as a being with a tail instead of legs mid-flight. There are portraits of various people hanging on the walls- he can make out Jazz and the others that busted into Danny's apartment- but there all encased in ice.

There are no guards, so when Tim sprints down a giant stairway, he is hyper-aware of his footsteps echoing on the cracking ice. He rounds the hallway, then stumbles to a stop at the sight before him.

It was Danny. At least, he thinks so. The being had a strong resemblance to him, but his skin had a slight blueish hue, his ears were pointed, his hair was pure white, he was glowing, and most of all, he didn't have legs.

The sculptures hadn't been a artistic choice Danny in this form had a tail and he was flying around a restrain Damian.

His brother was in a gaint baby doorway jumper, encased in what looked like a snow swaddle.

Damian is also covered head to toe in crochet clothing, but his Robin costume peaks from underneath it. Danny was flying around him, placing piles of snow on the ground around the struggling child, making noises like creaking ice and purring when he came close to pat Damian.

It also looked like Danny....was nesting with Damian in the center of it.

What in the world?

"I'll have your head!" Damian sneers as Danny gently places a bear beanie on his head. " I am not a child!"

"My baby" Danny coos, then starts making more cracking noise. He rubs his head against Damian like a cat which causes the boy to grimace.

Tim needs to get him out of there. He looks around for a weapon, but his gear doesn't seem near him. The only thing he can possibly use is the ice around the walls-

"Crackle, crack, Clank, Click!" Danny suddenly says in his face. He crossed the room at the same speed Bart would have, or maybe faster since he didn't even see a blur. Tim jerks back, but the glowing figure is already reaching out-.

He places a scarf around his neck with an adorable head tilt.

"Drake! Run! He'll swaddle you!"Damian screams, but Tim can't look away. He's so beautiful. Danny's bright green eyes, sparkling with the stars of the universe, and his lips are so full, he bets they would be perfect to kiss- is someone purring? Tim could fall asleep to that sound- it must be a white noise machine-!

He snaps his eyes open, shocked to find himself back in the original room.

Tim is back in the damn nest. Confused, he blinks around the room, noticing the sky is bright again and that he's tucked into the bed with great care. He's never felt more rest, so he knows he just spends hours sleeping.

He doesn't even remember getting moded, damn it.

""Red Robi- can you- where are you- report!" Tim's eyes widened when he realized Bruce's voice. It's his communicator! He scrambles out of the bed, straining his ears. "Re-Rob-in!""

There! His earpiece is in one of the ice crystals hanging from the ceiling. Miraculously it's still working, as he can barely make out Bruce's shouts. After four kicks of the crystal, he breaks it down, shattering it on the ground.

He quickly places it back into his ear. "Batman, I'm here!"

"Thank goodness!" An unknown woman says, making Tim flatter for only a moment. "Listen to me, my name is Sam, and right now, there is only one way to escape Danny's mating season without bloodshed. See, Phantom is in control right now, which means his obsession is at its highest. What does Danny not deem important enough to protect? Himself."

" We have to snap him out of it by having those under his protection stand up to him and....hit him. Anybody attacks will confuse Phantom so much the human side of Danny will be forced to take the front." Another female voice puts it. Jazz. She sounds unhappy, as she admits. "A punch to the head, or slap or something, just one from enough people under his protection will freeze Phantom for a moment."

Tim frowns. "I have no idea what you mean. How will that help get us away?"

"Well, we have a plan for that," A man says wearily. The one with all the electronics. "You may not like it...but we must get you to sacrifice yourself for Robin's freedom."

His siblings start shouting over the communicator but Jazz silence everyone with her explanation.

A very long explanation of ghosts, cores, and obsessions, but the gist is that Phantom and Danny's balance was disruptive, so the only way was to cause his human side to get clarification was by presenting Phantom with a paradox.

Phantom will protect all. Danny will allow anyone to hurt him because of his terrible self-esteem. Hence Phantom will not know if it should defend them when it's Danny in danger but it will pull at his core because something is still under attack in front of him.

However, as ghost king, Danny is crazy strong, so they need to attack with something Phantom would never try to defend himself from. His sister and two best friends suddenly slapping or punching him? Phantom would typically react by beating them away, but that would mean hurting the beings he exists to protect.

That's just the physical aspect of it too. Tim's sacrifice would pull at Danny's human emotions while Phantom would panic about needing to save Tim from the ghost he was sacrificed to. Which would be himself.

It should snap them both by tugging them in two different directions of their instincts.

Tim wonders if it will work-

He wakes up to Phantom purring and messaging his sore muscles. To his left is a feast of all of Tim's favorites. Even though he is the elite of Gotham, he's never been so pampered in his life.

Dang, it better work. Tim is getting far too comfortable in this castle. He may never want to leave.

"Phantom if you let my brother go ill be your mate."

"!" Phantom pauses then let's out a sound that sounds like twinkling bells glowing so bright he could be a star

"Only If you accept me as a sacrifice in exchange for my brother's freedom" Tim holds his break then jumps at the sound of shattering glass that comes from Phantom's mouth.

He blinks a few moments, fighting himself, until Phantom nods determined. "Mate will bring children. I need children."

"Ugh sure pal. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal"

It's a weird Tuesday.

Damian is home ten minutes later, and within the hour, Phantom overloads from the paradox.

Tim opens a portal home that night, and Danny sleeps through the rest of his mating season, going under when Phantom and he fights about Tim's fate.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #The bakery is a front #phantom and Danny can not compute different ideas of protection #Tim falls in love again #Damian was no please #Tim's pov #Part 6

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cherrysha · 3 months

Text

To Be Alone

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

A/N: Getting this tf outta my drafts,,, banishment style. if its formatted wrong its because im tipsy and im too lazy to fix it,,, itll get fixed in the morning <3

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Paranoia, weed, dubcon (since reader is under the influence), slight body horror

It’s already dark outside when you get to Yuuji’s apartment. Streetlights glimmer with a low electric buzz as you make your way up the concrete stairs. Its unseasonably cold outside, autumn air chilling through the light jacket you found haphazardly stuffed in the back of your car. He’s still blowing your phone up, probably ‘where are you??’ messages like he hasn’t been texting you that for the past fifteen minutes. Like he doesn’t know how far your work is from his apartment. You'd been friends long enough now to know when to answer his texts and when to ignore the incessant buzzing of your phone. “Jesus” you mutter as his ringtone plays. It’s been years but he’s always like this. A little too eager, like a child. Hitting mute, you finally round the corner and knock on his door. Yuuji could be so impatient sometimes. It only takes one rap against the metal before you can hear the bolts turning, your friend’s cottony pink hair greeting you, eyes scrunched in a bright smile. You can't be mad, not when the smile that covers his face is so genuine.

“You're insane” you huff out at him, stepping into the threshold and shimmying out of your coat in the process. His apartment is always so warm, a little too warm, but his older brother blew a gasket any time Yuuji tried to turn down the heat for you.

“Am not!” you giggle as he puts a hand to his chest, mock annoyance coloring his face “You just need to be quicker… making me wait and all.” You ignore him, haphazardly kicking out of your shoes before stepping deeper into the apartment.

“isn’t Junpei coming? We have to wait for him anyway.”

“He, uh, didn’t feel like coming out tonight” you can hear the disappointment in his voice at the statement and it’s contagious. Yuuji’s had a crush on the boy for almost an entire year, which is hard to believe given his short attention span and lack of romantic interest. With an audible ‘tsk’ you ruffle his hair, smiling at the little indignant look on his face that threatens to spill over at the touch.

“There’s always next time, Yuuji” he nods, smile returning as he follows you into the living room.

“Was thinkin’ we could watch Cast Away, since you don’t like the scary stuff”. If Junpei were here, you know he’d make you watch a horror movie anyway. Probably send you off to his room during the really scary parts so you wouldn’t ruin the mood. The thought makes you smile, and you eagerly nod as you sink back into the sofa. Yuuji sits down next to you with a huff, fiddling with the remote until the movie starts in the background. He’s probably watched this one a dozen times. You know you’ve seen it with him too many times to count. Without much thought he turns it up before setting the remote back down and picking the blunt up off the coffee table. Thank God he figured out how to roll them up. The last thing you wanted was another thirty-minute session of trying to show him exactly how to do it himself.

Tom Hanks’ boring little life plays out on the screen in front of you as Yuuji mumbles something about how you would’ve rolled it better, and not to judge his sloppy technique. He’s still learning and all. You don’t look his way to reply, only muttering “Free weed is free weed.” as you focus on the movie. He's never told you who his dealer is, and you’ve never outright asked. Whoever he was, he never seemed to be in short supply. All the dealers you’ve met at college were either professional frat boy scam artists, selling little baggies of trash weed to stupid rich boys, or untrustworthy as hell. The type to sell you laced product and not even bat an eye. Good dealers were hard to find. It wasn't surprising Yuuji hadn’t told you, and it didn’t matter since he rarely liked to smoke alone. Yuuji leans back into the couch as he lazily hands the blunt to you, coughing a little at the end of his exhale. You don’t think about it as you take it from his hand.

Friday nights at Yuuji’s feels like routine at this point. Leave work, smoke a blunt or two on his couch as he monologues about the random movie he’s put on, sober up and go home to your empty apartment and sleep in until Yuuji blows your phone up again. Sometimes Junpei or Nobara join in too, but most of the time it’s just you and him. Like it’s always been.

Time feels like syrup as you listen to him ramble, voice a breathy sigh as he tells you behind the scenes facts about the movie. How Wilson actually had his own lines in the script, how none of the sound was useable and had to be added in during post production. A treasure trove of useless facts that you happily indulge in listening to. It’s odd to think of him taking his time to learn such trivial things. The image of him blankly staring at the cast away wiki during lecture swirls in your mind, pulling a chuckle from your dry throat. He’d definitely do something like that. Probably wouldn’t care if he was caught either.

“What’s so funny?” he mumbles, lazy smile almost infectious as you just nod your head at him, eyes averting back to the screen.

Toms already stranded on the island, you think this is the part where he rips out an infected tooth, at least you hope it is. You didn’t want to be around to see that on the screen again.

“You want somethin’ to eat?” you mumble at him, pushing up from the couch.

“Uh, can you get me a bottle of water?” you nod, with a small chuckle. His eyes are glazed over, half lidded as he watches the screen like he’s absorbing any information that’s being presented to him. In about five minutes he’d probably be asleep.

You hear the scream from the kitchen as Tom finally pulls the tooth out with the blade of an ice skate. You were too squeamish to look at the screen the first time you watched it. Even now, the sound alone was enough to gross you out.

Yuuji’s cupboards are always well stocked with garbage. Chips, candy, instant noodles, anything you wanted. You take another drag from the blunt, head fuzzing over with smoke as you stare at all the options. Sukuna kept most of his food separate, not that you had to worry much about accidentally eating it. The healthy stuff was all his. Mostly stuff that had to be prepared and cooked. You weren’t looking for that shit tonight.

“You should probably eat something!” you call out to him. After a few seconds with no reply, you peek around the corner, unsurprised to see him snoring away loudly on the couch. Go figure.

He usually fell asleep later, during the first half of the second movie. When the blunt was at least half finished. At least he left room for you on the couch this time.

Not thinking much about it, you grab a pack of cookies and two water bottles. One for you, and one for the bonehead if he decided to wake up any time soon.

Yuuji had left another blunt unattended, letting it idly burn away in the ashtray while he snored unashamedly on the armrest. It wasn’t really a problem, if anything it meant more for you. Yuuji wouldn’t mind, if anything he’d probably be happy that it didn’t go to waste… He probably wouldn’t mind if you smoked the third one either…

~~~

Idly you sip the water, heart pumping faster than it should be, skin feeling clammier than normal. You didn’t feel normal. Nothing felt normal.

He’s been passed out for too long to be easily woken up by the time you start feeling it. ‘It’ being the ever-pressing creep of paranoia along the edges of your psyche. Tom Hanks is screaming as Wilson bobs away from the makeshift raft and you can't help but to think the neighbors hear. That they’re calling the cops for a wellness check as you sit there, unmoving. The ambient lights flickering in through the curtains no longer feels warm, but rather very, very insidious. What happens if you go to jail? Will you lose your scholarship? Do you even have a fucking scholarship? You shake your head to try and clear the thoughts away to no avail. Yuuji’s groaning in his sleep, drool pooling out of the side of his mouth and the sudden impending doom bubbles back to the forefront of your mind. What if he chokes on all that drool and dies and you go to jail because you weren’t keeping an eye on him? Is it possible to choke on your own spit?

Your fears seem to be confirmed as the apartment door swings open, deafening compared to the low mumble of the tv and Yuuji’s deep snores. You can hear whoever it is close the door before walking down the hallway. What if it was the cops? Or even worse, someone here to rob Yuuji? Fuck, if that were the case, you'd have no qualms with them taking everything they wanted. It’s Yuuji’s fault he didn’t deadbolt the door.

You let go of the breath you'd been holding when Sukuna rounds the corner. Eyes flickering to his brother, then to you, then to the blunt burning away in the ashtray.

You must look startled, wide eyes locked on him as adrenaline surges through your body. You must look a little suspicious too.

“You good?” he asks, and you can't help but look away from his heavily tattooed face, eyes instead focusing on how his chest slowly moves under his plain white shirt with each breath. You blink, trying to mimic the natural motion, the steady in-and-out of his lungs filling up and exhaling air.

“Yeah… yeah. I just thought you were someone else.”

“Who?” his voice is demanding, sharp. Its always been that way. Deep and rich and hard to ignore. The only time you’ve been able to hear him speak more than a few words is when he’s bitching Yuuji out over something.

Taking, what you think is a very short moment, you answer.

“The cops?” he’s sighing at the sheepishness in your voice. Obviously connecting the dots as he moves to snuff the lit blunt out in the ashtray.

You can't help it as you continue to talk, to give him more proof of your paranoia as you try to defend your own emotions to him. After too long, he stops you. Hand coming to rub his face in a movement that exposes his true irritation.

“I just wanted some peace and quiet” Sukuna groans. He takes a moment to stare at the ceiling.

Silence hangs in the air like smoke as you try and find the words you need. Tell him that this is a mistake, a misunderstanding.

“I can go, if, if that’s what you wa-“

“Just shut the fuck up y/n.” he snaps, eyes finding yours just as tears threaten to spill. You don’t know why you were being so sensitive. Maybe it was because you’d never even met eye contact with the man, maybe it was because of your mental state, who was to tell. He groans again, moving closer and placing a hand on your head. Big arms encircle your waist as he hoists you up, free hand wiping at the tears sliding down your face as he walks down the hallway.

He’s so warm, how have you not noticed before? It’s not like you had ever been this close to him to truly know. In fact, this is the closest you’d ever been to him, physically and emotionally. You’d never felt comfortable enough, even the other times he’d come home to find you and yuuji stoned out of your minds, he usually left you two to your own devices and acted as if you weren’t there.

Before you know it, he’s plopping you down on his bed, and even just being in the quiet dimly lit room with him is more comforting than it should be. After all, he was being kind, a side of him you rarely saw.

“Still in your work clothes” he mumbles to himself, that layer of irritable disappointment still threading through his words as he curses again. Whispering something about kicking Yuuji’s ass before his big frame disappears out of the room. It hits you then just how focused he is on your well being. He’d focused in on something you thought was a non-issue, fixated on your comfort even if you weren’t.

You can hear him, doors creaking open and rummaging noises distantly echoing from down the hall, but all you can focus on is how the ambient light in his room looks sinister now that you’re by yourself. It doesn’t take long before he’s back, tossing you a pair of Yuuji’s sweats and sitting a glass of water down on the bedside table.

“Come out and let me know when you're changed.” he mumbles, but you already have a hand around his wrist. The touch softly begging him to stay and let you find comfort. Even if Sukuna is as comforting as a rock, it felt wrong being alone. You know it’s wrong, this is yuuji’s older brother, his older brother who’s rarely home, who’s done nothing but ensure your comfort, and yet, you can’t stop the well of feelings bubbling up in your chest at his casual decency. He stays, begrudgingly sighing as he sits down on the edge of his bed. You don’t expect him to give you any privacy, and he doesn’t, but you're too focused on keeping your cool to truly pay attention to the way his eyes roam over your exposed skin, eyebrow raising at the sight of you undoing your bra and tossing it into your pile of clothing.

When you’re finished he asks if you're tired, quieter now, observing you as if he’s come to some new realization while watching you undress. You nod your head, hesitantly sitting on the edge of the bed. Hoping that maybe if you were lucky he wouldn’t make you sleep in yuuji’s room. The thought of being left alone with your own thoughts much scarier than the man in front of you. Even if he kicked you out, you’d probably find yourself on the couch next to yuuji, being kept awake by his incessant snoring. Even now you could faintly hear it, the sound reverberating through the hallway and into Sukuna's room.

Before you can think too much about it, however, hands find your hips, maneuvering you onto Sukuna’s chest as he lays down with you. Every inhale moves your body on his, deep breaths as he slides his palms up to the back of your head, lifting it so you have no choice but to stare into his eyes.

“Feel any better?”. Vaguely, you think this is the nicest sukuna has ever been to you, even if he is forcefully tilting your head back. Usually, you only see him in passing, any words spoken on his part come out as a grunt and nothing more. Yuuji had told you that you were Sukuna’s favorite, whatever that meant. And when you had pressed Yuuji on that sentiment he had clammed up. Said Sukuna only let you stay the night, had only ever been himself around you. Of course you hadn’t known what he meant by that; Sukuna barely acknowledged you, never speaking to you unless he could do so in monosyllabic words or grunts. But tonight, he'd been nothing but kind, at least kind in his own right.

You nod, breath hitching as he mutters out a “good girl” before kissing the crown of your head. There’s nothing further than that, and after a while his deep breaths even out. You feel like a cat, some sort of small animal that their owner has allowed to sleep on their chest. It’s all too docile. Slowly you find yourself drifting off as well.

Your rest ends up being shorter than you would’ve hoped because Its hot. Too fucking hot. Too hot to sleep, too hot to breathe. You need out. Slowly, you slip off the huge t shirt, uncaring of your bareness underneath. You need relief in some form. It takes a few tries before you can roll the sweatpants off of your hips. Maybe if you were sober you would’ve remembered that this was not the time nor the place to be laying yourself bare, but for right now, its hard to remember your propriety. In truth, you forgot about the fact that your were a guest in a grown man’s bed, In truth, you really didn’t stop to think about repercussions. By the time you’re done, you realize you have an audience. Sukuna’s eyes are staring down at you, fingers digging into the meat of your hips to still your movement.

“Sukuna I’m sorry-“

“You trying to start something?”

“No, no I just got hot and- “

“You could’ve gotten the fuck off of me” it only takes a moment before tears threaten to spill at the harsh words, at the mean look on his face as he stares down at you. Its embarrassing, mortifying, that he’s right. Before you can make much progress on getting your body off of his a tight grip on your hips stills you as he readjusts, and places you squarely back on top of him again.

“Such a crybaby” his hips rock up, hands pressing you down further as he moves languidly against you. “Feel that crybaby?” you nod, eyes still focused on his as he continues moving. He’s hard between your legs, every press of his hips squishing into that soft spot at the apex of your thighs, igniting a new type of heat inside of you.

“There’s no use trying to take advantage of me like that,” he grunts, still moving against you “coulda just asked. I’m more than happy to give you what you want.”

Its not like that, at least in your head it wasn’t. You had made too many bad choices tonight, and all of them had led you here. Straddling his wide hips, hands on his chest as you slowly grind back and forth on top of him, gasping at the delicious friction with every swivel. Its surprising he allows it, but Sukuna just calmly rests on his elbows, transfixed with the way the material of his sweatpants moves underneath you, how he can feel the heat radiating from your core like a furnace.

Before long he sits up, hand wrapping around your hip to force you to still. He laughs at the whine that bubbles up from your throat, eyes searching your face as his free hand tangles in between you, pressing in between your bodies until he finds what he’s looking for. His thumb presses down softly at first, gentle and languid strokes over your clothed clit until your eyes flutter shut and you mouth drops open at the sensation. The syrupy feeling doesn’t last long, only a few minutes of his hips bucking up into yours, jostling you each time as his thumb traces careful circles, until he’s had enough and presses down on your clit harshly. His body shakes with laughter as you cry out in overstimulation.

“such a glutton” his mouth finds your throat, lips closing over your pulse point as his eyes flutter shut at the feel of your whines vibrating through the skin there. On a harsher thrust your nails accidentally scratch down the expanse of his muscular chest, ripping a growl from him in the process. Before you can apologize, he’s cursing again, hips moving against your own as he pulls and pushes you against him. Your best friend’s brother, beneath you, panting and groaning at the feeling of your nails in his chest. It doesn’t seem real, if anything it’s more believable that you passed out beside yuuji and ended up in a fucked up dream. Unfortunately for you the dull, bruising, ache of his hands on your hips solidifies this as reality, and unceremoniously you're dumped onto the bed, underneath him as he pants above you.

His eyes look crazed, an inch away from terrifying, as he sloppily rips your underwear from you, ignoring the sound of the fabric protesting at such harsh treatment. It feels wrong, and that alone turns you on further. Sukuna’s chest rises and falls in his excitement, and two fingers push into you, gathering slick and messily smearing it over your pussy. His hand is still wet, glistening in the low light as it wraps around your knee, pushing both of them together and up.

“Sukuna – “

“who told you to speak?” he’s lining himself up, eyes focused as he slowly rolls his hips forward. You never even noticed his sweats came off, never wanted it to get this far, but before you can find your voice -

You expect to feel the harsh burn of him pressing inside of you, but it doesn’t come. instead, his cock is pushing through your thighs, glistening head squishing through sticky flesh as he starts to set a harsh pace. The underside brushes along your folds, gathering the slickness there with every pass as his pace only gets faster.

“Fuck” he groans, hips twitching as he stills, trying to catch his breath at the sensation, at the fucked out expression on your face. He hasn’t even fucked you and yet you look an absolute wreck. You don’t feel much better either. Every slide of his hips forces more wetness from you, more noises from you. The feeling of his fingers digging into to crook of your knees keeps you firmly planted in the moment.

“All of this,” he sighs, finally picking up the pace after being a tease the entire night, “right under my nose this whole time.” the air is pushed out of your lungs as his cock finally rubs against your clit.

The sound of his body slamming against your own fills the room. Sukuna leans down, and for a shocking moment you think he may actually kiss you, but his head goes even lower before you can feel his teeth biting against your neck. There’s no room to breathe with him like this, your hands curling into the red sheets, his mouth unabashedly leaving marks against your throat, its all too overwhelming. The sound of slapping echoes through the room. You’re left adrift in the sensation of Sukuna fucking your thighs so vigorously, the wet schlick of skin on skin, the sound of his panting breaths. Only a few more thrusts against your clit before you’re whining, thrashing against the bed, close to an orgasm that doesn’t come.

“Did you really think I’d let you?” He breathlessly laughs “i’m not that kind sweetheart.”

Sukuna pulls back at the last second, hand on his cock as he jerks off in front of you, kneeing at your spread legs until you’re situated just the way he wants: legs spread, breathless, as he pumps his cock in front of your tits.

“Such a pretty thing” he murmurs, “shame this is all goin’ to waste… maybe one day-“ the groan, and sudden release that bathes your chest, is startling. You’d never thought of yuuji’s brother in this way, moaning above you as he paints your chest white. But now the truth of it was jarring enough for you to see the truth for what it was. You had fucked your best friend’s brother. Had let him finish on your chest, even let him clean you up afterwards and croon sweet nothings into your ear during the process. You were even shameless enough to fall into a peaceful sleep next to him.

When you wake, the room still faintly smells of sex. Fear grips you as you hear something down the hall. Sukuna is long gone, something you’d expected before you even opened your eyes. You know he’s probably left the apartment already, that’s not what scares you. The sound reverberating down the hall is yuuji. Singing over some shitty pop anthem blaring through a speaker. How could you explain away fucking his brother?

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryoumen smut

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 6 months

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 46

Part 1 Part 45

Hopper’s idling by the trailer when Steve and Eddie exit on the way to school the next morning. Eddie’s forehead immediately breaks out in anxiety-sweats. He stumbles back a step on instinct, arm up to waylay Steve. Nothing good ever came from the Chief of Police loitering in front of a drug dealer’s trailer.

Hopper cranks his window down, leaning out enough to stick his head partially out, and shouts over at them, “you cleared to go to school already, Harrington?”

Eddie drops his arm – threat categorized, acknowledged, and discarded. Steve steps over the threshold and down the front steps, each foot placed carefully, lest he stumble in front of Hopper.

“It’s fine,” Steve says, like he always does.

“Your doctor say that?”

Steve shifts his eyes toward Eddie, like he’s begging for help. Eddie clears his throat, pointedly not curling his shoulders in when Hopper shifts his glare over to him. “He went yesterday,” he calls over, like a chump. Because what his majesty wants, Eddie will provide.

Hopper raises his eyebrows, letting them stew in the silence as he keeps his eyes trained on Eddie. Weakest link sighted. And just like every time he finds himself in this standoff with the bane of his existence, he folds. “He’s not supposed to go back until Monday!”

“Munson!” Steve grouses. Eddie’s guts churn at being last-named again.

“But” Eddie starts, waving his hand in Steve’s face like that’ll buy him a few more seconds of grace. “You gotta let him go, Hopper.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he grouses, still glaring into Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie fidgets, hoping Steve won’t be too pissed off. “Harrington here’s a flight risk,” he says, patting his head lightly, like a dog who’s just performed a marvelous trick. “You don’t give him something to do? We might never see him again.”

Steve scoffs, but notably doesn’t pull away from Eddie’s hand or refute his point.

Hopper continues glaring at both of them before sighing out like a beleaguered dog and rolls up his window. He doesn’t drive away. “Is that–” Steve starts, squinting at Hopper through his now-closed window. “Is that permission?”

“We don’t beg for permission, Stevie.” Eddie trails his hand through Steve’s peach-fuzz hair before skipping over to where his van’s parked, knowing without looking that Steve’s following him. He slides into the driver’s seat, waits for Steve to slide in as well before turning the key in the ignition. “We don’t even ask for forgiveness.”

He smiles over at Steve, cheeks hurting from the force of it. He feels like he’s just taken three shots of espresso, back to back to back. Steve smiles over at him, small but real, eyes shining in the morning sun. His hair glows golden in the sunlight, and his skin, still slightly sallow, is flushed pink in the cheeks.

“We don’t?” Steve asks quietly. He sounds excited. Like a kid told he’d get to open his birthday presents early.

Eddie’s endeared, any reluctance drained out of him around the second time Steve Harrington had saved his life. “Naw.” He reaches over, patting Steve’s knee, not letting his fingers linger like they want to. He cranks the engine, Black Sabbath booming from the speakers until Steve turns it down a few notches. “That’s for squares. And you, Steve Harrington, are a certified badass.”

Steve’s smiling out the window when Eddie glances over, watching trailers pass by. Electric Funeral turns over to War Pigs. Eddie sings along quietly as Steve bops his head along to a beat he doesn’t even know.

Hopper follows them all the way to school, his truck idling at the curb until Eddie pulls into a spot and takes out the key. Neither of them mention anything.

School passes in a mindless haze. Eddie listens to lectures on calculus and geography and the themes in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, lets it all fly over his head. Not even in one ear and out the other – that implies it went into his brain at all.

Jeff gives him dirty looks throughout calc, like he can tell Eddie’s checked out past the point of return and is feeling a sense of paternal disappointment over his lack of work ethic.

Eddie’d checked out long before Demogorgon’s and Demon Worlds made an appearance in his life. Now, class feels like biding time until he can get Steve back in his sights. Graduating feels like another step away from Harrington that he doesn’t want to take.

So he sits and stews and ignores Jeff’s disappointed eyes, and regrets that Steve’s a year below him and not smart enough to pass calc either.

Seeing him walk into lunch is a religious experience. Eddie sighs into his suspicious casserole, staring at Steve with reverence. He’s talking to Barb quietly, standing beside her in the lunch line.

Steve laughs at something she says, and Eddie swears he can almost hear it across the cacophony of the lunchroom rush.

“Dude,” Gareth says from beside him.

Eddie jumps, whipping his head over to where Gareth had snuck up on him. “When did you get here?” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

Gareth stares back, deadpan. Eddie misses when his little sheep were at least a little bit afraid of him. Honestly, the gall. “I was here before you sat down.”

Ah, well. Eddie hunches, looking around the table that’s seemingly filled in around him. “So?”

Gareth leans closer, keeping his voice lowered. “Are you, like in love with Harrington?” Gareth asks, voice quiet enough for discretion even as it lentils up harshly at the end.

“No, shut up!” Eddie hisses back, but something restless and wanting unfurls as the fishhook in his ribs slackens with Steve’s approach. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

“—could help you,” Barb is saying, inexplicably sitting at the wrong freaks and geeks table again. Clearly, there’s still trouble in paradise. “I’m free Thursday’s after school.”

Steve slides in next to Eddie, matching suspect casserole to Eddie’s own. He doesn’t look away from his conversation from Barb, but he slides his knee into Eddie’s, easy like breathing. Even easier, with Steve’s track record of not doing that.

“Really?” Steve asks, leaning toward her over the table.

Barb shrugs, nonchalantly, pulling that same bagged sandwich from her bag to munch on. “Sure, why not?”

She says it like it’s nothing, but Steve exhales like the world just stopped ending. “Thanks,” he sighs. “I’m just so behind, and my Dad–” he cuts off, shoves a forkful of slop in his mouth like that’s the reason for the pause. “I just don’t want to be held back.”

Jeff, the traitor, looks over to Barbara and unhelpfully contributes, “are you guys planning a study group?” he asks, continuing before she has a chance, “because this one could use a little of that.”

Eddie doesn’t let anyone else get in a word. “I can’t Jeffery,” Eddie sneers. “Thursday is Hellfire.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows like he’s thinking deeply, starts, “we could maybe do it on Wed—”

“That’s fine!” Eddie says. “I’m doing fine!”

He glares around at the table, daring anyone to say anything. Jeff scoffs, and Steve still looks worried, but no one says anything. Study group is born, and Eddie’s plans are finalized: his graduating class will be moving on without him.

He only hopes Wayne understands.

Part 47

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fic

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dante-mightdie · 6 months

Note

You mentioned bluecollar!simon would do some sketchy shit to make money when needed, out of morbid curiosity, what sort of stuff?

After reading that ask about Simon getting laid off it got me thinking

Even though your working full-time now to support the both you and Simon, you’re nowhere near making the same amount of money Simon was when he was working full time (idk I imagine reader having a job at like a petrol station behind the contour, it’s sketchy, the customers are sketchy and the pay is shit but at the end of the day it’s all that’s she’s got)

It’s getting to the point where you both are having to eat less/not until your satisfied but you can’t afford a weeks worth of food as well as water, electricity, rent, petrol, ect,ect,ect so you both just have to do the best with what you’ve got at the moment

Like you said, Simon is a very proud man and watching the love of his life have to eat as little as possible, shower as fast as possible and not use the heater because they can’t afford it breaks, not just his heart, but his ego

When reader first met him she made him swear up and down that he would stop doing sketchy shit for money, she helped him get away from those people who were leading him down the wrong track and made sure he didn’t get himself in trouble. So he started making money in a more adorable way, but now times are tough and feels as that he has no choice

He could feel their relationship start slowly falling apart and he just could have that so he called up one of this old sketchy mates to help him get back into making money like he used to

Of course he does this behind readers back because he swore to her he would never go back!! But what else was he meant to do? Let his sweetheart suffer? Watch her work herself to death 7 days a week 12 hours a day and do nothing? His a provider, his a problem solver and he’ll be damned if he lets down his baby in a time of need

He starts doing his sketchy job again, telling reader his just picked up some good contract work from an old friend that “owed him for a favour”

The money starts coming in and it’s good, really good actually. Bills are being payed mostly by him again, food is not really an issue anymore and his almost back to where he was before he got laid off. Reader and his relationship is back on track, no more big stresses or arguments anymore. Life is good

But it’s so so so hard for him to go back to normal blue collar work, his making a little more money now then he was working out in the elements sweating with aching muscles. OH and on the construction site AS WELL AS went behind readers back and continued his side hustle!! GOD HE WOULD BE SWIMMING IN IT!!!

Aghhhhh it’s so hard for him all he wants his for his beautiful baby to have the life she deserves, he would never want to break her trust but god just the thought of living somewhat comfortably financially makes his heart flutter.

I would LOVE to hear your take on that if you have the time. His so unethical but it’s from the heart. All he wants is for you to live happily and comfortably. Your worry’s only being what warm dinner to put on the table for when he gets home and if you should put the white loads or the dark loads on first in the washing machine.

Personally I think his sketchy gig world probably have to do with dealing some illegal substances, I know it’s a stereotype that blue-collar works use substances, idk but it definitely is in my country. But yeah I could imagine him liking to indulge before he met reader as well. SORRY IM RAMBLING BUT YEAH LOVE YOU HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS

- 🎀

listen listen he is 100% a fucking weed dealer

content warning: weed, drug-dealing, illegal activities, mentions of guns...

used to deal it to the lads on the site before he met you. was only something he did for a bit of extra cash but it spiraled and he was getting in to deep to that lifestyle. started dating you and decided it was time to get out of that life after you a found a gun in his flat...

hated the scared look on your face as you stared down at the weapon in your hand never wants to see you that exposed to that kind of lifestyle again. so he dropped out. got a steady job, moved in with you, living an honest life...

but then he got laid off and he was desperate...

started selling weed again, maybe even started smoking it again to deal with the stress. and he can't deny it's nice to be able to spoil you again, bring you home little treats and presents, small date nights...

being able to take all the stress away from you made the risk worth it. no longer having to deal with hearing you crying in the bathroom because you're stressed about which bills you can pay this month eased the pain in his chest

and once he goes back to having a steady construction job again, he can't help but enjoy the extra spending money. actually being able to put money into a separate savings account, even starts looking at engagement rings and getting a bigger flat...

#mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #bluecollar!simon

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acerathia · 2 months

Text

had to write this..... aventurine x reader

cw: gambling, gun use/russian roulette, glorification of violence

The weight of metal rests heavy against your skin, sliding against cloth with each step you take. There's no real goal for your walking, aimlessly wandering between the tables loaded with coins.

Usually, you would take a seat, try your luck. But today, today the thrill of a simple gamble was just not enough for you. You need something more, a notch more dangerous, more daring.

Despite your restless energy, despite knowing what could finally discharge you of this wanting electricity running in your veins, you have no other choice but to look somewhere else for anything to satisfy you long enough. But not even the money turned out to be the temptress it used to be.

So, with twitching fingers, you continue to be on the lookout. On the lookout for nothing but restlessness.

After some time, you end up at a random table, your coins heaped in front of you, cards in your hand, face unmoving. A glance between the dealer and the others, only to catch the eye of a blond, his eyes behind a pair of shades, barely hiding his eyes and the glint in them.

You feel your eye twitch as you watch how a grin spreads over his face as he leans back into his chair, the rings catching on the slightly moving cards.

Before you knew it, you had lost the share you had bet, everything on the table going towards the blond.

Slowly, you stretch your fingers, feeling the anticipation bubbling inside you as you are handed another hand. But the cards never seem to matter, he always won every round. His gaze unwavering, the coins clinking against his jewelry as he lets them roll between his fingers. Not once have you noticed him tense up, not even the slightest tick that might tell on him.

And that is something. Something that made a grin curl around the edges of your lips. You had never lost this devastatingly before, and every loss of coins, every win of his made your heart beat with a certain thrill. And you had to take your chances.

After everyone has gotten their new hand, you turn towards him, your free hand touching on the hidden metal.

"All of this has been fun and good. But how about we raise the stakes?" you ask him directly, not caring about anyone else on the table.

His grin seems to sharpen. "What's your wager?"

A grin of your own breaks over your face, all teeth and thrill. With a quick snatch, you get the gun out, putting it on the table before sliding it towards him.

His eyes dart towards it before returning to you, some kind of realization in his eyes, yet the same kind of anticipation you're feeling.

"My life."

With your answer, you put the cards down and motion for him to pick up the gun.

"There's one bullet inside. And to make it more interesting, we point it at each other," you explain, raising your arms to the side as if welcoming him.

"Hm, interesting. But what does the winner get? High stakes mean high reward."

His retort brings your focus back to him. Cocking your head, you answer: "It's simple, really. The winner gets it all!"

You're aware of the risk, of the way you're putting everything on the line. Yet, the thrill coursing through you with every glance you share is worth everything.

And, you're curious. Whose luck would be the first to run out?

Without trying to negotiate, he picks up the gun, letting the cylinder roll with a swing of his fingers, the rings deliciously resounding against it.

With a click, he points the gun at your forehead, his eyes trained on you. You watch his every move, the twitch of his mouth, the glide of his fingers against the trigger, and all you do is grin at him as another click resounds. An empty chamber.

With ease, he points the handle towards you, and your fingers touch as the gun exchanges hands, a touch filled with electricity, with a certain charge you both share.

You put your finger on the trigger as he leans back once again, his arm over the back of the chair, almost like there is no gun pointing towards him, the danger something he basks in. A click, another empty chamber. His grin widens, as if he already knew this is going to happen. Maybe he did, his luck overwhelming.

You give him the gun, and you can't help but notice the way he deliberately grazes your fingers with his, and if your skin wasn't already shivering due to the game, it would be overcome by goosebumps at his touch.

The touch has given you something, made you bolder, so, the moment he points the gun at you once again, you grab it and press it into your skin as opposed to the distance from before.

This put you closer to him, also, you looking up at him, as his fingers slide over the trigger. Yet, for a moment, you both just stare at each other, your widened eyes in anticipation meet his curious ones. He pulls the trigger, an empty click.

Yet, that wasn't satisfying enough. You ket your fingers glide over his, hot leather against your trembling fingers, over the trigger, and you push it once again.

At least you tried to, as the trigger jams up. And no matter how often you pressed, no shot wants to leave the chamber.

Your grin immediately slides off, leaving it slightly tilted as you back off to take the gun into your hand, inspecting it. You'd have to take it apart to see the problem, something you couldn't just do at the moment.

A sigh, you put the gun into its place against your heated skin. But before you could say anything, he speaks up.

"Well, I guess we have to postpone our gamble. How about we discuss the details over a drink?" His eyes trail over your face, intently watching your every twitch, almost like you're still playing poker.

And you're not someone who backs down from any challenge, be it gambling or talking.

#aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #hsr x reader

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divinehedons · 10 months

Text

nothing good.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: javier peña x foreign journalist!afab!reader

word count: ~3k

summary: javier peña recounts a tumultuous affair with you, one that while all-consuming, occured only within the span of three meetings.

warnings: this fic contains explicit sex, minors DO NOT interact! p-in-v sex, canon-typical corruption and javi's morbid consumption of cigarettes, angst angst angsty angst.

note: this is a self-indulgent fic written with getaway car on repeat in the background. because of that, i've started singing it as, "javi in the getaway car." i hope you enjoy and thank you so much for the influx of support! reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

"Do you remember how we met, cariño?" he whispers, quickly followed by the sound of a long exhale. A motion so familiar, you could swear you smell the menthols he always smoked; lounged in bed, in the office, after a long day, on the walks you both took.

It was that train of thought that pulls you back to the day you yourself remembered well. The threshold of you and Javi. It was a humid evening, like any other humid evenings you had in Bogota. The racuous night life, ruled mostly by hijinks and crime, and the smell of electricity in the air. You remember the dress you wore that evening. You remember feeling sort-of-nice about yourself.

His version: he was on the lookout for a tip about a syndicate in the city, some loose connection to Escobar with a few boys. You, the helpless, lost, and lovely little lamb who happened to knock on his car window asking if he can help you find your hotel. That he looked like a cop, anyway, so you thought you'd ask. He's met enough of the lost tourists every now and then, although none as pretty or as goddamn fuckable as you were. So of course he drove you back; he flirted tooth and nail to get in your bed, too. He didn't get the collar for the arrest when their target did eventually show up. But he didn't mind it one bit.

Your version of the story varied in some aspects.

Your version: Escobar had lured enough attention to fly you out to Columbia- you, the pretty face that could get through places your colleagues couldn't go to. You got close that evening, even meeting with a local dealer with your bashful eyes and a few drinks at the local watering hole. But the moment he feels up your skirt, you knew you had to get away. So you pretend to go to the restroom, using the nearest payphone to call in a tip, and then climbing up the bathroom window and into the back alley where you slipped away. Five minutes later, you see the typical undercover cop, not as undercover as he thinks he is.

So you decided to save him, knocking on his window with the flirtiest smile on your face. It's easy to know what he wants, with his eyes sneaking glances at the valley of your chest, the curves of your body. It's easy when you lean over to kiss his cheek as thanks.

"I'm Javier, what's your name?" You look over with a small smile and reply with your own.

"Nice to meet you, Javier."

The decision is right there, so you take it. You fuck a cop so you can hide the inklings of suggestions that can expose your doing.

"We fucked that night, didn't we?" You hear him laugh at the other end, your crass wording summarizing the excitement of that evening.

But you did fuck. His moustache nuzzling against the crook of your neck as his cock drives you wide open, your legs on his shoulders, your moans forever echoing within the receses of his brain even when he left you, satiated and reporting back to process the paperwork of the arrest he didn't get to make.

Sometime before that, though, you find out he's more agent than cop. It turns out, men are much more willing to talk when they're fresh post-coitus. He speaks about the American South momentarily, evidently guarded. He cups his hand over the match you lit up, chasing the flame to light a cigarette as he makes his first awkward excuse to get out of your room. You laugh at him, turning over to call for room service as he dresses himself.

"See you never, cowboy."

He thinks of your warm cunt on the long night that follows after. The taste of your wetness would remain in his memory even after the next time he fucked a different girl; an ambitious lady of the night he wanted to recruit as his spy. You'd haunt him as your laughter emanates when the nights are too quiet, trailing before those four words he mutters under his breath when memory hits him too strongly.

See you never, cowboy.

—

From the other end of the line, he mutters something in Spanish, knowing you understand very little. "Fuckin' haunted me like a ghost, baby." Another deep breath, this time followed by the swig of whisky. "Funny thing was, the next time I saw you, you were coming outta prison."

"To be fair, Peña, I was recovering a stolen camera." You laugh too. "And it was a police station."

Ah, that stolen camera. Javier remember the day when he would have knelt before that camera of yours in complete submission for bringing him back in your life.

He had been checking in on Carrillo, a week or so after, planning out the fragments of their next plan of action when he sees you, fuck eyes and all, right at the front desk of the station, flipping frantically through a Spanish-English dictionary in an attempt to try and understand the procedure you were supposed to be doing.

He leaned against the doorway for a moment, finishing the last of his cigarette before chuckling as he exhaled the smoke. "She said you're supposed to fill out the form," he finally said, watching your head turn and recognize his voice as he tips his head slightly. "Did you get into trouble or somethin'?"

It takes a moment for you to collect the form and make your way to him while the officer disappears to retrieve your belongings, a moment before you settle down into the nearest seat beside him with a breathy thanks, searching your bag for a pen. "No, no trouble... My camera got snatched while I was exploring the city. It was empty, but I'm glad it turned up again."

When you finish filling up and handing over the form, he stands beside you, easily translating between you and the officer. An affair that had been going on for half an hour, over and done with barely fifteen minutes since Javi saw you.

He takes the chance before you slip between his fingers again.

"At the risk of being painful turned down by a pretty woman, d'you maybe want to go out tonight?"

You look to him, and he barely catches the glint of hope, maybe even mischief, in your eyes. But you play it along, tilting your head to the side as if weighing your own options. It was a foregone conclusion. You've been thinking about him, too.

"C'mon. I'll show you around like a true local."

You sigh, smiling lightly as you reach for his hand, scribbling the hotel you were at now and the room number.

"Tonight at 8, Javier. I'll be waiting."

Admittedly, you had your own reasons for involving yourself with the agent. Because, in the week beforehand leading up to the robbery of your camera, you knew you were being followed by unsavory company. You knew too much. You talked to too many people. You linked too many powerful people to a much bigger conspiracy.

You understood, most of all, that these men were capitalizing on troubled people battling their own addictions.

You had to get out of the country. You had to get out fast. And when you did, you had to make sure the incriminating photos you had taken were in the hands of someone who wouldn't destroy them.

The evening rolls around and you dress up well, applying the finishing touches of your lipstick when you hear the knock on the door. It's the image of him, leaning against the doorway, with his leather jacket and combed hair, reeking of menthols. It's how you'll always remember him.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

You smile at him, slipping on your cardigan while you fiddled with the prints in your pocket. The folded up collection of evidence that could very much have you killed.

"Born ready, agent."

The evening he planned was conventional, albeit the order different. The stereotypical dinner and a movie for him became a movie and then dinner. The reason was logical enough. "Well, that way, I'm sure we have something to talk about over dinner and it's not awkward." You laugh, but you eventually remark it as a smart move.

He takes you to see Indiana Jones, and he flirts hard. He plays off slipping his arm around your shoulder. He plays off pulling you close to him. He plays off sneaking popcorn from your tub. You play it off too. You play off the fact that you could've caught him staring at you for half of the movie. You play off the fact that you eventually lean your head on his shoulder. You even play off the way you hold the hand from the arm he had wrapped around you, pretending you didn't see the way it produced a shit-eating grin to his face.

Javi takes you for empanadas after. letting you talk about how much you enjoyed it, how you crushed on Harrison Ford (He's so smart, isn't he?), and even how you'd never survive such scenarios.

"You worry your head too much, pretty baby."

Somehow, between empanadas and the late night haze, you end up tugging Javier back to your hotel room, giggling like a teenager as you kiss him again, his mouth, where skin was uncovered by his moustache, had turned rouge from your lipstick and the way you kissed each other so hungrily.

He pushes you into the room just as you giggle and tear your cardigan off. "Hm, thank you for tonight, agent," you whisper, pulling him close for another kiss as he shuts the door behind him. He chuckles deeply, thick fingers trapping themselves in your hair as he tugs, forcing you to tilt your head back so he can attack the expanse of your neck.

"So respectful, pretty lady. It's why you're such a good fuck—"

You laugh, fingers reaching blindly to unbutton his shirt, to free him fast enough of his clothes. He's not so patient. He simply grabs and tears your clothes open, a brute show of strength that leaves your head spinning and your knees weak. All of it, happening so fast, until he was fucking you from behind, your hands gripping the headboard as the torrent of desire overtakes you both.

"I'm starting to think you love this cunt, Javier," you moan out, earning a growl from him as he wraps his large left hand around your neck, pulling you back so you arch your back for him. It makes you squeal, moaning into the warm, humid air of the Colombian evening.

"Maybe I do, corazon. What'ya gonna do about it?"

Just then, he thrusts the hardest, spearing you wide open. The sound that comes from you is so heavenly he almost thinks he just heard an angel sing to him.

"That's it. Take it like a good girl..."

It is the image of your face, features induced by an orgasm that he almost started believing again. He, who left a woman on the altar, the eternal betrayer. He, who had fucked his way through the prostitutes of Bogota. He, who looked at every woman from head to toe. He, the eternal womanizer, brought to his knees just by you.

Perhaps that was why fate had brought you into his life. To teach him a lesson he'll never forget.

That time around, he's not tripping over himself to get out of your room, completely basking in the way you look, chest heaving as he retrieves the packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. It's that brief distraction that you use, not only to slip the folded up prints in the pocket of his pants in the other end of the room, but to get the camera you just got back, loaded with new film as you take a picture of him with a fresh cigarette between his lips.

The flash that goes off reveals your intentions. "Now, now, you didn't ask if you could do that, pretty baby," he says smoothly, puffing out smoke, letting the tension build between you. You smile cheekily at him, winding the reel forward. It takes a moment, but you recognized it in his eye.

Just as easily, he pounced at you with the renewed beastly strength of a panther, pinning you down and smirking at the sound of your giggling, hair sprawled beneath you as he grabs the same camera, taking a photo of you, laughing and smiling so brightly he would've thought you were the sun.

When your laughter fades, it's when you speak to him. It's as if you could never trick him as you planned to beforehand. "I... I left a few prints in the pocket of your pants."

He pauses, cigarette now halfway done as he raises his brow.

You think, retrospectively, that you recognized the moment the palatable magic between the two of you fades into nothing. That you recognized the moment the dream ended and reality set in.

He stands, smudging out his cigarette as he inspects his pockets. And there it was, the pictures you never meant to see, the pictures that you knew would greatly help the manhunt against Escobar. The path that would lead Peña to fulfill his duty.

"Where—"

"I don't think it matters."

He sends you a glare, turning over to the next print. And then the next, and then the next. "You lost the fuckin' right to tell what does or does not matter." Then, methodically, he folds them up and sets them down on the ruined sheets. "Are you some fuckin' snitch?"

It was your turn to glare, sitting up from where you lay on the floor, hands propping you up behind. "No—" you began, "I do this for a living, Javi."

Perhaps that was when he knew that it was over. He tries not to show it: the sweet shock as sharp as a gunshot wound.

Again and again and again, the same words you said when he first met you echoes in his ears. A warning, he now sees, that he should have listened to when he had the chance.

See you never, cowboy.

—

From then on, it became an administrative affair. You never saw him— but they spent agent after agent organizing your escape from the country without your head getting blown off.

The last time you saw Javier Peña, it was the night the Embassy was driving you to the airport, guised under a different name. Left alone in a small office space, he looks to you like a wounded puppy, betrayed and barely hiding his hurt.

"Is it such a mystery?" you ask him, turning away to pretend to fix your hair in a mirror. Really, all you wanted to do was to stop seeing his puppy-eyed face. Because, you knew too, that one word from him would be enough to make you stay, safety be damned. "You know the place where you first met me. I was always going to leave first."

He scoffs, standing up and walking away.

There were two versions of the last meeting:

Your version: the last thing you saw of him in Bogota was his wide shoulders, turned away from you, walking away and shutting the door to give you some so-called privacy. You grit your teeth, clenching your fists around the letter you wished to give him before you left. You turn around, dropping it into the nearest bin. The conclusion of an affair marked for a messy end. "See you never, cowboy."

His version: you, disappearing into the backseat of an unmarked car. In the early evening, he sees the silhouette of your frame, calmly seated as the car started, driving away into the dark Columbian evening. The shadow of you, riding away in a getaway car. He puffs the last smoke out of his cigarette, dropping it in the ashtray to allow the last embers to burn through whatever was left. Then he turns around, going back to his work without another word said.

He should've known. Nothing good starts in a getaway car.

—

He called you, now months later, when he received an envelope containing only two prints, shipped all the way from another land. The prints made it evident from who he receive the package.

It was the two pictures the second time he fucked you. Moments before everything fell apart and set you flying away like shrapnel.

Bogota, to you, had become a distant memory. A job you did some time ago. If it wasn't for Javier, you would have never remembered the name of the city. Not when the rest of the world was brimming with stories.

Bogota, to him, now only existed with the shadow of you. He catches himself, every now and then, thinking about how you'd enjoy the new movie they released over the weekend. How you'd hold on to his arm and talk his ear off about the things he found interesting. How the beds he found himself laying on contained the ghost of your perfume.

So he buried himself in work. And then slowly, he fucked other people just to find traces of you in their willing bodies and dark rooms. It was never the same. And he's starting to think it'll never be the same.

Having recounted everything, the two of you listen to each other's breaths, not caring for how expensive such a call was going to be.

"So..." you tried to start, clearing your throat. "Why did you call?"

He thinks about it himself for a moment. He swallows once. Then another time.

"You know, if you asked, I would have shared my life with you."

#javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut

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simmerandwrite · 8 months

Text

Sink Into Me - 07 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size!reader

Pairing: mob boss! Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

Summary: You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate.

Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel.

Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you.

Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09

Wordcount: 7.9k

Warnings: some violence in this one, vague references to drugging at a club (not to reader), feelings

Notes: thank you for your patience, beautiful people!! let's goooo.

---

If Steve looked inward for more than a spare second, he could unpack the heavy feelings that sat on his chest. But, he wouldn’t allow himself even that miniscule moment in time to think. Instead, it suddenly made way more sense to throw himself into work - from selling buildings to working on art curation to all the dirty things he did behind the scenes. If he wasn’t working, he was sleeping or working out or drinking at Shield.

On this particular day, he was taking care of new business.

“What did we fucking say about selling this shit in Brooklyn?”

Steve almost felt bad for the guy he was slamming his fist into. Steve had absolutely broken his nose, maybe cracked his jaw.

But, Steve had the upper hand here. The shithead was tied up to a metal chair, in the basement of one of Steve’s oldest properties.

Thor had picked the guy up selling products near Brighton Beach. It was the third idiot working for Rumlow that had been caught crossing boundaries and pushing their new formula. It was one thing to not converse with Steve and confirm his cut. It was another to prey on high school kids.

Steve reached for the guy's collar. “Do you need a reminder?”

He growled under Steve’s fist. “Your precious kingdom is going to crumble.” The man sucked in a breath and leaned forward, spitting a mournful of blood at Steve.

Although electricity was climbing through every inch of Steve’s body, he remained stoic. Slowly, he wiped off the remnants of blood from his neck and shirt. Then Steve took in a sharp breath and delivered a kick to the man’s chest, sending the chair stumbling backward to the ground. With a clap of his hands, he turned around and pointed at Thor and Bucky. Both men were watching from the doorway of the dingy basement.

“Call your brother and tell him to peel this man apart for information about Rumlow’s operation.” Steve planted a hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“I’m on it, boss. But Loki will want cash and—”

“Pay him whatever he needs.” Steve finished off, confirming with a nod before leaving with Bucky. “Make sure he gets rid of the body afterwards.”

Bucky remained silent as he followed Steve up the stairs, matching his pace as they headed towards an awaiting car outside. It wasn’t until they were well on their way back to the club, in the thick of traffic that Bucky spoke up.

“You good?”

Steve, who had been staring out the window, turned his head back to his friend. “I’m fine.”

“Because usually you let the boys get dirty.” Bucky pointed out the remaining marks of blood that littered Steve’s chest. “And calling in Laufeyson..”

“I want to clean up this fucking mess that’s found it’s way into our streets, Bucky. Don’t you think I know what I’m doing?”

“Of course I do, you idiot. Don’t fucking yell at me, too. Christ. You’re wound up because you made a mistake. Don’t take it out on us.”

Steve didn’t even bother replying. Because Bucky was right.

Steve was angry. At himself.

God, you were grateful for your friends. If you didn’t have them in your corner, you knew that everything with Steve might have sunk you down way further than you wanted. In fact, you knew damn well that if you let yourself slow down and think for a few minutes, the pain you had been so easy to dismiss might come roaring back to life.

But, there wasn't time to slow down. Not when your evenings became a delicate balance of work, walking Hercules then meeting up for some sort of exciting activity in the city.

Pietro certainly had a penchant for finding fun things to do. Somehow he had a better pulse of the city than you and your friends who actually lived there. Your group chat was constantly buzzing with suggestions about markets to check out or special nights at certain bars or clubs or after party events with Pietro’s coworkers.

It was a welcome distraction most days. But other days, all you wanted to do was have a pity party on your own. Even though you knew you deserved better than the way Steve had called things off, part of you kept wondering about how it all played out. One night after a night out with your friends and one too many glasses of white wine, you had gone into a deep, dark Instagram spiral.

Steve himself didn’t have any kind of personal social media presence. But someone managed one for his gallery and another one for Shield too. You scrolled through every post for a glimpse of him and every time some version of him showed up in a photo, your heart got a little more cracked open.

Once you made it through the entire main feed of images, you dug deeper. The tagged photos for Shield had plenty of activity, including a recent slew of images from a weekend event at the club. One photo had Steve in it - you were sure, though he wasn’t facing the camera. It was in the background of some beautiful brunette’s photo and you knew it was upstairs in one of the VIP areas of Shield.

You were going crazy over it. Why did he have to end it the way he did? How come you didn’t get any other conversation or closure over the whole thing?

After a long day at work and an extra long walk home with Hercules, you had decided it was time for a night in. Thankfully you hadn’t heard any activity in the group chat all day, so you were very much looking forward to some time on the couch with your favourite bowl of pasta.

Just as you got home, a crack of thunder sounded out and you knew a summer storm was imminent. You wouldn’t consider yourself someone who romanticized the rain - in fact, you hated thunderstorms. Since childhood you had connected storms to danger and darkness, and although now you were at home safe in your own apartment, you had never felt more alone and unsettled.

You remedied the uncomfortable feelings as best as you could - quickly calling your mother to talk while you made dinner. And when you had finally plated your food, you dropped onto the couch with Hercules and sent out an SOS to the group chat.

Claire was at work. Maria was at home uptown in Manhattan, waiting out the storm. And Wanda revealed she was out on a date with Vision, hiding out from the rain at some lavish restaurant uptown.

You groaned. Your lights flickered.

In an attempt to calm down, you tried to lose yourself in some reruns of your favourite show. It wasn’t working very well - especially with an anxious Hercules at your side who was not enjoying the storm outside, either.

Looks like you had to be the strong one, for the sake of your son.

“We’re gonna be okay, buddy,” you cooed as you cuddled in close to Hercules. “This storm shall pass or whatever.”

Your moment of wisdom was cut off when your phone started to buzz on the coffee table. You picked it up to see Pietro’s face on the screen.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hey!” He called out on the other end of the phone. You could hear the rain. “I’m a block away. Please tell me you have dry towels?”

You stood up and shook your head, confused. Had you made plans that you forgot about? Most weeknights Pietro was at the restaurant until close and–

“Wanda said you hate storms and we lost power at the restaurant. So I’m coming over to hang! I have desserts.”

He didn’t even let you argue, doubling down on the rain and how he wanted to hang out. It was strange though - of course you considered Pietro your friend, you just had never hung out one on one before. You hadn’t really assumed you were friends like that - moreso that you were friends with Wanda and he came along with that transaction. But you really enjoyed being around him. Pietro’s extraversion benefited you regularly and well, you definitely did not want to be alone in the storm anyway.

You greeted Pietro at the door with a dry towel, although his was in good spirits despite his damp clothing.

“You didn’t have to come over,” you told him as you unpacked the paperbag he had brought from the restaurant. “I’m surviving.”

“Sure. But who else can I talk to about this boring philosophical PhD my sister is dating again?” Pietro flashed you his signature charming smile, peeling off his wet sweater and following your arms to toss it in your dryer. “What kind of name is Vision anyway?”

“I only met him once or twice,” you replied with a small smirk. “They really hit it off - though she never said why they had ruptured in the first place.”

“Well, as her older brother, I’m cautious. I deserve to know about the guy, it’s giving me even more grey hair to think about her dealing with some dumb man.”

You laughed. “Aren’t you like - 10 minutes older?”

“Twelve, actually.” He turned and headed back towards the counter. “This is for you by the way - packaged up by M’Baku himself.”

Glancing down at the to-go box, containing a particularly delectable slice of cheesecake, you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “What?”

On more than one occasion you, Wanda and occasionally Maria or Claire had headed to the restaurant past closing to hang out while Pietro and his coworkers finished up for the evening. Mostly you sat at the bar and sipped on a cocktail while the kitchen crew finished up. A few nights ago, you had done exactly that and after the restaurant was closed, instead of heading out like you had planned, you all stayed and played cards and shared a few of the leftover dishes. Somehow, one of the kitchen staff had sat with you - the prep cook, M’Baku - and if you had been in a clear state of mind and heart, you might have thought you and him had hit it off.

M’Baku had probably even been flirting with you. But since Steve had crushed your confidence, you had a hard time believing that was possible.

“He also asked me for your number,” Pietro added in, breaking you from your thoughts as you both sat back on the couch again. “If you want, I can text him right now and..”

You sighed. “I don’t know if I want to… do that. Date or.. Even think about dating. This is really nice of him, though.” With a glide of your fork, you grabbed a corner of the cake and smiled. “Reallllly nice.”

“You don’t have to date the guy,” Pietro countered, tipping his head to the side to meet your gaze. “Nothing wrong with having a little harmless fun.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. Unfortunately, I was not blessed with a harmless fun gene, unlike you and Wanda.” You nudged him with your elbow. “The cheesecake is great though. Tell him thanks!”

---

“Are you sure this outfit is restaurant soft open slash after party appropriate?”

Wanda rolled her eyes at you in the mirror, shooting you a smile. “Piet said it was casual. Don’t overthink it.” She finished off fixing her lipstick and turned. “You look great.”

Now you were rolling your eyes. You had picked out a casual summer dress to combat the heat, but you still weren’t sure. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but after everything with Steve, all your confidence and self esteem hadn't really recovered. The way he had talked to you with such promise and excitement about your body, only to…

No, no. It wasn’t fair to do that to yourself. You had to try and let it go. You had a fun night ahead.

Although your exciting social lives had slowed down a bit, Pietro still managed to talk you into some after work activities. On this particular Friday, you and Wanda were meeting up with him to visit some new restaurant that had recently opened. Surprising to no one, Pietro had befriended the guy who supplied their restaurant all their alcohol and the guy had gotten Pietro an invite to some soft opening event. Pietro and a few plus ones, even.

You slipped into your shoes and watched as Wanda finished pacing around her apartment gathering her things. “Where are we going anyway?”

Wanda glanced down at her phone. “He just sent me the location - somewhere in Bedstuy I guess. C’mon, we can get the next train.”

When you got off the subway and started towards whatever address Wanda was following in her phone, a weird little twist of discomfort swirled in the pit of your stomach. No, it couldn’t be possible. Sure, you were in your old neighbourhood. And yes, if you turned down the next street on the right you’d –

“It’s down here,” Wanda tipped her head down that next street on the right.

Wilson’s Kitchen.

You slowed your feet down nearly and finally came to a complete stop before you approached the restaurant. Noooo. No. The last time you had been down this street, outside of this exact building - a car had come barreling off the sidewalk and changed your life.

You let out a silent groan, shaking your head as you saw Pietro and some people from his restaurant wave to you from outside the place.

Wanda glanced over her shoulder, reaching for your hand. “Come on.” She didn’t know all the details and you didn’t have the time or ability to explain it all now. Of course it had to be this restaurant - that Steve owned. Wilson’s… you recognized that as Sam’s last name, but wondered what the connection was?

You wanted to throw up. What if Steve was inside?

“You alright?” It was Pietro who paused as everyone else headed in before you two.

“Yeah..” You took a deep breath. “It’s a long story. Just might need some emotional support here tonight.”

He raised a curious eyebrow but gave you a pointed nod. “Okay, got it. Keep your secrets but did I mention it’s an open bar at least?”

You took a deep breath and decided that you could do hard things, you could do uncomfortable things. Steve didn’t matter! You deserved to live your own best life. You took Pietro’s awaiting hand. “Oh, lead the way then.”

As soon as you got inside, you were somehow taken from Brooklyn into a cool bistro from the French Quarter. Pietro gave you a quick low down on the place - a New Orleans fusion menu inspired by the chef’s upbringing in Delacroix. There was trendy exposed brick paired with iron accents and even supplemented by a generous jazzy ambiance floating through the air.

You met up with Wanda who had found a seat at the bar. The rest of the place was quite packed. Servers zipped around the room with trays of food, stopping by the bustling tables and delivering drinks to guests. There wasn’t a set menu or agenda for the evening, but you had to be honest with your friends before things got out of hand.

“Okay, Wan.” You grabbed her hand, sparing a quick glance around the room. “Steve owns this place. If you see him, please give me fair warning.”

“Wait. Who is Steve?” Pietro had planted himself behind you both, waving a hand to the bartender for a few cocktails.

“A dumb man!” Wanda summarized quickly, turning directly in her seat to scan the crowds too.

“A dumb man I dated a while back..” You squished your face, then tried to shake away all your thoughts. “He was a jerk at the end.”

“Boooo..” Pietro threw his arm around you and squeezed. “There is still time for me to give your number to–”

“No, no.” You grabbed his hand where it sat on your shoulder. “Let’s just have fun, okay? No more thoughts about Steve.”

You had a perfectly lovely night. The food you sampled was incredible and the drinks were damn delicious. You even had the opportunity to meet Sarah, the head chef - who gushed about the evolving menu and how excited she was to have community kitchen days on the weekend to feed the neighborhood.

“It is a great location,” you replied, pivoting slightly in your stool to speak with her. Wanda and Pietro had ducked outside for some air. “I used to live a few blocks from here.”

Before you got any further, someone was saddling up beside her, dropping a hand over her shoulder. “Great turnout, sis.”

You offered Sam an awkward smile as he realized you two had been talking. He faltered for a second, glancing over his shoulder before finally giving you a greeting. “Oh, hey. It’s.. good to see you.” Sarah seemed to take this as an opportunity to excuse herself back to the kitchen, so you had to continue with Sam on your own.

“A friend of mine had an invite.” For some reason you felt you had to immediately defend yourself, even though he didn’t ask why you were there.

Sam let out a long breath and lifted a shoulder to shrug. “Listen, I don’t need to repeat the speech about how much of a fucking idiot Steve is.” He sighed then leaned back to the end of the restaurant. “He is here though, with a group in the back dining room.”

You tried not to give yourself away with your body language, but suddenly you felt even more on edge than you had before. You hadn’t seen Steve yet and it didn’t mean you were going to see him now. But knowing he was only a few walls away from you.. Well, it both worried you and also it seemed to stoke that weird feeling in your stomach into fiery anger.

“Thanks for the heads up, Sam.”

“Sam! What’s the hold up? Did you get a hold of Sean?”

Then, like some stick twist of fate, a quiet commotion started out of the back room. You couldn’t help but turn on your stool again and look in that direction along with Sam.

And there, sticking his head out the door with a big grin on his face, as waves of laughter and clinking glasses sounded out behind him, was Steve. Even though you could only see part of his torso, you knew he was probably donning some sharp suit jacket and you wanted to scream.

It felt like time slowed down as you met Steve’s eyes - though he was far away, it felt like he was looking right into your soul. His jaw stilled, then snapped shut and before either of you really had a moment to process what was happening, you looked away and rushed to your feet.

You mumbled out some rushed goodbye to Sam then immediately headed outside to find Wanda and Pietro.

They were standing near the front window - Wanda with a cigarette in one hand and her phone in the other. Pietro glanced up from his own phone when you shuffled up beside them. He raised an eyebrow at your distressed face.

You took a deep breath. “I saw Steve.”

Wanda turned and dropped her cigarette, stomping it out and reaching for your hand. “Auuugh. But you survived, babe. Shit. Are you okay? Does he look terrible?”

You just shrugged. “No, he looked great. Even from afar.” A dramatic groan left the pit of your stomach. “God, he’s the worst.”

Wanda’s phone started to buzz and she glanced from it to the street. “Ah, Vis is here. We were gonna go to.. Let me just send him off.”

“No, no.” You squeezed her hand. “Just go. I’ll call an Uber.”

“I’ll make sure she gets home,” Pietro jumped in, giving Wanda a quick side hug. “Have fun! Be safe!”

Wanda pretended to falter for a second, then threw her arms around you before darting off to the awaiting car.

You let out another long sigh and leaned against the nearest wall, shaking your head as Pietro stepped in front of you. “I think I need to head home - but you can stay, I’ll be fine.”

He watched you closely. “I’m sorry. For whatever that asshole said to you - for you to feel this way now. You’re a catch.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you. “I don’t think I am, but I appreciate your kindness, Piet.” Behind you both, a pair of black SUVs pulled up. They were definitely Steve’s. “Augh, I need to get out of here.”

Pietro looked over his shoulder at the vehicles, then back into the restaurant through the window. “Or.. wait. Is that his ride? He has to come out this way?”

You could see some sort of plan was forming in his head. “What are you scheming about now?”

Pietro grinned, taking a step closer to you. “Harmless fun, my friend. Flirt with me?”

“What?” Your eyes grew wide. “We can’t. You don’t actually want to..”

“Miláčik, please. If that dumb idiot man is going to walk out here, let him see you perfectly distracted by someone else without a care in the world.”

“Piet, there are so many other girls I’m sure you’d rather flirt with.”

“No, actually. I would love to flirt with you. But my sister said I cannot date her friends and I’m going back to Sokovia in a month or so..” He took in a deep breath and stepped forward, tentatively reaching a hand out to rest on your waist. “If neither of us want to date, at least let’s..”

The door opened and suddenly, you didn’t have time to even process Pietro’s words. Instead, you wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him as close to you as possible. And, well, he wasted no time trailing his lips against your neck as one hand wrapped around your waist. The other he used to cradle against your jaw.

“Can you see him?” Pietro whispered against your neck, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “I don’t really care about that man but if this helps you..”

You tried not to make your shifting eyes very obvious but yes, in the large group of people walking out of Wilson’s Kitchen, just ten feet away from you - there was Steve.

He met your eyes again, extending his arm for someone else to get into the car before him. But this time, you didn’t look away. Instead, you scratched your hand against Pietro’s neck and laughed.

Time slowed down again as Steve eventually tore his eyes from yours, ducking his head to get into the back of the vehicle.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the cars finally pulled away.

With a firm pat, you tried to bring Pietro back to earth. He lingered close enough to you that your lips were nearly touching. He grinned. “Sorry if that was too much.”

“It was..” You relaxed your shoulders and leaned back again, resting your forehead against Pietro’s. “..exactly what I needed.” A silly shield, a defensive mechanism against Steve.

He laughed, quiet. “Good. I’m glad. And is there anything else you might need tonight?”

“Just someone to get me home safely. And maybe..” Leap of faith, leap of faith. “We flirt some more. At home. On my couch.”

You knew you were making a choice. God, when was the last time you had been the one to suggest going to a club on a Saturday night? You could practically hear Maria rolling her eyes on the other side of the phone, but you knew she’d be on board. Claire was immediately into the plan too, and it only took a few more minutes to get Wanda and Pietro in on the event.

And the fact that you suggested Shield, of all places, as your location of choice. Well, that was just a coincidence. If Steve happened to be there, then so be it. It had been months now since you’d broken up and a few weeks since the night at the restaurant, and you knew it was time to move the fuck on. You could go places that Steve might be at. You’d be fine.

It didn’t make you any less nervous, though. The idea of running into him wasn’t exactly something that thrilled you. What if you saw him with another girl? That would hurt. Or worse, what if he just…

No, no. This wasn’t about Steve. This was about taking yourself back and leaving him behind.

“Okay, the Uber will be here in four minutes!” Pietro loved being the motivator and sometimes it meant very bad decisions. In this particular instance, it meant one last shot of sour raspberry liqueur before you got to the club.

You cheers’d your friends, taking one last glance in the mirror by your door and calling out your goodbye to Hercules as you all clambered to the front lobby.

“You look amazing, did I tell you that?” Claire nudged you with her arm as you lingered outside. “You’ll drive him crazy.” You just laughed, letting the buzz of the alcohol overtake you like a warm blanket. She was right - you did look good. The dress you picked was definitely in your comfort zone but it showed off everything you wanted on display. And your hair had fallen exactly where you wanted it to.

You looked hot.

Steve Rogers, eat your heart out.

When you got to the front of the line at the club, you immediately regretted the entire plan. And when you met the eyes of the bouncer at the door, Luke, who greeted you with a big smile, you wanted to run in the opposite direction.

“Nice to see you, sunshine,” Luke greeted as he handed you back your ID. “Have a fun night. Don’t get into trouble, alright?”

“That man is a brick house,” Claire laughed, looking over her shoulder back at him when you got inside. “I’d like to know everything about him.”

“Stop that,” you laughed as you looped your arm with hers, following behind Wanda, Pietro and Maria who were heading towards the bar. “He works for Steve.”

“Of course,” Claire nodded, as her grin grew even louder. “You’ve gotta get me in touch with that man later, please.”

“What about Matt?” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing too as you pushed your way closer to your friends as they got to the bar.

“Off again, currently.” Claire sidled up beside Pietro and waved towards the nearest bartender.

Luckily, you didn’t see Kate or Yelena behind the bar, so you’d be saved from those interactions. Instead, the bartender was someone you didn’t recognize and thankfully they didn’t even look twice at you as Pietro passed out the newly poured drinks. Once you were all sufficiently back into the tipsy but edging on drunk mood, the dance floor was your destination.

God, Pietro was fun. You didn’t have any regrets about how things had gone this summer, that almost whatever that didn’t happen after the restaurant quietly dissipated. Okay, you did make out hard that night - but then you pulled back and sent him on his way home. And the best part, it hadn’t been weird afterwards. You went back to normal, as friends, and you couldn’t have been more grateful for his distraction. Maybe in another life where he actually lived on the same continent as you - things could have been different. But if you thought too hard about it, you also knew you had just been using him to not think about Steve. And that wasn’t fair either. So instead, you decided that having platonic male friends was okay. And if Pietro wanted to dance with you, that’s all it had to mean.

And Pietro loved to dance.

It wasn’t hard to lose track of time on the dance floor - occasionally a pair would head back to the bar and deliver shots or drinks, but you all mostly sang loud and danced hard. God, your friends were fun - it was mostly a comfortable environment in your own little bubble and the only hands that landed on you were usually from Claire or Pietro.

You did check in with the real world - glancing around the room to be aware of your surroundings and on more than one occasion you glanced up towards the VIP areas upstairs.

And although you were trying not to give a fuck about Steve, when you saw him up there standing near the railing, your heart jolted. The view was brief as he stepped away, probably heading to the upstairs bar.

“Fuck that guy!” Pietro yelled out, pulling your attention back down.

“She already did,” Claire announced with a big laugh, planting a kiss on your cheek. “You know the only good way to get over him is to get under someone else.”

You laughed along and threw your arms over your friends. Maybe that was true but finding someone to date seemed absolutely awful. Dancing was easier, you didn’t want to think about Steve or dating or anything.

Suddenly, the back and forth about getting over Steve disappeared. Just a few feet from where you all were dancing, you had a feeling something bad was happening. Your mind was racing as you watched some brute of a man holding up a young girl, helping her walk out of the busy crowd. But it didn’t feel right - the way she tried pushing away from his chest, head lolling to the side.

“Hey!” Reaching for Claire’s hand, you searched the nearby area to see if anyone else could see what was happening.

Claire followed your eyes and frowned. “Shit.” She pulled ahead from you and sprung into action.

“Pietro!” You turned your head and grabbed his shoulder. “Go find a bouncer, fast!” Though you could see he was confused, he nodded and rushed away.

You caught up with Claire, who was trying to gently get the girl away from the larger man. “Hey, honey. Hi. Do you know this guy?”

“We’re good here, leave us alone!” The man barked at Claire. “She’s fine. We’re heading out.”

You shuffled over, trying to put yourself between them as Claire tugged the girl away. You reached your hand out to stop the guy from coming closer again. “Leave her alone!”

“Where am I..” The girl mumbled as Claire helped her to stand, moving her hand up to try and steady the girl as Claire looked in her eye.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Do you know that guy?” Claire asked. The girl shook her head.

A loud snort came from the man. “Jesus Christ, she just agreed to come home with me.”

As he tried to move towards her again, you pressed a hand against his chest to stop him. “Get away from her.”

“Stay out of it, you fat bitch!” He pushed you away, backwards into the crowd as he rushed towards Claire and the girl instead.

Maybe it was the alcohol surging through your or just your general rage at the male population, but as you found your footing once more, you just went for it. Although the entire scene was turning into a spectacle, you hurried forward and yanked on the guy's shoulder to stop him.

With a snap of his neck, he turned towards you and growled. “Jesus Christ, don’t you know when to quit?” He grabbed your shoulder then stomped down, smashing his boot onto your foot. “Dumb fucking bit—”

This time when he pushed you back, you landed against someone’s chest. No, someone was pulling you away.

“Hey, hey - take it easy!”

Steve.

Ahead of you, more chaos was unfolding. Sam and Bucky were suddenly fighting the man through the crowd, fists flying as they shouted. Pietro had reappeared with Luke, immediately rushing both Claire and the girl through the bar to some back room.

“Are you okay?” Steve’s voice came from behind you. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders and shit, were you shaking?

“Hands off,” you finally replied, pulling away from him. He immediately dropped his arms, holding his hands up in defense. You took a step forward then hissed in pain

“Fuck.” You glanced down at your foot, though you could barely see it in the dark lights of the club. It fucking hurt though.

“Let me help you,” Steve shifted and offered a hand to you. “Please.”

You strained your neck to try and find Pietro or Maria or Wanda, but they seemed to have disappeared too. Begrudgingly, you accepted Steve’s arm under yours as you limped away from the dance floor.

Even if Luke hadn’t messaged Steve to report that you were waiting in line outside, Steve would have spotted you in the crowd.

Because it was you.

Your entire being had left an imprint on him and he couldn’t stop himself from searching any crowded room for you, still. Months had gone by since he had hit self destruct but he couldn’t get you off his mind.

Even though Meredith Russo had been hanging off him throughout the night, Steve’s radar remained on you. Especially whenever anyone got close to you, including that silver haired dude. The way he danced against you, how he made you laugh and blush - it drove Steve mad. He was certain it was the same guy who had his hands all over you outside the restaurant too. Fuck, he hadn’t like that that either.

He considered, briefly, just leaving the club and heading home for the rest of the night. But the moment he saw you, something told him to stay. He did, however, try not to spend his entire night watching you from afar. Especially when he noticed one of your friends looking up towards his section.

Instead, he focused on only watching from the balcony every now and then. Everytime he refreshed his drink, or got up to greet a guest, he would throw a subtle look downwards to the dance floor.

Yep, there you were. Still dancing, smiling, not a care in the world.

Fuck.

This was what he wanted. To let you go, to save you from his world. But god fucking damnit, the pain in his chest hadn’t subsided at all.

“Steeeeeve. Wanna dance?”

Meredith Russo was attractive - Steve wasn’t blind. That didn’t mean he cared even a fraction about her. Yet somehow, every single time he had been out lately - with or without Billy Russo - Meredith seemed to appear too.

“No.” He clipped his words and turned away from her at the upstairs bar.

“Okay, how about we just cut to the chase and you take me home then? I’m tired of this game,” Meredith returned to him, planting her feet and staring him down. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

“I don’t want to do anything to you, Meredith. Excuse me.”

He could hear her starting to respond, though he escaped her soon enough. And then, Sam was calling for his attention from near the staircase. “Steve, come here!”

Steve followed Sam’s pointed hand and realized something was unfolding downstairs on the dance floor. He could see anger building in some oversized man and then there you were, in the middle of it.

“Shit,” Steve hissed out, calling for Sam and Bucky to follow him as he rushed downstairs. Where the fuck were his security guards? Who was he paying to maintain the safety standards in his establishment if this was occurring in the middle of the room?

“Stay out of it, you fat bitch!”

Steve couldn't move fast enough.

As they swam through the large groups of people, shouting for some sort of clearance, Steve was just praying that you’d be unscathed.

“Jesus Christ, don’t you know when to quit? Dumb fucking bit—”

All Steve could see was red. The man grabbed you, pushed you, and then you were collapsing backward.

Steve caught you just in time, gently wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you further away while Sam and Bucky moved ahead to deal with the brute.

“Hey, hey - take it easy!”

You were shaking in his arms, high on adrenaline and liquor as the scene calmed down.

“Are you okay?”

You stilled immediately, pulling away from him. “Hands off!”

Steve relented without hesitation, letting you go and watching as you stumbled forward. You winced in pain as you stepped down on your right foot.

“Fuck.”

Steve sighed and offered his hand to you. “Let me help you. Please.” He worried you were about to fight him too but thankfully you accepted his arm around your shoulder as you hobbled off the dance floor.

Steve didn’t think he’d ever be in this position again - driving you home after a night out. But circumstances were different and following everything that happened at the club, he had insisted. Though it was clear you had your guard way up.

After dropping off Pietro, Wanda and Maria - Claire had gone to the hospital with the young girl, accompanied by Luke - the quiet hung between you and Steve in his car.

He hadn’t experienced silence that heavy and loud before.

You squeaked out a quiet ‘thanks’ as your building approached, but Steve doubled down.

“Let me help you to your door, at least. You’re limping.”

Truthfully, Steve thought maybe you should go to the ER too. That asshole had really smashed into your foot and an x-ray would probably find a fracture. Christ, he was still fuming over that entire interaction - the image of that man pushing you, yelling in your face, grabbing you..

How come Steve hadn’t been able to protect you? How could he let you get hurt like that?

Right. Because it wasn’t his responsibility.

Fuck.

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed to his suggestion. The silence continued otherwise as Steve guided you to the elevator, then in the direction of your apartment.

Once you fished out your keys from your small purse, you managed to get the door open. Hercules was eagerly awaiting on the other side.

Steve saw your full body sigh.

He swallowed hard, waiting outside the doorway still. “I can take him out, if you’d like.”

You avoided his eyes but nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Even just spending time outside with Hercules caused Steve’s heart to ache all over again. He thought he had suppressed it all - channeling all his complicated feelings until nights out and all his unrelenting rage into his fists. And yet, they bubbled up again without warning just at the sound of your voice.

God fucking damnit.

When he returned to your apartment, with a slow, sleepy pup at his side, he contemplated his next move. He knew he should probably just let Hercules back inside and go. But, he was a sucker for punishment. So, he cautiously opened the door and called your name.

Hercules, freed from his leash and collar, bounced towards your bedroom. Steve stepped to the side and peeked through the open door. You were laying flat on your bed, changed into pajamas. He sighed again, retrieving an ice pack from your freezer and moving towards your room.

“You should ice your foot,” he said slowly, offering you the compress.

You stuck your hand out for him to hand it off, then rested it on your foot without a word. He retreated back towards the door and waited.

Finally, you spoke. “God, I wish I was still drunk.”

Steve let out a breath. “And why is that?”

“Because I have a thousand things to say to you but..”

Steve waited to see if you’d carry on your thought but instead you fell back deeper onto your pillows. He glanced up to the ceiling then took a step further into your room.

“It’s after 2AM now.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Honesty Hour.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Sure. Go ahead, you start, I guess.”

“Uh, how come you aren’t spending the night with your boyfriend?”

This time your laugh was a lot deeper. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Steve.”

“That silver haired guy?”

“Wanda’s brother. Just a friend. Not that it matters.”

He knew he should keep his commentary to himself, but Steve couldn’t resist. “You let all your friends touch you and dance with you like that?”

You sat up. “That’s none of your business. And at least he danced with me. Unlike you.”

Steve drew in a sharp breath. “Okay, I deserve that.”

You sighed, shifting in your bed to meet Steve’s gaze. “Yeah. You do. The worst part about this entire thing is I feel like I gave you a lot, you know? I was honest and still tried to make it work but you just.. you were mean, Steve.”

He took a step towards your bed. God, he wanted to crawl in beside you. No, those days were long gone. “Sweetheart, I..”

“You were mean. I thought you were different but fuck. It’s funny - Bucky and Sam told me how much of an idiot you are! Like they felt bad, apologetic even. Isn’t that fucked up? But youuuu. You just blocked my number and moved on and you didn’t even say sorry. I fell in love with you! And you didn’t even… God, did you care about me at all? Was this just a big joke to you?”

“Of course I care about you. It’s just.. it’s complicated. My life is complicated, okay? I can’t.. we can’t..” He stepped back again, dragging a hand down his face. “I am sorry.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” With another frustrated groan, you laid back again and turned away from him. “I guess this is the end. So, have a nice life, Steve.”

He wanted to drop to his knees and apologize again, to get at least one last look at you but Steve knew it was too late.

When you woke up the next morning, the entire evening felt like a dream. But as you stepped off the bed and your foot radiated in pain; it all came flooding back.

Shield, drinking, dancing, Steve, the helpless young girl, Steve, that piece of shit stomping on your foot, Steve driving you home, Steve letting out Hercules, arguing with Steve... Steve… Steve Steve Steve

Of course, I care about you. It’s just.. it’s complicated.

Have a nice life, Steve.

You groaned, very slowly throwing on enough clothes to venture outside with Hercules. The more pressure and time you spent standing on your foot, the worse it felt. When you checked in on the group chat and let them know you were alive, Claire insisted you visit her at work to get your foot checked out.

Given how desperately you needed to unload about what happened with Steve, you put yourself together and headed to the hospital.

“Okay, here’s the update. The tech owed me a favour so this one was on the house.” Claire had been a saint and since you were somehow visiting her on a slow morning after her own late night, she had managed to get you through all the paperwork quickly. “The x-ray just showed a teeny tiny fracture. So a tensor and taking it easy should suffice but let’s get the official prognosis.” She stuck her head into the nearby hallway and called for a doctor, by first name.

God, you appreciated her.

Claire’s doctor colleague confirmed what she had said and advised on rest, ice and Tylenol. If it got any worse, you could return for a cast.

“Maybe just a short walk for Herc tonight,” Claire said with finality, flipping the chart closed and dropping into the chair beside the bed. “Now, I have a ten minute break and need to know what the hell happened with Steve last night. He drove you home?”

Although you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Claire every single detail, it felt good to say it all out loud. Maybe you could sense a fraction of remorse in Steve, but it still left you with such an upsetting feeling. Why was he so curious about who you were dating or not dating? It didn’t matter to him anymore.

It was bittersweet to think that your actions with Pietro had impacted Steve so much. Not that you needed him to be jealous but it reminded you he was human still.

Of course I care about you.

As you made your way back down to the exit, passing through the emergency room and through the main reception of the hospital, someone called your name. The voice was strangely familiar and when you clued in to who it was, your heart sank.

“Sarah! Hi.” You paused at the set of chairs near the door, giving a small awkward wave to Sarah Rogers as she stood to say greet you. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too, sweetie.” She pulled you into a hug and you wanted to melt into the floor. God, how could a woman so sweet raise a son like Steve? Well, no. Maybe that wasn’t a fair question. Before that awful phone call, Steve had proved himself to have traits just like his mother - headstrong, considerate, protective. Damnit. Why did things have to turn out the way they did?

You gave her a soft smile, doing your best to dismiss your plethora of confused thoughts. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I volunteer in the palliative ward on the weekends. Usually just a couple hours in the morning.” Sarah motioned to the chairs and invited you to sit. “Do you have a second to talk?”

You were running late leaving work - again. God, your boss had been relentless with our workload lately. Gone were the exciting after work adventures from summer. As the fall creeped in and your list of projects grew, you had a feeling more late nights at your desk were in the future. Really, after that night at Shield a few weeks ago, you had pulled yourself back immediately. It had been a while now since you’d done anything beyond a Saturday at the market - which was probably good for your foot, at least.

And now, to make matters worse following your frustrating day at work, there was a thunderstorm in the forecast again. And considering Pietro had just left to go home earlier in the week, you weren’t sure who would be coming to your rescue this time.

You made it to the doggy daycare just minutes before they were closing, apologizing profusely to the girl at the counter as you collected Hercules. When you made it outside and started your walk, you planned out exactly how the rest of your night was going to go: shower, fresh pajamas, ordering in from your favourite Indian place - if they were still open, you needed to check your phone for their hours and–

“Ooof.”

Somehow, only a block before your building, you walked straight into a brick wall of a person. As you mumbled out an apology, you realized it wasn’t just any person, given the hanging tag around his neck. Although he wasn’t in a full patrol uniform, you could see it was someone from the NYPD.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, officer. I wasn’t watching where–”

When he cut you off, reassuring you by saying your name out loud, you narrowed your eyebrows. Wait. What? Why did this officer know who you were? Had he been waiting for you on your route home?

“How do you know my name?” You squeaked out, gripping Hercule’s leash in one hand and your phone in the other. You darted your gaze down to your phone, trying to unlock it.

The man reached out and hit the backside of your hand, sending your phone up and out of your hand. Then, he caught it with a grin. “We need to talk about Steve Rogers.”

CHAPTER 05 - CHAPTER 08

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