#but here i have evidence of him having flirted with SIX different men | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eclipsedpascal · 3 years

Text

Lavender Bruises

Older!Duncan x Female reader

A meeting with you and your father’s company’s buyers, leads to the shocking realisation that you had unknowingly slept with it’s new owner, Duncan Shepherd, just the night before. You needed to hide this sinful secret from your father, which left you stuck between wanting to make him proud and the unsatisfied craving you couldn’t ignore for Duncan to claim you as his personal toy. But you could manage both. Right?

Warnings: mentions of work (ew), alcohol, one night stands, large age gap, daddy kink, size kink, unprotected sex, public sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), intercourse, spit kink, slapping, spanking, hickeys, bruising, degrading/teasing, mouth fucking with fingers? is that a thing?, hair pulling and a ring kink ig:)

Notes: I've been writing this for fkn MONTHS now bcs I kept loosing inspiration, so this is actually the first thing I ever properly wrote! it's kinda complicated ig? idk like the parts in bold are a time skip to the night before and the fic goes in-between the meeting the reader is at and the previous night, meaning there’s two separate smut scenes so!!! but yeah i'm a whore lmao. Also ik hickeys don’t show up the same on certain skin tones and i’m sorry for that. i tried my best to be as inclusive as possible nd didn’t mention anything to do with the skin tone. Also!! if you're interested, I was listening to Cherry lips by garbage most the time I was writing this nd I feel like it fits it pretty well😌

Word count: 8.4k

●●●●●●●●

Going over the logistics of a content deal with the conglomerate that had recently bought your fathers newspaper wasn't the most preferable way for you to spend your lunch, but unfortunately it was necessary.

You know how these “lunches” go; business meetings disguised as casual discussions. They’re exactly the same if taken place in a conference room. Disagreeing and having to come to compromises you’d rather not, with the only differences being there's more chatter and cluttered noise of dinnerware coming from the restaurant around you.

You much preferred being in the office for these kind of things, but it was at the request of the new owners that you meet here, meaning you didn’t really have choice.

As you arrived at the restaurant you saw your father inside, waiting for your arrival just past the main entrances oversized, glass doors. You were almost 10 minutes late now and you knew he would be pissed. Honestly, you couldn't blame him.

Having to rush through a traffic riddled DC to get home at 10 in the morning because you had spent the previous night in a strangers hotel bed wasn't your proudest moment. Was it worth it? Yes, but it didn’t exactly leave you with much time to prepare for the lunch only two hours later.

You payed the driver and stepped out of the cab onto the drowning, wet sidewalk, desperately trying to shield yourself from the relentless rain that had been pouring down on the city all morning.

Looking up at the grand building on front of you, you could tell the place was going to be expensive. The entrances steps were 12ft wide and made of a pearly white marble that was now soaked with cascading rain water, making them even harder for you to run up in your heels as you tried escape the cold.

“Y/N, where have you been? You're 10 minutes late and these people don't like to be kept waiting." The people your father was referring to? the owners of Gardner Analytics. they had bought what seemed like hundreds of press company's over the past few years, especially those in the DC area. Their most recent purchase being the Washington herald, of which your father was the Editor-in-chief. You had been working there for a few months as your fathers assistant and helping out at these meetings had become routine.

“I'm so so sorry, my alarm didn't wake me and I-“

"It's fine" He interrupted "It's fine, just please tell me you have the documents I asked you to bring?" You could tell he was stressed out from the way his voice was wavering and how often he was stumbling over his words, so instead of trying to explain yourself any further you stayed quiet and did your best to take in as much of the information he was relaying onto you as you possibly could.

As he led you through the dinning room he explained to you who else was there, telling you that the others from the herald who were attending the lunch had already began talks with Gardener Analytics at the table ten minutes prior.

The closer you got to the table the more your fathers voice faltered, trying to round off the conversation so he could properly introduce himself when the time came. "Now Bill Shepherd had to cancel last minute, said it was something to do with his health unfortunately. But not to worry! I've spoken with him over the phone and he's informed me his nephew is filling in for him, okay?”

Before you even had a chance to reply he turned from you, reaching over the table to shake hands with a man you recognised as Seth Grayson; their director of communications, and an older woman who you assumed was Annette Shepherd. She and her brother Bill were the owner's of Gardner Analytics and your father had said it was important he got on their good side.

As your father greeted the others, you began retrieving the documents out of your bag, knowing they would be needed by Seth right away.

"..So sorry for the delay Mr Shepherd, you know how DC traffic can be" Your father chuckled slightly as he shook the man’s hand, making some light small talk. Mr Shepherd? that must be bill’s nephew, you thought.

You felt even more unprepared now; you didn’t even know the man’s name.

"This is my daughter and assistant, Y/N" Upon hearing your father introduce you to the mystery Shepherd, you slotted the documents under one arm and reached out to shake his hand with your other.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Shepherd" But as you shifted your gaze up to his own, you realised that there was no need for introductions.

He smiled gently, a kind of smug delight obvious in his eyes as he looked you up and down, taking you all in. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Y/L/N"

He released your hand from his grasp, moving to clasp his own behind his back. “But please, call me Duncan.”

Duncan fucking Shepherd. how could you be so oblivious? The two of you had spent hours together last night. How hadn't you figured out who he was? As panic ripped through you like a wildfire, you wondered if Duncan was feeling the same way; but from the look on his face, he was enjoying this.

●●●●●●●●

11:34pm previous night

It was getting pretty late now, and meeting someone who could fuck the stress out of you was becoming less and less likely by the minute. so deciding to finish your drink and leave, you took in the room one last time; making sure you hadn’t missed anyone interesting.

The fluorescent red and blue lighting of the expensive hotel bar was just bright enough for you to spot an older man you hadn’t noticed before. He must have been at least 40. He was sat in a booth with five or six others, all drinking, laughing and joking, yet he was staring at you.

Taking the seat next to you, he called out to the bartender. “Bourbon. Neat.”

You'd been waiting for him to come over ever since you saw him. It had been 20 minutes or so of quick glances and smiles to each other before the group of men he had been with dissipated. You had heard one of the men he was with refer to him as ‘Duncan’ when he had said his goodbyes, but other than that all you could assume about the man was that he was rich; judging by the all black LV suit he was wearing.

"Can I buy you a drink?” Turning to face at him when you heard him speak, you were practically stupefied by how attractive he was. His hair was full of shiny grey streaks that aged him. His stubble complimented his cheekbones perfectly and the speckles of grey throughout it helped bring out the brightness of his piercing blue eyes. His lips were full, and you couldn't help but notice how soft they looked.

“Vodka and coke” You smiled, trying your best to be confidant, but they way he was looking at you was giving you butterfly's you couldn’t swat away.

“I.D?” The bartender asked. You grabbed it out of your purse, proving your age to the bartender before watching him walk away to make your drink.

There was a brief silence before the man spoke again. “I hope my staring didn’t bother you, I just couldn’t take my eyes off you.” His flattery almost made you blush, but he wasn’t going to get you with a line that bad.

“Didn’t bother me at all, though i’m sure your friends there must have been envious” You chose to ignore his cheesy line, knowing that as much as you wanted him to take you there and then, you would much prefer making him work for it.

He chuckled slightly, knowing the game you had chosen to play. he looked away from you and down into his glass before taking a swig of the golden-brown liquor that occupied it. “Well I’m known to be quite a busy man, so I’m sure they understood.” He turned to face you slightly, waiting for some kind of reaction from you.

“Busy enough of a man to be drinking on a Tuesday night?” You questioned him teasingly, Ignoring that you yourself had the most important meeting of your young career in just over twelve hours.

“Is that really such a surprise? Most times being so busy is the main reason for drinking” He joked with you as he flirted, making it hard for you to keep eye contact without going red at the thought of such a beautiful man seeking your attention.

Duncan could see how nervous you were under the confident demeanour you had put on, I mean you were practically screaming it out to him at this point. The way you were fidgeting with the chain of your silver earring as you leaned against the bar and the fact you couldn’t even look at him for longer than 3 seconds without blushing was evidence enough for him.

“Well, that’s true.” You giggled a little as you spoke in your anxious state.

Taking a hold of your drink, you wrapped your lips around the paper straw and moved your gaze over to the bartender who was now serving someone a few seats down, attempting to distract and ground yourself from the situation at hand.

You were gripped back into reality quickly when you heard him speak again.

“There’s no need to be so nervous, I’m not going to eat you.” You found his use of the phrase quite ironic, being that’s exactly how it seemed. His eyes were piercing into you in an almost questioning manner, but when he gazed over your body, taking in your satin, black slip dress covered curves, the swipe of his tongue against his plump bottom lip gave you a very different impression; an impression he wanted to devour you. It was as if he thought you were that sweet snack he had been craving all week.

“No? That's a shame” You faked a frown, pouting as you moved to rest your chin on your hand.

“Well I think we should at least be aware of each others names before making such wild propositions, don’t you…?” His smirk never seemed to leave his face as he spoke.

He was good at this game, better than you at least. Of course It was obvious he was going to have had more experience with his age and all, but the way he was charming you so easily with just plain old conversation and confidence was getting harder and harder to match.

“Y/N, my name’s Y/N.” You batted your eyelashes at him a little, for some reason feeling smaller upon revealing your name to him. You felt as if you had lost the upper hand in the conversation suddenly.

“Hm, Y/N. That’s beautiful.” You rolled your eyes. Of course it is. Thats what they all say. You thought.

“Aren't you going to ask mine?” His ego now showing, you decided to make a bolder move.

“You rather fancy yourself, don’t you, Duncan?”

He finished his drink and moved closer to you. “Oh, so you already know my name?”

He was close enough to you now that you could make out the many beauty marks which decorated his cheekbones and hear the rasp of his voice even better than before. It was thick as honey and just as sweet too.

“I heard your friend call you it.” You quickly replied.

He scoffed a little, finding amusement in what he was about to say. He brought his face down closer to yours and began to run his fingers through your hair. “Hm, well he’s an old friend sweetheart. Most people would call me Mr Shepherd.”

You felt yourself grow hot, Duncans words casting a haze of complete lust over your mind.

You did your best to stay confidant, doing everything you could to ensure you didn't loose this game the two of you were playing. “Really? Is that what you like? Mr Shepherd.”

Your faces were so close to each others now that you could smell the bourbon on his breath when he let out a loud chuckle. His pearly whites showing as he did so. You even felt him graze his stubble against your cheek.

“Mhmm.” He ran his finger over your lips as he spoke slowly. "So tell me, what is it that does it for you Y/N? Hm? I mean a girl your age doesn’t decide to stare at a man like me all night just for the hell of it. So what is it? The power? The money? Or is it the age gap so big I could be your father?”

You squeeze your legs together as his sentence finishes, letting out a hushed whimper. Of course you were attracted to older men, that was obvious, but hearing him say it out loud in public whilst being so close to you turned you on even more than you thought previously possible.

He chuckled a little, “So it’s the age then, is it sweetheart? The idea of having a man more.. experienced pleasure you, instead of a man who would leave you to fend for yourself after finishing in less than five minutes. You want someone who can make you cum so hard you’d be begging him to make it stop, don’t you?” Every move Duncan made, every word he spoke was calculated, and it was all in pursuit of teasing you just because he knew he could.

You made a mental note of his nickname for you as you looked up at him. You felt his fingers run across your cheek and then push some stray hairs back behind your ear as you desperately tried to think of something smart to say, anything to say; but he had won. He knew what you wanted and he wanted it just as bad. You didn’t even care anymore. You were more than ready to give what little of a resolve you still had up to him.

He whispered to you as he moved his spare hand up the small of your back. “Now little one, I have the presidential suite of this hotel under my name tonight. So what do you say we go on up? Since now we're just so well aquatinted."

●●●●●●●●

Having to take part in a meeting with your father and the man double your age that you had fucked for hours the night before was NOT what you had planned for today.

“Mr Shepherd, I apologise that I didn’t make it here on time. I had a pretty hectic morning.” You did your best to keep your chill in your now shocked state, but with everyone watching the two of you it wasn’t easy.

“No don’t worry, I know how DC traffic can be, especially in this weather. As long as you're here now.” A wide smile was planted on his face as he spoke. The same as last night. He never broke eye contact with you, and you found yourself wondering how he could do it so easily.

“Please, sit.” He gestured you over to take a seat as he pulled out the chair next to his own. You thanked him politely and sat down, your mind racing and spiralling out of control at the thought of your father discovering the sinful deeds you and his new boss had taken part in just hours prior.

You felt him tuck you into the table before sitting down next to you. You could hear the voices of the restaurant that surrounded you and the others at the table coming at you. Every noise was muffled, as if your head was suddenly underwater.

“Y/N?” You were quickly brought back to reality when you heard Seth question you.

“From my understating you have the merger documents in your belonging, yes?” He looked at your father for reassurance this was definitely case as he spoke. So with everyone at the table’s eyes on you, you slid the documents over to him.

“Yes! And uhm the specifications for the more politically based content changes are detailed on page 25. I was told that was of high interest today?” You got yourself back on track, trying to stay as professional as possible whilst ignoring Duncan and the predicament you had found yourself in.

“We were briefly discussing the more major changes before you arrived Mr Y/L/N, but I believe you’ve already been made aware of most them?” Duncan addressed your father, kicking the meeting off. But you couldn’t concentrate. You were listening to the conversation, you really were! It was just that you were so wrapped up in Duncan’s voice you couldn’t actually understand what the fuck they were all talking about.

Seeing him so invested in the crucial conversation he was having with your father and the many other associates at the table was just doing something to you.

Observing the way his hands were moving when he spoke, you noticed how he would often clasp them together when he was explaining things, and how he would tilt his head slightly as he listened. His bronzed curls were combed to perfection, resting delicately on the right side of his face and when he licked his bottom lip, it sent a shiver down through your spine all the way to your cunt. You were entirely captivated by him.

Hearing your Father ask for your opinion on the subject being discussed, you shook off the spell Duncan’s attractiveness had casted onto you and responded, giving your perspective on the subject.

Duncan relaxed into his seat a little more as he watched you talking. He knew you had been staring at him, but it was cute, he thought. Almost endearing seeing you get so flustered at just the sight of him. He had seen you squirming around in your seat whilst you watched him and decided the accidental teasing wasn’t enough; he wanted to toy with you more. As much as he possibly could.

“You know, if you’re trying hide what’s happened between us then you might consider making your staring a little less obvious, sweetheart.” He was speaking quietly enough for nobody else to hear and not looking in your direction, pretending to still partake in the tables back-and-forth. Still the fear of your father, who was sat just across the table, overhearing Duncans remarks was petrifying.

You knew you couldn’t let your craving for him and the confusion from not knowing who he was last night effect the meeting, but there he was with that nickname again, stirring your desire even further.

“How are you even here?” You let your frustrations out onto him as you talked back, his cocky attitude getting to you too easily with the stress you were under. “I’m trying so hard not to ruin today and this situation isn’t helping! They’ll fire me if I mess this up and I’ll be fucked! Which surprisingly, I’d prefer not to be!” Your whispering was pretty aggressive, but could you really blame yourself?! This kind of coincidence was rare, so you had every right to be mad at the universe for letting it occur on today of all days.

His ego not faltering for even a second, he chuckled. “Oh you don’t wanna get fucked? Funny, because I remember you saying the exact opposite last night.”

He grazed his hand across your inner thigh, massaging it gently before diving underneath the little black pencil skirt you were wearing to grip onto your flushed skin.

You scoffed at his words and looked up at him, shocked at how bold he was being and expecting some kind of response from him, but he didn’t even look your way. You assumed this was so no attention was brought to the two of you and so you followed his lead, turning away from him just as fast as you had looked.

With the heat of your cunt having grown far too intense to bear, any friction that wasn’t your own thighs pressing up against each other was to be welcomed. So you decided not to stop him. In fact you did the exact opposite, spreading your thighs wider for him, not having the self control or restraint to keep yourself from him any longer.

His hand moved closer to where you needed him most, diving under the crotch of your underwear to swipe his fingers over your slick folds and immediately begin rubbing circles onto your neglected clit.

You stifled a moan, leaning onto the table on front of you to keep yourself steady as he touched you. Finally, he moved his gaze to rest on you, watching you as you struggled to stay silent. He whispered once more, “Always so wet for me, aren't you princess?”

●●●●●●●●

As soon as you entered the suite, Duncan gripped onto your waist, pushing you up against the door and cradling your cheek with his spare hand before smashing his lips into yours.

His tongue slipped past your lips, dancing with yours whilst he moved his hands all over your body, clutching onto your breasts and then moving them down to explore the rest of you.

He lifted your dress up just enough so he could grip your ass. Pulling you closer to him and making you feel his bulge against your hips, you were too short in comparison to him to feel him where you wanted to most.

He spoke to you in kisses, telling you of how ravenous he was for you and that he was going to savour every moment. He moved his lips down, trailing open mouthed kisses from your neck to your collarbones and to the top of your breasts.

“This fucking dress” He took ahold of the bottom of your dress, pulling it up above your head with urgency as you lifted your arms to better help him strip you. Throwing the dress down onto the floor and hearing it land somewhere behind him, he admired your body and it’s curves.

“The perfect wrapping for such an enticing present.” He finished his sentence. Immediately grabbing at your breasts, sucking and kissing them.

You couldn’t speak, too enthralled with the technique of his tongue swirling around your nipple to do anything but moan in response to him.

You threw your head back against the door, staring up that the beautifully patterned ceiling in pure ecstasy. You felt him drag a callused hand down to the waistband of your Lacy white panties, tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach as he traced his fingers over it. His finger tips running across the little white bow that centred the waistband.

He collapsed down to his knees, yanking the delicate lingerie as he fell, leaving it to puddle around your ankles.

He teased your heat, moving from kissing the skin of your thighs to your folds, but not yet reaching the lengths you wanted him to, only adding fuel to the fire in between your legs.

“Please Duncan-” you begged him, desperately needing some kind of release from the binds of lust he had managed to wrap you in over the past 45 minutes.

“Ah ah, don't you remember? You don’t get to call me that.” He spoke.

“I’m sorry, Mr Shepherd.” You corrected yourself, recalling the conversation you had with him prior to coming upstairs.

“Mhmm, now as magnificent as that name sounds coming from you, I know that there’s something else you’d rather call me.” He hummed in disapproval, calmly redirecting your choice of name for him and reassuringly pressing his lips onto your clit.

You let out a stuttered gasp, you did want to call him that, but now you felt nervous due to the build up he had created.

“Com’n, sweetheart. Do you think I don't know why you’re here in the first place? Why else would you be sat all alone in the bar of a hotel you weren’t even staying at? You’re just another slut with daddy issues, sneaking down to an expensive hotel to scavenge for any man good enough to fuck you into submission. Isn’t that right?”

Mildly insulted at his all too accurate observation of you, but enjoying the effect his degrading words have on you none the less, you gave him what he wanted. “Mm yes daddy!” You whimpered out, admitting your ploy to him.

A low rumble emitted from his chest, your words setting off some kind of animal inside him. He dove his face down into your pussy, starting by sucking on your clit gently, flicking his tongue over it and applying more and more pressure as you writhed above him.

His mouth was closed around you now, his grey, speckled stubble scratching your already inflamed skin. You were taken aback by his skills, intwining your fingers through the curls in his hair and tugging on them with every wave of pleasure that hit you.

He snaked his large hand around your thigh, lifting it up to rest on his shoulder while he ate you out. Enjoying the new angle he was utilising, he hummed, sending vibrations through your nerves up to the pit of your stomach, bringing you closer to your climax.

“Mmh.. fuck daddy, i’m gonna cum!” He didn’t let off, his tongue perhaps fucking into you even faster since you told him how close you were. You locked stares as your orgasm took over your body, your lips forming an o as you screwed your eyebrows together in rapture.

He came back up, letting you taste yourself and he placed his lips on yours again. You eased into the kiss, a relaxed haze having taken over your body in your post-orgasm state. Feeling a slight breeze flow up the side of your form, you realised that Duncan still had all his clothes on whilst you had none. Deciding you needed to change this as soon as possible, you began unbuttoning his suit’s matching black blazer and shirt, rushing to feel his skin on yours.

He helped you, shrugging the shirt off his shoulders as you began to unthread his leather belt from the loops of his trousers. “You’re so impatient, little one.” He spoke.

“I think I’ve waited long enough, daddy.” You smirked, dropping the belt at his feet.

As soon as his shirt hit the floor you reached up, gliding your hands across the expanse of his bear chest, taking notice of how small your hands appeared in comparison to him. He watched you, relishing in the glimmer of entrancement that shone through your eyes as you ingested him.

He lifted you, his strong arms carrying you bridal style towards the king sized bed and throwing you down onto its crisp, satin sheets. Grabbing your ankles, he dragged you down the bed towards him and finished taking his pants off. His cock sprung free from the confines of his boxers, smacking against his stomach.

He clambered onto the bed, resting on his knees as he jerked himself in his hand, reluctantly groaning out at the first contact his neglected cock had received all night. His pressing cock had made it unfathomably hard not to just fuck you up against the door when he saw that sweet little way in which your face scrunched up as you came.

You were practically drooling, watching him fuck himself into his fist as his eyes scanned across your naked body. Not being able to wait any longer and wanting to finally feel his cock on your skin, you sat up slightly and reached out to touch him. But before you got the chance, he shoved you back down. leaning over you, he held your wrists down against the pillows with one hand and wrapped his other around your delicate throat.

“So greedy, baby” he stoked his thumb over the skin of your neck as he made his observation, watching you struggle underneath him.

“I just know what I want.” You toyed, your voiced coming out slightly muffled with the pressure of his large hand covering your voice box.

“Such an attitude, too.” His cock brushes over your cunt as he sways his head from side to side in disappointment and disproval. “Now sweetheart, you’re gonna stay exactly where you are and daddy’s gonna fuck you just like this, okay? So he can see that pretty little face of yours.”

You gulp at his words, anticipating the feeling of having him inside you. “Please just fuck me. Please.” You knew you sounded absolutely pathetic, but you didn’t care. Just needing him plummeting in and out of you as soon as possible.

He chuckled at your neediness. Taking his hands back from your wrists and grasping his cock, lining it up with your entrance and slowly pushing in, he let you adjust to his size.

Moaning out, you dug your nails into the bed sheets, watching his head drop down to yours as he closed his eyes in pleasure.

“Fuck, you take me so well.”

●●●●●●●●

He slipped his ringed finger into you, pushing against your spongy walls whilst you made a desperate attempt to suppress your moans. You bite down onto your nails, your elbow resting on the table as you put all your weight onto it for some kind of crutch.

He began with a slow pace, making sure you would feel every little movement he made. You heard him join into the conversation once again, mentioning something about an article he had seen from the Herald last month which had impressed him. You weren't even sure. You couldn't think for the pulsing beat of your own heart that filled your ears.

“You all right there, Y/N?” Your heavy breathing must have been a dead give away for something being up, being your father was now questioning you.

You felt Duncan stop his movements momentarily, joining the rest of the table in their standstill, staring at you as they awaited a reply, but his little act of sincerity didn't last too long.

“Yeah, uhm-“ you felt him slide a 2nd figure in, making you fake a cough as to stop the cry desperately trying to escape your throat from doing so.

“Yeah, I’m uh, just thirsty.” Hoping this would ward off the worried looks you were receiving, you were shocked when you heard Duncan chime in. “Oh don’t worry, we can get you something.”

He called the waiter over, asking him for a pitcher of lemonade and thanking him as he walked away, back towards the kitchen. You would have preferred some water, you thought, but you were far too focused on what was going on underneath the table to say anything.

“Now, where were we?” Seth began talking once more, bringing the attention back to where it should be. But Duncan? No. His attention stayed on you. Even more focused on fucking his fingers into than before, he sped up and began going even deeper now, curling them upwards until you were twitching.

You looked up at him pleadingly. You were getting too close to cumming for your own liking, so you grabbed onto his thigh and dug your nails into his expensive black dress pants, warning him. He shot you a devious grin, scissoring his fingers inside you and pressing his thumb down to rub sweet circles on your hooded clit, letting you know he didn’t intend on stopping.

He looked behind you suddenly. Following his gaze, you snapped your head to the side, trying to get a good look at what had grabbed his attention so abruptly.

It was the waiter. He had arrived with the pitcher of lemonade in hand and yet Duncan was still plummeting his hand into your pussy with such a speed you began to wonder if someone had actually noticed what was truly going on. I mean the waiter must know.

At this point you had let far too many questionable gasps leave your mouth, your breathing had become even more erratic as you grew closer to your orgasm. He knew you were about to break before he swiftly pulled his fingers out of you, wiping the juices that coated them back and front onto your skirt so he could pick up the glass on front of you, leaving you unsatisfied.

You scrambled to collect your thoughts and breath as he picked up the pitcher, pouring the ice cooled lemonade into your glass.

“Here.” He spoke. You lifted a shaky hand up to take the glass from him when the grasp he had on it ‘slipped’, spilling the contents of it the onto your lap.

“Oh!’ You jumped up, making the sweet, sticky liquid run off your skirt to your thighs, dripping down your legs and eventually onto the floor. The now empty glass falling with it.

“I am so sorry, Miss Y/L/N.” He picked up the glass, sitting it on the table before joining you in standing. Now he was stood, you could clearly see the dark tint of his cock straining against the constrictive fabric that was his dress pants. It sent a pulse of lust through your cunt.

“Duncan!” Hearing Annette voice her annoyance at her son for being so clumsy almost made you laugh. It was quite amusing seeing his mother reprimand him, being he was a grown man in his 40s.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I-I’ll just go clean myself up in the bathroom. I don’t want to distract the meeting anymore than I already have.” You made eye contact with your father as he rubbed his temples.

He was annoyed at the scene you and Duncan had caused. You gave him an apologetic look, feeling bad for stressing him out even more than you already had with being late, but knowing it was technically Duncan’s fault and not yours.

“Please, let me help you clean up.” Duncan pushed his chair in, quickly grabbing some napkins off the table and resting his hand on your back to guide you towards the nearest bathroom, walking as fast as your weak legs would let him.

His hand stayed delicately placed on the small of your back, until you were out of the tables sight, at which point he took hold of your arm, clutching it like a vice as he dragged you through the bathroom door.

He locked the door behind him in preparation for what was to come. He needed to make sure nobody would be walking in on what he was about to do to you.

Looking back towards you, satisfied as ever now he had you alone, he waltzed on over, pinning you up against the counter with force. You could smell him on you again, same cologne from the night before. Dior, you guessed.

“You’re not very good at staying quiet, are you, Sweetheart?” He mused, hoisting you up onto the counter and forcefully cradling your face with both hands as he moved to kiss you deeply. His tongue ravenously re-familiarising itself with your mouth.

“You almost got us caught back there.” He spoke in between kisses. “Your poor, naive father, watching you. He was probably wondering why you kept squirming.” He voiced a dark giggle, moving down to suckle on your neck and push your skirt up your thighs.

“I almost got us caught? No. Y-you almost got us caught when you decided putting a second f-FUCK, finger into me whilst I was talking to him was a good idea!” You choked out, doing your best to fight through the pleasure of his lips finally grazing your skin as you watched him pull your panties down and slot them into his pants pocket.

“Awh poor baby. Did you not want your daddy knowing that you’re a greedy little slut for his new boss? Hm?” He admired the blossoming lavender and cherry bruises now forming on your neck as he teased, marvelling at the idea they could be noticed by your father once you finished.

He quickly opened his fly, pulling his dress pants and boxers down just enough that he could pump his cock in his hand. Gripping onto your hips for purchase, his fingers dug into you so viciously you could feel the marks he had left the night before. You knew after this, there would surely be more.

He thrust himself into you, earning a loud wail to fall from your lips. You arched your spine at the feeling of him pounding into you, making your head fall back against the mirror behind you. His hand shot up to the it as he gathered more speed, his pace growing far faster than you had anticipated.

“Was it too much for you? Taking my fingers in your cunt whilst you were trying oh so hard to concentrate? I almost made you cum on front of everyone.” You moaned out at his grotesque words, pulling your head up to rest your forehead on his shoulder.

“Answer me.” He pulled your chin up back to look at him, still pounding into you. The sound of your skin slapping against one another’s felt even louder in the small, tiled bathroom.

“Yes daddy! It was too much for me - AHH!!” You let yourself go limp against the mirror, giving yourself up to him entirely and wanting nothing more than for him to use you like his personal rag doll.

●●●●●●●●

Your throat was growing hoarser with every squeal you made. Duncan had been fucking you ruthlessly for what felt like hours now, constantly changing his pace from calm to aggressive and back again. His lips were mouthing over your peaked nipples, tongue slathering trails of saliva across your skin and teeth scrapping over dozens of tiny goosebumps.

“Such a filthy, fucking whore for me.” Squeezing down on your neck with one hand he uses his other to slap you. His ringed hand coming down across your fleshy cheek with a loud crack.

You gasped out, shocked at this move and feeling reinvigorated by the suddenness of it. His abuse only made you more attracted to him, causing your cunt to puddle its juices around his cock.

Slowing his thrusts down to an almost complete halt, he grabbed your jaw, yanking your mouth open just enough that when he dripped his spit down you could catch it. You moaned at the filth of his actions, tasting the bourbon he had drank earlier at the bar.

Following the thick thread of salvia that connected the two of you to each other, he brought his face back down to yours, bringing your sloppy lips together. Never giving you the chance to close your mouth before he slid his tongue into it.

Your lips part, foreheads leaning on each other with eyes locked as you scream and moan at his brutal fucking. “Such a good girl.” He praised you.

“Thank you daddy!!” You cry out, feeling tears brimming in your eyes at the deepness of his cock. You knew he was going to be good when he first pushed you up again that door, but this was insane. You had never felt his turned on before. Loving being completely at his mercy, but receiving none.

He pulled out suddenly, wrapping his hands around your stomach and flipping you over to your front. You got the just of what he wanted and clambered onto your hands and knees for him. He pushed his cock back into your folds, hips ricocheting off your ass immediately.

He pulled at your hair, lifting you up to his chest as he gruffed and groaned. He was much larger than you, making it easy for him to pull your head back enough that he could see the expression on your lust enthralled face.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He demands, spanking your ass cheek and twisting your hair around in his hand. His other hand moved to your gaping mouth, pushing two fingers inside so you taste the metallic bite of his silver band.

You gag as he fucks your mouth, mumbling around his fingers in a desperate attempt at begging him to allow you to cum. You were getting so close now. You guys had been going for so long and your impending release wasn’t going to wait much longer.

“Fuckk, don’t worry sweetheart. Daddy’s close too.” He took his fingers out of your mouth, bringing them down to your clit and swiping at it furiously. You could feel your own spit on his fingers as the coil in your stomach tightened.

“Ohh Daddy’s gonna come so deep inside you, little one.. would you like that?” His breathes were uneven. Thrusts uncontrolled and sloppy.

“Yes!! Fuck, fuck, FUCK Daddy I’m cumming!!” Your cunt pulsated around his shaft, squeezing his own orgasm out of him even sooner than he expected as you screamed. You could taste the saltiness of your own tears, them having run down your cheekbones and into your agape mouth.

His cum flooded your walls, filling you up with his hips pressed against yours as he enveloped you in an embrace from behind. He uttered out a shudder against your temple, his breathe feeling hot and damp on your skin.

He set you back down on the bed and pulled his softening shaft out of you, moving his large hands back to your hips as your own gave out and fell underneath you, pressing your face into the sheets. You eventually rolled over to lay on your back, wanting to let your aftershocks roll through your quivering limbs more comfortably.

He fell down onto the duvet next to you, propping himself up on his side slightly and pulling you closer to him so he could plant a kiss on your swollen lips. “You alright? I didn't hurt too bad now, did I?” He stroked your face, words alluring as ever now your resting bare bodies were tangled up together in a complete stand still.

“Nothing that I didn't enjoy, no.” You joked, lightly drawing intricate shapes on his arm with your fingertips, still harnessing the blemishing sting his ring had left under your cheekbone. “I’d say we're pretty well aquatinted now; wouldn’t you, Daddy?”

●●●●●●●

You could feel cool drips of perspiration slipping down your heated skin from your forehead to your collar bones and all you could do was hope they hadn't taken any of the concealer you had applied earlier this morning with them. You had needed to cover the bruise Duncan’s ring had so easily left on your cheek the night before, since you really didn't want your father or anyone else from work seeing it.

Duncan’s cock was curving in all the right places as he hammered into you. His pace and brutality showing you stars. He seemed even more confident than he did yesterday. Having had experience with you, he knew that you could take his most heinous savagery with delight and didn’t hold off one bit.

His huffs and groans were tantalising, growing louder and more uncontrolled as he fucked you into oblivion. His hand squeaked as it fell down the steamed mirror he leant on, leaving the glass behind you and finding its way to your jaw. He brought your face to his own and kissed you, loudly moaning into your open mouth.

You giggled through your mewls. “Mmm.. I thought I was the loud one, daddy.” You were amused that he had been teasing you so adamantly about the volume of your pleasure, when he was now the one making all the noise.

He paused, quirking an eyebrow at you before slamming his hips into you with a thrust so strong it made you practically scream out. “Oh, my apologises, sweetheart.” He smirked as he picked up his pace once more.

You wrapped your hands in his perfectly styled hair. You no longer cared who knew what was really happening in here, the thought didn’t even cross your mind. All you cared for was chasing your high. You rutted your hips on his and took his length entirely, feeling dangerously close to cumming.

“Fuckkk baby, daddy’s gonna cum okay?. Cum with me princess. Fall apart on my cock.” His unfocused thrusts had you coming undone in seconds. You held onto him tight, digging your nails into his shoulders and pulling at his curls as you cried out in ecstasy.

He shot his seed into you, feeling all his pent up frustrations from earlier at the table leave him as he pushed himself deep into your abused cunt. He didn’t even attempt to stifle his moans, too invested in finally receiving his release to realise just how loud he was being.

He rested his forehead on yours, your sweaty skin pressed against each other as you both attempted to catch your breathes after such a quick, ruthless fuck. You started laughing, finding it utterly ridiculous that you had spent the majority of a meeting you had been terrified for, getting fucked by your new boss (and the man you had fucked the night before) in a restaurant bathroom.

He joined in laughing, clearly finding humour within this strange situation too. Interrupting your laugh, he pushed his lips into yours, kissing you as if your lips were some kind of prize. You felt his cock slip from your cunt, his seed immediately spilling from it as you were left with a sudden, empty sensation.

He made quick work of zipping his pants back up and fastening his belt. You tugged your skirt back down to your thighs, being reminded of how Duncan had snatched your panties and stashed them in his pants pocket. You guessed you wouldn’t be getting them back anytime soon, which you were okay with, you just hoped nobody saw his remnants leaving you left the bathroom.

You flattened out your skirt and felt the wet sticky lemonade that still coated it. You had completely forgotten to clean it. “Fuck, my skirt's still sticky! Why would you order lemonade?” You whined; still mad he hadn’t just ordered some water.

Awaiting a reply, you turned to check your make up in the mirror. Luckily it was pretty light today, so it still looked good other than the bruise on your cheek now being slightly more obvious than before. What really concerned you was your neck. It was covered in every shade of purple and red you were aware existed. If your father and coworkers didn’t know what was going on from how weird you were being at the table before, or how long it had taken the two of you to finish in the bathroom, or the noises that were emitting from it, they would definitely know after seeing all the claims he had left on your skin.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t think that spilt water would have been a good enough excuse to get you all alone in here.” He chuckled to himself, leaning over to rest his chin on your head and wrapping his arms around your waist as he joked over his mischievousness.

“But we should probably head back out there. I’m sure your father’s going to apprentice the beautiful mosaic I’ve painted across your neck” he kissed the bruises he spoke of as he watched you through the mirror.

You scoffed at him, gifting yourself one last look before completely giving up on finding a way you could make your face and neck appear more presentable for heading back to the table.

Duncan opened the bathroom door, nodding his head towards the hallway and waiting for you to hurry up and join him.

The two of you started walking back, your legs struggling to take your weight with how weak they had become. Your heels clicked along the floor, making you far more aware of how soon you would be sitting back down with everyone from work. Like a clock counting down to all the judgmental stares you would surly be receiving.

You kept your eyes trained on the floor as you took your seat at the table. Seths voice trailed off upon seeing the two of you sit down, leaving you both in the middle of an uncomfortable silence that felt near suffocating.

“What took so long!” You could hear the anger and perhaps embarrassment in Annettes voice as she whispered to Duncan. She looked towards you, glaring and scowling before retiring her vision back to him. She was probably hoping that what she assumed to have occurred hadn’t, but from the marks clearly decorating your neck, she would have known it to be true.

“Oh, we just couldn’t get the lemonade out of her skirt.” He tut as he spoke to his mother, smiling and playing off any obvious suspicions. “I’m sorry, really.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, dripping with a sincerity you knew to be false.

“So what was it we were discussing?” he speaks louder now, addressing the rest of the table.

“Uhh actually, I think we have a deal.” Seth replied, looking over at him and then the rest of the table. You heard your father mutter something in agreement, but it was meek. Quiet. He must have felt the awkward tension too. It was ripe in the air, like a shiver you couldn’t shake off. You didn't even want to look at him, knowing If anyone there felt most uncomfortable, it was him.

Saying their goodbyes and finishing up with any last details, everyone stood to shake hands and bid their farewells. You felt your fathers scowl as he came and stood beside you, but you didn't dare look at him. You were too ashamed to face him whilst still with your coworkers.

Duncan walked over to your father, looking more satisfied than ever with his eyes still focused on you as he thanked him for meeting and shook his hand firmly.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr Y/L/N.” He let go of your fathers hand only to take a hold of yours. He grasped it delicately, a touch more gentle than he had ever shown you previously. Assuming he was trying you shake it, you were more than surprised when he raised it to his lips, kissing your rosey knuckles; still red from the tight grip you had, had on his hair earlier.

“I look forward to working with you in the future, Y/N.” He graced you with once last signature smirk as he walked away, leaving you with your father who was waiting for an explanation and apology for your disgusting and foolish behaviour.

Maybe it hadn’t been the worst way to spend lunch.

Tags: @sojournmichael @dark-mei-rose @ntxoza @angelicmichael @jimmason @michaellangdonstanaccount @blakescoven @7-wonders @ghostangels @fernfiction @brattylovee @melodylangdon @brooklinn13 @instincts-baby

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd x female reader #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd smut #house of cards fic #older!duncan #older!duncan shepherd #older!duncan x reader #boss!duncan #boss!duncan shepherd #boss!duncan shepherd x reader #daddy duncan #cody fern #cody fern fic #my writing

221 notes · View notes

elldell1204 · 3 years

Text

Hair Me Out - Spencer Reid x Reader

Y/N wears her hair in many different styles, and her boyfriend, Spencer, seems to appreciate each one in different ways.

A/N: So, I just wanted to add, I try to make my ‘reader’ as ambiguous as possible, that way you can identify with them more. However, I struggled with this one, as I am a white female with straight hair and not much knowledge of (though deep appreciation and love for) natural or curly hair, seeing as I have little to no experience. Therefore, I have tried making this as inclusive as possible but I’m sorry if at any point seems too specific and you can’t put yourself into the story. Feel free to call me out on anything you aren’t comfortable with!

Warnings: Slight sexual themes, swearing, normal Criminal minds stuff (let me know if I missed anything)

wc - 3,217

Dutch Braids -

You and Spencer had just gotten off from work about an hour ago after a gruelling day with an equally stressful case. Which is why as soon as you were both showered, dressed in the comfiest clothes you could find and waiting for the takeout to arrive, you were both sprawled out on the couch in front of a movie, having no energy left to talk, let alone move when there was a knock at the door. Seeing as you were the one with less of the other person’s body parts draped across you, you got up and answered while Spencer didn’t move an inch. You couldn’t blame him; the poor boy was exhausted.

Around twenty minutes later, you’d both eaten, leaving your plates on the coffee table in front of you with the mental promise to wash them later, and were back to snuggling into each other, getting as close as you possibly could to soothe each other after the day you had. Your head was tucked neatly into Spencer’s chest, your knees drawn up to near your chin in the foetal position, making yourself as small as possible. Spencer was the opposite; spread like a starfish with his arm around your back and his head rested against the back of the couch.

If someone were to ask you what the movie was about, you wouldn’t have a clue where to start. Truth is, you felt like you were stuck in-between both the lands of sleep and consciousness, due to wanting to spend some time with your boyfriend (despite him being your work partner for the best part of sixteen hours) but also wanting to sleep for three days. In attempt to make yourself just a little bit more awake, you started trying to focus on different things around you. First it was the quote on the front of the main character’s t-shirt, then it was the Metro you could faintly hear as the last train of the night rattled by, then it was Spencer’s finger tracing up and down one of your braids that you’d done quickly after your shower.

“Spence?” You murmured the first words spoken in practically an hour.

“Hmm?” He hummed in response, his half-lidded eyes shifting to your face that you had lifted to face him.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” His voice was merely a whisper, and if you weren’t listening for it, the only way you’d know he was speaking was from the vibration of his chest.

You gestured to your hair with your finger, and only when he realised did he stop what he was doing and chuckle lightly and dreamily.

“Oh, sorry, I’m not sure, it just feels soft, I guess. I’ll stop.”

“No, no, it’s okay, you can keep going.” You smiled at him, mustering up the energy to lean up and press a sweet kiss to his lips before retracting back to your previous position.

Ponytail -

To say you were having a bad day was an understatement. You usually like to try and stay as positive as you could be when chasing a serial, paedophilic murderer, but there’s only so many deep breaths and coffee breaks you can take before you really start to get pissed off. Not only had you been stuck in hot and sticky Texas for near a week, but you had also been put into single rooms at the hotel you were staying at. Now, not to sound ungrateful (because you very much are of the fact that you at least have a roof over your head), but only having one single bed to a room means that you can’t snuggle with Spencer after a long day, and these were proving to be very long days.

And to add to the problem, Hotch was constantly on edge since the start of the case, with the victims looking a hell of a lot like Jack, and when you were the closest person to him on that first day when his tensions finally boiled over, you had been the one in the firing line of his rage. Which you can take. You knew he didn’t mean it, and if he had to take his frustrations out on someone for a few days so he could do his job with a clearer head, you were happy to be the target.

But now after a particularly rough six days, your patience was wearing thin, and everyone on the team could see it, which is why they offered you and Spencer any jobs they were assigned that would get them out of the stifling police precinct. And you knew they had good intentions, but even that was starting to annoy you.

So now you were sat at the table in the conference room, a pen between your teeth as your eyes frantically search over the evidence you have piled in front of you, desperate for the answers to this case to fly off the page and hit you smack dab in the forehead so you could just go home and have a fight with a pillow or something, anything to destress.

You heard the footsteps coming from the doorway, but you refused to turn around. If it was Hotch, you swear to god you might actually lose your job with what you were thinking of doing if he was short with you one more time. If it was Morgan ready to hand you a first-class ticket to visit the slightly wrinkly and very smelly coroner again, you might actually flip the table.

“Hey, Y/N.” Spencer greeted you warmly, sitting on the table to your right as your eyes slowly lifted to meet his. No, not Spencer. Hold it together, Y/N, hold in your rage, he’s done nothing wrong. “Oh, I haven’t seen you with your hair tied back in a while. I like it.”

Such a sweet statement, and yet it broke you. You could see in his face the moment your eyes lit aflame with anger, and you couldn’t miss the harsh swallow he took to brace himself for your fury.

“Well, Dr Reid, let me teach you a lesson, shall I? 3 reasons. One, it is way more practical for kicking someone’s ass, and right now, I would love nothing more than catching the sleazy son-of-a-bitch who is deriving pleasure from this,” You gesture violently to the crime scene photos splayed out in front of you before continuing to spit your venom. “And beating the living shit out of him until he’s crying out for his mommy. Two, do you know how many officers have tried to flirt up a storm with me in the past week? Way too many to count on one fucking hand! One even went so far as to try stroking my hair like a goddamn cat, and so to avoid that situation, I have put it in a ponytail, because if anything of that nature happens again, I won’t hesitate to break someone’s arm. And three, I usually have it down because most men think you’re dumber when you play with your hair, or I can play seductive to get what I want without a warrant fifty percent of the time. But seeing as we have absolutely nobody on the suspect list right now, and the sheer fury I possess at this moment, I don’t foresee the possibility of me needing to be either of those things, do you?”

Your lungs were heaving once you were done, and poor Spencer looked like you just told him you were a Russian spy sent to kill him. Your eyes were locked onto each other’s, and when you came back to reality from your rant, you recognised the softness and love in his that you were grateful for every day. Granted, they were a little masked by fear right now, but you’d admired him often enough to be able to spot even the faintest hint of your favourite emotions.

You let out a deep sigh, signalling you were back to your normal self as much as you could be right then, before dropping your head into your hands to rub your eyes with the heel of your palms.

It was then you felt the unmistakeable warmth of Spencer’s hand rubbing soothing patterns on your back as you gathered yourself together, bringing tears to your eyes as you opened them once more to face him.

“Oh, Spencer,” You whispered, grabbing his hands tightly with yours, lifting them to your lips and pressing sweet kisses to his knuckles. “I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve that at all.”

“It’s okay, my love.”

“No, it’s really not. I never should have raised my voice at you, especially when it’s not your fault at all that I’m frustrated.”

“Y/N, I understand.” He smiled at you, a small and sympathetic one, but it calmed you nonetheless as he stood, pulling you up from the chair to wrap his arms tightly around you. You gripped onto him like he might run away if you didn’t, breathing in the warm scent that is so unmistakeably Spencer. Your vision was now cloudy with the tears that so desperately wanted to spill, but you were adamant you wouldn’t give the local cops the satisfaction of seeing you with wet cheeks. Luckily, Spencer knows you better than anyone.

“There’s a park a few minutes’ walk from here with a small duck pond. Would you like some fresh air?”

You nodded frantically against his neck as you finally let go, allowing him to lead you out of the precinct, hand in hand, his thumb running softly over yours as you walked.

“I don’t deserve you.” You mumbled, leaning in closer to him as you carried on down the path.

“Nonsense,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “We deserve each other. Just remind me not to get on your bad side; I like having both of my arms functional.”

Bed Head -

A blaring alarm at 6am has to be up there with one of the most annoying things on the planet, and I work with Derek Morgan. You let out a groan, your arm floundering around to find the source of the wretched noise. Groaning in defeat of not being able to do it with your eyes closed, you cracked one open, locating your phone, and finding sweet relief in the snooze button. A very overexaggerated yawn left your lips as you attempted to stretch your arms over your head in an effort to wake up, only to find one immobilised in the grasp of your boyfriend.

You took advantage the rare opportunity of waking up before Mr Alarm Clock himself (also known as Dr Spencer Reid) by allowing yourself a few minutes to admire his form in the golden sliver of sunlight escaping the outside world through the gap in the curtains. It was only when your alarm went off again after the five-minute snooze timer did you try to wake him up.

“Spence, baby, time to wake up.” You whisper, attempting to gently coax him from his slumber. When that didn’t work, you laced your fingers through his mousy-brown curls, scratching lightly at his scalp, just how he likes. Only then did you receive a response in the form of a muffled groan into his pillow.

“C’mon, my love. We need to get ready for work.” You spoke softly, pressing a delicate kiss to his forehead.

You chuckled lightly, wrapping your arms around his torso as your legs entwined. “Okay, my sleepy darling. But only five.”

“Mmm, five more minutes.” He mumbled, nestling his face into your hair as he pulls you closer than you thought possible.

Safe to say you took breakfast to go, just so you could bask in each other’s embraced for a little longer than five minutes.

Post-Sex Hair -

You climbed from his lap gently, unsure if your legs could hold yourself up as you panted heavily. Practically throwing yourself down beside Spencer on the bed, he took the opportunity to grab your hand, lacing your fingers with his as you laid your head on his chest. You were both still a little dreamlike in your post-orgasmic haze, and when Spencer began to press kiss after kiss into your hair, you didn’t hesitate to enjoy them.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered into your hair, punctuating his statement with a final kiss for good measure.

You looked up from your position, shifting slightly so you were face to face, and scrunched up your nose. “Really? Even with sweaty sex hair?”

He chuckled, and you followed with a giggle of your own as he leant over to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. “Especially with sweaty sex hair.” He whispered with a joking edge to his voice, his lips brushing with yours.

“Well, I’m pretty sure the team wouldn’t love my sweaty sex hair, so I better hop in the shower.” You smiled, kissing him quickly once more before climbing out of the bed and walking towards the bathroom, a sway to your hips.

As you reached the door, you turned to shoot a smirk over your shoulder at the blissed-out boy behind you. “Oh, are you not joining me?”

You swear you’d never seen the boy move as fast as when he clambered from the bed and chased you into the bathroom.

Straightened -

There was something about going undercover that equally excited you and creeped you out. Especially tonight, when you were having to go under in a club to catch a guy who was killing adulterous wives. You were the closest person in the team to his type, so it was a no-brainer to choose you, really. Didn’t mean you were happy with it, and it seemed that Spencer wasn’t either, if his clenched jaw was anything to go by.

Well, you were going to do it no matter what, so why not get yourself dressed up and try to bring some joy back to a less than ideal situation? That is why you were stood in the locker room of a precinct on the west coast in a red crushed velvet minidress with black heels, a fake wedding ring and straightened hair, and you couldn’t lie, you were totally feeling yourself.

“Woah, Y/N, you look…amazing.” You heard Spencer say as he entered the room.

You turned your head and smiled at him, feeling a little flustered as his eyes trailed over your form. You attempted to push your dress further down your thighs as he walked to you, his hands encircling your waist from behind and his head perched on your shoulder.

“It’s not too much is it?” You mumbled, looking down at yourself to do a final once over.

You felt his fingers under your chin, lifting your head to look him in the eyes through the mirror, ones filled with love and a hint of desire that set your skin aflame. He brushed your hair aside from your neck to trail kisses down the side of your throat, eliciting a breathy sigh from your lips.

“No, Y/N, you look badass.”

You giggled at the word that seemed so foreign coming from Spencer, but that was soon muffled when he spun you around by his hands on your hips and his lips hungrily met yours. Your lips moved against each other’s, his tongue coming to swipe at your bottom lip in a request for entrance. You granted it, and soon you felt your back collide with the cool metal of the lockers. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt as you explored his mouth with your tongue, relishing in the taste of him. You laced a hand up into his hair as you felt a hand that he had at your waist moving to your ass, gripping it roughly, causing you to moan into his mouth.

“Reid? Y/L/N? You two lovebirds ready?” You heard Morgan mock from the doorway and you both immediately jumped apart like some sort of invisible wall had shot up between you.

Looking around to see that Morgan wasn’t in your eyeline, given that the lockers luckily blocked you two from his view. But not from earshot, seeing as you could quite clearly hear his hearty chuckles as his footsteps got quieter and quieter.

You looked up at Spencer, his hair dishevelled and his tie askew, a look of both embarrassment and amusement at being caught making out like two horny teenagers adorned his face. A grin broke out on your lips, which he mirrored, and soon you were both laughing hysterically as you sorted yourselves out in the tiny little mirror on the wall, attempting to make it look like you weren’t a few seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off, before re-joining the team in the conference room.

Messy Bun -

Ugh, cold and flu season. You swear you never make it through it unscathed. And it seems as if your battle was commencing today. You woke up feeling dreadful; runny nose, scratchy throat, constant sneezing, and red-rimmed eyes. Attractive.

There was no question in having to call in sick, so after throwing your hair up in the messiest of messy buns and locating the snuggest blanket, you dialled the number. You could practically hear the wince from Hotch when you started having a sneezing fit down the phone. Now you weren’t sure if you could look the man in the eye when you went back.

Once that torture was over and done with, you were feeling sorry for yourself and decided on a warm cup of tea and a dose of shitty daytime television. You were halfway through some over-enthusiastic talk show when you heard a knock at your door. Refusing to leave the blanket behind that you’d burrito’d yourself in, you shuffled over to the door.

You didn’t expect a very sympathetic looking Spencer on the other side of the door, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a welcomed sight.

“Hey.” You croaked out.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” You gave him a look that said it all, and he chuckled lightly. He lifted the bag he had in his hand. “I brought the best cure I could think of; chicken noodle soup.”

“I don’t want to get you sick, Spencer.” You whined, wanting nothing more than to curl up into his side but holding onto your selfless and rational thoughts by a mere thread.

You smiled at that, stepping aside to let him in. He passed you and went and got comfortable on your couch, grabbing a fork on the way. When you met him in the living room, he was ready and waiting for you with his arms open for you to snuggle into.

“Don’t worry about me. Now come on, your soup is getting cold.” He smiled, making grabby hands at you.

You made your way over, sinking into his embrace as he passed you the container and your fork. After a few mouthfuls and several minutes of listening to his steady breaths and thumps of his heart, you were feeling much better.

“Thank you.” You mumbled once you were finished and had placed your empty container on the coffee table in front of you, nuzzling further into Spencer’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now sleep, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Didn’t have to tell you twice.

#spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #Matthew Gray Gubler #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #mgg #mgg fluff

420 notes · View notes

mikauzoran · 3 years

Text

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Three

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Three: Rival Musicians

Adrien received the shock of his life when he went up on deck to find Luka and Xavier-Yves Roth hanging out in the upstairs living room.

He froze in the doorway, trying to comprehend what was going on.

The last thing that Adrien knew, XY had stolen Kitty Section’s music and look and had tried to pass them off as his own. Seeing as this had ended in Luka’s akumatization, Adrien didn’t think that Luka was on speaking terms with the slightly older popstar.

…And yet, Luka and XY were lounging on the couch together, laughing as XY recounted some inane story about trying to find proper American varieties of cheese (like Velveeta and the eponymous “American Cheese”) in France.

“You do realize that those are crimes against the word ‘cheese’, don’t you?” Luka snickered, slumping back in exhaustion from laughing so hard.

XY turned, hooking his arm over the back of the couch. “You only say that because you haven’t had Velveeta before,” he scoffed with a playful smirk.

The bottom dropped out of Adrien’s stomach as XY leaned into Luka’s space and Luka didn’t so much as bat an eye.

“Next time I have you over, Six Strings, I’m gonna make nachos,” XY announced. “Then, you’ll see.”

Luka snorted, shaking his head fondly at XY’s antics. “You’d have to pay me to eat that.”

“Done and done,” Xavier-Yves crowed. “That new amp you’ve been eyeing is yours, and I’ll still let you eat as many nachos as you want.”

Luka cursed, giving XY’s arm a halfhearted shove. “That is completely unfair.”

“Serves you right for having a type,” XY preened.

Luka looked away and crossed his arms, blushing furiously as he sulked, “I do not have a type.”

XY rolled his eyes as he infringed even more on Luka’s personal space, teasing, “You totally have a type.”

Luka turned his head to rebuff Xavier-Yves’s claim only to stop short when he realized how close their faces were.

It felt like someone had punched through Adrien’s chest and now had their fist wrapped tightly around Adrien’s heart, squeezing it mercilessly.

He contemplated coming out of hiding and interrupting them.

Thankfully, XY’s phone did the dirty work for Adrien.

“Crap,” Xavier-Yves hissed, looking down at the caller ID. “It’s my dad. I’ve gotta go.”

“Text me later so we can figure out when you’re making nachos for me,” Luka instructed, bumping XY’s shoulder with his own.

XY quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luka snickered. “I want that amp.”

XY rolled his eyes and punched Luka’s arm. “I’ll text you as soon as Dad’s done with me. It might be late.”

Luka shrugged. “Since when do I sleep?”

Xavier-Yves shook his head, grabbing his laptop off of the coffee table and getting up to go. “Check ya later.”

“Later,” Luka echoed, waving.

Adrien waited until the other blonde was out of sight before making his presence known. “Was that XY Roth just now?”

Luka jumped. “Oh. Hey. Adrien. Yeah, Xavier-Yves is a friend.”

Adrien arched an eyebrow as he took a seat on the couch next to Luka. “Really? When did that happen? I thought he was your nemesis or something after he and his dad stole your music.”

Luka burst out laughing.

At Adrien’s slightly hurt look, Luka rushed to explain, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry. It’s just…that was almost five years ago. It seems like a different lifetime.”

Adrien chuckled bitterly, looking away. “Hn. Yeah.”

Luka winced. “Sorry.”

Adrien shook his head. “Don’t worry about it…. So…you and XY?”

“He showed up here one day about six months after The Incident, and he wanted me to show him how to love music,” Luka explained.

Adrien’s head whipped around, a look of befuddlement on his face. “He did what now?”

Luka shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe you’ve noticed, but his father, Bob Roth, is kind of an abusive, manipulative jerk. He treats Xavier-Yves really poorly, but Xavier-Yves isn’t willing to break things off because he loves his father.”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably at the pang of recognition he felt for XY’s family situation.

“Xavier-Yves used to do music because it was what his father wanted, and he wanted to make his father proud and happy. He didn’t used to love music himself,” Luka continued. “So, he showed up here, and he asked me to teach him how to love music…so I did.”

Adrien nodded. “You’re really amazing to be able to forgive and help someone who wronged you like that.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Luka snickered. “He’s kind of obnoxious until you get inoculated. For about a month, I wanted to slap him…but then I really got to know him…and now we’re friends.”

“Just friends?” Adrien pressed, even though he suspected the answer would hurt.

Luka’s brow scrunched together into a deep “v” of confusion. “Yes?”

“But you like him,” Adrien rebutted, gaze locked on a knot in the floorboard. “And he likes you.”

“No, no, no,” Luka laughed at the very idea. “No. Adrien, nothing romantic is going on between me and Xavier-Yves.”

Adrien took a chance and looked up, meeting Luka’s gaze. “But you two were flirting. He was all in your space, and you didn’t look like you minded at all. And wasn’t he about to kiss you at the end before his phone rang?”

Luka’s cheeks coloured in embarrassment as he scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Oh my gosh, no. That wasn’t… Adrien, you flirt with Nino, don’t you?”

Adrien blinked speechlessly as he considered this new evidence. “…I mean…yeah.”

“And you and Nino snuggle and get all in each other’s space, right?” Luka added, buttressing up his arguments.

“Yes,” Adrien admitted.

“Okay,” Luka sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So, think of it like that.”

Adrien bit his lip and considered. “…I mean…if you say so.”

Luka broke out in a startled laugh. “Someone doesn’t sound convinced…. Adrien…are you jealous?”

It was Adrien’s turn to blush as he asked, “Why would I be jealous?”

He mentally kicked himself because he knew he had no right to be jealous.

Just because Luka had been kind to him when Adrien was feeling vulnerable and taken care of him when Adrien couldn’t take care of himself, that didn’t give him the right to be possessive. He didn’t have a monopoly on Luka’s time or kindness or affections.

Luka deflated a little. “Right. Sorry. Stupid question. You’re right. There’s no reason for you to be jealous…. Xavier-Yves really is just a friend, though. We hang out, jam a little, watch dumb movies, talk…just as friends. Just like you and I do.”

Adrien nodded, still not persuaded.

Maybe Luka thought that there was nothing there, but Adrien had been oblivious to his own feelings too many times to take Luka at his word. There was definitely a spark between Luka and XY, whether Luka was aware of it or not.

“What did he mean when he said you have a type?” Adrien looked back at Luka.

This time it was Luka who looked away. “Oh. You know. He thinks I have a thing for blondes.”

More specifically, rich, pretty, sheltered blondes with daddy issues, but Luka would literally die before admitting that to Adrien because Xavier-Yves wasn’t wrong, and Luka would be a fool to risk messing up his friendship with Adrien by confessing his longstanding crush on him now.

Adrien’s brow crumpled into a frown. “But Marinette isn’t blonde.”

“Precisely,” Luka agreed, leaving out the fact that it was blonde men he had a thing for. “Thank you. So, you can just ignore Xavier-Yves because he’s, honestly, a total idiot.”

Adrien hummed thoughtfully, leaning back into the couch cushions. “He seems nice. You should introduce us. Maybe we can be friends.”

It would be good to get to know the competition, and, that way, he could perhaps monitor the evolving romantic situation between XY and Luka.

“Uh…sure,” Luka tentatively agreed, not certain that he wanted different parts of his life merging like that.

He mentally smacked himself because how selfish was he to deny Adrien the opportunity to make more friends? It was going to be hard on Adrien going forward, now that people primarily recognized him as “Papillon’s son”. Luka needed to put his own wants aside to be there for Adrien.

After all, he’d promised.

20 notes · View notes

jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Thirteen | Waterfall (Part 3 of 4 | His POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

"This is actually our first date, but we're getting there."

His soul almost stops at that sentence, yet he tries not to let it show. Based on how charmed (Y/N) was around monsters who weren't heavily involved with the intentions of the Royal Guard, Sans assumes they're lying for the sake of not letting Roger down. He observes and listens to their exchange by the side, only intervening when he's escorted with them into the shop.

Before arriving at the counter, he brings up that sentence and the meaning behind it. He has some confidence as to what their reply will be, but when they actually speak up, it only complicates his thoughts and the pace of his soul more. "I'm not sure what to think of this myself, but… In the end, I only did it 'cause I couldn't bring myself to get his hopes down."

He'd hit the nail in the head.

But what was the reason behind their doubts?

Did they feel forced to go out with him, simply for having gotten to know Frisk during their journey?

It didn't feel that way, yet he didn't exactly know them well enough to be one-hundred percent sure of those assumptions. For all he knew, they could be pretending and trying to get along with him just for the sake of Frisk's happiness and the rest of their monster friends. It wasn't safe to cross out that possibility yet.

A bunnywoman greets him and he words out his orders, saying (Y/N)'s, then his, and finally Frisk's to-go. He can see the human's wallet already in hand, though they hold it back when he's directed with them to a table, no upfront payment needed. "But even if this was a date, I still don't think I'd be able to accept having another one after today's," they add, sitting down and facing their lap.

At that, his curiosity rises, and he can't help asking them for a little more detail. "What do you mean?"

They fidget before answering. "I need to focus more on raising Frisk before going anywhere with my love life."

"Why?" The monster wants to disappear with how abrupt, rude, and plain nosy that question comes out. Knowing he's already screwed up and not wanting to ruin things further by making them angry, he hurries to elaborate his question better, saying, "So you haven't dated anyone ever since that day?" He breathes out as subtly as possible, relieved to see them nod.

A brown bear appears, referring to himself as the waiter in charge of the table for today. He's in formal wear, something the human seems to be charmed by; it's an undoubtedly similar look to when they didn't want to disappoint the rabbit. They continue when the bear leaves, words once more catching the skeleton off guard. "I haven't, and to be honest I'd…" They keep quiet for a while, making his doubts return. He's worried he's asking questions far too personal for them to be in any way comfortable with him, but they don't stop with their answers. "I'd like to keep it that way for as long as it's needed. I need to be there for Frisk, and I need to be more careful of who I date from now on." They sound more at ease the further they talk, helping calm some of his own tension down. "You see, I… I really don't want Frisk to grow up in an environment full of constant fights and disagreements."

That seems to be the final drop in the bucket for them to expose their heart out to him. Words practically flow out of their mouth as they continue to explain the reasons behind their self-imposed limitations. They tell him of Jerry and their relationship with him post-divorce, of those six years without dating anyone, and over the responsibility they felt was on their shoulders ever since Jerry stopped acting as a father for Frisk. He's irked with everything they say -- especially the last part -- but again, he tries not to let his emotions show too much, wanting to listen to them instead.

As they speak, Sans wonders whether it's okay to continue being all chill and buddy-buddy with Jerry, now knowing him in a different light. The guy was fun to be around with, and he was truthfully the one who'd given him a push to make a move on (Y/N), but he couldn't bring himself to meet up with him again without wanting to use the same sense of judgment he specialized in at the Underground. He was strict and stern when it came to the consequences of others' actions just as he was when it came to judging himself for his own choices in both past and present times.

If Jerry was well-aware he wasn't ready to be a father, then why did he still agree on (having/adopting) a child?

Had it been an unforeseen result, or was there more to it?

A piece of information slips by, though (Y/N) doesn't seem to catch onto it. After the words 'I let him go', follow: "I, well… I was over the moon when he said we could be parents, and I didn't really think about his real feelings about the situation the second he said we could give it a try, so it's… It's primarily my fault all of this happened, either way. I- I should've paid more attention and discussed the situation with him more properly." A bitter smile shows on their face. "Children aren't pets, and even pets aren't that easy of a responsibility, either. I… I should've stopped to think about that choice some more before immediately assuming we were both ready, once he... once he brought up the possibility of us being parents."

Based on how little they react after that confession, it's plain evident they haven't noticed they've let that information slip past, so he chooses not to bring it up. To make up for it, Sans intervenes when he notices they're too caught up in wanting to make things right all in one day. He steps in with his own view on the subject so far, saying, "Don't wanna assume things right off the bat, but…" He pauses, picking up a fork and piercing it through his dish. Then, he faces (Y/N), continuing with, "You kinda feel like you've gotta make up for that? Limiting yourself that much ain't really the best option, though."

They face away and pick up a portion of their dessert along the way. With how calm they look right now, he wonders how they would react had he chosen to bring up the fact they'd just confessed something far too personal in the midst of them being honest with him. "I just don't trust myself enough to make the right decision again." They take a bite.

Sans tries to look away from their lips, not wanting to make himself come off as an indecent person by staring there for too long. While they were dressed far more strikingly and looked far more cheerful compared to previous times, that's no excuse for him to stare, and even less at their face. They were here wearing their heart out on their sleeve for him. Taking advantage of that with any sort of flirting or advancements simply didn't feel right presently.

He offers his point-of-view, only to be interrupted by what he fears is trouble lurking right behind (Y/N)'s back. There's two human men standing close by, pointing at their waist and muttering comments about how 'chunky' they are and how small the off-brand 'Grim Reaper on vacation prop' sitting with them is. He waits and keeps an eye socket out for the two as he continues, only to be interrupted by a loud comment from one of the pair not long after.

"Hey, Kevin," the burliest one of the two says, voice irritatingly loud. "What did the skeleton say to the hog?"

Laughter follows and the lankier one replies with, "I don't know, Brayan. What?"

Brayan fakes a swoon and attempts to mimic what Sans can only interpret as his own voice with how exaggeratedly rough and Batman-with-a-cold deep it sounds, saying, "Oh, you're the exact opposite of me -- all fat and no bones. What a catch!"

More laughter.

"Wait, wait," Kevin says, voice now heard from closer by. "I've- I've gotta good follow-up to that one." Brayan snorts at that -- obnoxiously rather than cutely. "I might be fat, but you're the real pig here -- liking me only because of those weird tastes of yours!"

"What's bothering you, mi chicharrón? You're my type. I'm only saying the truth!

"And I'm done with you, you bonehead!"

Just as the skeleton expects to be pushed off his chair, his company intervenes by standing up and approaching the man about to send him to the ground. Their stance is firm and their gaze is pissed, the light in their eyes far different from when they snapped at his own flirting. They grab the man by the arm, but it doesn't take much for him to retaliate and seek out help from his partner-in-crime. Far-too soon, a splash is heard and the skeleton sees (Y/N)'s shirt drenched, an empty glass being held by one of the two men still standing nearby.

Now his turn to act, Sans takes advantage of free Karma and tosses both his drink and theirs at the man responsible for throwing one at (Y/N). The rest is a blur as he pays more attention to them and their condition. Only the comments Kevin and Brayan made about them and the drink thrown at them stay in his mind, occupying the rest of his thoughts. He takes a towel and wraps it around their torso, being extra cautious not to brush his hands anywhere improper, something better said than done with his current situation. They're soaked from neck to waist, the subtle warmth emerging from their body making him further concerned by assuming the drink was still fresh.

"Was it hot?"

With that question, he receives yet another surprise, both in words and the bold look they give him along with it. "No," he hears (Y/N) say, grinning bright and wide as a subtle, flirty curve shows on their smile. "But you worrying about me kinda is."

His soul lurches at the feeling of their lips on his cheekbone. It's a sensation far too soft for him to have ever been prepared for it, and it's made a lot more intense when they drag the kiss all the way to his ear cavity, lips brushing against his face as they whisper him a 'thank you'. His hands are firm on their waist as the crowd cheers on. It's only when he backs away and lets go of the towel that he can escape from the situation, plopping back down on his chair to recover from it.

• • •

With the remnants of the earlier incident, it’s a different experience giving the human a ride to his home. The skeleton's now overly alert of everything around him, from their hands around his waist to the rumbling of other engines near him. Thankfully, a cloudy sky, strong winds, and a light drizzle aid as a distraction. He dodges busy streets by taking detours wherever possible, and he focuses on one thing only: getting there before the rain pours any harder. While the helmet shields most of it away, the roar of the clouds above alerts him and seemingly the one holding onto him, based on how they press closer and ask if he’s okay.

“Wouldn’t it be better to stop?” they suggest, voice muffled from too many things at once. There’s the rain picking up, other vehicles zooming past, and the warning of future thunder from the clouds. Add in the helmets, and it’s a necessity for him to take a turn and park by the emergency lane.

The stillness of his surroundings helps provide a better look at the options nearby. Four were available, the last of them the most risky. It was either turn left and stop at a gas station, turn right and stop at an inn, go back and stop at the nearest shopping district available, or continue forward without any proper sense of direction.

Just as he’s imagining there’s no way (Y/N) could be any bolder than they had been with their kiss, they say, “Let’s stop by the inn.” Their smile quells any hidden meanings. Their tone, on the other hand, has plenty left to be said. “It’s the closest option there is, and judging by the situation up there, it’s the best one, too.”

Right.

He scolds himself mentally for letting his imagination run too far.

Of course, it was his fear of thunder they were referring to!

What else could it have been?

“Alright,” he says, giving in with a huff. “You sure you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” they reply, shrugging. “It's getting darker, and the weather’s not too good. I’ll just call Undyne and let her know we'll be returning a little later than expected."

The monster finally grins at that and props the motorcycle back into shape. “You’re being awfully chill about this whole thing, pal.” He jolts when their hands find their place around him once more, settled down when he hears them laugh, airiness present in their tone. They rest their head closer to his shoulder, helmet bumping with his. “Gettin’ real comfy around me, too.”

They pull back, a frown heard in their question, “Would you like me to stop?”

He shakes his head, bringing them closer at a red light. “Not at all.”

Their laughter sounds again, more cheerful and light. Had he no context of where they'd been before the ride, he would’ve assumed they'd taken a drink too many. To see them relax and play along was about as rare as a day not passing by without the sudden awfulness of the weather. It’s been worsening, yet he can’t quite determine why exactly. There were plenty of factors contributing to it, one of the most common being the current season, and the most uncommon somehow related to the accusations monsters received about the bad weather being all their fault.

Flashing, neon lights greet the skeleton when he parks close to the inn, right below a tent made specifically for keeping customers' vehicles out of the bad weather. ‘Open 24/7. Vacant. Family Friendly. Monster Friendly. Absolutely NO pest problem. Suspicious wall stains are actually retro wallpaper patterns, not blood,' and a bunch more other things blare at him in bright lettering. There’s tiny wording at the bottom of the word ‘Inn’, reading: ‘formerly a criminal hideout’, in parentheses.

Sans expects all but more stifled laughter from (Y/N)’s mouth. When he looks towards them, he sees they've already taken their helmet off, revealing teary eyes and a smile. “What's next?” they ask, giggling. “Bet now the hotel guy'll say: ‘Sorry, we’ve only got one room left’.” They take him by the arm and lead him in as soon as the rain pours completely, their laughter drowning out as thunder clashes from nearby. “C’mon,” they call out, tugging him in. “You’ll get sick!” The door jingles as he passes through with them by his side, revealing a lobby far more decent than the outside suggests. “See that? It’s gonna be fine!"

He doesn't say anything and instead lets himself be tugged along. If he'd annoyed them too much with his flirting and this was the world's way of punishing him for it, he accepted it despite what that was doing to his soul. He accompanies them to the registration counter, where an even worse problem waits.

"Welcome!" Mettaton calls out, greeting both him and the human next to him with a smile. Funky music plays on the radio, matching almost eerily with his gaze and the purpose behind his smile. "Room for two, I assume?" He takes out a log book, and a calculative frown shows on his face as he taps his chin with the pen, a smile returning when he looks up. "...Either way, I'm afraid that's all we have right now."

His companion snorts (cutely, in comparison to Brayan), though they cover it up when he tries to get a better look at them, seeing a smile still on. "Told you so," they say, jabbing his waist. They then turn over to the robot, seriousness falling on their face. "We'd like to book it for a night, please."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Note

This chapter was originally meant to be only 2 parts long, but the request seen here (an older one, as it was suggested in the first version of this fanfic) ended up enriching the story's plot wayyy more than I thought, lol.

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

30 notes · View notes

rukia-writes · 3 years

Note

Hi. Can I request one with Kruger? I would love to see him in a scenario with a younger (but ofc legal) reader where the girl is very lewd and keeps making sexual comments about him and has a high drive. Kruger gets flustered and there's hinted nsfw. Thanks!

✨Detective! Eren Kruger x performer! (fem) reader✨

✨Part 2✨

✨setting: modern au✨

✨Warnings: 18+, No minors 🔞✨

“Sorry pal, I don’t just let anyone see the star-“

While puffing on his cigar the business manager and club owner was interrupted by a handsome detective showing his badge. The manager cussed hoping his star performer wasn’t into anything illegal.

The club music blared in the background and everyone there was having a good time not noticing the boss guiding the detective to the back room. Down the hallway the manager asked a bunch questions but the detective didn’t answer any of them and when the two came to a door with the person he was looking name written on the door the detective knocked on the door first.

“(Name), open up. The police are here-You better have done anything.”

“The police? I’m busy right now, Peter.”

The business manager known as Peter became red in the face knowing that his star performer could be a little bratty sometimes. But she was beautiful and she had a wonderful singing voice, the detective knocked on the door again.

“If you don’t open up, I’ll be forced to kick down the door.”

The detective heard a sigh and then door opened after awhile to see a familiar performer. It was true the detective had been there at the club to see her a few times before, but up and close and personal was a new step for him.

Kruger had to admit she was beautiful in her mini white dress, she had a pout on her face when she opened the door but when she looked at Kruger her demeanor changed.

“Now see here, (Name). This detective says there’s some illegal activity going on here. What have you been up to?”

“Nothing, I haven’t done anything illegal.”

(Name) stepped to the side to let the handsome detective in, and when he walked she looked at him and down with a sly smirk on her face. Peter was about to enter but (Name) stepped infront him and pushed the man back.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be done shortly.”

(Name) quickly shut the door in Pete’s face but not before sticking her tongue out making her manager turn red in the face with anger as he walked away.

Kruger looked around her dressing room and it was clean, there was trash here and there but he didn’t seem to hung about it. Not that he had time to when he heard (Name) from behind him say,

“What does a handsome man like you want with me?”

Kruger looked back and he knew that look.

A smile that was evident she wanted him and her eyes saying the same message as she started to make her way over to him.

“I was told a few mafia members have been known to hang out here, is that true?”

“Mafia? I don’t think so, I’m a good girl...”

(Name) was now chest to chest with him, playing with his black tie with a sly smirk. Kruger knew this was very inappropriate but it was also catching him off guard.

“A very good girl, sir.”

“I would suggest you not lie, were they here or not? Also, you’re a bit too young for me.”

Kruger gently pushed her away making the sexy performer pout.

“I don’t think I’m that young, twenty seven isn’t too young.”

“I’ll be forty years old next month.”

Kruger responded back to the young performer who was now smiling as she sat down on her chair by the mirror.

“Happy birthday, daddy.”

“Fu-No! That’s not my name, my name is Eren Kruger”

“I prefer daddy though.”

Kruger was flustered when (Name) called him daddy but when she licked her lips while look at him is when he could feel a certain area getting excited.

“Don’t call me that, I’m not your daddy. Sir, will do just fine. Now tell me the truth, have any mafia members been back specifically one named Yelena.”

“Oh, you mean that tall woman. She came back here to tell me how great I performed a few nights ago. She even sent me a nice bouquet of pink roses the other day. She seems nice to me, sir.”

Stressing the “sir” made Kruger sigh in frustration while smiled with her sweet smile.

“She’s wanted for murder and we need help bringing her to justice.”

“Murder? But she seemed so nice.”

“Well we have evidence she’s been quite busy in other things as well. Do you mind if I take a look around?”

“Sure, I don’t care. You can search me if you want.”

Kruger could only clear his throat when (Name) opened her legs a little bit getting a little peak up her dress. Kruger was blushing so much and was so flustered he couldn’t even scold her and opted to just search the room. Specifically for any drugs or leads that could lead him to Yelena.

While (Name) was simply watching him, mumbling under her breath how hot he was, mumbling how big his dick could be, and how she wanted to ride him all night.

After awhile of searching Kruger couldn’t find anything of interest, and when he returned he saw (Name) on her phone.

“I couldn’t find anything. So I guess you’re good to go.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a chief superintendent. A detective? You’re actually the boss man.”

“..How did you find that out?”

“Internet, hello? You’ve solved a lot of crimes in your times.”

(Name) gave him a wink making him look away with blush on his face, standing up from her seat Kruger watched her every move. Especially, since the dress she had on her really made accentuated her curves which he liked and the way the deep plunge teased at her breasts made the chief superintendent almost forget about the age difference.

“Thank you, for being a good man.”

“Um, it’s nothing. I’m just doing my job. Did Yelena leave anything else? Those roses, do you have picture?”

“...If I told you I did, what do I get? I would like your dick as a prize.”

(Name) went back to playing with his black tie again, it was just evident she wanted him and if Kruger didn’t watch it he was really going to make her call him daddy.

“That’s not how this works. With holding um..evidence can...um..stop that!“

(Name) had managed to wrap her right leg around his waist pulling him into her, which was what startled him, before he was caught up in looking down at her breasts.

Which was his weakness as a whole.

“Move my leg then.”

“No, put your leg down.”

“Make me.”

(Name) softly huffed as was so close to kissing Kruger with her beautiful lips but Kruger wasn’t having it and grabbed a fistful of her hair making her tilt head back to look at him.

“Put your leg down.”

Pouting (Name) did as she was told however her tongue was still as sharp as ever. Regardless, of Kruger’s tight grip in her hair.

“You know..I’m into that kind of stuff.”

“...I bet you are. You young ones are into all sorts of things these days. I bet you have a high sex drive too.”

“I do, especially for handsome, tall and big dick men like yourself. You should let me ride you sometime.”

(Name) chuckled when she saw Kruger blush, releasing his grip in her hair he then shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re too young for me. Now those pictures.”

(Name) had actually forgotten all about the bouquet and began to secretly pout, she just wanted to flirt with this man.

“Stop pouting.”

Kruger stated knowing she was pouting her lip even if he couldn’t see her face as she got her cellphone. (Name) was just as impressed as she was turned on by this man.

“Maybe if you would-“

“Don’t finish that sentence. I heard what you said about me when I was looking around.”

(Name) was surprised thinking to herself she wasn’t loud, Kruger merely smirked.

“Caught red handed.”

“True, maybe you can take me back to your home and put me in my place.”

(Name) teased as she handed over her cellphone to Kruger, his blush was evident now.

“You are a piece of work.”

“And so is your dick print.”

Kruger huffed as he turned away so (Name) couldn’t see how flustered he was becoming, he just knew he was blushing more now.

“Your ass too is a piece of work, I would smack it so hard. What are you doing out here with all that ass, hm?”

“Don’t say another word-I swear.”

Kruger was becoming so shy he was losing his train of thought at (Name)’s lewd comments, that continued to come one right after another.

“I bet you’re 8 inches..bet you’re wide too.”

Kruger ignored her the best he could but she had such a sultry voice he had to listen.

“Six pack or eight pack? What do you have, sir?”

“None of your concern.”

“You have an six pack, I can tell. I would love to see it.”

“Don’t you turn off?”

“Not when you turn me on.”

Kruger huffed once more as he continued to look at the picture of the bouquet Yelena gave her a few days ago. While (Name) kept saying lewd comments about him and even tried to ask for Kruger’s phone number to which he replied with a simple “No.” making (Name) pout her lip as Kruger didn’t even look up at her and steadied looking at the phone.

“I think I know where she got these flowers.”

Kruger mumbled as he then handed over (Name)‘s phone and smirked at her making her heart thump. The man was really handsome.

“Do you mind looking something up for me? I would be most grateful.”

“Can I have your phone number in return?”

“You’re so young and talented, surely you can find someone closer to your age.”

Kruger huffed as he scratched his neck shy that he even had to say this, (Name) chuckled turned around and put her hands in her hair lifting it up in a ponytail. Making sure Kruger got a good look at her backside as the dress continued to hug her curves nicely and legs. Looking back at the man with a naughty smile on her face she simply responded with,

“I could do that. But I think we all know older men do it better.”

Kruger wasn’t flustered anymore after that.

A few days later at the police station the younger hires were in a gossip.

“Shut up. You’re lying Eren.”

“I’m not lying, Jean. The chief is with (Name), the top dance performer.”

“that’s a stretch Eren. They are like...Kruger is almost forty.”

Jean and Eren were talking back and forth while Armin and Reiner were simply trying to get them to stop. The two knew talking about personal matters at work would get back to the people involved. Connie was drinking his coffee until he spews when he looks over his shoulder to see (Name) herself who looked lost as she got off the elevator.

“Guys! Guys look!”

Connie whispered while pointing at (Name) the sexy and young performer continuing to look lost while in the sexy dress she wore the night she met Kruger. Every man there jaw dropped including the young male police officers.

“I would drink her bath water.”

“I second that.”

“You guys are gross.”

Reiner responded to Eren and Jean as he then went over to see if he could help (Name) out, which the others followed suit. Low and behold, Erwin and Levi were walking down the hallway and saw a group of the young police officers huddled up around someone.

“What are those brats up to?”

“Don’t know but they should be...oh. Damn.”

“What?”

Levi heard Erwin the cuss which caught Levi’s attention as he then saw a beautiful and young (Name) walk their way with Reiner on one side and Eren the other side of her talking to her.

“Oh. Fuck. Who is that?”

Levi loosened his tie as he walked up to (Name) with Erwin.

In Kruger’s office his assistant came up to him saying there was a disturbance in the hallway. Kruger sighed as he was busy trying to solve the mafia case.

“Tell Erwin or Levi.”

“That’s the thing sir. Levi and Erwin are talking to that young and sexy performer.”

Kruger felt his blood run cold as he knew exactly who his assistant talking about and acted fast. Which was a hassle as all the men there didn’t want (Name) to leave but Kruger managed to get around the situation.

The two were alone in his office talking about the case until (Name) bite her lip as she had an idea.

“You look so stiff. Want me to relax your shoulders?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“You sure? I’m good with my hands.”

Kruger cleared his throat thinking back to that night and the fact she said it in a teasing way didn’t make it better.

“I’m sure.”

“Do you need anything? Coffee? Paper? Your dick sucked?”

“Wha-wh-We are at work. No. Besides wasn’t last night enough?”

“But that was last night. Today is a new day. I would be delighted to suck your dick.”

“No.”

(Name) pouted her lip which was something Kruger came to enjoy seeing, standing up from her seat (Name) walked to the door and slapped her own ass while looking back at Kruger who mumbled a “Fuck” under his breath.

“Fine, I’ll just wait for you at home. Even though I came all this way to please you and your big dick.”

“..You can’t have sex everywhere.”

Kruger regretted his words knowing what (Name) was going to say the moment she got a sly smirk on her face.

“Funny, that’s not what you said when you were blowing my back out saying you wanted to have sex in your office.”

Kruger huffed and scratched his neck. Thinking to himself how did he get here in this position of being with a young, sexy, lewd woman.

“Fine. Bring your sexy ass over here suck my cock.”

✨Rukia-Writes✨

#Eren Kruger x reader #warning: 18+#18+ writing #eren kruger x reader

42 notes · View notes

sweeethinny · 4 years

Text

Trick or treat, sweetie?

I wanted to do something for Halloween, but I'm a little skeptical, and spirit stories and these things don't really do much to me BUT thinking about Sharp Objects and all the True Crime cases I’ve heard, I managed to write this, and I think I did something decent thanks to the hinny discord that helped me choose the costume for our couple

It was Halloween day, which meant that almost all teenagers in town would lie to their parents saying they were going to get candy when in fact, they would be in the forest drinking, making out behind the rocks, or throwing themselves into the clearing that was there close by.

Ginny would be no different.

She had convinced Harry to wear a couple costume, not because it was just tacky and funny, but because his ass would look much better on Princess Leia's costume than it did on her. Also, she was much more suited to Han Solo than Harry.

‘’You look great.’’ She said, hitting his ass as soon as her boyfriend came out of the bathroom, still fixing his wig on his head

"This shit itches" Harry complained, sitting on the edge of his bed so that Ginny could straighten the clip that held the fake hair back. "You look hot." His hand also hit her ass, staying there. "Your mother would die if she knew we were like this.''

‘’She knows, and she said that as much as you look good in white, you should wear Han Solo’s clothes’’ Ginny kissed him quickly, squeezing his chin and sucking on his lip ‘‘I disagree. I think men in skirts are sexy’’

‘’I’m happy that I like your beauty standard’’ The boy stood up, putting the last details before looking at her ‘’Ready?’’

‘’I’ve always been’’ Ginny lifted her chin, taking his hand and pulling him out of the room. Of course Lily asked the two of them to stop for a photo, commenting to James about the two being beautiful and that Harry should start wearing a cape like that more often because it did so much for his shoulders.

‘’Behave yyou two! I don't want to go to the police station to take out two stupid teenagers'' James warned them before they left the house, which Harry promptly confirmed and calmed them down about the two of them being home before one in the morning (everyone knew it was a lie, but at that day they would all pretend to be true)

‘‘Han Solo who should drive’’ Ginny reminded him, sitting in the passenger seat while warning Hermione that they were already on way

‘’If he had a driver’s license, for sure. For now, let me do it.'' Harry left his hand on her thigh, as he always did, following the old path they used to reach the clearing, passing through the town square where the children were having fun, gathered to start picking up sweets or throwing toilet paper at someone's house, and going straight until they reached the street of the pig slaughterhouse, to finally reach the road.

‘’Mione said she’s also going’’ She said ‘‘Do we have to buy anything?’’

‘’No, I left the drinks with Seamus yesterday. We just need to get our nice ass over there’’ Harry smiled ‘‘I hope you won’t be jealous when everyone looks at mine, instead of yours’’ Ginny laughed, denying and shrugging

‘’Feel free, I’m not jealous’’

‘’Ah, sure’’ Harry used all his sarcasm, barely taking his eyes off the empty road ‘‘It’s ugly to lie, Han’’

‘‘I’m not lying’’ She defended herself ‘’When did you see me jealous?’’

‘’Yesterday when that girl flirted with me at the market’’ He barely stopped to think, which made her a little irritated, even though she was amused

''Ah, so you admit it was a flirtation'' Ginny tossed her hair behind her shoulders, crossing her legs and looking out the window, seeing the city a little further away now ''I remember you saying it was just her way''

‘’But she’s like that. Ask Nev’’ She looked at him, arching an eyebrow and holding back laughter

‘’Nev didn’t have sex with Kimbely’’ Ginny argued

‘‘I don’t know’’ Harry shrugged ‘‘She is very friendly’’

‘’And what do you know about that?’’ She poked, still staring at him with a raised eyebrow and a smug smile on her face

‘’Nothing, just what-- What the fuck!?’’ Harry braked the car with much more speed than was recommended, the noise echoing down the empty road, seeming to shake the trees that lay there. Ginny bounced forward, her body being stopped by her seat belt, but her head hit the panel, causing an irritating pain.

When she looked up to look at the road in front of her, a curse escaped her mouth, staring at the woman standing in the middle of the road, all dressed in white while carrying an ax dripping with blood.

‘’Do you think we should see if everything is okay?’’ Harry asked, gaping at the scene, still staring at that woman

''I think you should back up and runaway from here'' She replied, scared to death ''It's the fucking woman in white, what are we still doing standing around?'' The woman in white , the urban legend of that small town that, a few years ago, had been the local of three brutal deaths.

The three girls were not even fifteen when they disappeared, one at a time; the first disappeared in the summer, some said that she had run away with her boyfriend, others said that she had killed herself in the clearing, and it was only after three weeks of searching that her body was found, on the roof of the pig slaughterhouse, all dismembered.

The second was in the fall of that same year, but she had not been gone for more than three days, and her body was found hanging from the traffic lights on the main street, exposed for all to see.

In the meantime, the parents were already in a panic, and no more children or teenagers were seen alone on the street, the doors were closed before six and no one left the house at night. For a city with less than 5,000 inhabitants, that was the biggest terror they had ever faced.

The third disappeared after a year, on the anniversary of the death of the first, she had disappeared after going for a bike ride on the way to a friend's house, and for months no one had any news or evidence of the disappearance. On the anniversary of the death of the second, her body was found half on the roof of the slaughterhouse, and the other half, hanging from the traffic lights.

It was chaos.

When a truck driver pleaded guilty - a few months of panic and terror for everyone in the city afterwards - everyone pretended to be more relieved. He never confessed the reason for killing the three girls so brutally, but it didn't matter, the population would pretend to be peace again. Even if one of the boys who lived on the way to the clearing, claimed that he had seen a woman in white carrying the body across the road, dragging it into the forest.

The police always denied it, saying that there was no chance of a woman committing something as horrible as that, but the population never let themselves forget the legend. Sometimes, someone said that he had seen a woman dressed in a great bloodstained robe walking around the city. Another said he had seen her in the clearing. Another said that she was always around the slaughterhouse ..

And now, there was a woman in a white dress full of blood, an ax in her hand, in front of Harry's car, looking like the devil as she looked at them.

Her hair was blond and looked dirty with dirt and something Ginny hoped was not dried blood, her eyes were big and dark, like two holes in her pale, almost skeletal face, and all over her bust were marks of scrapes and cuts.

‘’The car doesn’t want to start’’ Harry almost screamed, turning the key and seeing that nothing was changing

''What?! No! I will not die! This shit will call and we'll go over that motherfucker'' Ginny shouted in response, nervous to the last strands of hair for seeing that the woman was starting to walk, using her free hand to clean what looked like blood dry, from her cheek.

''I do not know! Damn!’’ Harry hit the steering wheel, and the horn barely seemed to startle her, and maybe, she was already less than two meters away from them

‘‘Where’s the knife I always leave it here?’’ Ginny opened each compartment, shivering as she rummaged through Harry’s mess looking for metal

‘’She has a fucking ax, what the fuck are you going to do with a knife? She will kill you before you can say the word ‘Please’ ’’ He looked at her, looking like a piece of paper so white, then turning forward and moving the key again

‘’Harry, she’s getting close’’ Ginny whispered, terrified that the woman could hear her trembling voice

‘’I know, I’m trying’’ The blonde was walking more and more, starting to laugh like crazy, loudly and laughing with her head back, dragging the ax on the road floor, causing a terrible sound of the blade on the asphalt

''Trick or treat, sweeties?'' Her voice sounded loud but at the same time it seemed to be whispered, her black eyes blinked towards them both, and the moment she got close enough to touch the hood of the car, lifting her ax and ready to break the windshield, Harry managed to turn the key.

The noise of the engine echoed and the tires sang with the sharp reverse they made, moving further and further away from the woman who now ran towards them

‘’Go over it !!’’ Ginny screamed, terrified of how fast she could be

''I'm not going to jail!'' He also shouted, changing lanes so he could accelerate and got out of there, but he couldn't avoid when the woman threw herself on top of the car, rolling over the hood and falling on the road, staying still dirtier than before, but not looking dead. She was still laughing out loud and was able to move, looking like she wanted to get up.

'’Don't you dare stop. I swear Harry, I'll kill you!’’ Ginny felt her heart racing to the point of thinking she was having an attack, barely able to breathe properly ‘’ Accelerate and let’s go ’’

‘’Shit Gin!’’ Harry stepped on the gas, much faster than the law allowed, and left, feeling completely shaky ‘‘Damn I think I’m going to pass out’’

''I swear to you, if I hadn't gone to the bathroom before we left, I would have peed in my pants'' She took a deep breath ''What the fuck was that?'' Ginny asked, still looking back as if she expected see her again

''I do not know! Where did that fuck come from?’’ He said

‘’From hell’’ Ginny said. Harry had the audacity to laugh, but he didn't seem very happy ‘’I need a strong drink’’

‘’Me too’’ He replied, parking the car in the middle of the trees and listening to the sounds of music and conversations, some headlights were on and you could see the bodies walking from side to side. Harry squeezed Ginny's thigh, as if to confirm that she was there. ‘’Do you want to drink and then have sex in the back seat? I think I need to discharge the adrenaline’’

‘‘I don’t think you’ve ever come up with anything as good as this’’

#hinny #hinny au #harry x ginny #Harry Potter #Ginny Weasley #Harry and Ginny #halloween

42 notes · View notes

the-mighty-jellybean · 4 years

Text

Black & Blue

Bruise: an injury appearing as an area of discoloured skin on the body, caused by a blow or impact rupturing underlying blood vessels... are

Series Summary:

‘They littered her arms like splashes of watercolor paints, Steve couldn't stop staring, she pulled at the sleeves of her cardigan when she caught him. “I fell.” she muttered, pulling the fabric tight over her fragile body. All Steve wanted to do was pick her up, and put her in a box, like you would a broken bird. He wanted to fix this little bird, but he didn't know how.’

Pairing: Doctor!Steve x Reader, Brock x Reader

Series Warning: This story is going to be quite dark and heavy, and will contain heavy themes of domestic abuse. There will be: Violence and possible Noncon, if you are uncomfortable with any of these themes, please don't read, this book won't be for you.

Part One// Part Two// Part Three// Part Four// Part Five// Part Six// Part Seven// Part Eight// Part Nine// Part Ten// Part Eleven// Part Twelve// Part Thirteen// Part Fourteen// Part Fifteen// Part Sixteen// Part Seventeen//

Part Eighteen: Judgment Day

Chapter Warnings: Strong Language

Word Count: 3k

Y/N’s head rested on the cold porcelain of the bathtub, the water by now had gone cold, and she had just been laying in the chilled tub for over two hours. Steve had been sat outside the door, for just as long. Y/N had locked the door, and refused to let him in, feeling numb, not sure whether it was because of the events that had occurred a few hours ago, or the temperature of the women.

“Sweetheart, please let me in.” Steve begged, “let me in, please let me just hold you.”

The sound of the dripping tap was the only thing that she could hear. Her cheeks were stained, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from the bathtub, or the stream of tears that had leaked down her face.

How could things have gone so wrong; how could this have happened?

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

“Do the Prosecution have any more witnesses?” Judge Danvers turned to Shuri and Nakia, who’s heads were close together, as they frantically whispered between each other.

“Miss Nakia, Miss Shuri, do you have any more witnesses to bring against the Defence?” Carol asked once again, when the two were yet to respond to her question.

“Er, can we wait a moment?” Shuri tried to compromise.

“How long is a moment?” Zola chided, glaring at the women.

“Mr Zola, I will be the one to ask questions in my court.” Judge Danvers scolded, Zola visibly swallowing.

“We will postpone your witnessing, until Mr Zola has finished with his personal statement.” Judge Danvers decided, “Mr Zola please bring forward your character witness.”

“What are you waiting for?” Y/N whispered, Nakia couldn’t turn to look at her, and Shuri gave her a sad smile.

“We’re waiting for Peter.” Shuri explained.

“Where is he?” Steve leant forward.

“We don’t know.” Shuri shrugged, facing back to the front, as Brock’s character witness came to the stand.

“It’s okay, bubba, he’ll be here.” Steve promised. Y/N was not convinced, but she sat back in Steve’s arms, holding him close to her.

“I present the Defendants character witness, Baron Strucker.” The man took to the stand, and he made Y/N’s stomach sink. Strucker looked menacing, he stood tall on the stand, his face was fixed in a permanent sneer.

Clerk Carter stood from her chair, she seemed intimidated by the man, as she made her way sheepishly towards the stand.

Swearing him in, before hurriedly sitting back at the desk, looking at her own notes.

“Mr Strucker, you are Mr Rumlow’s acquaintance?” Judge Danvers clarified.

“Yes, I have known Mr Rumlow for over ten years.” Strucker confirmed.

“I’ve never seen this guy before in my life.” Y/N whispered, despite their relationship being over a year and half, she had never seen Mr Strucker in their house, or around Brock.

“How would you describe Mr Rumlow’s temper?” Judge Danvers asked.

“My dealing with Mr Rumlow has always been on a professional basis. He had represented me a lot in many different cases, he has always remained professional, and well mannered. I was late with some payments on a few occasions, and Mr Rumlow was always decent and understanding.”

“Mr Rumlow never appeared aggressive towards you?” Danvers pressed.

“No, never, he was successful among my female staff members, they would describe him as charming. If I wasn’t a perfectly straight man, I might even give him a go.” A chatter came around the court, the jury giggling like school children, Brock’s smile was broad, whilst Y/N’s heart pounded, when she saw the positive response from the jury.

“Mr Strucker if you could remain professional.” Judge Danvers berated.

“Sorry, what can I say, he’s pretty to look at.” Strucker complimented, Brock decided to have the guts to blow him a kiss, the laughter from the jury, making the sinking feeling more prominent.

“What is the nature of your business, Mr Strucker?”

“I’m involved in the protection industry.” Strucker spoke confidently, yet vaguely.

“If you could be more specific, Mr Strucker.” Judge Danvers requested, coldly.

“I work in private security, to a private cliental.” Strucker said, slightly less confidently.

“Has Mr Rumlow ever required your services?” Judge Danvers began to sway the conversation.

“Um…on a few occasions.” Strucker replied, sceptically.

“What about on the evening of June 10th this year, when Dr Bruce Banner was attacked in his residence?” Strucker appeared to choke on his own spit, Zola’s face paled.

“I-er, don’t work in the private police sector, I don’t beat people up for money.” Strucker began to stammer, looking to Zola for help, but he could do nothing but flip through his file, hoping to find a way out of this.

“But you did receive a wire transfer of $10,000 from Mr Rumlow, a few days before hand, what was that for?” Judge Danvers leant on her fist, eyeing the now sweating and panicky man on the stand.

“I didn’t-wait I did-but it wasn’t…but…wait.”

“Would you like to step down please, Mr Strucker.” Judge Danvers waved him from the stand, “Miss Shuri, Miss Nakia, has your witnessed arrived yet?”

“Not quite, please a few more moments?” Nakia begged.

“If it helps to buy the Prosecution more time, I have another witness to present?” Zola piped up, smiling broadly.

“Well, if the Prosecution don’t have a witness to provide, then you may bring forward another witness.” Danvers sighed.

Y/N craned her head to see a tall, slimly built, woman, emerged from the crowd, sat behind Brock. She prowled to the stand, looking up through her eye lashes, doing slow and sultry blinks to the jury.

“Members of the jury I would like to present, Miss Tabitha Lima.” Zola’s smile couldn’t have gone any wider, and the wicked smile on Brock’s face was just as prominent, as he eyed Y/N, who was watching the woman, with just as much confusion as she had done with Strucker.

“What is your relation to Mr Rumlow?” Zola leant against the stand, like he was some love-struck Romeo.

“I’m Mr Rumlow’s ex-girlfriend.” Y/N’s head could have exploded, she couldn’t believe what she had just heard, she didn’t have a clue who this woman was.

“How long were you and Mr Rumlow, in a relationship for?” Zola asked.

“Just over three years.” Tabitha responded.

“That’s quite a significant amount of time, did you and Mr Rumlow live together at any point during your relationship?”

“Yes, we moved in after a year of being together, it was his idea, as I was struggling to maintain my house, because I was so busy with my work for UNICEF.” Y/N wanted to roll her eyes, there was no way this woman worked for UNICEF, but by the looks of the jury, that at this point Y/N had noticed, were a majority of white men, seemed taken by the alien-like being stood before them.

“I assume in your three-year relationship; you did engage in a sexual relationship?” Zola licked his lips, making all the women in the room shudder, but not out of admiration. A chill going through most of the females.

“Yes, Mr Rumlow and I would engage in regular sexual endeavours.” Tabitha replied, with a little giggle, that to the male ear, sounded cute, however; it was similar to nails on a chalkboard for the women in the room.

“Would you describe sex with Mr Rumlow as consensually rough?” Zola fiddled with his jacket, seemingly pulling it over his crouch.

“Yes, our sex life, was closely linked to S and M, style.” Tabitha appeared to make her cheeks blush, but only to an extent of a light rose, again making herself look as enticing as a siren.

“Okay, can you please step-down Miss Lima, I think we have heard enough.” Judge Danvers stopped the questioning in its tracks.

Tabitha bowed her head as a ‘sign of respect’, then disappearing into the crowd behind Brock, the male members of the jury watching her every step.

“Miss Shuri, Miss Nakia, this is my last call, have you got your third witness?”

Shuri and Nakia looked at each other, Shuri dropped her head, placing her hand across her forehead, staring at the worn wood of her desk.

“No, your honour, they haven’t arrived.” Nakia said, defeatedly.

“Very well. Members of the jury, you have heard all of the testimony concerning this case. It is now up to you to determine the facts. You and you alone, are the judges of the fact. Once you decide what facts the evidence proves, you must then apply The Law as I give it to you to the facts as you find them. I will now call recess whilst the jury take a moment to decide their verdict, please leave the court, whilst the jury deliberate.” Judge Danvers brought down her gavel. People from the back began to filter out, soon Y/N and Steve were walking out, gathering in the foyer.

“What are we going to do, we haven’t given enough statements, did you see the jury’s faces, they don’t believe me, who the hell is Tabitha, I’ve never heard of her, she’s flirted Brock out of jail, what are we going to do.” Y/N buried her head in Steve’s chest, he rubbed up and down her back, quietly shushing her.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, everyone’s done their best, it’s going to be okay. The way Danvers took down Zola’s questioning. I promise, we’re going to be fine.” Steve assured her, kissing her forehead.

“She dismissed Shuri as well though, and the jury are all men, they won’t believe me, where is Peter?” Steve could tell that she was getting more and more worked up, her chest was heaving, and she was clutching at her stomach, her eyes were wide and her skin slightly sweaty.

“Breathe, sweetie, breathe for me.” Steve tried to calm her, “deep breaths, bubba.”

Y/N began to take long, yet jagged breaths, through her nose, eventually calming her down.

After an hour or so, Clerk Carter came from the court room, holding a clipboard.

“Please may the defendant and his representatives, please enter the courtroom, along with the Prosecutions and it’s Plaintiffs.” She ordered, before turning back into the court room, holding the door open, trying not to grit her teeth, as Zola and the rest of Brock’s team, returned to the courtroom.

Y/N and Steve, following behind Shuri and Nakia, back into their benches, and desks.

The jury had filed back out into the courtroom, Judge Danvers had resumed to her bench, her gavel prominent in her hand.

“Have you reached a verdict?” Judge Danvers asked, the man, who had stood as the spokesperson for the jury.

“We have your honour.” The man addressed.

“On the count of violations against the Money Laundering Control Act of 1986, is the defendant guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty.”

“On the count of conspiracy to commit murder, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty.”

The Prosecution side of the room had erupted into choruses of disgust; Nakia sank back into her chair, her head going to her hands, Mayor T’Challa cursed allowed, making Danvers slam her gravel on the desk.

“Silence.” She demanded, “On the charges of Aggravated Battery, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?”

Y/N held her breath, Steve did the same, crossing his fingers for his friend’s charge, desperate for justice.

“Guilty.”

Y/N chest became hollow, she looked at Steve, who gave her a look of hope, pushing his forehead against his.

“On the count of violation, the Violence Against Women Act, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?”

Once again Y/N heart was thudding, she gripped at Steve’s hand, he held her just as tight.

“Not Guilty.”

“On the count of Sexual Battery, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?”

“Not Guilty.”

Y/N’s world collapsed around her, the once elated feeling, had now transformed into pain and anguish. They didn’t believe she had been raped; they didn’t think that she had been impregnated against her will, they didn’t think she had been beaten.

Steve had frozen next to her, unsure of what her face looked like, as he had his chin resting on her head.

“I will now begin sentencing.” Judge Danvers continued, throw the pounding of Y/N heart.

“Mr Rumlow you have been found guilty of violation the Money Laundering Control Act of 1986, Aggravated Battery, you will be given a two-year suspended sentence, and will be forced to pay Dr Bruce Banner a fine in the amount of $25,000. As well as, be forced to pay the state of New York a fine in the amount of $2 million.

Y/N doesn’t remember much after that, her vision went blurry, Steve was calling her name, but the only thing clear in her mind, was the grinning face of Brock.

~~~~~~

Steve had carried her most of the way to the hotel, had run her the bath, and then the moment the door had closed, she locked and had now been laying in the frozen water for just over three hours, recounting the moments that had passed.

“Sweetheart, please don’t make me kick the door down, it’s not safe for you to be in the cold water for this long.” Steve bargained, pressing his ear to the door, hoping to hear any sign of movement.

Thankfully he heard the gentle sloshing of the bath, and then the soft click of the lock. Steve was slightly startled, when he opened the door to see Y/N was stood in front of him completely naked, the water rolling off her body, dripping onto the floor.

He relaxed seeing the distant look on her face, making his heart clench, reaching for the towel on the wall, and wrapping her up.

“You’re freezing, bubba,” Steve frowned when he touched her chilled skin, “Let’s get you warmed up.” Steve leads her from the bathroom, sitting her on the edge of the bed grabbing her some changes of clothes.

“Lift your leg, sweetie.” Steve spoke softly. Emotionlessly, she lifted her feet one by one, letting Steve pull his joggers up her legs.

“Arms up.” Y/N lifted her arms, the moment Steve had settled the t-shirt on her chilled figure, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“Oh sweetheart.” Steve sighed, “I’m here, I’m going to look after you and this baby, I promise, nothing will ever happen to you, my gorgeous girl.”

Y/N just pushed her head harder into his chest, wanting his touch and feel to take away her pain.

“Why? Why didn’t they believe me?” Y/N sobbed, her being shaking.

“I don’t know, poppet, I wish I could do something.” Steve had to take his own deep breaths, as he feared he would begin to break down.

Steve lifted her up, and settled her into the bed, remembering to keep her on her side. He was about to crawl in next to her, but then his phone vibrates, and he pulled away, letting her settle herself.

Running to the bathroom he answered the call.

“Hello.” The sound of Bucky’s voice made Steve crumble, he slumped against the door, and the tears began to roll.

“Steve, Steve are you okay? Has something happened to Y/N, the baby?” Bucky’s worried tone, echoes from the receiver, and Steve catches his breath.

“No, no nothing like that. Not guilty. Not guilty to everything, apart from Bruce’s charge, and the money laundering. He’s got away, with fucking everything.” Steve slammed his head on the back of the door, as he recounted the verdict of the court.

“Oh Steve, I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry, when do you guys think you’ll be heading back.” Steve chewed on his lip.

“That’s the thing, Buck. He got a suspended sentence, means no jail time. In the eyes of the law he’s not dangerous, which means we don’t need to stay in a safe house anymore. It means they won’t offer us protection.” Steve croaks, Sam had texted him after the trail, once Shuri had told him what had happened at court.

Steve was pissed, his best friend had told him over the phone, that the NYPD and FBI would no longer be providing protection for him and his family.

“Shit.” Was all Bucky could come up with.

“Buck, I’ve got to go, I’ve put Y/N to bed, but she’s not going to be able to sleep without me.” Steve sighs.

“Okay, bud. I’ll call you in the morning. Take care of that girl, we’ll think of something when I get home, don't worry Stevie, we’ll keep Y/N safe.”

Steve ended the call, placing his phone back in his pocket, pushing up off the door, he walked back into the room, seeing Y/N was still shivering on the bed, the duvet pulled tight around her neck.

Steve slide in next to her, she eased her grip on the covers, so that he could hook his arms around her belly. Her skin was so cold, it nearly hurt for Steve to touch it.

They laid there for a few more moments, Steve’s hands just gently caressing her bump, trying to warm the skin surrounding the infant.

Then he felt it, it was subtle, but he noticed. A little nudge against the palm of his hand. He sat up, wondering if Y/N had felt it too. When he saw that she hadn’t moved, seeming unphased by the kicking baby in her womb.

“Sweetheart, can you feel that?” Steve tried to encourage some kind of reaction, but she remained still, “Sweetie, I think the baby’s kicking.”

Y/N just kept Steve’s hand close, and eyes fixed on the wall opposite.

Steve realised now was not the time to try and engage with Y/N, and settled back against her, rubbing his hands over her bump, feeling the baby’s little kicks.

“I love you, Y/N.”

A/N: Yes. Yes I did just play with your emotions like that.

Part Nineteen//

Taglist:

@this-is-a-chilis-drive-thru @cutie1365 @saiyanprincesswanie @pasaaloquepasaa @emma-is-a-nerd @traumschiffe @putinovertime @vibraniumdaisies @brownsugur @speechlessxx @winchester-wifey @buckys-forgotten-plum @lou-la-lou @candy-and-writing

#steve rogers #steve x reader #steve fic #steve angst #brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow #dark fic #dark steve fic #dark marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel prompt #domestic abuse #adult themes #reader insert

126 notes · View notes

v3nusaphr0d1t3 · 3 years

Text

day six: protective

@omegaverse-sfw-week content warnings: unwanted flirting, slight alchohol mention

It took longer than expected for Ezekiel to finally meet Oscar’s pack. And to Oscar’s expectations, Eloise was elated. She practically jumped the smaller boy when she first met him, only a couple weeks before Ezekiel asked Oscar to date officially. She hugged him and asked about a million questions at the speed of light, then turned to Oscar, prattled off to him in Spanish— a language Ezekiel was familiar with, but not fluent in. His lessons as a boy had always been in English and Swahili. Ezekiel stood there, silently as the other boy, Vincenzo, put a hand on Eloise’s shoulder, her next words to Oscar dying on her tongue.

Considering Oscar’s chill nature, he didn’t expect his pack leader to be so very energetic. It seems the other two men were excited to meet him, but less eager to jump him. They introduced themselves, Vincenzo and Mateo respectively. And the very eager woman before him was introduced as Eloise. Ezekiel gave them a soft smile, and he felt the air around his legs swish as Eloise’s long fluffy brown tail began to wag. Oscar kicked her in the shin, thinking that Ezekiel didn’t notice, but Ezekiel decided to shock when he spoke his first words to the group aloud.

“Don’t kick her, she’s excited.” His voice was quiet and calm and slightly accented, wrapping around the words differently as being raised equally trilingual had caused him to think of words in a strange way. Eloise’s smile was ear to ear, as she dragged him by the wrist to a booth in the corner of Oscar’s parents’ tavern. She got them all drinks, as they all got to talking. Ezekiel loved the group environment, a type of warmth that he wasn’t used to flooding his limbs as he looked around at the smiling face, room filled with laughter and conversation. He learned of their funny antics growing up, their strange group-courting of Vincenzo, even some stuff about their childhoods. In turn, he shared some stories of his own of him and Florence and the help terrorizing his parents and older sister, Esther.

There was a culture shock among them, Ezekiel shocked at how regular people didn’t receive help constantly, or weren’t smothered and scheduled every second of every day. The others were more shocked of all his possessions, despite his kindness. They told him they had never met someone rich who wasn’t an absolute shit. Ezekiel told them that it was not due to his own efforts, rather Florence humbling him often as a child. She would call him out, and she was the only child in the country other than Esther who even touched him. She kept him humble, aware and she loved him with everything she had. He was always incredibly grateful to her.

“Well, you didn’t tell us you had a pack of your own!” Eloise said, surprise evident in her tone. Ezekiel raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“But I don’t?”

“Dude, what do you call Flora—”

“Florence.” Mateo quietly corrected her, earning a small smile from Ezekiel that sent him

giggling into Oscar’s shoulder, a bit of a drunkened flush covering his cheeks.

“What do you call Florence then? You said you let her have free reign over all of your

stuff, she takes you everywhere with her, she’s been for best friend for years, and what, she’s just a nice girl? That’s a bond of its own, babe.” She said, slight shock painted on her features.

“Well— We never thought about it that way, it just wasn’t ever told to us.” Ezekiel shrugged.

“We gotta meet her some time!” Mateo smiled softly.

Ezekiel squealed on the inside, loving that they wanted to meet his best friend. He just nodded. They talked long into the night, drinks going by before Mateo convinced them to go out dancing. Ezekiel was thrilled at the idea of more excitement, and the rest of them were willing to follow along with whatever Ezekiel wanted to do, so they found a nice bar that had a dance floor and they took to walking. It took them a moment to arrive, and Eloise had asked if Ezekiel was cold about five times, but when they finally did get there, they took to taking turns swinging Mateo and Ezekiel around, Oscar mostly staying to watch the drinks while his pack got to know his hopeful future mate.

And unprompted, a man called out from the crowd.

“Hey princess! You here for some fun?” His voice was deep, and held a sense of entitlement that made Oscar’s bones rattle. Not to mention Eloise, who Oscar could see was practically steaming at the poor boy being catcalled. Ezekiel stopped mid-spin, as if confused that such a man would even speak in his direction. He raised an eyebrow, his arms still around Mateo, who was still swaying, unaware of his own surroundings.

“Are you talking to me?” Ezekiel’s voice held a drop of sarcasm, Florence talking him through what to do if some jerk ever hit on him.

“Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you.” The man stepped closer, out of the slightly crown and starting to approach the boy in question. Ezekiel’s feathers ruffled as he puffed them up unintentionally, an instinct to look bigger, as he really didn’t want his first ass-whooping to be this public.

But without him even having to raise a hand, he heard a zap behind him. Vincenzo was standing, with a taser, towering over him as he did all four of them.

“Come closer if you wanna lose a limb.” He said, simple, as he activated his taser yet again, a quick ‘brrrap’ that sent the man scurrying into the crowd again.

Ezekiel removed himself from Mateo’s arms for a moment, turning around to Vincenzo to give him a hug and a huge grin.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be the upstander, out of them all.” Ezekiel murmured just loud enough for Vincenzo to hear.

“Yeah, they wanna let you do your own thing. They’re afraid if they seem too clingy, you’ll run. I just saw the look in your eye and thought you could use some help giving that dickwad a little shock.” Vincenzo laughed at his own joke, slipping his taser back into his back pocket as he twirled Ezekiel.

“Thanks.”

#day 6 protective #omegaverse sfw week #omegaverse #a/b/o

3 notes · View notes

nrsranger · 3 years

Text

2.6

Hosnian System

Raysho Station

Main Hanger

0813 hrs

L.T Colonel Jawook never thought of himself as an overly violent Wookie, and yet here he was, approaching his 250th year, and storming a boarded New Republic Space Station and here he thought his days of heroics were over. Jawook looked around his transport and into the eyes of the 24 other Wookies seated around him that made up his Marine Detachment. Speces discrimination is not a practice the New Reubublic exersiced but ever since Captian Namin apointed Jawook and the dozen Wookies as the Marine Detachment aboard the Ranger, the only Marines alowed aboard the Ranger must speak and understand Shyriiwook fluently which only left Wookies and a miniscule amount of humanoids. What Captain Namin figured was that if he had to have Marines, he must have the best possible Marines. To the disapproval of the Senate and to the virtue of clear communication all his Marines had to be Wookies. The fact that Wookies stood around 2.5 meters and weighed in on an average of 150 Kilos helped a bit. Every time Captain Namin received the roaster of each Academy he always checked for Wookies, and throughout the years he built up his dozen Marines to a team of 24 of the toughest and most Elite Wookie Warriors. Each Wookie was assigned a hovering translator droid in case of interaction with so-called “non-Wooks” due to budget cuts most of them were repurposed recon droids.

Jawook jostled his head and checked his gear, his Bowcaster was at full power and his extra power packs were secure on his belt next to his two grenades and his Ryyk blade was secure on his back.

“We're entering the hanger now 10 seconds until green” L.t Lila Driver said in rough but understandable Shyriiwook that she learned by years of tutoring by Jawook.

Jawook gruffed once, getting the attention of the other Wookies as they turned and peered his direction, he shouted a Wookie battle cry, The other Wookies repeated the battle cry which roughly translated to “May we return home to see the trees grow big”.

“Were Green, REPEAT door is green” Driver said, flipping the switch that opened the transports doors.

Jawook jumped off the transport and onto the cold metal deck of the hanger bay. He took in the situation the three enemy transports crowed the hanger bay, he also took in the sight of five white clad stormtroopers who Jawook figured were assigned to secure the transports. He took sight of one stormtrooper with a grey pauldron that he figured was the officer and fired his Bowcaster hitting the officer square in his chest, flinging him at the opposing wall. The other Wookies followed suit and annihilated the other four. He signaled two of his Wookies who disengage themselves from the group and planted explosives on the engines of the enemy transports. He then howled into his comm as his Wookies split into two groups each taking separate passages.

“Roger that Jawook” L.t Driver said, pulling out of the hangar bay “Hey Joker you still out there?”

“Yeah Wookie were here, we’ll take care of you” Joker said gently but playfully

“Good, this might be a long wait and you make good conversation…..and other things” Wookie said

“Are you flirting with me Wookie?” Joker said

“Only sport flirting, and I was referring to your caff” Wookie said rolling her eyes

Several sniffs and huffs from Jawook caused Diver to say “Sorry Jawook, we’ll switch to a different channel.

“What did he say?” Joker asked

“Isn’t evident?” Wookie said then a click marked the switch to a different channel

With a final gruff in much annoyance of his channel being jammed with his best friend's daughter flirting with a Squad Leader. But he signaled his team of 12 Wookies to move in as Major Snrykk made the same signal to his team. Snrykk’s team was to secure the engineering section to protect from a First Order attempt to blow up the reactor core. Jawook’s team would head to the bridge and seal off any attempt to secure the station.

As Jawook lead his team clearing the station hallway, by hallway all the way up to the bridge the sound of blaster fire caught his attention, he signaled for his team to hold position he then sent his translator droid equipped with a camera to turn the corner of the junction they were at. Jawook checked the display and saw that the station security set up a defensive position at the end of the hallway where a shut door terminated the hallway complete with hip durasteel walls with two Humans, two Duros and a single Twilek fighter firing down the passageway. Attempting to breach this position was 10 Storm Troopers. Jawook then sent his droid flying through the skirmish to get to the New Republics line.

When it arrived it said in a mechanical falsetto tone “On the orders of Lieutenant Colonel Jawook of the Rangers Marine Detachment, stop firing and fall back”

“What?!?, NO!!” One of the Duro Marines said

In that calm droid voice it relayed Jawooks message “You're about to be overrun and to prevent a friendly fire incident, fall back now!”

“What thinks you can take them?” The same Duro said

“You are five twigs, we are 12 Wookies' ' The Droid said approximating a translation.

“That's good enough for me” One of the humans said as he opened the door, climbed through, turned back around and provided covering fire for his comrades when they were all through ,the Human said

“ok, were clear”

Jawook placed his Bowcaster behind his back and drew his Ryyk Blade and turned the corner and ran up behind the nearest Storm Trooper, and plunged his sword through the Storm Trooper back, which caused a short cry of pain that went unnoticed due to the sound of blaster fire from his comrades he then went behind the next one a ran him through, but this time he was noticed by Storm Trooper to the left of him, he gave a shout of alarm which ended when Jawook swung his blade and lopped off the Troopers head. This time the remaining seven troopers turned around, and Jawook gave a terrifying war roar that shook the walls of the corridor. With his blade he sliced through the neckpeice of the storm troopers armor and with his free hand he punched the trooper next to him causing him to crumble into a heap a meter away, he then flattened against the floor as he heard another Wookies cry behind him. The other 11 Wookie formed up blocking the entire passageway in walking hairy carpets armed with Bowcasters. Just as the storm troopers fixed their aim to the wall of fur, Bowcasters filled the coorador with green laser bolts flinging white armored troopers against the durasteel blocks the other marines used as cover.

As the remaining Marines came out of the doorway they looked the Wookies up and down clearly impressed, they all took a step back as Jawook growled but then the translator droid kicked in and said “We are trying to get to the bridge, are we close?”

“Ah, yes,sir you are, through that corridor then the third door on your right” The Twleik said

“Good, Good it is secure?” Jawook said via the droid

“Yes sir; however, we cannot withstand another attack 10 men were assigned to protect the bridge, we are the only five remaining” The Duro said favoring his right arm which had a blast burn clearly visible.

“Understood, I will have a squad stay here and help you defend the bridge” the droid said then Jawook looked at Captain Drhry and snarled with over exaggerated head motions communicated to Captain Drhry that he and his six men should stay here.

“And where are you going?” The Twilk asked

Jawook picked up the Storm Trooper he punched who was now beginning to come back and set him up against the back wall to the right of the door and pulled a cooling pack from his first aid kit and and dropped it in his lap

“When he wakes up tell him to set this against his head, as for me I am going to take back this station” Jawook said as the droid translated he pulled his bowcaster from its place on his back.

Jawook and the other six Wookies made their way to join Major Snrykkk and Squads one and two. They did not get far when they came across five stormtroopers trying to slice their way through a locked door that was labbed SpaceDock One it was the main access route used to get to the New Star Hawk Heavy Cruiser. They were laid with multiple bags of explosives ment, for the heavy cruiser currently under construction. Jawook took careful aim and fired a precise bolt kocking a storm trooper off his feet and depositing him a few meters away. The other four turned and aimed their blasters and opened fire. Several grunts and roars from Captain Oufish warned the other Wookies to mind their aim because if they hit those explosives the entire block will be wiped out. The fire fight continued with the StormTroopers wounding two Wookies, in return the Wookies killed two more storm troopers. The Wookie Bowcaster seldom left wounds if the bolt was not a direct kill then the trauma it caused made it almost impossible for any battlefield medic to treat. The two remaining storm troopers kept on firing, but when Captain Outfish scored a direct hit against a stormtrooper, the final storm trooper lowered his blaster and began scrambling for a small device left on the floor. Jawook recognized it as a detonator, without thinking he dropped his Bowcaster and pulled his Ryyk blade and charged. When StormTrooper finally grabbed it and looked up to see 2.5 meter Wookie charging he fired his blaster twice. Jawook didn't even stop but he swung his Ryyk blade and decapitated, the Trooper in one swipe. The detonator dropped from his hand and landed on the deck with a clang which was drowned out with a larger clang as Jawook dropped to the deck. Captain Oufish and the other Wookies leapt forward to help their wounded comrade, but as they flipped his body over it was too late, the last breath left hip lips and the last blood dripped from his paws.

Just then the comm crackled to life and through a growls and roars Captain Outfish realized that Major Snrykkk was saying that the remaining white beetles were fleeing back to the pods. Captain Outfish kneeled by his fallen C.O and grabbed his Ryyk Blade and moved his squad back to the main hanger, as they arrived he saw a trail of white armor leading to transports that were taking off. Major Snrykkk and Squads 1 and 2 were spraying continuous fire. As the transports left the energy barrier, Major Snrykkk walked to the edge of the barrier then pulled out his detonator, and pressed the big red button, and off in the distance three distant explosions clashed with the Star Scape.

Just then the Captain Drhry and his squad assigned to protect the bridge, appeared through a door joined by the five non-wooks and one additional Duro after hearing that the Storm Troopers were in full retreat and made their way to the hangar. They all gathered in the back center of the hanger and counted. After every mission Jawook always said that this was the worst feeling in the universe, to count and be one short. Captain Oufish explained what happened and every gigantic Wookie eye fell on Major Snrykk. Who pulled out his comm and called L.t Lila Driver.

“Hey guys, what up” she said cheerfully

The Comm was filled with the roars and snarled

“Alrighty, my escort I will pick you up!” She said

A few minutes later the Transport shuttle and an X-wing came into view. As they switched to repulsors then touched down, the Wookies were gathered in a tight circle. As Lila jumped out of the transport she made her way to the Wookies.

“Hey, guys” she stammered seeing something was wrong “what’s going on”

They said nothing, but the circle broke up into a more or less a crescent moon and at the center was Captain Oufish holding out Jawook’s Ryyk Blade. As Joker climbed out of his X-Wing he noticed that Lila without a single word walked up to Captain Oufish and accepted the newly cleaned blade, Joker noticed that Lila’s tears flowed freely. Then when she grabbed the blade, rotated it horizontally and bowed, the Wookies let out a roar so terrible and fighting that Joker took a reflexive step behind the land strut of his X-Wing. His bones rattled and his ears rang with the rage and sadness of the Wookies at the loss of their Commander. But then his eye caught sight of a Duro timidly walking his way, from his uniform Joker gathered that it was the station commander,

“Hello I’m Captain Chino, I’m the Station Commander”

“Hi, I’m Joker” Joker introduced himself

“I-I can’t thank you and your men enough for saving our lives” Chino said with great sadness

“Just doing our duty sir,” Joker said with a hint of sad optimism

“We finally recovered our sensor logs and we pieced together what happened to the Hosnian System” Chino said.

“Good, the Admiral is on his way” Joker said “and he wants answers”.

#star wars #new republic #writing #fan fiction

1 note · View note

dottie-wan-kenobi · 4 years

Link

A @batfam-christmas-stocking fic written for @renecdote!! happy holidays <3

----

Alternate universes suck so much. Tim has always known that, but he’s never really grasped it, not until he and Dick were forcibly thrown into one a week ago.

Gotham feels different, even though it doesn’t appear that way on the surface. The violence is more personal, less showy, and as far as they’ve seen, there are almost no super villains. Somehow, though, there’s more crime on the whole, every corner of every street host to pimps and drug dealers and traffickers.

Tim tries to fight it, tries to intervene, but Dick pulls him back. “We can’t risk it, you know that.”

He does. But that doesn’t make it easier. “They need our help,” Tim fires back, everything he’s ever been taught about bettering the world, the pressure of saving people, battering around in his mind.

“It’s not our world or our place,” Dick explains, and for all that he sounds apologetic, his eyes don’t stray away from the shadowy parts of the street where they can hear people being hurt.

Dick is a good actor, but Tim can read him like a book. He’s following the protocols put in place for dimensional travel, playing the I’m The Big Brother And I’m In Charge card, but he doesn’t like it anymore than Tim does.

The rules are what they are for a reason, and Tim knows that. Grudgingly, he lets Dick pull him away, go back to their own little shadowy corners. They sleep on cardboard they find in dumpsters, huddling up for warmth. In the mornings, they go to the local library, hoping to fill out some of their knowledge on this world, since no rescue or way out otherwise is forthcoming.

There, sitting at the outdated computers, they find out that Martha and Thomas Wayne are still dead. Bruce wasn’t 8 when it happened, though—he was 16. He got shot too, making it painful and difficult to walk or move in general. According to one interview from a few years before, he’s kept on bedrest a lot, and has been in and out of physical therapy ever since it happened, now fifteen years prior. When he’s not doing that, he’s campaigning for control of Wayne Enterprises and tweeting about coffee.

There’s no Batman. Not like how they know him, at least.

One day, Dick flirts with a cop and Tim pickpockets the man’s scanner, and they learn that whole case files, suspects and evidence all neatly put together, have been sent to the GCPD over the past six years. They never see anyone fly overhead, though. At first, they think it might be Babs, but when they try to look her up, Tim finds that she’s been locked up in Arkham for at least the last four years.

Neither one of them want to know why, so they just don’t look into it any further. “This isn’t our Babs,” Dick reminds himself, and Tim, too. But mostly himself. “She’s not .”

They share a look, and don’t have to say anything to know it’s time to compartmentalize. This Babs isn’t their Babs. This Bruce isn’t their Bruce. This world doesn’t have the Joker or Poison Ivy or any of them except Two Face and the Penguin. This isn’t their world .

“Come on,” Dick murmurs, sticking close to his side as they leave the library. As they head to their latest alley, they pass all kinds of drug deals and gang members beating the shit out of people. By the time they actually get to where they’ve been staying, they’re both so tense, one smartass comment from Tim is all it takes to snap them into an argument.

”I’m sorry,” Tim says after they’ve gone back and forth a few times, sounding hostile even to himself. “I’m so sorry I can’t see things the same way you do. I’m sorry I’m not perfect Dick Grayson , who always knows what to do without even having to think about it, who always does the right thing, who is totally fine letting all these people suffer, because it’s in the protocol!”

He doesn’t even believe his own words. Tim’s just upset, unable to handle living on the streets for a week in a universe where everything is unfamiliar and grim, lashing out against one of the only things he can control. Dick is all he has here—and spending that much time with someone, let alone one of his brothers, would be hard even in the best of circumstances.

Dick flinches, and Tim only has a second to feel bad before the flash of a reflection from a gun in the window above them catches his attention. He moves on instinct, stepping forward and trying to pull Dick down even as Dick tries to move towards the mouth of the alley, protective to a fault. The bullet hits Dick’s left shoulder with a sickening and familiar crack-thwack .

For a moment, everything is silent, slow motion. Dick sucks in a pained breath, stumbling back a few steps, and Tim hopes and prays the bullet hasn’t hit an artery.

And then Tim twists to face the mouth of the alley and books it towards him, jumping on the bastard and bringing him to the ground. He rips the gun away and lets all of his pent-up anger and stress out, punching and punching. It’s only Dick, gritting his teeth and clutching his shoulder, calling out his name that saves the guy’s teeth from actually being knocked out.

Panting and shaking with fury and adrenaline, Tim stands. “Are you okay?” He demands.

“Fine,” Dick replies. “We—we should go.”

“Yeah, okay.” But he bends down instead, patting the guy’s pockets until he finds what he’s looking for: a wallet. As he rifles through, searching for a driver’s license or state ID, he explains. “We need to know who he is. If he’s working for Harvey….”

They both shudder at the thought, but the truth is worse. The name is Italian, familiar to Tim from a bust a few years before. He’s one of Maroni’s men.

Another thing they learned during their hours of research at the library: seven years ago, Haly’s Circus came through town. Bruce Wayne didn’t attend, or more likely, couldn’t. Mary and John Grayson fell to their deaths, and once it became clear that little Dick Grayson, only eight years old, knew something about the murderers, he ran. He’s been missing ever since, and if he’s still alive, then the Maronis are probably still on the lookout for him. Tony Zucco, apparently, is still alive. Still working Gotham’s underbelly, terrorizing and murdering. The Dick Grayson native to this universe is a threat to them.

They probably heard me say Dick’s name , Tim realizes, tucking the wallet away in the man’s pockets. Which means he was shot because of me. Fuck.

----

Big brothers, Tim finds, are fucking heavy. Especially when they’ve been shot and are steadily losing blood. When they’re dead weight, fading in and out of consciousness. When they’re relying totally on Tim to drag the both of them to uncertain refuge in an unfamiliar city.

And Tim…he wants to be someone Dick can rely on. (Obviously, he already is, but his anxiety says maybe this is just who Dick is. Tim could be anyone and the situation would be the same. Still, it would be better for Dick if Tim was Damian, instead. Or Bruce. Or Donna. Or anyone but himself, really.) But more than anything, he wants someone who can help Dick, who can keep him alive. Living on the streets the way they are just doesn’t lend much in the way of medical supplies.

Tim drags Dick all the way to the clinic, based on a vague awareness that it exists here, too. When they get there, though, the building is obviously abandoned, Leslie nowhere to be found. Wherever she is, he doesn’t know, but he hopes she’s okay. He can’t think of a situation that would keep her from helping the people of Gotham. Still, he sets Dick up against the wall and breaks in, hoping for something useful, and finding nothing inside but rubble and evidence of homeless people using the space for shelter.

He goes back to Dick, feeling like the world is ending. They don’t have any first aid supplies, and even if they did, even if a first aid kit fell out of the sky right now and Tim could patch Dick up, it wouldn’t mean anything. This only happened because Tim wasn’t paying attention, wasn’t thinking to be careful. It could happen again. What does he do then?

What would Bruce do? Roy? Wally? Diana or Clark? Hell, Kon ? Any of them could help Dick so much more right now. More than Tim can or will ever be able to. And really, what good is Tim if he can’t even keep his brother alive?

Aware the thoughts aren’t helpful right now, he shelves them for later and looks back at Dick, cataloguing everything he sees like Bruce taught them to do. Dick’s still steadily bleeding out, and though that’s most concerning of all, Tim finds the only thing he can think about is how they don’t have clean clothes so Dick can walk around in something not soaked in blood.

With a strangled shout, Tim kicks the wall. It doesn’t affect him, much—thank god he’d been wearing steel-toed shoes when they were transported here—but the brief release feels good. Sort of. It’d be a lot better if he were still laying into the Maroni guy, if he’s honest.

“Tim,” Dick says, both reproachful and concerned.

“Shut up,” Tim replies, dragging his fingers through his hair. His mind is racing. He wants to go home so badly his chest aches with it.

Dick knows him well enough that he can sense what Tim is thinking. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, Tim. No . We can’t.”

“Where else are we supposed to go?” Tim cries out. It’s a stupid idea, it’s against the protocol, and they’ve already talked about it anyway. They’d agreed it’s stupid and they can’t do it and moved on. But he can’t help feeling the impulse, especially now.

“Stephanie’s,” Dick shoots back immediately. But they both know it’s not possible—here, Steph is another face on the dozens of missing persons posters that litter the city. He realizes it a second too late, and stumbles over his next words. “Just, anywhere but there.”

Jason is dead, has been for years now. Damian doesn’t exist. Cass is in Star City with Dinah Lance. Luke and the other members of the Fox family have never lived in this Gotham. Duke’s parents are still alive—they recently moved to Blüdhaven, and took their young son with them. Harper and Cullen are nowhere to be found, but Tim tells himself that’s a good thing—it means they aren’t in the obituaries. Kate is overseas on a honeymoon with her wife. Half of the Titans and Justice League don’t seem to exist, and the ones that do wouldn’t step foot in this cesspit of crime and drugs.

‘Anywhere but there’ means nothing. Nowhere. There’s no place for them to go, no one who can or even would help.

The words, or maybe the thoughts that come with them, wear Dick out. He starts to fade again, eyes slipping closed, and that means Tim’s in charge.

And Tim? Tim wants to go home .

He grabs Dick, keeping him from sliding down the wall, throws his brother’s arm over his shoulder, and starts off towards the Manor with every ounce of determination he can muster.

----

Several hours later, when it’s dark and Dick is pale and mostly silent, barely keeping up, they make it home. Everything feels different: the security that allows them to get all the way up the drive (after only a little effort on Tim’s part), the trees oddly placed and the doors and shutters all painted a light blue instead of the rusty red he’s used to. It’s disorienting and upsetting. Home is supposed to be familiar and it’s not and he hates it.

Tim knocks on a side door that only family knows about, hoping against hope it won’t be Bruce that answers. He doubts it, but he’s positive he won’t be able to keep his composure in front of his dad. It’ll be a little easier with Alfred. Probably. In any case, Alfred is the better option of the two.

While they wait, Dick mumbles, “This is stupid.”

Tim presses his hand against the wound, trying not to be impatient. Trying not to feel sick with nerves. He doesn’t reply, knowing Dick isn’t really paying attention right now.

When the door finally opens, Tim could collapse with relief. Alfred stands there, one hand hiding his rifle out of their sight in an all-too-familiar pose, while the other holds onto the doorjamb. His hair is darker than Tim is used to, his face less wrinkled. He’s staring at them like they’re weird, strange boys, standing at what’s supposed to be a virtually unknown entrance to a private, secure home in the late hours of the night.

Blood covers Dick’s upper body and Tim’s hands, and they both look and smell rough. They don’t make a pretty picture, and Tim knows that, but there’s nothing he can do except get Alfred to let them in somehow. He’s been thinking about what he wants to say, what’ll appeal to Alfred’s compassion or curiosity or both. Please, help my brother before he loses too much blood. Please, don’t tell Bruce about this. Please, I’m so exhausted and I need a cup of your chamomile and a cookie and also maybe a hug or I’m going to explode.

What he says instead is, “ Alfred .” It’s a relieved sob, leaving him without permission, and Alfred’s shocked and confused reaction is much more noticeable than it should be. “I—we didn’t know where else to go. He’s hurt.”

There are more words on his tongue, an avalanche of them wanting to come out, but Alfred stops him there with a raised hand. He doesn’t put the rifle down, but he says, “Come in, then,” and opens the door wide enough for them.

Dick groans when Tim drags him up the steps. Blinking sluggishly at Alfred, he says, “Alf…?”

“Yeah, it’s Alfred. Come on, help out here a little bit. We’re just gonna sit down and hopefully get you patched up, alright, Dickie?”

“Hrn.”

Tim bites his lip at the Bruce noise, stupid tears stinging in his eyes.

He’s home. It’s unfamiliar. Dick is hurt. He’s in charge.

Now is so not the time to cry.

Alfred leads them to a nearby couch in a sitting room they’ve never used in all the years Tim’s known Bruce. Rifle still in hand, he seems much more unsure than their Alfred, who would’ve already had the situation on lock by now.

“We need a first aid kit, please,” Tim says. He glances at the weapon, and adds, “We won’t cause any trouble, I promise. I—I know this is probably super weird, but….”

But what? Tim can’t think of a way to end the sentence so he just doesn’t. Instead, he turns to Dick and starts pulling his brother’s shirt off, something they really should’ve done hours ago. While he uses the fabric to put pressure on the wound again, he hears Alfred moving around behind him.

If this Bruce is anything like theirs, a first aid kit shouldn’t be too far away. There’s one in every bathroom back home.

It’s not long before Alfred is back, shooing Tim away and setting a large first aid kit on the couch. His rifle is gone, but Tim knows it can’t be far. There’s no way this Alfred trusts them enough to not have it close at hand. “Do I dare ask what happened?”

God, it’s good to hear his voice. “My brother got shot,” Tim says, reverting to his natural instinct to reveal as little as possible. Normally Alfred is someone he can give a full mission report to, but Tim is just Tim right now, not Red Robin, and this is not his Alfred, so he’s going to keep his mouth shut up tight.

“Well, my word. You wouldn’t know it from looking at him.” And there’s that Alfred sass. It doesn’t make him laugh like it usually does—no, it just reminds him again that he isn’t actually home. “Care to explain more? Should I be concerned you were followed?”

Tim thinks on it for a minute, but really, there’s no way Maroni’s guy got up in time to tail them. The rest of the mob family have probably heard about them by now, but Tim isn’t too worried about it. He can’t find it within himself to be. All he can really think about is Dick, Alfred, Bruce. If coming here was a mistake after all. If they’ll ever make it home to see their Bruce and Alfred. Eventually, he says, “No. We weren’t followed.”

Dick groans as Alfred starts to prep the gunshot wound to get the bullet out. He sways a little, dizzy, and mumbles an apology when Alfred has to readjust him.

Alfred says, “Just hold as still as you can, and you’ll be alright.”

Hearing the tenderness in Alfred’s voice does something to Tim. This is Alfred , he thinks. He can help us with more than just this.

He blurts out, “It was one of Maroni’s men.”

“Sal Maroni?” Alfred sounds suspiciously uninterested, not even bothering to look away from his work. “The mob boss?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. Alright, young man, I’m going to get this bullet out now.”

“Tim,” Dick grits out, reaching out his hand. Tim takes it, sitting down on the other side of his brother. He forces himself to watch as Alfred goes through the familiar motions. Dick doesn’t actually squeeze his hand that much, too used to this kind of pain, but Tim thinks maybe they both feel better having the lifeline.

He stays there until Dick is stitched up and accepts a dose of Tylenol—no matter how much Alfred gives them concerned looks and insists on something stronger, a Bat doesn’t take hard drugs.

Not quite huffing in exasperation, Alfred acquiesces and leaves Dick alone, sitting back against the cushions. Then he turns to Tim. With his hands on his hips and his sleeves rolled up, he’s honestly kind of intimidating. “Now you, young man,” he says.

“Um. What? I’m fine. I didn’t get shot, I don’t need anything.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. Tim can out-stubborn almost anybody, even his other family members, but Alfred Pennyworth is not one of them. Everyone bows down to him.

Tim sighs and scoots a few inches away from Dick, and when Alfred shoos him all the way into the other corner, he goes. Surprisingly, the older man sits next to Tim, between him and Dick, and instead of reaching for the kit, he just. Puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Which Tim finds extremely weird, considering how British and physically distant Alfred is. Oh sure, he hugs them all. He catches them when they fall, he reassures them with arm pats and shoulder squeezes. But it’s unlike him to just... sit here and rest his hand on Tim’s shoulder, looking him in the face with an expression Tim finds he can’t read.

Not being able to read people, especially someone he knows so well, freaks him out.

Tense, Tim says, “What?”

Alfred is quiet for a moment, then asks, “Where have you boys been staying?”

Oh. Yeah, okay. He’s suspicious of them. Tim can understand why. “We have a place.” It’s a disgusting alley behind a pizzeria they can’t afford to eat at, scraping by with the last of the money they had on them when they were sent here, but it’s not a lie.

Alfred backs off, picking his battles and probably recognizing this one for what it is: unwinnable. He’s more than perceptive enough to read between the lines anyway, add up all the clues—their clothes are dirty, their hair greasy, and Tim knows he’s looking pretty gaunt. And considering how jumpy Tim is acting, it’s likely Alfred thinks they’re homeless. Which they are.

“Are you injured anywhere?”

Tim holds out his hand, his knuckles split and raw from earlier, and ignores how badly he’s shaking. Alfred takes his hand, and grabs alcohol wipes from the kit. He dabs at the wounds, glancing at Tim’s face like he’s expecting a reaction. And yeah, it stings a little, but he’s had much worse. This is nothing.

“Hmm.” Alfred moves Tim’s hand around, looking for other wounds, finding a few little cuts. “So your brother’s name is Dickie?”

“Dick,” Tim corrects. Bruce and Jason are the only ones who call Dick that usually, and Jason almost always does it because it’s his ‘little brother duty’ or something. The only reason he said it earlier is because he hoped it would be comforting. “Short for—”

“Richard, I assume.”

“Yeah.” Tim falls silent, trying to keep his hand still. When a few moments of silence go by, he looks up at Alfred, finding him making an expectant face. “Oh! Yeah, sorry. I’m Tim.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tim. You seem to already know my name.”

Yeah. Shit. Unable to think of a lie beyond ‘you look like my grandpa’, Tim laughs nervously. “Lucky guess?”

Dick snorts. “You jus’ look like our gran’pa, that’s all. His name’s Alfred. Yours too, huh?”

Alfred doesn’t look convinced, but he goes along with it anyway. “Yes, mine too.” What an odd coincidence , he doesn’t say, but Tim hears it anyway.

It doesn’t take long after that for Alfred to finish up Tim’s knuckles. He offers to put some band-aids on, but Tim shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Dick gives him a look, and despite the fact that he’s still acting loopy, there’s a strength to it. Tim can tell what he’s thinking—that if the cuts weren’t on the knuckles, a very awkward place to put bandages, Dick would be insisting on it. Well, whatever , he thinks, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue. You’re not in charge right now anyway.

Alfred stands and looks them over for a brief moment, hesitation obvious in the way he pauses, inhaling deeply. Then, with determination, he says, “I will prepare you something to eat. Do either of you have any allergies I should be aware of?”

“Sulfites,” Tim says at the same time Dick says, “Shellfish. And pet dander.”

“Dick, man, I’m pretty sure they don’t have pets. And even if they did, pets aren’t allowed in the kitchen under any circumstances.”

“Oh yeah,” Dick says with a faint chuckle. “Forgot.”

“Mister Tim,” Alfred cuts in before Tim can reply. It’s unspeakably weird to be called Mister Tim instead of Master Tim, even though Alfred called him that for years. “Will sandwiches suffice?”

The thought of eating Alfred’s food—and even more than that, something they haven’t fished out of a dumpster—is drool-worthy. Quickly, he agrees, “Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

Alfred nods and leaves, probably thankful to get the heck away from them for a few minutes. Once he’s gone, the brothers fall quiet, both a blessing and a curse. Not having Alfred asking questions that Tim has to evade is great, but it does give him the opportunity to keep freaking out.

What do they do next? Alfred might not let them leave while Dick is healing, and that means the chances of running into Bruce raise astronomically. Tim knows that he won’t be able to handle that. Not at all.

“Stop it,” Dick whispers, loud in the overwhelming quiet. “I can see your forehead vein from here.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to think.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Tim sighs, letting the banter drop for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry you got shot. I know it’s not my fault,” he says, speaking over Dick’s immediate protest. “I know that. But I’m still sorry.”

“…Thanks. I’m accepting your apology but not your responsibility.”

“Duh.” Tim fiddles with his hands, satisfied but also knowing, in his heart of hearts, that it is in fact his fault and Dick is totally wrong. “I’m not sorry I brought us here, though.”

“Duh,” Dick repeats, sounding more than a little peeved. Not that Tim can blame him, really. If Tim and Damian had agreed to something, and then Damian went back on it… that’d be really annoying.

Still, that little brother duty Jason talks about means he has to defend himself. “Dick, we were gonna end up coming here anyway, don’t you see that?” He shoots to his feet and drags his hands through his hair, pacing in front of the couch. Despite his earlier flip-flopping, he’s sure now. This was the right decision even if it does suck a lot. “Where else could we possibly go? We don’t belong here. The only way we can get home is by ask—”

Tim cuts off immediately when footsteps echo down the hall. They sound different from Alfred’s, a third tap that sounds a lot like a cane.

This Alfred doesn’t use a cane. The only person who could is—

Both Dick and Tim tense as the doorway is filled up by Bruce freaking Wayne.

“Um,” Tim says.

Bruce looks different. Not just in the sense that he is, in fact, using a cane, but just. Everything. He looks younger, a neat beard covering much of his face. There’s barely any salt in it at all. The scars that litter the skin of his face and arms, mostly bare considering he’s wearing only a t-shirt and pajama pants, aren’t there. Worst of all, there’s no recognition in his eyes.

His sons have become strangers. But no, this man is not their father. Tim has to shout it at himself. He’s not! Bruce Wayne would never look at them like this. Especially not Dick.

Dick makes a noise, a small and sad little whimper, and Tim thinks, shit. Shit shit shit. Unable to do anything to help, Tim shuffles closer to him, hoping it’s enough to comfort.

“Who are you?” Bruce asks, moving further into the room. He says it casually, like this is a totally normal situation, but there’s steel there, too. Of course there is. This is Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t mess around, especially when it comes to strangers invading his home. And as much as that feels like a knife to the chest, that’s what they are. Strangers . The word lingers in his mind, leaving a bad aftertaste.

Tim gets the distinct feeling that the cane, for all that it serves to help Bruce walk, is a weapon. One this Bruce will have no issue using against them. “Um. We—we’re homeless,” he blurts out, trying to push the thought away. “And my brother got shot, so we came here looking for help. We’ll be gone soon, I promise. Don’t worry about us, this is just a one time thing, and we won’t tell anyone else. I know this is a house and not a triage center.”

Bruce is already looking at him like he’s an intruder, but at that, the man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Oh, right. That’s something the other—the right —Bruce would say. Has said many times. Because it’s something their Alfred has always said, and apparently this Alfred too.

Scrambling, Tim keeps going, pasting a fake smile on his face. “Alfred knows we’re here. He’ll be right back. It’s okay, we’ll just wait right here and not steal anything, so you can go back to bed. Goodnight.”

“Tim,” Dick bites out, obviously trying to communicate that he thinks Tim is being a weirdo, and that he’s doing nothing but tipping Bruce off to the fact that something is wrong.

“I’m freaking out, okay?” Tim exclaims back, curling and relaxing his fingers in an effort to control himself. It’s impossible, though—this is their dad , for crying out loud. Their dad, who they haven’t seen in a long time, not since before they were attacked as civilians and flung through the wormhole that deposited them here. Their dad, who Tim really, seriously needs a hug from right now.

Bruce comes closer, leaning against one of the two unused chairs. Where Tim tenses further, unsure of what he’s about to do or say, Dick relaxes. He’s really out of it now, the blood loss and medicine finally catching up with him. He’s blinking heavily and listing to the side. “Hand me that, will you?” He asks Bruce, gesturing to a throw blanket resting on the top of the chair.

Suddenly feeling very protective of Dick, Tim says, “I can—”

“No,” Bruce interrupts, the corner of his mouth curling up like he thinks this is funny. “I’ve got it.”

He grabs the blanket and walks over to the couch. Tim stumbles back a few steps to give him room. For a second, it seems like none of them breathe—but then Bruce leans on his cane like a crutch, bends down, and lays the blanket over Dick.

Tim has seen Bruce tuck people in before, usually Damian. All those times, he either didn’t care much, or a swirl of jealousy had tightened in his stomach. He can remember wondering why Bruce didn’t tuck him in. Why his parents never did it, why Mrs. Mac and all the nannies hadn’t either.

This time, his eyes sting with tears. He forces them back, biting the inside of his cheek.

Dick snuggles into the cushions behind his back, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Thanks, dad,” he mumbles, slipping off into a nap.

Bruce and Tim both freeze.

“Um,” Tim says, because something has to be said, this needs to be nipped in the bud and stopped right now before Bruce can ask anything. But really, the chances of Bruce Wayne not asking questions? Less than zero. And Tim’s brain is screaming, because what the hell could he possibly say to explain that ?

Alfred enters the room again before anything can happen, carrying a tray holding a few sandwiches. He sets it down on a side table before looking up.

“Oh,” he stops short when he sees Bruce, hands hovering above the food. “Master Bruce, I thought you were downstairs.”

“I was just doing some reading,” he waves off, but he can’t quite manage to sound casual. “Now… did he just call me dad ?”

Oh fuck , Tim thinks. Awkwardly, he laughs, “No! What? No, that’s ridiculous.” Seeing that this tactic isn’t working—Bruce and Alfred both have legendary ‘bitch please’ looks that go beyond the confines of time and space, apparently—he shifts gears. “I mean, okay, yes he did. But—but it’s just because you look like our dad! A lot like him, actually. Haha.”

Bruce and Alfred stare at him, concern building as he keeps laughing, spurred on by a week of non-stop stress and the pressure of being in charge— maybe , he thinks, this was a bad idea all along and we shouldn’t have come here and Dick was totally right. It’s only when his laughter turns to hiccuping sobs that either of them move, Bruce managing to grab his bicep in time before Tim can sink to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Alfred hurries to his other side, fretting, “Come on, young sir, just sit down now.”

They lead him to one of the chairs, where he collapses, his head in his hands. Dick is better at this—at leading, at interacting, at not breaking apart. It should all be the opposite: Tim sleeping off a GSW while Dick lies through his teeth as he explains what’s going on. Not that Dick would’ve gotten them into this situation, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, refusing to look up. They’re both staring at him again, clearly unsure what to do with a strange, crying teenager.

After a moment, Alfred says, “You boys say I look like your grandfather, and now Master Bruce looks like your father. By chance, what is his name?”

“Bruce Wayne,” Tim replies to the floor. “But… not him. A different one.”

“A different Bruce Wayne?” The confusion and curiosity is clear as day in Bruce’s voice, and Tim can’t help but snort a little.

“Yeah. Um, this is going to sound really crazy, but my brother and I are from a different universe.” He peeks at their faces, not surprised at all by the blatant disbelief he sees. “I can prove it.”

Alfred and Bruce share a wide-eyed look.“How?”

“I know you’re the one who’s been sending the GCPD all those case files. And before you say you’re not, you just said you were doing some reading. Downstairs. In the cave below this property, right? Back home, it’s called the Batcave and you’re Batman.”

“Go on, Mister Tim,” Alfred says after a moment. “We believe you.”

Relief crashes down on him and more tears slip out against his will. “I need your help. We need your help. We’ve been here for a week, and—and—and we have no idea how to get home. None. There’s no one else we can turn to, ‘cause the people who would usually help us either can’t or wouldn’t, since they don’t know us here. And god, this world is nothing at all like ours…. I just want to go home. I don’t know what to do. Please,” he begs, desperate. “I need advice.”

Bruce hesitantly sets a hand on Tim’s back, rubbing up and down in a motion that is, wow, extremely soothing. “We’ll figure this out, Tim. I promise you, Alfred and I will help you boys any way we can.”

Before Tim can ask if it’s just because they’re his sons in some other universe, Alfred clears his throat. “It may take some time, mind you. But you and your brother will need to stay here anyway, seeing as that wound needs time to heal. I can’t, in good conscience, let that happen out on the streets.”

Tim wants to refuse. Wants to say thanks but no thanks, you can put us up in a motel or something until everything is worked out. Wants to cry and cry and wake up from this nightmare. Instead, mentally and physically exhausted, he just says, “Okay.”

Both men are concerned by the response, he can tell. Though he isn’t looking, he can practically hear the silent conversation they’re having over his head. Then Alfred stands. “I will make up two of the guest rooms, then, sirs. Mister Tim, could you help bring Mister Dick upstairs?”

“Just set up one, we can share,” Tim replies. It’s late and he doesn’t want Alfred to have to do anything more than he’s already done. Than he’s already doing.

“If you’re certain….”

“I am. Thank you.”

He’s not gone for long, and thank god, because Tim can hardly stand to be alone with Bruce without spilling even more. He’s already said so much tonight, he feels empty and hollowed out, kind of like a balloon that’s been blown up only for all the air to wheeze out of it, leaving it sad and stretched. Holy shit, that metaphor. He needs to go to bed, and he needs a mattress instead of another cardboard box laid over hard cobblestone and concrete.

Shaking his head to stop his thoughts, he moves over to Dick and wakes him, a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Dick, wake up,” he says a few times until his brother is blinking heavily at him.

“Wha’?”

“We’re gonna go upstairs and sleep. Come on, I’ll help you.”

“Hrn,” he says again, and this time, Bruce hears it. Tim glances at him, almost surprised to see the emotions on Bruce’s face. Apparently that’s a Bruce noise in this universe too, and it only helps to cement Tim’s story.

Tim helps Dick stand up, swinging Dick’s good arm over his shoulders. Together, they slowly ascend the stairs, something Tim is more than familiar with considering how many times something like this has happened at home. At the top, they meet up with Alfred, who takes them to a guest room that is thankfully unused in their version of the Manor.

Alfred helps Dick get settled into the mattress, his shoes and belt shed. “I could get you both some pajamas,” Alfred says when he sees the way Tim flops down, both of them still in battered, dirty, expensive chinos.

“We’re okay,” Tim says, aware that the only pajamas in the house must belong to Bruce and Alfred, and that neither size would fit them. He’s not sure he could handle it right now even if they did. “Thank you though. For…for all of this. It means a lot.”

Alfred graces him with a gentle smile. “Of course, young sir. I would like to think that your Bruce will appreciate this.”

He leaves, and then it’s just Tim and Dick. They’ve shared a bed plenty of times before, on nights when there was no one else around and they didn’t want to be alone. Dick was the one who taught Tim one of the best parts about having siblings: cuddles. Dick is a cuddle monster, but maybe tonight Tim won’t wake up being held protectively to his brother’s chest.

Under the covers, Tim stares at the ceiling. His mind refuses to shut off even though they’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere he can sleep and not worry about what might happen when he’s not paying attention.

He feels a little better, now that there are actual adults in charge, who are going to help. Who can keep Dick from getting hurt again, especially from Tim’s carelessness. But it makes him miss home, just reminds him how far away he and Dick are from their real family. He’s curious, on some level, about this Bruce Wayne. He trusts him to take care of them long enough for them to return home. How long that’s going to take is a question, though, one that he thinks can probably be answered by: a long time.

It’ll be good for Dick, at least. Give him time to heal.

God, Dick shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. But of course he did, and of course it was because of some dumb argument, because of Tim—

“’M not perfect,” Dick whispers, making Tim, who was certain he was asleep, jump. When he turns to look, he finds Dick’s eyes are closed. Squeezed shut. “’M not . I don’t know what I’m doing, Tim. I didn’t wanna come here ‘cause of the rules, and ‘cause it’s hard… hard to see them. ‘M lucky I getta sleep through it, I guess.”

“Dick—”

“I woulda done the same thing, okay?” And now he opens his eyes, meeting Tim’s head on. “This was the right choice. Coming here. Alfred gives the best advice.”

“Yeah.” Tim’s throat feels thick, the word hard to get out.

Dick reaches out his good hand and rests it on Tim’s cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here. You saved me. Now go to sleep,” he says, and then teasingly smacks him. “I can hear you thinking all the way from here.”

“You’re like two feet away,” Tim points out, but he tries to listen anyway. He closes his eyes, thinking maybe he will be able to rest. Dick is the best at comforting people.

“Shhhh,” Dick says, grinning. “Doesn’t matter. Sleep.”

“Yes, mom.”

“ Shhh !”

Tim laughs, and for the first time in a while, it’s real. He feels safe and warm and not alone, and while he can’t exactly say he’s happy right now, he’s a lot closer than he was just a few hours before.

Tomorrow , he decides, settling down, I’m going to take a shower and eat a real meal. And then, then I can finally start figuring out how to get us home.

#bcs19 #tim drake #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #batfam #batfamily #batfam fic #fanfic #my writing #renecdote

94 notes · View notes

mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

The Difference Between Champagne and Rum Part 2 (Alfie Solomons x OFC)

As always a huge thank you to @evelynshelby for encouraging and supporting my Peaky writing. She is the best!

Warnings: Violence, swearing, racial slurs and some mild sexual content.

Words: 7k (because I could not stop writing, sorry.)

Please let me know what you guys think and if anyone wants to be added to a tag list. Also, I am not British nor is the early 1900s something I am confident in for writing, so it there is anything blatantly obvious that needs to be corrected, please let me know.

The Difference Between Champagne and Rum

Part 2 - Bloody Fists and Opening Scenes

~1912~

He could feel their stares, their glares, their looks of disapproval. He gave zero fucks. His head held tall, an icy look sent to any who dared make eye contact. This was not his neighborhood. He knew that. He was a literal black sheep here amongst those wealthier than him. Yet he refused to bow to their need to dominate. To submit because he wore a kippah, making him lesser than them, his clothes handmade by his mother instead of purchased at a fancy store. No, he knew something these people did not. He was a wolf amongst these sheep, his bloodied knuckles testament to that…and if anyone tried to stop him, he would spill their blood on the ground without qualms. Fuck them all.

Truthfully Alfie was in a black mood. He walked down the street, fists clenched by his sides, kippah in his back pocket because he was no longer at prayer (his mother would lament that he never attended) nor was he on ‘business’. The whispers of the two Jewish lads walking behind him reminded him to keep his rage under control just a while longer. The three of them were walking back to Camden Town after conducting some ‘business’ for the boss. They had been sent to deliver a particular message to someone who owed their boss money. Smashed furniture and broken fingers were left behind, for that was expected. What put Alfie in a foul mood was the pathetic excuse of a man made a counter offer to pay off his debt. Instead of money, the boss could take his daughter’s virginity. All this he said with a sleezy smile on his face as his teenage daughter cried on the stairwell. What made matters worse… the boss would probably take the offer.

Strange sounds drifted from across the street. Alfie did not even have to look to know what caused it. The London Zoo sign proudly showed above its gates, welcoming its citizens to marvel at the mysterious and wonderful beasts inside. His feet carried him past the spectacle and onward towards the bridge, in which he would be back in familiar territory and no one dared looked down on him.

It was a warmer spring day, the taste of a hot summer to be had that year. Flecks of blood littered the sleeves of his white shirt, now rolled up to his elbows. Somehow he would have to create an excuse to appease his mum who would undoubtably ask about the blood. At least his black trousers hid the evidence better.

His eyes scanned the people on the street, a subconscious habit at this point. At once they locked onto a lithe, feminine form with blonde har. It was embarrassing how often he unconsciously scanned for that very thing. Over half a year flew by since he had last seen those emerald eyes and mischievous smile. His angel. He could not help the way his heart raced at seeing the blonde hair across the street and further down. She was standing in front of some shop, gazing at something in particular in the windowfront. Willing his heart to slow down, he subtly kept peeking, hoping to get a glimpse of her face. In his heart he knew it was futile, in the past it was never her, but hope always arose without his permission. A dangerous thing. This one wore a lovely light pink chiffon dress, sleeveless with ruffles towards the hem of the dress. The top layer of her long hair was pinned up while the bottom hung freely and beautifully.

Moments later, two lads came out of the store, young men really, both in clean pressed trousers, button down shirts, sports jackets and one in a hat. Immediately they walked the few steps to crowd the blonde, one leaning against the window glass to face her and the other hovering by her side. Grins on both of their face and they gave off the impression of superiority and confidence. That alone made Alfie want to fight them.

He knew he should leave it alone, he knew it was none of his business. Curiosity won out. He slowed his steps as he watched the interaction of the three further down. It was obvious, even from where he stood, the lads were trying to flirt with her…but without success. Her eyes remained straight ahead, ignoring them. Less than a minute later and without a word, she turned, starting to walk away, her back towards the lads and Alfie. One of the lads grabbed her hand and spun her back round to face him, not done flirting or still willing to work to get a reaction out of her. Perhaps she was purposefully playing hard to get?

She whipped around, staring annoyed at the lad before uttering something. With a twist of her wrist, she escaped his hold and quickly continued with her walk. Whatever she said, the two lads did not like. With a glance at one another, they followed her, keeping several paces back until the three disappeared from view down a side alley.

All the air had been knocked out of Alfie’s lungs, he was sure of it. For once she turned around and he was able to see her face, a sucker punch to the gut would have been more expected. For there she stood. He would recognize her anywhere for she haunted his dreams. Her delicate features pinched in annoyance as she spat something at him but that core strength visible even from here.

Immediately, as if on autopilot, his feet followed. He crossed the street, uncaring of the cars, carriages and other pedestrians. He had to get to her, to see her up close, to touch her and, if God himself was feeling generous, perhaps he could taste her lips once again.

“Alf, where you goin’ now?” Ishmael asked, having moved to his side. The lad was the same age as Alfie, both had their eighteenth birthday during Hanukkah. Having spent the past eighteen years growing up together, they acted more like brothers than neighbors. One thing stood resolutely between them, they would always have each other’s backs during the good and the bad times.

“Gonna pick a fight.”

“Uh huh…” Ishmael scratched the stubble on his jawline. “What for?”

“’member that girl I told ya ‘bout. Got me away from those coppers.”

“Yeah, you never got ‘er name.”

“Two fuckers just followed her down that alley.”

Ishmael grunted. No more needed to be said. He was the only person who knew the truth of that night and even then it took almost throwing fists between them for Alfie to confess. After, Ishmael had been sworn to secrecy or his tongue would be cut out. Nathan trailed behind the two, oblivious but uncaring. He was two years younger but Alfie tolerated him because he did not ask unnecessary questions nor go sticking his nose in unwanted places. The lad was just happy to be doing something instead of listening to his six younger siblings and mother in their one bedroom apartment.

Quickly they caught up to where the trio disappeared. As they turned down that side alley, a narrow thing between two sections of shops used to dispose of rubbish, the sounds of all of London faded. For Alfie could only see and hear the commotion before him.

Further down the two toff lads had her backed against a wall as they hovered over her. With an almost bored expression, she just watched them try and intimidate her. One hand loosely held her small purse while the other toyed with her hair.

“I will give you one last chance. Walk away or you will regret it.”

Her smooth voice flowed over him as he heard her speak to them. Internally he was amused by her statement but that still could not keep the red lens from coloring his vision. Those toffs needed to be taught a lesson and he had no problem being the teacher.

The one with the hat leaned forward and ran a hand slowly down her side, making sure to get a good touch of her breast before moving to her hip. “Come on, doll. All we are asking for is just a kiss. Don’t be so uptight. There’s no harm in a kiss.”

The other lad took a few steps back and lit a cigarette. He chuckled at his friend’s statement as he blew out a plume of smoke, ignorant of the trouble approaching.

“Oi! Look ‘ere lads.” Alfie loudly proclaimed as he ambled closer towards the trio, suddenly acting like he did not have a care in the world. An act because inside he was boiling with rage and hoped for nothing more than to ram both of the toffs’ heads against the brick wall. Multiple times preferably. “These boys ‘ere, right, don’t know how to treat a lady none. Tsk tsk. You boys need to go back on your mother’s tits until you know how to properly woo a lady. Cornerin’ her in a nasty alley ain’t the way to do it, yeah? For a posh girl like her, I ‘eard its about that champagne and roses, out dancin’ and the likes. Somethin’ you lot don’t know nothin’ ‘bout it seems. So before you piss me off more, right…fuck off.”

The one with the cigarette smirked around the fag in between his lips. “Oh? And who the hell asked for your opinion?”

“No one but it looked like you needed it.” He shrugged casually, his eyes looked between the two idiots and into the emerald eyes he longed to see. “You ok, Angel? They ain’t hurt you none, yeah?”

“I am fine, Alfie.”

Hearing her say his name sent a shot of warmth straight to his heart. She still remembered him, even after all these months.

“What? You know these kikes?” The one in the hat asked disbelieving, eyeing both her and the three Jewish lads blocking the front way out of the alley and onto the main street.

Alfie could feel himself along with Ishmael and Nathan bristle at the insult. Not that he had never been called that, he had heard all sorts of derogatory insults towards himself and his people, but it practically assured that he would break their jaw so they could not insult anyone for a long time after.

He did not wait for her response, as he laughed in her face. “You must be easy then, playing the innocent bird, but really you let kikes fuck you. You’re just as filthy as them.”

“Charles, shut it.” The one with the cigarette snapped at his friend. He stood between the two groups but kept his eyes on Alfie the whole time. “You lads head on back out. We will just escort the lady here back to her family at the tea shop. Nothing more needs to happen here. We were just teasing her. No harm done.”

“You see, that’s the thing, innit?” Alfie rubbed his hand over his chin, looking as if contemplating something monumental. “Your boy there insulted me and me friends. Worse though, he insulted the lady, yeah? So in me books, he needs to apologize to her then to me friends and me, yeah, then we’ll be on our way.”

The one in the hat- Charles apparently- sneered as he roughly shoved her further against the wall before storming over to stand by his friend. “What are you going to do about it, Jewboy? You are on the wrong side of the river to be saying anything. I can call the coppers and they will arrest your asses without question…because you are a dirty, money-loving, pig-fucking Jew.”

“Mate, I’m gonna make you eat those words. That s’what gonna happen now, yeah? You s’fuckin’ waste of air. Now, let the lady go and then we’ll see if you’re even able to utter the word ‘Jew’ after I’m done with you.”

“Are you her fucking bodyguard or something? I am not done with her. First I’m going to send you back to your shanties then I’m going to have her on her knees right here.”

“Who says I need a bodyguard?” Suddenly she moved from standing behind Charles to his side, a four inch pointed hair pin in her hand. As she moved, she dragged it along his throat until it landed on his bobbing Adam’s apple. Alfie had not even noticed her stepping away from the wall and behind the arrogant toff, she moved so quietly.

“Fucking bitch.”

In a flash she slashed Charles’ cheek before returning the hair pin to his throat. “You stand right here like a good boy until my friends and I are gone. If I look behind and see you following us, I will be sorely disappointed and this hair pin will pierce the very thing you are using to think, which in your case is not your brain.”

A faint snicker came from Ishmael behind him but Alfie kept his eyes on the dangerous beauty before him, both enthralled by her confidence and concerned for her safety. He could see it in the eyes of the lad Charles…he would not let her get away so easily, especially now after insulting him.

Ever so slowly, she pulled the hair pin away and took a step back towards Alfie. After a tense moment, she turned to walk the few steps to Alfie. With her eyes no longer on him, Charles moved. He snarled, moving to reach out and grab her but his hand never made it.

Alfie stood between them, appearing like an apparition in how quickly he moved. His fist reared back and slammed into the jaw of the foul-mouthed toff. All his pending rage from his ‘business’ and now being forced to listen to insults, all that anger fueled him to fulfilling his promise. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ishmael keeping the other lad back. With that knowledge, he poured all his focus and energy into making the lad eat his words and threatening his angel. An unforgiveable crime, really.

Two solid punches were all it took before Charles was on the ground. Yet Alfie was not done with him. Not yet. Punches and kicked rained down on the lad, a harsh lesson being taught that hopefully the idiot would remember. Soon enough, the lad was a blubbering, bloody mess on the dirty cobblestones. It was pathetic how soon his apologies and begs for mercy spewed forth in his mumblings, his jaw broken so his words were hard to understand.

Alfie stood towering over the lad, sprawled out on the ground; his chest heaving, bloodied fists by his sides. Like a judge condemning a prisoner to his sentence, Alfie pointed a finger at him. “I see you again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you, mate. And it won’t be easy or pretty, yeah? You watch your back.” He gave a long pause, letting his words sink like a stone in the shallow pool of the toff’s mind. With a satisfied grunt, he turned to face the other, sporting his own bloodied lip curtesy of Ishmael but that seemed the worst of it. “Get ‘im outta here.”

Without a word, the other lad gathered his friend up and helped carry him down the alley, keeping to the side streets to avoid the bloody spectacle they were.

“I could have handled them, you know. I had it under control.”

Alfie rolled his eyes as he turned to face her. “Yeah? Sure didn’t look like it none, love.” They stared at one another, a silent battle of wills. After a tense minute, he smirked. “’sides, I reckon it’s me turn to be savin’ you, yeah?”

With that she cracked a smile, the tension in the air melting away. After quick shake of her head, she sauntered over to his side. “Let me see your hands.”

“No, s’fine, love.”

“Was he born this stubborn or did his mother drop him a few times?” She looked over her shoulder at Ishmael and Nathan, both hanging back and observing the curious scene before them.

Her question made Ishmael chuckle. “We still ain’t figured that one out.”

“Ah, fuck off, mate.” Alfie growled at his friend but without real venom.

“Thought so.” She turned back her attention to Alfie. “Hands. Now.”

Grumbling under his breath, he held his hands out so she could quickly examine them and wipe the blood off with a handkerchief she magically pulled out of her small purse. He could not help but wonder if it was the same one from all those months ago. Her soft voice pulled him out of his musings.

“Maybe one of these days we will have the ability to meet without blood on your knuckles and it soiling my handkerchiefs.”

“No promises. How ‘bout next time you beat ‘em up and I’ll clean up your hands, mmm? Sounds fair to me.”

She laughed, a beautiful sound full of life. Head tilted back, eyes crinkling, just like he remembered.

“But fuckin’ hell, love. Since when you carry that hair pin?”

Done with wiping his hands as best as she could, she placed the soiled handkerchief in her purse and retrieved her hair pin out, handing it over to Alfie.

“Since someone told me its not safe to be walking around on my own.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ genius that one.” He mumbled, looking over the slender weapon. It was sleek and impressive. He had never seen one of these before, only ever heard of them. The head of the pin was a lotus flower with a small ruby in the center. The blade part was at least four inches, making the while thing only six inches but lethal if used properly. “Chinese?”

She nodded, taking it back. Quickly and expertly she twisted the top half of her hair into a bun and easily slipped the pin in to hold it steady. There it looked beautiful and innocent, its potential unimaginable.

“Bloody Chinese, yeah. What you doin’ now? Just takin’ a stroll?”

“It’s a lovely day, is it not?” She winked at Alfie before turning to the other two lads. “Pleasure meeting you two. May I inquire as to your names?”

Of course the cheeky bastard winked at her. “Ishmael, that one is Nathan…and what’s your name, love?”

“Tut tut. That is not have the game is played.” She gracefully slide over to Ishmael’s side and wrapped her arm through his. “Call me Angel. Now I was off to the pictures actually and it would be a true shame if I had to go alone. Who knows the trouble that could find me. How would you lovely gentlemen feel about accompanying me? The tickets will be taken care of. The Three Musketeers is playing and I have heard its riveting.”

“Sounds interestin’. ‘Sides, just met you, be a shame to leave you so soon.” Ishmael gave Alfie a sly grin before guiding her down the dirty alley and back onto the main street with her giggling.

Grinding his teeth, Alfie followed, jamming his hands in his trouser pockets. They ached some but none of his knuckles or fingers felt broken or dislocated. Probably a testament to the calluses he now wore for how often he used his fists.

“Who is she?” Nathan whispered falling into step next to him.

“A friend. An old friend.”

“A gentile?”

He stopped and got in Nathan’s face. “That s’fuckin’ problem?”

“No…no, Alfie.” He stuttered out, quaking under Alfie’s glare.

“Good, that s’real good coz you say one bad thing to her and I’ll make sure the boss knows you pissed your trousers last week, right, when supposed to be collectin’ dues, yeah?” Letting his threat hang heavy, he turned back around and started after Ishmael and his Angel.

Of the two of them, Ishmael was more flirtatious and now was no exception. Occasionally he would lean over and whisper something in her ear that would make her giggle. God above, Alfie had missed that sound though. Even if it drove him mad that his ‘best’ friend was the one drawing it out of her. He wanted to be the one holding her, making her laugh, soaking in her attention. But instead, he kept walking, hands in his pockets, eyeing anyone that looked at her for too long. He figured there was a game she was playing, he only had to sit back and figure out the rules before winning.

Finally they made it to the movie theatre. The giant board over the entrance announced the movies playing, the scent of popcorn saturated the air, especially once they walked inside. The carpeted floor cushioned all the noise from the other people and the machines. Truthfully, Alfie had never been to the pictures. There was never excess money to spare on such frivolity. By the looks on Ishmael and Nathan’s faces, they had never been before either. His eyes hungrily took in the sights around him, committing it to memory. One day he would be able to come to places like this whenever he wanted. One day he would not have to worry about scraping by for money. One day…

“This way, boys.”

Her voice caused the three Jewish lads to wake from their stupor and obediently follow her. She walked a head of them, her perk little arse a guiding light that Alife could not keep his eyes off of. Down a corridor, she stopped at one of the numbered doors.

“Ready?”

Inside was dim, the picture already getting started. Lights down, a good few of the chairs were filled up surprisingly. The four of them found open seats towards the back in a vacant row. At the end sat Nathan, practically bouncing in his seat with glee, Ishmael, Alfie and then Angel. As soon as the images started appearing on the screen, Alfie found his arm being lifted and draped over her shoulder, followed quickly by her tucking herself into his side.

“Oh, now you wanna be with me yeah? Thought you didn’t want nothin’ to do with me. ‘ell, I beat some wanker up for you and the thanks I get, you walkin’ off with me friend on his arm. Ain’t fuckin’ right.” He whispered into her ear, wishing for nothing more than to bury his face into her neck and hold her close.

“I would hate for them to feel left out…but I can switch seats with you if you prefer and cuddle up to Ishamel there. I do not think he would mind.”

“Shut your mouth. You s’my angel, yeah? I share many things, right, but I won’t share you none.”

“Do not forget it.” Her hand reached over and grabbed his other, toying with his fingers. “Will you have to leave right away?”

“Oi! If you two plannin’ on yappin’ the ‘ole time, move down a few seats.” Ishmael stage whispered, keeping his eyes on the screen.

Before Alfie could retort with an unsavory comment, Angel swiftly yet gracefully rose, grabbing his hand and started tugging on him down the row. He fumbled along behind her, the space between the rows of seats less than desirable for a broad lad like himself. Finally she stopped them at the complete opposite end of the row. He dutifully sat next to her and immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. A glance around showed there was no one else within at least four rows ahead of them and only Ishmael and Nathan on the far side of the row.

“Alright, love, you got me all by me lonesome. Either you s’gonna ravage me or kill me and with it bein’ you…I ain’t sure, yeah? Gotta let me know if I need to defend meself, especially with that bloody hair pin.”

She smiled, a brilliant light amongst the dim of the theatre. “Do you have a preference?”

“Ah, it’s be a fuckin’ shame to die without kissin’ you once more, yeah?” He leaned closer and ran his nose along her ear, just barely able to see the goosebumps appear on her skin from his breath and proximity. “Kissin’ you be the closest I’ll ever get to heaven, Angel.”

“Cheeky bastard with your honeyed words.” She breathed out, her words hitting his lips as she turned to face him. A moment passed, their eyes locked, then she tilted her head and pressed her lips to his. Their mouths met hungrily, tongues dancing, breaths intermingled. Their desperation for one another evident and all-consuming. Her hands clutched his head, dragging him closer. That intoxicating scent of hers, lavender, clouded his senses and judgement. The notion that other people existed vanished in the thrall of passion, yearning for one another. Her touch, her taste, soothed his soul and mind, like he was the desert and her the first rain storm. Their lips parted with a smack, both panting and trying to keep the sound low. The separation was too much, he needed her.

His lips attacked her neck, kissing, sucking, an almost animalistic feel of just more. His hand tightened on her thigh, drifting further up under her dress. Her silk stocking was almost as soft as her lips. As his mouth sucked on a particular spot just behind her ear, a low wanton moan slipped out of her lips and landed in his lap. That sound was enough to make him hard right there. His hand continued to explore up her thigh. He traced the garter she wore, hoping, praying, wishing one day to only see her in those garters, stockings and heels. That was it. God, he wanted that now. Continuing northward, his fingertips trailed up past her garter and into uncharted territory. Never before had he gone this far with a girl. He had heard some of the other Gentile lads talk about it or their conquests, usually at a brothel. This was nothing like listening to them. Oh no, it was far better. Finally his fingertips slowly made their way towards her hot core. Then it hit him. She was without any knickers. Just a garter belt holding up her stockings. This whole time, she had nothing on under her dress and slip, or however many layers a young woman like her wore.

“What’s this, love? S’you a naughty girl?” He murmured into her ear, teasingly tracing her lower lips. Already he could feel she was wet and that did not help how hard he was.

“Alfie…” His name on her breath was the most erotic sound he had ever heard. It was both a prayer and a command. One in which he had no qualms answering. Without warning, he plunged his finger into her heat. Immediately his mouth covered hers, inhaling her moan and coaxing her tongue to dance with his while his fingers played with her.

It did not take long for her to peak. A clenching around his fingers and her sigh evidence along with the moisture coating his fingers. Her head tilted back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling rapidly as she descended back to earth was his new favorite sight. He could watch this all day long and never tire of it. Angelic no longer described her in the heat of the moment. Goddess was closer to the new truth.

“ S’right, love?”

“Stop fishing for compliments, you know you did amazingly.” She smacked his chest half-heartedly then her voice dropped down to a whisper as if voicing her thoughts aloud. “That was better than I ever imagined.”

“An orgasm or just me?”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip then purred out, “you doing it.”

He groaned, nuzzling her neck. “Angel, you canna say somethin’ like that. Me cock is ‘bout to explode, yeah, and I ain’t goin’ in me trousers like some boy.”

“Well, we cannot have that now can we…come with me.” Abruptly she stood, nudging him to get up.

That was honestly the last thing he wanted to do. It felt like he had a plank of wood the size of his arm in his trousers. Grumbling, he followed her around the last row of seats and over to Ishmael and Nathan. She leaned over Ishmael’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear, earning a nod from him. A quick peck on his cheek and she started towards the exit door. Confused, Alfie glanced back over at Ishmael who only sent a cocky wink before turning back to the screen. So he did what felt right. He followed her out of the exit door. As soon as they passed through and into the main corridor, her hand trapped his and tugged him to follow her.

“The fuck is goin’ on. What you say to Ishmael?”

“I told him you were walking me home.”

Well that sort of explained the wink. Before he could question her further, she opened a different theatre door and pulled him through. This one was dark, just a couple sporadic lights on to beat back the complete darkness. It was also empty, probably in between shows or something. The lingering scent of cigarettes and popcorn filtered through the carpet but all Alfie could smell was lavender. She pulled him to the front of the theatre and practically threw him down into one of the seats.

“What…Angel?”

“Stop talking.”

Then in that dimness he felt her hands tugging on his trousers. That little bit of friction was enough to cause him to hiss. Never had he been so hard. Maybe this was what hell would be like. No relief, continuous torment. He felt himself spring out from its encloser before being encased in something warm and wet. It was overwhelming. A loud groan escaped without his permission but he could not care in the moment. Her name, what she was to him, became a chant as his hands tangled in her hair. Galaxies and stars flew by him as the pleasure grew until he thought he could not physically take it anymore. Suddenly she began to hum and it was as if all the floodgates burst forth. He finished with her sucking him dry, then she released him with a loud, wet ‘pop’ and continued to kneel in front of him.

“What…fuckin’ hell, I mean…fuck…what…fuck...” His brain refused to cooperate, still lost in the waves of pleasure his body was coming down from. This…this had to be heaven. Surely, something this incredible had to be.

“Do not forget to breath, sweetheart.”

“I’ll try me best. Damn, love. You done that often?”

She shifted to lean over him, her face close. “And if I said you are my first?”

His response was to drag her down into his lap and claim her lips. How was this girl even real? She seemed more like something from his own personal fantasy. Both heaven and hell in its pleasure and torment. He did not even care that he could taste himself, so desperate was he to claim her in any way. Their lips clashed, breathing becoming erratic once again as something continued to build between them. Her hands slipped under his shirt, running up his bare skin as she straddled his lap. His own hands were not dormant, but searching, caressing, teasing anywhere he could. Her core rested over his manhood and the heat was scorching him but in the most delectable way. Did she realize how badly he wanted her? She did want him just as much? Was she a virgin? He was. A movie theatre was not the ideal location for losing one’s virginity but Alfie was not opposed right now. He wanted to hear her panting his name again, to see her come undone but with his cock instead of his fingers.

Suddenly all the lights turned on.

“Hey! You kids can’t be in ‘ere!” A distinctly male voice yelled at them, standing in the back near the projector.

The two separated, panting, laughing and smiling. Both had to adjust their clothing and her hair to look somewhat decent, like they had not just been about to…well, you know. They fled the theatre, escaping out of the room and out onto the main street. Broad grins plastered on both of their faces, they tried to casually walk down the street without attracting attention. A feat truly impossible for a young, aristocratic woman and a Jewish lad of a lower class walking side by side giggling and smiling. People take notice.

“I do need to leave now.”

“I’ll walk ya.” Before she could refuse, he tugged her arm through his “I ain’t done seein’ you yet. Only God knows when I’ll see you again, right? Unless you’re gonna tell me who you is, that’d solve this problem. You seem to know where I am.”

She laughed, placing her head on his shoulder momentarily. “You do not like calling me ‘Angel’? I am growing quite fond of it.”

“You’ll always be my angel, yeah. Dunno why you not want me to call you by youse real name.”

“Then you would have to call me either ‘lady’ or ‘miss’ before my name.”

His eyebrows rose at her confession, a confirmation of his suspicions. “Oh yeah? Well that s’somethin’, innit? My lady Angel…” He teased, aware of how stiff she had suddenly become while waiting for his response. She relaxed instantaneously when she realized he was continuing to stay light-hearted in their banter. “What brings you all the way out ‘ere, mmm? I can’t think a posh girl like youself, your governess or whoever the fuck minds you would like seein’ you strollin’ with the likes of me, yeah?”

“You arse! I do not have a governess!”

“But you had one?”

“Fine, yes, yes I did. But she was fired when I was twelve for sleeping with the butler and the horse master when she was supposed to be watching me. I convinced my parents I did not need another. ”

“No!” Alfie placed a hand over his heart with a scandalized look on his face. “Heaven forbid! That disgraceful wench!”

They both broke into peals of laughter at his fake posh accent.

“My father’s driver.”

“Mmm…what s’that, love?”

She sighed. “My father’s driver…he has a mistress out here. When it’s obvious it will be a long day for my father, his driver will claim to run errands but really goes to visit her. I caught him once, snuck into the car without him noticing and popped up just outside of her flat. He about shit himself. So we made a deal. We pretend he is driving me somewhere while he visits her…and I…I get to pretend to be someone else for a while.”

“Ah. No siblings to drag around with you?”

“No. I have an older brother but he is too busy and lost in his books and studies for me anymore.”

“Where does your father work?”

She hesitated before dropping her voice to barely a whisper. “Parliament. But no more, please. I do not want to talk about him.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He still let out a long whistle. So her family had wealth and influence. His desire to figure out who she was exploded exponentially. “That s’fuckin’ thing, innit, I could kidnap you and get a ransom, yeah? Bet you worth lots, yeah?”

“Yes…” Her voice abruptly shifted to dangerously low and harsh, the complete opposite of her usually smooth, sweet voice. “…but I would make you regret it for every moment left of your life until you cursed the money you took and the day you thought of betraying me. I would ruin you in every way possible until you could only crawl and beg in the gutter. ”

He paused, surprised by the venom in her tone and how cold she sounded. “Well, fuck, love. Remind me never to get on your bad side, yeah? Gonna make me piss my trousers the way you talkin’.” He chuckled when she nudged him but they kept stride.

“Tell me about your family.”

“Naw, you don’t wanna hear ‘bout them. Nothin’ interestin’ there.”

“Alfie, please.”

Whatever willpower he broke between those emerald eyes and her soft, pleading voice. He was practically clay in her hands. “Well, there s’me mum, younger brother and sister. Me father died years ago…” And somehow he found himself telling her about his life and family with stories that made her laugh. Time and the streets underneath their feet felt endless but in a positive way. He wished time could cease or never force them to separate.

*****

“That is my father’s driver up ahead.”

“Yeah? I’ll walk you this time. Kinda wanna see this wanker.”

They walked closer, eventually catching the eye of the driver. He appeared at least in his thirties with a modest suit, thick moustache and a hat tipped down to shield his eyes. He did a double-take, not recognizing his charge on the arm of a lower-class lad. With one last drag, he tossed his cigarette onto the ground and stomped it out with his shiny shoe before striding their way.

“Miss Sarah, you kept me waiting almost an hour. Your father will be upset with how long we were gone.”

“Miss Sarah, eh?” Alfie looked at the driver and motioned to the young lady on his arm. “So the lovely angel does have a name, yeah? She s’bein’ a pain by keepin’ her name a secret. Done broke me heart thinkin’ I’d never know ‘er real name.”

“You, shut your mouth.” She pointed at Alfie, amusement twinkling in those green eyes. Then she turned back to the driver, “Robert, my father will hardly notice. I decided to go to the pictures and it went longer than I anticipated but it turned out to be…most pleasurable. I do believe it might deserve an encore, and hopefully multiple ones. Truly a masterpiece.”

Alfie tried his hardest to keep the color off his cheeks and the blood from rushing into his trousers with the cheeky smirk Angel -no, Sarah- was giving him.

The driver -Robert- looked down his nose at Alfie, not even trying to hide his distain. Alfie could feel his hackles and anger rise within. “We must leave, Miss, before you return home smelling of the dreck this place is.”

He could not ignore that particular barb. Keeping his voice light and face friendly, Alfie subtly pulled Sarah closer into his side. “How’s that mistress of yours? She live round here, right? Me guess is on Queen’s Alley. What I’ve ‘eard is that’s where all the harlots live…but fuck if I’d know. That all I ‘eard, yeah? S’real shame how many men visits them, I ‘ear.”

Steam practically poured out of Robert’s red tinged ears. His sneer deepened but he cast his eyes to Sarah. “Two minutes, Miss.” Turning on his heel, he stormed back towards the car, lighting a cigarette as he went.

“I think he like me, yeah, fuckin’ bosom buddies now.”

She laughed, eyes crinkling and the sunlight shining on her blonde hair. His breath stuck in his throat looking at her. The more he learned about her, the ravenous yearning to learn more grew alongside. She was everything he wanted and needed in his bleak life- fun, a laugh readily available, unaffected by his anger and violence, uncaring of where he came from, smart, sexy, never truly docile, mischievous with a slice of danger that he found extremely attractive.

“I better go before Robert makes me walk all the way to Parliament from here. It is a lovely day but my feet would murder me if I walked there in these heels.” She joked, untangling her arm from his.

“Don’t go.”

She froze. “What?”

“Don’t go, love. Stay. I’ll take care of you, that s’fuckin’ promise, yeah? I ain’t got much, can get a job at the factory or somethin’ for extra money. We’ll get our own flat, you can make fancy like. Dunno how but I’ll always take care of you.” The words stumbled out almost in a drunken stagger. Vulnerable did not even begin to describe how he felt. Hands running through his hair, he kept his eyes downcast unable to meet hers. She would laugh at him, at his piss poor promise to provide for her. He could never give her what she already had, what she deserved. But by heaven or hell, he would willing work day and night to keep her by his side. To know she was waiting for him with one of her heart-stopping smiles. He was a fool.

Finally he glanced up and his heart broke. A single tear had slipped down her cheek, betraying the moisture in her eyes as she bit her plump bottom lip.

“No, love, none of that, yeah? S’alright.” Tenderly he wiped the tear away with his thumb, unsure what else to do.

It felt like Sarah and him were encased in their own bubble. The people walking by them on the street did not matter. The sounds of the cars, horses, carriage and pedestrians were drowned out by the stillness surrounding them. The only people in the world that mattered were staring at one another, wishing life was not so cruel.

“I wish I could, Alfie. Truly…but not yet.”

He could feel his heart deflate but suddenly her hands were cupping his cheeks, forcing his eyes to meet her teary ones.

“I will turn eighteen this summer, and I can come see you. My father cannot stop me then. Try not to forget about me, sweetheart.”

“Never.”

With his promise, in full view of God himself and everyone on the street, she kissed him. It felt like their seal, their declaration towards one another. They would find each other once again. The kiss ended far sooner then he would have liked but it was not like they could have a full snogging session tight there on the side of the street. Not that anyone could stop him if he wanted to.

Gingerly she took a step back. “Stay safe and be good, Alfie Solomons.”

“Miss Sarah, I am always on me best behavior.”

“I certainly hope not.” Her eyes lecherously trailed up his body. “I want to taste you again…and not just your lips.”

His trousers suddenly tight, he tried to ignore it and tease back. “How ‘bout next time I return the favor properly, yeah?”

“I will hold you to that.” With a wink she turned and walked towards the driver, still leaning against the car smoking a cigarette.

He greedily watched her, eyes soaking in every curve of her body to memorize until he could see her again. “Fuckin’ hell, that girl, yeah, be the death of me.”

As fate would decree, that summer would pass by slowly with distance between the young lovers. It would be two years before they saw one another. Two whole years in which the flames of their passion dwindled but never extinguished.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fiction #peaky blinder fanfic #alfie solomons x oc #Alfie Solomons #pre ww1 #mzwrites

55 notes · View notes

gretacheesefleet · 5 years

Text

Wild West G.D.

(Lil wild west au)

The thin mountain air was full of dust and the smell of horse manure. For a desolate town there was more people bustling around than you imagined.

Six months. It took you six months to travel here from New York. A few weeks by train to St. Louis and then the rest of the way by stagecoach. You traveled across rivers, plains, and marshes. Through cities, ghost towns, and new settlements. Only to end up in a small town between two mountain ranges in the Montana territory. The view was stunning though. Snow capped mountains with thousands of green conifers surrounded you.

You sigh and step off the stagecoach. Except the last step was farther down than you expected. Gasping as you stumble you close your eyes for the impact.

"Woah easy there Miss, don't want you to ruin your purdy dress." A pair of strong hands straighten you up. Slowly you open your eyes. It's like he's an angel sent to earth from the heavens. The man in front of you is even more breathtaking than the view surrounding the two of you. The cowboy hat sits perfectly atop his head, the suspenders and his tight shirt show the outline of his torso, a holster hangs on his hips from the weight of the pistol, and the trousers make his legs look everlasting. His chiseled jawline would put all the Roman sculptures to shame. Eyes a shade you've never seen before and a smile brighter than the sun.

"Um thank you Mr?" You start brushing of your dress to stop staring at him.

"Please just call me Grayson."

"Nice to meet you Grayson. I'm (y/n)," you hold out your hand. He firmly grips it. Your hand practically disappears in his huge one.

"You new here?" He asks letting go of your hand.

"I thought it was kinda of obvious when I fell of the stagecoach," you giggle grabbing your bags from the driver.

"Oh yeah," Grayson rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Well then what brings you out here to the Montana territory all by yourself?"

"My brother's here. He's been here for almost two years."

"Who is your brother?"

"Lukas (y/l/n). Do you know him?"

"No I sure don't," Grayson says quickly. "You might go see the Marshall he knows everyone."

"Where's his office?"

"Right over there," he points to a building that says Marshall's office in big letters. "I would love to go with you but I've got someone waiting for me so, I really hope I'll be seen you 'round?"

"I hope I see you around too." Grayson tips his hat and takes off. You wave slightly, then you pick up your bags and take off towards the Marshall's office.

It's a plain building built from logs and two glass panes on each side of the door. When you walk in you're met with a tall, old man with a thick gray mustache. "Ello deary. I'm Marshall Collins. How may I help you?"

"I'm (y/n) (y/l/n) and I'm looking for my brother Lukas (y/l/n)."

"Well I hate to tell you this Miss (y/n) but yer brother is dead."

The news struck you like a brick wall. Taking a step back you stared at the Marshall in disbelief.

"What do you mean Lukas is dead? I just got letter from him at St. Louis. He c-can't be dead!"

"I'm sorry but a week ago-"

"A week ago!" A week ago you were traveling through part of the rugged Rockies.

"He was jumped on his way to town. Shot in the back. Two brothers heard the shot and brought the body and the man who shot him into town." You stand there speechless. Your big brother is dead. What are you supposed to do? You can feel the tears start filling up your eyes.

"Where is the man who killed him?" You ask wiping your eyes.

"In the ground," he shrugs. "Hung him the day after. Admitted to the Judge he did it so no use in keeping him 'round."

"Good. Thank you for telling me sir," you nod and walk out. Now you were in deep trouble. You have no money. No place to live.

You look around the town in hope of some form of work. Only one spot catches your eye. A saloon with a big help wanted sign. You wipe your eyes, take a deep breath, pick up your bags, and head to the saloon.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

You started that evening just as all men who had been working came in to have a drink. The dress you are wearing is very revealing leaving nothing of your body to anyone's imagination. Your breasts are practically spilling out of the top and the corset is giving you that "perfect" hourglass shape men seem to love so much.

Everything is going just fine. You flirt with the men, even the ones who reek of an awful stench and with few teeth. Saying the perfect things to get maybe a few dollars in tips so you can afford to go back home to New York.

You are making your way back to the bar when an arm snakes around your waist. Startled you're pulled into a strangers lap. You turn your head to see a man with a thin, black mustache and cold eyes, smirking at you.

"Hey there pretty lady whatcha doin after you're done here?"

"Well I'll probably sleep." You start to stand up.

"All alone?" He pulls you back into his lap rubbing his thumbs in circles on your hips.

"Yes all alone. Please let me go," you struggle to get up.

"Aw nah pretty lady you're staying with me," he starts to nuzzle your neck. Panic starts to come over you. He's so much stronger than you.

"Please. I've got work to do."

"Well if do a little somethin for me I can be sure to treat you good." His hands move farther up your sides.

"No..."

"She said no Billy," a firm voice states.

"Oh go find your own Dolan this one's mine." You look up and see Grayson. He doesn't even look at you.

"Let her go now." He says through a clenched jaw as his hand slowly inches to the pistol resting on his hip. The man roughly pushes you off into the floor.

"Are you lookin for a fight Dolan?" Billy stands sizing Grayson up.

"No I'm not, but the next time I see you handling another lady like that again I will not hesitate to beat some sense into you."

"She ain't no lady," Billy scoffs. "No real lady wears clothes like that. She's just wantin to get a room with me so she can make a few extra dolla-"

He was cut off with a fist to the jaw. You gasp as Billy tackles Grayson. You quickly scoot back against a wall as brawl ensues in front of you. The whole saloon is a mess of flying chairs and bottles. You lose Grayson in the crowd till a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You look up to see him.

"Grayson!" He shakes his head and holds out his hand.

"I'm not Grayson," you look at him confused as he helps you onto your feet. "I'll explain outside."

This Grayson imposter practically drags you out of the saloon.

"DOLAN!" Billy roars throwing a bottle. It misses and hits the swinging doors. You flinch. The boy leading you doesn't flinch a muscle.

"Who are you?" You question. He doesn't answer so you stop walking. "I'm going anywhere until you tell me who you are."

He turns around and you finally get a good look at his face. His lip is busted and his nose is gushing blood.

"Oh my!" You gasp quietly.

"Ethan Dolan. I'm assuming you've met Grayson he's my twin. He said he met a beautiful lady this afternoon but you look a bit different than he described..." Ethan says looking down your body. You blush remembering what your wearing and at what Ethan said.

"I'm (y/n) (y/l/n)," Ethan's eyes go wide for a second. "Is something wrong?"

"No everything's fine."

"Ok well let's get you cleaned up." You started to pull him to a water pump.

"No we should leave before Billy comes out and shoots me." You gasp.

"Would he really do that?"

"He just needs time to cool off. Come on let's go." Ethan heads over to a pretty palomino horse tied to a hitching post. He unties the reins and looks at you.

"What? Never been on a horse before?"

"I've lived in New York City my entire life I've never had the need to ride a horse." You state matter of factly.

Ethan smirks and raises an eyebrow. He holds out his hand.

"Come on I'll help you up."

You hesitantly grab him.

"Okay put your left foot in the stirrup and then swing your right leg over the horse," Ethan instructs you.

You nod and do as he told you. But before you can get your right leg completely over you feel yourself start to fall back. You let out a gasp.

"Woah now!" Ethan catches you and pushes you onto the horse. After you're situated in the saddle he follows suit. Ethan is sitting behind you, arms on both sides of you holding onto the reins.

"Hold on tight to saddle Missy here is a bit of a free spirit."

"I'm not going to fall off am-"

"DOLAN!" Billy comes storming out of the saloon.

"That's our cue," Ethan snaps the reins and Missy takes off galloping. You let out a yell as Billy shouts curses after the two of you.

"And no I won't let you fall!" Ethan says over the loud thunder of hooves.

After you're far enough away from town Ethan slows Missy to a trot. In just a few minutes a small cabin comes into view.

"Gray!" Ethan yells as you approach the cabin. "Grayson!"

Grayson comes running out with out a shirt on. Your mouth drops without you realizing it. This man has truly been blessed. His torso is as toned as you imagined earlier and it's evident that he does this often due to the nice even tan he has.

"Ethan what's wrong? Has something happened? Are you h-" he stops midsentence as Ethan turns the horse a little to reveal you.

You move your gaze down to the ground. You shift nervously.

"(Y/n)?!"

"Hello Grayson."

"What are you doing here? Why are you wearing those clothes? Ethan what are you doing with her? What happened to your face?"

"Woah Gray calm down I'll explain," Ethan climbs off the horse. You swing your leg over and Ethan reaches up grabbing your hips. In one quick motion he lifts you off the horse setting you safely on the ground.

You look around you. It's a dark night but you can make put an outline of a barn in the distance. A slight breeze blows and you shiver.

"Here let's get you inside (y/n)," Grayson grabs onto your arm and steers you into the cabin. "We don't have any ladies clothes but I'm sure we could find something to last through the night."

"Oh thank you Grayson but there's no need-"

"Nonsense (y/n). Now do you mind telling me why you are wearing this saloon getup?"

You look down in embarrassment.

"Well turns out my brother, Lukas, was killed about a week ago. I spent all my money on the trip down here and with Lukas gone I need to go home. The only way I could figure on making money was the saloon." Grayson stays quiet as you explain your problem. When you finish Grayson sighs.

"You can stay here."

"Oh no I don't want to be a burden."

"(Y/n) don't be ridiculous. It's late and you don't have anywhere else to go. I'll go find you some clothes for tonight. Tomorrow we can go get your stuff from town."

You open your mouth to protest but he holds up his hand to silence you. He turns and heads into a room. You look around the small cabin.

You're standing in what appears to be the kitchen and living room. There's a small stove for cooking, a fireplace, a table and chairs, and two rifles on a rack above the front door. On the opposite wall there is another door and some shelves with a few things on it. One wall has two doors. Grayson walks out of one with clothes in his arms.

"Here are some of my clothes. They might be big but it should work for tonight." He hands you the clothes. "You can change in my room." He nods at the door he came from.

You nod and scurry into the room. It's very tiny. There's a belt with gun and holster on a small table in a corner, a bed with a ragged quilt and pillow in one, and a dresser in another.

Slowly you start to undress. You hear the front door shut. You slip on the button up shirt Grayson gave you (which falls to the top of your knees) and tiptoe to the door.

"Where is she?" You hear Ethan ask.

"She's changing in my room."

"Oh. Is she going to sleep in there?"

"Yeah I'll sleep in your room with you."

"She's a real beauty isn't she?"

"Oh yeah she is," Grayson sighs.

What Ethan says next is so quiet you can't make out the words. When you open the door they're leaned over the table with their backs turned. They jump when you clear your throat. In sync their eyes widen when they notice how little you're wearing. Clearing your throat their eyes shoot back up.

"Um it's pretty late, I uh, I'm going to get some sleep. I'm sleeping in your room right Grayson?" You gesture to his room.

"Uh yeah. Yeah! See you tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Night. Um I just want to say thank you," you smile at him. "Especially you Ethan. I don't know what I would have done if you wouldn't have intervened like that."

"Aw it was nothin'." Ethan says sheepishly.

Smiling you make the way back into the room. Blowing out the kerosene lamp you crawl into the bed.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

The smell of frying bacon wakes you in the morning. Looking around you noticed your clothes from yesterday are gone. They have been replaced with a shirt and pants. There's a pair of boots sitting beside the door. Quickly you get dressed. The pants are too long so you roll up the bottoms and you have to tuck in the button up. The boots are a bit to big so you stuff socks in the toe.

When you open the door your jaw drops. A bare back of one of the twins is the sight you're blessed with. Muscles ripple as he bends down to pick up the towel he just dropped. It's so tan and smooth. You want to run your hands all over it.

He starts to turn around and you shake your head to break the trance. The beautiful body belonged to Grayson. He's holding a pan full of bacon. A smile breaks out on his face.

"Good morning. You're just in time for breakfast. Bacon and biscuits. I hope the clothes aren't to big on you."

"Oh they're fine thank you. Breakfast looks delicious."

"Here," Grayson sits down the pan and pulls out a chair for you. When you sit down he gives you some bacon and a biscuit.

"Um thank you again for letting me stay here." You take a bite of bacon.

Grayson's back is to you again as he rummages through the cabinets.

"It's really no problem (y/n). Here. Blackberry jam. Homemade," he sits a jar full of black goo in front of you. He hands a knife to you.

Thinking back to yesterday you remember how he acted when you mentioned your brother.

"Are you sure you didn't know Lukas? I mean this is a really small town." You ask between bites. Graysons back visibly stiffens.

"Grayson? Did you know him? Please tell me."

"Yeah," he nods and turns to you. "Yes we knew Lukas. Actually we're the ones who found him."

87 notes · View notes

dontshootmespence · 5 years

Text

Don’t Be a Stranger

Summary: Your on-again, off-again fuck buddy Dean rolls back into town, but something about him is different this time. Will you be able to handle the change?

Pairing: MOC!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,929

Warnings: Rough sex, hitachi fun, butt plug, slight spanking, squirting. Good jams with desperate Dean.

A/N: For those of you 18 and over! This fulfills my “sex toys” square for @spnkinkbingo and my plugs prompt for @covered-byroses kink challenge.

Coming home smelling of cheap beer, whiskey and cigarette smoke wasn’t exactly your idea of the best job ever, but with your ample assets and ability to flirt with whoever necessary no matter how disgusting or good-looking, it paid the bills.

Pushing past the impossibly heavy door to your apartment, you peeled off your leather jacket and threw it over the back end of the couch, worn by years of passing out on it instead of your own bed. Perk of living in the middle of buttfuck nowhere was that even your pittance of a paycheck provided you with a halfway decent apartment. Clean it wasn’t, but that was your own fault, normally too tired to bother cleaning after making whatever comfort food you wanted for dinner. It was - as Goldilocks would say - just right.

After shoveling nearly half a box of Kraft mac and cheese into your face, you went to brush your teeth and get changed. This was the one night of the week were you got off early and didn’t have work the next day. So tonight, you’d treat yourself. Light some vanilla candles, get nice and relaxed with a bubble bath, put on some silky lingerie and go to town on yourself. It was the least you deserved after six straight days of dealing with the scummiest men imaginable trying to worm their way into your pants.

You sighed happily and sauntered through the apartment, turning on the bathwater and grabbing a couple candles before tossing your vibrator on the bed. Just as you were about to slip into the steaming water, you heard a knock at the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Grumpily, you pulled on a silky bathrobe and went to answer the door. Whoever it was better have had a good excuse for interrupting your one night off. You peered through the peephole and did a double take. “Dean?”

“Yea, Y/N, it’s me.”

You looked through the glass a third time. He was fidgety; he looked irritated. Normally when he showed up at your door it was because he was sliding through town yet again and the two of you had undeniable chemistry. You were fuck buddies, but you could never sleep with someone you didn’t at least care for to a degree - and Dean looked like hell.

Opening up the door, you invited him and asked if he wanted a drink. When he nodded, you fixed what you knew he drank, which you just so happened to have at home due to your similar taste in liquor. You poured a double shot into a glass, no ice of course, and brought it over to him, passing it to him without a word and watching as he tipped the entire thing back into his mouth.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Typical. He rarely opened up.

He scratched at his arm and you glanced down, seeing a mark that hadn’t been there before. Almost looked like a brand. “Something to do with that?”

“Something to do with that.”

After meeting him all those years ago - apparently he, Sam and Cas had just stopped the apocalypse in its tracks - he told you what he did for a living. You’d come into contact with a vamp once, but with Dean’s basic training, you’d taken it down. Other than that, and the fact that you knew of this whole angel and demon business, you didn’t have much knowledge of whatever insane bullshit Dean got himself into.

“Let’s just say this mark controls me in a way.”

You moved back in your chair, silently chiding yourself for not checking him for signs of demon or vamp or whatever. “Not like that. I’m clean,” he said, pulling out a bottle of holy water and flicking it onto himself. “In a different way. And I need a distraction. The kind of distraction this Mark demands...I’m trying not to give into it. I don’t know any other way. Sam and Cas want to help, but they can’t-I-”

“Dean, it’s okay. You know I’m always down for a distraction.”

He’d already opened up more than you thought. And you didn’t necessarily need his life story if he wasn’t willing to give it. You were great in bed together and right now that was really all he needed.

Dean smirked slightly, relief flooding his features as he pulled you into his lap and began nipping at your collarbone. “What do you need, Dean?”

“Rough,” he mumbled. “I need to fuck you senseless.”

“I’m down,” you laughed in reply, grinding against the hard denim covering his knee. “How about some toys? You can choose.”

In times like these, Dean needed control and you knew it. Plus, he was never one to leave you hanging, so you knew you’d be taken care of, no matter how soft or rough he was with you.

Gently tossing you to the side, he nipped at the side of your neck before running into your room. He knew exactly where everything was. “This little thing?” He asked in amazement, probably referring to your vibrator. “This is nothing. I want the big guns.”

He did a little rummaging around and found what he was looking for. The hitachi. You only brought that out when you need a quick, easy, powerful orgasm. “Robe off,” he commanded as he walked out with the wand in hand.

You did as he demanded and let it drop to the floor. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your stainless steel butt plug, with a green jewel at the end of course, shining in his side pocket. Removing it from his pants pocket, he placed the tip at your mouth. “You’re going to get this nice and wet and then I’m going to fill up your tight little ass.” Moaning around the plug, you began teasing your nipples as he continued detailing every depraved thing he wanted to do to you - what he needed to do to you. “Then I’m going to take my belt and fasten this wand straight on your clit and fuck you from behind until you come so many times that you can’t move from the floor.”

You’d gotten rough before, but normally not like this - not that you were objecting. It just proved that something was different about him even though you didn’t fully understand.

Dean pulled you close and dipped his head to you nipple, pulling one roughly into his mouth and biting down so hard you gasped out loud. “Am I going to have to keep you quiet?”

“You keep doing things like that, hell yea.”

He grasped you bottom lip between his teeth and growled at the slickness between your legs. He’d barely touched you and yet here you were. “Down on the floor. Face down, ass up.”

Once more, he slipped the plug into your mouth before pushing it into your ass. “That slid in pretty easily. You play with your own ass or is that just for partners?”

“Little bit of both.”

“God, you’re amazing.” By the time Dean was happy with the plug’s position, you could feel your pussy dripping. He gave your ass a playful smack before placing the hitachi against your clit and ensuring it stayed in place by fastening his belt around your waist.

Even though he started it on the lowest setting, you knew you were in for an experience, even by Dean standards. “Who’s my perfect little slut?”

“I am,” you breathed, a dreamy smile setting upon your face as he placed himself at your entrance. The subtle rumble of the wand on your clit intensified as he slid into your heat, a guttural moan escaping from Dean’s lips.

He pulled out, almost painstakingly slow, leading you into a false sense of security that shattered like glass as he thrust back into you with one, hard, smooth movement. “God, your pussy is so tight.” You wanted to respond, to say something that might indicate the depth of your need, but as he thrusted back into you, pointed, sharp movements driving your clit down onto the wand over and over again, nothing came out. Nothing but strangled cries and bone deep whimpers.

As he picked up the pace, the intensity becoming more than you ever imagined or experienced, he slipped his hand underneath you to flick the switch on hitachi and up the speed. “Oh fuck! Oh my God, Dean!”

At your outburst, Dean yanked on the belt, pulling you upward and flush against him. His hand found its way to your mouth and covered it. “You remember last time I was here? You made too much noise and got the landlord called on you? Don’t want to do that again, do you?”

You shook your head and bit your lip, stifling the moan that rumbled up from within as you got lost in the pace of his thrusts and the intensity of the wand and the way your ass gripped tightly onto the metal plug, puckering with each movement.

When he pushed you back down toward the ground, he smacked your ass, the sting of it sending you into a tailspin of begging. “Please, Dean! Please, make me cum. Please, please, please-”

Again he pinned you to the ground, upping the speed of the wand one final time as he wiggled the plug inside you. “Gonna come in this tight little pussy.”

With one final thrust you came apart, a warm liquid flowing onto the ground below you while your clit throbbed and your pussy tightened around Dean’s cock. “Oh, fuck,” you mumbled into the floor.

You were a bowl of jelly, completely pliable and up for anything Dean had in store. Whether or not you could take much more, you weren’t sure. But instead of taking you to the edge of the universe and back, he flipped you over and turned the wand off, removing the belt from around your waist and removing the plug, letting it fall from his hand with a thud. “What a little slut, do you always squirt when you’re not in control?”

“Only by myself, never had someone make me,” you managed to say, your body still shaking. “How about we get in the shower you interrupted me taking and then I can ride you like there’s no tomorrow?”

Even though he’d just fucked you into next week, Dean’s irritation was evident, the mark on his arm almost burning with an unslakable lust for something you couldn’t place. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, lifting you up like a doll and carrying you into the bathroom. “But I gotta go before I do something I regret.”

“What the hell could that be?”

He turned the bath water on and filled the tub, shaking the last thoughts of confiding in someone away. “You don’t want to know. That’s what this is, right? All fucking, no talking. You don’t need to know what a shitshow my life is. I won’t do that to you.” The last words he spoke came out almost like a whisper, voice cracking from a burden he was barely holding steady.

After placing you in the tub, he bent down and kissed you, lingering for just a moment before turning away. “I’ll see you.”

“Of course, Dean,” you replied, sinking into the bath water, almost melting into it. You wanted him to stay, to unburden himself of the fuckery, but you knew it was a lost cause, at least right now. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“With you, no chance. Can’t stay away forever.”

#spnkinkbingo #spnkinkbingo2019 #cbrkinkchallenge #moc!dean #moc!dean x reader #moc!dean x you #moc!dean x y/n #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dontshootmespence #don't be a stranger

290 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 4 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #212: Men of Deadly Pride!

October, 1981

Here they are -- the new Avengers!

But not the New Avengers (the difference is that the hairy monster they have is Tigra instead of Wolverine).

And they are having difficulty.

I don’t know what they did to piss off Galadriel over here (I mean yes I do, she says it right on the cover) but she is kicking their asses.

A dark queen indeed.

Not much to actually say about the cover. Uh, the composition looks neat! There we go. A thing.

So lets jump inside.

Where in a moody dawn scene, Jarvis walks alone through a nearly empty Avengers mansion, little knowing he is being stalked until

RAWWR! IT IS CAT!

Tigra jumps out to do him a startle.

C’mon, Tigra. Be nice.

You’re the only Avenger actually staying in the mansion so try not to terrorize the butler.

And he was bringing you a glass of milk for your breakfast!

Although he says that he’s dealt with a lot of unsettling things and he’s learned to maintain him composure. He didn’t even spill a drop.

Jarvis: “I must say, madame, that I find you rather more unsettling than our previous resident Avengers!”

Tigra: “Oh? You a cat-lover, Jarv?”

AND DON’T FLIRT WITH HIM EITHER TIGRA GEEZ

Poor Jarvis is even allergic to cats which seems to include giant cat women.

Jarvis asks how she got this way, prompting Tigra to give a very laconic backstory that once there was a human Greer Nelson who got almost dead and then the cat-people saved her life by turning her into a cat-person.

Tigra: “And, so, here I am, one pretty kitty! But, c’mon, Jarv, does it matter how I got this sexy?”

Jarvis clarifies that he meant how she got this way as in her upbringing. Like, why you so rude.

I guess I’ll just be grateful that this is just playful Tigra flirtiness as opposed to ‘i must make out with someone 24/7 oh hey a supervillain sure I’ll make you with you’ hypersexuality she’d have while on the West Coast Avengers, in the future.

Elsewhere, Tony Stark is decompressing from his one night stand, Teri. Admiring her very comfy couch, grateful that she’s still asleep so he can sneak out (Tony, you cad), and lamenting being on the wagon. When all that’s left to drink is scotch, bourbon, and half a can of warm, flat Dr. Pepper, you drink that Dr. Pepper if you’re Tony Stark.

Tony calls his secretary to have a janitorial crew clean up after the party and to send up a dozen roses for Teri.

And then he flies out the window as Iron Man, the Man Who Kisses and Runs! as Teri wakes up and is like ‘hey tonykins what the hell was that whooshing sound?’

Tony, you cad.

And elsewhere meanwhile, Steve Rogers wakes up promptly at six o’clock in the damn morning bright as the sun and raring to go. Disgusting. Truly disgusting.

I joked about Steve getting up at 6 to run ten miles and whatever because of him criticizing Beast that time but its sickening to see it in action.

Anyway, after he damn sings in the shower like the perky morning man he is, he bounces out the window to the first Avengers meeting since the roster shake-up, musing how little they know about Tigra and how he’ll have to keep an eye on her because he doesn’t know if she’ll crack under pressure or not.

And then onto, ok wow, we are just having full pages of individual Avengers going about their mornings.

So we’re onto Normal Human Man Dr. Donald Blake reaching the end of the night shift he just pulled at a hospital.

Nurse Wilson pretty blatantly flirts with him (thinking to herself “C’mon, doc! Notice that I’m a woman! I dare you!”). Normal Human Man Dr. Donald Blake doesn’t seem to notice but his thoughts are on her, wishing he could take her out for lunch but that he has important Avengers business.

He then taps his walking stick and transforms into Thor and flies off towards the mansion.

And that brings us to Cresskill where Janet van Dyne aka the Wasp and Hank Pym aka Yellowjacket are going about their morning.

Befitting her blase attitude last issue, Jan just wants to stay in bed longer and cuddle but Hank is desperate not to be late to his first meeting as a newly active Avenger again.

So he’s in costume and ready to go while she’s still choosing which of her many many costumes to wear. Albeit with the ulterior motive that she’s trying to look good for him. She does put in like 90% of the effort into the relationship.

So she’s narrowed her choices down to a red and blue costume and a green and purple outfit that looks like maybe she raided the Green Goblin’s wardrobe. She asks Hank to decide for her.

And he does. In a sense.

He blasts the green and purple number to shreds and yells “Wear the other one!” and when she protests the destruction of her stuff he goes “So what? Like you said you’ve got lots!”

Hmm. We haven’t seen Hank in a while. And he didn’t talk much last issue what with all the Moondragoning. But he’s taken a bit of a level in being a jackass.

And then on the ride to the mansion, the limo gets stuck in traffic.

Yellowjacket: “That does it! You can ride in your blasted chauffeured limo so your two-hundred dollar hair-do doesn’t get mussed -- but I’m flying to Avengers Mansion under my own power!”

And then he ditches. He ditches hard. Leaving Wasp to fly after him begging him to wait.

You’re a bit of a rude, Hank.

Like Hank feared, the two do arrive late to the meeting and he is gently ribbed by sudden class clown Captain America.

Captain America: “Well, look who’s finally here! Now the Wasp has arrived with her new partner -- uh, Yellowjacket, right? We can get started!”

Is funny joke. Its been a time so they’re pretending he’s a new guy and ha ha he’s being described as Wasp’s partner instead of vice versa. What an upset.

And it is an upset. Tigra notices what the other Avengers seem to miss, that Cap’s joke just pissed Yellowjacket off.

And its not helped when Cap mentions that its time to elect a new chairman but Iron Man interrupts to say that he and Thor have agreed that its better for Cap to remain chairman. They did just reorganize the roster and all. Some stability is fine.

Thor: “We choose to waive the elections! Such is our right as founding members!”

And this sets Yellowjacket right the hell off.

Yellowjacket: “Is that so? Well, I resent not being consulted! As the Ant Man I was a founding member, too!”

Iron Man: “uh, of course Hank... you and the Wasp! But you came in late... we’d already decided...”

Yeah! The Wasp too!

But Yellowjacket has some kind of insect in his bonnet and he yells that he’s done being forgotten and treated as a has-been while Janet just silently cringes. She wonders what’s happened to the man she loves. And why he won’t let her reach him anymore.

The meeting continues but the scene transitions.

To a cottage in an isolated glade among the wooded hills of Virginia. Where the olde talking power couple of Gorn and Linnea wake up. Linnea wants to lay in bed with Gorn a while longer but he decides NAY TIME TO GET UP NOW.

Hey wait.

Hmmm.

I’m sensing... thematic parallels. I’m sure its nothing, though.

Anyway, Gorn is tired of living a quiet idyllic life in a beautiful glade with a woman who dearly loves him, as they’ve done for ten thousand years. His dander is up and he wants battles to fight and glory to win! He’s tired of being safe in the glade, protected by Linnea’s power. He’s a warrior, not a farmer!

(I see no evidence of farming around the cottage, just saying)

And since its either be ditched or go with him, Linnea decides to go with him.

Gorn: “You are beautiful in that gown, Linnea. Men shall again call you Elf-Queen as they did in ancient days!”

Linnea/Elf-Queen: “They also called me witch and devil-spawn! They are ever so cruel to my kind!”

Gorn: “Aye, and once we fled them! This time, if we must, we shall fight them!”

Ah, geez, Gorn. The cover implies this won’t go well for you.

So Gorn and Elf-Queen, him on foot and her on horseback) wander into Washington DC literally looking for trouble.

But before trouble, something to eat. Looking for an inn, they wander into a random restaurant.

Gorn, being Gorn, immediately starts yelling at the maitre d’, who he assumes is the innkeeper.

And here’s a bit of an interesting and not often used touch. Even though all speech bubbles are rendered without <> as is sometimes used to denote someone speaking a different language, Gorn and Elf-Queen Linnea are in fact speaking an ancient language.

Nobody can understand a thing they say.

And they can’t understand modern English.

This is a perfect setup for some farce.

Gorn ends up just yelling that he wants food and the maitre d’ gets the gist even though he doesn’t understand the words. This is Washington DC. A lot of people from other countries wander through. So he shows them to a table.

Linnea and Gorn decide that the maitre d’ is probably the innkeeper’s idiot brother. I mean, that’s probably why he can’t understand normal language, right?

And there’s more culture shock to be had. Linnea is realizing how differently dressed everyone is in this era. None of the men are even wielding swords!

Elf-Queen Linnea: “And the women, Gorn -- ! The way they’re dressed --! Like -- like harlots!”

Gorn: “Aye! Hmmm...” -totally staring at a butt and not paying attention-

Linnea: “Gorn... ?! I-if we stay here... would you like me to dress so? I do not know if I can learn the ways of these women... but for you my love, I would try! Gorn... ?”

Gorn: “Mmm...” -still not paying attention-

Linnea: (Oh, Gorn! For ten thousand years we have dwelt together in solitude, as one in our love! Am I to lose you now, here in this city of temptresses?)

Hmmm.... this reminds me of something.... but what?

A Barry Kaplan interrupts her inferiority anxiety by coming up and trying to hire her as a fashion model.

And neither Barry nor Linnea can understand each other still.

But she senses something of his intentions and warns him that this isn’t a good idea since she’s sitting next to a warrior and all.

Barry is like ‘maybe if I try other languages?’

And then Gorn notices. And Gorn is displeased.

Gorn: “NO ONE TOUCHES GORN’S WOMAN!”

Barry: “I warn you, I’ve had six jiu-jitsu lessons!”

Wow!

So Gorn gets up from that and just bodily lifts the guy over his head (Barry lamenting that he dropped out before jiu-jitsu lesson seven). But if you get the barbarian or warrior dropped into a modern setting trope they’re usually just way better than any soft modern man. So its funny to see this random dink get the better of Gorn, even if its just the preamble to what would have been Gorn delivering a thorough beatdown.

Its just not what you expect to see in this story.

Linnea magics Barry out of Gorn’s hands, trying to defuse the situation but Gorn interprets the situation as her ‘unmanning’ him.

Gorn: “Why, Linnea? Why do you seek to unman me? Is it not enough that your power has preserved my youth and kept me for centuries? Must you now interfere in my battles?”

Linnea meekly apologizes.

And then the maitre d’ comes pissed off that this loud, shouting weirdo started a fight and is going to call the police on them. Until Linnea goes ‘oh right we should pay for the damage we caused’ and gives the maitre d’ a gold and diamond necklace.

And the maitre d’ mentally goes cha-ching and reroutes an order about to be served to give to the big spending non-English speaking weirdos.

When Gorn and Elf-Queen finally leave the restaurant wouldn’t you know it, someone stole their damn horse!

What kind of city is it where you can’t leave a horse tied to a parking meter without someone making off with it??

Linnea once again is like ‘hey lets go home to our nice glade where nobody ever stole our horse’

Gorn: “It is your home, Linnea, where I am but a guest -- nay, a pet kept by your grace. Ages ago, I was a renowed warrior, honored and feared by nations and kings! If I am to be a man in my own eyes I must regain the glory I once knew!”

And then a cop comes up to Gorn because you can’t just carry a sword around Washington DC.

Gorn: “Eh? His words are gibberish but the intent is clear! This blue-clad warrior issues me a challenge! Have at thee scoundr- AHH!”

And then the cop just maces Gorn.

Its not funny like the talent agent tossing him into a salad bowl because: cops. Its still a little funny because: Gorn.

Anyway, while Gorn is screaming and coughing the cop just slaps some handcuffs on him.

And Linnea magics the cop away from her boyfriend and worries over him.

Given this new horrible thing that has happened to them, another in a line of horrible things happening to them once they left their home, Linnea begs Gorn again to give up this quest to fight a random thing to make himself feel manly.

Linnea: “I am so worried, Gorn! The world has grown so strange! There is so much here that we do not understand! Please, let us go back before something terrible befalls us!”

He again refuses and she asks if he would die for his pride.

So he slaps her across the face.

And after all that she’s meekly gone along with his whims and tantrums and whatever else ways to describe Gorn’s exceptionally gornish way of being, she draws the line here.

Linnea: “Go ahead, Gorn -- stay! Win your stupid ‘glory’! I do not care! Farewell!”

And she just walks away into the sky, twinkle, because she can do that.

When she’s too far to hear he whispers an apology but its too late and he sadly trudges off alone into the city.

Wow, that was six pages of just Gorn and Linnea, Elf-Queen. That’s nearly a fourth of the whole issue! We spend a lot of time with these two new characters!

Back at Avengers Mansion, Iron Man and Yellowjacket prep the Quinjet to fly.

Wasp: “You mean we’re going all the way to Washington, D.C. just because somebody there claims they saw a woman walking on air? What’s new about that? I do it every time my sweetie Hank gives me a wink! Then, again, they do have some wonderful stores there! Last time I went there I bought six fur coats!”

Tigra: “Sounds expensive! I’m lucky! Mine’s built in!”

Iron Man chimes in that the air-walking woman also assaulted a cop so clearly this looks like a job for the Avengers.

But when they finish up checking the Quinjet, Yellowjacket says that he’s discovered the ‘sonomodulator circuit’ on his disruptor gun is acting up.

He’s pretty sure he can fix it but Wasp chimes in with a more different idea.

Wasp: “I’ll just ring up Jeeves over at the East Side Penthouse! He can grab one of those doohickies from your lab there and zip right over in the limo! It’ll just take a few minutes!”

Yellowjacket: “You love doing that, don’t you? You love taking every opportunity to flaunt your blasted money! Well, I don’t need your butlers, your cars or your money -- and I don’t need you!”

And Wasp runs off crying that she only wanted to help. Yellowjacket storms into the Quinjet telling the other Avengers to forget Wasp and get going.

Making the other Avengers feel very awkward about witnessing this fight. Cap even feels as if he should do something but doesn’t know what since its a personal matter.

A suggestion? Mandated couples counseling since this kind of thing could affect the team, will be the reason you give? Like. This clearly is something that’s going to cause trouble. Get ahead of it, Cap.

Meanwhile, back in Washington D.C. because yes Gorn didn’t just walk out of the book forever alone. He walked into a very honestly uncomfortably stereotypical gang who decide hey maybe we should mug that guy with the sword, it’ll probably pawn for something.

Gorn still can’t understand a thing anyone says but they’re carrying weapons and finally here’s a situation he understands. And finally he also doesn’t get played for a chump. He just wades into the crowd of six and starts laying them out with his bare hands.

This is what you’d typically see for a warrior type dropped into modern world thing.

Oh and then the cops hear the fight and go hey its that guy with the sword that there was an APB about.

And Gorn goes, hey its guys wearing the same livery of the guy that got me with that stinging vapor. Time to run at them with a sword.

So they shoot him five times.

And he dies.

It turns out that Linnea has been watching Gorn from a distance this whole time, apparently unwilling to actually ditch. So she sees him get gunned down.

She floats down from the sky to his side and realizes that he is already dead. The cops mistake sky woman for an angel (but there was an APB out for Gorn so why didn’t the flying woman warrant a mention?) but if Linnea is, she’s an avenging one.

She turns on the cops with her magic and makes them sink up to their necks into the concrete.

Elf-Queen: “Are you begging? It is for naught! He’s dead! DEAD! My love is dead -- and this city, this world shall PAY!”

And she turns her magic on Washington D.C., blasting a building and a helicopter, lashing out in grief at the world that killed her dickbag boyfriend.

This is when the Avengers finally arrive to the Plot, in this Avengers book.

The Avengers just see someone breaking property and go to stop her.

Captain America: “Avengers... attack!”

Of course, Tony being Tony, and kind of a loose man immediately gets distracted at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Iron Man: “Excuse me, miss! Couldn’t we discuss whatever’s bothering you... say, over dinner at the diplomat club?”

Its... not a bad idea. A little bit of empathy. Its just his motive that’s bad.

And also, his inability to speak ancient languages. Elf-Queen still can’t understand a thing anyone says. She does think a flying man in armor is something Gorn would have liked. But that just makes her mad.

So she magics a railing to wrap up Iron Man.

Thor grabs Elf-Queen from behind, pulling her arm behind her back. Its strikingly reminiscent of the Standard Female Grab Area trope but Elf-Queen doesn’t believe in that trope.

Elf-Queen: “You are strong, jackal! Your strength might have been enough to hold even me -- had you not presumed I was as frail as I appear!”

And she throws Thor into what is probably a monument.

Hmm, Iron Man and Thor got dunked so far because they really underestimated this woman because she’s a woman. Maybe don’t do that?

Meanwhile, Yellowjacket is thinking that this is his chance to prove what a star he is, if he’s the one that takes the threat down with his disruptor blast.

While Elf-Queen distracts herself with the dropped Mjolnir, Yellowjacket tries to shoot her with his disruptor from behind.

But it shorts out again!

Maybe he should have gotten the replacement part instead of trying to jury-rig a repair!

Elf-Queen senses the power in Mjolnir and tries to pick it up to better smash the world but finds she can’t lift it.

She guesses that there’s some enchantment on it since it doesn’t crumble the ground beneath it.

So she magics the ground to form a hand to grab and lift Mjolnir.

And then she hits Thor in the face with his own hammer. Hah.

Another for the list of silly Mjolnir loopholes.

Linnea monologues about her backstory because. Look. She may not be a villain. And people may not be able to understand a word she says. But people in comics have to comic.

Elf-Queen: “I am Linnea, called Elf Queen and great is the power I was born with! It transported my love and me across the ocean to this land ages ago in search of solitude! It preserved our youth! It kept us hidden when civilization spread its taint hither! The forces, forms and sustenance of the world bend to my will -- but all my power cannot help my Gorn now! Now, my gift serves only as a means for vengeance!”

Iron Man manages to tear free of the railing wrapped around him just as Tigra loudly pounces at Elf-Queen.

And Elf-Queen just gestures and sends Tigra flying into the air. High, high into the air. So high, so into the air that Iron Man has to fly after her to make sure Tigra doesn’t end up asphyxiating in space.

With all of the other Avengers out of action (or standing around uselessly like Yellowjacket), Elf-Queen turns out wrath on Captain America.

She blasts a building, sending a whole wall at him.

Cap dodges through the rain of rubble and berates himself. He realizes that he should have attacked sooner but he’s been holding back, trying to figure things out.

She’s speaking a language that doesn’t sound like any he knows of. Her clothes seem to be of ancient design. And he’s wondering if she maybe just popped out of the past, somehow surviving from some age undreamt of.

And hey, relatable, kinda. He spent decades in suspended animation.

Elf-Queen throws a lake of fire between her and Cap and Cap figures hey she’ll expect me to go around. So he jumps over it, doing her a startle.

Cap: “Good! I took her completely off guard! This is a perfect chance -- to show her that we want only peace!”

So he stands in front of her, hands to his side, palms showing. Showing no aggression.

Elf-Queen: “You did not strike when you had the opportunity! I could slay you easily now! Unflinchingly you face death! How like... my Gorn... my brave warrior!”

The fight could have ended here. Could. Could have. Could’ve.

Because Yellowjacket has been focused entirely on fixing his disruptor this whole time and has not paid any attention to how the fight has been going.

So when he gets the disruptor fixed, he doesn’t think ‘oh hey Cap is standing there and nobody is currently fighting!’ he thinks ‘wow this is a really easy shot’ and shoots Elf-Queen in the back.

And turns out that Linnea - a person who can toss Thor around - can also weather a disruptor. So she’s just mad. Furiously.

She figures that Cap’s courage was just a bold ruse. So she’s going to kill him. AFTER she throws a car at Yellowjacket.

Yellowjacket: “Oh, no! My sting’s shorted out again! No time to dodge! I’ll be crushed!”

But before Hank can be crushed like some kind of insect, can’t really think of a specific example, he is saved by Jan, who comes out of nowhere and blasts the car away with all of her might.

And apparently car blasting is under that umbrella.

But it takes it out of her and she weakly flutters to the ground.

Hank has mixed feelings about not being dead.

Yellowjacket: “You -- you saved me! You shattered the truck with your bio-electric sting! You saved me! You! She must have followed us down here... probably chartered a plane! She followed us down here, and when I was dead meat for sure, she saved me! Why her? WHY?”

Where are you in your life where you have to ask that, Hank?

Elf-Queen is like well that just happened but I’m just going to try to kill him again.

But Cap jumps in front of her again and very assertively non-aggressives.

Captain America: “Don’t do it! Don’t you see? It was a mistake -- an accident! If only you could understand me! Don’t kill him!”

Elf-Queen: “You dare stand in my way? Can you not see the rage in my eyes?”

But nonetheless, she subsides. The Avengers all re-assemble, ready to rush her but Cap tells them to stand down.

Elf-Queen Linnea starts crying and just walks away from the team.

Feeling a bit awkward, Cap decides to follow her to see what’s what. And they find her crying over Gorn.

Thor: “A fallen warrior! Her husband, perchance?”

Captain America: “Somehow I -- I think I knew! I mean... I’m not surprised! She seemed... grief-stricken!”

Iron Man: “I -- I wonder how this all came to pass?”

They’ll probably never know. The shot isn’t wide enough to say for sure but I think that if the Avengers saw, they’d say. I’m pretty sure those cops Linnea sank into the concrete have finished sinking. So it goes.

Cap says he’s sorry for what happened, knowing that his words will probably mean nothing to her. Language gap and all.

Linnea: “I hear compassion in your voice, brave champion! Is there such a thing in this cold, cruel place, save in your own heart? I cannot forgive your world for what it has taken from me.. but, for you, who are so much alike my beloved... for you, I will go in peace... for now!”

Yeah. She’s never coming back.

This is her and Gorn’s only appearance.

So despite Tigra wondering if she’ll be back and despite Iron Man’s suspicion that she might be a mutant, it doesn’t matter.

She’s done her role in the narrative and she’s gone.

But as the Avengers try to figure out what this was all about, Wasp looks at Yellowjacket with worry. For the issue ends with him still consumed in bitter thoughts and oblivious to Wasp.

And the big next time teaser says COURT MARTIAL! so. Yeah.

We’re coming on to a storyline that anyone who knows at least two things about Hank Pym knows. You probably already know it or will be able to guess it.

I was familiar with this story but only the moment where Hank shoots Elf-Queen in the back and makes things worse for himself. I hadn’t absorbed via osmosis how much of a shit he was being throughout. And nobody ever talks about Gorn.

Which is a shame.

The title of the issue comes right out and connects the obvious dots.

“Men of deadly pride!”

And that can only be Hank Pym and Gorn.

Much of this issue doesn’t actually feature the Avengers. There’s this long stretch in the middle that just has Gorn and Linnea leaving their home, traveling to the big city, Gorn’s attitude getting worse and worse, and finally his death.

Its clear enough that Gorn represents Hank Pym.

Hank rails against Janet for flaunting her money and emotionally withdraws from her and even becomes angry with her. He rankles at the idea he might be perceived her partner instead of vice versa. Feels he’s not being given the respect he deserves.

While Gorn resents that Linnea is the one caring for him. He emotionally withdraws from her. He perceives himself a pet to her. That he was once renowned and desperately needs to regain his glory.

And he just gets angrier when Linnea has to rescue him from his dumb mistakes.

Much like Jan had to rescue Hank in this issue, something that basically made Hank check out of the rest of the issue.

I don’t know what Gorn may have been like ten thousand years ago that Linnea sees him in Captain America most, but he’s a shadow for Hank Pym.

And what’s interesting is how the story looks at Gorn and his machismo. His obsessive preoccupation with proving himself. The story highlights the problems he creates for himself eventually leading to his death. It shows a person that just can’t live in the modern world.

And then the story looks at Hank Pym. One of the 60s style manly men holdovers. Paints him in much the same light. And seems to ask. “Can you live in the modern world?”

The question is in the air.

Its not particularly deep symbolism. But it surprised me that nobody ever mentions it.

Interestingly, if Hank is Gorn then Jan is Linnea. Their personalities are different enough that this might seem strange.

But they both draw the line in a similar place with their partners.

And there was a What If? based on this issue What If? #35 where Hank did die, much as Gorn did. And Wasp became an avenging angel of her own. Taking the identity of Black Wasp and brutally attacking criminals.

She even contemplates letting Cap be killed by falling debris, blaming him for Hank’s death.

All I can say is that this has been one awkward first day for Tigra.

Follow @essential-avengers. Like or reblog this post. Stay tuned for more of this sort of thing.

#Avengers #Elf Queen and Gorn #Yellowjacket #the Wasp #Captain America #essential avengers #Thor #Iron Man #Tigra #essential marvel liveblogging #tigra has a very cat first day #Jarvis not even drop #some thematic similarities happen and they're unfavorable to hank #captain america uses that empathy #its super effective #shooter ain't wasting any time

5 notes · View notes

ft-dads-au · 4 years

Text

Smile Again

Home for the Holidays 2019 Prompt: Secret A Collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404 AO3 | FF.Net

November 7, 2003

Usually, Cana Alberona went home with Gray and Rogue Fullbuster after school and hung out at their house until it was time for Gildarts to come back from work. She preferred the noise in their home to the silence that would usually greet her at their apartment and the loneliness she felt at its emptiness.

But today was different. Cana had made a decision and had finally worked up enough courage to see it through. That’s why she was standing in front of the closed door of her father’s bedroom, her hand hesitating nervously on the doorknob. She had already turned back more times than she could count, but this time she was determined to go inside. Her cards had told her it was the right thing to do, and she knew from experience they were rarely wrong.

It was the one rule Gildarts had always had. She was welcome to explore any other part of their apartment, but his bedroom was off-limits. He claimed it was a safety precaution, and while it was no secret that her father had been a member of the Special Forces before she had ended up in his custody, Cana had always felt there was more to it than concern for her safety.

Cana had been six years old when her mother had passed away. Old enough to understand what had happened and to miss her terribly but still young enough to need a parent around. And she had gotten more than she’d bargained for in Gildarts Clive.

She loved Gildarts dearly. He was affectionate, loud, and kind, and ever since he’d learned of her existence, he’d tried to play the role of father as best he could. He’d quit the armed forces and gotten a regular nine-to-five job as a social worker. Gildarts had done everything he could to give her a family, but the one thing she craved the most.

After living together for five years, Cana still felt like there was a distance between them, and that bothered her. She had been very close to her mother, and she’d hoped for a similar relationship with her father once she had gotten over her initial reservations over going to live with someone she’d known nothing about.

But no matter how much she loved him, she felt like she didn’t know him at all. She had a feeling that Gildarts room held more than weapons. She thought it might also hold the clues she needed to understand her father.

So after taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and opened the door, looking around guiltily before entering and closing it behind her. She knew her father wasn’t usually home until five-thirty or so, so she felt she had plenty of time.

She looked around, trying to decide what would gain her the most information. The only framed picture she saw was one of the two of them that Mika Fullbuster had taken a few years earlier. She had her own framed copy sitting in her room.

There was a large safe built into the wall in the far corner of the room that she knew held all of her father’s firearms. Gildarts had shown it to her when she had first moved in, warning her about playing with it, although with its biometric lock, there was no possible way she could ever get it open.

She opened his closet and found nothing except clothes and shoes. Disappointed, she moved over to the dresser, opening and closing all of the drawers. Still nothing of interest. She walked over to his nightstand, surprised to find bottles of alcohol in the bottom drawer. But what she had been looking for was in a metal box under the bed.

There were a lot of pictures in the box, at first glance she even recognized several of her mother and she grabbed them first, holding them in her hands and feeling the familiar pain clutching at her heart as she stared hungrily at the features that had once been her whole world. There were pictures of her smiling at the camera as well as a few with her father. Both appeared young and happy, and she spent a long time looking at these.

She placed them on the blue bedspread that was stretched out in the way only military personnel seemed to be capable of. She looked through the remaining photos, mostly of Gildarts days in the military. She had almost given up when she noticed there was another bottom to the box, and when she removed the compartment, her heart stopped.

She could tell she’d hit the jackpot just by the fact that these pictures were kept separate from the rest, and as Cana studied them, she wasn’t sure how to feel. She quickly grabbed one of the images of her parents together to compare against the ones she was looking at.

There was no comparison. In fact, Cana wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen this particular smile on her father’s face before, and to know that it was while he was holding hands with her best friends’ father was confusing at the very least.

Part of her wanted to rush and call Gray and Rogue to tell them about what she’d found, but she instantly knew it would be a betrayal like no other. Her father kept this hidden for a reason. She looked at picture after picture of Silver and Gildarts together. Then she focused on the ones that were of just Silver, her mind trying to understand what it all meant.

Cana had heard of same-sex couples before, she was eleven after all, but she’d never met any. And to know her father had quite obviously been in a relationship with another man, and not just any man but someone she knew and loved was more than she could handle.

What had happened when it was quite evident that Gildarts had been happier with him than her mother? She was so caught up in all her questions that she never moved from her spot.

Which was why her father found her sitting on his bed surrounded by all the evidence of her snooping.

“Find what you were looking for?” Gildarts sardonic grin was on full display, and Cana couldn’t help but feel terrible for betraying her father’s trust.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I just-,” Cana tried to explain what she had felt, but no words would come.

Gildarts sat on the bed and picked up some of the pictures, putting them in a pile to return to the box. Cana couldn’t figure out what his expression meant, she knew he had every right to be angry. She had been invading his privacy after all, but he just looked like he was too tired to fight.

Gildarts peered into her eyes, holding her gaze before asking, “So what is it you wanted to know?”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to feel closer to you,” Cana admitted, hiding her head in her father’s chest.

He surprised her by running his fingers through her hair gently, “You can ask me anything, Jellybean. I will always answer you if I can, but I don’t want you to do this again. The only way this is going to work between us is if we can trust each other.”

He held a picture of him and Silver in his other hand and stared at it before putting it away, “I imagine you have some questions now, huh?”

Cana nodded, pulling herself away from his chest and looking at him thoughtfully.

“Fine, but first, let’s clean up.” He sorted through the pictures collecting all the ones of her mother and handing them over to Cana before putting the rest away, “I’d meant to give these to you, I just hadn’t thought about this box in a while.”

“I’ll order us some pizza,” Gildarts pulled out his cell phone and called their favorite pizza parlor as he gestured Cana to leave his room. He closed the door behind her and emerged five minutes later, having changed out of his work suit and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a band logo on it.

Cana had already put all of her mom’s pictures on her memory board, which mostly consisted of pictures of her with Gray and Rogue at different ages.

Gildarts knocked on her door, “The pizza place said they’d be here in thirty minutes.”

Cana nodded and followed him out, stopping at the fridge to get a soda for her and a beer for him. He accepted it gratefully and took a few swigs before sitting down on their living room couch and smiling at her, “So, where do you want me to start?”

She sat down next to him, crossing her legs as she stared up at him, “Silver, you were- he was your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, he was,” Gildarts agreed but didn’t offer anything else.

“For how long?”

“Look, before we get into this, you have to promise me you won’t talk about it to anyone, especially Gray and Rogue. I doubt Silver would appreciate them knowing. This happened before you were all born, and it has nothing to do with any of you.”

“I had already decided not to tell them when I found the pictures,” Cana confessed, still feeling ashamed for having been caught snooping.

Gildarts visibly relaxed at those words, “We were together for about three years.”

“So it wasn’t a fling? Were you in love with him?”

“How do you even know what a fling is? You’re eleven!” Gildarts protested, and even though he looked outraged, Cana thought he might just be attempting to deflect her question.

She rolled her eyes, “As you said, I’m eleven. Were you in love with Silver?”

“Yeah,” he finally responded, eyes fixed on the inside of the beer bottle as he admitted it.

“What about him?” Cana asked, feeling a little bad at being so pushy, but she could sense that she was on to something, and didn’t want to let go until she knew everything. But that was one question her father refused to answer.

“I don’t understand. You looked so happy in the pictures, what happened?”

“The same thing that happens to a lot of couples, I guess, we just didn’t want the same things,” Gildarts replied quickly, and Cana immediately knew there was more to it than that.

“What was it you wanted?”

“Not me, him. He wanted to start a family of his own, and that was something I couldn’t give him, so we parted ways.” Gildarts shrugged, taking another swig from his beer.

“I don’t understand if you like men, then how come I always see you flirting with women?”

“I don’t like men per se, I liked Silver. It’s hard to explain.”

“So, there haven’t been any others?”

“Not really, how do I put this? Before Silver, I’d never been in love with anyone. I flirted, I had fun, but I didn’t really feel any deep connection to any of them. After being in a relationship for so long, that felt shallow, and I couldn’t go back to it right away.”

“What about mom?” Cana had always been curious about this, but she’d always been too afraid to ask.

“I joined the military after Silver, and I broke up, Magnolia isn’t that big, and I didn’t really want to watch him be happy with someone else. So I took off, figured I’d go see the world on the government’s jewels. I met your mom one night at a bar while at a training camp. She was getting over a relationship too, we became friends and kind of got each other through it, but she fell in love with me and I—” Gildarts gazed down at his left hand before peering into Cana’s eager face, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“But Dad,” Cana was desperate to hear more, but she could see from the way her father’s features were set into a hard line that her time was almost up.

She almost screamed in frustration when the doorbell rang, and Gildarts stood up, eagerly accepting the escape he was offered. He grabbed his wallet from the kitchen counter on his way to the front door and returned, holding the pizza box and placing it on their small dining room table.

“Get some plates, will ya, love?”

He grabbed another beer from their fridge before sitting down, making sure his mouth was full of either food or drink for the rest of the evening, and nothing Cana did or said was able to get any more out of him.

Cana kissed him good night, and although she didn’t get all the answers she’d wanted, she couldn’t deny that she felt closer to him. She’d almost gotten to her bedroom when his voice stopped her.

“By the way, you’re grounded for a week, you have to come straight home after school, and I don’t want to see you in my room without my permission again.”

Usually, she would have protested, but she knew what she’d done was wrong, so she bore the punishment without complaint.

She woke up in the middle of the night and was surprised to see her father’s light still on. She peered in expecting to see him poring through a case file like he sometimes did. Instead, she found her father fast asleep, an empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand, and one of the pictures of him and Silver clutched in his hand.

That’s when she understood what Gildarts had been unwilling to say. He had never fallen out of love with Silver. Had gone so far as to leave Magnolia to try to forget him, but then Cana had come along, and he hadn’t had anyone else to turn to for help. And even though she knew it wasn’t her fault, she felt like she’d trapped him in a prison of sorts. She spent enough time with the Fullbusters to know there was no future for the love he still held in his heart.

Cana went into the room and grabbed the picture out of Gildarts hand, frowning at it for a moment before placing it on his nightstand carefully. She kissed his head before tucking him in with his blanket as he’d done for her countless times, turning off the light on her way out.

While Silver might have been the only one to put that smile on her father’s face, he had also been the one to take it away, and for that, Cana thought, she would never forgive him. She swore to herself then that she would be the one to bring it back someday.

#fairy tail #ftdadsau #ftlgbtholidays2019 #cana & gildarts #ftlgbtales #sildarts #prompt: secret #fics

15 notes · View notes