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lovesickeros · 1 year ago

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☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 3 ]

{☆} characters neuvillette, wriothesley, furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Wriothesley was not a man of superstition. He did not kneel at the altars until his knees bled, he did not pray until his voice gave out– he did not, contrary to popular belief, suffer divine punishment for his apparent lack of respect.

After all, what Divine would look so deep beneath the waves just for a glimpse of the sinners that inhabit it?

Not them, evidently.

He hadn't slept in the past four days, though. There was a heavy air of something where ever he walked– it followed him like a thick fog, lingering and choking him until it dragged him to his knees like a chain. His thoughts inevitably linger on the striking, extravagant letter so conveniently adorning his desk at the fortress– the broken wax seal, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He'd recognize the seal of the Iudex any day. Wasn't often he spoke to him– but the shaky, distorted words hastily etched into the paper made him pause. Neuvillette always had a steady hand– elegant, flowing script that him of flowing water.

It had kept him up for days.

The implications were..haunting. He'd poured over the letter for hours, illuminated only by faint light of his desk lamp. Yet no matter how many times he tries to see what must be hidden beneath the ink, the paper itself even, he finds nothing but the shaky script of a request that sends a bolt of pure frost through his veins.

He noticed, of course, the odd goings on of Fontaine. He'd heard vague whispers of the Divine's hunt for the imposter– he'd heard, too, of the ceaseless rain pelting Fontaine until even he wondered if the nation would finally sink beneath the waves.

It didn't, though. And that only made it all the more odd. Days of constant rain, just for it to stop suddenly..he tugged his coat tighter around him, throwing up the hood of the cloak clasped even tighter over it with a grunt as he leaned around the corner of the alleyway.

He didn't believe in superstition, but this was too hard to ignore as a simple weather anomaly.

Maybe that was why he ignored his gut– he knew that this was probably a trap, at the very least it was suspicious. But damn it, he couldn't ignore the instinct to follow the only lead he had.

His boots clicked against the rain stricken streets as he stalked through the shadows, mindful of the clinking of machine patrols just a few streets away. Yet every step felt heavier then the last as he took a long, good look at the Palais Mermonia. He almost considered bringing out his gauntlets, but he thought better of it– if it came down to it, he needed information. And he would need whoever was waiting for him alive for that– the dead don't speak and all that.

The letter's directions led him in a..rather roundabout entrance to a secluded room, evidently, as he lifted his hand and quietly knocked against the door. Two rapid knocks, pause, another knock, pause, four knocks. It doesn't take long until he hears the latch of the door unlock.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists, adjusting his stance. He's ready for a fight, if he must, but as the door quietly slides open he feel the weight on his shoulders relax slightly– the familiar, sharp features of Neuvillette meets him. He almost reflexively smiles at the way his pupils turn into thin slits, a momentary surprise that he quickly hides well behind a cough and the creak of the door as he pulls it open fully.

"Wriothesley. I see my letter has found you well. Please, come in." Polite as ever, Neuvillette steps aside to let him in, but he can see the exhaustion lining his features– the bags under his eyes aren't as well hidden as he thinks, at least to him. "Bit odd to be inviting me all the way out here in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

His tone is smooth as he steps into the room, brushing down his hood and glancing at Neuvillette over his shoulder, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"I apologize for the..less then ideal circumstances, but I'm certain you will understand when you see for yourself." He wants to retort, but the Iudex beats him to it, vaguely motioning to the room behind him. An invitation– but he wonders if it's worth taking.

His gut says no, but he's feeling a little risky today, he supposes.

He turns back slowly, barely able to make out the two figures he'd missed on the first glance on the other side of the room– though it's hard to mistake the flourish of the Hydro Archon, even in the dark. It's the other figure that makes the breath hitch in his throat, though.

Or maybe, more accurately, it freezes. So does his blood, his whole body even, locked in stasis for a long, tense moment– he can't see them clearly, but his instincts are going haywire. He can feel his vision almost rattle where it rests against his left shoulder, cold leaking through the layers of clothes and into his skin until he has to fight to suppress a shiver.

He'd always fancied himself the hunter– he was the one who dealt with unsavory folks, in the end. But he felt like a rabbit pinned beneath the crosshairs of a gun this time. He could almost feel the teeth of the bear trap snapping shut around him, crushing bone and flesh beneath cold metal.

For a long moment he thinks he feels fear.

And with a sharp click and a burst of light, it's gone and he takes a raspy, choked breath as he blinks away the blurriness in his vision, taking in the room illuminated by the lamp.

He's not sure what he sees is better, though.

Because his body knows that their Divinity is as real as the blood running through his veins.

So why do they remind him so much of himself? Why does he see the look of the boy who died in a pool of blood not his own in them?

It is a sick, cruel kind of familiar.

Wriothesley didn't believe in superstition– but that was born of the unknown. He knew, now. He could reach out and touch the truth with his own two hands.

The throne of the world was a lie.

The thing sitting on it bled red. And if it bled, it could die.

He clenched his fists tighter– and released, letting his shoulders slump with a huff and a half hearted chuckle. "I wasn't expecting you to be in possession of a wanted criminal when you sent me that letter." He could see the gears whirring in their heads, the subtle dampness in the air reminding him just how delicate a situation it truly was.

He wasn't particularly inclined to getting blasted by a jet of water today.

"Relax, I'm not going to spill to anyone else. Seriously– don't get my jacket wet. It's expensive and a nightmare to dry." His lips quirk into a half smile, but it twists into something almost genuine at the laugh covered up by a cough he hears from the Divine. Bingo.

"It's fine, Neuvillette. Let him go." Their voice is like honey dripping from their lips, and he has to close his jaw with his hand before they can see the way it dropped in his surprise. "Of course, most Divine. My apologies." He relaxes at the sharp click of his heels as he joins them on the bed, his posture far more relaxed then he's ever seen. The Hydro Archon, much to his confusion and amusement, is far too invested in playing with their hair to pay much attention to him now that things have calmed, evidently.

Huh.

They seemed pretty cozy about it, he noted. He guesses they three of them had some time to get acquainted.

"So..who's going to explain what the hell is going on?" He probed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three carefully– they all looked tired, but even through the exhaustion neither seemed inclined to stray too far from the Divine. "And what exactly your plan is? You can't keep hiding them here forever. Someone will sniff them out sooner or later."

"We are aware," Neuvillette interjects, lips pursed into a thin line and his thin brows furrowed. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, the hunt for the..forgive me, most Divine, but the hunt for the alleged imposter is still at it's peak."

He grumbles in acknowledgment, hanging up his cloak by the door and sliding out of his heavy coat, resting it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hm. Suppose that's why the patrols are so common now a days."

"I'm afraid so. As you can imagine, we cannot simply ask them to..stop the search. It would draw unwanted attention and suspicion. The Divine would be found immediately if we tried to bring them out of the city at the moment." Neuvillette added, looking proper and elegant, despite the circumstances– even in the face of the Divine and the Archon turning on him and tugging his hair into intricate braids. "So I hope you understand that it was a great risk to send you that letter."

He rubs his chin, huffing in amusement– a solid plan, maybe, but his power didn't extend too far out of the Fortress. He had his connections, sure, but what use were they when he had to get the, uh, "imposter" out of Fontaine? Smuggling them out wouldn't be easy, and then there's the point of where to take them they'd have to contend with.

"Yeah, yeah– I get it. But it's not like I can just smuggle them out or keep them in the fortress. Even if we got them out of the city, we'd have to find somewhere to bunker down, and if someone spots any of us lingering there.." Archons, what a mess he'd gotten himself into. He was really looking forward to the next time he could kick his feet up with a cup of tea.

"I understand. I have already made plans, in fact." Neuvillette hesitates, and he can feel the temperature drops a few degrees. "I..cannot share them in full at the moment, but it is not for a lack of trust." Neuvillette reasoned, hands folded neatly in his lap– not that it hid the way they shook slightly. He wanted to ask, but he thought better of it.

"Eh, I don't hold it against you. The walls have ears, even up here." He deflected, running a hand through his hair. He really hoped Sigewinne wouldn't ask too much when he gets back. "I trust your judgment." He hesitates for a long moment, pulling out a simple, neatly folded letter of his own.

"Memorize the code words, then burn it. I'll be waiting for your next letter." He murmurs, plucking his coat and cloak and tugging them back on one after another, shuffling back over to the latched door. He hesitates again, his hand lingering on the door.

"I just hope your plan is worth the risk, Neuvillette."

He leaves before he can respond, the harsh click of the door ringing in his ears even as he steps back into the shadows of the night.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #imposter au #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #furina #neuvillette #wriothesley #furina in the back just awkwardly sitting there bc she aint fighting wrio KHSDKHFKHJ #she was there for his trial when he killed two adults as a CHILD shes not fighting the adult version no ty #also writing reader to be as lowkey eldritch horror as possible. they r just playing nice rn but :)#reader collecting fontaine chars like pokemon cards #anyway wow i wonder what his plan is...wonder who it is he's involved besides wrio.......haha #cough cough #:]#looks at my other fics. haha.........ha....#anyway #slowly bringing in the key players one by one but it's probably gonna be in multiples now #if u guess correctly who neuvi is making plans w u get a lopsided gold star sticker that says “good job!” :]#i promise the lore will make sense soon (it wont im making it up as i go along)#if u see any typos no u didnt #zzzzzzzzzzzz gn #fic tag

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authorsofghosts · 3 months ago

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Snack Cakes | Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summery: There is no way in hell Peter is missing the one time of year where he can get cutesy, pink snacks to share with you. Whether he buys them or steals them, you'll never know (you do).

Themes: Already Established Relationship, Fluff -> Suggestive, Open Ending, Aphrodisiacs, small Argument, Cussing (Reader and Peter), Drugs Mention (weed), Kleptomaniac!Peter (duh), Lots of 'I love you's, Pet names, Twinkies!!

Word Count: 1.2k

You walk down the stair of the Maximoff house to the basement, also known as Peter's "lair" or whatever he decides to call it this week. You see the boxes of Little Debbie treats are all red, pink and white instead of their usually blue. That's the first difference you see. Peter is leaning against one of his many (stolen) arcade machines with a single rose in his hand, looking at you as if you were Cinderella walking down those stairs.

"Hey there." He says in what he thinks is a smooth tone, but his voice cracks slightly. You don't see it, but he slaps him. Peter grimaces slightly, zooming over to the end of the stairs and putting out his hand.

"Hi." You respond, your hand gripping the gift bag in your hand. He looked down at it, then back at you with a knowing grin. "Don't even think about it." You say quickly, swatting his hand. "No peaking, you have to open it and be surprised!"

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Whatever you say." He takes the bag and places it on the couch. "But lemme give you my gift first." He laughs out, pulling you into his arms and pressing a littler of kisses on your face before meeting your lips.

He's gentle at first, but as his tongue traces the slit of your lips for access, you can feel the hunger behind his actions. You pull away, laughing softly. "Peter, later, alright?" You say, looking into his eyes as you hold his face.

He huffs slight, defeated, knowing that he can't fight you. You make him melt, though he'd never admit it out loud, or sober for that matter. He might have mumbled it once or twice while high, but never loud enough for you to hear it.

His hands run down your arms before grabbing hold of your hands, intertwining your fingers with his. "Okay, I'll open your stupid, cheesy gift." He laughs, pulling you over to the couch. "I'm joking, I don't think it's stupid, I mean, I haven't even seen it."

"You talk too much." You say, hinting you know he's had a sneak peak at it.

He opens the bag after you've both sat down, eyes widening as he fully sees it. He pulls out the two foot long box of Twinkies that says "I love you thiiiisss much." He laughs softly eyes flickering from the box to you. "This is ridiculous. Adorable, even. Where did you find this?"

"Whole Foods, why-"

Aaand... he's gone.

Great. You tap your foot, sighing as you wait for him to reappear. You don't have to wait but thirty seconds for him to come back, a stack of the same boxes now adorning his shelves and a gift bag of his own, for you. "You know, just a crummy rose and some kisses aren't enough for you. I think that you deserve the world. So I did a little shopping..."

"Shopping? So you paid for it?" He laughs, which he makes a face to.

"Well, uh, not exactly, BUT I didn't steal their whole stock, so, uh-" He laughs, looking at you as he shrugs, "That's something, right?"

You groan, taking the bag from him and shaking your head. "I'll judge based off your present." You mumble, throwing the tissue paper on the floor and looking into the bag. Your jaw drops as you pull out the assortments of chocolates, candies, and of course, snack cakes.

Of course, sweets are something that you and Peter have always bonded over, he even asked you out using the cheesy 'Wanna kiss?' trick, a Hershey's kiss in his hand. He's nothing more than a blabbering, speedy bundle of puns and love.

You stand up and wrap your arms around him, not even caring about the card just yet. You pepper kisses over his face, eventually locking your lips with his. "I fucking love you, you stupid fucking klepto."

"I love you, too, you control freak." He laughs out, pulling you closer and falling back onto the couch, placing you in his lap as he smirks up at you. "Can't I have just a little fun?"

"Stealing is fun?"

"It's exhilarating, actually."

"Do you even know what that word means?"

"Uh, yeah? Why would I use a word I don't know the meaning to? Hmmm?" He laughs softly, pressing his nose against yours.

"Then what's the definition, smart ass?"

"Uh... something like thrilling, no? I mean, I could go get a dictionary." His smirk widens looking up at you with those dark brown eyes. "Jackass." He throws out.

"Oh, I'm the jackass?" You laugh, lowering your face so your lips hover his. "How so, Peter?"

He tenses slightly as you say his name, eyes widening as he laughs. You usually call him some pet name, not his real one. He's speechless for a moment for he sucks his lips into his mouth, releasing them with an audible pop. "Well..." He starts, blinking a few times before continuing.

"You're the one that pushed me onto the couch." He lies, "Kissing me out of nowhere, and pulling on my hair-"

"I didn't pull your hair!" You interrupt.

"Interrupting my list of the reasons you're a jackass, wow, you're just digging yourself into a deep hole, huh?" Peter laughs, shaking his head before pulling your lips back to his. "I love you."

"Love you, too, baby." You murmur against his lips, wrapping your arms under his and settling in his lap. "You know what? I think you're exhilarating."

"Exhilarating?" He chuckles out, your head notching between his neck and shoulder as you get comfortable.

"Mhm." You hum, closing your eyes and taking in the scent of him; cologne and aftershave, a faint smell of junk food. You press a kiss against his pulse point, making him jolt up slightly.

His hands comb through your hair as he looks at your body softly melting into his. His other rubs soothing circles on your back. "Happy Valentine's, hon." He murmurs into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your head.

"Happy Valentine's, babe." You respond in a mumble. You get off his lap and reach into the gift bag, grabbing a piece of chocolate from the bag.

"Oh, wait, that one's special, hah..." He says, grabbing it from you. His face is actually serious for once.

"What is it like... an edible?"

"Well, something like that. I mean, if you don't want them, I can take them back, uh..." He laughs, shaking his head. "They're those little candies that make you... you know, really horny?"

"Peter!"

"What? I mean, it's Valentine's Day, I thought... You know..." He looks away, biting his lip. He looks back at you, a faint blush on his cheeks as he smiles.

You sigh, shaking your head as you look down at the chocolate in his fingers. You quickly take it, unwrapping it and breaking it in half. Before he can even react, you push it past his lips.

"Shit? Really?" He laughs chewing the sweet chocolate.

"Yeah, why not? And like you said, if I don't want them...." You smile, getting back onto his lap and plopping down on it. "How long till these things work, baby?"

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justmeinadaze · 1 year ago

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Little Girl Gone Part 4 (Steddie X You)

Warnings: Officer Steve harrington/ Gangster Eddie munson & Doctor fem submissive Y/N, SMUT, degrading, some spanking, LOTS of dirty talk, handcuffs, slight overstimulation, after care of course.

ANGST, Jason causing problems before the meeting with his dad. Mentions of explosions and shooting. Eddie being sexily intimidating <3, Steve's dad makes a cameo and undermines the readers profession like a dick. Slight cliffhanger ending...I guess. Idk lol

Word Count: 5993

Last Chapter Here

“Last chance, sweetheart. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Your hold on Eddie’s arm tightens as you exhale out your nerves. This entire week had been rough not just on you but them as well. You were ready for it all to be over so you could just enjoy being with the new men in your life. If this is what you needed to do for that to be done so be it.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

As you smile up at him, he leans down to kiss your lips making you laugh as you quickly wipe away the lipstick that lingered on his mouth.

Both your demeanors hardened as the door to the venue was opened and Eddie led you inside.

***

The gangster ran into the hospital room with you trailing behind, glancing at the chart that was attached to the wall as Steve stood by Chrissy’s bed side.

“What happened?!”

“Witnesses say they don’t know. Just, suddenly, her store was fire.”, the officer relayed with a sigh. “It’s all gone, Ed.”

“It says here she should be fine…physically at least.”, you add as your sad eyes shift towards the unconsciously girl in front of them.

“We-we can rebuild her store. That won’t be an issue—”

“EMS found a note pinned to her sweater.”

Steve handed him the slightly charred piece of paper that Eddie read aloud.

“No, Kiddo, this moment…this is me at my most masochistic.

Three.”

“The fuck does that even mean?”

“It’s a quote from Kill Bill. Everything but the three. I don’t know what that means.”, you answered, trying to hide the fear and worry.

Placing his hands on his hips, Eddie begins to pace.

“I really think you two should stay in my apartment until we get this resolved.”

“You and I both know I can’t do that.”, Steve murmurs as his face scrunches in thought. “And we both know she’s not because of her patients.”

A knowing smirk flashes along your features as you shrug.

“I don’t like this. I still think—”

“I know what you think, Ed, and I’m telling you no.”, the officer cut him off. “You already went and attacked him once and look what’s happening.”

“I feel weak, Steve. Like I’m letting him get away with this bullshit.”

“You’re not weak. If anything, he’s weak for reacting this way.”, you respond as you wrap your arm around his waist and in response he kisses your forehead.

“I just… I’m still going to have some of my guys watching over you two. Y/N, Gareth will be in the clinic with you and Steve, Jeff can linger out of the way so he isn’t seen.”

#########

“Jesus, ALL of Hawkins High Society is here.”, you murmur as you two enter the garish ballroom style area where extremely well-dressed people had gathered.

Eddie had taken you shopping and bought you a beautiful (expensive) red evening dress that flowed to your ankles but had a slit up to just below your hip. He had bought you some equally expensive jewelry to match except for the bracelet around your wrist.

“I know it’s not as lavish as what Tony Montana here got you but I saw it in the store and it made me think of you.”, Steve blushed as he hooked the bracelet to you and spun it around. It was a simple silver chain but in the middle was what looked like a heartbeat reading you see on ECG machines at work. “Since you, ya know, stole the other half of my heart.”

“Wow, Steve Harrington. That was smooth.”, Eddie chuckled. “Um, here. Here’s MY other half as well.”, he grinned softly as he slides one of his rings onto your finger.

“Yeah like you said before, ‘rich people trying to make themselves feel better.’.”

Eddie insisted you both should stand out so not only would people see you together and know you’re his but it would draw the eye of Mr. Carver so he’d hopefully come talk to you two. His suit matched your outfit with a red button up but every other piece on him was a crisp black that made him seem even more handsome.

While your hair was down around your shoulders, his was up and pulled back so you could see his face a bit more. Occasionally during the car ride, you would lean over and kiss his cheek just because you could making him beam over at you as he squeezed your hand.

Leading you to the bar, he ordered you both a glass of champagne making you giggle as you watch him chug it down and ask for another.

“Nervous?”

“Uh a little but not for the reason you might think. I’ve never met Steve’s parents. I’ve heard stories and of course they don’t know about us but for some reason I still want them to kind of like me.”, he playfully winces making you laugh harder.

“That’s normal, baby. You love him so you want them to like you; to approve.”

Grinning in your direction, Eddie leans down to kiss your cheek while you were taking a sip from your glass.

“What was that for?”

“I’m just so glad we met you. I wish it was under different circumstances but—”

“One bourbon, straight, please and thank you.”, Steve sighs heavily as he leans over the counter waiting for his drink. “My parents are on their bullshit tonight.”

“I’m sorry, honey.”, you whisper with a smile as he thanks the bartender again and knocks back his drink.

“Steven, I thought you were bringing everyone back something.”, a man practically whined as he came up behind him.

“I was. Dad, this is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N and—”

“Edward Munson, sir. Nice to meet you.”, Eddie greeted as he enthusiastically extended his hand for him to shake.

As the officer turns to grab the drinks and hide his smirk, you subtly bumped him with your hip.

“Hm. I’ve heard your name around town. Very prominent young man. What do you do exactly?”

“Management you could say sir.”

“And you young lady? Are you a real doctor or just one of those professor types?”

“Um, I own my own clinic and treat patients.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“It’s Hawkins Virtue Clinic on the lower west side.”

“Ah on the crime riddled side of town where people can’t even afford napkins from a restaurant let alone healthcare.”

Your gaze shifts to Steve who tilts his glass towards you in a cheer gesture with a little smile as he knocks back its contents.

“I guess you could say that. That’s why I don’t charge them more than they can afford.”

“How do you make money then?”

“It’s not always about money. For me, all that matters is people can live long healthy lives.”

“Not in Hawkins, honey, but it’s a cute dream. Come on, Steve, your mother is waiting.”

“I’ll see you peasants later.”, he teases as he winks and follows his father.

“Well, that was a good test run.”, you joke as you turn to face Eddie.

“Yeah, hopefully George isn’t that cynical.”

#############

“Thank you for keeping an eye on me these past few days.”, you beam at Gareth as you both walk to your car.

“Of course. It’s actually been oddly exciting. I learned that green is never really a good color especially on or IN your skin unless its vegetables, obviously.” He grins when you laugh. “I also learned that sick kids are VERY loud and nurses deal with way too much.

“They really do. I try to give them raises as much as I can to show my appreciation but it’s hard with my lack of funds.”

“I’m sure Eddie could help if you asked.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t impose.”

Your guard paused, holding his arm out to stop you as well.

“Stay here.” Drawing his gun, he slowly walked forward towards your car, scanning the interior and around the side. Noticing a note tapped to the door handle, he carefully pulls it off and reads the contents before his wide eyes meet yours.

“Y/N RUN!”

As he starts sprinting your way, you suddenly feel heat and a strong wind that knocks you off your feet as your car explodes.

***

Eddie’s tires skid as he slams on his breaks when he arrives at your clinic. Bypassing all the fire fighters and EMS, he entered the building hunting for you.

“What happened?! Baby, are you alright?”

Silently, Steve grabbed his partner’s arm and dragged him off to the side. Digging into his pocket, he handed Eddie the note that was taped to your car.

“I'm not gonna kill you. Your job will be to tell the rest of them that death is coming for them, tonight. Two.”

“I looked it up, it’s a quote from another movie involving revenge. And I’m assuming—”

“He’s counting down.”, Eddie interrupts. “I’m going to fucking kill that son of a bitch.”

“No, hey. We have a plan, remember? Right now, she needs you.”

After coming back around the corner, Steve shoos the EMS people away as he sits beside you in your waiting area with his pencil and pad pretending to take your statement while the gangster takes a seat on your other side.

“Princess, look at me. Are you ok? Did you get hurt?”

“Uh, no. Gareth, he, um, he did though.”, you respond as your tear-filled eyes meet his. “I tried to do what I could, Eddie. H-He was badly burned. I-I-I don’t have stuff here for those kinds of burns.”

Tilting you against him, he presses your head to his chest as you sob.

“EMS said that he will most likely be ok and if you hadn’t been there he would have died. Honey, you saved him.”

“H-He saved me, Steve.”

“You’re both staying with me. No arguments.”, Eddie announced as you nodded.

“I have to go in and fill out my report—”

“Steven…”

“I know, I know. I’m probably next but there’s nothing I can do, Eddie. I have to go in and do this. Plus, I have Jeff and a station full of cops. I’ll be ok.”

############

“I’m going to go smoke a cigarette, sweetheart, ok? Don’t go far.”

You nod as you watch him reach into his pocket and pull out his pack as he disappears out on the nearby patio. Glancing at all the people around you, you suddenly feel extremely isolated completely unsure of what you should be doing.

“Don’t let them see you crumble.”, an older man chuckles as he steps closer to you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I know what it’s like to walk into this sea of rich people and feel completely out of place. When my father and I moved here, we had nothing but a few pennies in our pocket but he knew how to finagle. Networked his way to his first 100K and used that to start an empire.”

“That’s amazing. My, uh, my grandparents were the same. They said personality goes a long way in any business. My grandma opened a tutoring center on the east side and helped so many underprivileged kids go on to college. My dad thought she was ridiculous. ‘You’re barely making ends meet, ma!’”, you roll your eyes.

“Ah, one of those.”, the man smiles. “I inherited my father’s company and then gave it to my son. Did your grandmother do the same?”

“Oh, no. She got sick pretty early on in her life and I moved in with them to help take care of her. It’s what actually sparked my interest in medicine. I’m a doctor and I run my own clinic, Hawkins Virtue.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of that place. You help a lot of people who are struggling.”

“I try.”, you grin, happy to meet someone who seems to genuinely find interest.

“Do you need funding? I’d love to come by and see what you do.”

Shifting your gaze, you notice Steve watching you intensely from beside his parents.

“I would like that very much. I’m Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.”, you introduce as you offer him your hand that he takes and kisses the back off.

“George. George Carver.”

***

Steve sighs as he heads out of the police station to go home. Placing the ear bud in his ear, he taped his phone to immediately call Eddie.

“What’s going on?? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, babe. I’m fine. I’m on my way now.”

“Ok, stay on the phone with me till you’re almost here.”

“Heh. I love when you get protective.”

Eddie listens to every footstep with anticipation as the officer heads towards his car.

“You’re my Paladin, babe, but I’m the Master. I can take care of you to.”

“You’re such a nerd.”, he chuckles, pausing at the sight of the note on his windshield.

Trying not to startle his boyfriend, he carefully removed it as he backed away from his car.

“Killing's got to be accepted. Murder was the only way that everybody stayed in line. You got out of line, you got whacked. Everybody knew the rules. One.”

Something suddenly whizzed passed him, shattering his driver’s side window.

“Fuck me.” As soon as he hit the ground, multiple rounds of gunfire went off around him. Steve could barely hear Eddie in his ear as he crawled behind a nearby vehicle and waited.

“STEVEN! ANSWER ME GODDAMN IT!”

“I’m ok! I’m ok!”

Pointing his gun towards the car, he fired a few rounds before it disappeared around the corner.

***

Eddie paced as you cleaned the cuts on Steve’s hand he had received from all the glass on concrete. The gangster was on edge since he had to wait for police to scope the scene and take the officer’s statement.

“Fucking asshole. Steve, I’m sorry but I can’t let this slide. Two of my friends are in the hospital and he almost killed you two.”

“No. He wants to kill us in front of you remember. This was just to toy with you and us.”

“I don’t like the casual way you said that.”, Steve teased as he pokes your nose with his free hand.

“Excuse me. Not a joke here!”

“You’re right, baby. Talking with his father won’t be enough. He crossed a line but we need to focus on this first to keep Y/N safe. After we handle that, then we can handle him.”

“I may have an idea that won’t upset his father IF we get that approval and will get your message across.”, you announce as they give you their attention.

############

“Mr. Carver.”

“Ah, Mr. Munson or should I saw Edward. We don’t want to confuse you with your father now do we?”, the man laughs light-heartedly as your gangster circles a protective arm around you. “Do you know Dr. Y/L/N here?”

“Oh, please, sir. You can call me Y/N.”, you beam trying to remain as calm as possible.

“Yes, sir. I met Y/N when she saved me from a nasty wound I got. I had heard of all the things she’s done for the community so, of course, I had to get to know her better.”, he grins as he pulls you closer.

“That ‘nasty wound’ wouldn’t have been inflicted by my son per chance?” Eddie stiffened a bit beside you as the man gave him a once over. “Yeah, I know you and Jason don’t get along but that doesn’t give you the right to invade his turf and kill his best friend.”

“If I may, Mr. Carver, is there a private place we can talk?”

“No, you may not. Whatever is going on between you and him doesn’t involve me. You two are in charge now. Handle it.”

As he starts to walk away, you reach out to grab the man’s bicep.

“Please, sir. So many innocent people have gotten hurt just in this week alone. Your son is throwing a tantrum over something he started and is upset because Eddie didn’t let it go like his father used to. Please, just listen to what he has to say. We don’t want anything in return or anything like that. Just…listen.”

Jason’s father sighs as he glances you over.

“You would even decline the generous donation I was thinking of giving to your clinic? That’s a lot of funds that could help a lot of people.”

“This will help more.”

At your sentence, he blinked and stood up straighter.

“Ok. Ok, Mr. Munson. Let’s talk.”

***

Jason exhaled as he took off his tie and laid his gun on the kitchen counter with his keys as he headed towards his living room.

“Long night?”

“Jesus Christ, dad!”, the man jumped as he clutched his chest. “You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I thought you were going to the fundraiser event tonight.”

“I was busy.”

“I hope you weren’t busy with anything involving the Munson crew.”

As his father rose to his feet, Jason stood up straighter.

“I told you. That asshole killed Andrew—”

“After you broke into his girlfriend’s house and pulled a gun on him?”

“He killed Patrick and my friends!”

“AFTER you kidnapped his friend WHO IS A COP and beat him up! You stupid idiot!”, his dad growls as his son flinches. “What’s this I hear about you starting fires, blowing up cars, and doing shootings outside of a police station?! And leaving these moronic notes like this is some gangster movie!”, George shouts as he grumbles the papers he was given and tossed them his way. “This is not how we run our business, Jason.”

“Edward Munson needs to be taken out.”, he seethes.

“Edward Munson will be left alone and so will his crew. That includes Steve Harrington and Y/N Y/L/N. Do you understand me, son?”

“Are you kidding!? He just gets away with killing my friends?!”

“BE GLAD I DON’T KILL YOU! Sit down!” Jason cowers at his father’s anger as he sits on the couch. “If you weren’t my son, I’d have gotten rid of you for how sloppy you’ve been. That being said you still need to understand that there are consequences to your actions.” Looking past him, George addresses the darkness behind his son’s ear. “He’s all yours.”

Something sharp stings the gangster’s neck as his world begins to spin.

“I trust whatever you come up with, Mr. Munson, the punishment will fit the crime.”

As you and Eddie come into view, Jason’s world goes dark.

#################

“Good morning, sunshine.”, Eddie jests as Jason’s eyes flutter open. “I wouldn’t wiggle too much if I were you. The view up here is pretty great but not when you’re falling down eight stories.”

The rival gangster’s eyes finally adjust to see the other man in front of him with you and Steve on either side. He tried to move but soon realized he was bound to a chair with duct tape over his mouth, completely at your mercy as he was perched near the edge of a tall building.

“You know, I’m a fan of movies myself. The one thing my father and I could connect on was The Godfather trilogy. Did you ever see those, Jason?” The man’s only response is trying to tug at his restraints. “No? That’s ok. The third one is utter garbage but that second one. Oof…so good. There’s one line in there that always stood out to me. ‘Chiedi di me ai tuoi amici del quartiere. Ti diranno che so come ricambiare un favore.’”

Stepping forward with his hands in his pockets he continues.

“It’s Italian. ‘Ask your friends in the neighborhood about me. They'll tell you I know how to return a favor.’”

The rival gangster’s eyes widen as Eddie kneels to his level, balancing on his heels as he speaks to him again is a soft tone laced subtle venom.

“You crossed a line, Carver. If it were up to me I would have killed you and your entire enterprise after hurting Steve and threatening Y/N. After the stunts you pulled this week, I almost did. You can thank this young lady here for talking me out of it.”

Jason’s eyes flick to your angry ones before looking at the other man again.

“She also suggested we talk to your father which was a brilliant idea. He’s very levelheaded and kind of funny. Right, guys?”

“Hysterical. He thought what you did at the police station was so amusing he recommended I take you in and throw you in a cell with Allen since you miss him so much.”, Steve quipped with a smirk.

“After blowing up my car and breaking into my apartment, he thought I should use some of things I learned at medical school as a punishment. Oddly enough, castration was the first thing to came to his mind. I told him I didn’t think you had any balls to remove since you were acting like a five-year-old.”, you add making Eddie’s smile widen.

“He also suggested we make the punishment fit the crime thus you’re ours for the next week, buddy!” As the gangster lightly taps his face, Jason starts to cry. “But, Carver, I’m not going to do that. Do you know why? I’m not my father and I’m not like you. I don’t kill for pleasure and I don’t like hurting people. I want this to stop. But make no mistake…” Eddie reaches for Jason’s throat and squeezes it between his ringed fingers. “If you ever threaten or hurt these two again or even fucking think of coming on to my side of Hawkins, I will burn your side to the ground and make you regret ever being born let alone taking your father’s mantle. Am I being clear?”

Ripping away the tape his lips, the gangster squeaks as he continues to cry.

“Yes! I understand. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Eddie.” After tapping his cheek again, Eddie turns taking your hand in his as you three head for the door to leave the roof of the building. “Hey! What about me?!”

“Oh, we’ll call the building super in the morning. Just…don’t lean back.”, Steve answers with a sarcastic thumbs up as the door closes behind him.

##################

You giggled in Eddie’s arms as he held you to him, kissing your lips with vigor as he carried you up the stairs with Steve trailing right behind.

“You…are…amazing.”, he cooed between each breath as he fell with you onto the bed.

“You really are.” Steve added as he threw himself beside you and began sucking on your neck.

Ringed fingers glided hastily up the slit in your dress, moving the silk blocking your core, and effortlessly pushed into your entrance, pumping in and out so quickly the sound of your arousal filled the room.

“Fuck, Eddie.”

“You got me so hard, sweetheart, watching the way you took control talking to George. Jesus and in that beautiful fucking dress.” Your hand floated down to cling to his as his digits inside of you moved at a relentless pace. “I had to keep telling myself to focus because all I wanted to do was push you against that wall and fuck you till you couldn’t walk straight.”

Steve gripped your chin turning you so your lips could meet his as the gangster’s head fell into the nook between your head and shoulder.

“You’re a bad girl now, baby. OUR bad girl.”

“Tr-treat me like one.”

The officer chuckled at your needy tone as you panted into his mouth.

“Yeah? You want us to show you how bad girls get treated?”

“P-Please…please. Fuck I’m gonna cum.”

“Ask nicely, Y/N.”

Leaning your head against the gangster’s, you murmured consistent pleas, begging for relief that he granted as the coil snapped and you practically screamed his name. Offering his fingers to his partner, Steve licked them clean before leaning over you so their lips could mingle together.

After digging in one of his drawers, Eddie produced some handcuffs and passed them over to Steve who took hold of your wrists restraining you to the headboard.

“These are my own set so they should feel more comfortable on your skin than his steel ones.”, Eddie grinned as he kissed your lips.

“Babe, you forgot to take off her dress.”

“Fuck, silly me.” Grabbing the slit in the fabric, he yanked it apart tearing it up the middle till it split in half and fell away. “There we go.”

“No bra, honey? Definitely bad girl behavior.”

“Eddie told me not to wear one.”, you whine as Steve’s gaze shifts his way.

“What? I like her tits. Sue me.”

While Eddie removed his suit, the officer yanked down your panties and tossed them onto the floor while he kissed your lips.

“I bet you want to suck my cock, don’t you dirty girl?”

“I do. Please.”

“I like that. Keep beginning me like that.”

Jumping back into bed, the gangster took hold of one of your legs and lifted it over his shoulder before guiding his cock into your entrance.”

“Oh my god.”

Fingers circled tightly around your neck as your eyes met Steve’s anger filled ones.

“I said beg me for my dick, little girl.”

“P-Please, Steve. I wanna—fuck, Eddie—I wanna choke on your cock. Please! I need it!”

Quickly, he unbuckled his belt and shimmied down his pants enough to free his length, allowing it to hover over your lips.

“Tap three times loudly if you need to stop, ok?”

“Yes, yes sir.”

“Oh, look at that, Eds. Little girl found her manners.”

Eddie smirked as he continued to slam his hips into yours at a rough pace, his thick fingers digging into your thigh as he used it for leverage.

Opening your mouth, you prepared for some the things they had been teaching you. Flattening your tongue you waited, mewling when he finally gave you what you were begging for. As his cock slid down your throat, his fingers tangled in your hair and you focused on the feeling as he slowly thrust his hips.

“Good…good girl. That’s it. Shit, baby. That’s it. You’re almost taking all of me.” Feeling your body tremble, Steve holds you still, allowing you choke and gag around him as you cum. “Yes! You’re ok, baby. Just a couple more seconds.”

Tapping once, you signal you need air and he immediately pulls out to pet your head, murmuring praises as Eddie slows his rhythm to almost a complete stop as he caresses your leg comfortingly.

“Good girl, honey. You did so fucking good. It took all my energy not to cum to but I want to cum inside your tight pussy, pretty girl. So beautiful. What color are we at, Y/N?”

“Green, baby. Green.”

At the word, the gangster lifts your other leg, pushing them together as he slowly thrusts his cock deep inside you.

As your eyes roll back and you moan, Steve kisses away your tears before murmuring against your lips, “Do you still want my dick, baby girl? Do you want me to fuck your pretty little throat? Feel us both deep inside you. I wonder if I can feel myself here.”, he coos as he gently places his hand on your neck. “I know I can feel Eddie fucking you so good. Right, honey?”

His large palm trails down your skin till you feel him press on your lower belly making you whimper louder as your back arches and you tug on your restraints.

“Yeah, he’s right here, nice and deep.”

Eddie grunts as his pace hastens, his partners words amping him up as Steve smiles. Lifting up on his knees once more, the officer holds his tip just above your lips, chuckling as your tongue needily reaches for him.

“Don’t forget what we talked about. Tap if you need to breathe or stop, baby. I’m gonna fuck your throat hard, ok?”

“Y-Yes. Please—fuck—please.”

Sliding his dick into your mouth, your eyes squeezed shut as he did what he said, constantly hitting the back of your throat over and over as the obscene sound of you gagging and drooling filled their ears. Both men became almost feral at the noise, Eddie shaking the bed as he pounded into you and Steve tugging harshly on your hair while mumbling under his breath.

“That’s it, little girl. Jesus. Your mouth feels so fucking good. Atta girl. Choke on my cock, you dirty little whore making a fucking mess. Mmm!”

Your legs abruptly hit the mattress as Eddie fell on top of you, wrapping his arms around your back as he rolled his hips into yours. The officer pulled back, stroking himself with his hand as he watched you both cum together. The gangster laid still trying to catch his breath as Steve reached down to play his hair.

“Fuck me. This pussy is too good.”, Eddie groaned as he sat up and lightly spanked your behind. “I’m glad it’s ours.”

After pulling out of you, both men shared a passionate filled kiss as they switched places, Steve wiggling underneath you so your back was on his chest. While the officer ran his palms over your breasts and along your sides, Eddie took hold of his partners cock, spitting over the tip before running it between your folds, teasing you both as it grazed your clit.

“Please.”, you whine.

Smirking, he did what you asked as the two of you groaned. Steve’s hands gripped your thighs, holding your legs open as he planted his feet into the mattress and thrust up into you.

“Fuck.”

“God, sweetheart, I wish you could see you both from my angle.”, the gangster moaned as he watched his boyfriend’s cock disappear inside you as he stretched you open. “Fuck me. Stevie didn’t even have the patience to take off the rest of his clothes.”, he chuckles, faltering the man’s rhythm as Eddie tugs his pants that had been pooled at his ankles the rest of the way.

Dropping your legs, one of Steve’s hands pulled your hair back as his other roughly kneaded your breast.

“Move your hips.”, he growled as you mewled, trying your best to bounce and roll your waist. “Harder, little girl. Make yourself cum again.” He continued to grumble with a rough tone in your ear, commanding you to move faster repeatedly while smacking your tits with his palm. Screaming his name, you stopped moving as your body shook against him and you pulled hard on the cuffs above you. “Atta girl. Fuck, I can feel your pussy quivering around me. You’re gonna give me one more and I’m gonna cum with you.”

“I…I can’t.”

“Color, princess?”, Eddie whispers as he presses his nose to your cheek.

“Green.”, you mumble as the tears stream down your face.

“Yeah? Fuck you look so beautiful like this with your make up running down like this. Fuck, baby. You can do it. You can give us one more.”

Steve starts moving again with purpose knowing he won’t last long and you most likely will spent after this. After licking his fingers, the long-haired man places them on your clit, rubbing circles into your nub as your sweaty head leans back while the other man clings to your waist.

“There you go, Y/N. Come on, baby! One more. You can do it!”, Eddie encourages, both men moving so fast you don’t even realize it’s coming till your orgasm hits you like a freight train. “Good girl! Good fucking girl.”

Circling his arms around you, Steve’s pace becomes sloppy till you feel him warm your insides as he grunts in your ear.

“Please…please…no…no more. I can’t.”

“No, sweetheart. You did so good. I’m going to uncuff you ok?” You nod as the gangster releases you from your binds and you wince at your sore muscles as you slowly bring your arms down. Steve carefully turns you both onto your side before pulling out of you, mumbling soft apologies as he tries not to hurt you. “Whenever you’re ready, we’re going to take a bath, ok? It will feel good on your body.”

After a few minutes of them smiling tenderly at you as they caressed and kissed parts of your skin, you signaled you were ready and Eddie lifted you into his arms as Steve ran the water. Doing what had become the norm, the gangster lit a cigarette as he sat behind you on the edge of the tub with his feet in the water as he began to clean you. What was new was when the officer pulled a wet wipe from a bag and kneeled beside you to clean your face.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, um, makeup remover. I bought it a while ago before all the bullshit happened for when you spend the night with us. Chrissy said this was a good brand for girl’s skin but if you have another just let me know.” It took him a moment to realize you two were staring at him with small smiles on your lips. “What? Hey, I’m a nice guy!”

“Yes, you are, pretty boy.”, Eddie coos sassily as he leans over to give him a peck as the man rolls his eyes.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

His eyes remain downcast as he throws it away and places the bag on the counter.

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. WE want to…want you to be comfortable…and happy. Are you? Happy I mean.”

Tilting his chin, you kiss his lips as well making his smile grow.

“I am happy. Thank you for everything. It means a lot to me.”

Eddie’s already prepared when you lean your head back to kiss his lips as well making you giggle when he lingers making a loud mwah sound.

“Just because we settled the stuff with Jason doesn’t mean I’m out of danger does it?”

Both men freeze in place as they blink before Steve climbs into the bath in front of you and Eddie slides in behind you.

“No, it doesn’t. There’s always going to be people that want to challenge me and just because we scared Carver doesn’t mean he won’t fuck up again.”

“And like I told you before, now that people know you’re with Eddie, it may cause some ears to perk up with the police which may put more eyes on you than you’re used to.”

“But, sweetheart, we promise you we will do everything we can to keep you safe. I’d hurt or kill to protect you just like with Steve.”

“And, honey, I would hide evidence or lie to anyone in the department to protect you. Not just from people but any kind of jail time.”

“You’re ours, Y/N, and we will take care of you no matter what.”

You can feel their eyes penetrate you as your own remain off to the side as you absorb what they are saying.

Gently, fingers grip your chin, turning you to meet Steve’s soft honey hues.

“You can still leave if you want to. We can come up with a story to explain the party if you still want to have some…semblance of normalcy.”

“Whoa. Steve Harrington is breaking out the big words.”

You laughed at Eddie’s joke as the officer narrowed his eyes in playful annoyance.

“I don’t want to leave. I…”

You want to say it so bad. You want to tell them that you love them. But it’s only been a couple of months and they’ve been together for almost a year. No. You don’t want to scare them away after everything they just did to keep you safe. No…

“I…I trust you both.”

When you flash them a smile both men grin back as Eddie hugs you against his chest and Steve kisses your forehead.

##############

@5tud10-54r4h @munsonzgf @eddiesguitarskills @supraveng

@lilaclazer @ima1986 @micheledawn1975 @foreverminliv @corkadymu

@lemme-slytherin-that-dick @joannamuns9n @dashingdeb16 @sashaphantomhive @corrodedcoffincumslut @aactuaaltraash @nailbatanddungeon

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fabraies-archive · 2 years ago

Text

TRIAL BASIS DATING ft ATSUMU MIYA

sfw + no warnings. if the man wants a relationship with you, he’s going to have to work for it. ﾟ｡ ꒱

FIRST TEST: HOLD-MY-PURSE-WHILE-I-TRY-THIS-ON

If New York City had one thing to offer, it was glamour, shopping trips, and luxury. However, this vision of the city seemed to be slightly different for boyfriends, who’d rather view a trip to Soho as an arm workout. Atsumu had to agree.

“Hey, babe?”

The blond perks up at the sound of your voice, looking up at you trying on another pair of nude stilettos, “Hm ?”

“Which ones ?” You say, holding up another pair that was lying nearby, in the mess that was made up of shoeboxes and translucent paper, and placing it next to the shoe that you were currently wearing.

Atsumu can’t help but blink. “Babe.. aren’t they..?” Your pupils narrow down to slits as your boyfriend almost slips up. Luckily for him, he catches the hint, and tries as best as he can to make up for his blunder.

“I mean- No, it’s just.. That’s not what I meant to say! They’re so obviously different, the left one definitely more yellow.. ish?”

You pick up the left one, inspecting it, and Atsumu swears he felt a drop of sweat make it’s way down his forehead.

“Yeah.. Yeah you’re right. Thanks, baby, love you!” As you place a quick kiss on his cheek, you happily saunter over to the store assistant to let her know you’ve made your choice, and, unbeknownst to you, Atsumu feels like screaming into a pillow. Your purse is safely in his hands, he managed to provide worthwhile fashion advice, and most of all, he was still alive.

While he was very self-centered, for once in his life, your boyfriend was sure that the outcome wasn’t any of his doing. In fact, he wholeheartedly believed there was some extraterrestrial being somewhere that had taken pity on him, and helped him out.

Right on cue, you come back, having paid your new shoes, “Come on, hurry up, there’s this other store I wanna check out next!”

Even though these sort of days were definitely rewarding; watching his girlfriend change into form-fitting outfits was always a good thing, Atsumu was already begging for the extraterrestrial’s return.

The colors and brand names you were throwing at him were making the poor man’s head spin; Apple green or Forest green? Ocre or light brown? Prada or Balenciaga? Moschino or Valentino? Atsumu didn’t even know what a Moschino was, and when he’d asked you if it was a coffee machine brand, you had almost thrown earlier’s nude stilettos right at his face.

“Come on, just five more minutes, I promise!” You answer your boyfriend from the changing room, as he had let you know about his need to go back to the hotel as soon as possible.

The blonde, who was sat in a puff chair in front of your changing room, was beginning to get really frustrated at the seemingly endless shopping trip, when he hears the curtains being drawn back. There you were, standing in all your glory, waiting for a comment on his part. Unfortunately for you, your appearance seemed to have made his mouth out of service. His jaw was slacked open, unable to utter a single word out.

“Well ?” You raise an eyebrow.

Maybe an arm workout in Soho wasn’t so bad after all.

note. This is for the girlies who take hours in the changing rooms. I see you, and I get you! Take your time queen you deserve it ﾟ｡ ꒱

-> second test

#atsumu x you #atsumu fluff #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu scenarios #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu drabble #haikyuu x reader #atsumu drabble #hq x you #hq x y/n #hq fluff

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popodoki · 10 months ago

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Hey, teacher! aka my motorcycle Catwin AU, part 5

still sfw! Fancy that x

Edwin’s grateful for the small pile of laundry Thomas left on the bed for him to busy himself with. Ignoring the warmth of his cheeks, he peers at the washing label of the faded band t-shirt on the top of the pile, as he passes back through the guest room, and notices Thomas's leather jacket hanging off the bedpost.

He shouldn't. But he does.

Leather has always enticed Edwin. Whether it be a fine pair of Italian gloves, an expensive belt that compliments his suit so nicely, or a finely crafted genuine leather book cover. Oh, he’s long filled up the most beautiful notebook collection from England. Pure poetry, the combined scent of paper and leather. The soft creak of the spine, the shift of paper, the scrape of his pen.

The smell of leather has always enticed Edwin.

The jacket in his hands is black and worn, obviously not cared for in the traditional sense. There are some cracks, mild damage to the cuffs, all to be expected if worn every day. There is a large piece of artwork on the back, stitched there by someone who knew what they were doing, even if they weren't classically trained in tailoring. It's a large depiction of an orange cat, with fierce golden slitted eyes, predatory gaze locked on the viewer, as if following along with every angle. Charming, in a sense.

Along the bottom, in a very ornate yet blocky script, framed beneath the orange cat’s unsheathed glinting claws, are the words "Cat-o-nine Carnivores." The name doesn't ring a bell, but he supposes it shouldn't. In any case, Edwin appreciates the wordplay.

On the front of the jacket is a name patch, that reads "Cat King." Well at least Thomas wasn't lying about that. Edwin idly wonders if it's a name he gave himself, or one given to him by his peers. Or subjects? Is Thomas the leader, self-dictated King? Does he have a clowder of other leather-clad, motorcycle-riding, vagrants, with kind eyes, strong hands, broad chests…Next to it is a patch that looks like a cat’s paw print, claws out, tinted red as if bloodied. Above it, a smaller patch, a neon red crown framed in a pair of equally bright turquoise rings. Under the guise of wanting a closer look at the decorative patches, Edwin brings the jacket close to his face. His ruse falls away immediately the moment the scent of the worn leather fills his nose. Leather softly creaks in his white-knuckled clenching grip, as Edwin buries his nose near the collar and breathes in the mixed scent of the jacket itself, and the hints of Thomas’s cologne, sunk and buried into the inner layer of soft leather, from repetitive usage. He stands there, fills his nose and lungs with the enticing combination of smells, until even the air leaving his mouth tastes the same as the air flowing in with every deep pulling breath.

Edwin hears the shower stop, and he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to get out of the guest room. He barely remembers to re-grab the small pile of laundry on his way out. The washing machine and clothes dryer are out on the back porch, and he takes in a breath of fresh air to calm his nerves as he deposits the clothes into the washing machine, with a more than modest helping of soap.

The next stop is the kitchen. Settling on a light dinner, something filling, yet easy enough on the stomach, he thinks. Pulling ingredients out of the fridge, Edwin sets to chopping his small selection of vegetables for the stir fry. He’s almost ready to add them to the chicken, setting the bowl next to the wok, while he peers into the fridge again in search for a lemon, mentally going through the contents his spice rack.

He hears a strange noise from the doorway, realizes with a start that Thomas is standing there, impersonating the sounds of a trumpet. "Presenting," he affects a posh accent, "the most well-dressed man in the room." Thomas ends the statement with a flourish, taking up an appropriately dramatic pose, and Edwin immediately bursts out laughing. Full bodied, head thrown back, so open and loud he fears he might come across as rude, but he can’t help it, and he doesn’t think Thomas minds, judging from his expression. It’s not something Edwin can currently decipher, struggling to blink away tears, but its near enough encouraging, as is the way Thomas keeps up his exaggerated stretches, arms swinging to and fro, to highlight, to, to entertain him.

To Edwin’s credit, the pyjamas almost fit. At first glance. The pants are… They would be fine; if Thomas had seen fit to actually roll up the ankles. As is, the bunched-up fabric seems to pool around and over his feet, in a damning contract to the way the fabric seems to struggle at the seams near Thomas’ hips. Lengthwise, Edwin reasons their size discrepancy is easy to ignore. But there’s no denying their difference in build. The shirt ends a good four to five centimeters above the waistband of the pants, leaving an exposed stripe of abs, offering a hint of Thomas’s bellybutton. To say the rest of the shirt properly covers the remaining chest, would be straining the truth about as much as the material seems to strain with every push of Thomas’s chest, even just as he takes a breath. Edwin’s honestly surprised a button hasn’t popped off. It seems painted on him around his shoulders, and the sleeves stop well above his wrists. It's almost as if he's wearing a child's shirt. It cannot be comfortable.

Edwin clearly underestimated their differences, but he can't stop laughing long enough to apologize. As he gasps for breath, he actually snorts, which sets Thomas off on his own fit of laughter, except his is louder, unrestrained. He clutches the wall with one hand, his ribs with the other, beaming smiles sent Edwin’s way at the end of every bout, before he inhales, loses the air again to laughter, and Edwin reflects on what it must look like; two grown men, giggling so hard they can't speak, in the middle of his kitchen.

Finally, Edwin is able to get himself under control, straightening, hand moving without much thought to lower the settings of the furnace, add the vegetables, while he wipes an errant tear off his cheek. "I'm so sorry," he chuckles apologetically, "That cannot be comfortable, let me get you a T-shirt or something.” He busies himself for a bit with stirring the food, checking for any signs of burning. Nodding to himself in relief when he catches no sign of the meal lessening in quality, he turns his head to Thomas. “Do you want a different set of trousers, as well?" He adds.

"All good, Edwin. I’m actually used to walking around without a shirt." Thomas grins, fiddling with the too-small shirt. “Do you mind?” Thomas asks, and Edwin shakes his head in a negative before he’s consciously thought of it, but truly, why would his opinion matter on something another likes to do in the comfort of his own home? He’ll just go look for the biggest shirt he owns, offer it as an option.

Edwin turns back to the food for a final stir, before he heads back upstairs, hears the rustling of fabric, the scrape of a chair, imagines the shirt is getting neatly folded over the back. Oh.

Edwin is partly relieved his guest feels comfortable enough in his home. He keeps his eyes on the food. Maybe just a bit more stirring. He has to make sure it doesn’t burn.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #catwin #cat king #edwin payne #fanfiction #dbda fanfic #motorcycle au

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fandom-gt · 1 year ago

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COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page +1 addon

PRICE: 65

FANDOM: MCU

CHARACTERS: Steve Rogers

REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”I'd love a continuation of the growing Steve Rogers quick fill! He's a few kilometers tall and is just getting off on his new power and size, Avengers try to stop him but are absolutely powerless. And when he's done he ends up tripling in size again. Please keep me anonymous when you post this!”

WARNINGS: Violence and implied tiny death, mass destruction, nsfw

——

Steve Rogers has been a large man for a number of years now. Ever since they slipped his small, skinny body into that machine and let him come out the other side feet taller, a hundred pounds heavier, muscular and strong, he’s known that he was always supposed to be big. It felt good at first, but after a while, a secret part of him had kind of wished for just a little bit more.

Finally, here smack-dab in the center of New York City, Steve’s finally got his wish. He stares down at the roaming little dots that make up people, the slightly larger little squares that must be cars, and a thrill of absolute satisfaction runs through him.

Everything below him, every building, every structure, every person, is tiny. The ruined tatters of his uniform are all but invisible to his naked eye now, and it’s only because of the serum enhancing his eyesight that he can even make out vague details of those ant-sized people.

He kneels, naked, knees crushing pavement and concrete and roads and sidewalks and anything that happened to be in their way as he grew, massive craters beneath his muscular thighs and calves, with barely even the hint of resistance despite being made of reinforced steel beams and the finest construction the human species is capable of. It all crumples like paper under him.

What really gets him going, once he notices it, though… is the tiny cracked crater underneath the place his cock gently dipped and smacked onto the road. Even it, even just the engorged head of his member, is enough to devastate what must be most of a city block. It brings a surge of heat through him, has his balls tightening, and he can’t keep himself from reaching down to wrap a hand around it.

Down below him, the world is in chaos. He cannot hear the screams, he doesn’t know the sight that he makes to the regular-sized humans trapped underneath his crotch. Tony stares up from his place on the cracked and broken sidewalk, mouth agape in utter disbelief even as he engages the nanite of his Iron Man suit.

Steve’s too large for him to take in all at once. All he can see at first is the shadow of his cock filling Tony’s skyline bigger than any skyscraper, the size of an entire mountain, with every vein and every ridge and every wrinkle of it in hyper-vivid super-high definition detail.

Before him, he watches in horror as a new monumental event enters the chaotic landscape — Steve’s massive hand descending from the heavens to wrap around his titanic dick. The rush of wind blows back signs and people’s hair as his hand moves forward in one stroke so big it almost seems slow-motion thanks to the scale. The sound of it, skin on skin, is deafening. People too close to him feel their eardrums splitting under the immense pressure of Steve’s low grumble.

That’s not what scares Tony. What scares him is the glistening pearl of precum that buds at the volcanic crater of Steve’s slit. It builds in size, in volume, an avalanche of sticky fluid, and he knows with a great, mounting horror that the second it drops, it’s going to wipe out an entire apartment building.

One single drop of precum will devastate dozens of people, will wipe out entire households, and Steve doesn’t even seem to notice — let alone care.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. He has to do something -— and so he kicks off, the rockets at his feet carrying him up, up, up a full kilometer in the air. Even with all that upward thrust, he still barely manages to make it to Steve’s waist.

One sharp jerk of Steve’s wrist sends a gust of air that throws him out of balance, sending him careening head over foot and slamming into a wall of flesh.

With his back against something sticky, he realizes in horror what he’s stuck to right as he sees the barreling momentum of Steve’s hand in his next jerk. He’s swallowed in an avalanche of skin, and lost on Steve’s body.

Steve did not even see him. Steve didn’t even notice the little speck lost in his lazy masturbation. He’s too busy staring down at the ground beneath him as another growth spurt ripples through him, carrying him outward, carrying him upward. He must be miles tall now, he can’t even imagine the math, he can’t even compare it.

What he does know is, all those little grid lines beneath him are city blocks, and his dick spans a dozen of them. He also knows, with a rippling jolt of pure arousal, that if he were to come… if he were to just jack off and finish, it would flood an entire city.

And god, that thought gets him harder than anything ever has in his entire life. His hand works harder, works faster, jacking his cock with a renewed frenzy that sends the population between his thighs into despair. They know what’s going to happen, and it’s all they can do to run — knowing that even if they move as fast as they physically can, even if they hop into cars and somehow escape the gridlock of traffic, even if they manage to put literal miles between themselves and the place Steve’s testicles crush their city, they won’t make it far enough in time.

And they’re right.

Another groan rumbles, and this time every single person in the state of New York can hear it. Windows shatter under the sound of it. Earthquakes shake tremors in the ground through voice alone, to say nothing of the untold devastation as Steve shifts on his haunches to dip forward and press the head of his dick into the ground, rutting through entire counties and leveling them in one aimless, heated hump.

As he rolls his hips, as his enormous glutes tighten in fervor, as he drags himself along irreverent to the thousands of crushed people beneath him, Steve Rogers wipes Queens off the map entirely with one earnest rut.

It’s too much. He shifts again, one elbow planting on the ground, his knees and thighs comfortably stretched out beneath him, and he works himself hard, mounting, building, wide blue eyes forced open so he can watch it when it finally hits, when it finally happens.

His orgasm tears through him in a torrent of semen bigger than any tidal wave. His release washes through city streets, drowning everything, sticky and unstoppable. A flood, a thousand rivers, the best god damn thing he’s ever felt. Every person in its wake is consumed by it. And all he did was just let himself come.

#mcu #giant #g/t #growth #steve rogers #commissioon #micro/macro

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acapelladitty · 2 years ago

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Riddler/Reader: Applied Physics

Summary - Restrained against the wall and unable to escape, you find yourself playing willful victim to the Riddler's latest machine.

This commission from the lovely @doctorvondooms, was deliciously fun to write and I'm thrilled to share it. Also available on A03

Pinned into place opposite his work desk, the restraints which wrapped around your thighs to keep them spread and pinned against the wall were surprisingly comfortable; the thick bands of padded metal allowing your weight to rest atop them effortlessly without digging into your skin too deeply.

Your wrists suspended overhead, his ropework is as inescapable as ever as your arms hang uselessly from a hook in the wall, bound into a tight, praying gesture. The nylon rope, a lurid green which had you biting your tongue from making a cheeky comment, wound around your arms in a pretty pattern to keep them together as you glance up at them with an appreciative hum.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Edward's smug voice catches you unaware and your eyes flick to his position as he moves to stand before you, filling the space between your prone frame and his work desk. "A perfectly crafted machine, designed to be a custom fit to reward and punish wanton little whores who insist on interrupting important work time."

Unapologetic as a nervous smile tugs at your lips, you can barely make out the metallic mechanism which sits beneath your spread legs due to the thick, dark silicone of the cock which is pointing directly at your throbbing cunt; the heft of it commanding your attention as your back arches off the wall.

"While you enjoy your little ride, I will be completing some very intricate mechanical designs which a man of my brilliant stature finds necessary to produce from time to time."

His body inches towards you, the soft crack of a lid alerting you to the bottle of lubricant which sits in his hands as he pours a little out and bends, presumably to coat his machine for an easier entry.

As he stands, you push forward from the wall - as far as the restraints would allow - to capture his lips in a filthy kiss. He tastes of coffee and, despite his clear surprise, he allows the kiss to continue for a long moment, his blunt teeth nipping at your lower lip until he pulls away.

"Whore." He accuses but there's no anger in his gaze and a very prominent bulge in his grease-stained slacks as he pushes his thinning hair back with the green goggles which are never too far from his head. "Regardless, everything appears to be in order."

Retaking his seated position at the desk, his fingers press on the small remote which sits off to the side of papers he plans to focus on.

Immediately a faint whirring comes from the machine beneath you and your breath hitches in anticipation; wetness pooling against your slit as you sit, fully exposed and revelling in the shame of the arousal which curls within your gut.

The tip of the silicone threatens your hole and you exhale deeply as your body relaxes to accept it. The material feels wonderfully cool against your heated skin as it pushes within you at a snail pace, allowing you to acclimatise to the punishing girth inch by teasing inch. Your teeth grit against the inhumane stretch as a mewl of discomfort breaks free of your lips.

Hearing the noise, Edward glances up from his papers, the small pencil in his hand pausing its frantic scribble.

"Ah, ah, ah." He tuts, disappointment colouring his tone as he wipes the graphite from his fingers to his off-white tanktop. "Surely your fragile little body isn't ready to give up already? We've barely even started."

Determined to not give an inch, you bite back the hiss which builds in your throat as the almost unbearable thickness stops its progression and begins to pull free, the friction against your walls sparking a deep pleasure which makes you clench your fingers together in their bound position.

The lube he has applied to the length did its job well as it allows the machine to set a steady pace which was in equal parts torturously slow and wickedly intense as it forces you to feel every movement. Your exposed tits jiggle slightly as your body shakes in place, a phantom ache in your nipples making you wish that Edward's fingers or teeth were in the fray, pinching them with his usual viciousness.

Edward gaze having returned to his work, you watch as his finger almost absent-mindedly trails along the desk to tap at the small button on the remote control.

The effect is instant as the silicon dildo picks up pace, now moving in a relentlessly smooth motion as it pistons in and out of your greedy hole. There's something deliciously shameful about your position, legs spread and unable to close in such as way that nothing is hidden from easy viewing, including your clit as it throbs with anticipation - awaiting a stimulation which wasn't on the cards.

Pleasure builds steadily as each stroke brushes your most sensitive spots with an almost cruel precision, the machine needing to take no pause for breath or to regain stamina. It's stunning in its ferocity, in the lack of human warmth or care which it affords you as you sit like a piece of meat, total victim to the whims of the man who is visibly pretending to keep his attention on his work while stealing glances every few moments to watch you writhe in place.

Another button press and something guttural snaps free of your lips as the machine picks up pace. It's brutal and unforgiving in a way that makes it difficult for your breath to regulate as freshly stimulated nerves alight across your punished cunt. Your fingers scramble against their restraints but it provides no relief as your first orgasm creeps up without mercy.

Riding the wave of pleasure, noises that exist in the space between moans and stuttered pleas for help fill the space around you as your head slams back against the wall, the onslaught of relentless overstimulation quickly growing unbearable.

Unseen due to your eyes being squeezed shut in desperation, Edward watches your torment with a predatory expression; his gaze sharp and his features twisted into open hunger. One hand taps away at the remote control which keeps his machine whirring away at a punishing pace while the other hand appears suspiciously absent but no less busy as it seems to have disappeared below his work desk.

The quiet of the room is long abandoned. Your broken grunts for mercy pairing sweetly with the soft huffs and growls of pleasure that slip free of Edward's lips as he watches you suffer at the hands of the machine that he so kindly deigned to provide for you. It was a casual symphony that would be ongoing for many, many minutes to come. To last until Edward was satisfied with his observations and the relentless pleasure-turned-torture had long since fried your mind into the foolish mush that he often claimed it to be.

#riddler x reader #riddler #edward nygma #Edward nygma x reader #edward nigma #riddler x you #riddler fic #edward nigma x reader #arkham riddler #arkham eddie

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born-to-lose-writing · 3 days ago

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No Road Romance – Chapter 14

Pairing: Roger Daltrey x reader

Summary: When you start going to The Who's shows, you regularly hook up with Roger, but after a while of being his groupie and a friend, you're beginning to think you like him more than that.

Tags: fluff, angst

Words: 1,366

A/N: I'm so sorry for the silence! Recently, I've been somewhat busy working on my own groupie turned crush situation myself 👀 Anyway, this gave me more inspiration to continue with this!

Tag list: @slit-skirts

Roger's career progressed and you couldn't be prouder. However, the success also brought more time away from him with it. As much as you would have liked to travel with him as you had been talking about, your schedule canceled that idea. You tried to console yourself with the saying ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’.

To make up for you not being able to join him on the US tour, he insisted on you accompanying him to the airport. Accordingly, you both woke up early in the morning to get ready and go over his luggage once more to make sure he hadn't forgotten to pack anything.

You let Roger get dressed before you while you stayed in his bed for a moment longer, thinking about last night and how much you would miss this over the next couple of months – how much you would miss him.

Before you had gone to bed, you had considered finally confessing to him but were distracted. Today after the alarm had rung and you both had turned around to face each other with sleepy smiles, you had considered it again, but he must have had too much on his mind already and you couldn't waste time you could need to prepare for his trip.

So you simply said good morning and asked if he wanted to use the bathroom first. Despite his flat being slightly larger than yours, the bathroom still didn't allow for two people in a hurry to get ready at the same time without going mad.

You were torn whether or not you should say anything at all. Would it be best to speak now or forever hold your peace? There seemed to be no in between, you either had to tell the truth now or never.

You picked up a daisy from the flower crown you had made yesterday and started ripping out the petals in true schoolgirl-with-a-crush fashion. You dropped the last one at ‘do it’. With a sigh and a racing heart, you took a small piece of paper and wrote on it, “Have fun in America! I'm in love with you”. Then you folded it once and slipped it into the back pocket of the pair of jeans he had laid on the bed to wear.

Returning from the bathroom, he climbed into the trousers and put on one of your shirts – this time one from the collection he had accumulated over the years instead of one he pulled out of your wardrobe, which didn't change the fact that it was yours, but he didn't steal even more from what was left of your clothes. However, that shouldn't matter as he had given you a spare key, so you could technically come and collect your things anytime. You didn't want to, though.

“I still wish you could come with me,” Roger said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

“I am coming with you,” you teased, a melancholic smirk on your face as you got up to head towards the bathroom.

“But only to the airport. I mean on tour, you’d like it there, I think.”

“One day,” you murmured, lightly smacking his butt before you closed the door behind you.

Standing in front of the mirror as you brushed your teeth, you reconsidered whether you should tell him personally instead of with a scribbled note. Maybe he wouldn't even find it and it would dissolve in the washing machine. Then again, you had already proven that you weren't great with verbal face-to-face confessions when you had asked him to come over after your little misunderstanding. In addition to that, you feared rejection and it might be easier to just let him read the note and pretend it never happened rather than sit in uncomfortable silence, or worse, end it with an argument.

You were so lost in thought that a brief look at the clock nearly made you choke, realizing you were going to be late if you didn't hurry up. Before you stepped out of the room, you forced a smile as if your feelings weren't eating you up from the inside.

“Ready to go?” Roger asked, ticking off the last item on the packing list and closing his suitcase. Nodding, you put on your shoes and grabbed the car keys.

Every second of the way to the airport was filled with the two of you talking. After all, you wouldn't get the chance for the next two months. In hindsight, you wished you had begged your boss for at least a week off. Although you would have had to apply for a visa as well. You were going to miss Roger a lot, more than usual, and you hoped you would manage to go to a few of his shows abroad soon.

The more time you spent together, the more your assumption that you were in love was confirmed. During his stay in England, you barely went four days without seeing each other. Maybe you were being delusional, but you had the feeling the air had shifted between you both. You wouldn't exactly call it romantic, but by Roger's standards you felt like it could be. Still, you weren't sure if your feelings were required or if this was simply how he acted once he was comfortable around somebody.

Of course, as soon as you had come to the conclusion that you really did love him, he had to leave again to let you ponder and tiptoe on the verge of frustration once more. At this point, you wanted to get it over with and tell him how you truly felt. However, you were waiting for the right moment which never seemed to come. And when you thought it was the right moment, you quickly chickened out.

Before you got out of the car upon arriving in the car park, Roger turned to look into your eyes, taking a breath and placing a hand on your thigh. Your heart started racing. Was he going to say what you were too afraid to say? Then he exhaled and hesitantly pulled his hand away, averting his gaze to look through the front window. “Let’s go.”

There wasn't a bitter atmosphere between you, though you couldn't help feeling disappointed. He opened the car door for you and you walked towards the airport arm in arm. Your heart fluttered at the casual proximity that didn't feel so casual to you anymore, as well as at the prospect of him discovering the note you had hidden. Now you hoped even more he would. Perhaps that would encourage him to speak up if he felt the same way.

At the terminal, his bandmates were waiting and you all started chatting a little, Roger not leaving your side. As his hand dived into his pocket to grab his lighter, you subconsciously clung tighter to his arm, but then you saw he only reached into the right pocket, which you had left empty. He flashed you a smile, probably thinking you wanted to catch his attention, and kissed your cheek before putting a cigarette between his lips.

When the time for final goodbyes came, you suddenly got insecure. Saying something as important as this with a note you had scrawled on a whim was a bad idea and so was saying it in a moment when he already had enough on his plate and couldn't need a – possibly unrequited – love confession for which he had to come up with a suitable response while having a whole tour ahead of him until he would be able to properly talk about it with you.

Roger pulled you in for a tight hug and you took the chance to slip your hand into his back pocket and take the note out, crunching it up in your hand. Facing each other again, he cupped your chin and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, followed by another more passionate one.

“I'll miss you, but I'll bring you some kind of souvenir, I promise,” he smiled, squeezing your hand before eventually letting go as he walked away, turning around to wave every now and then until he disappeared by the gate.

#mel writes #the who #roger daltrey #musician #self insert #fluff #angst #multi chapter #roger daltrey x reader #roger daltrey fic #the who x reader #the who fic #2025 #no road romance

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k00324480 · 2 months ago

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Continuing on with this garment I started on making the feather part of it.

I first started by drawing my pattern out on paper to make sure I got the right measurements when the pattern was finished I began cutting it out on the leather making sure to add a 2 cm seam allowance to each side of the wing and a 1cm Seam allowance to the top in the bottom of the panel.

When I was finished cutting it out I brought it to the machine, first I added a decorative topstitch to the middle to add the detail of the rachis part of the wing, I then cut little slits into the side of the panels to add the detail of the barbs of the feather.

I finished these panels by top stitching around the entire edge of each panel.

I then added the panels to the waist of the top and top stitch the hem.

Every thing is going really well so far and I’m really enjoying making this piece.

The next thing I need to do in add the eyelets to the front and back seams so that I can lace them up.

#art collage #artwork #fashion

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justkenlivin · 3 months ago

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Wax Wings Always Melt in the Sun Ch. 2

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 3]

⚠️Content Warning, Child Abuse, SA, and bullying ⚠️

Chapter 2: Crotch Shots and Designer Heels

Peter Parker always wanted to fit in.

That was a fact.

The sky appears blue to the human eye ‘cause the short waves of blue light are scattered more than the other colours in the spectrum. Argon has a normal boiling point of 87.2 K, and Peter Parker wanted to fit in.

Wanted to slink into the background, not be extraordinary or boring, not a wallflower or a main character, just… in the background, there, a small part in a beautiful machine. Something that fit and belonged.

More than that, though, the grass was green, there were four states of matter, and Peter Benjamin Parker was lonely.

It’s not May’s fault or even Ned’s! They were completely there for Peter, loyal, by his side, and loving. They were more than he could ask for.

And no, his Mom or his Dad or...or...Ben being here would have changed that fact.

Because being this, being Spider-Man was invigorating, satisfying, fulfilling… and so fucking lonely.

He couldn’t excitedly gush to Ned that he’d swung so high the air thinned, nor could he cry to May and have her lovingly patch him up when someone got a few lucky hits in.

He couldn’t tell them anything.

It was suffocating, it was dark, and it …

And then…

He wasn’t alone anymore.

Peter wasn’t a popular guy. In fact, he was practically the opposite. Despite dropping out from Band and Robotics, Peter was a nerd amongst nerds. He was awkward, clumsy, asthmatic, filled with grief, and a magnet for bad luck.

Or Parker luck.

It’s what got his Parents killed.

Gotten him bitten by a radioactive spider.

Killed Ben.

And it is also what led up to this exact moment. Of that, he was sure.

Advanced Chemistry was one of his favourite subjects; he loved chemistry, which was only rivaled by biology. They were his parent’s fields, and he couldn’t help but feel his heart belonged with the two.

The biggest downside to this class was that Ned wasn’t in it. Ned was in regular Chemistry, having an affinity for coding instead. So, he was without his usual best friend.

Another sucky part was that Flash was in Advanced Chemistry and sat directly behind him. So when Peter had begun to doze after a night fresh off the streets in his first four months of vigilantism, he was unsurprised to feel his sixth sense tingle before small balls of papers were pelted at him.

It went on for a moment, the paper slowly growing in size before Flash made a very stupid mistake.

He almost hit Angel.

The girl narrowed her bright, tourmaline eyes before snapping her hand up, catching the ball, lids narrowed to slits. “Watch it, Eugene.” Her Brooklyn accent spilled from her perfectly pink glossed lips as she opened the page, inching a dark brow up. “Wow,” she sighs, looking at the doodled graphic of a dick before glancing down at Flashes' lap. “To scale?” Angel asks, not bothering for a response as she flips her hair in a cloud of sweet strawberry, smoke, and almond.

Angel was a mystery to the school but a popular one at that. She started up at the beginning of this year as a sophomore, but everyone knew she was a junior with her credits. Peter remembers because Wan Peek, who had been in the running for his class’s valedictorian, had a very public meltdown when Angel had taken the lead.

The girl wasn’t…a bully, but she definitely wasn’t nice. Honestly, she reminded Peter of when he and May had watched Mean Girls. If anyone pointed to Angel and said she’d been cast as Regina George in a re-make, he would not question it for a second.

It wasn’t just the fact that her name was pretty, Angel De La Paz, or that her hair seemingly always curled in perfect golden waves. It wasn’t due to her never listening to the dress code and wearing outfits that really weren’t school-appropriate. Or that she never got written up or sent home, or worse, sent to the lost and found bin.

It wasn't even because her clothes were all designer. Her feet were always in heels because, for some reason, she got out of gym—which he wants to know why the kid with severe asthma was forced to participate, but Angel got a free period.

It was because of the way she moved and how she spoke.

Angel walked as if she was always in front of a camera, with a charming smile, shoulders back and legs long. Everyone just… moved for her. Like she was commanding them, they naturally flitted around her march and tripped over their feet to dodge out of her way.

The way she conversed was always one of two things: a flirting comment or a scathing remark. Unless, of course, she was answering a question, but even then, the words stayed honeyed. Innuendos tossed like an afterthought, and no one ever said anything.

You’d think it was because her parents donated to the school and bribed the teachers into looking the other way or boosting grades.

Yet, no one knew Angel’s parents. They didn’t show up to events and never sent money in their names. They, like her, were a mystery.

Maybe if Angel were dumb, Peter would feel better about being average next to her.

But she was smart; she understood concepts as quickly as Peter did, which was a feat. She could—and has—curled up on her desk napping or texting on her phone, and when a teacher asked her a question, she’d respond within seconds.

Like she was Edward Cullen and could read fucking minds.

Shooting a quick glance at the girl in question, he’s met with a wink that sends him blushing and ducking into his workbook. He still wasn’t convinced she couldn’t read minds. Angel always seemed to know exactly what people were feeling around her.

Still, when Flash is caught by Mrs. Cobbwell for glaring at Peter instead of listening to her lecture, he is left scrambling. “Mr. Thompson, what is the first reaction step in an Electrophilic addition?”

Flash freezes, staring up at the board with an open mouth before leaning back in his chair. “Alkene absorbs the metal surface.”

Mrs. Cobbwell tsks her lips, crossing her bony, sharp arms across her orangey-brown blouse. “No, Mr. Parker? Perhaps you’ll have better luck.”

Groaning, why do teachers pit students against each other, especially when Flash is Flash? Weighing the options of looking stupid or dealing with the bully, he remembers the fact that he’d almost flunked their pop quiz last week because he started writing in Spanish he was so tired he had forgotten the class he had been in. Yet, the chemistry teacher patted his back, let him re-test, and gave him sympathy for Ben.

So yeah, he felt a little guilty and didn’t want to disappoint her. “Hydrogen gets absorbed onto the metal surface.”

A delighted smile, “Bravo, Mr. Parker, and Miss De La Paz, do you know which step Mr. Thompson mixed up?”

The girl in question twirls her pencil between her fingers, lashes fluttering up, “Why, I believe it’s step two; Alkene approaches the H atoms absorbed on the metal surface.” Angel tilts her head before glancing back at Flash, a smile on her teeth. “Eres un huelebicho.” She muttered darkly, making Peter scrunch his brows.

This only intensified the glare that sent Peter’s way like it was his fault, and then everyone went back to their work. A quiet, “You’re dead, Parker.’ Was mumbled under Flash’s breath, which had him not looking forward to what was coming up.

Spending the rest of the period editing his web formula, he quickly made his way to his locker. Lunch period was next, and Peter was starving. So he packed up right before the bell rang and practically zipped out of the room, relief flooding him as he saw Ned standing next to it. “Hey, Peter!” Ned called happily as Peter shoved his Chemistry textbook in its spot. “How was Chem? I still can’t believe you and Angel are lab partners.”

Ugh, that too; even Ned said her name as if she were an actual angel. Of course, Peter knew that Ned liked her; he had some weird things for blonde girls. Angel being practically untouchable helped.

“I'm just saying, if you and her become friends? Hello, popularity.”

Which is ridiculous because what would they even talk about? It's not like he can go, "Oh my God, I heard a rumor you're an orphan, me too, let's be besties." He wasn't Alexander Hamilton, and even if he was, look how well that friend turned out. He shot him. And killed him. And then his son was the divorce lawyer of his killer's ex-wife and he can't handle that pressure, Ned!

So he shrugged like he did every time Ned said something like that, opening his mouth to retort when his senses tingled.

A few moments later, he was shoved harshly against the lockers, Flash crowding him. “You think you’re really fucking smart, huh, Puny Parker.”

Ned let out a startled, Hey, that was drowned out by people chattering in the halls, watching the confrontation with rapt attention. “I just answered a question, Flash. You were close too; you just missed—”

Another screaming alert before he is shoved back again, his head knocking the lockers painfully. Ned lets out a loud protest as he tries to bump Flash away, the bully unmoving.“I don’t care, Penis, you’re worthless, you got that? You are nothing.”

Flash’s arms come up again, but before he can move, a voice sounds out from behind him. “As much as it turns me on, watching you feel up, Parker, your crush is getting boring.” The tone was absent, thrown into the hall like an afterthought. Flash stiffens as he turns to face Angel, who stands taller than both of them in the strappy white five-inch heels with bottoms that Peter always remembers liking because of the red on their undersides. Most of Angel’s shoes had that.

Really, Peter hadn’t taken much notice of her outfit before, but it looked like armor now, denim shorts that ended just shy of school-acceptable with a low-cut top that was made of a vibrant pink velvet, a heart cut-out in the shoulders as the sleeves come down halfway to her elbows. Matching hot-pink heart glasses perched on her nose as a bubble of gum pushed past her lips and snap, pops! Through the stunned silence.

Flash was seething, “I don’t like Parker!” He hissed at Angel as she stepped forward in her heels, eyes narrowing on the small amount of space between his and Peter’s chest.

Another snap, “Sure.”

The boy scoffs toward her, letting go of Peter to round on Angel, “Of course, you’d think I liked Parker. Everything’s about sex to you, isn’t it?” Flash sounded so fucking smug, “I bet your dad didn’t buy you those heels.”

The room ooos, and Peter flinches; yeah, that was a not-so-nice rumor about Angel. Michelle Jones once ranted in Decathlon that people only said that because she was a wealthy woman of color. ‘If she were white, no one would question who got her clothes.’ Michelle snapped at an off-handed comment Flash had made, much like this one.

“You’re right; he didn’t.” Angel sighed, twirling her hair with her finger in a bored motion, “But yours did.” The pressing tingle of Peter’s senses flooded through him. Flash looked like he had been gutted in front of her while she jadedly watched his intestines spill from him. “Tell me Eugene, how’s Daddy’s trip to Shanghai?”

No one got a chance to debate if Angel was telling the truth or not because Flash damns himself. “How the fuck did you know he’s in Shanghai?”

Suddenly, Flash was in Angel’s face. She simply looked unbothered; actually, if she was anything, it was amused. “What, carajo, you mad? ‘You gonna hit me? Then you’d really be like your daddy—”

A thud of skin meeting skin sounds out, and gasps are pulled from everyone—even Peter.

No one had expected Flash to actually hit Angel, let alone punch her across the fucking jaw.

Yet, her head only snaps to the side as her attacker looks on in horrified interest—as if he didn’t expect the hit either—blood blooming across her lip. “Well, that was a dick move.” In rapid succession, Angel brings her heeled foot up and perfectly into Flash’s crotch, causing him to swear and buckle down. Then she grips his head in his panicked pain haze and brings his nose down on her knee as she swings up. A thick crunch sounds loud, almost making Peter gag.

“What is happening here?” The group turns to the end of the hall, students being parted out of the circle they formed. Blood pours from Thompson, and finally, a teacher comes from wherever the fuck they’ve been. “Ms. De La Paz, Mr. Parker, office, Thompson, go get cleaned up in the nurse’s office, now.”

Flash held the gushing appendage as he cried out, wet and squeaky. “She broke my nose, that slut broke my nose.”

“Next time, it’ll be your fucking arm.” Angel hissed; Mr. Melrose, the Freshman History teacher, grabbed Flash and started to lead him to the nurse, wary of another breakout. Officer Belchot, the resource P.D., corralled the two students with her as she led them to the office.

“Mr. Morticia will be with you guys in a bit.” She says casually, looking at the empty space. “You guys good?” The slicked-haired bun tilts with the rest of her head as the duo settles down in two felt chairs outside of Mr. Morticia unoccupied workspace.

Angel’s mouth ticked as she brushed the blood that had dripped down her chin. “Peachy, officer, but I feel a whole lot better now.” She blinked up thickly between her lashes, and Belchot nodded.

“Let me get you some ice, kid.” Belchot didn’t even blink at the obvious candied words; simply gave Angel a soft look. With that, she left, probably off to the nurse's.

It was mostly silent, the only sounds being the hum of the printer and Miss Sava's low mutterings answering calls at reception.

Well, Peter could hear the other end of the conversation and that the lady was cooking something greasy if the sputtering was, in fact, fat. He could also hear people gossiping about the fight outside the hall. He could make out Ned worriedly muttering on the phone to someone—probably May.

Fuck, May was going to get called to the school.

Uncle Ben had just died because of him, and May really couldn't afford to miss shifts by bringing Peter home from school.

Guilt sat heavy in his stomach, broiling as frustration built in his gut. He hadn't even done anything. Literally, he'd been pushed; that was it! He didn't hit anyone.

So, with all of the anger, sadness, and just general angst, he jutted a lip out, crossing his arms over his chest. “You shouldn't have done that.”

And really, it wasn't fair because Angel was literally doing nothing but standing up for him herself and then defending herself when she got hit. Peter was being an asshole, okay, but he just can't listen to May sob another night or try to hide overdue bills. He couldn't.

So he was angry. “I don't need people fighting my battles, and I don't need you instigating and dragging me into it. I was fine, I can handle Flash, I don't need a fucking babysitter.”

As soon as it leaves his mouth, he wants to take it all back in. It was ugly, and it oozed from him, but it felt so nice just to let it out.

Ashamed, his head hangs, and he tunes into the steady “lub-dub” of Angel's heartbeat. The girl just looks at him and shrugs, smiling. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

“I'm sorry—” Peter rushes to apologize and stops, “what? Uhm, I'm, what?”

Angel snorts, looking over at him lazily, the redness of her mandible darkening her bronze completion. The cut from her lip knocking her tooth was scabbing already, so it wasn't as bad as Peter thought it was. Angel has noticeably sharp canines. It was no surprise she'd cut herself. At first, it looked like it was going to need stitches, but upon closer inspection, it was just a rather deep cut. “Yeah, you can handle yourself. I can be a real bitch, you know?” She shrugs, “Flash was pissing me off, so I egged him on, and you got caught. That was sucky of me, so I'm sorry, Broki. May I be forgiven?”

Peter blinked at the term of endearment. Not knowing what to do with himself or how to take the apol, he shrugged, “You were just standing up for me. That was nice. Sorry, I'm just stressed, I guess.”

“Mm, of course you are.” At that moment, Angel looked at him and said, “Anyone doing what you're doing would be.”

Cold panic ripped through Peter, ringing heavily in his ears as his chest beat erratically. “What—what do you, what do you mean?” He stutters out, fists curling slightly in on themselves, leaving little moon marks in his palm.

The manicured brow is perked again, “Parker, I know we don't like—talk or nothin’, but I do have ears, and unfortunately for you, Betty Brant thought the best thing for you was to plaster your Uncle all over morning announcements.” Her voice was deadpan as she peeked up at him, “It's shitty, I get it. Losin’ everyone.”

Peter nods, fear evaporating and leaving behind a sort of… comfort. Angel didn't sugarcoat it. She didn't tell him she was sorry for his loss—god, he fucking hated those words—or try and give him words of inspiration.

Just.

That's shitty.

Because that's what it was.

And it feels so nice to have someone just acknowledge that and move on.

So, they sit in relative silence before Peter hears the clang of Officer Belchot's utility belt and heavy work shoes, and a question springs to mind. “Hey, uhm, Angel?” The girl hums, flicking through her phone absent-mindedly. “How did you know Flash’s Dad was in Singapore?”

A wicked smirk fell on her lips, “I suck Harrison Thompson’s dick for money.” A choked wheeze wrenched through Peter as saliva caught in his throat. Utterly floundering until a snort left Angel’s mouth, giving away the joke. She patted his back to shake the cough from him. “I hang out in the Teacher's lounge on my off period,” the teen explains as Peter settles down. And, of course, she does. How did she even get into the Teacher's lounge? “And Miss Mubay, Eugene's guidance counselor, is a major bochinche; she mentioned it last week.”

And then, Peter, for the first time in months, let out a loud laugh. It rings throughout the room as Officer Belchot emerges from the door, Mister Mortica right behind her and behind him. “Hey, kid, got you that ice pack.” As she handed her the ice, Mister Morticia nodded to the door.

“You both come in.” He calls. Angel rolls her eyes as she gracefully lifts herself. It looks like some kind of dance move, floaty—even. Peter is quick to follow, settling into the two chairs. “Now, first things first, I hope you are both okay.” Peter nods, and Angel waves him off. “Second, I would like to inform both of you that we are taking what Flash did very seriously, and he has received a permanent mark on his record as well as a week's suspension.”

Honestly, it was more than Peter thought, but he guessed when you deck another student—a female student at that—people couldn't really look away. “But, we have a non-violent policy here at Midtown. Peter, I have heard from multiple witnesses that you did not touch anyone; therefore, all that will happen is we'll call home and explain the situation. We recommend you go home for the day, an excused absence.”

“No, Sir, it's okay, really!” Peter tries to rush, but Mister Morticia makes a face: the pity face.

His smile is condescendingly soft, “We insist Peter.” A grunt of frustration left him, but he couldn't exactly say anything. They were already calling May. “Miss De La Paz, while you were acting admirably on the defense of Mister Parker, you broke Mister Thompson’s nose—”

“Uhm, after he punched me?” Angel questioned, throwing up a manicured hand, the gloss a soft, bubbly pink.

The principal looked at her, “After you said some inflammatory remarks.”

“And then he accused me of bein’ a prostitute and a slut.” The girl mentions off-handedly, hair whisking over her shoulder. “Are you saying I asked for it, Mister Morticia?”

The panicked sheen in his eye flashes for a moment, and he pauses. “Yes, well, I can understand that you were defending yourself. You still need some punishment. A one-day suspension, at the very least, for inappropriate language. Now, I’ll call both of your contacts and–”

Suddenly, Peter is caught off guard by the heavy pitter of Angel's heartbeat. “Woah, wait, do we really have to call him Sir? I'll get my driver to pick me up.” Angel rushes, and Mister Morita scowls.

“I'm sorry, but you were injured, so I can only release you to your emergency contact.” The racing didn't slow as Angel got to her feet, Officer Belchot watching her from the doorway. Peter could see the wheels turning in the girl's head before she collapsed on her previous chair outside of the room.

When Peter meets her, she is shifting on her feet, the toe of her heel turning as she shakes her foot rhythmically, absent-mindedly, she traces the charm in her necklace, staring emptily. Peter watches her cautiously before tuning into Mister Morticia.

Hello?

Oh, he'd called May first. She sounded stressed, and his guilt hardened further as Mister Morticia greeted May. “Hello, Mrs. Parker, this is Principal Morticia at Midtown. We have your nephew Peter here. There was an incident, and we were hoping you could take him home to rest for the day.”

Yeah, I saw the video already.

May sounded angry, like genuinely blisteringly angry. He'd almost never seen her like that. It was a burning rage, singeing all of her words in a hate-filled blaze.

And oh, God, of course, there was a video. Parker luck—immortalizing Peter being a literal damsel in front of the entire school.

I'm already on my way; I'll be there in ten minutes.

A click.

The ringing tone.

Peter really shouldn't be listening to this. He really shouldn't be listening to this.

But when he casts a glance at Angel's sullen form, he feels like he has to. So he tunes back in and hears the sound cut off—obviously, having been hung up on.

Mister Morticia calls again.

Dail.

Click.

Dial.

Click.

Dial….

“Who the fuck is callin’ me?”

The voice is gruff, with annoyance and danger lurking in the vowels. Tensing, he hears Mister Morticia sigh, “Hello, is this Mister…” a pause, probably looming at the paper, “Caz Bardem?”

“Yeah, who the fuck is askin’”

Another pause from both sides, “I’m Principal Morticia at Midtown; we have your … charge Angel here—”

What did she do now?

“Well, she got in a fight, Sir.”

A fight?

A timbre shifted from disinterested to furious within moments.

Did someone hit her?

Honestly, the sheepish tone Principal Morticia tries to hide is painful. “Yes, another student did punch Miss De La Paz—”

Where?

The voice was dead quiet, and Mister Morticia let out a quick. “In her jaw.”

I'll be down.

Click.

Peter really didn't know what to make of the man on the other end; he sounded… off—fixated on weird parts of the story. There was a dull ache of his senses that made him wary of the situation, but it was so slight that he brushed it off as anxiety. Before he could talk to Angel, May burst through the door. “Peter!” She called, corralling him in a hug, scrubs still smelling of antiseptic. “Are you okay, baby?” She checks the back of his head, looking for bumps. Embarrassed, he tries pushing her away, Angel watching from the corner of her eye for a moment before going back to typing rapidly on her phone.

Mister Morticia opened his door, pulling the two in. “Hello, Miss Parker. We apologize for you having to leave work. Please come in.”

May looks over to the girl curled in on herself, so different from the power stance she held in the video, then to Peter, who is tied between shooting guilty looks at May and barely veiled glances at Angel. “Yeah, okay.” She rubs Peter across the back of his neck as she pulls him into the office. Settling in the chair Angel sat in moments ago. “So,” May began, her hand grabbing onto Peters, the comforting scent of vanilla and fig spilling from her. “What is being done about the kid who assaulted Peter?”

“Mister Thompson has received a week's suspension for fighting and a permanent mark for bullying,” Mister Morticia explains slowly, watching May’s face twitch with ire. “We had not known that Mister Thompson was targeting any student, and we take bullying very seriously.”

The scoff that came from May had Peter reeling because this wasn’t his Aunt anymore. This was May Parker, wife of Ben Parker, E.R. nurse, powerful and loving and pissed. “And the girl? Is she getting in trouble?”

Honestly, Peter was hoping May wouldn’t latch onto Angel too much. The boy wanted to… he didn’t know, not be friends but at least friendly with her. May not liking her would complicate things. “Angel was just defending me!” Peter rushed, causing both of the adults to look at him in shock. “Flash was being mean in AP Chem, and she was just trying to get him to stop pushing me around.”

Principal Morticia looks at him, “Peter, we can’t endorse Miss De La Paz’s actions—”

In a bemusing turn of events, it wasn’t Peter who exploded. It was May.

“You mean to tell me you are punishing the only person who stood up for my son.” The words were dripped in a damning resentment. “Who was also being bullied and defending herself?”

Peter blinked at May, not quite understanding where this came from. He knew that his aunt had a kind heart, but he hadn’t expected her to like Angel. Maybe she didn’t. She probably just wanted to defend the person who didn’t have anyone yet. Mister Morticia sensed the losing battle. “Miss De La Paz’s guardian may dispute any punishment, and he will be picking her up.” The principal hastened, “We are mostly giving her a day to recover and covering our bases. We can not let students hit other students.”

The look on May’s face told him everything he needed to hear about that before she sighed. Looking to Peter tiredly before nodding. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We think Peter should relax at home today and tomorrow, too, and, if he’d like, take an early weekend.” Mister Morticia explained, “This was a harsh day for everyone.”

Peter wanted to argue, but… he was really fucking tired, and the thought of being able to catch up on a little sleep was… attractive.

May nodded, pulling him up. “Come on, baby. Let's get you home.” She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. " Are you sure you’re okay?”

Peter nodded softly, “Yes, really, I’m really okay, May.”

The two pull themselves from the room when Peter is suddenly floored by the incessant ring of danger. Shooting a quick glance at Angel, who was staring at the door—back ramrod straight—he follows her stare. His ears burn to hear the powerful thump of expensive shoes. Peter’s eyes jump to watch the door and then back to May, positioning himself closer to her, his body tense with anticipation.

May looks at Angel and smiles softly at her form, face morphing into concern. Then, back at Peter, face set, she walked over to the teen girl, leaving Peter trailing her carefully. When May got close, the sunlit whiskey eyes dragged over from the door, “Mrs. Parker.” Angel greets pleasantly, nodding at her.

She receives a delicate smile for her troubles, “Angel?” May asks, which was confirmed by the twin nods of approval. “Thanks for looking out for my kid.”

“Any time, ma’am,” Angel says earnestly. It’s as if it was the first time she was being real… ever.

And Peter wanted to follow that up. Peel back the mechanics of how she worked to see what was underneath—who was underneath. He can’t, though, because he is hit with white-hot consternation as the scent of gasoline spills through the room. Cracking his head toward the door, a man throws back the door with a loud thunk, the glass in the door shaking violently as it’s propelled into the rubber stop. Luckily, if it hadn’t been there, it would have taken a chunk out of the drywall.

Big. That’s all Peter can think for a moment; he’s tall, and his chest is broad, only heightened by the open burnt orange v-neck shirt that ends halfway down his chest. A large tattoo splayed across the skin beneath. His head was big, too, rectangular, with light stubble across downturned lips. His stride was strong, and his suit pants—a slat gray—were pressed and looked just as expensive as Angel's. Jewelry, thick, gold, and real if the vibrant, rich yellow was to be trusted.

Storming blue eyes narrow on Angel, immediately hardening once they detect the bloody lip and large, deep, wine-red beginnings of her bruise. He steps forward once, then looks at May, who is so close to Angel that she could reach out and touch her shoulder.

Warning bells ring as the man steps forward, his face smoothing into a concerned leer. His hands grab Angel’s bare arms, pulling her from her seat and tucking her into the side of his neck. Brown—almost black—hair mixed with silver resting on the waves of soft flaxen, his hand covered in rings and ink petting through her locks. “Oh, my little Dove.” He cries loudly, his accent clearly not from the same Brooklyn as Angel—it sounds kind of European, with middle-Manhattan tones—which just sparks Peter’s curiosity. “What happened?”

“I’m,” Angel gasps, stiff in his hold before relaxing just a fraction. “I’m okay, Caz.”

Caz shakes his head, “Who did this to you?”

“A bully,” May interjected, smiling at him and extending a hand to him. The look Caz gave her made Peter want to snatch it back before he could grab hold of it.

Too slow, unfortunately, the man grabs it, the benzene aroma thick as he pulls May’s hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. Angel lets out a short grunt so quietly no one can hear it but Peter. “Casimiro, Caz, now, a bully, you say?”

He throws a concerned glance at Angel while May nods once, “Yes, she was helping my son, Peter. She’s a good kid.”

Caz’s regards lock onto Angel as her eyes flutter closed, the pink glitter on her eyelids twinkling. “Mm, well, that does sound like my Dove.” His tone is careful, and as he turns back to May, his shoulders tense. “Always helping others.”

“And she’s your…?” May trails, eyes going from the teen to him.

A loud laugh leaves Caz as he pulls Angel inward to his body. “I watch after Birdie; her Mami is gone, and her Papá passed away years ago.” The words are breezy but soft, a series of unfortunate events that led to his family, or well, Peter guessed. It just felt weird. Especially since May always waited for him to answer when people asked about how they were related. Following Peter’s lead on how to handle the less-than-great truth of his past. Angel didn’t get a say.

For some reason, Peter's spider bit did not like this guy. At this point, his head throbbed incessantly. May let out a soft sound and nodded. Before anyone else could speak, Mister Morticia was at the door. “Mister Bardem, please, come in.”

When they leave, Peter waves at Angel softly, slightly put off when she ignores it completely. Caz, however, claps his shoulder as he passes. “Nice to meet you, boy.” Then follows the heeled clacking of his charge.

“Well, let’s get you signed out, Peter. I was thinking I could make something new tonight. I saw this recipe for a sheet-pan chicken…” May trails off as they head to the receptionist. Signing the paper shoved into her hand as they left and headed to the car.

Peter chuckled, “So Thai tonight?”

May smacks him playfully in the chest; they walk in close silence before his aunt casts a glance back to the office. “She seems like she could use a friend.”

It was a sudden admission, so much so that Peter reared slightly in shock, eyes wide and lips parted. “What—what do you mean? Angel?”

A nod, “She just seems… I don’t know.” May shrugs, “Like she could use some Peter Parker in her life.”

Peter scoffs, “Right.” The self-depreciation is thinly veiled, “Angel is like… the girl. She’s almighty. Very queenly.”

“Even Queens need advisors.” May sighed, “I’m not saying that you have to. I’m not like that. I just don’t think she’s who you think.”

“No, no,” Peter sighs, “you’re right. Angel is just scary.” With a laugh from his aunt, the front door to the school opens before he stops, realizing that if he wanted to go out as Spider-Man this weekend, he’d need to grab his fluid from his locker.

Letting out a frustrated sound, he looks at May apologetically. “Hey, May, I left my Chemistry book in my locker, and I have an assignment due on Monday.”

His Aunt sighed at him, “My meter is running, Peter.”

The boy waves his hands around, “Fine, but you’re telling me not to do my homework, you know that, right? May Parker quote, ‘No, no, Peter, you don’t need homework.’ I’ll remember that, really.”

For all his trouble, he receives an unimpressed eyebrow. “Okay, but hurry. I’ll meet you out there, brat.” May huffs, turning toward the entrance.

It takes Peter a good thirteen minutes to travel to his locker, grab the fluid, dodge a bunch of people asking him questions, and an incessant Ned who was not letting go that he was basically a damsel in distress for the Angel.

Three of those minutes were just Ned talking about how badass it was.

When he nears the front of the building, he begins to head out, and his hearing picks up a quiet whimper that stops him in his tracks. His head maneuvers toward the origin, seeing a flash of pink disappear around the corner of the building.

Walking over quietly, just enough to listen, he picks up on the now-familiar growl of Caz. “—a show, and now you’re fucking bruised up!”

“I’m sorry, Caz, I promise I didn’t mean to–” He’d never heard Angel so sullen. Her voice was meek and hesitant. Peeking around the corner, he saw the man towering over the teen. Her arms were drawn over her chest as if trying to make herself smaller.

“Didn’t mean to?” An angry scoff, “What, you fucking him, Dove, huh?”

“No!” Angel spits out, “What the fuck Caz.”

Caz moves forward as if to strike her when Peter’s phone lets out a loud chime of his ringtone for May. He pulled out of sight quickly before he could be caught. He backs up a few paces, scrambling to pull his phone from his pocket and bring it to his face. “I’m on my way now, May.” He lets her know chirpily, walking out from the corner and seeing Caz and Angel a few feet away still. Even if Caz knew he was at the corner of the building, it wasn’t close enough for regular humans to be able to hear.

“Yeah, hurry up,” May grumbles at him softly, hanging up as Peter catches pace with the two. Angel’s head is ducked down, arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

As he passes them, he gives Caz a big smile and says, “Have a good day, Mister Bardem, Angel.”

Caz grins charmingly at him, “You too, Peter!” When the teen says nothing, he grabs her arm tightly, “Say goodbye to your friend, Dove.”

Angel glares up at him from behind the pink shades, “Bye, Peter. Don’t forget about the English homework.”

Peter furrows his brows, “What homework?”

An unimpressed huff, “The one on the myth of Arachne.”

Without another word, she is pushed toward a large armored SUV, the backdoor opening as she disappears inside. The car speeds off within seconds.

Leaving Peter frozen with absolute terror.

Because they weren’t going over Greek myths in English, Peter and Angel were in different classes. So either, she conveniently forgot this fact and mentioned an assignment—one that they wouldn’t even be doing, since everyone knows the Greek unit is during freshman year—that is conveniently the myth about the origin of spiders.

Or Angel knew.

How could Angel know?

Had she seen his web formula when she was next to him? He always thought he was so careful!

Or at least that no one would be paying close enough attention to him and Spider-Man to put two and two together.

And someone had.

Fuck.

Oh, he is so screwed.

***

To start this off, Peter is not stalking Angel.

He is simply…gaining reconnaissance in a dangerous situation!

Peter didn’t know anything about Angel; for all he knew, she was a spoiled, mean girl who had the entirety of his life in her hands.

Maybe a little dramatic on his part, but really, it wasn’t like he could just—let it go. Angel had the power to reveal the Spider-Man to the rest of the world. She was the only person who knew the truth.

So, this was not good.

Even if Spider-Man’s popularity was relatively Queen’s and NYC-based, this was only the beginning of his superhero career. He was young! Spry, new! Who knows, maybe one day he’d be on Icarus’ level or Iron Man! Angel had the ability to stop that in moments.

Not to mention, what he was doing was illegal. While the NYPD has been semi-nice so far, Peter thinks that's more because they haven’t heard of him and less because of their undying support of Spider-Man.

Hell, Icarus takes down warehouses of the True Saints—a big-time drug cartel down western and south Manhattan—something police haven’t been able to track in months, and he still had an arrest warrant out for him.

And truly, is hacking the school records and finding Angel’s file—which was much harder than he thought because her name isn’t even Angel—really stalking?

Technically, New York defines it as “repeatedly following someone or communicating with someone in a manner that causes that person to feel threatened.” And Peter wasn’t following Angel or talking to her.

Although, as he puts on his mask and starts toward Angel’s address in Manhattan… he can’t help but feel a bit like a stalker.

Sitting on one of the buildings across the penthouse—obviously, it had to be a penthouse—swinging his feet and trying to suss out which room was Angel’s was not what he was planning on doing with his Thursday night. Yet, when he swings toward the back of the building and is greeted with two glass French doors shoved open and a figure swathed in one of those big-fluffy pink-furred robes that he’d only seen in May’s random Soap Operas on a balcony… he then realizes maybe finding Angel wouldn’t be that hard.

The balcony was pretty, big too. The flooring was a polished black, the kind that didn’t even have any smudges on it. Rows of plants spilled out over the side of a glass wall—vibrant, plush, and lively tendrils of life swaying in the chilled breeze. A big chair was off to one side, and a small side table flanked it. It was plush, a soft brown that looked out of place. There was no lighting, only the eerie, almost other-worldly glow that emitted from the bellows of the room behind them.

The area was completely cut off from the rest of the house, hidden by the greenery, natural contours of the surrounding buildings, and just the general height difference. Angel’s… apartment? House? Thing? Was taller than most of the ones around here.

As he nears her, the smell immediately assaults his nose. It’s definitely weed, but it's more… floral than Peter is used to. The smoke has an intoxicating purple-gray hue that is lit up by the pink neon caressing it in the blackened area.

Landing silently behind her, he takes in their surroundings. Angel lived in a really rich part of town. The sun had set hours ago, clouds hanging heavy over the sky, plunging the city into a velvety black. Not that it mattered; the shining lights of sky-scrapers and the general city lit up the display like a galaxy of stars.

A long breath came from Angel, pulling from the joint as the tip glowed a white color. “Nice view, huh?” Her face is hidden from him, hands casually thrown over the glass barrier in front of her.

Peter stands tall behind her, chest puffed. “How—How did … how did you know?” He demands or tries to anyway. He’d never been the most intimidating of people, especially when he was so out of his element.

The laugh that follows is short and dry, “wanna hit?” Angel calls to him, waving the joint around in her fingers.

Walking over to her, he plucks it from her hand carefully, the eyes of his suit squinting with him as he tosses it over the side—an indignant ‘Hey’ following his words. Turning to her, he puts his hand out in front of him, pointing at her. “How do you—”

All of his words die in his mouth as he looks at Angel; her face is swollen. Not in her jaw—that one was a lovely deep purple now. No, her eye was ringed with that cherry-wine color, spreading down her cheekbone. The wrist that had been out was bruised, with deep and dark divots, horrifyingly similar to fingers. “What happened?” Peter asked, eyes looking at her face.

Angel looks uncomfortable before she gives him a blinding smile, “Didn’t realize you had short-term memory loss, Parker.” She turns, leaning her back on the glass, making Peter’s heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest. The silk of her robe fell away from her body in the chill of the night. White lace laid underneath, an uncomfortable-looking bra-type thing that stopped above her ribs, shorts barely covering her fully and splitting up at the sides. The design does nothing to hide the blooming splashes decorating her side in round welts. So, Peter averts his gaze, either tracing the bruises on her face or out at the horizon. Angel peeked up at him brightly from underneath the hair that fell on her face. “Remember Eugene’s and I’s little rendezvous? Now, usually, I’m a little less forgettable—”

“Would you stop that!” Peter yelped out before he could stop himself. “I’m not stupid; Flash hit you once in the jaw, not your whole face!” He decided not to mention the rest.

The same tight expression spreads over her face as her eyes cut to her room before returning to Peter. “Then obviously, you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Pedro.” Her accent is thick as her polished fingers drum on the rail before shrugging.

At that moment, Peter wants to explode, take Angel by the arms, and shake her so she’ll listen. Or just explain what she needed with him. “What do you want, Angel.”

The girl looks at him in regard, silence rushing between them. They say nothing for a few moments, just examining one another. “Icarus wants to talk to you.” The words are so unexpected that Peter thinks his heart has actually stopped.

His breath is quick, heavy in his chest. It reminds him of before the bite when he’d feel the oncoming asthma attack ruminating in his lungs. “Icarus wants to talk to me?” Peter yelped, terror spreading through him.

“Spider-Man,” Angel supplies, “Is an up-and-coming. Icarus likes to keep his eye on those types of things.” The sentence is said like it explains everything. How Icarus knows Peter Parker is Spider-Man, or even who Spider-Man is, or how he knows a fifteen-year-old high schooler. “He asked me to letcha know. Set up a meetin’.” Another shrug is sent his way. Angel’s eyes are glazed, with the remnant fractions of a previous conversation or the drugs. He isn’t sure.

Peter pulls off his mask, face scrunched in a way that May calls his confused-puppy look. His curls splay out around him. “How did you know I was Spider-Man? Did Icarus tell you, or did you tell him?”

A snort, “I know because you write out web equations in the middle of class.” The girl laughed, a condescension cutting the tune. “It wasn’t all that hard to put two-and-two together when some guy is swinging from the same things a week later.”

“You can understand those?” She nods once, a slip of paper folded and, of course, it’s pink, is thrust toward him.

“Anyway. Meet ‘em or don’t,” Angel explains, uncaringly throwing a hand away from her body. “A mi, plín.”

The silence was back as Peter began pulling his mask back on, not before sending another watch to Angel’s room. “Are you…” The words fall quietly, awkward but no less sincere. “If you aren’t safe—”

“Go home, Parker.” Angel cuts him off. “Don’t stay out too late. Your Aunt will worry.”

With a flush of floral-tinted musk, Angel is walking back inside, leaving Peter utterly lost on her balcony.

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